One
Prologue
For each man must look into his own soul
—John F. Kennedy, Profiles in Courage
The north Texas night was colder than most, stinging Cord Greer’s face as he went out into the February storm to get firewood. Sleet-driven wind slashed across his cheeks, but he merely lowered his black Stetson a little more and tried to ignore the chilling sensation that had been bugging him for the past two hours.
Something was wrong. He could feel it as surely as the ice storm gripping Crookseye Canyon. What really had his skin creeping was that he’d only had this feeling once before, when his brother, Hunt, had been in a car crash. It was as if Cord had felt the impact himself that night. Hunt walked away from the crash, but Cord could still remember the peculiar sensation that he’d been right there in the car with his brother.
Tonight he’d felt another kind of impact. This one closed over him with dark fingers of dread as his soul experienced a rending, a tearing of one half from the other.
He shook it off, telling himself the storm—and too much time alone on his ranch—was making him imagine things. Being half Navajo didn’t necessarily make him a mind reader, as some people seemed to think. But he did feel deeply, a trait he’d had all his life.
Taking an armload of firewood inside, he tried to force his mind off Hunt’s latest secret assignment.
Ten minutes later, the knock at his front door came as no surprise. Though he’d been dozing in the recliner in front of a crackling fire, his mind had been waiting. He got up reluctantly, bracing himself for what he knew he would hear.
Opening the door, he stared at the two men standing in the bitter black night. Framed by the yellow light from the porch lantern, they looked serious and official.
“Mr. Greer?”
Official-looking identification flashed at him, which Cord ignored. He kept his gaze fastened on the men instead, nodding once.
“We regret to inform you that your brother was killed tonight while on a sensitive assignment. Though we can’t divulge more than that at the present time, you may rest assured that your brother, Hunt Greer, died an honorable death.”
He let a moment pass. “You’re positive it was my brother?”
“Yes,” the tall man assured him.
The fools. Whom did they think they were kidding? Hunt wasn’t dead. Cord had felt something strange, an odd passing through his soul, but not the disconnection he would feel if Hunt was dead. He waited, his jaw tight.
His silence appeared to unnerve the smaller officer. “We would like to inform the fiancée.” He checked his paper. “She should be notified. Regretfully, we don’t have her location.”
You never will, Cord vowed. He wouldn’t allow these two lame excuses to go to Tessa’s door and frighten her out of her wits with their lack of emotion. Regret to inform you. She was carrying Hunt’s child, and the shock these unfeeling clods would give her could cause harm.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not aware of her location myself.” He told the lie easily to spare her the pain.
The men shifted. “You don’t know where your brother’s fiancée is?” the taller man asked, his voice edged with surprised disbelief—and obvious disappointment.
Cord noted the foreign accent, possibly Mexican, Spanish more likely. “No, I don’t,” he said softly, his voice clear and hard as the ice forming on the streets. “My brother and I weren’t close.”
He shut the door. Oh, he’d known where Tessa was almost every time she rendezvoused with Hunt after he completed his assignments. Cord had pleaded with Hunt not to take his fiancée to places that teemed with unrest, pointing out that he risked her life as well as his. Should some subversive foreign faction ever figure out Hunt was breaking their codes and moving equipment and people in and out of high-risk positions, he would be at risk. Tessa might even divert his attention, getting both of them killed.
Nonsense, Hunt had laughed. Tessa and Hunt, two people who lived life to the fullest while Cord stayed on his ranch, watching after his cattle and tending a few crops. Hunt was an adventurer, and Tessa had caught his fever. “Having her with me sharpens my focus,” he’d told Cord. “I’m knife aware when she’s there. She makes every moment that much more defined.”
Cord had turned away, but not in disgust at his brother’s selfishness. He’d completely understood. Tessa was the kind of woman any man would want to protect, to give all his heart and soul.
She’d stolen Hunt’s heart the first
