Elle James - Cowboy Resurrected

As she neared the building, she cut the engine and drifted to a stop, ditched the bike in the dirt and walked the remaining distance. She swung wide to check for inhabitants. Nothing stirred, nothing moved around the exterior. The building had a lean-to on the side and a pipe chimney. The place appeared deserted.

Sophia opened the door and peered inside. With the starlight shining through the doorway, she could see twin bed frames, no more than cots with thin mattresses rolled toward the head. A potbellied stove stood in one corner, and a plank table with benches on either side took up another corner.

Not the Four Seasons, but heaven in Sophia’s tired eyes. She trudged back to where she’d left the bike, pushed it under the lean-to and stacked several old tires against it to hide it from view. With nothing more than what she carried in her backpack, she reentered the cabin.

The door had neither lock nor latch to secure it. Too spent to care, Sophia shook out a thin mattress, tossed her blanket over it, placed the pistol Hector had given her on the floor beside the cot and lay down.

She stared up at the dark ceiling, thinking of Hector and Anna and all they’d sacrificed to get her away from Antonio. One tear fell, followed by another. Sobs rose up her throat and she let them come, allowing her fear and sorrow a release. Tonight she could grieve. Tomorrow, before sunrise, her journey continued.

* * *

THORN DRENNAN HADN’T planned on being out this late, but he’d promised his boss, Hank Derringer, that while he awaited his first assignment as a special agent with Covert Cowboys, Inc., he’d check the Raging Bull Ranch fences for any breaks.

With the number of illegal aliens and drug runners still crossing the border from Mexico into the United States, any ranch owner this close to the border could count on mending his fences at least two or three times a week, sometimes more.

On horseback, it had taken Thorn far longer than he’d anticipated. The sun had set an hour ago, and he still hadn’t completed a full inspection of the southern border of the massive ranch. He’d continued on, despite how tired he was, taking it slow so that he didn’t overtax his mount.

Since the stars shone down, providing enough light to see the fence, Thorn didn’t have a reason to return to the ranch sooner. He’d just climb into his truck and head to his little empty house in Wild Oak Canyon and lie awake all night anyway.

Sleep meant nightmares. The kind that wouldn’t let him get on with his life—the kind that reminded him of all he’d lost.

Tonight was the second anniversary of the murder of his wife and their unborn daughter. He couldn’t have gone home, even if he’d completed the inspection of the fence. And the bars didn’t stay open all night.

His house was a cold, grim testament of what his career had cost him. He’d slept on the couch for the past two years, unable to sleep in the bed he’d shared with Kayla. He’d loved her since high school. They’d grown up together there in Wild Oak Canyon. She’d followed him across the country when he’d joined the FBI and back home when he’d given up the bureau to take on the role of county sheriff. He’d made the switch so that he would be home more often, and so he and Kayla could start the family they both wanted.

Their plan had gone according to schedule—until a bullet aimed at Thorn had taken Kayla’s life and, with hers, that of their unborn child.

Thorn stared off into the distance. His horse, Little Joe, clumped along, probably tired and ready to head for the barn. So much had changed, and yet South Texas remained the same—big, dry and beautiful in its own way. Never had he known a place where you could see as many stars overhead. Kayla had loved lying out at night, staring up at the sky, picking out the constellations, insisting they teach their daughter all about the world and universe they lived in.

Thorn didn’t know much about the cosmos other than what he’d read in magazines, but he knew how to find the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt because of Kayla. And because of Kayla, Thorn never failed to marvel at the immensity of the universe, much less the galaxies beyond their own solar system.

Tonight the vastness only made him realize just how alone he was.

Little Joe ground to a halt, jarring Thorn out of his morose thoughts, and just as well. Coiled in big, loose curls was a tangle of barbed wire where the fence had been cut.

Thorn cast a quick glance around to make sure whoever had cut the fence wasn’t still lurking before he went to work mending the break. An hour later, fence mended, he stretched aching muscles. The moon had risen high above, near full, shedding enough light that it could have been daytime. The light wouldn’t last long. Thunderclouds looming to the west would change that soon. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to get back to Hank’s before the storm reached him.

In the dust at Thorn’s feet, a single tire track, probably a motorcycle, led from the break in the fence into the ranch. At that moment, the wind wasn’t blowing and the track remained intact. Thorn stowed his tools in his saddlebag and swung up into the saddle. Hank’s sprawling ranch house lay in the general direction of the tracks. With the moonlight illuminating the trail, Thorn chose to follow the tracks and see where they led. Perhaps he’d catch up with the trespasser.

After thirty minutes of slow riding, dropping to the ground to double-check the direction and climbing back into the saddle, Thorn spotted what looked like an old hunting cabin ahead in the distance. The motorcycle tracks were on a collision course.

Thorn pulled his rifle out of the scabbard and checked to make sure it was loaded and ready. When he got close enough, he dropped down out of the saddle and left the reins hanging.

Thunder rumbled, and Little Joe tossed his head and whinnied.

The flash of lightning reminded Thorn that the storm would soon be on him, obliterating the moonlight and any chance of finding his way back to Hank’s ranch house in the dark.

Thorn crept around the cabin, checking for any sign of life. He spotted the motorcycle buried beneath a couple of old tires. His pulse quickened.

The person who’d cut Hank’s fence was inside the cabin.

Standing to the side of the door, Thorn balanced his rifle against his hip, grabbed the doorknob, shoved open the door and darted out of range.

An explosion erupted from inside the cabin and wood splintered from the door frame, bouncing off Thorn’s face. He ducked low, rolled through the doorway and came up in a crouch, aiming his rifle in the direction from which the last bullet had come.

“Vaya, o disparo!” Another shot blasted a hole in the wall near Thorn’s shoulder.

He threw himself forward in a somersault, coming up on his haunches. The rifle lay across the cot, pointed at the side of the shooter’s head.

“Por favor, no disparar!” a shaky female voice called out. “Don’t shoot!” Slim hands rose above the other side of the cot.

“¿Hablas Inglés?” Thorn asked.

“Sí. Yes. I speak English. Please, don’t shoot.”

“Place your weapon on the floor and push it toward the door.”

The thunk of metal hitting wood was followed by the rasp of it sliding across the floor.

Thorn hooked the gun with a foot and slid it toward himself. “Now you. Stand and walk toward the door.”

She hesitated. “Do you promise not to shoot?”

“I’m not going to shoot, as long as you don’t do something stupid.”

A slim figure emerged from the shadows, rising above the cot. Long, straight hair hung down around her shoulders, swaying slightly as she moved toward the door, picking her way carefully. For a second, she stood silhouetted in the light filtering in from the moon, the curve of her hips and breasts in sharp contrast to her narrow waist.