Dani Sinclair - The Specialist

Any moment now, the rustlers would break out over the ridge and be silhouetted clearly against the cooperative moon before the encroaching clouds could darken the landscape once more.

The sound of a hoof striking rock gave him final confirmation. Whicker took several mincing sidesteps, sensing Rafe’s tension. He, too, was eager for action. Rafe soothed him silently as they waited.

A horse and rider abruptly broke the ridge in an easy, almost sanguine canter. Rafe frowned. Rider singular. And this would-be rustler was entirely too confident. Rafe watched him come to a stop at the top of the ridge, pausing to survey the cattle below as if he had every right to be there. The man sat tall, his hat pulled low. With the moon at the stranger’s back, Rafe couldn’t make out any features, but he did catch a reflection beneath the brim. The man wore glasses.

The wind abruptly shifted. The rustler’s paint picked up Whicker’s scent. The smaller horse whinnied a greeting, alerting his rider. The man swiveled to peer at the lone stand of pines.

Rafe dropped his hand from the rifle butt and gently kicked Whicker into a gallop. The well-trained cutting horse gathered himself without effort and sprang forward, even as the rustler whirled, urging his horse into a reckless plunge back down the incline.

Was the fool trying to kill himself?

The rustler had the advantage of the lead, but Whicker’s training and much longer stride made the outcome a given. The smaller paint didn’t stand a chance of outrunning him, though his rider tried. The distance between the two horses closed quickly. It was obvious that the other rider wasn’t going to stop as the two horses thundered dangerously down the embankment, right toward the grazing cattle herd.

A cloud drifted across the moon, darkening the night as Rafe pulled alongside the other rider. The rustler twisted around for a look just as Rafe came abreast. Rafe kicked free of the stirrups and lunged. Like a choreographed movie stunt, momentum carried both of them to the hard-packed earth in a bone-jarring fall. Hats went flying as they rolled several feet before coming to a stop.

Rafe found himself lying full-length along the other’s skinny form. His hand had come to rest inside the intruder’s open jacket front. He was stunned to recognize the softly rounded curve beneath his hand for what it was.

“A girl?”

She gave him a shove. “A woman,” she corrected with haughty disdain.

Her voice flowed over him like warm brandy as she tried to adjust the glasses that were hanging half off her face.

“Rafael Alvarez, I presume?”

Stunned, Rafe could only nod.

Her mouth tightened in a line of anger right before her fist landed against his jaw with enough force to hurt more than his pride. She scrambled out from beneath him, rising to her feet.

“Next time, watch where you put your hands.” She regarded him with narrowed eyes and began dusting off her jeans.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’m Kendra Kincade—your new partner.”

Rafe rose slowly, rubbing his jaw. He was going to have a bruise! In fact, she might just have loosened a couple of his teeth—but he’d be hung before he’d admit that out loud.

“My partner, huh?” He surveyed her lanky, boyish build beneath the dark jacket she wore and the no-nonsense glasses that still hung askew on her narrow face after their tumble. Rafe suddenly found himself wanting to grin. Whoever she was, she was no rustler.

“Darlin’, most women who want to be my ‘partner’ use a slightly different approach.”

Her lips thinned in prissy rejection of his attempt to tease. “Not that sort of partner.”

“Well, I’m not into rustlin’ cattle, darlin’,” he offered.

“I’m not a cattle thief!”

“Well certainly not the sort I was expectin’,” he agreed watching her closely. It was difficult to tell in the dark, but he’d swear she was blushing. Now when had he ever seen a grown woman blush? Was she so naive she didn’t realize the risk of running around the countryside in the middle of the night by herself?

“What are you doing out here at this hour, darlin’?” He took a step in her direction. Instantly, she backed away, almost stumbling over a rock.

“Stop that!”

Rafe halted. He was used to a much different reaction from the women he met and he found himself unaccountably irritated by her angry response and this entire crazy situation. Somebody needed to teach Ms. Kendra Kincade that there could be consequences to foolish actions.

“No call to be shy, darlin’. There’s only you and me and the cattle out here.” He swept his hand to indicate their isolation and caught a glimpse of Whicker munching contentedly on some grass a few yards away.

“Shy? Why you arrogant—” She fumbled for words, obviously at a loss. “Male,” she finally spit at him.

Rafe rubbed his jaw where her fist had connected. “Guilty.”

Her eyes glinted in the moonlight reflected off the unattractive glasses she wore. Any minute now, like a cartoon, steam would pour from beneath the open collar of her jacket. She was too annoyed to be frightened, but she should be frightened. Didn’t she see the risk out here in the predawn morning hours?

Rafe closed the distance between them. This time, she held her ground. Overhead, clouds parted to let the moon highlight her features.

Thirtyish, at a guess, though her age was hard to determine for sure. Her brown hair was long and stringy. The ends looked as if she’d taken dull scissors to them. No jewelry, not even a ring. He continued his assessment, waiting for her reaction. Dark jeans hugged a surprisingly nice pair of legs, and a light colored, button-down shirt that he’d already discovered harbored nicely rounded breasts. Her feet had been stuffed into a pair of boots that looked suspiciously new. She had surprisingly small feet.

“If you’re through with the inventory, you can hold it right there, buster.”

She might not be much to look at, but she did have spunk, he decided.

“Buster?”

She set her jaw, planted her fists on her hips and glared at him. “Your name is Rafael Alvarez,” she snapped out, “but you’re called Rafe. Six feet one inch tall, brown hair, green eyes, half Spanish and half Irish,” she recited. “And all baloney,” she added defiantly.

“Baloney?”

“Your parents died in a car crash when you were an infant. Your grandparents raised you until your freshman year of college. Tragically, they died along with a lot of other people in that fire on board the cruise ship Althea.”

His amusement dissolved at her recital.

“Their deaths left you alone, but financially secure,” she continued. “You went back to school where you got in with a rowdy crowd. Your sophomore year culminated in your drunken arrest for grand theft auto. A friend boosted another friend’s car before picking you up along with several young females after a party. All of you were drunk and there was beer in the car.”

Rafe flinched at the memory.

“Fortunately, the police stopped the driver before anyone was hurt. You spent a full night in jail and hired a high-priced lawyer to avoid serious criminal charges. Apparently, you wised up after that. You dropped your former associates, changed your major and went on to study law, though you never took the bar exam.”

How did she know all this?

“That’s enough.” His soft voiced tone would have warned off anyone who knew him. Kendra never batted an eye.

“Next, you applied to the police academy, but you were too much of a maverick for all their rules and regulations. You dropped out almost right away. Or maybe they suggested you leave. Either way, you did some research of your own. I’m guessing you stumbled over the very quiet, very private organization known as Texas Confidential.”