B.J. Daniels - Secret of Deadman's Ravine

Sheriff Carter Jackson felt his breath catch in his throat as he started down into the ravine .

He raised his binoculars and felt his heart lift like helium. Eve Bailey rose from where she’d been hidden in the rocks.

“I’ve found her,” he said into the two-way radio. “Bring the horse to the top of the ravine.” Carter dismounted and, taking his pack with his rescue gear, started down the rocky slope.

As he cut off her ascent, he realised he was nervous about seeing Eve. This was crazy. It had been years. She’d probably forgotten that night in the front seat of his old pickup behind her parents’ barn.

Just then she looked up and he knew Eve hadn’t forgotten – or forgiven him.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BJ Daniels’s life dream was to write books. After a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist, she sold thirty-seven short stories before she finally wrote her first book. That book, Odd Man Ou t, received a 4½ starred review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue of 1995. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense.

BJ lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem, and an ageing, temperamental tomcat named Jeff. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis.

To contact BJ, write to her at PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA, e-mail her at bjdaniels@ mtintouch.com or check out her website at www.bjdaniels.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sheriff Carter Jackson– Fate had given him another chance with the woman he wanted more than anything. Now if he could just keep her alive.

Eve Bailey– She was determined to learn the truth about herself – and what she’d found in a ravine south of her ranch.

Lila Bailey– She’d lived with more lies than anyone should have to.

Loren Jackson– He’d lost the woman he loved once, and he wasn’t going to do it again.

Bridger Duvall– What was this mystery man doing in Whitehorse?

Arlene Evans– The town gossip was clueless about what was really going on. Or was she?

Nina Mae Cross– She’d lost more than her mind. She’d lost the man she loved.

Errol Wilson– He had his reasons for being bitter.

Deena Turner Jackson– She wanted what she couldn’t have and she would do anything to get it.

BJ DANIELS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This is for Rob Myers, former coroner and

always a mystery lover. Thanks, Rob, for all your

help over the years. You are one of the few

people I can call and ask about dead bodies,

poisons and cool scary stuff.

Chapter One

A grouse burst from the sagebrush in an explosion of wings. Eve Bailey brought her horse up short, heart jammed in her throat and, for the first time, was aware of just how far she’d ridden from the ranch.

The wind had kicked up, the horizon to the west dark with thunderheads. She could smell the rain in the air.

She’d ridden into the badlands, leaving behind the prairie with its deep grasses to ride through sage and cactus, to find herself in no-man’s-land with a storm coming.

Below her lay a deep gorge the Missouri River had carved centuries ago through the harsh eastern Montana landscape. Erosion had left hundreds of ravines in the unstable soil, and the country was now badlands for miles, without a road, let alone another person in sight.

Eve stared at the unforgiving land, her heart just as desolate. She should never have come home.

The wind whirled dust around her, the horizon blackening with clouds that now swept toward her.

She had to turn back. She’d been foolish to ride this far out so late in the day, let alone with a storm coming.

Even if she took off now she would never reach the ranch before the weather hit. Yet she still didn’t move.

She couldn’t get the image of what she’d seen out of her mind. Her mother and another man. She felt sick at the memory of the man she’d seen leaving her mother’s house by the back door.

She shivered. The temperature was dropping rapidly. She had to turn back now. She’d been so upset that she’d ridden off dressed only in jeans and a T-shirt, and there was no shelter between here and the ranch.

A storm this time of year could be deadly for anyone without shelter. Turning her horse, she bent her head against the wind as the rainstorm moved in.

A low moan filled the air. She brought her horse up short again and listened. Another low, agonizing moan rose on the wind. She turned back to listen. The sound seemed to be coming from the ravine below her.

A gust of wind kicked up dust, whirling it around her. She bent her head against the grit that burned her eyes as she swung down from her horse and stepped to the edge of the steep ravine.

Shielding her eyes, she peered down. Far below, along a wide rocky ledge, stood a thick stand of giant junipers. As the wind whipped down the steep slope, the branches parted and—

There was something there, deep in the trees. She saw the glint of metal in the dull light and what could have been a scrap of clothing.

Goose bumps rose on her arms as she heard the low moan again. Someone was down there.

The first few drops of rain slashed down, cold and wet as they soaked instantly into her clothing. She barely noticed as the air filled with another moan. She caught sight of movement. From behind the thick nest of junipers, a scrap of faded red fabric flapped in the wind.

“Hello!” she called, the wind picking up her words and hurling them across the wide ravine.

No answer.

Common sense told her to head toward the ranch before the weather got any worse. Eve Bailey was no stranger to the risk of living in such an isolated, unpopulated part of the state. She’d been born and raised only miles from here. She knew how quickly a storm could come in.

This part of Montana was famous for extreme temperature changes that could occur from within hours to a matter of minutes. It was hard country in which to survive. Five generations of Baileys would attest to that.

But if there was someone down there, someone injured, she couldn’t just leave them.

“Hello!” she called again, and was answered by that same low, agonizing moan. Below her, the scrap of red cloth fluttered in the wind and, beside it, what definitely appeared to be metal glittered. What was down there?

A gust of wind howled past, and another low moan rose from the trees. She glanced back at the ominous clouds, then down into the vertical-sided ravine as she debated what to do.

She was going to have to go down there—and on foot. It was one thing to risk her own neck, but there was no way she was going to risk her horse’s.

The ravine was a sheer drop at the top, widening as it fell to the ledge and growing steeper again as it dropped to the old riverbed far below. This end of Fort Peck Reservoir was dry from years of drought, the water having receded miles down this canyon.