Rita Herron - Rawhide Ranger

At one time, the two of them had been lovers, but she’d wanted, no demanded, more—a commitment. That and for him to join her as an activist for the Native American faction.

He’d said no to both and Ellie hadn’t liked it.

Another young woman, this one with black hair tied in a scarf, sat in the second row, fidgeting with the scarf as if to hide her face. She looked nervous, frightened like a skittish colt. Senses alert for trouble, he studied her for a moment, wondering why she refused to make eye contact, and where she stood on the issues in town.

His old friend Rafe Running Horse gave him a friendly nod from a side row, but glares of contempt and distrust followed him as he stepped behind the podium. Jessie Becker’s flaming red hair caught in the overhead light, and his gaze locked with hers for a moment, her body language defensive. But he also sensed that she wanted the truth and a peaceful resolution. Or could he be wrong?

Had her family solicited her to wield her feminine seductive powers on him to sidetrack him from arresting them? Hell, if that was the case, it wouldn’t work.

Besides, he doubted Jonah Becker would encourage any kind of relationship between him and Jessie. Judging from everything he’d heard, Becker had made no bones about the fact that he believed the Native Americans were a class beneath him.

Defying Becker would be half the fun in proving him wrong. So much fun that for a brief moment, a fantasy flashed in his wicked head. Jessie Becker beneath him. But not in social class. Hell, race and class didn’t matter to him.

But he would like the feel of her curves against him, her breasts in his hands, her naked body writhing as he thrust his hard length into her welcoming body.

He blinked, scrubbed his hand over his eyes, forcing the images away. He was at a damn town meeting, couldn’t allow himself to be swayed by a pretty girl. Especially Jessie Becker.

When he focused again, Jessie’s brother, Trace, stood with arms crossed beside her, his look filled with rage. Trace Becker was short and squatty and made up for his size with his pissy attitude. Cabe read him like a book. Trace wanted an end to this mess, too, and he didn’t care if it was peaceful, as long as his family came out unscathed.

Cabe had expected animosity from the group, and it simmered in the air like a brush fire that had been lit and was ready to flame out of control.

Clenching the sides of the podium, he introduced himself, asked for everyone to listen. Intentionally using a calm voice to soothe the noise, he relayed the latest discoveries in the case.

Before he even finished, Ellie shot up from her seat with a clatter. “So that land definitely is a Native American burial ground?”

He slanted her a warning look not to stir trouble. “It appears that way. We’ll release further information when our investigation is complete. Please bear with us though, that will take time. And for purposes of finding the truth, we can’t reveal all the details until the investigation is concluded. That also means that the property is off-limits, so please don’t show up to protest or gawk. If you do, you will be arrested for interfering with a criminal investigation and sent to jail.”

Noises of protest rumbled through the room, but he held up a hand and explained about the injunction. “I need everyone to remain calm and trust us to do our jobs.” He gestured toward the sheriff. “Sheriff Hardin, the Texas Rangers and our task force are doing everything possible to settle this matter in a speedy manner and to ensure your safety.”

“What about our leader, Daniel Taabe?” a dark-skinned elderly woman with twin braids cried. “You’re letting them cover up his murder.”

“There is no cover-up,” Cabe said staunchly. “We will find out who killed Daniel as well as the other victims in the town and see that they are punished. But we need your cooperation. If anyone has information regarding any of the murders, please inform the sheriff or me.”

“I thought Billy Whitley killed Marcie, Daniel and those others,” a middle-aged man in overalls shouted.

“The evidence is not supporting Billy’s confession,” Cabe explained.

“You mean Billy might have been framed?” someone else asked.

“Was he murdered?” a little old woman cried.

A teenage Comanche boy vaulted up from his seat, waving his fist. “He should have died if he faked those documents. That land belongs to us.”

Cabe threw up his hands to calm the crowd. “As I stated before, everyone needs to be patient, and let us get to the truth.”

Trace lurched toward him, shaking his finger. “Just whose side are you on, Ranger?”

“The side of the law and the truth,” Cabe said through clenched teeth.

“You should be on our side,” one of the Natives said, triggering agreement to rumble through the crowd from the Natives.

Trace turned to the crowd. “Navarro’s not on the side of the law. He’s playing both sides.” His voice grew louder, accusing. “He can’t be trusted!”

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.