The woman stepped toward the counter. “Can I help you?” Gus asked. “You surely didn’t come out in this thunderstorm for a burger and fries.”
“No, I’m looking for the sheriff. I was told he might be able to help me. Do you know where I could find him?”
Trouble. Langley knew it the way a man knows his horse is about to buck or that the branding iron is not quite hot enough to do the job. He didn’t know how he knew it. He just did.
He slid from his stool. “I’m Langley Randolph,” he said, “the county sheriff—at least I am this week. What can I do for you?”
“I hate to ask on a night like this, but I’d appreciate a lift to the Running Deer Ranch.”
He studied the woman. Even soaked through to the skin, she had a sophistication about her. And an accent he didn’t recognize. “Do you have business at the Running Deer?”
She nodded. “I’m Danielle, Milton Maccabbe’s niece. I’m here to see him.”
Langley ran his hands deep into his front pockets, debating with himself on how he should tell the dripping stranger with a strange accent that the man she was planning to visit had died two weeks ago. “I’d be happy to give you a ride, but—”
“Good,” she broke in. “I’m anxious to get out there and I’m without transportation.”
“Then how did you get to Kelman? We’re a long walk from nowhere.”
“I came by bus.”
So that explained why she was soaking wet. Kelman didn’t have a regular bus station, but if there was someone to pick up or let off, the bus stopped at Phil Klinger’s feed store. But it was half past seven. The place would be locked up tight this time of night.
“The driver suggested I call the sheriff from the pay phone where he dropped me off, but it wasn’t working. I guess the storm knocked it out. I saw the sign for the café and took a chance it would be open.” She hugged her arms more tightly around her. “I didn’t expect to be lucky enough to walk right into the sheriff.”
“If Langley hadn’t been here, I’d have given you a ride,” Gus hastened to assure her. “We Texans don’t leave a woman on her own if we can help it.”
“I’ll drive you wherever you’d like to go,” Langley said. “But I’d like to eat that burger Gus is cooking before I take off in the storm again. You might like to do the same. Gus makes the best burger in south Texas.”
“The best burger in all of Texas,” Gus corrected.
The woman turned toward the sound of the sputtering meat, her eyes wide. But she shook her head and directed her gaze back at him. “I’m not hungry, but you go ahead. I’ll wait and eat something at the ranch.”
Of course, she expected to have dinner with her uncle. Which meant he couldn’t put off the inevitable. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Langley said, deciding the straight approach was the best.
“What kind of bad news?”
Langley swallowed hard and wished there was a way around what he had to say. But there wasn’t. “Milton Maccabbe died a couple of weeks ago.”
She lowered her head and directed her gaze to the toes of her muddy tennis shoes. “I knew he was sick,” she said. “I just hadn’t heard that he’d died.”
“In his sleep. The doctor said it was a peaceful way to go.”
“I’m glad. I just wish I’d been here.”
Her voice cracked on the words, but she didn’t cry. For the first time in a long time, Langley wished he was more like his brothers, wished that talking to strange women came easier to him. Instead, he was standing around like an awkward schoolboy, wondering if he should say something more or offer a shoulder to cry on.
Finally, she broke the silence. “Who’s staying at the ranch now to look after the cattle?”
“Joshua Kincaid’s hands are taking care of the place. Milton was foreman at Kincaid’s ranch before he retired and bought the Running Deer. But no one lives there. The place is deserted once the sun goes down.”
“Then I’d still appreciate a ride to the ranch, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s not the sort of place to visit at night,” Langley advised.
“I won’t be visiting. I’ll be moving in.”
Langley rocked back on his heels. His gaze lowered from her dripping hair to the wet clothes that clung to her body like a second skin and then back to her bruised face. “I’m not sure I heard you right,” he said, knowing that he had but hoping he was wrong.
“If Uncle Milton is dead, then the ranch is mine. He left it to me. I have it in writing.”
“Are you a rancher?”
“No, but I can learn.”
“Yep,” Gus interrupted, “and if you have any trouble, you can call on Langley. He lives practically in hollering range. If there’s anything about cows he don’t know, it hasn’t been discovered yet.”
She propped a foot on the boot rail of one of the stools and leaned against the counter. “It’s nice to know that expert advice will be so readily available.”
“I’ll be glad to help out if you have questions,” Langley said. “Any of the Randolphs will, but don’t put any stock in Gus’s claims. Every rancher around these parts has his own way of doing things, and we all think our way’s best.”
“Nonetheless, I appreciate the offer.” Danielle looked up at Langley, her dark eyes shadowed and mysterious, her lips parted, the flesh beneath the bruises raw. “But I’m sure I’ll be selling the place as soon as I can.”
Something in the way she spoke and moved reminded Langley of a frightened calf. It might just be the news of her uncle’s death, but he had the strange suspicion that it was something more than grief that strained her voice and haunted her ebony eyes. More like fear. After all, someone had recently branded her with the telltale signs of violence.
“You can call on me as a rancher or as a lawman,” he said. “We don’t cater to abuse or abusers in Kelman.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stepped closer and trailed a finger along the purple marks that ran the length of her arm. She trembled at his touch and then backed away. An unfamiliar sensation swept through Langley, an awareness that set his nerves on edge. A beautiful woman with dangerous secrets—one who was about to become his neighbor.
And suddenly, Langley knew exactly how it must feel to be caught standing in the middle of a stampede with no way to escape.
HER UNCLE WAS DEAD. The news hit hard, a blow that knocked the last smidgen of confidence right out of her. All her hopes had been tied up in finding the one man who might be able to give her back her life. Now those hopes had been dashed with a single sentence out of the sheriff’s mouth.
Danielle slid the wet backpack down her arms, then scooted into the booth across the table from Langley Randolph. She faked a smile and hoped the rugged cowboy couldn’t hear the grumbling of her stomach when the man called Gus set a plateful of crispy onion rings between them. The last meal she’d eaten had been the lumpy oatmeal and cold toast the hospital had served for breakfast yesterday. Since then, she’d made do with a couple of cartons of milk and the crackers she’d picked up when the bus had made its pit stops.
Still, the little money her teenage roommate at