Wyoming Woman. Elizabeth Lane

flung out of its element.

      She had to know. She had to know everything, even if it broke her heart to hear it.

      “Tell me,” she demanded, her fingers tightening around the worn leather strap of his belt. “I want to hear the worst.”

      “Why trouble your pretty head with such an ugly story?” Luke’s defiant question infuriated her. Only the lamb, so warm and peaceful between their bodies, kept her from shouting at him.

      “This country is my home and my family’s home,” Rachel said in a level voice. “Whatever’s going on here, I need to understand it.”

      Thunder filled the silence as she waited for Luke to answer. When he outlasted her patience she pressed him again.

      “We’ve had a few sheep in these parts since I was in pigtails,” she said. “I can’t say there was ever any love lost between sheep men and ranchers. But what I saw today—there was never anything like that before! What in heaven’s name happened? Was it something you did?”

      He laughed at that, a deep, bitter release that quivered through his taut body, so that she felt it more than heard it. “I’d pay good money for the answer to that question, lady. All I’ve ever asked of my neighbors was that they leave me alone. As long as I kept my sheep off their land, most of them, including your father, did just that—until about three months ago. That was when the raids started.”

      A vision of the masked riders flashed through Rachel’s mind. Had it been Jacob or Josh she had seen with them? Was it possible that both of them were involved in this mess? And what about her father? Morgan Tolliver was a peaceful man, but if pushed far enough he was capable of anger. Was he capable of violence as well?

      Rachel’s fingers tightened around Luke’s belt. She felt dizzy, as if she were spinning in space with nothing solid to support her. For months she had dreamed of coming back to the safe, secure place she called home. But the home she remembered was gone, to be replaced by a nightmare world of danger, doubt and uncertainty.

      “Do you have any idea who’s behind the trouble?” she forced herself to ask. “Have you recognized anyone—any of the raiders?”

      He shook his head, and she felt an unexpected surge of relief. “Most of the time I don’t see them. But when they do show themselves, they always have their faces masked. The fact that they care that much about being recognized makes me think they’re locals—and there’s a bunch of them, more than just the ones you saw today.” He whistled to direct a dog toward a straying ewe. The wind swept his raven hair back from his face.

      “When I saw them up close, they struck me as very young,” Rachel said, filling the pause. “Just boys, I’d guess, out to stir up some mischief.”

      Luke’s body stiffened. “They may be young, but they’re too well organized to be just boys. Somebody’s behind them. Somebody with enough money to pay them or enough influence to stir them up.”

      Like my father, Rachel thought. She knew better than to speak the words aloud, but even the idea was terrible enough to create a dark, hollow feeling in her chest.

      “As for the so-called mischief—” Luke cleared his throat, but when he spoke again, his voice was still low and gritty. “I have three herders working for me, a father and two sons. They’re from Spain by way of Mexico, good men. Fine men.” Luke swallowed hard. Rachel felt the strain in him, the scream of raw nerves, and she sensed that, whatever he had been holding back from her, she was about to hear it.

      “Three nights ago, the old man, Miguel, was out on the range with part of the herd. He’d bedded down for the night in his sheep wagon when he heard riders coming over the hill. They were making enough noise to rouse the devil, he told us later. Probably drunk, or making a good show of it. Miguel ordered his dogs—the two you see here—to move the sheep out fast. He was going to get his horse and follow them, but he realized the riders were too close, so he ran back to the sheep wagon and barricaded himself inside.”

      “Dear heaven,” Rachel whispered, bracing her emotions for what she was about to hear.

      “There were five of them, all masked,” Luke said. “Five against one old man. When Miguel wouldn’t come out of the sheep wagon, they lit a dry branch from the campfire and threw it on the roof.”