“Meow.”
She looked down to find the black cat at her feet. He head-butted her shin and then looked up at her. “Meow.”
“Hungry?”
He did that slow nod again and she had to wonder—for at least the third time—if the cat was actually answering her question.
“Eleanor left some poached salmon for you.”
“Meow.”
It sounded like the cat said yes. Extraordinary. She got the fish from the refrigerator and prepared a portion for him. When he started eating, she shook her head as she set the table for dinner.
Dusk was falling. The days were short in October, and the nights could be nippy. She’d stocked the bunkhouse with blankets, but she had an extra down comforter.
She went to the back door. “Johnny, dinner’s ready!”
Before he appeared, she returned to her work in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she set the table for two.
GETTING INTO THE RANCH HOUSE was the first step. Johnny didn’t feel good about what he meant to do, but he didn’t have a choice. Not really. He was accomplished at his job, and that’s why he’d been sent to Running Horse Ranch in the first place.
He opened the screen and stepped into the delicious aroma of cooking stew. Despite Stephanie’s caustic words, she’d rustled up some grub for him. Against his better judgment, he felt a jolt of pleasure. He quickly reminded himself that he was at the ranch for a purpose, and one that would undoubtedly put him at odds with the horse trainer.
“Have a seat.” Stephanie pointed at a stout wooden table. A small cluster of wild prairie flowers in a delicate vase graced the rough-hewn table, and Johnny thought the contrast perfectly symbolized Stephanie. She was as beautiful as the flowers and the fragile vase, and as durable as the old, scarred table.
He stopped his thoughts dead. He could not afford to romanticize Stephanie Ryan. She was part of a mission, part of his job.
“Something wrong?” Stephanie asked as she brought the stew to the table and took her own seat.
“No.” He answered too quickly. He lifted the glass of red wine at his place and took a sip. Before he could swallow, something sharp and wicked gripped his shin.
He exploded up from the table, wine flying everywhere.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed.
Both he and Stephanie ducked to look under the table where Familiar sat, placidly licking his paw in total innocence.
Stephanie cleared her throat, leaned over and refilled his wineglass, ignoring the stain all down the front of his shirt.
“That cat is a dangerous beast,” Johnny said. He felt like an utter fool. The cat had caught him by surprise.
“That cat is an extraordinary judge of character,” Stephanie said, her level brown gaze locking on him. “He peed on Rupert Casper’s truck seat.”
Johnny didn’t believe her at first. It took only a few seconds for him to realize the truth of her statement. “That’s pretty incredible.” He grinned. “And pretty great. I can forgive him for making me spill the wine if he’s going to harass Rupert Casper.”
Stephanie held her spoon aloft. “I’m just wondering why Familiar found it necessary to attack you.” She left the words hanging between them.
“Maybe he doesn’t like the smell of cowboy,” Johnny said.
Stephanie took a dainty spoonful of the stew. She swallowed and put down her spoon. “Oh, I don’t think Familiar objects to the smell of cowboy, but I’m certain he has a keen dislike of the smell of a rat.”
Johnny froze. For one split second, he wondered how Stephanie had unmasked his cover so quickly, but then he realized she’d merely taken a stab in the dark. He forced a chuckle. “Oh, then I’m safe.” But he wasn’t. Not if Stephanie found out what he was really up to.
He bent over the bowl and began to eat. While it wasn’t fancy, the thick stew was delicious, as was the crusty bread. Johnny was hungry. And while he could enjoy the pleasure of the food, he had to steer clear of the woman who sat across the table.
STEPHANIE ATE THE STEW she’d cooked, but her thoughts weren’t on the food. Johnny Kreel took center stage in her mind. For no reason at all, Familiar had attacked him under the table.
She tore off a crust of bread and chewed it slowly. She didn’t know Familiar, but in a few short days, she’d come to trust him a lot more than she trusted Johnny Kreel.
The man’s past employment checked out, but that didn’t mean anything. That was the last six months. Where had he been the other thirty or so years of his life?
“Are you from this area, Johnny?”
“No, ma’am,” he answered, gaze focused on his bowl.
“So where are you from?” She was like a dog worrying a bone when she got started. She’d know every detail before she was done.
“I grew up in the wire grass country of Alabama. My granddad raised cattle.” He still didn’t look at her.
“And what happened between growing up and today?”
At last he lifted his gaze, and she saw there was a tempest brewing in his oddly colored eyes. He covered it quickly.
“I went to the University of Alabama on a scholarship and ended up in the law school.”
“You have a law degree?” She was surprised. Not that he didn’t look capable. In fact, Johnny Kreel looked like he could take on and conquer almost anything he set his hand to.
“I do, but I only practiced for five years. It wasn’t the job for me.”
He’d really ignited her curiosity now. “Why not?”
Picking up a piece of bread, he took his time answering. She could see that he was thinking through his response, which meant he cared.
“I thought the law was going to be about fighting for truth and justice.” The tiniest bit of red tinged his strong face. “I know that sounds corny, but it’s true. I really thought I could make a difference.”
He returned to his food as if he’d answered her.
“What happened?”
Johnny met her stare head-on. This time he didn’t look away or flinch. “A man I defended—an innocent man—ended up in prison. He was killed before his case came up for appeal.”
“I’m so sorry.” An almost irresistible urge to put a comforting hand on his arm struck her, but she restrained herself.
“He was a good guy. An innocent man wrongly accused. Putting him in prison was like throwing him into the lion’s den. Everyone knew he’d be killed and no one did a thing to stop it. After that, I sort of lost my taste for the justice system.”
“A law degree can be a handy thing,” she said. Rupert Casper and Black Jack sprang to mind. Wasn’t there some law that said possession was nine-tenths of the law?
“I don’t practice. Besides, I was only licensed in Alabama.”
“You could get licensed here. Folks in town would be glad to have another lawyer.”
“Not this one.” The way he said it told her he was ready to let the subject drop.
“So after you quit the law, what did you do?”
He visibly relaxed. “I bummed around the country, working on ranches and doing odd jobs. I needed to get back in touch with the things I’ve always loved about the West.”
“And did you?”
He