Wyatt and Tina called out their farewells as Stark threw on his coat, grabbed his hat and went out into the cold. The door barely closed before Wyatt pushed back his chair.
“Ryder, I could use your help haying the cattle and putting out mineral blocks in the southeast section before the storm hits.”
The southeast section was too rough to be reached any way except by horseback. Once a week or so for at least a couple of months in winter, they loaded up special sledges with hay and minerals, harnessed the sledges to some horses and hauled everything out to provide extra nutrients to the livestock.
“No problem. But I haven’t seen Delgado yet. Reckon he’ll be here by the time we’re ready to load the horses.” Delgado, who lived in town, was their only hired hand.
“We’ll have to trail the horses,” Wyatt said, “so we’ll just tie them onto the back of the trailer. Delgado could haul them in a trailer, but he won’t be in today. He mentioned that he needed supplies, so I told him to stay in town and take care of it. Didn’t want him getting trapped at home without the necessities if the weather turns off worse than they predict.”
Ryder gulped down as much of his coffee as he could before replying. “We better get moving, then, if we’re going to finish before lunch.”
“You saddle the horses, I’ll start loading the trailer with hay.”
“I took care of that yesterday afternoon.”
“Good job. We’ll just have to load the mineral blocks then.”
“I can help,” Jeri said, looking from one man to the other.
Ryder and Wyatt traded glances. “Oh, we couldn’t ask you to,” Ryder began, but she cut him off.
“I’m an excellent rider, and I’d welcome the chance to look at your range.”
Trying to telegraph refusal to his brother, Ryder tilted his head. Wyatt got the message.
“It’s awful cold out there.”
She pushed back from the table. “I have warm clothes. Just let me change.”
“Thank you, Jeri,” Tina said, widening her eyes at Wyatt, who smiled at Jeri.
“Yes. Thank you, Jeri.”
“Guess I’ll saddle three horses,” Ryder muttered, heading for the door. He couldn’t help being irritated. The woman disturbed him, made him uncomfortable somehow. And yet, when he thought back to the first instant he’d laid eyes on her, he couldn’t help smiling. Beautiful and accomplished. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to spend the morning with that? All he had to do was remind himself that nothing could come of it.
As if he could forget.
* * *
Jeri dropped her favorite hat on the dresser and threw open the suitcase atop the pretty mauve bedspread. Needing to appear the prosperous potential landowner, she’d dressed with a purpose today—but now she could put on the clothes in which she felt most at home. Quickly pulling out worn jeans and a pair of long-sleeved thermal tops, she sat on the edge of the tall bed to yank off her boots, her mind working busily over all that had led her to this point.
She couldn’t help wishing that he wasn’t so good-looking. She’d known, of course, that Ryder Smith was a big, fit hulk of a man with coal black hair. She’d seen the tape of the sparring workout with her brother, as well as promotional photos of him in various fighting poses. Besides, she’d caught glimpses of him on Houston’s local television news. That hadn’t quite prepared her for the live version, however. He was meant to look fierce and brutal in the publicity pictures, and he’d kept his head down and face averted during much of the media snippets. In the one interview that he’d done immediately after the incident, he’d had crocodile tears streaming down his face, and that had so appalled and infuriated Jeri that she hadn’t been able to see anything but his obviously phony emotion. Coming face-to-face with the real deal today had momentarily stunned her, and she knew she’d stared like a giddy groupie when he’d first entered the house.
Quickly slipping on pink thermals and faded denim, she mulled over that video of the sparring match that had ended with her beloved little brother’s death. The video, taped by Smith’s manager, conveniently did not show Ryder Smith actually killing Bryan; yet, the Houston police had used it to exonerate Smith of any wrongdoing in her brother’s death. After watching that tape repeatedly, she’d thought she was prepared to meet in person her baby brother’s murderer, but she hadn’t expected soft, shy eyes so dark a brown they were almost black, or a boyish smile that contrasted decidedly with the dark shadow of his beard and the heavy slashes of his eyebrows. If not for the broadening of the bridge of a nose that had been broken at least once, he would be devastatingly handsome. Even knowing what she knew about him, she couldn’t deny that he was the type to make hearts flutter.
The sheer size of him told her that he’d continued to use steroids despite having left the fight cage. Even under multiple layers, the hard bulge of toned muscles showed. In fact, he looked even bigger and more muscular now than he had in the tape. No doubt he could break her in two without even trying, but she wouldn’t let that intimidate her. If she could handle a half ton of spirited stud horse, she could handle one good-looking steroid freak for long enough to see him held accountable for what he’d done. After all, it was not like she had much choice in the matter.
Her mother had not known a moment’s peace since Bryan’s death, and Dena Averrett had suffered enough. Her mom had been orphaned at an early age and grown up in foster care. Jeri’s father had fallen off a construction scaffold and died when Jeri was a newborn. Then her stepfather, who had treated Jeri as his very own even after Bryan had arrived, had succumbed suddenly to an undetected heart condition almost six years ago. Bryan had become the man of the family at only seventeen. It simply wasn’t fair that he had died so soon after his twenty-first birthday.
Jeri had relished the role of big sister, and Bryan had always been her number one supporter in all that she did. But while she’d loved and cherished her brother, he had been their mother’s whole world. His death had been a devastating blow, one she feared her mother would never recover from. Unless Jeri could give her some closure by bringing his killer to justice.
As Jeri pulled on her comfortable work boots, she reflected bitterly that the police hadn’t even tried to build a case against Ryder Smith, despite the suspicious circumstances. Jeri and her mother felt certain she’d find evidence of steroid abuse by Ryder Smith to bolster their suspicions. Surely that would be enough to force the police to take action. It was well known, after all, that steroid use was rampant among bodybuilders and mixed martial arts fighters.
The police maintained that she and her mother were not entitled to see the results of toxicology tests Smith had taken right after the incident. If Smith hadn’t tested positive for steroids, though, why had he left the business immediately after the tests? After all, he was being touted as the most skilled challenger to enter the cage since MMA had become popular.
She and Dena had tried to prove their point via the press in Houston by feeding the media monster bits of supposition, suspicion and facts through anonymous sources and lawyers. They’d managed to steer the coverage away from themselves and shine a glaring spotlight on Ryder Smith, but they’d also driven him and his brothers out of town. It had taken months and a good deal of money to find out where they’d gone. Jeri had competed relentlessly to gain the necessary funds.
The effort had paid off in more than one way, however. She’d honed her craft and earned her way, at just twenty-four years of age, to the national rodeo finals this past December, where she’d won enough prize money to put this last, desperate plan into motion. If everything went well, she was going to prove that Ryder Smith had killed her brother in a fit of rage induced by the illegal use of steroids.