It Takes Two: Deep in the Heart, Book 1 (39 page)

Tell that to her apartment manager. Being laid off right after Thanksgiving meant it was going to be a very slim Christmas for her. So much for that bonus she’d been counting on.

To add to the feeling of being torn loose from the universe, she had broken off her engagement to her fiancé. The relationship, she’d realized, was comfortable, but missing something. It was sadly lacking in fire, and in passion, she had decided. At least it had seemed that way before a note had been dropped on her desk at work, revealing that Carl had enough passion to go around—and around and around.

He hadn’t even bothered to deny it when she’d questioned him about his apparently popular stamina and expertise. This was a side of Carl she personally had never experienced.

Well, she had plenty of excitement in her life now. No job, no boyfriend. Jill eyed the newspaper she had laid out in front of her on the kitchen table. If the cosmic forces of life were telling her anything, it was that she needed to make some changes. However, making changes could be difficult when there were no funds in one’s purse. Her gaze roved over the paper one last time, discounting the unappealing ads she’d circled.

Then, a small box caught her interest.

WANTED: HOUSEKEEPER FOR RANCH HOUSE.
Cleaning and meals for a man, young boy, and an elderly woman. One hundred miles away from nearest big city; mall-dwellers need not apply. Good salary, three-thousand-dollar bonus one year from hire date. 1133 Setting Sun Road, Lassiter, Texas.

Jill quickly scanned the words again. Country life would almost certainly be a positive change from her not-so-exciting routine. The bonus was tempting, and she could be gainfully employed while sending out resumés for another corporate position. Jobs like hers as a marketing manager didn’t grow on trees. It would take time to explore the market.

Surely this rancher couldn’t be very demanding, Jill mused. He was probably out a lot, tending to cattle or whatever it was that ranchers did. Nor should an elderly woman be too great a problem. Handling a young boy might prove to be a challenge, but she’d had siblings as well as having done tons of babysitting. It couldn’t hurt to call and inquire about the position, could it?

She started to circle the phone number, then realized there was only a mailing address. Jill checked her watch, then reached for a map out of a kitchen drawer. Lassiter, Texas, was located a little over a hundred miles north from where she lived in Dallas, and her mother’s house was thirty minutes in the same direction. She could journey to Lassiter to check out the ranch and see if she could glean any information from the locals about the owner, then she could drive back to her mother’s for the night. It was a lot of travelling for one day, but it would also give her a chance to decide whether she really wanted to apply for the job.

If she didn’t like what she saw or heard about the ranch inhabitants, she could move on to searching for employment in the city. These days, a woman couldn’t be too cautious. Without further hesitation, Jill called her mother and set the plans. Throwing a few things into an overnight bag, Jill took one last look around her apartment before walking out the door.

There was an old saying that a man could not serve two masters. Wryly, Dustin Reed acknowledged that this was true. The cattle herd he had started building two years ago—replacing the dairy cows that had been on the ranch since his parents had owned it—took all of his time. Since the ranch made him a lively income however, perhaps it was only fair that it should be a demanding master.

Still, the anger Dustin kept burning inside him was a draining and unforgiving master. There was no release from the rage he felt at the speeding drunk driver that had killed his wife, Nina, leaving him to raise their son, Joey, now three and a half. Like a slow-burning torch growing steadily hotter, Dustin was angry that Nina’s parents had filed a custodial suit for Joey, and he feared they just might win. The judge who was presiding over the case was sitting squarely in David and Maxine Copeland’s silk-lined pockets. Though his lawyer had filed for a change of venue, the request had been denied.

But the greatest anger burning inside Dustin was that it was the start of the Christmas season, the first since Nina had died, a fact which time was pushing inexorably into his mind. Now it was only a matter of days until either he or the Copelands won custody of Joey, and though he was going to fight like hell, something inside him was frozen when it came to his son. Maybe it was that he didn’t have any practice with small children and had let Nina do most of the rearing.

Of course, that was when he’d been living under the assumption that he had all the time in the world to learn to be a good father.

Time had run out on him.

The frozen part of him couldn’t thaw for the wrenching fear that Joey was going to be taken from him. Dustin hadn’t expected Nina to be taken. Now he couldn’t seem to relax around his son, knowing that in a few short days, they, too, might be separated.

The anger grew, becoming Dustin’s master and selfishly, perhaps, he found he needed to ignore the marching of time, and so this year, he was having nothing to do with the spirit of the season. It seemed the only way he could take the edge off the anger was to ignore Christmas. There would be no festive lights in his home this year, no Christmas tree. To wake up on Christmas morning, with no pattering of small feet in the house, to face a tree that needed no presents because the child wasn’t there—Dustin feared the agony of it would kill him. So it would be a small spiritless gathering for holiday dinner, just him and his mother, Eunice, who lived at the Regret Ranch, too. Until the judge made his decision, Dustin was going to protect his emotions. But if the judge ruled in his favor, Dustin was going to launch a major decorating assault on his house. Until then, it simply didn’t feel safe.

Suspicion and danger. Can two hearts survive?

Prairie Cry

© 2012 Vella Munn

When Montana game warden Hayden Conover comes across the body of a man lying next to a dead antelope, he can think of only two suspects with rap sheets long enough to lead to such a heinous crime. Al and Hoagy Metcalf.
 

Except they’ve broken out of jail and disappeared into the wilderness. Reluctantly he turns to Tomara Metcalf for help. He barely knows her, doesn’t trust her, but he needs her to bring her murderous relatives to justice. Once that’s done, he can put his confusing attraction to her behind him for good.

Though Tomara distanced herself from her hard-knock clan a long time ago, she’s sure of one thing. Metcalfs don’t murder. This certainty gives her the courage to help Hayden in the search for her wayward father and brother, if only so the fools can clear their names.

As the search wears on, Hayden and Tomara’s attraction becomes as deep and elemental as the wild, desolate plains. And Tomara finds herself longing to convince the unforgiving lawman that desire, hot and sudden as a prairie fire, can be as precious and healing as a desert spring.

Warning: Contains a stubborn hero who’s rock hard in more ways than one! And a heroine who must decide where her heart lies—clan loyalty, or the chance for true love.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Prairie Cry:

At five minutes past nine in the evening, Montana game warden Hayden Conover banked the helicopter he was piloting, his eyes drawn to a spear of light on the Richland county plain below him. Hayden had been in the air since a little after dawn counting antelope before the opening of hunting season. Although it was dark, he was still at work, now looking for poachers. If he was closer to civilization he might have discounted the light as belonging to camping Sioux or Assiniboin Indians, but this particular rugged area was too remote. His “antennae,” honed by five years of being a game cop, kicked into high gear.

Hayden nosed down. What he saw when he switched on the spotlight forced out a grim oath. A battered Jeep of indeterminate color with its headlights on was parked perhaps ten feet from an antelope carcass. Two men were squatting, not by the slain animal, but over a form that looked suspiciously human.

The sound of the approaching helicopter startled the men. They sprang to their feet and dove for the Jeep. Seconds later the four-wheel-drive vehicle was bucking across the open country. Hayden could have given chase. He could have pulled out his bullhorn and ordered them to surrender, but he did neither of those things. For one, confronting two men who were probably armed on the Montana plains wasn’t the sort of thing an intelligent thirty-four-year old man would do if he wanted to go on living. Second, he’d seen the fleeing Jeep’s license number and committed it to memory.

Hayden lowered the helicopter gradually until he found clear spot among the rocks and sagebrush and landed. He cut the engine and stepped out of the cockpit when he was certain the Jeep wasn’t going to circle back.

He went first to the antelope. A quick look told him it had been dead for hours. Then, knowing that tonight was going to be different from any other he’d spent since leaving Los Angeles, Hayden made his way slowly to the inert form that had commanded the men’s attention. The still-whirling helicopter blades stirred the night air but did nothing to dissipate the cold sweat on the back of Hayden’s neck. Except for the dying sounds of the machine, the night was silent.

The man was, Hayden guessed, somewhere in his early forties. He was clean-cut and soft in the middle. He was wearing new boots, a flannel shirt that probably hadn’t been washed yet, jeans not yet molded to his body. One hand was clamped around a clump of grass. He’d been shot in the back.

After a minute spent squatting next to the man, Hayden returned to the helicopter. He switched the spotlight back on and pulled out his camera. Then he made contact with district headquarters. “I’ve got a body here,” he explained tersely. “I’d say whoever did it used a rifle. I’ve got a license number. I’d appreciate it if you’d get someone to run it down for me. Yeah. I’m all right. Yes. I will.”

After taking a deep breath, Hayden was able to put his emotions on ice. He’d seen death while working in L.A. He could handle it again. He got back out of the helicopter and walked around the body until he had the best angle for taking pictures. It was only an educated guess at this point, but Hayden would be willing to bet his three-year-old Bronco that the man hadn’t known what hit him. Hayden was also willing to bet that he hadn’t been dead as long as the antelope.

He’d taken his pictures and was jotting down a description of the man’s clothing when his radio squawked to life. Hayden returned to the helicopter and picked up the receiver. The first time, he’d called in, the night dispatcher was on the line. She’d been replaced by the regional supervisor. “You all right out there?” he asked on the tail of Hayden’s brief explanation of what had happened. “Are you sure you’re alone?”

“No, I’m not sure I’m alone.” Again cold pricked at the back of Hayden’s neck. “The only other vehicle I’ve seen is the Jeep that hightailed it out of here.”

“They could have left someone behind.”

“What are you trying to do, scare me?”

“I don’t need you dead, Hayden. Look, I’ve got the name of the Jeep’s registered owner. Metcalf. Al Metcalf.”

“Metcalf?”

“You know them. Old man Metcalf and his son have been running on the wrong side of the law as long as I’ve been working for the state. The old man’s been in jail God knows how many times and the kid one or two times himself. Cattle theft. Drunk and disorderly. Poaching. A lot of poaching. Maybe that’s what this all boils down to. Metcalf shot himself an antelope out of season and then did in the joker who stumbled on them.”

“Maybe.” Somehow Hayden didn’t think it was that simple. “How long do you think it’ll take for someone to get out here?”

“Hopefully less than an hour. I’ve already talked to Jay and the state police. You hold tight. Sorry, Hayden. So much for peace and quiet.”

“Yeah.” Hayden bit down on the word.

Tomara Metcalf was getting ready to climb a telephone pole on West Sunnyside Road in Idaho Falls when the call came over the walkie-talkie. “He didn’t say who he was.” The office woman relayed the message. “All I know is, he says he’s a lawyer from Copper, Montana. He wants you to get in touch with him as soon as possible.”

Copper. History. Dead and gone. Or at least it should have been. Although her long chestnut hair was caught in a practical braid, Tomara reached for the strands that had clung to her neck all the time she was growing up. Angry at herself for the gesture, Tomara pulled her hand away and stared at the offending limb. There was a half-healed cut at the base of her thumb, compliments of the way she earned her living. It would have been little more than a scar by now if she’d had stitches taken, but Tomara couldn’t be bothered with trips to a doctor. Instead she’d slapped a tight butterfly bandage around it. The bandage was gone now, she noticed. “Do you have a number?”

The woman explained that she’d already placed it on Tomara’s desk. “He said he’d be in his office until the middle of the afternoon. I thought you should know. What is it? I didn’t know you knew anyone in Montana.”

I don’t
, Tomara wanted to say. But that wasn’t true. She might have been able to put hundreds of miles between herself and the past, but she couldn’t exorcise that past. “Look, I’m coming in now,” she said, although making that particular phone call was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.