Brazen, Page 3

  She felt oddly disconnected from the possibility.

  Clay’s sudden appearance had stirred up so many memories more dangerous than what had been happening around here. And yet he’d thought it important enough to face her, something he hadn’t done since the day she’d married Jeff. Truthfully, she’d never expected to see Clay Salazar again. And now that she had, she was shaken inside, first because she was still attracted to him, second because the connection they’d once had—they’d always had—was gone.

  Sitting on the edge of a sofa and closing her eyes, Siobhan remembered the day they’d met in the school hallway. Clay Salazar had been the new boy in town and school bully Buck Hale, surrounded by his all-Anglo gang, had backed Clay into a corner…

  “I’M IN CHARGE HERE!” Buck said, sticking his face into the new boy’s. His wild curly blond hair contrasted with his ugly expression. “This is my school, and what I say goes. You answer to me. Got it, mestizo?”

  “The name’s Clay Salazar and no one is the boss of me. Got it, gringo?”

  Clay looked so fierce. And so vulnerable. Siobhan hated bullies. With a twin brother and mostly male cousins to fight growing up, she was as tough and fearless as any boy her age.

  “Buck, are you saying you’re my boss?” she asked sweetly, getting in the middle of the confrontation. “Because I wouldn’t like that. Not at all.”

  “Oh, look, Salazar, a girl has to come to your rescue,” Buck said, but he backed off and his friends jostled each other to get away from her.

  Siobhan knew her power came from being a McKenna—no one would mess with her without having her brother and cousins down on their necks.

  “I don’t need rescuing!” Clay said.

  But there was a wild look in his eyes that told her different. She didn’t think he was scared or that he would back off if she didn’t interfere. More like he was afraid of himself. Of what he would do if further provoked. Rather than putting her off, his hidden wildness fascinated her, made her heart race a little.

  “Of course not,” Siobhan agreed, curling her lips into a friendly smile. “But I wanted to welcome you to Soledad.” She held out her hand for a shake and waited. “Siobhan McKenna.” And waited.

  Not one to give up easily, she could wait for him to give in all day.

  Finally Clay reached out and took her hand. “Clay Salazar.”

  The walls and kids around them suddenly faded away, the sound of their voices and locker doors slamming became a distant echo. The only thing left in her world was this angry boy. Looking deep into his dark eyes, she lost herself for a moment. His emotion filled her, threatened to choke her. The flicker behind his eyes told her that he recognized her awareness, her determination to calm him down. Slowly, the anger faded and she surfaced from the depths. She didn’t understand how it could be, but the experience was similar to her connecting with her horses.

  Only it was different, too.

  Scarier…

  THEY’D BONDED IN THAT moment. She’d never connected psychically with another human being. Never before. Never since then. Siobhan remembered everything about that first realization. She remembered everything about Clay. About them.

  But the past was dead. Things had changed—the connection was gone.

  She’d changed him.

  Another thing to stir her guilt.

  Even so, he’d come to warn her, but why? Some sense of obligation? The otherworldly link between them was gone because of her. Because she’d rejected his love and had married another man. She’d done it to save Clay, but he hadn’t gotten that. In doing so, she had slapped away the connection even more brutally than she had his hand.

  Refocusing her thoughts on what was important—the ranch—Siobhan made a sandwich to go. They were moving cows to a fresh pasture in the morning, and she wanted to check out the site, to make certain no ugly surprises awaited them.

  Hopefully, what Clay had overheard simply had been prison gossip. Hopefully, he’d jumped to conclusions and was worrying for nothing.

  Why was he worrying about her anyway? After the way she’d split with him, she wouldn’t blame him if he hated her. He hadn’t understood that she’d done what she’d had to.

  Armed with a sandwich and a soda in a small pack, Siobhan headed for the corral outside the barn where she’d left Warrior. When she got within a few yards of him, the smoky-black gelding nickered and sauntered over to the fence. She opened the gate and before she could reach for him, he snorted and pushed his nose into her chest. Closing her eyes, she pressed her forehead to his, thinking this was as close as she was going to get to Clay. She could see him now…

  Coiled rope in hand, Clay moved in on the gelding with a soft voice and gentle hand…fear blossomed in the horse and then spent itself out, and Clay was able to touch him…

  Warrior whinnied and bobbed his head, smacking hers, and Siobhan realized this wouldn’t do. She clipped a lead to his halter and looped it over a pipe in the corral fence and got him ready to ride.

  About to swing into the saddle, she hesitated when a fancy SUV drove onto ranch property. The driver pulled the vehicle up to the barn and got out.

  Dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, his glossy blue-black hair styled in what was probably a hundred-dollar cut, the man looked out of place on the ranch. Though he was wearing sunglasses—designer—she immediately recognized the broad cheekbones and thin mustache over a full mouth—her sister-in-law’s date.

  “You must be Siobhan McKenna, owner of the Double JA,” he said with a broad, white-toothed smile as he stopped before her. “Raul Galvan, state—”

  “I know who you are, Senator.”

  “Raul.”

  “Jacy isn’t here.” She patted Warrior when he pushed her—he was anxious to go. “I mean, not at the barn or main house. She has a cottage up the road a bit.”

  “I know, but I wanted to meet you. I like to know my constituents, know how they think.”

  “About what?”

  “Various issues.”

  “Like uranium mining?” Siobhan knew he was head of the committee that was pushing to open new uranium mines throughout the state.

  “How do you feel about the mines?” he asked.

  She soothed the anxious horse and swung up into the saddle. Looking down at Galvan, she said, “Maybe you should wait until after tomorrow’s town meeting.”

  His handsome face immediately hardened into an unattractive frown. “I see.”

  “What do you see, Raul?” Jacy asked.

  Siobhan glanced over Galvan’s shoulder. Her sister-in-law must have seen her date pull up and had walked over from her cottage.

  Jacy’s little red dress and four-inch heels and a ton of makeup were a bit much for an early dinner. They gave her a commanding presence, though. As tall as Galvan and well-muscled from hard work, Jacy wore an outfit that pointed out her more feminine attributes. She must really want to impress the politician. And so she did, if Galvan’s expression was any indication of his appreciation.

  “I see that Siobhan here is staying up on the issues,” Galvan explained.

  Jacy pouted. “You promised no business tonight, Raul.” She slid her hand possessively through his arm.

  Leaving Siobhan staring. She’d never seen her sister-in-law quite so flirtatious before. Jacy must really have the hots for the man.

  “A promise is a promise,” Galvan admitted. He tipped his head toward Siobhan. “See you at the meeting, then.”

  Siobhan forced a smile. “I’ll be there.” And was relieved when Jacy dragged him off.

  She knew how she felt about the issue—the money to be made wasn’t worth the potential cost in human life—but her care was diluted by the fact that there were no mines in this area. Plus she didn’t want to get into an argument with her sister-in-law’s new man.

  Getting her mind back on work, Siobhan headed Warrior for the high pasture. The ranch had to be her only concern now.

  Chapter Three

  Clay ne
eded a drink, and where was he more likely to find out about any problems on the Double JA than in the only bar in Soledad? The Gecko Saloon hadn’t changed much over the years. The bar was on the seedy side with a broken-tile floor, adobe walls that needed a fresh coat of whitewash, mismatched tables and chairs, and lights so low you could barely see the person opposite you. But maybe that was its draw, because the place certainly didn’t lack for customers. Though it was still afternoon, a half-dozen tables were already occupied.

  Behind the bar, the balding, paunchy owner spotted him immediately. “Well, if it ain’t Clay Salazar! Long time no see!”

  Clay shoved his hat back on his head and pocketed his sunglasses. “Tom.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “Whatever you have on tap will do.”

  The owner/bartender pulled a beer mug off a shelf behind him. Filling it, he asked, “You been hiding out after that fight with Buck or what?”

  Not wanting to think about the darkest moment of his life—the incident that made him take a good look at himself and search for a better path—Clay said, “You’re talking about ancient history.”

  “Seems to me that was less than two years ago.”

  “But in a past life altogether.”

  Sliding onto a bar stool as Tom set down the beer in front of him, Clay went for his wallet.

  “Nah, the first one’s on me. To celebrate seeing you again. So what have you been up to?”

  “I started a new life away from here.” Clay picked up his mug and saluted Tom. “Spent some time with my mother’s people. My grandfather, mostly. Then I got hired to a job doing what I do best. I’m a government man, now.”

  The owner froze and gave him a fierce look. “You some kind of inspector?”

  “Relax, Tom, I’m not here to shut you down. I work over at High Desert Correctional Center.” He took a slug of beer, then added, “I teach inmates how to train horses.”

  Tom reined in his distrust and relaxed, elbows on the bar in front of Clay. “That is a change.”

  “For the better.”

  “So what are you doing back here? Wouldn’t have anything to do with Siobhan McKenna, now, would it? You know she’s a widow.”

  “I heard. Heard lots of other things, too. Like how the Double JA has been having some bad luck lately.”

  “What do you expect? Jeff ran that ranch, not her. I hear before he died she cooked for all the men, picked up supplies and ran errands. The only experience she had with animals was on her mama’s place. What does a horse-crazy kid know about running a cow-calf operation?”

  “I expect she’s learning real quick.”

  “She better or she’s going to lose that spread.”

  “And she’s nearly twenty-six, a long way from being a kid.” Clay nursed his beer a bit, then said, “So it’s that bad on Siobhan’s place, huh?”

  “Maybe not so bad if only she would sell now, while it’s still worth something. With the money she could get for the ranch, she could go anywhere, do anything. If she sells before it’s too late, that is.”

  Clay had done his homework and knew how valuable the land was. Siobhan’s spread was nestled in a valley in canyon country. Though it was rimmed with sandstone formations, a riverbed cut through the valley, so she had a continual source of water, and above the rimrock there was plenty of good grazing land, better than a lot of places in this state. The Double JA leased acreage from the state and bordered BLM land. The two extra tracts of land together more than doubled her grazing rights. A very tempting carrot for an unscrupulous potential buyer.

  “So what kind of problems have been plaguing the Double JA?”

  “Mechanical failures…downed fences…now a hurt horse. It all started before Jeff Atkinson had that accident on the property, though I hear Siobhan didn’t know squat about it,” Tom said. “The bank called in a loan that depleted the ranch’s coffers.”

  “Any reason in particular for that happening?”

  “Rumor is someone with influence had it in for Jeff.”

  Clay wondered if it could be that simple—someone wanting Jeff Atkinson to fail. More than likely, someone wanted the land. And how convenient that after the loan was called in, the owner happened to have a lethal accident.

  If it was an accident.

  If any of what had happened on the Double JA since was an accident. What had been Clay’s seed of concern grew into a full-blown worry.

  Tom shook his head. “Now that ranch is Siobhan’s problem.”

  “How’s her help?”

  “Her boys are hard workers, but about a month ago she lost her cowboss. Apparently his green card was inherited and he was hauled off back to Mexico. Funny the way that happened at just the wrong time.”

  Clay didn’t see anything funny about it. He didn’t believe in coincidences. The more he heard, the more he was convinced someone had it in for the Double JA—or was lusting after the land—and wouldn’t stop until Siobhan either sold the spread or went bankrupt.

  Moreover, he was starting to think Jeff Atkinson’s death was no accident. If that was so, Siobhan might be in more danger than he’d realized.

  He asked, “Anyone interested in the Double JA land?”

  “Early Farnum. His spread butts up against hers. He’s bought up a couple other properties since the crash.”

  “No one else?”

  “In this economy?”

  If the spread went cheap enough—maybe a fire sale, with Siobhan desperate enough to avoid foreclosure so that she settled for a fraction of what the ranch was worth—someone could make a tidy profit on the open market, Clay knew. If not now, then in a couple of years.

  But who would be low enough to drive a widow supporting two other women—one of them retired—out of her home and business?

  Just then the door to the bar opened. Clay flashed a look over at the three familiar men making a bunch of noise entering, Buck Hale in the lead. Straggly blond curls poked out from under Buck’s Stetson to contrast with a mean expression that seemed to have permanently settled on the man’s face. When he saw Clay, his small eyes narrowed and his “boys”—Dave and Ricky, part of his old high school gang—snickered.

  Clay felt the skin along his spine tighten, but he refused to let his reaction show.

  “Uh-oh,” Tom said. “You’re not gonna start trouble again, are you, Clay?”

  “I never start trouble. I just finish it.”

  “Oh, hell,” Tom muttered, retreating to the other end of the bar.

  “Hey, mestizo, what’re you doing back in town?” Buck asked, sounding not at all surprised, as if he already knew Clay was there.

  Not that Clay wanted to get involved with his former nemesis. He raised his mug to Buck and said, “I was just leaving,” then swallowed the remains.

  “Now that’s not very friendly of you. Is it, boys?”

  “Nope,” Dave said.

  Ricky poked his leader. “He’s cuttin’ ya, Buck.”

  “Is Ricky right? You cuttin’ me?”

  “To tell the truth, Buck,” Clay said, setting down the beer mug and moving closer to the other man, “I don’t think of you at all anymore.”

  “Maybe you oughta.” Buck signaled his boys to leave them be and they sidled up to the bar. “We got an acquaintance in common, after all.”

  Clay didn’t like the other man’s smug smile. He had to force himself to remain cool as he stepped closer and asked, “Now what acquaintance would that be?”

  “Name’s Paco Vargas. He talked you up good, so I decided to hire him.”

  Imagining what the inmate might have said about him, Clay felt his gut clench. He’d known Vargas meant trouble for Siobhan, but he hadn’t counted on him teaming up with someone like Buck Hale—double trouble for sure.

  He slid right up to Buck and stared into his watery blue eyes. “Question is…how did Vargas get the job interview with him locked up in the correctional center and all? I don’t remember seeing you around the place to che
ck him out.”

  “He didn’t need no interview.” Buck grinned. “I hired him on the recommendation of a mutual friend of his and mine.”

  “Who is—”

  “None of your business.”

  Clay had always thought Buck skirted the wrong side of the law, but there’d never been any proof. His hiring Vargas set off all kinds of warning bells, ones he couldn’t ignore.

  “So your daddy lets you hire the help now?” Clay asked.

  “Daddy’s got nothing to say about it no more. He’s doing all his conversing with the worms. Buried him nearly a year ago. Hale Ranch is all mine now.”

  Buck’s tone of satisfaction made Clay wonder just how his daddy had died. How badly had Buck wanted control of the family ranch? How badly did he want more?

  “You aren’t by any chance thinking of expanding your holdings?” Clay asked.

  “You talkin’ about Siobhan’s spread? Now that’s ripe for the picking. If I am thinking about expanding my holdings, ain’t none of your business, now is it?”

  At the direct mention of Siobhan, Clay had clenched his jaw tight. Now he worked it and drew on the calm Grandfather had taught him to seek.

  Sounding far more civilized than he was feeling, Clay said, “Maybe I’m just trying to be friendly…you know, since we have that common acquaintance and all.”

  Buck laughed and slapped Clay in the shoulder. Hard. “I’m gonna tell Vargas you’ll be missing him, then.”

  “Not so much.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m changing careers again,” Clay said, letting his mouth run before he actually thought things through. “Coming back to Soledad.”

  “As what?”

  “Cowboss. Siobhan McKenna needs someone with experience running her spread.”

  Buck’s amusement faded to leave the ugly expression he typically wore. Giving him a wide-toothed grin—not that he knew how Siobhan was going to react to the plan—Clay smacked Buck in the shoulder, hard, and then left the bar.

  SO EXHAUSTED THAT SHE could hardly stay in the saddle, Siobhan clucked to her mount and ran her hand through his mane. “We’re almost home, Warrior.”