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Chapter One

On the Trail, Texas, Autumn 1879

Camped near the north fork of the Double Mountain River, Wilhemina Granville shivered uncontrollably in her bedroll, despite the fact that her campfire still blazed brightly under the trickle of falling rain. She wondered again at the wisdom of her decision to hunt down the outlaw Rafe Bodine, though she knew she had little choice.

The man was wanted for murder. Though she was proficient in the use of a firearm, she was out of her element in dealing with a vicious outlaw. Calling oneself a bounty hunter was a lot more impressive than actually being one. And circumstances being what they were, she needed the five-hundred-dollar reward to pay her aunts' debt. She needed to bring the outlaw back to Justiceburg or her aunts would lose their home.

She tossed another stick onto the fire; it hissed, caught, and burst into flame. In the distance a coyote howled, seemingly as unhappy with his surroundings as Wilhemina was at the moment. She cursed aloud the banker Rufus Bowers, whom she held responsible for her present set of circumstances.

If it hadn't been for the lecherous coot, she'd still be safe and warm back in Justiceburg, savoring one of her aunt's delicious sweet-potato pies before she retired to her own comfy feather bed, instead of shivering her behind off out here in the middle of nowhere.

Three days ago she had gone to the bank officer at the Justiceburg Savings and Loan, asking him to extend the repayment period on her aunts' mortgage.

Money was tight. Her father's death a year ago had revealed the sad state of his financial affairs. She had come home toTexas disillusioned in any case by the lack of career opportunities in Boston. After attending college north of Boston, she had secured a position as a horticulturist at the renowned Boston Horticultural Society. But she'd soon discovered that women weren't welcomed into a man's domain.

Employment prospects weren't any better in Justiceburg. There wasn't a need for a horticulturist in the small provincial town. Her inability to find a job had only added to her family's monetary woes.

Wilhemina felt it was her responsibility to render her aunts' only domicile safe and secure. Eunice and Bernadette Granville had raised Wilhemina after her mother died in childbirth and had provided comfort after her father succumbed to a lingering illness last year. They'd been kind and caring, supporting her decision to pursue a career in horticulture though it was thought of as an unconventional choice for a woman. She wasn't about to repay those two dear souls by abandoning them to the likes of Rufus Bowers.

Wilhemina had tried her best to deal civilly with the bank officer, but the man had been anything but business-like. Mr. Bowers's suggestions had been lewd and revolting. Even now, as she recalled his improper advances, the memory of his flaccid face and puffy lips nauseated her.

"What type of collateral do you offer to secure the mortgage, Miss Granville? The mortgage money is due and payable on the first of every month, and your aunts are now several months behind in their payments. We are not a charitable institution, as you well know."

Wilhemina stiffened, doing her best not to lash out at the man's arrogance, for she knew it would not accomplish her goal. "I'm not asking for charity, Mr. Bowers. I'm merely asking for an extension on the loan. Surely you wouldn't consider putting a couple of elderly women out on the street. My aunts' home is all they have in this world." And they were all she had left.

He stood and came around to the front of the impressive mahogany desk, then perched on the edge of it, his knee precariously close to Wilhemina's. He was sweating profusely, and she could detect the distinctive scent of sensen on his person. She would never again be able to eat a piece of licorice without thinking of him.

"You're an attractive woman, Miss Granville, and I am not a heartless man. I'm sure we can find some mutually satisfying solution to this problem." His leering gaze made her skin crawl, as did the way he rubbed his chubby thighs.

Knowing a proposition when she heard one, Wilhemina rose. She fought to keep her voice impassive, which was extremely difficult considering how angry she felt. "The only solution to this problem, Mr. Bowers, is an extension on my aunts' loan. Anything else you may be suggesting is out of the question."

He tsked several times, shaking his head. "That's a pity, my dear." Reaching out, he attempted to caress her cheek, but she stiffened and pulled back. "A little cooperation from you and I could tear up the Granville mortgage altogether. Your aunts would never have to worry about losing their home. And you, my dear, look old enough to know the ways of the world."

At twenty-eight Wilhemina was definitely old enough to know which way the wind blew. And this was an ill wind blowing at best. She had already made a foolish mistake back in Boston with a colleague, a man whom she'd trusted and admired. That mistake had cost her her virginity, not to mention her faith in men. And she had no intention of allowing some corpulent banker she had no tender feelings for whatsoever to place her in a similar circumstance.

Moving toward the desk, she smiled deceptively as her hand crept closer to the flower-filled vase. "I'm indeed old enough to know the ways of the world, Mr. Bowers. I'm also old enough to know a lecher when I see one, and I'm not stupid enough to be taken in by the likes of you."

Anger stiffened his spine. "Really? Well, since you're so smart, Miss Granville, I hope you'll be able to come up with the money to save your aunts' home. Perhaps you should consider going after that outlaw who has a price on his head. I hear bounty hunting is a very lucrative profession." His malicious laughter filled the room, and her hand stilled.

"I'd rather become a bounty hunter than allow a man like you near me."

"In that case, that is exactly what you must do." With a feral smile, he reached into a stack of papers and extracted one, handing it to her. "In order to pay off your aunts' debt, you must bring this outlaw back to Justiceburg to stand trial."

Staring at the Wanted poster of Rafe Bodine, she gasped in outrage, but he ignored her and continued. "If you are unable to do so, I will evict your aunts and toss them out on the street. And it will give me great pleasure to do so."

"But you can't do that!"

With a shrug, he held up the mortgage to her aunts' home, taunting her with it. "I assure you, Miss Granville, that I can. And it's perfectly legal. When your aunts signed the loan papers they agreed to abide by the terms and conditions that I set forth, should they ever become delinquent or default on their loan.

"I've hereby decided that one of the conditions to satisfy their delinquency and repayment of the loan is that you bring back this ruthless criminal. If you can. Otherwise..."

Picking up the vase, she noted that it was a cheap Meissen reproduction. Not allowing herself time to reconsider, she poured the contents — water and yellow sunflowers — over the banker's balding head. "I accept your terms, Mr. Bowers," she stated before marching out the door and slamming it behind her.

Wilhemina's only regret now, as she stared into the dancing flames of the campfire, was that she hadn't turned around to see the outrage on his face. No doubt he had turned three shades of red. She could still hear his gasps of outrage, and the memory filled her with satisfaction.

She rarely lost her temper and was inordinately proud of the fact that she held tight rein on her emotions, but this was one time she was glad she'd let herself go. Though it was a pity about the flowers. They had been too lovely to waste on a scoundrel like Mr. Bowers.

Ah well, she told herself, she would make it up to the lovely Helianthus annus next time she crossed its path.

* * *

The little town of Santa Rosa, New Mexico Territory, was too much like Nogales, Mexico, to make Ethan feel any too comfortable. Lorna Mae Murray, the woman who'd deceived him, the woman he'd fancied himself in love with, had been from Nogales. And anything or anywhere that reminded him of Lorna Mae was something to avoid.

Licking the salt from the web of his hand, he tipped back the glass of tequila and downed it in one gulp, squinting his eyes as the pungent liquor went down hard; then he sucked the lime and tossed it into the empty glass.

He'd ridden hard since leaving Justiceburg a week ago. He and his horse needed a good night's rest, and Ethan knew he could find it in Juan Campos's cantina. He'd known Juan for many years and could count on the man for a hot meal and warm bed — provided, of course, he had the money to pay. Juan never did anyone a favor for free.

"You would like another tequila, Señor Bodine?" Juan's weathered face held a hopeful expression, and Ethan could almost hear the pesos being calculated inside the man's head.

"Might as well give me the whole damn bottle, amigo. I'm feeling kinda melancholy, and shooters always lift my spirits."

"Sí, señor," Juan agreed with a nod, his grin knowing. "And they will also lift you off the floor after you drink too many and pass out, no? But you no worry. Juan will cart you to the back room like the last time."

Ethan had a vague memory of the "last time." If he recalled correctly, his head had pounded for three days straight and had swelled so big, it wouldn't have fit into a horse corral.

"Grácias, amigo." He grasped the neck of the bottle and sauntered off to the table at the rear of the adobe building, where he could keep an eye on things and still have his back to the wall. A man couldn't be too careful these days.

Rumor had it that Texas outlaw Clay Allison, a deranged son of a bitch who liked beheading his victims, had started up a cattle ranch in Colfax County. If the gunfighter was in the territory, Ethan would watch his back, for Clay had a score to settle, like so many others Ethan had hunted during his career.

Shootists, as some gunmen referred to themselves, didn't have any rules when it came to killing. And shooting a man in the back was a hell of a lot easier than looking him in the eye and pulling the trigger.

A man couldn't be too careful. That creed had kept Ethan alive longer than most in his profession.

Near the entrance to the cantina, Juan's brother, Carlos, sat on a stool and strummed his guitar. The Spanish love song he played brought back memories best forgotten.

To think he'd allowed a woman like Lorna Mae, with her sweet smiles and seductive laughter, to dupe him. She'd passed herself off as virtuous, but Ethan discovered soon enough that Lorna Mae was no virgin. Far from it. The lying hussy had tried dragging him to the altar by claiming he'd stolen her innocence to hide the fact she was carrying another man's child.

"Sweet Jesus!" He belted back another shot of liquor and shook his head, wondering how a man who prided himself on having excellent judgment and common sense had been taken in by such a conniving female.

Was it any wonder these past two months that he felt not the slightest bit of desire where women were concerned? Lorna Mae had taken his pride, his manhood, and smashed it beneath her dainty slipper, and now he had no use for women, in any way, shape, or form. If he never laid eyes on another member of the female sex, it wouldn't bother him in the least. He was through with women once and for all. Lorna Mae had buried his manly urges under a mountain of lies and deceit.

Sucking on his cigar, Ethan blew smoke rings at the ceiling. After summoning Juan to the table, he ordered a plate of frijoles to accompany his bottle of tequila, then settled back in his chair to enjoy the rest of the evening and get drunk. There was nothing like a dose of snake poison to take a man's mind off his troubles, and tequila had a deadlier bite than most.

The Texas Ranger had just eaten the last of his tortilla when the cantina door swung open and four men entered. Armed and covered with sweat and trail dust, they looked as though they'd been riding hard and fast. Hinges creaked, spurs jingled against the wooden floorboards, and the few patrons in the small restaurant became immediately wary of their presence.

Through glazed eyes Ethan stared at the tall forms, then blinked several times, hoping he was having some kind of alcohol-induced hallucination. He was surely having a nightmare of gigantic proportions.

The sinking feeling that formed quickly in the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with the refried beans he'd just eaten, but rather with the realization that Lorna Mae's brothers, who'd vowed to avenge their sister's so-called honor, had found him.

The oldest, Jacob, was the first to realize their good fortune. "Bodine, you rotten, no good, egg-sucking dog! We've been looking all over for you." He turned to his brothers and grinned, indicating with a nod of his head where Bodine was seated. "Looks like our search is over, boys.

"We'd heard from a whore over in Justiceburg that you was headed this way, but we never figured on catching up to you so soon. Guess we owe her one."

As a reflex, Ethan's hand went to the Colt .45 Peacemaker at his hip. It was the weapon of choice for the Texas Rangers, who had a saying: "God didn't make men equal, Colonel Colt did."

Ethan wasn't afraid of much, but common sense dictated that only a fool would relish these odds; he didn't withdraw the gun from his holster.

"Howdy, Jacob." He nodded in greeting at the other three brothers— Joseph, Jedediah, and Jeremiah. Obviously their mama had thought there was something spiritual about her sons when she'd named them. Ethan thought Lucifer or Beelzebub would have been more fitting for the no-good sons of bitches.

He tried to keep his tone casual. "Heard you were looking for me. What's on your mind?"

The stockily built Joseph stepped forward and sneered. "As if you didn't know, Bodine. You dirtied our little sister, and we aim to get our revenge agin you. You shouldn'ta done what you did to Lorna Mae. Now she's in a family way and we aim to make you pay."

"She was that way before I ever laid with her, boys," Ethan explained, shaking his head, mostly to clear the cobwebs from it. "Lorna Mae lied to you, and she lied to me, too." Jedediah, the youngest at nineteen, looking like he had a great deal to prove to his older brothers, stepped toward Ethan with murderous intent flashing in his dark eyes.

"You calling my sister a lying whore, Bodine? Ain't no way I'm gonna let no Texas Ranger who screwed my sister get away with calling her a lying whore."

By this time Carlos had ceased strumming his guitar and was making his way to the door, while Juan moved tables out of the way, hoping to avoid breakage.

Ethan pushed back his chair and stood, his hand resting on the ivory butt of his gun. "Lorna Mae was no innocent when I bedded her, is all I'm saying. And seeing as how I'm the one who'd know, you'll just have to take my word on it."

A stiff wind could have toppled Jeremiah's rangy frame, and he spat a wad of tobacco on the floor before saying, "That's just plain bullshit, Bodine. Lorna Mae told us how you promised to marry her and all. She cried her eyes out the whole time she was tellin' the tale. Our sister's a brokenhearted, fallen woman, that's what she is, and we aim to see that you pay for what you done."

All hell broke loose just then as the brothers rushed Ethan and knocked him to the floor. Somebody's fist landed in Ethan's left eye, blinding him momentarily. He lashed out and caught Jedediah's chin with a right uppercut.

"He knocked my tooth out," the disgruntled man yelled as blood poured from his mouth. A yellowed tooth bounced unceremoniously against the floorboard and out of sight.

Ethan knew that his only chance was to get to his feet and to his horse. He was outnumbered, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was going to get the crap beat out of him if he stuck around much longer.

He managed to get to his feet, but someone — Joseph, he thought — broke a chair over his back, knocking him to his knees. He grunted in pain but managed to tackle Jeremiah on his way down.

"Señors! Por favor!" Juan shouted, raising joined hands imploringly to the ceiling. "Take your fight outside. I am a poor man and cannot afford to have you break more of my furniture."

A few moments later Juan got his wish as Ethan was hauled to his feet by two of the brothers and thrown bodily through the front door and into the street. He landed with a thud in the dirt.

Fights in Santa Rosa were as commonplace as fleas on a mangy mutt. Despite the angry shouts and curses from the Murray brothers, and Ethan's loud protests of innocence between bouts of spitting dirt out of his bloodied mouth, no one in the town paid any attention to the ruckus going on.

No one, that was, except the apparition coming toward him.

Through swollen eyes, Ethan could barely discern the form of a horse and rider. The figure was shrouded in darkness. No street lights illuminated the area, and though the moon shone half-full, it was still difficult to see who it was.

As the heel of Joseph's boot came down hard on his side, Ethan prayed that his rescue was at hand.