Maris Wyler disliked unexpected visitors. The black pickup
truck that had pulled into her front yard was definitely
unexpected and the man who got out was a stranger. She
shielded her gaze from the strong afternoon sun to get a
better look at him. He was tall and broad shouldered, a
black Stetson shadowing his face as he headed toward the
house. Maris had just come off the range, having tended her
small herd of cattle on horseback for most of the day. She
felt sweaty, gritty and in no mood for a caller.
Nevertheless, she stepped off her front porch and walked out
to greet him.
Something about the man seemed vaguely familiar, she thought
as she drew closer. Though even face-to-face she couldn't
quite place him.
"Can I help you?"
Her caller flashed a charming smile. "Hello, Maris. How
are you?"
His familiar greeting put her a little off-balance. She
tried, but her own smile faltered some. "Apparently
we've met."
"Apparently you don't remember." His amused
expression suggested that he'd rarely heard a woman say
she'd forgotten meeting him. "Name's Luke Rivers. We met
in Casper, Wyoming. A bunch of us from the rodeo had joined
up in a little bar—"
Maris's hand jerked up. "I remember now." Her
deceased husband's behavior that night wasn't a memory to
elevate a widow's spirit. Ray had followed a flashy-trashy
girl around like a panting puppy dog, embarrassing and
angering Maris. Luke Rivers had broken the whole thing up by
persuading Ray it was late and time to leave. Maris never
did know if Luke had gallantly come to her rescue to save
her from further humiliation, or simply because it really
was late and the woman Ray had been hitting on was Luke's
date. Certainly they hadn't discussed it, and, in fact, had
never seen each other again until this very moment.
"What are you doing in Montana? Is there a rodeo in the
area?" Maris wasn't speaking with any great amount of
friendliness. Ray's obsession with rodeo had been one of the
poisons that had destroyed their marriage, long before his
fatal accident. Luke Rivers—if she remembered
correctly—was a rodeo man through and through, a
substantial enough reason to keep a very wide chasm between
them.
Luke leaned his hips against the front fender of his truck.
Maris Wyler was nice to look at, even with that guarded
expression on her face. She had long, sun-streaked,
honey-brown hair, restrained at the back of her neck by
something he couldn't see. Her skin was as tanned and smooth
as honey, and he would bet anything she wasn't wearing any
makeup. Her leanness and long legs were accentuated by her
worn jeans and red T-shirt. She didn't look soft or at all
helpless; rather, she impressed him as a tough, no-nonsense
woman. That was okay; she was still nice to look at.
"I came to see Ray. Is he around?"
Maris stiffened. This was the second time an out-of-state
pal of Ray's had dropped in, the second time she was going
to have to explain why he wasn't "around."
"Ray's dead." The first old pal had gotten tears in
his eyes, Maris recalled. Luke Rivers looked as though
someone had just punched him in the belly.
"He can't be!" Luke heard his own ludicrous denial
and shook his head to clear it. "I'm sorry. What
happened?"
Maris recited without emotion. "He got drunk and ran his
truck into a cement pier at an underpass out on Highway
191."
"Damn." Frowning, Luke moved away from the pickup
and paced a small circle. He pulled off his hat and ran his
hand through his hair. "Damn," he repeated. "Now
what am I gonna do?"
"What are you going to do?" Maris didn't
care what Luke Rivers did about anything, but his remark was
so quixotic that she repeated it with some sarcasm. "I
can't see why Ray's death should have any effect on your
life."
Maris watched him scowling and pacing. He was a tall, rangy,
good-looking man, with thick black hair and vivid blue eyes.
A lady's man, she'd bet, if the women who made themselves so
blatantly available to rodeo men could be called ladies.
They were in every town, hanging on the corral fences while
the men took care of their horses, cracking jokes, laughing
too loudly, trying to catch the men's notice.
Ray had noticed too many times to count, each occasion
driving the spike in Maris's heart a little deeper. Luke
Rivers would notice. She could tell just from his good looks
that he was cut from the same cloth as Ray. Two peas from
the same damned pod. Overly macho, strutting peacocks who
thought the sun rose and set in their hind pocket just
because they risked their stupid necks in the rodeo arena.
Luke stopped pacing and faced Maris with his hands on his
hips. "Ray owes me three thousand bucks."
Maris's left eyebrow shot up. "Oh?" She almost
laughed. Luke couldn't have known Ray all that well, or he
would also have known that collecting that debt would be
next to impossible. The only time Ray had ever repaid a loan
was when the lender had harangued it out of him. Maris gave
her head a brief, negative shake. "All I can tell you is
that you're out the three thousand, Mr. Rivers."
"I have an IOU." Luke dug for his wallet and fished
out a ragged piece of paper, which he handed to Maris.
She read it—IOU three thousand dollars. Ray
Wyler—then handed it back.
"It's none of my affair," she said calmly.
Luke's face darkened. "I need that money."
Maris smirked. "I hope you're not thinking of collecting
it from me. I'll tell you right now that I don't have three
thousand dollars, but even if I did I wouldn't use it to pay
off one of Ray's gambling debts."
"It wasn't a gambling debt. Ray came to me about two
years ago and all but begged for that money. He said
something about using ranch money…" Luke stopped.
What Ray had told him had been in confidence. Luke, I
took money out of the ranch account, and I've got to put it
back before Maris gets the next bank statement. She'll brain
me for sure if she finds out I gambled again. It had
been all but impossible for Luke to refuse. He had just
earned a big purse in a bronc-riding contest, and only the
day before Ray had saved him from being gored by an ornery
old bull. He'd never been particularly fond of Ray Wyler,
but the man had risked his own life to save Luke from
certain injury.
"He used ranch money?" Maris asked suspiciously.
"Two years ago, you said?" There were so many
incidents of Ray depleting the ranch bank account for some
inane reason, to pay a gambling debt or to buy another piece
of junk, to name two. There were acres of old cars, trucks
and odd pieces of junk out behind the barn, and Ray had said
the same thing every time he brought home another
unnecessary and foolish purchase: "I'm gonna fix it up
and sell it for a big profit."
He had never fixed anything. Ray Wyler had been a dreamer
and a schemer, a gambler, a womanizer and, something that
only Maris knew, an insurance-company swindler. But she
wasn't thinking of her deceased husband's amoral character
right now, she was thinking of that three thousand dollars.
In the back of her mind was a bank statement with a
mysterious withdrawal and deposit, each for three thousand
dollars. Ray had sworn he knew nothing about it and had
finally convinced Maris that the bank had made a mistake and
merely corrected it. Since it hadn't affected the account's
balance, Maris had let it go.
"Let me see that IOU again," she said to Luke. He
handed it over and she studied the date and thought about
that peculiar bank statement. It was easy to put together:
Ray had withdrawn the three thousand, wasted it on
something, probably gambling, and borrowed the money from
Luke to maintain the correct balance in their account to
keep her from finding out that he'd lost so much money.
She wilted inside. Was she responsible for Ray's
reprehensible schemes? For his conniving and manipulating
Luke Rivers into giving him a loan? Obviously the IOU was
genuine, and Luke had every right to expect repayment.
But she had to look after herself, and while she could
probably scrape together the three thousand, she wasn't
going to hand it over to Luke Rivers.
She passed the IOU back to him. "Sorry, I just don't
have that kind of money."
There was a rising panic in Luke. A year ago he'd had a bad
accident in the arena, resulting in a broken leg and
collarbone. But worse than his own injuries was the death of
Pancho, his horse. Pancho had broken his neck in that freak
fall and had to be put to sleep, and everyone who had ever
seen Pancho work knew he was one of the best cutting horses
in the business. For Luke, losing Pancho had been like
losing a piece of himself. His broken bones had healed, but
would he ever find another Pancho? Especially when he didn't
have the money even to start looking?
About two weeks ago he'd remembered that old IOU from Ray
Wyler. Though it wasn't nearly enough to buy a horse of
Pancho's talent and experience, three thousand would give
him the means to get started again. He'd used all of his
savings since the accident, and he was as close to being
busted right now as he'd ever been. His current status was
very little money, no horse and some aches and pains that
would probably stay with him for the rest of his life.
But rodeo was all he knew, rodeo or getting a job on a
ranch, which sure as hell didn't appeal to him. Anyway, he'd
packed up and driven to Whitehorn, Montana, to find Ray
Wyler and collect on that old debt.
Instead he was standing in the Wyler yard and being stared
down by a woman whose stubborn expression suggested that he
had a snowball's chance in hell of seeing that money again.
Whether she had the money or not really wasn't the issue,
Luke realized. She wasn't going to pay Ray's IOU, and that
was final.
Well, it might be final to Maris Wyler, Luke thought
irately, but it wasn't final to him. He began looking
around, taking in the house—a modest home—the
barn and corrals, a number of other outbuildings and last,
but certainly not least, a large pasture containing about a
hundred horses. His gaze went further out to the snowcapped
mountains he could see on the western horizon. The view was
spectacular, in his opinion adding enormous value to this
ranch. Grimly, he looked again at the horses. Money on the
hoof, he thought. And plenty of it.
"I'll take some of those horses for payment," he
said brusquely, turning around to look at Maris.
Her back became rigid. "You'll do no such thing. You
will not touch one thing on this ranch, and if you try I'll
call Sheriff Hensley, who happens to be a personal friend."
Anger was in the air now. Luke felt it, Maris felt it.
"You're not even going to try to make good on any part
of that debt, are you?" he accused.
"Why did you wait two years to collect on it?" Maris
spoke harshly. "Ray probably put it out of his mind five
minutes after you gave him the money. Didn't you know him at
all?"
Luke was staring at the horses. They were mostly
quarter-horse stock, good-looking animals. "I thought
Ray raised cattle. I don't remember him mentioning horses."
Maris wasn't going to get into that dismal story with Luke
Rivers. "Like I just said, didn't you know him at all?
Look, you might as well take your IOU and go on about your
business. I'm not paying it, and—"
"The law might say otherwise."
Maris sighed wearily. "Take your best shot, cowboy.
Frankly, I don't give a damn what you do about it. Your
piddly little IOU is nothing compared to what else I'm
facing." Maris turned to walk away.
Luke's eyes narrowed angrily. "It might be nothing to
you, lady, but it's a hell of a lot to me. You don't have it
so bad, and your whining isn't impressing me in the least.
You've got a damned nice little ranch here, a home,
a—"
Maris whirled. "I was not whining! And your
judgment of my situation doesn't impress me in the
least. So why don't you just climb back into that fancy
truck and take yourself off of my land?"
Fancy truck? Luke looked at his only asset, a six-year-old
pickup that he'd kept in good repair and just happened to be
clean and shiny from the recent wash and wax he'd given it.
He was down to practically nothing, and Maris Wyler was
taking slams at his one possession of any value?
Anger burned his gut. He wasn't giving up on that IOU, damn
it, not when her assets were everywhere he looked.
"I'd take payment on an installment basis, half now,
half in a month or so," he said flatly.
Maris threw up her hands in exasperation. "Have you
heard one word I've said?"
"Have you heard one word I've said?" he
shouted. "I'm flat broke, busted, and you're acting like
I'm trying to steal something's that's mine in the first
place. If you really don't have the cash, why not let me
have a couple of those horses? At least I could sell them
and eat until I figure out what to do next."
"Sell them?" Maris scoffed. "They're green,
Luke, unbroken, wild as March hares. Who would buy them?"
"They're green?" Frowning, Luke walked away, moving
to the fence. The animals appeared docile, grazing on the
lush grass in the pasture. "Mind if I take a closer
look?" he said over his shoulder.
"They'll run right over the top of you," Maris
drawled with some sarcasm, at the same time thinking that
might be a picture worth seeing. "Go ahead. Be my
guest."
Luke took off his hat to crawl between the strands of barbed
wire, then settled it back on his head. Watching Luke
closely, Maris heard footsteps behind her and then Keith's
voice. "What's going on, Maris?"
Keith Colson was the one employee Maris was able to keep on
the ranch. Keith had been in trouble of one kind or another
since childhood. An alcoholic, abusive father and no
sensible adult supervision had left their marks on the
sixteen-year-old, but since Maris had put him to work on the
ranch, Keith hadn't been in even one small scrape with the law.