Excerpt of Signature Select Miniseries by Janice Kay Johnson

HAVING YOUR DOG present you with a human skull was a hell of a way to start a day.

Daniel Barnard had thought it was going to be a good morning. He'd awakened with the rooster, whose crow rang just the right note as far as he was concerned. And the weather was perfect, he saw as soon as he stepped out onto the front porch with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. He sat down, as he always did, on the rustic Adirondack chair that faced due east.

The back porch was for evenings, when the sun set like liquid gold over the Sisters, a trio of mountains as sharp and cantankerous as the elderly Robb sisters in town. But the front porch was for morning, when the sun poured glorious colors over Oregon's high desert country as if trying to make it the most beautiful place on God's earth. And maybe succeeding.

The coffee warmed him from inside until the sun's rays touched his face like a gentle hand. He set down the mug and thought about the morning's chores. These days, Daniel had enough help on the ranch. He no longer felt as if twelve hours weren't half long enough. He didn't shovel much you-know-what in the barn anymore; that was the job of hired hands. He concentrated on tenderly caring for the mamas waiting to foal and training the stock that had made the Triple B famous for world-class cutting horses. Back right after Granddad disappeared his father died, and times had been tougher. A hell of a lot tougher.

But no reason to remember that right now. The day was too full of promise for dark memories.

Daniel stood and saw Lotto trotting across the scrap of lawn he watered and mowed just to please his mother, who said a house wasn't a home without grass. The big yellow Lab had something in his mouth half the time; he liked tennis balls or branches so big he couldn't get through doorways. At the creek, he'd dip his head all the way under to pick up rocks that would probably wear his teeth down. Lately, he'd even taken to fetching home some weathered bones. A long-dead deer or elk, Daniel figured.

But today…what in tarnation did he have? If it was a rock, it was a damned big one. And grayish-brown, not red like the dirt around here. Something about the perfect curve of the top made Daniel uneasy.

He whistled. "Lotto, here, boy."

The dog came obligingly. He didn't mind showing off his treasure. Daniel's uneasiness grew as the Lab neared, that oval, dirty…something clutched awkwardly in his broad jaws.

By the time Lotto galumphed up the porch steps, Daniel knew. Even with soil clinging to it, he knew. He crouched and held out his hands.

"Let go, boy."

The dog whimpered, his brown eyes anxious, and held on tight.

"Lotto," Daniel said sharply.

The yellow Lab reluctantly released his prize, and with a sigh sank onto his belly on the painted porch floor. Daniel was left with the skull in his hands.

He turned it to face him — truer words had never been spoken, he thought with sick humor. Empty eye sockets stared at him. The lower jaw was missing, but the upper teeth were pretty much intact, and when he tilted the skull he saw something that made his stomach turn. Metal in one of those teeth. This was no ancient Indian burial. And that hole in the top suggested things he didn't like to contemplate. Especially since he guessed he knew who this was.

"Granddad," he whispered. "It's you, isn't it?"

RENEE PATTON strolled into the office that still felt like her father's but now belonged to the acting police chief, Jack Murray. She'd known Jack most of her life, though he was two years older, her sister's contemporary rather than hers. He and Meg had been high school sweethearts, but he'd never come calling after Meg had run away from home. To this day, Renee had no idea whether Jack had known Meg was going, or whether they'd broken up before she'd left. He'd never mentioned Meg to Renee, never asked if she heard from her sister, and Renee sure as heck hadn't brought up Meg's name.

What she did know was that he'd also dated Abby, Renee's younger sister, a few times about a year ago. Apparently Jack had a thing for Patton women. Just not for Renee, the plain sister.

Oh, yeah. It stung.

He glanced up now, one dark brow lifted. "Catch the punks?"

She snorted. "You kidding? Long gone."

They got calls like this twice a week on average.

Vandalizing mailboxes was a favorite recreation for local teenagers. The county deputies faced the same thing. Not much could be done; even within the Elk Springs city limits, country roads abounded. Houses stood far apart, traffic was sparse. But lately one particular neighborhood had been victimized every few days. Some folks had given up and had canceled mail delivery. A few put out portable mailboxes and took them back in come late afternoon. Others had fortified theirs with concrete and metal pipes, which functioned as a red flag waving does for a bull. The vandals had done some creative work on those boxes. Post office security had asked for help, and she was darned if she was going to admit failure.

"I'm thinking about setting up a video camera," she said, perching on the edge of Jack's desk.

He grinned, softening a face rough-hewn enough to be called homely. Not that any woman in her right mind would think such a thing.

"Go for it," he said.

Her heart rate accelerated, but she ignored what had become an automatic response. Aside from the fact that Jack wasn't interested in her — never had been, never would be — he was too much like her father. He'd become more so since he'd moved into this office. She knew he was campaigning to keep it, which was fine with her. Becoming police chief was something of a dream of hers, but she wasn't ready yet. She knew the city council wasn't ready to hire a woman, either. But Jack would move on; he liked the power that went with the job, and soon he'd be chafing at the limitations of the Elk Springs Police Department compared to the bigger county sheriff's force that patrolled the area outside the various city limits. Heck, for all she knew, he lay awake nights lusting after an FBI badge.

Elk Springs was all she wanted. Maybe this town hadn't been good enough for Meg, but it was for Renee.

"Hey, Jack," called the dispatcher, whose desk sat just outside his office. "Here's a good one. Daniel Barnard says he has a human skull."

"The rancher?"

Renee swiveled to better hear the answer.

"Yup. Says his dog brought it home."

Jack grunted. "If it's human, it's bound to be from some old Indian burial. Still, somebody better go see." His gaze fell on Renee. "It's all yours."

She rose with alacrity. A human skull. Now, that sounded more interesting than a mailbox bashed in with a baseball bat. "Do I know Daniel Barnard?"

"His dad was Matthew Barnard. The Triple B?"

"Oh, yeah." She frowned. Seemed as if she remembered a Barnard boy about Meg's age, too, but she couldn't seem to picture him. "I can find the place. It's in the city limits?"

"Yeah, Matt kicked and screamed because when they redrew the line his taxes climbed, but the city wanted Butte Road because they were talking about taking cinders from that little lava cone past his place. Then they opened the quarry at Ponderosa Butte instead, but they couldn't be bothered to take back what they'd done, even for Matt."

Renee recalled hearing about that, too. "On my way," she said cheerfully, sauntering out the office door.

The whole city police department — all fifteen officers — drove Bronco 4x4s. Winters here in eastern Oregon were long and cold. Heavy snowfalls at this elevation only came two or three times a season, but the ice stayed.

Of course, that long cold winter was also bringing prosperity to Elk Springs, in the form of a new ski area on Juanita Butte. The influx of outsiders brought more crime, which made life interesting for a cop, but also changed the personality of a town where you used to be able to leave your doors unlocked. Renee curled her lip as she passed an espresso stand. Seemed as if one stood on every corner. A steaming cup of coffee wasn't good enough for folks anymore. At least, not the urbanites who came from Seattle and Portland to ski.

She was glad to leave the central district, cross the Deschutes River, low from summer and fall, and find herself almost immediately on ranch land. Except, even here big fancy houses were cropping up on every bare ridge. More than 5,000 square feet, some of them, and they were vacation places! Renee couldn't imagine that much space echoing around her. She liked to feel enclosed, snug. As it was, by herself in the house Daddy had left jointly to her and her younger sister, Abby, Renee was rattling around like a lone pea in a pod.

The Barnard spread was the last on Butte Road; if you went on past their gate, you'd come to the foot of the area's smallest cinder cone, red with scrubby ponderosa pine clinging here and there. Target shooters came out now and again, maybe a few teenagers who liked sliding around on the steep slope of loose cinders near the bottom, but otherwise the road was a dead end, in more ways than one.

At the turnoff, letters burned into a slab of wood supported by two peeled poles announced the Triple B Ranch. Renee didn't mind seeing that the road to the house was packed firm with red cinders. Yesterday's rain had left most unpaved roads shin-deep in rust-colored mud.

The ranch was picture-perfect: split-rail fences, gray- blue barns and an old ranch house nestled among the grove of cottonwood near the creek. A second house had been added some distance away, on a spine of ancient crumbling lava exposed to winds and driving snow. The small patch of green lawn in front was incongruous, surrounded as it was by the bare knuckles of lava and the gray-green sage. Beyond the barns, broad green pastures were the product of huge rolling irrigation sprinklers.

A shiny blue pickup sat outside the newer place; a modest sedan down by the old one. At the Y, Renee turned toward the modern house with its big porches and shingled, natural cedar siding. A yellow Lab raced alongside the Bronco, barking the whole while.

As she parked and turned off the engine, a sharp whistle silenced the dog, who reluctantly went to the man who came down the porch steps. Squirming, the Lab stayed behind his master.

Renee never liked being dwarfed by a man. No mystery why she felt that way, but insight didn't always help. She tended to be her stiffest when she came up against somebody like this rancher, a solid 6'4" if he was an inch. Big shoulders, big chest, lean hips, strong legs. Short dark hair. His face was saved from being uninteresting by his eyes, an electric blue. It wasn't just the color, either; they were intelligent, perceptive, intense. She darn near squirmed just like the dog.

The man nodded. "Officer." His gaze touched on the name plate pinned to her chest. She'd never been so glad not to be buxom.

She didn't bother to introduce herself. "Daniel Barnard?"

"The same." His voice, slow and deep, went with his looks.

"I hear you found a skull."

He nodded toward the house. "Come on in."

She followed, appreciating the simplicity of the porch railing and the front door, topped by a window shaped like a fan. Inside, she knew right away no woman had had anything to do with the decorating. The entry was half mudroom; a rain slicker and a parka and an olive-green duster buried a coat tree, and several pairs of boots lined the wall. She caught a quick glimpse of the living room to the right. Wood floors, plain white walls and leather furniture weren't softened by pretty cushions or knickknacks. Big windows, wood-framed, let in floods of light that touched on the one spectacular painting above the couch and some smaller, quieter ones — pencil sketches, she thought.