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Cameron stepped closer to the screen, recognition igniting the nerves in his gut. Lines drawn over an aerial photograph delineated the Bar M Ranch from the Flying W Ranch to the south. The point on the map indicated an area on the border between the two ranches. “The Bar M is my father’s ranch and the Flying W belongs to Hank Ward.” He glanced at Evangeline. “What’s the significance of the location?”
“We don’t know exactly, but we know a little more about some of the other coordinates.” Evangeline nodded to Lenny. “Show him the other view, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lenny clicked several keys and a broader view of Colorado appeared on the screen with red dots sprinkled across the map.
“These are some of the other coordinates listed on the disk.” She pointed to two of them. “We’ve researched these two. The land is owned by a company called Tri Corp. Media.” She shot a glance toward Mike. “Mike, tell them what you found out about these locations.”
Mike’s face was poker straight. “They’re known to be rich in oil and…they were previously owned by Milo Kardascian and James Durgin, our dead CEOs. They sold their companies and land for cash and shares in Kingston Trust to pay off debt.”
“So you have two CEOs who sold out for cash and shares, Tri Corp. Media bought the companies and land and both CEOs are now dead.” Cameron shrugged. “Sounds suspicious. Why don’t you take it to the police?”
Jack shook his head. “And tell them what? We don’t have any solid evidence to point toward Tri Corp. Media. For all we know TCM is just a company that knows when to make a good deal.”
Evangeline paced in front of the screen, the light from the projector painting mottled images across her gray suit. “All we have is this land coordinate and the disk. That and a few other puzzle pieces.”
“What puzzle pieces?”
Mike jumped in. “Durgin came to us scared he would be the next man murdered from a list of Kingston Trust investors.”
None of this was making much sense to Cameron. “Why don’t you go to the investment company that manages the trust and get the list of investors?”
“That’s just it, it’s a blind trust,” Evangeline responded. “They don’t have to share the names of the investors unless we get a court order and send in the police. We don’t have enough evidence to do that yet. We’re going on supposition.”
Lenny raised his hand. “I’m checking into Kingston and hope to know something soon.”
Mike added, “There’s also Milo Kardascian’s connection to the Russian mob through his gambling debts.”
“Wait a minute. Do you think the Russian mob is involved in this?” Cameron tapped his hat against his thigh, his brain scrambling to take it all in.
Evangeline’s shoulders rose and fell. “We’re not certain of anything yet. We do know Kardascian was a habitual gambler. He frequented the mob-run private gambling establishments in Central City where he gambled his way deep into debt.”
Jack snorted. “And the mob demands payment in one form or another.”
With too many questions and not enough answers, Cameron wasn’t liking where this investigation was going. “Do you think the mob or the owners of the trust are going to go after this land because of the oil?”
“Possibly.” Cassie had been watching Cameron intently, reading his lips. “Rather be safe than sorry. Apparently each investor only knows the name of one other investor as far as we can tell. We only know of the two who’ve died recently.”
Evangeline picked up the story. “Durgin had been told he himself was a target by the investor who had his name. Durgin knew only one other name, but he didn’t get to tell us before he was murdered. He was scared and asked for our protection. Unfortunately, someone got to him.”
“Let me get this straight. A business deal is about to go down somewhere along the border of the Bar M and the Flying W.”
Evangeline nodded. “That’s what we think.”
“Are we looking at a possible payment or a transfer of land or mineral rights?” Cameron asked.
Evangeline glanced at Rick and Cassie. “Apparently, the two CEOs sold their land before they knew it was rich in oil. They might not have known about the oil, but someone else did. Maybe the Russian mob that let Milo rack up a huge gambling debt, or the owner of the Kingston Trust. Maybe TCM has a hand in this. We don’t know yet. We do know that once the CEOs invested in the trust with their companies and land, they were murdered.”
For several seconds, the news sank in. A knot formed in the pit of Cameron’s belly. “You think that once they get the owners to sell or invest their land in the Kingston Trust, they kill them to keep the profits for themselves?”
“You tell me. We’re just guessing at this point.”
“What if the landowners don’t want to sell?” Cameron asked. “I know these people, their families have ranched that land all their lives.”
Mike tapped a pen to the table. “Kardascian and Durgin were forced to sell to get out of debt.”
“These ranchers don’t gamble.” Cameron snorted. “Hell, they don’t have time. They’re too busy trying to eke out a living raising cattle.”
“There are other ways to force people out.” Evangeline stared hard at Cameron. “They could ruin the business so they’re forced to sell. They’ve proven themselves ruthless, who’s to say they won’t take more drastic measures?”
Cameron froze. “You mean kill them and buy the property from the estate?”
“We don’t know for sure, but maybe. It looks like the Dry Wash location is the next acquisition target. That’s why we brought you in.”
Lenny clicked a key and the view screen zoomed in on the county plat map. The Bar M and the Flying W property lines reappeared in clear, clean lines.
Cameron stood still, his heart pounding in his chest and his thoughts racing ahead to the Bar M Ranch, his father, mother, brother and sister. Were they in danger? Surely they wouldn’t target an entire family to get the property. There were five of them, counting himself.
His gaze shifted to the Flying W, unless they planned to go after the low-hanging fruit. Hank Ward’s wife, Louise, had died eighteen years ago. They’d only had one child.
Jennie.
The air left his lungs in a rush. JennieWard. His Jennie.
Only she wasn’t his Jennie anymore. She’d married right after he left ten years ago. Although widowed now, she had no children of her own, that left just the two Wards—Hank and Jennie.
“What’s the game plan?” Cameron’s gaze swept the room coming to rest on Evangeline.
“We think the Wards and the Morgans need some warning about what might happen, and we recommend bodyguards.”
Cameron snorted. “Neither one of the families will ever believe they need a bodyguard. They’re ranchers. They take care of their own.”
“I was thinking of sending Jack in to speak to them,” Evangeline continued.
Already shaking his head, Cameron shot a look at Jack. “No offense, but they won’t listen to an outsider. My father might listen, because he knows Jack. Hank Ward is an entirely different story.”
“You know him?” Evangeline asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” Cameron dropped his hand, running the brim of his Stetson through his fingers. “But he won’t listen to a stranger.”
“Then could you go with Jack to make sure they take the threat seriously?” Evangeline asked.
The air in the room pressed in around Cameron. Go to the Flying W? Would Jennie be there? Ten years was a long time. Why did he still feel such a strong tug in his chest when he thought of Jennie? “The Wards and the Morgans have been feuding for close to thirty years. Don’t think it would do much good.”
Evangeline’s blue eyes darkened. “I don’t care if the Hatfields and McCoys are feuding, someone has to tell these people what they’re up agai—”
“I’ll go.” Cameron couldn’t believe the words jumped out of his mouth. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Jennie could be in danger. Jack was an excellent agent, one of the best, and he’d do a good job. However, Cameron couldn’t live with himself if something happened to Jennie and he wasn’t there to stop it. “I’ll go,” he repeated.
Evangeline’s mouth was still open from her last word. She shut it and tipped her head to the side. “You’re the right man to inform your family, but maybe Jack should speak to the Wards.”
“Look, I never went along with the feud. I thought it was a stupid waste of time.” That had always been the problem in his father’s eyes. If he’d stuck to the Morgan’s side of the fence, he never would have fallen in love with Jennie and he and his family would still get along. “Let me speak to the Wards.”
JENNIE SWUNG HER LEG over her mount and dropped to the hard-packed dirt. With Lady out of commission, she’d had to ride Little Joe and his gait wasn’t as smooth as Lady’s. Every muscle and joint ached from fourteen hours in the saddle. Thank goodness the temperatures had only been in the seventies.
She loved the spring. After the long months of winter with the wind howling through the valleys, she looked forward to the warmer days and clear blue skies. On the other hand, she dreaded the long hot days and dust of summer.
With the three-year drought and cattle prices down, they’d had to let the extra hands go. Which meant, along with Stan Keller, their foreman, and Rudy Toler and Doug Sweeney, the two remaining cowhands, Jennie rode fences and checked cattle every day. This year had to be better than last. They couldn’t afford to keep the cattle and the ranch if they weren’t making enough money to buy feed, much less pay the hands. So far the year had been one disaster after another.
Her father had always managed the books, but being shorthanded meant doing all the work themselves. Every able-bodied man and woman would be out tending stock and fences, except the housekeeper, Ms. Blainey. Her job was as important as tending cattle. She cooked the meals for the worn-out cowhands.
Her stomach rumbling, Jennie hurried to feed, brush and curry the bay gelding. After reapplying the dressing to Lady’s injury, she made her way to the house intent on soaking in a hot shower before dinner. She still didn’t have a clue where the razor blade had come from and none of the hands owned up to leaving it in the tack room. She’d warned them to inspect their gear before saddling up, just in case.
Her father should be back from checking on stock in the north pasture soon. He knew how upset Ms. Blainey would be if he missed supper. Jennie smiled. Rachel Blainey was the same age her mother would have been if she’d lived this long, and she was a nice addition to the staff. Jennie hated cooking with a passion. She’d rather wrestle an ornery bull-calf than bake a cake. Her smile slipped. She hoped they could keep Ms. Blainey on, as tight as the money was.
Vowing to stay awake long enough to review the accounts that night, Jennie trudged up past the bunkhouse. When the sprawling cedar-and-stone cabin came into view, she spied a strange, black four-wheel-drive pickup parked in the gravel driveway. Company? They weren’t expecting any company, were they?
She frowned down at her filthy shirt and dusty jeans and sighed. Couldn’t be helped. Whoever it was would just have to understand she’d been out working. Her mother would have rushed her back inside and made her take a shower before greeting guests. But that was when she was ten and her mother was always at the house, clean, pressed and looking like a model fresh from a magazine shoot, instead of a cattle rancher’s wife.
After eighteen years, Jennie could still remember the smell of her mother’s perfume and envision the smile, very much like her own. Sometimes she missed her mother more than she could bear—usually when times were toughest. But her father had done the best he could and loved her enough for both parents.
Jennie stepped in through the back door. She could hear the low rumble of a male voice coming from the living room and the happy sound of Ms. Blainey’s laughter.
Maybe she did have time to shower and change before she came out. Easing her way down the hallway, she was almost to the staircase when a soft, feminine voice called out, “Hank? Is that you?” Rachel Blainey rounded the corner from the living room, her dark hair pulled back from her face, her white cotton blouse wrinkle-free and snowy white. “Oh, Jennie, I’m glad you’re back. We have a visitor, someone I think you know.”
“I’m really not dressed for company,” Jennie said, eyeing the staircase and wondering if it would be rude to race up to the bathroom and slam the door.
“Oh, nonsense. I’m sure he’s used to dusty ranchers. After all, his family is in ranching.”
Curious now, Jennie allowed Rachel to snag her elbow and tug her toward the living room. “You say I know him? Who is he?”
“He’s one of the Morgans from next door.”
Jennie dug the heels of her Dingo boots into the hardwood floor, her stomach filling with a swarm of butterflies. Morgans? The only Morgan who’d ever been willing to step foot on the Flying W was—
A man stepped into view. His tall frame completely blocked the light from the picture windows behind him, throwing his face into shadow.
Jennie squinted, trying to make out his features.
“Hi, Jennie.” The voice confirmed his identity in the first syllable.
Her mind scrambled to put words in her mouth while her stomach flip-flopped around the butterflies, as if trying to decide whether to leap for joy or upend from nausea. “Cameron.”
Of all the people who might have come to visit, she never expected to see him. They hadn’t spoken more than two words since their breakup, and so much had happened in between. With the Morgans and Wards feeling the way they did, she wouldn’t think even the black sheep of the Morgan family would venture onto Ward property without a bulletproof vest.
Jennie moved around him, feeling dwarfed by his six-foot-three-inch frame. Her shoulder brushed against his arm, the scent of aftershave and leather assailing her nostrils, sending memories flittering through her jumbled thoughts. Why now? Why come back to the ranch now? Not that she couldn’t handle it. She was a grown woman with a decade of experience behind her. Then why did she feel like the awkward teen she’d been when she’d fallen in love with Cameron Morgan?
Since then, she recognized it for what it had been—a teenage fantasy. She didn’t love him anymore. There was nothing between them. He’d gone on to enter the army and she’d married Vance Franklin. Their lives had gone entirely different directions.
Once in the middle of the living room, she turned to see his face in the light.
Ten years.
Jennie was amazed at how much had changed in his face and how much was still the same Cameron. A few lines had appeared around his emerald-green eyes and his coal-black hair was shorter than when she’d dated him, probably a reflection of his time spent in the military. Such a shame, too. She used to love to run her fingers through his thick waves, making it stand on end. He’d tug her long, blond braid until her head tilted back and he could claim her lips in a scorching kiss. Jennie’s heart hammered against her rib cage and she stammered, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you.”
Jennie snorted. “You have that right. I’m still dusty and smell like a horse.”
The lines around his eyes softened. “Better than the most expensive perfumes.”
Jennie smiled, while fighting to resist falling into his deep green gaze. “You always were a charmer.” He’d charmed her into loving him, and then he’d asked her to leave the only home she’d ever known and a father who needed her.
“And you were always so serious.”
Ms. Blainey cleared her throat reminding Jennie she was still in the room. “I’ll just go get a pitcher of lemonade while you two catch up.”
A flare of panic ripped through Jennie. “Why don’t you stay here and talk to Mr. Morgan while I get it?”
“I wouldn’t hear of it. You’ve been out working all day. You’re bound to be tired. You and Cameron go sit out on the porch.” Ms. Blainey had a way of giving orders that didn’t sound like orders, yet they were nonetheless effective.
Too tired to argue, Jennie led the way.
With Cameron following close on her heels, she felt a familiar tingle of awareness feathering across the base of her neck. So much had changed since he’d been gone, yet many things were still the same. Sure she’d been married and widowed, but the two families still hated each other and Cameron still wanted his life outside the ranch.
Since her mother had died, Jennie had promised to help her father with the ranch. As his only child, it was up to her to take care of her father, too. He needed someone to love him and see to his health. If she ever left, what would become of him?
In the meantime, what had become of her? A lonely widow who’d spent all her life working a ranch, for what?
She eased into a wooden rocker, stretching her booted feet out in front of her, hoping she appeared relaxed when every muscle in her body tensed to run. “So, Cameron, what brings you to the Flying W?” Deep down a part of her wanted his reason to be her. Her practical side knew better. If he’d wanted her, he’d have come home and fought for her ten years ago. Better still, he wouldn’t have left.
For a long moment, he stared down at his hat and then he looked out across the foothills of the Rockies. “I think you and your father are in danger.”
Chapter Two
Until he’d seen her, he had no idea how hard his mission would be. Covered in dust, her chambray shirt marred with stains from working out on the ranch, she couldn’t have been more beautiful. So earthy, familiar and Jennie. The years had honed her body to tight athletic lines, her jeans rode loose on slim hips and her breasts were a bit fuller, fitting tightly against the worn cotton of her shirt. Her body had matured, but it was her eyes that had changed the most.
Instead of the open and happy harvest-gold they’d been in her youth, there were shadows beneath them and her expression was guarded. As it should be. After ten long years, having Cameron Morgan to show up her doorstep had to be a shock—probably not a pleasant one at that. The last time they’d been together, he’d given her a hard choice and she’d done what she always did, made the right decision.
Cameron shifted and straightened. All that was in the past. “You and your father are in danger,” he repeated, his gaze scanning her face, searching for a hint of alarm, something to indicate her understanding of the gravity of his announcement.
She smiled, the curve of her lips easing the tension from her face. “Could you give me a few more details?” The teasing tone of her voice was the Jennie he remembered—the one he’d fallen in love with in his misspent youth.
“I work for Prescott Personal Securities out of Denver. We found evidence of a possible conspiracy to buy out landowners in this area.”
“Buy out the Flying W?”
“Yes, and or the Bar M.”
“Why?”
