Renegade Angel

Chapter 1

What in the name of the angels did I get myself into this time?

The smell hit him first. The stench of animal sweat, hay, and dung swirled in a cloud of red dust that nearly suffocated him. Jasper blinked grit out of his eyes, trying to make out the silhouettes. They were swallowed up by the haze that only became denser as he walked through the entry gate into the nearly deserted arena. Two figures appeared to be caught up in an enchanting dance. The animal and its rider effortlessly swung around stumpy barrels in an infinite cloverleaf pattern.

On and on, the rider and the majestic beast raced, without so much as a stumble or catch in its gait. If it had been Jasper on his own beast—his prized 1975 Harley Davidson—he was certain he would’ve thrown up taking that many loops around at such speed.

Guess I can’t pose as a barrel racer then. And I damn sure ain’t riding a bull!

He had been in the middle of something important when he’d received the guardian angel tingle dragging him away from Washington, DC, and his best friend, Greylyn. But duty called, so he was answering—in the middle of nowhere Montana.

His angel vision had shown him a rodeo clown, not in danger from a rogue steer but from something far more nefarious. Darkness surrounded the entire rodeo. He felt it deep in his bones—that achy chill that came with bad premonitions. Some unknown big, bad evil had set its sights on a small clown with wisps of blonde hair falling loose of the ponytail that no cowboy hat could contain.

He stood mesmerized by the rider in the distance. So, if the object of his mission was just a pesky clown, why was he feeling the same electric pinging at the base of his skull now?

Jasper assumed a watchful position next to the reinforced metal fencing. The spectator bleachers were empty. The rodeo wasn’t set to open for three more days. There was only a handful of trucks and trailers in the parking lot. He’d been to a rodeo once, so he knew to expect a lot more human traffic in the next few days even if the venue was minor compared to the bigtime events. No music played over the speaker system. All was unearthly quiet except for the hooves beating on the dry earth as the rider and horse twisted and turned around the barrels in an endless pattern. They never once slowed down or showed signs of fatigue.

Suddenly, the silent speakers blared to life with a loud crackle that pierced his eardrums.

“Savannah, time’s up. I gotta close the gates and lock up. Mama Wedgefield will be back soon. She’ll have my hide if she knew I allowed you and Beretta in here.”

Without so much as a stutter in its movement, the horse broke away from its course and raced to the center of the arena where it stopped as precisely as a ballet dancer in a pirouette. The rider stood in the stirrups, removed the cowboy hat, and bowed to the invisible voice from the darkened press box.

Jasper stilled, caught in the moment, as blonde—nearly white—hair cascaded down the rider’s back all the way to graze the saddle seat.

That was no barrel racer.

Before him was his rodeo clown. Not some lanky boy dressed in loose coveralls with gaudy paint across his face, but a slender, curvy in all the places that counted, petite woman.

Something about her mesmerized him, made him want to rush over to assist her down from her horse while also making him want to slither away to hide in the shadows.

Then, as if feeling his eyes on her, she turned toward him. Bright blue eyes pierced through the whirling dust to glare at him. They remained locked in an involuntary staring contest, until Jasper regained his senses enough to whip out his ace-up-his-sleeve tactic—his brilliant smile with his head cocked just so to one side and one eyebrow raised.

The rider blinked. No other expression crossed her beautiful face. Without a word, she sat back in the saddle, shoulders stiff, yanked the reins, and rode the gleaming chestnut horse out of the arena via an open gate at the far side.

This is going to be more fun than I thought.