Chapter 2
Luke Callahan rode into Puma Pass in the late afternoon when the world still sat in that quiet space between night and day.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
He slowed his horse, Rook, at the rise above town and looked down over it. The town was smaller than he’d expected it to be. Nothing more than a handful of buildings gathered along a wide dirt street.
The sky was gray and gloomy and did nothing to make the town look any more appealing than every other run-of-the-mill ranch town.
But it did have its perks from the look of it.
It looked like a place that minded its own business. Places like that rarely stayed that way for long, though. People moved in quick. Especially when the railroad came through.
Puma Pass hadn’t been touched, though. Not yet. Not by the look of it.
It was still a quaint little ranching community in the mountains, and it all revolved around one big ranch—the Rocking A.
Luke let his eyes move past the town, out across the valley.
That was where the man who hired him lived.
The Rocking A spread across the land like it owned the valley and the town alike. It practically did from the sound of things. The ranch’s pastures stretched wide open under the mountains, with fences running long in sections, cattle scattered inside them.
He could see the house from here.
It was a large two-story house, painted white, with a great big wraparound porch. There were two barns, a bunkhouse, and a couple of small outbuildings that stood behind the house, too.
Twenty thousand acres.
Luke paused there a moment longer than he meant to.
It was a hell of a place. The kind he’d once dreamed of having. Not just big, but well kept, too. It had been built right. Made to withstand whatever storm came its way.
It was the kind of place that a man should hold onto forever if it ever came his way. He’d seen land like it before, though… and most men didn’t hang onto it. With a click of his tongue, he urged Rook to move.
Time to get this over with.
The rancher known as Buck Anderson had a daughter, Clara, that had gotten herself kidnapped. Likely by a bunch of thugs.
It was his job to bring her back by whatever means necessary.
He sighed. Just another job.
Always a hired gun.
Truth was, Luke Callahan was tired. Not just of tracking, either. Of everything he’d been willing to do to make ends meet. This, though? It seemed worth it to find one damsel for as much money as this rancher was willing to spend.
By the time he rode into town proper, the place had begun to stir. A couple of men moved along the street hanging on to tin coffee cups.
A woman stepped out onto the porch and began sweeping dust into the road like she’d done every day of her life. She probably had—at least on the days it didn’t rain.
He rode straight through, the sound of Rook’s hooves loud on the quiet streets. The few people around seemed to notice him. They always did.
Luke Callahan didn’t look like he belonged in a place like this.
He wasn’t entirely sure he belonged much anywhere anymore.
He wore a long coat that had been worn thin by all his travel. His revolver was low on his hip, the perfect level for his hand to grab it easily when riding—he’d needed it more times than he could count.
He ignored the looks just like he always did until someone gave him a reason not to. And he continued on through town and over the pasture toward the ranch house.
The road curved gently toward the main house, wide and well-traveled. Just like you’d expect from a ranch the entire town relied on.
He passed a pair of ranchers working on a fence, who turned to watch him as he rode up. One of them straightened and stood. He was broad shouldered and thick necked.
“You’re late,” he said, spitting tobacco out next to him.
Luke rested his hands loosely on the saddle horn. “I said I’d be here and I’m here, ain’t I?”
That didn’t earn a smile.
The other man stood up too, wiping his hands on the front of his gray pants. He was a younger man. A lot thinner than the other.
“Callahan?” he asked.
Luke nodded.
“Get over to the house and a couple of guys’ll meet you to take you to Buck,” the younger one drawled, clapping his thick-necked friend on the shoulder.
He smirked and lightly dug his heels into Rook’s side, setting off toward the house.
Luke rode to the house at an easy pace. A couple of men were coming out of the barn as he approached and they stopped when they saw him, watching. He swung down off the horse and held out the reins without looking at either of them.
“Got business with Mr. Anderson,” he said, trying to hand off his reins.
“What kind of business a man like you got here?” one of them asked, his eyes moving over Luke slow and curious. He was the kind of man that filled a doorframe. Broad, but lean, with dark hair. His jaw was square, filled with a few days of stubble over his face.
But his eyes were striking and blue, and he looked a bit too pretty to be as rugged as he pretended to be. Luke was sure he worked hard. Looked like a top hand, the kind that had a good strong back and knew he was needed around a place like this. But it made him arrogant.
“The kind that requires a man like me,” Luke replied.
The other man, an older stocky man with a salt and pepper beard and a black hat, stepped forward a half-pace, slinging rope over his shoulder. “You Callahan?”
Luke grumbled low in his throat and dipped his chin in a short and serious nod. “That’s right,” he said.
“I’m Jake Clemmons, the head ranch hand,” the first man said, thrusting his hand out between them. “You’re early.”
Luke just looked at his hand.
Clemmons cleared his throat, a faint color rising in his face. The other man beside him started to snicker. It wasn’t that Luke meant any particular offense by it. He just didn’t take well with strangers. Never saw much point in shaking a man’s hand he didn’t intend to do any real business with.
The men looked at one another, and the stocky older man started to snicker.
“Buck’s expecting you,” Clemmons grumbled. “Come on.”
Luke handed off the reins to the snickering man. “Make sure she gets a good brush,” he said cheekily with a wink.
He followed Clemmons across the yard toward the house, feeling the attention on his back from the others as he went. He gritted his teeth. He was used to it.
Up close, the ranch held up to what he’d seen from the rise. Everything was in order. Clean and maintained, and it seemed like all the men had their roles.
The house was beautiful, standing solid and so clean and bright white that it almost glowed against the afternoon sun. The windows were spotless, porch swept. Everything was in perfect order.
A young woman answered the door before they reached it—slight thing, dark-haired, with a soft face that hadn’t yet learned to hide much. She stepped back without a word when she saw them. Her eyes fell on Luke and rested there as she clutched her chest.
He noticed her. Couldn’t help it. Then he looked away and she moved off, disappearing behind the door.
Inside, the house was as well kept as the outside. Thanks to that maid of theirs, no doubt.
The smell of a fresh baked pie floated right into him in a way that practically made him salivate.
The wood was polished. The carpets were thick and clean, not a single speck of dirt dragged in from ranchers. Though now there would be, with Clemmons and himself tromping right through the house.
He could bet that timid young maid would be cleaning the rugs as soon as they left the room.
Beautiful paintings hung on the walls with large, ornate frames. But he didn’t have time to pay much attention to what they were of. Clemmons was moving quickly, stopping at the other side of the grand sitting room, just within the hall to the right.
He stopped and knocked three times on the wood door.
“Mr. Anderson,” Clemmons called. “He’s here.”
“Send him in.”
Luke stepped inside the darker room. A nice study, with wood-paneled walls, and walls of books and a fancy, deep red carpet.
Buck Anderson stood behind his solid wood desk with both hands braced on the edge. He was a big man—short iron-gray hair, tanned skin, blue eyes that took you in all at once. Weathered from years of hard work. His face was lined but there was nothing soft in it.
The man was still strong despite his age. The kind of man Luke wouldn’t have figured for much emotion.
But he looked worn. Bagged eyes, red at the rims. Like he’d been up all night.
“Callahan,” he said.
“Anderson.”
Anderson gestured to the chair across from the desk. “Sit.”
Buck remained standing but only to give Luke a once-over, which he didn’t mind.
It seemed like something rich people always did. They always took a good look at what they were paying for. When he got his fill, he flashed a half-smile, but it was more of a pleasantry than anything real.
Up close, there was strain in him.
“Your daughter,” Luke said, getting straight to the point. “She was taken yesterday, I hear?”
Anderson nodded. “From a settler’s cabin up in the mountains.”
“What was she doing there?”
The man grumbled under his breath for a moment, his eyes darting from the desk then to Luke. He cleared his throat. “My daughter has… taken an interest in matters that don’t concern her.”
“So she gettin’ in other people’s business?” Luke asked, his brow quirked.
“She’s wild and headstrong,” he said rubbing his hand down his face, blinking quickly. “She fancies herself a reporter.”
“A reporter?” Luke asked.
“Went around trying to find out who was burning settlers out of their land,” he said.
He pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and struck a match against the edge of the desk, touching it to the end.
“Said it was all connected and there was someone behind all of it.” He shook the match out and set it down.
Luke watched him carefully. “And you didn’t believe that?”
“I believed she was putting herself in danger chasing it,” he growled before throwing open one of his desk drawers.
Luke took a moment to watch the man. He was agitated, sure. Nervous. But more than anything, riled up.