looked like a doe in the sights of a hunter.
He was tall and lean, with dark eyes and hair under a wide-brimmed hat, wearing jeans and a weather-beaten black hat. He was smiling.
“Mr. Kirk,” she stammered, as she finally recognized Dalton Kirk. She hadn’t seen him often. He wasn’t as familiar to her as Mallory was. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention…”
He reached out and took one of the earphones, pursing his sensual lips as he listened. He handed it back. “August Rush,” he said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “You know the score?”
He smiled at her surprise. “Yes. It’s one of my own favorites, especially that pipe-organ solo.”
“That’s my favorite, too,” she agreed.
He glanced at the fence. “Make a note of the coordinates so we can replace that section of fence, will you?” he asked. “It will keep the cattle in for now, but not for long.”
“I already did,” she confirmed. She was still catching her breath.
“There’s an escaped convict out here somewhere,” he told her. “I don’t think he’s guilty, but he’s desperate. I love music as much as anybody, but there’s a time and place for listening to it, and this isn’t it. If I’d been that man, and desperate enough to shoot somebody or take a hostage, you’d be dead or taken away by now.”
She’d just realized that. She nodded.
“Now you see why it’s against the law to listen with earphones when you’re driving,” he said. “You couldn’t hear a siren with those on.” He indicated the earphones.
“Yes. I mean, yes, sir.”
He cocked his head. His dark eyes twinkled. “Call me Tank. Everybody does.”
“Why?” she blurted out.
“We were facing down an Iraqi tank during the invasion of Iraq,” he told her, “and we were taking substantial damage. We lost comms with the artillery unit that was covering us and we didn’t have an antitank weapon with us.” He shrugged. “I waded in with a grenade and the crew surrendered. Ever since, I’ve been Tank.”
She laughed. He wasn’t as intimidating as he’d once seemed.
“So keep those earphones in your pocket and listen to music when it’s a little safer, will you?”
“I will,” she promised, and put away the iPod.
He mounted the black gelding she hadn’t heard approaching and rode closer. “That thing isn’t a phone, is it?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you carry a cell phone?” he added, and his lean, strong face was solemn.
She pulled a little emergency one out of her pocket and showed it to him. “It’s just for 911 calls, but it would do the job.”
“It wouldn’t. We’ll get you one. It’s essential here. I’ll tell Darby—he’ll arrange it for you.”
“Thanks,” she said, surprised. She should have been using her own phone, but she thought it might give her away. It was one of the very expensive models. The one she was carrying looked much more like something a poor cowgirl would own.
“Oh, we’re nice,” he told her with a straight face. “We have sterling characters, we never curse or complain, we’re always easy to get along with….” He stopped because she was muffling laughter.
“Just because Cane can turn the air blue, and Mallory throws things is no reason to think we’re not easygoing,” he instructed.
“Yes, sir. I’ll remember that.”
He laughed. “If you need anything, you call,” he said. “Keep your eyes open. The man who escaped was charged with killing a man in cold blood,” he added solemnly. “Joe Bascomb. He was with me in Iraq. But desperate men can do desperate things. He might hurt a stranger, even a woman, if he thought she might turn him in to the law. He’s sworn he’ll never go back to jail.” His eyes were sad. “I never thought he’d run. I’m sure he didn’t mean to kill the other man, if in fact he did. But they’re bound and determined to catch him, and he’s determined not to be caught. So you watch your back.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
“Please do. Good help is hard to find.” He tipped his hat, and rode away.
Morie breathed a sigh of relief and got back on her horse.
CHAPTER THREE
THERE WAS SOME BIG SHINDIG planned for the following Friday, Morie heard. The housekeeper, Mavie Taylor, was vocal about the food the brothers wanted prepared for it.
“I can’t make canapés,” she groaned, pushing back a graying strand of hair that had escaped its bun. She propped her hands on her thin hips and glowered. “How am I supposed to come up with things like that when all they ever want is steak and potatoes?”
“Listen, canapés are