leaned closer to the roan’s sleek shoulder. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and the long day at work faded into the background. She’d come home dead tired, found that Ivan was out, and decided to ease the aches from her muscles by riding. Besides, she couldn’t help but satisfy her curiosity about Colton and his allegedly stolen horse.
She pulled on the reins, slowing Macbeth at the edge of the woods. As she guided the horse through the undergrowth, she remembered another time she’d ridden this very path—eight years ago—to tell Colton about the baby that hadn’t existed.
“It’s been a long time,” she consoled herself, but she couldn’t shake the gloomy feeling as Macbeth picked his way through the shadowy pines.
Before the horse had stepped from the trees, Cassie heard the river rushing wildly. The Sage, engorged with spring rain, slashed a crooked chasm through the wet earth.
The path curved toward the river’s banks, and Cassie stared across the wild expanse of water, a physical chasm between the McLean and Aldridge properties. Though the river was the natural dividing line, there was a stretch of grassy bank between the swirling Sage and the McLean fence line, where Colton McLean himself was stringing wire.
Wearing mud-spattered jeans and a work shirt that flapped in the breeze, he winced as he stretched the barbed wire taut between red metal posts. His broad shoulders moved fluidly under his shirt, and his jeans were tight against his hips.
He glanced up when Cassie urged Macbeth forward. A cynical smile twisted beneath his beard. “Here to see the scene of the crime?” he shouted.
“If there was one.”
“See for yourself.” Straightening, he rubbed his lower back.
She did. Her gaze wandered to the far bank where tire tracks were visible in the soggy ground. The fence had been repaired, but Cassie was convinced that Colton could tell that the wires had been cut. It was just too bad he thought her father was involved.
“So your horse hasn’t returned?”
“Not yet. I don’t really expect him to.”
“Last time he did.”
“So I heard.” Colton ran the back of his hand across his forehead, and his eyes met hers. “Is Ivan home?”
“He wasn’t when I got home.”
“Tell him I want to talk to him.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“He thinks you’re out of your mind,” she said, tossing her hair from her face. “If anyone took your horse it wasn’t Dad.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
Goaded, she swung off Macbeth’s broad back and walked to the edge of the river. The swift current eddied and rushed over fallen trees and huge flat boulders. The air smelled fresh and damp, and if it hadn’t been for Colton and his stupid accusations, she would actually have enjoyed being there.
“So why do you think Dad did it?” she yelled as Colton sauntered to his side of the river. Only forty feet separated them, but it could have been miles. “Why not the Lassiters, the Monroes, Wilkersons or Simpsons?”
“Give me a break!”
“They’re all ranchers.”
“The wires were cut here, Cass. Here. The truck took off from Aldridge land!”
“You think! You’re not even sure that Black Magic’s been stolen.”
A thunderous expression crossed his face. “I’m sure all right.”
“Then why not someone else? Someone who knew that you’d automatically think Dad was involved?”
“No one else is your father,” Colton said through clenched teeth. “No one else has a vendetta against the McLeans.”
“A vendetta,” she gasped, incredulous. “Come on, Colton, you can’t believe—”
“What I can’t do is deny that a feud ever existed between your family and mine!”
“But a vendetta, for crying out loud! I think you’ve spent too many years dodging bullets and changing the name on your passports!” If it weren’t for the river separating them, she would have gone right up to him and slapped his angular, bearded face. “Either that or you’ve watched too many old movies!”
“Ha!”
“If, and I repeat, if your horse really has been stolen, any one of a dozen ranchers could’ve done it! Black Magic’s a bit of a legend around here. Anyone who wanted him could’ve taken him and made it look like Dad was involved. After all, the feud is common knowledge.”
“You’re grasping at straws, Cass!”
“And you’re condemning my father!” Furious, she twisted Macbeth’s reins in her fingers and hopped onto the gelding’s broad back. “Get real, Colton, or go to the Middle East or some other war-torn place and leave us alone!”
“I intend to,” he said under his breath as he watched her dig her heels into the roan’s sleek sides. The horse took off