Chapter Two

The one-hundred and forty miles from Yuma taxed Coy's already depleted stamina. In some small measure, he could blame it on the heat, but in truth, he was no longer accustomed to the long, grueling days in the saddle and sleeping on the hard ground at night. He'd grown soft in the last seven years, something he intended to remedy in the immediate future.

The town of Red Butte sat five miles behind him, which meant his destination should appear around the next bend. He wondered how much had changed since he'd left fifteen years ago. Hell, he wondered if anyone would even recognize him. Guess he'd soon find out.

The one-story house came into view. Still painted buttercup yellow and trimmed in white, with a wrap-around veranda the same color as the trim, at least that hadn't changed. The red barn still stood and to the right of the house, the riotous garden remained. Childhood memories flooded him. He could almost smell his mother's Blue Bells and Forget Me Nots, taste her home-grown beans, squash and the mouth-watering ears of corn, fresh off the stalk.

A dog barked from somewhere near the steps of the porch. As he drew closer he spotted the long-haired cur, part Australian Shepherd and a breed he couldn't identify. The dog trotted up the steps when he brought his horse to a halt, settled in beside a young boy, and then flashed an ominous row of white teeth his way. His gaze left the dog and wandered to the boy with a baby screech owl perched on his left shoulder. A brown slouch hat sat atop his head, the chin strap resting on his chest. His hair was long and jet black, his eyes gun-metal gray. A rope-belt held up his baggy wool trousers and the white cotton shirt set off his youthful, tanned face. A face that held a wary expression yet exuded a cocky air.

"State your business," a female voice called out.

Too busy taking in his surroundings, the dog and the boy, his tired brain overlooked the woman on the porch. Now that he'd taken a good look, he couldn't imagine how any man with blood running through his veins could fail to notice her. Tall and lean, weathered leather trousers clung to her long legs like second skin. A red flannel shirt hung long and loose on her body but failed to hide her womanly curves. Her hair was thick and straight, falling past her shoulders in a tangle of burnished copper. Watchful and intense, her large, round eyes glistened like liquid pools of blue ice.

When he brought a knee up to dismount, she cocked the rifle. "You don't hear so good. I asked you to state your business."

"My business? I was about to ask what you're doing here and follow it up with just who the hell are you?"

"Don't bother dismounting, and don't even think about going for that sidearm at your hip. Though the buzzards might like it; they haven't had their breakfast yet this morning."

"Right friendly, aren't ya?"

"To my friends, yes."

"Where's the folks that used to live here?"

She jerked her chin toward a cluster of cottonwoods in the distance. He remembered the trees and the black wrought-iron fence surrounding them, the family graveyard. His heart wrenched for a brief moment. He hadn't considered the possibility that his parents might be dead.

"Where's Cain? He off again on one of his infamous ghost hunts or is he hiding inside with his nose buried in a textbook?"

Something crossed her eyes for a second…surprise, sorrow? Maybe both. "You know Cain?"

"I should, he's my brother."

Definitely shock this time. "Your…your brother?"

"Now who can't hear so good?"

"I heard you. He, well, he didn't talk much about a brother."

"No, don't imagine he did." He put his hands out at his sides. "Look, it's mighty hot out here under the sun, and my horse needs water. And for the record, never point a rifle at a man unless you intend to use it."

"I still might."

He shook his head and blew a puff of air.

"All right, climb on down but keep your hands where I can see 'em." She eased up on the rifle and turned to the boy. "Grange, grab a bucket of water for his horse."

The kid scrambled down the steps and headed for the well nearby, the mutt close on his heels and growling as he passed. "Easy, Fetch," the boy said.

"Fetch? How original."

"At least he's got a name," he muttered under his breath and kept on walking.

Coy turned back to the woman. "The kid's right. Forgive my manners. Name is Coy…Coy Santos, Cain's younger brother. If he's not here right now, I'm sure he'll vouch for me when he gets back."

She leaned the rifle against the railing and met his eyes. "I'm Jesse, and that boy watering your horse is my son, Grange."

He looked toward the cemetery again. "So Ma and Pa are gone, huh? Didn't realize I'd been gone so long."

"I'm sorry." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Your pa died seven years back, your ma…" She looked off for a minute as if recalling the event. "Must be five years ago now."

"Well, I guess time slips away without us realizing it." He caught those shimmering blue eyes again. "You didn't tell me your last name."

"Santos," she said and paused to wait for his reaction. When he didn't offer one, she added, "Cain's wife."

The merciless sun must have scrambled his brain. She looked too young to be his brother's wife; she couldn't be more than thirty years old. And Cain, well, he was almost twenty years older than him. Above that, she had to be the most handsome woman he'd ever laid eyes on. There had to be more to this story, and he intended to find out how she ended up married to his bookish brother.

"You…you're married to my brother?"

She nodded. "Last time I checked."

"The boy is Cain's son?"

Another nod as she glanced toward the boy.

"Guess I missed out on a whole lot of news from home."

"There's more." She turned on her heels and walked toward the door leading to the house. "Can't very well turn family out. Come inside, breakfast is warming on the stove. I'll let you know what else you missed."

* * *

The man who claimed to be Cain's brother took his time looking around the kitchen. She couldn't tell if he was recalling events from his childhood or if he always scoped out his surroundings before committing to any situation. He reminded her of a wild animal, wary and ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.

When he finally turned his attention to her, she nodded him into a chair at the kitchen table and then grabbed two coffee cups and the pot from the stove. "Do you take cream or sugar?"

"Black will do."

Grange walked through the door with Fetch. Both eyed the newcomer with suspicion before her son plopped into a chair opposite him and the dog settled in near his feet with a long huff. "Son, I've asked you to leave that owl in a tree while we eat."

"Ah, come on, Ma. He might fall out again, and besides, he doesn't know what to do without me."

If Coy thought it strange a baby owl seemed at home on Grange's shoulder, much to his credit, he said nothing. "I was waiting for Grange to return for breakfast when you rode in." She filled his cup and then hers with coffee, returned the pot to the stove and set a skillet down on the table. "Bacon, eggs and sourdough biscuits. Help yourself."

He lifted the cover from the skillet, filled his plate and picked up his fork. While he shoveled food into his mouth (how long had it been since he'd eaten a hot meal?) she studied him. He didn't resemble Cain, not in coloring or features. This man's hair was midnight black, his eyes dove gray. It dawned on her at that moment Grange looked more like the man who called himself Coy Santos than he did his own father. This man was taller, harder in appearance. While Cain's face was filled out and round, this man's was lean, all sharp angles and planes. Dark eyebrows and long eyelashes rested above a strong, straight nose, and below a wide, full mouth completed the features. Most women would call him handsome, in a rugged sort of way.

Aware she was gawking; she plucked a fork from the table, filled it with eggs and then motioned for Grange to do the same. Should she tell him about Cain or let him eat first? Her dilemma was answered in short time.

After demolishing the bacon and eggs, he slapped some butter onto a biscuit, held it in his hand and looked up at her. "So where is Cain?"

"Gone. I mean…." Damnation, this was going to be harder than she imagined. In less than twenty minutes she'd told the man his parents were dead and now she had to tell him about his brother. Laying the fork down, she folded her hands and placed them in her lap. "I'm really sorry. Cain passed on six months ago."

The same look she saw outside when she told him about his ma and pa flitted through his eyes, but other than that, he schooled his features. "What happened to him?"

"Kicked in the head by his horse." She cleared her throat, the only sound in the room. "He went out to check on the cattle. When he didn't return by late afternoon, I rode out to see if he was all right." His emotionless expression unnerved her. "I found him where the cattle were supposed to be grazing. He lingered a week, never regained consciousness."

He took a bite of the biscuit. "This my ma's recipe?"

"What?"

"The biscuits…did Ma teach you how to make these?"

"Yes, but is that all you have to say after hearing your brother is dead?"

"I don't know what else to say. Look, Mrs. Santos—"

"Jesse."

"Very well, Jesse. Look, I left here when I was seventeen years old. Cain was thirty-seven then, twenty years older than me. He was a good man but we were never close. He spent his days reading books about the supernatural, ghosts, mediums, and any other hocus-pocus phenomena that caught his fancy. He didn't have much interest in ranching back then but did his best to help out where he could. I don't know how you think I should react but the truth is we didn't have much in—"

"How did you spend your days?"

He set the half-eaten biscuit down on his plate. "Trying to figure out a way to get away from this hard life. I figured there must be a better way to make a living, so I grabbed the chance when I had it."

"Did you find it, a better way to make a living?"

"If not better, easier. I did some mining for a spell and hired on to cattle drives when I could. I didn't intend to stay at this ranch for the rest of my life, thought I'd rather do anything but ranch back then."

"What about now?"

He glanced from Grange to her. "What are you getting at?"

"You own half of this ranch. Your ma and pa laid that out in their will."

"How so?"

"They didn't name you but said the ranch, the land and all assets would be divided equally between their two sons."

"And now that my brother's dead and you're his widow that makes you the owner of the other half."

She gave him a slow nod.

"Not staying, headed north to Utah."

"Right now? I mean could you postpone it for a while, just until I get on my feet?"

"What does that mean exactly?"

She put a hand to her forehead and rubbed. "I don't have the money to buy you out right now. Things have been—"

"Let me guess…tough. Just like they've always been."

"It will turn around. I have some money saved but…."

She had his full attention now. "But?"

"Taxes are due, two years' worth."

He shook his head. "This is a hard life, and doesn't seem any less hard in the years I've been gone. You'd do best to sell the place, take what you can get and move on."

She ground out the words. "I'm not selling out."

Gray eyes hardened. "You're making a bad choice. There's nothing to keep you and the boy here now. And I could be mistaken but I didn't see any ranch hands when I rode in."

Grange spat the words hard and fast. "Those cowards took off."

"That's enough, son."

"Took off?" The corner of Coy's lip curled into a smirk. "You couldn't afford to keep them, am I right?"

She tried to keep the anger from her voice. "You needn't gloat but partially, yes."

"Why do I get the feeling I don't want to know the other part?"

She shoved from the table and walked to the mahogany desk against one wall of the kitchen, the desk that belonged to Cain and Coy's mother at one time, the one she claimed her great-grandmother hauled all the way to Arizona from out East. After pulling a piece of paper from the drawer, she returned to the table and laid it down in front of him. "This is from the company Cain worked for, the P.S.I. Agency in St. Louis. They took up a collection when they heard about Cain's death. The money should be arriving any day."

"P.S.I. Agency? What the hell does that stand for?"

"Psychic Specters Investigations."

He leaned back in his chair and laughed. "A ghost-hunting company? Are you out of your mind? It's probably a hoax outfit and I doubt they'll be sending you any money."

"They're legitimate. Cain worked for them for many years. In fact, he was their main field agent for this entire area, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas. He had a good-paying job, received a check from them after every assignment."

"That's the key word here, 'had'. He no longer has a job with this-this specter-chasing whatever they're called." He shook his head and offered another half-chuckle-half-snort. "Should have known he'd buy into this hook, line and sinker after reading all those books."

Fetch came to his feet in blur of motion and ran toward her bedroom, barking like he was hot on the trail of a fox. Grange sprang from the table and grabbed the rope collar around his neck before the dog could enter her room.

Jesse took in the puzzled expression on Coy's face before she turned to see her son holding the dog at bay.

"Told ya Kajame warned us about the ghost in the house," Grange said, struggling to lead the dog outside amid frantic screeches from the owl.

The noisy clatter didn't stop until boy, dog and owl were confined on the porch.

Jesse affected a sheepish smile and wondered if the heat in her cheeks would give her away. "Sorry about that."

"Ghost in the house?" Coy leaned forward in his chair, seemingly intent on getting some answers. "This is getting better by the minute. And who is Kajame?"

"Just an old Indian who lives not far from here at the foot of the mountains. He's taken a liking to Grange, that's all."

"What tribe?"

"Yaqui, I believe."

"And the ghost part?"

"I really don't know." She shrugged. "Some silly talk from Kajame ever since Cain died."

Eager to change the subject, she plodded forth. "Allow me to tell you how Cain and I met. Maybe you'll understand why I can't just up and leave."

He settled into the chair again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"When my folks died, I had no choice but to take a job at Two Bits in Red Butte."

"Two Bits…that rundown brothel?"

She gave him a dismissive wave. "It's also a saloon, you know. In any event, I didn't work the brothel part of the business. I did odd jobs, scrubbed floors, cooked and did laundry for the women, whatever I could do to eat. Cain used to frequent the saloon once in a while and that's how we met. Guess he took pity on me, offered me a safe place to live…here at the ranch, as his wife." She sighed. "Cain was the finest man I ever met."

"Sounds like him." He smiled as if remembering. "But things are different now and you need to think of the boy."

"It is him I'm thinking of. This is his home; he's known no other." Her voice took on a militant tone. "Besides, no one is running me off my land. I promised Cain before he died. Maybe he couldn't hear me by then, but I meant what I said."

He came to his feet. "I'll be leaving sometime today but I'd like to ride out and look things over if you don't mind. I can check on the cattle at the same time."

"Grange was just about to do that. I'm sure he'd like company." She knew this was a man no one could push around. He was as hard as steel, inside and out. Still, she had to buy time. Maybe she could convince him to stay…just until the money arrived or a divine intervention of some sort took place. "Looks like you could use some rest and a few home-cooked meals wouldn't hurt none either."

He waggled a finger in her direction. "I know what you're doing, and I told you, I'm not staying. I intend to get away from this unforgiveable mountain terrain, find my own place in Utah."

"A week, give it one week and maybe you'll change your mind."

He heaved a labored sigh. "Two days, and that's it."

"I'm not in a position to bargain. Two days it is then."