Adrienne deWolfe Read Free Page A

up on that." Wes stood and noticed with satisfaction that Dukker had to crane his neck back to look him in the eye. "But first I'd like to ride out to Boudreau's farm. Ask the Sinclairs what they know about his murder."
    Dukker stiffened.
    "Of course. Of course," Faraday said with brassy brightness. "Come on by the Enquirer when you're ready, and I'll escort you to the house."
    Wes nodded.
    Faraday turned to Dukker. "Buy you a drink. Hannibal?"
    He gestured toward the bar with a wide smile, but the strain between the two men was hard to mistake. Considering that town marshals were typically hired by the mayor and his council, Wes found Faraday's kowtowing curious.
    Keeping a wary eye on the two men, he stooped for his saddle. The sooner he rode to Boudreau's farm, the sooner he could get the coming unpleasantness over with. He planned to listen to the Sinclairs' story, of course, but he didn't have a lot of faith in the validity of their claim. If one could believe Faraday's testimonial, the law was on Dukker's side.
    Heaving his saddle to his shoulder, he headed for the swinging doors. By sundown, hopefully, the squatter issue would be settled. He wanted to start tracking Boudreau's killer at dawn. With any luck, his manhunt would take him out of Bandera County before Cord and the rest of the family caught wind of his return.
    Setting his hat on his head, he turned his thoughts to his meeting with Mr. Sinclair.
    * * *
    "Rider coming!"
    The cry of alarm was the first thing Wes heard as Two-Step trotted up the drive of the Boudreau homestead.
    Somewhere, a door slammed. A dozen or so boys and girls converged upon the yard, running from all directions, charging through squawking chickens and bleating goats. Every race and color seemed to be represented as the youngsters rushed by, clutching straw dolls and fishing poles, some clinging to another child's hand.
    Surprised, he reined in, throwing up an arm just in time to protect his hat from the frenzied flapping of a hen.
    A squat black woman was gesturing frantically, shooing the children like chicks into the storm cellar by her feet. Every last one of the youngsters looked scared—if not of him, Wes noticed with growing concern, then of the yawning black pit below them. The woman was insistent, though, and she snatched up the smallest bawling child, kissing his hair as she hurried down the stairs after her wards. Two chubby brown arms reached past her, a pigtailed head bobbed, then the doors fell shut, sealing everyone in with a resounding bang.
    Wes blinked.
    Now if that wasn't the oddest damned thing he'd ever seen....
    "What's your business here, mister?"
    His head snapped around at the sharp midwestern accent. He'd been so bemused by the rush of little bodies that he hadn't noticed the statuesque woman beneath the magnolia tree by the front of the house. He recognized the sunflowers on her mud-spattered skirt, and for a moment, he allowed himself to admire what her straw hat had hidden from him earlier. A honey-brown sheaf of primly coiffed hair framed the classical features of her face, one that appeared to be a few years older than his own, and yet striking in its maturity. Her high, thoughtful brow and elegantly chiseled cheekbones both bloomed pink at the moment, no doubt due to her agitation, and her firm, full lips were pressed together over a dimpled chin.
    But the feature that struck him the most, the characteristic that downright stole his breath away, was her eyes: two fiery jewels of amber. And right now, those eyes were burning into him as if he were Satan's own messenger.
    Which wasn't that far from the truth, he thought with a twinge of guilt.
    Suddenly he remembered the badge in his pocket. A part of him cringed to think that in Mrs. Sinclair's eyes, his star would probably put him in a league with Hannibal Dukker. Still, he'd resigned himself early in his Ranger career to the fact that duty was rarely pleasant.
    Thinking to save himself a lot of argument by