Brody Read Free Page A

shack with only one window and a broken hitching post out front. He dismounted and left the horse ground-tied. Domingo was trained to stay put, untied, to allow Brody to leave in a hurry. The horse’s training had worked to his advantage many times.
    He stood there for several minutes listening to the sounds around him. There were birds rustling in the leaves above, but no human sounds, and no horse sounds either. If anyone was around, nature would tell him, and he always paid attention.
    After taking the rifle from its scabbard, he approached the shack. He needed to look for clues, but only had a couple of hours before he had to find the Mexican he’d been told about, one of Jeb’s hired thugs. The half-Indian, Bluehound, would be out of jail as soon as he sobered up, and Brody was sure he’d warn the Mexican first off. That left Brody just enough time to snoop around the shack.
    The soft grass swayed around his legs as he walked toward the building. He scanned the woods as he moved toward the door. The wood was warped with age, its cheap hinges hanging off the frame. The window only had half its glass, the jagged edges gaping like sharp teeth. He peered in, seeing nothing but shadows and dust. Brody glanced behind him before he pulled the door open. A gust of stale air hit him and he waved away the rancid stench. Something, or someone, had died in there.
    Brody hesitated for only a few seconds before he went inside. He pulled his neckerchief up over his mouth and nose to block the stench. His eyes were watering already and he hadn’t even found the rotting corpse yet.
    Broken crates littered one corner with what appeared to be canned vegetables. Beside the broken crates were piles of clothing, nothing high quality, just everyday folks’ clothes. Some of them had rust-colored spots he suspected were blood. He tried not to look at the tiny dress crumpled at the corner of the pile, its yellow fabric stained. A burlap sack was near the back wall, a three-legged stool lying in the dirt nearby. The sack had dark blotches that told him whatever smelled lay beneath it.
    He used the end of his rifle to pull up the burlap. Before he could even get a good look at whatever it was, he spun around after hearing a shuffle near the door, his rifle cocked and ready.
    “Good Lord!” Olivia Graham dropped to her knees, her arms over her head. “Don’t shoot me, Brody.”
    His finger twitched on the trigger; the rifle was customized to his touch, and the only reason she wasn’t dead. “What the hell are you doing here?”
    More important, how had she sneaked up behind him without a whisper of noise? He was a trained tracker and a Texas Ranger. Rancher’s daughters did not sneak up on him. Ever.
    Until now.
    “Following you. I couldn’t let you leave without knowing what happened to Benjamin. I figured the best way to do that was travel with you.”
    “Not a chance.” He gestured to the door. “Go home.”
    “Not a chance.” She threw his words back at him, then grimaced. “What is that smell?”
    He had a moment’s consideration for the fact that she was a woman, then decided maybe a rotting corpse was the perfect way to shake her off his tail. “A dead body.”
    Her gaze widened but she got to her feet. “Who is it?”
    “I don’t know yet. I was going to find out when you decided to try to kill yourself by coming up behind me.” He sounded annoyed and maybe a tiny bit petulant. What was she turning him into?
    “I didn’t want to kill myself. I just wanted to show you I was serious about finding my brother.”
    To his surprise, she stepped toward the burlap. He almost stopped her but decided to see exactly what Miss Graham would do.
    “Whoever it is, it’s small, either a woman”—she paused to swallow—“or a child.” She glanced at him. “Did you check the pile of clothes too?”
    She was smart and observant. He scowled at her. “Not yet. You interrupted me.”
    “Of course I did.” Olivia leaned down