RenegadeHeart by Madeline Baker

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backward, her heart pounding like a wild thing as every nerve in her body grew
taut. She had never given Tyree the slightest encouragement, had never said or
done anything to make him think his advances would be remotely welcome, and yet
she knew he intended to kiss her.
    The thought of Tyree’s mouth on hers made Rachel’s knees go
weak, and even then he was reaching for her. Time seemed to stand still and
Rachel was suddenly acutely aware of everything around her, the wind rising out
of the north, the crickets singing in the trees, the scent of horse and leather
and cigar smoke clinging to Tyree. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, and
she felt her whole body grow warm, as if her blood had turned to flame.
    Answering some inner prompting, Rachel swayed toward Tyree,
all her senses urging her to surrender to the promise dancing in his eyes, to
discover, once and for all, the eternal mystery of mating.
    Tyree’s hand was big and brown, unexpectedly gentle as it
caressed her cheek and the slender curve of her throat, slipping around to cup
her head in his hand to draw her closer. A killer’s hand…the thought smothered
the fire in Rachel’s veins.
    With a wordless cry of self-disgust for what had almost
happened, she twisted away from Tyree’s imprisoning hand and ran for the safety
of her room. Inside, she slammed the door, but she could not shut out the sound
of Tyree’s sardonic laughter.
    Tyree spent the rest of the week familiarizing himself with
the lay of the land. He rode the borders of the Slash W ranch, acquainting
himself with every hill, gully, and ravine, memorizing landmarks, determining the
quickest route between the Lazy H and the Walsh spread. He noted the best
places to take cover, in case going to ground became a necessity, and looked
for places where he could make a stand if things got tight.
    He spent several mornings on a hilltop overlooking the Walsh
ranch house, taking special interest in the armed guards who patrolled the yard
at odd hours. He made note of the daily routine of the cowboys, and of Job
Walsh, who never left the ranch proper without several heavily armed escorts.
    It was tedious work, but it had paid off for Tyree in the
past. Hunting a man was a lot like hunting an animal. It was easier to bring
your quarry down if you knew his tracks, his habits, and where he made his
lair. Most animals tended to eat and drink and hunt at the same time each day.
Likewise, most men followed a certain pattern in their daily living.
    Rachel and her father never questioned Tyree about his
frequent absences from the ranch. But as the days went by, both father and
daughter grew noticeably more tense. It was like sitting on a powder keg,
knowing the fuse had been lit, but not knowing exactly when the explosion would
take place.
    It was Halloran who finally broke the silence. “When?” he
asked Tyree at dinner one night. “When will you do it?”
    “Tomorrow morning,” Tyree answered calmly. “Right around ten
o’clock.”
     
    Tyree’s absence went unremarked at the breakfast table the
next morning. Halloran and Rachel both knew where Tyree had gone, and why.
Halloran sat alone at the big wooden table, fingers drumming absently on the
red checked cloth while Rachel prepared breakfast. He was usually a hearty
eater, but this morning he had no appetite at all for the ham and eggs and
biscuits Rachel placed before him and, after pushing the food around on his
plate for several moments, he gulped down a quick cup of coffee and stomped out
the back door.
    With a sigh, Rachel threw her own breakfast to the dogs,
then filled the kitchen sink with hot water, wondering how a man like Tyree
operated. Did he just ride in and shoot his victims down in cold blood, or did
he give them a fair chance?
    Rachel grinned ruefully at the thought. A fair chance
indeed. That was funny. Against the speed of Tyree’s draw, a fair chance was
really no chance at all, and though she harbored no love for Job Walsh,