Shotgun Bride by Linda Lael Miller Page A

“No,” he said pointedly. “They saying I did?”
    John took his hat off, shoved a hand through his stringy hair, and put the hat back on. “What they told me was, you warned them off a week or so back. The Triple M brand was burned into a tree about a hundred yards behind what used to be their barn.” Kade must have looked as skeptical at that as Rafe did, because John went through the fidgety routine with his hat again before saying, “I stopped by there on the way out here and had a look. It’s your brand, all right.”
    Kade cursed and drew John’s attention.
    “You know anything about this, Kade?”
    “Hell, no,” Kade replied. He tossed Rafe an irritated glance; there was no question in his mind that his brother was telling the truth, but folks would wonder just the same, between the McKettrick brand and Rafe’s proclivity for setting things on fire. And their wondering might just tip the tenuous balance between peace and war. “It would be an easy matter to steal a branding iron, John. You know that.”
    “I do know that for a fact,” John agreed, with a long sigh, before voicing Kade’s private worry: “But it isn’t my opinion that’s vexing me. Feelings are running pretty high around Indian Rock these days as it is. A thing like this could set off all kinds of trouble.”
    Kade had heard enough. He whistled for his horse, and Raindance ambled over from a nearby stand of grass, bridle fittings jingling. “Best thing to do,” he said, “is go to the source.”
    Rafe turned to him, frowning. “What—?”
    “Where you headed?” John wanted to know.
    Kade put a foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. “Like I said. To the most likely source. Holt Cavanagh.”
    “I’ll ride with you,” Rafe said, and whistled for Chief, his own horse.
    Kade looked down at his brother, adjusting his hat. “Thanks,” he said, “but you’re liable to make things worse with that temper of yours. Just stay here.”
    Rafe was formulating a protest, Kade could see it brewing in his face, but when he moved to mount and follow, John reached out and put a restraining hand on his arm.
    “Kade’s right,” he said. “Could be you’re in enough Dutch already, without beating the brush for more.”
    “Listen to the man,” Kade told his brother, then he turned Raindance around, headed for the Circle C.

Chapter 11
     
     
    M andy was reading down by the creek, the hateful habit pulled up around her knees, the wimple beside her on the grass, when Gig caught her by surprise for the second time in as many days. He crept up behind her, took hold of her hair, and jerked her head back hard.
    She let out a gasp before she could stop herself.
    “All I’ve got to do is scream,” she said, when she caught her breath from the shrill pain, “and every hand on this place will be on you, that quick.”
    Gig just laughed, but he must have given the threat some credence, too, because he let go of her hair. Her scalp throbbed. “Looks like you’re coming up in the world, Amanda Rose,” he said. “You throwing in your lot with the McKettricks these days?”
    She ignored the question. She wasn’t “throwing in” her lot with anybody. She was the same outsider she’d always been, and that was one of the lesser reasons she hated Gig Curry. “Get out of here,” she said, “and don’t come back.”
    He settled himself beside her on the grass, just as if she’d greeted him cordially, as if they were fond companions, and not old enemies. “You don’t want me to leave before I tell you all about your poor mama, do you, Amanda Rose?”
    Everything inside Mandy tightened into a single aching knot, fair stopping her breath. She hadn’t seen Dixie in two years, and the last time, down near Tucson, her mother had been real sick. “What about her?” she whispered.
    Gig assumed a mournful expression, though the angry mirth lingered in his eyes. “It’s a pity,” he said, “how she’s declined since they put