Susan Amarillas by Scanlin's Law

said.
    The two men stood, almost in unison. “By the way, are you expectin’ any trouble makin’ the exchange?”
    “Trouble?” Frank mirrored their stance, already eyeing the door. “What kind of trouble?”
    Jack shrugged. “You know—law, for one, or them decidin’ not to pay, that sort of thing.”
    Frank shook his head. “No, there should be no trouble. I’m certain she’ll pay. She may come herself, or send a messenger. Either way, take the bag and turn over the boy, and no one is to get hurt.”
    “Okay. Okay. We’ve got it. Don’t worry.”
    He started past Frank, then stopped when Frank said, “Don’t mess this up. If you do, if you get caught somehow, you’re on your own. If you tell anyone that I’m involved, I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles that I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
    The two men didn’t seem to take offense, and they certainly didn’t seem concerned. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Handley. We’re not gonna get caught, and nothin’s gonna go wrong.”

Chapter Four
    T he sun was nothing but an orange glow in a gray sky when Luke got back to the house. That damnable rain had moved on about twenty minutes ago, and the clouds actually showed signs of breaking up.
    He took his horse to the stable. It was white clapboard outside, dark stained pine inside. The place was fancier than half the hotels he’d stayed in, and this just for a horse.
    “Well, boy,” he said with a chuckle, “enjoy it, but don’t get used to it.”
    Four stalls lined each side. The familiar scent of hay and the acrid scent of horses greeted him. A pair of chestnut carriage horses peered at him over the wooden stall gates. A couple of saddle horses also poked their heads out to check out the visitor.
    A young stable hand of about fifteen hurried to meet him. “I’ll put him away for you, sir,” he said, his sandy hair falling across his left eye. He shoved it back.
    “No thanks. I always take care of my horse.” Spotting an empty stall, he asked, “This one okay?”
    “Fine. Help yourself to whatever you want. Oats is there—” he pointed, “—and water’s over there. I’ll be in the back, working on some harness. You need anything, sing out.”
    “Will do.”
    With that, the boy turned and ambled away.
    Luke stretched, trying to ease the tension out of tired muscles and joints. He shrugged off his slicker and tossed it over the gate.
    It had been a hell of a day, and it wasn’t over yet, he thought as he unsaddled his horse and hefted the saddle over the partition. The stirrup banged into the wood, and he actually checked to see if he’d scratched it.
    “Hell of a place to keep a horse,” he muttered.
    Becky was waiting for him up at the house. He was stalling for time. He picked up a curry brush and set to work, but all the while he kept thinking about her.
    It wasn’t the first time. Now there was an understatement. Since the day he’d ridden out all those years ago, hardly a day, or night, had passed when he didn’t think about her or dream about her or curse himself for leaving her. For a while there, he’d tried to convince himself she was just another woman, nothing more and nothing less than the others he had known.
    It didn’t work. Knowing other women didn’t work. Nothing worked. It was always Becky.
    Becky of the luminous want-to-drown-in-them eyes. Becky of the throaty voice that brushed his skin and his nerves like warm velvet. Vivid memories merged with lush fantasies, and all of them had to do with her naked in his arms.
    He stopped dead, letting the sudden desire wash over him, enjoying the feeling.
    Yeah, Scanlin, you’ve got it bad. There’s a name for “it,” you know.
    Lust. That was it. Lust.
    Sure, Scanlin. Sure.
    His mouth pulled down in a frown. He went back to work, making long downward strokes with the brush. The horse shivered and sidestepped.
    “Hold still, will ya?” Luke snapped, and ducked under the horse’s neck to rub down the other