more carefree than he had in years.
True to his word, it was fifteen minutes before six when Colt signed two copies of the transfer papers and accepted the deed to 20,000 acres of prime land. The rest of his money was safe in the bank, and Klaus Spindler had two hundred dollars in his pocket. Before he left, Colt penned a brief statement giving Samantha and Will Howard authority to live on the ranch until he saw fit to claim it on some future date. The note was clipped to the transfer document and left in a conspicuous place on the elder Logan’s desk.
A few minutes after six Vern Logan staggered out of the saloon, having overindulged in both whiskey and sex. He knew he should have returned to the bank before closing, but Molly’s soft flesh proved too tempting to leave so soon. Besides, he knew Klaus to be capable of handling whatever mundane transactions might have occurred during the past hour. But to salve his conscience, he walked past the bank and checked the doors to make certain they were locked before heading home.
It was dark when Colt returned to the ranch. His meeting with Mayor Mohler had taken longer than he had anticipated. But he felt he now had a factual account of the Crowders’ assault on Karlsburg. During the past six months they had inflicted untold damage and killed several innocent people, including Sam’s father. Many shop owners were paying the outlaws to leave them alone, and ranchers in the area found themselves minus their herds when the Crowders rode their way. Ten men in all made up the gang, most of them related. They delighted in terrorizing the town and had left the saloons in shambles too many times to count. The bank had been robbed once, but evidently banker Logan had struck up some kind of bargain with their leader for he’d not been bothered since.
Riding directly to the stables, Colt wondered where Sanchez was as he rubbed the horse down and put fresh hay in the stall. His own mustang was exactly where he had left him earlier that day. He didn’t tarry to find out whether Sanchez had replaced the thrown shoe but went directly to the house.
It was pitch black inside. In fact, it appeared so deserted Colt’s first thought was that somehow Sam had mustered sufficient strength to leave bed and flee, thinking he meant to turn her over to the sheriff. Of course, he had intended to do exactly that until he met the despicable man.
“Christ!” Colt cursed, bumping his shin in the dark. He struck a match, located a lamp, and waited until the dim glow lighted his way. Automatically his steps led him to Sam’s room, a helpless feeling grinding his gut at the thought of facing an empty bed.
A muffled sob sharpened his wits and made him aware that he was not alone. As he transferred the lamp to his left hand, his right hovered close to his six-shooter. The door stood slightly ajar and he carefully nudged it open with his booted toe. Sam lay in the center of the bed, quietly sobbing. She blinked at the sudden blaze of light and stared warily at Colt, waiting for him to explode once he learned about Will.
Discovering Sam in bed where he had left her hours earlier gave Colt an unexpected jolt of pleasure that surprised as well as nettled him. No woman had ever caused him the anguish Sam had. Nor made him angrier. He had no idea what to do with her. That’s why he had left instructions allowing her to continue living on the ranch, for Colt was astute enough to realize that this was not the time to tell her he was the new owner of the Circle H. Somehow he doubted she would understand. Yet he couldn’t deny the vast sense of relief he felt upon finding she hadn’t left. What in the hell was the matter with him? He was in the midst of an assignment dealing with vicious outlaws and needed no distractions, certainly none like the feisty Samantha Howard.
“Where is Sanchez?” Colt asked, setting the lamp on the nightstand. “Why is it so dark in here? Have you eaten?”
“Sanchez
True to his word, it was fifteen minutes before six when Colt signed two copies of the transfer papers and accepted the deed to 20,000 acres of prime land. The rest of his money was safe in the bank, and Klaus Spindler had two hundred dollars in his pocket. Before he left, Colt penned a brief statement giving Samantha and Will Howard authority to live on the ranch until he saw fit to claim it on some future date. The note was clipped to the transfer document and left in a conspicuous place on the elder Logan’s desk.
A few minutes after six Vern Logan staggered out of the saloon, having overindulged in both whiskey and sex. He knew he should have returned to the bank before closing, but Molly’s soft flesh proved too tempting to leave so soon. Besides, he knew Klaus to be capable of handling whatever mundane transactions might have occurred during the past hour. But to salve his conscience, he walked past the bank and checked the doors to make certain they were locked before heading home.
It was dark when Colt returned to the ranch. His meeting with Mayor Mohler had taken longer than he had anticipated. But he felt he now had a factual account of the Crowders’ assault on Karlsburg. During the past six months they had inflicted untold damage and killed several innocent people, including Sam’s father. Many shop owners were paying the outlaws to leave them alone, and ranchers in the area found themselves minus their herds when the Crowders rode their way. Ten men in all made up the gang, most of them related. They delighted in terrorizing the town and had left the saloons in shambles too many times to count. The bank had been robbed once, but evidently banker Logan had struck up some kind of bargain with their leader for he’d not been bothered since.
Riding directly to the stables, Colt wondered where Sanchez was as he rubbed the horse down and put fresh hay in the stall. His own mustang was exactly where he had left him earlier that day. He didn’t tarry to find out whether Sanchez had replaced the thrown shoe but went directly to the house.
It was pitch black inside. In fact, it appeared so deserted Colt’s first thought was that somehow Sam had mustered sufficient strength to leave bed and flee, thinking he meant to turn her over to the sheriff. Of course, he had intended to do exactly that until he met the despicable man.
“Christ!” Colt cursed, bumping his shin in the dark. He struck a match, located a lamp, and waited until the dim glow lighted his way. Automatically his steps led him to Sam’s room, a helpless feeling grinding his gut at the thought of facing an empty bed.
A muffled sob sharpened his wits and made him aware that he was not alone. As he transferred the lamp to his left hand, his right hovered close to his six-shooter. The door stood slightly ajar and he carefully nudged it open with his booted toe. Sam lay in the center of the bed, quietly sobbing. She blinked at the sudden blaze of light and stared warily at Colt, waiting for him to explode once he learned about Will.
Discovering Sam in bed where he had left her hours earlier gave Colt an unexpected jolt of pleasure that surprised as well as nettled him. No woman had ever caused him the anguish Sam had. Nor made him angrier. He had no idea what to do with her. That’s why he had left instructions allowing her to continue living on the ranch, for Colt was astute enough to realize that this was not the time to tell her he was the new owner of the Circle H. Somehow he doubted she would understand. Yet he couldn’t deny the vast sense of relief he felt upon finding she hadn’t left. What in the hell was the matter with him? He was in the midst of an assignment dealing with vicious outlaws and needed no distractions, certainly none like the feisty Samantha Howard.
“Where is Sanchez?” Colt asked, setting the lamp on the nightstand. “Why is it so dark in here? Have you eaten?”
“Sanchez
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