Karen Hughes - Wed to the Witness p.03

And he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Hell,” he muttered.

The sense that everything inside him was undergoing change made him feel off-balance. Unsteady. Not only was his career up in the air, for the first time in his life he had found that just any woman wouldn’t do. That desire for one woman could completely obliterate desire for anyone else.

He wanted Cheyenne James. Wanted her with a growing fervor that was like a sickness. Yet, he hadn’t done anything about that want. He’d kept his word. Over the past five days, he hadn’t touched her.

Dammit, if he didn’t get his hands on her soon, didn’t again taste that cool, gold flesh, he was going to put his fist through a wall.

Setting his jaw, he tamped down on his churning emotions. Still, it wasn’t easy to ignore the tight wire of control that stretched inside him to near breaking point.

He had wanted women before, lots of women. But never with a force that bordered on violence. That was another thing about him that had changed, he acknowledged. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it—or about the woman at the center of those unsettled feelings.

Jackson’s hand clenched on the mug’s handle. Always in the past he would ease away from a relationship before emotions became tangled and messy. No damage done, no hard feelings. With Cheyenne, he found that the only way he wanted to ease was into a future with her.

Problem was, he couldn’t. Not while two attempted murder charges hung over his head. He had heard nothing further from Thad Law. Still, Jackson sensed that nothing good would come from the detective’s silence.

During the evenings he and Cheyenne had spent together, she hadn’t broached the subject of the police investigation. Hadn’t mentioned the possibility of his being charged with the attempts on his uncle’s life. She just seemed to have accepted a simple, unquestioning belief in his innocence.

He was sure as hell innocent, he thought, dumping the remains of his coffee off the side of the porch. Trouble was, he couldn’t prove it.

Until he could, he wasn’t free to make promises to Cheyenne. Couldn’t ask her to make promises to him. Not as long as he could hear the sickening clank of a prison cell door slam behind him.



Rand Colton strode into his D.C. law office early Memorial Day morning, after having thoroughly kissed his wife and promised to be home by noon. That’s when he and Lucy planned on taking his five-year-old stepson, Max, to the zoo. Although Rand looked forward to the outing, Max was so revved with anticipation that Rand knew home was not the place to spend a couple of hours catching up on work.

Dressed in khakis and a sport shirt, he sipped coffee at his desk while reading the deposition of a nighttime jogger who claimed he’d spotted a client of Rand’s sneaking a can of gasoline into the rear of the client’s failing hardware store. Half an hour later, the store had been engulfed in flames.

Fire investigators determined the blaze had been purposely set, using gasoline as an accelerant.

A background check on the jogger revealed the man was divorced twice and had four convictions for domestic assault. A plan was brewing in Rand’s mind on how to get that information in front of a jury—hopefully made up mostly of women—when the cell phone clipped to his belt rang.

“Colton,” he said.

“Rand?”

“Emily?” The sound of his adopted sister’s voice shoved all thoughts of the case from Rand’s mind. It had been three days since he’d heard from her. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Okay.”

Although her words sent a wave of relief through him, the thready fatigue in her voice didn’t sound convincing. Not when she’d recently survived a second attempt on her life.

“Where are you?” As he spoke, Rand opened a drawer on his desk, pulled out a road atlas and flipped it open.

Eight months ago, a man had broken into Emily’s bedroom at Hacienda de Alegria and tried to kill her. Terrorized, she’d fled into the night. The Colton family had spent torturous days believing she’d been kidnapped. When a ransom note arrived, Joe Colton paid the money demanded. Eventually Emily phoned Rand to tell him she hadn’t been kidnapped. Instead, she’d run away and was hiding out in the small town of Keyhole, Wyoming. After swearing him to secrecy, she related an almost unbelievable story about their mother, Meredith. Although skeptical, Rand had promised Emily to check out her theory, just to ease her mind.

The information he’d found to date had been heart-stopping. As was the call he’d received from Emily three days ago after her attacker caught up with her in Keyhole and made a second attempt on her life.

“I’m in Red River, Montana,” Emily said. “It’s small—right across the Wyoming border.”

“I’m looking at a map,” Rand said. His finger paused on a small dot on a thin strand of a road while his other hand balled helplessly on the desk. She was so far away. So vulnerable.

“Got it. Does Wyatt know where you are?” he asked, referring to Wyatt Russell, a close friend and attorney who as a child had lived on Hopechest Ranch. Wyatt had given up the high-paced life of D.C. to live in Keyhole after reuniting with his high-school sweetheart.

“Yes, Wyatt knows. Now you. You’re the only two.” Emily paused. “Wyatt told me the deputy in Keyhole— Toby Atkins—has his men working day and night to hunt down the man who attacked me. Her voice broke. “Rand, everyone in that town has been so good to me. My staying there puts them in danger. That man… If someone tries to help me, he’ll kill them, too.”

“He’s not going to kill you,” Rand shot back. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he dragged in a calming breath. “Emily, we’ve talked about this,” he said quietly. “You know you can come here. I’ll take care of you.”

“If I come there, he’ll find out. He’ll follow me. I won’t put you and Lucy and Max in danger.”

He pictured his sister with her wavy mane of chestnut hair and dimples…and that stubborn line her jaw took when she intended to do things her way. Now, he heard that same unbending determination in her voice. Nothing, he knew, could change her mind. “Do you need money?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m working here at a diner,” she said, then gave him the phone number.

Rand jotted the number on a slip of paper. “Look, tomorrow I’m flying to Sacramento on business. I can shift my schedule, come up there and check on you. I would feel a hell of a lot better if I could just see you.”

“Rand, you can’t come. We’ve agreed that whoever hired the guy to kill me might be watching you and other members of the family. We can’t risk meeting.”

Rand nodded. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just that a big brother is supposed to take care of his little sis.”

“You are taking care of me, and I love you, too.”

“I just wish I could do more.”

“You are. You’ve got Austin McGrath working on this. Has he found out anything yet about Mother?”

“Not yet. Emily, Austin might not find anything. At this point, everything is supposition on our part. We might be wrong.”

“We’re not. And Austin has to find something, Rand. If he doesn’t, this nightmare we’re all caught in won’t ever end.”



Cheyenne had hired on as a counselor at Hopechest only two days before last year’s Memorial Day competition, so she’d missed out on the planning. This year she’d jumped at the chance to organize and schedule all of the events.

She had her hands full and was enjoying every minute of it.

“So far, the barrel-racing and bronc-busting competitions started on time,” she informed Jackson when he caught up with her just before noon.

“With you in charge, I had no doubt.”

“Bull riding starts after the lunch break.” She flipped through the pages on the clipboard angled into the crook of one arm. “So do the roping and target shooting competitions. The archery and pie-eating contests are also this afternoon.”

“Thanks to you, everything’s running smoothly,” Jackson commented as they squeezed into a spot near the corral where the bronc busting was in full swing. “And it looks like everyone is having a good time.”

In her haste to leave her house that morning she’d forgotten her sunglasses, so Cheyenne used a hand to shade her eyes while she surveyed the people crowded on and around the newly painted fence. A roar sounded as onlookers cheered for the cowboy who had a one-handed death grip on a rope bridle while a furious bronc bucked him around the corral.

“Some are having a better time than others,” Jackson amended when the cowboy flew from the saddle and landed on his butt in a puff of dust.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cheyenne saw Jackson tip his head toward Johnny Collins who was across the corral, straddling the fence with a couple of other Hopechest teens. Johnny nodded, then shifted his attention to a chaps-clad cowboy who had scrambled onto a nearby chute to bark instructions to the next rider.

Cheyenne glanced at Jackson. “You’ve made an effort this week to choose Johnny to help on the work crews you’ve supervised. That’s good. He needs to know he’s not the failure his father always made him out to be.”

Jackson shrugged. “Johnny’s a good kid who deserves a break. Besides, he works like a demon when he’s pointed in the right direction.”

Deciding she could take a few minutes from her duties to watch the action, Cheyenne slid her pen in the back pocket of her snug jeans, tucked the clipboard beneath one arm and propped a booted foot on the rail beside Jackson’s. Seconds later, the chute sprang open and another horse leaped out, bucking like a hellhound. Its rider had one hand locked to the saddle, another reaching for the sky…then he sailed into the air.

Cheyenne tilted her head. “I understand that flying through space is a part of the enjoyment of bronc busting.”

“I prefer having a plane under me when I fly,” Jackson said and gave her a grin that had her smiling back at him. He was wearing a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up on his forearms and faded jeans that molded his long legs. The week he’d spent in the sun had given his skin a healthy, golden tan that added to his rugged handsomeness. “I’ll get my enjoyment later judging the target shooting match,” he added.

She furrowed her brow. “I wish you could have signed up to compete. I would have liked to have seen you in action.”

“Taking Thad Law’s suspicions of me into consideration, I didn’t think it would’ve been smart to show off my shooting skills just now.”

“You’re right.” Without thinking, she placed her hand on his and squeezed. “I’ll help you judge the match.”

“Then I’ll enjoy myself even more.” Smoothly, he turned his hand over to grip hers. “In case you haven’t noticed, I like having you around.”

She felt the same about him, Cheyenne thought. Over the past week they’d eaten meals on her small porch, dined at elegant restaurants, even shared a moonlit picnic on a beach. They’d talked for hours, about anything and everything.

The whole time, Jackson hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t even tried.

And each night after he’d left her, she had lain awake, staring at her bedroom ceiling, driving herself crazy wondering what it would be like if he had been there with her. The knowledge that she’d asked him to keep his distance, insisted he give her time to get to know him had done little to ease the desire that thickened round her like a spiderweb whenever he got near. Like now.

For the first time in her life, she fully understood the power—and allure—of greed. She wanted Jackson Colton, more than she had known she could ever want a man. Any man.

Even as desire tightened its grip on her senses, she felt the familiar niggling fear begin to surface. She could imagine herself trusting Jackson with her body, perhaps even her heart.

But not with her secrets.

An involuntary shudder coursed through her. What if she told him about her gift of sight, and he looked at her as if she were crazy, as Paul had? She had no idea how deep her feelings for Jackson went, yet she knew his rejection would be devastating.

“Cheyenne, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I felt you tremble.”

“I’m fine.”

Keeping her hand firmly in his, Jackson leaned in, his eyes grave. “Have you changed your mind about me?”

She blinked. “Changed my mind?”

“Maybe you’ve decided Law’s suspicions about me might be true. Maybe now you’re afraid for me to even touch you.” Enough bite sounded in his words for her to recognize hurt.

She stared down at their joined hands, wishing she weren’t so moved by the tone of his voice, by the touch of his flesh against hers. But she was. He stood beside her, handsome as sin, the bright sunlight gleaming on his dark hair while the woodsy scent of his cologne filled her lungs.

And she wanted.

She raised her eyes to meet his somber gaze. She didn’t need a vision to tell her that he cared for her. “I know you’re innocent, Jackson. And I’m not afraid for you to touch me.”

“You’re afraid of something,” he countered quietly. “I see it in your eyes.”

“I…” She shook her head and found she could no longer resist the whisperings of her heart. No longer wanted to resist. “I want us to be together.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

His gaze remained steady on hers as he tugged her out of the crowd and away from the corral. “Let me get this straight,” he said when they were far enough away so they couldn’t be overheard. “Are you saying you want us to be lovers?”

“Yes.”

“What brought this on? Why now?”

“I don’t know.” She let out a long breath. “It just hit me. You took my hand in yours, and I knew.”

With his free hand he toyed with a wisp of hair that had come loose from her braid. “So, you think you know me now? You think we know each other well enough?”

“I think.” A thought hit her, along with a wave of embarrassed heat. Up until a few moments ago he hadn’t touched her in nearly a week. Maybe he had decided he no longer wanted to. Maybe he just hadn’t mentioned that he’d changed his mind. She pulled the clipboard from under her arm and hugged it to her chest like a shield. “That is, if you still want—” She gnawed her bottom lip. “Maybe you’ve decided you don’t—”

“Not a chance.” His fingers laced with hers while his gaze flicked to the corral, then came back to her. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you could get away right now?”

While the shaky heat of anticipation settled in her belly, she checked her watch. It was almost noon—she needed to go by the dining hall to make sure they’d begun serving the mountains of potato salad, fried chicken, biscuits and desserts that the cooking staff had slaved over. After that, it was her responsibility to see that all the events scheduled for the afternoon started on time. And she hadn’t yet had a chance to check the temporary bandstand that had been erected for that evening’s dance.

She nearly groaned out loud. “I can’t get away for hours,” she said, her mouth curving with regret. “I guess my timing’s not the best.”

“It sucks.” He rested his forehead against hers. With that one gesture, he closed off everything in her world but him. Only he existed.

“Tonight,” he murmured. “We’ll be together tonight.”

His closeness had her pulse thudding. “Yes—”

“Thought we’d never find you!” a voice boomed from behind them.

They turned in unison to find Joe and Meredith Colton standing only inches away.

“Mr. and Mrs. Colton,” Cheyenne said while heat rushed into her cheeks at the possibility they’d overheard her and Jackson’s plans. “Welcome to Hopechest Ranch. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Joe and Meredith.” From beneath the brim of his Stetson, the older man beamed at Cheyenne and gave her arm a squeeze. “The only time I ever missed a Hope-chest competition was during the years I served in the Senate and lived in D.C.” Turning to Jackson, he gripped his nephew’s hand in a hearty handshake. “You doing okay, son?”

“Things are looking up,” Jackson said, then gave Cheyenne a wink that sent her heart whacking around in her chest.

Pulling in a breath, she forced her thoughts away from lust and to the couple who’d joined them. The Colton family patriarch had dressed for the day in an unassuming plaid shirt, worn jeans and scuffed boots. His wife had opted for skintight designer jeans that highlighted her lean, leggy figure. Tooled black boots covered her feet; her yellow silk blouse sported silver trim that matched the band on her white-as-snow hat. A small leather purse hung from a silver chain looped across one shoulder. Diamond studs the size of gumdrops glittered coldly at her earlobes.

Her blond hair slid behind one angular shoulder as Meredith shifted her attention toward the corral. “We’d barely been here fifteen minutes when Teddy and Joe, Jr. dashed off. That was ages ago. Have either of you seen them?”

“Sorry,” Jackson answered.

Cheyenne ran her tongue around her teeth. “Actually, I ran into them earlier behind the pole barn.”

Using a red-tipped nail, Meredith slid her designer sunglasses down her nose and gave Cheyenne a look over the tops. “I’m almost afraid to ask what my boys were doing behind the pole barn.”

“Nothing dastardly,” Cheyenne answered. “Just teaching Priscilla Cooper how to make noises with her armpit.”

“Hell’s teeth.” Meredith rolled her eyes, then shoved her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I can’t let them out of my sight for a minute.”

Joe shook his head. “Sweet thundering Jesus, Meredith, they’re just being boys!”

“That’s right, Aunt Meredith,” Jackson commented. “You remember what you did when you caught Rand and me doing the same thing.”

Cheyenne saw a look cross the woman’s face, a quick shadow, that cleared instantly. “Of course I remember. Cheyenne, do you have any idea where Joe, Jr. and Teddy are now?”

“I sent them over to the kids’ area near the dining hall.” While she spoke, Cheyenne was pointedly aware that Jackson’s gaze had narrowed on his aunt’s face. “Sophie, River and some of the Hopechest counselors are in charge of the three-legged races. There’s also milking, roping and greased pig contests for the kids. I’m sure Joe, Jr. and Teddy have found plenty there to keep them busy.”

“No doubt. I’m going to check just to make sure.” Meredith looked at her husband. “Coming, darling?”

“I’ll catch up with you later.” Joe glanced at Jackson. “Right before we left the house I got a call from your dad. He and your mother are coming in this evening to spend a couple of days with us. Graham has some business to discuss. I know you’re officially on a leave of absence, but I need to go over a few details with you before I talk to him.”

Jackson nodded. “Sure.”

“See you later, then.” Meredith turned and sauntered off down the gravel path that led to the dining hall.

“She doesn’t remember,” Jackson said almost to himself.

“Doesn’t remember what?” Cheyenne asked while his gaze tracked his aunt.

“That day Aunt Meredith found Rand and me in the backyard, making noises with our armpits. She thought what we were doing was so hilarious that she had us teach her our technique.”

Only after Meredith moved out of sight did Jackson meet Cheyenne’s gaze. “She and Rand and I have joked with each other about that day off and on over the years. There’s no way she could have forgotten about it. But she has. You could see it in her face.”

“The accident,” Joe said. “She’s never been the same since she and Emily were in that car wreck.”

“No.” Jackson angled his head. “I guess not.”

Joe raised a shoulder. “That’s not something I want to think about today.” He looked back at Cheyenne and smiled. “Mind if I steal my nephew for a while?”

“Go ahead.” She looked up at Jackson. “I need to go by the dining hall.” She flipped a page on her clipboard. “I’ve got a ton of other things to check after that.”

“You’re one busy lady,” Joe commented. His gaze shifted in the direction of the corral. “There’s Emmett and Blake Fallon. I haven’t seen Emmett in a while. Guess I ought to visit with him, see how he’s enjoying retired life.”

“Go ahead, Uncle Joe,” Jackson said. “I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”

“Take your time, son,” Joe said, then gave Cheyenne a wink before striding off.

“Alone at last.” As he spoke, Jackson nodded in the direction of a nearby towering oak. “Want to meet there about half an hour before the target shooting competition? We can walk over to the range together.”

“That sounds good.”

He curled a finger under Cheyenne’s chin, nudged it up. “There’s one other thing I want you to plan on.”

“What’s that?”

“Save me every dance tonight,” he said quietly, then dipped his head. His lips brushed hers, as light as a wish. “After that, I’m going to take you home and make love with you. All night.”



Patsy clenched her trembling hands into fists as she made her way along the gravel path that led to the ranch’s dining hall. Inside her, desperation rose like floodwater. She hadn’t known what the hell Jackson was referring to. Didn’t have a clue how Meredith had reacted when she’d found him and Rand years ago making noises with their armpits. Armpits!

Behind the oversize lenses of her sunglasses she kept her eyes straight ahead, nodded only slightly to people coming the opposite way along the path. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, couldn’t talk right now. Not while she felt so vulnerable. So alone.

She needed to think.

She dragged in air, but couldn’t seem to get enough in her lungs. Years ago, when she had assumed her twin sister’s identity, she had handled anything and everything that had come along. References to the past hadn’t knocked her off-balance. Only lately had she begun experiencing the ice-pick jabs of panic in her chest that she felt now.

Pulling her purse off her shoulder, she dug inside, fished out the small gold case and opened its lid; her hands shook so badly she almost fumbled the pills it held onto the path. She’d recently discovered one Valium was no longer enough to calm her nerves, so she popped two into her mouth and swallowed them dry.

On impulse, she veered off the path, forcing her trembling legs to carry her into the small clearing she spotted behind towering redwoods. There, she dropped onto one of several large rocks that had been pushed together to form a rustic bench. She gave scant notice to the swatch of colorful wildflowers that spread across the floor of the clearing.

She could still feel Jackson’s eyes on her, looking down in a way that sent the message she wasn’t being looked at, but into. His gray gaze had been like a cold wave against her flesh. What did he know? Something about Emily?

Patsy closed her eyes against a rising sense of panic that made breathing almost impossible. She had covered her tracks, she told herself. No one—including Jackson—knew that she’d hired the man who had broken into Emily’s bedroom that night. If only Silas Pike hadn’t bungled the hit. If only Emily hadn’t gotten away and now was who-knew-where, living on the lam.

The unfairness of it all rose inside her, swamping Patsy’s mind. What if the nightmares Emily had suffered since the accident finally revealed the answers that had been locked for the past ten years inside the little bitch’s head? What if Emily realized her image of seeing “two mommies” was no image? What if she remembered she’d actually witnessed Patsy and Meredith together? What if Emily suddenly recalled seeing Patsy dump an injured, unconscious Meredith on the grounds of the clinic?

What if? What if?

For a moment, the shapes and colors in the small clearing seemed to shift out of sync. Patsy felt droplets of sweat break out on her skin. For the millionth time she cursed herself for not having finished things after she’d run Meredith’s car off the road. If she had killed Meredith and Emily, she’d be free and clear. Instead, here she was, desperate to hold on to the cushy lifestyle she’d created for herself and her two sons. A lifestyle all of her senses screamed she was in danger of losing. She had to find Meredith. And Emily. She could feel them out there, hostile eminences. They deserved to die. Had to die.

Patsy dragged off her hat, dropped it onto the bench. Despite the additional money she had wired Silas Pike, he had yet to track down Emily. Yesterday, Patsy had spoken to the private investigator she had hired to find Meredith. The idiot still insisted her sister had died years ago, homeless on the street.

Patsy had told him in no uncertain terms she would believe that only after she saw her twin’s cold, dead body on a slab in the morgue.

The P.I. then responded that he was out of leads and closing the case unless she paid an additional retainer.

Dammit, she needed more money!

Patsy’s right hand went up, her fingers skimming the diamond stud in her ear. She couldn’t sell her jewelry—wouldn’t sell it. Not when she might need to spirit away Joe, Jr. and Teddy at a moment’s notice. To support them, she needed all the jewelry and money she could get her hands on. To make matters worse, damn Joe Colton had her on a strangling budget and the bastard hadn’t bought her any new baubles in years!

Money. She had to get more money. Suddenly, she felt almost quiet inside and she realized the Valium had kicked in. She was still in control, she assured herself. No reason to panic.

Maybe it was fate that Graham was coming to Prosperino for a couple of days. Even though he was bringing ice-bitch Cynthia with him, Patsy knew she wouldn’t have a problem getting Graham alone—he and his wife spent even less time together than she and Joe. Yes, Patsy thought, she would have ample opportunity to talk to Graham. When she did, she would force him to agree to resume paying her to keep quiet about the fact he’d fathered Teddy.

Before she could do that though, she had to get rid of the one obstacle that stood in the way to her getting Graham to agree to whatever she wanted.

Jackson.

Timing was everything, Patsy thought as she plucked up her hat and stood. Just as it had been the evening four months ago when she’d stormed into the backyard just before dinner. Who would have thought that her needing to calm down over Heather McGrath’s failure to dress appropriately for dinner would have turned into a gold mine?

Patsy smiled to herself. If she hadn’t been outside the instant the gunshot sounded, she wouldn’t have seen the figure clad in black and gripping a gun race down the staircase built against the face of the rocky cliff. She’d remained out of sight, while the dark figure disappeared into the shallow alcove that stared out at the sea. Seconds later, the shooter stepped back into sight, hands empty, then disappeared into the shadows.

It had been dusk—too dark to get a good look at the man who’d fire the shot. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have told the police what she’d seen. Lord knew she wanted the person to keep trying until Joe was dead. Then, she would inherit a trust fund worth more money than Fort Knox ever thought about having. Even while she was being questioned by Thad Law, she had formulated possibilities on how to use this latest development to her advantage. Later that night, after the cops had gone, she had retrieved a small flashlight, gone down to the beach and slipped into the alcove. She’d searched until she found the well-concealed gun, then slid it into her coat pocket and crept back to the house through the oozing shadows.

She had hidden the gun, thinking she might use it to her advantage down the road.

That advantage had arisen when Jackson threatened to go to the police if she didn’t stop blackmailing his father. During his sister’s wedding reception, it had been a simple matter to slip Jackson a drink loaded with Valium. Then, when he’d shown the effects, she’d played the dutiful hostess and concerned aunt and taken him to his bedroom.

Having already wiped the gun clean of prints, she donned gloves and crept to his bedside. While he lay in a drug-induced sleep, she’d pressed his hand around the weapon’s grip, then slid the gun back in the knapsack where it now lay hidden. Jackson had no clue.

Now she needed to get him out of her way. With him cooling his heels in a cell, he would spend his time trying to figure out how the hell his fingerprints got on the gun used in the attempts on Joe’s life. The last thing Jackson would give a damn about was Graham’s resuming his payments to buy her silence.

Patsy glanced at her watch while a plan clicked in her brain. She knew Joe intended for them to stay at Hopechest Ranch through all the boring afternoon competitions. Knew, too, he would keep a fatherly eye on Joe, Jr. and Teddy, but he wouldn’t lift a finger to even look for her until he was ready to leave. His indifference toward her was convenient, considering what she had to do.

She settled her hat back on her head, her glossed lips curved in a smile. It would take only a couple of minutes to go by the dining hall and check on her sons. After that, she would get the car, swing by Hacienda de Alegria and unearth the knapsack that held the gun. Then she would make the short drive into Prosperino. With the town’s entire population doing their holiday celebrating at Hopechest, little chance existed that anyone would see her.

Rechecking her watch, she stepped out of the clearing and resumed her trek along the gravel path. The final phase of her plan to set up Jackson for the two attempts on Joe’s life shouldn’t take long to put into motion.

It didn’t.

A little over an hour later, a smug Patsy steered along the winding curves of the coast highway like a five-time winner at Le Mans. Everything had gone without a hitch. The instant she got back to Hopechest Ranch she would make an anonymous call to the cops.

Then she would sit back and watch everyone play into her hands.

Seven

The sun was stretching the afternoon shadows when Cheyenne crossed the grass-covered rise toward the temporary bandstand that several off-duty Prosperino firemen had built. As she moved, the wind picked up, bringing with it the mingling scents of fresh hay, animal flesh and earth. From the corral below she heard the crowd cheering their picks in the bull riding competition.

While she checked the flame-red bunting stapled to the edges of the raised dance floor, she again assured herself she had been right to tell Jackson she was ready to become his lover. Right to follow her emotions. Right, too, not to tell him about her gift of sight. Her holding back wasn’t deception, it was self-preservation—she’d learned that through hard experience. While her own heart had lain ripped open and bleeding she had come to the understanding that, no matter the love she felt for a man, she was under no obligation to tell him about her heritage. So, she would not tell Jackson. She simply wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

The slide of guilt tugging at her conscience had her worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Forcing her thoughts to her duties, she retrieved her clipboard off the edge of the bandstand and jotted a note. The sound system was in place. The strands of twinkle lights that would illuminate the dance floor when night fell stretched above her like spiky vines of ivy. The table was already in place to display the trophies Blake Fallon would present to the winners of the competitions. Cheyenne had spoken to the bandleader that morning and he had assured her his group would be there in plenty of time to set up for the dance.

Save me every dance tonight. After that, I’m going to take you home and make love with you. All night.

The memory of Jackson’s soft words had her fingers trembling against the clipboard as weakening, seductive anticipation settled shaky heat in her belly. It had been so long since she’d stepped into a man’s arms and let herself feel. Just feel. She couldn’t wait—

“Miss James?”

Cheyenne jolted at the deep male voice coming from just behind her. She turned to find a powerfully built man with black hair and piercing midnight-blue eyes standing inches from her. He had a small scar on his left cheek and his nose didn’t quite line up with the center of his mouth.

She thought she had seen him before, but she couldn’t place him. “Yes, I’m Cheyenne James.”

“Detective Thad Law.” As he spoke, he tugged a gold shield from the snug front pocket of his faded Levi’s and clipped it onto his belt beside a cell phone. Cheyenne realized she’d seen him at the Colton estate after the first attempt on Joe Colton’s life.

“I need to ask you a couple of questions,” Law added.

“Welcome to Hopechest Ranch, Detective Law.” She forced a smile while dread shredded her insides. All week she’d desperately hoped this moment would never come. “I trust you’re enjoying today’s activities.”

“I am, though I’m mixing business with pleasure. You attended Joe Colton’s birthday party nearly a year ago.”

“That doesn’t sound like a question, Detective.”

“It wasn’t.” He smiled and surprised Cheyenne with a flare of charm. “I have a copy of the guest list. Several people I’ve spoken to recently confirm seeing you there that night.”

“It was crowded. I imagine a lot of people can confirm I was there.”

“Did you go to the party with a date?”

“No, with my half brother, Rafe James.”

“Did you hear the shot fired at Joe Colton?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you when you heard the shot?”

“In the center of the courtyard.”

“Alone?”

“No, I was talking to Rebecca Powell and Rafe.”

“How long had you been with them?”

“A few minutes.”

“Whom did you talk to before Rebecca and your brother?”

Cheyenne hugged the clipboard to her chest. She sensed the cop knew the answer to every question before he asked it. “My other brother, River and his wife, Sophie Colton. Her cousin, Jackson Colton, too.”

“How long did you spend with Mr. Colton?”

“Ten minutes. Maybe.”

“This was before you started talking to Rebecca and Rafe?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where Colton went after he left you?”

The air in her lungs seemed to thicken. “To get us drinks from the bar in his uncle’s study. It was nearing time to toast Mr. Colton’s birthday.”

“Were you in the center of the courtyard when Colton walked off?”

“Yes, near the fountain.”

“Which way did Colton go?”

“Toward the house.”

“There were several small bars set up on the grounds. Why didn’t he go to one of those to get a refill?”

“As I said, it was nearing time to drink a toast to Mr. Colton. People had lined up in front of all the bars. Jackson said it would be faster if he went into the study and fixed our drinks there.”

“I need a reference point, Miss James. Do you know where the service hallway is that connects the house to the courtyard?”

“Yes.” Cheyenne smoothed her hand over a section of red bunting the wind had flipped back.

“Is that the direction Colton went?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see him step into the hallway?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“I started talking to Rebecca. Then Rafe came up.”

“Did you keep your eyes on the hallway after that?”

“No.”

“So, Colton could have come right back out.”

“There wouldn’t have been a reason for him to do that. He went inside the house to fix our drinks.”

“How long after you saw Colton duck into the hallway did you hear the gunshot?”

“Maybe two minutes.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“So, you can say positively that Colton was near the service hallway a couple of minutes before someone tried to kill his uncle.”

Cheyenne kept her eyes locked with Law’s. “I can say that Jackson was with me until a minute or two before I heard the gunshot.”

“That’s a good try at alibiing him, Miss James. But there’s a space of time you can’t account for his whereabouts. People can do a lot of things in a minute or two.”

“Detective Law, it’s obvious you suspect Jackson is the person who tried to kill Joe Colton. You’re wrong.”

“I expected you to say that.”

“We’ve never met. What makes you think you would have any idea what I might say?”

He angled his head. “Earlier, I watched you with Colton by the corral. Considering the way you look at each other, touch each other, I figure you’ve got a relationship going. People close to each other usually try to protect the other person.”

Knowing that Law had watched her and Jackson sent a chill up Cheyenne’s spine. After she and Jackson parted, Law must have followed her to the dining hall, she reasoned, where there had been a horde of people and nowhere for a private talk. So, he’d waited until he could get her alone, on the small rise where the deserted bandstand stood. She looked beyond Law, her gaze sweeping the paddocks, the corrals, the buildings, the houses and farther to the ranch’s property line where giant redwoods stabbed into the sky. She felt small and alone and suddenly vulnerable—which she guessed was intentional on the cop’s part.

“Yes, Jackson and I are close. But I’m not trying to protect him. I don’t need to. He’s not the person who fired the shot.”

“Can you prove that?”

“No.” A distant cheer rose from the crowd watching the bull riding.

“I can’t either,” Law stated. “Jackson Colton was present at his uncle’s birthday. He was at the Colton ranch seven months later when someone took a second shot at his uncle. In a case like this, proximity and accessibility to the intended victim mean a lot.”

She felt as if a stone had lodged in her chest. “Just because Jackson was in the general vicinity both times someone tried to kill his uncle doesn’t mean he’s guilty.”

“True.” The wind whipped Law’s dark hair into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice. “In my mind it’s a stretch to think it’s just a coincidence that no one can vouch for his whereabouts during either attempt.”

“That’s exactly what it is. A coincidence.”

“I’ve been a cop a long time, Miss James. I’ve learned the more I can’t prove someone innocent, the greater chance they are guilty.”

“Try harder. Jackson is innocent.”

“Everyone’s entitled to his own opinion.” Law raised a shoulder. “You’re an intelligent woman, Miss James. You do good work here with kids who need help. Backing off from Colton might be smart for you, at least until this investigation’s completed.”

“I have no reason to back off.”

“That’s your choice.”

Law’s cell phone rang. He pulled it off his belt, flipped it open and answered. He listened for a moment, his brow creasing. Then his gaze lifted to meet Cheyenne’s. “I’ll be in touch, Miss James.”

Turning, he strode away, the phone clamped to his ear.



Jackson caught a glimpse of Cheyenne in profile as she waited beneath the oak where they had agreed to meet before the target shooting match. She had one shoulder propped against the trunk of the towering tree, her gaze focused on the bull riding competition in full swing a few yards away.

He glanced toward the corral, saw that Johnny Collins and a couple of other Hopechest teens were again straddling the same section of gleaming white fence they’d claimed that morning during the bronc busting. At that instant, the chute sprung open and Johnny whooped a cheer for the cowboy holding on for dear life while a snorting black Angus bull kicked and bucked beneath him.

Shifting his gaze back toward the oak, Jackson took time to study the woman who, somehow, someway had become a permanent part of his thoughts. He took in her endlessly long legs clad in snug denim, the sleeveless red blouse that fell over the curve of her breasts then cinched at her narrow waist. As he watched her, he realized he had never before seen Cheyenne James so unaware. The faintest line of concentration showed at the corner of her eye and mouth. Her lips were slightly parted. The wisps of hair that had fallen out of her braid fluttered against one high, sculpted cheekbone.

She took his breath away. Just like that. And before the night was over, she would be his.

A pang of desire, then something deeper and stronger than he’d expected stirred inside him as he walked to her. What that something was, how deep it went, he didn’t know.

“Cheyenne.”

She started at the sound of his voice, then turned. Concern overrode everything else when he saw the bleakness in her dark eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Detective Law’s here. He questioned me. Jackson, he already knew we spent time together at your uncle’s birthday party.”

Jackson fisted a hand against his thigh, unfisted it. Anger would get him nowhere. “We were standing in the courtyard, surrounded by hundreds of people. It’s not a surprise a few of them mentioned to Law that they saw us together.”

“I doubt any of them know exactly when it was you left me to go get us our drinks. No one else but me remembers that. And I had to tell Law. I had to tell him I saw you near the service hallway only minutes before someone near there shot at your uncle.”

“Yeah.” Jackson pulled in a slow breath. “Cheyenne, we knew this was going to happen. It was a matter of time before Law got around to talking to you.”

When she raised her chin, sunlight filtering through the oak’s leaves patterned her burnished skin. “I wanted to refuse to talk to him. I wanted to just tell him to get lost.”

“No.” Gripping her arms, Jackson leaned in. “You’ll only make problems for yourself if you give Law a bad time. You have to talk to him. You have no reason not to.”

“He thinks you tried to kill your uncle. He wants to use me to try to prove it.”

“Let him.”

“I don’t want to let him—”

“Dammit, I didn’t do it!” The frustration growing inside Jackson flexed in his words. “Law can try all he wants, but he can’t prove anything.”

Her hands came up, her palms pressing against his chest. “I know you didn’t do it, Jackson. I know.”

The certainty in her voice twisted something in his gut. He pulled her against him, buried his face in her hair and swore.

“I’m sorry I put you in the middle of this. If I could change things, if I could go back to that night, I wouldn’t have come anywhere near you.”

Tipping her head back, she met his gaze. “We were meant to talk to each other.”

“Maybe.” He furrowed his brow at the stillness that had settled in her voice. “If there’s such a thing as fate, it wasn’t doing you any favors at that party by hooking you up with me.”

“I’m not sure of that.”

A roar rose from the crowd watching the bull riding. Cheyenne’s gaze slid toward the corral. In a crystallized moment Jackson saw the color drain from her face. She stiffened against his touch.

“Cheyenne—”

“No!”

“What—”

Her hands gripped the front of his shirt as her gaze swung back to his. Her face was ghost-pale, her eyes wide and filled with fear. “Johnny!”

Jackson jerked his head toward the corral. The smiling teenager still straddled the fence, cheering the cowboy riding the back of a ferocious Brahma bull. “What about him?”

“The bull! He’ll go out of control, get too close to the fence, to Johnny.” She was talking so fast that her words tripped over each other. “We’ve got to get him off the fence.”

“Cheyenne—”

“Now!” She clamped her hand on Jackson’s wrist, yanked him forward.

“All right.” He sprinted with her across a gravel path, then a section of grass, driven by pure instinct that told him to ask questions later.

On the far side of the corral, Johnny and his pals continued cheering and clapping for the cowboy atop the livid bull.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson caught movement. He whipped his head around just as the cowboy went airborne. The man smashed onto the ground. Instantly, he rolled several times as the fire-eyed, snorting Brahma went after him, its back hooves shooting up clumps of dirt like bullets.

A murmur went up from the crowd when the angry animal dipped its head and aimed both horns at his former rider. To Jackson, the black, red-eyed bull looked akin to the devil.

“Move! Move!” Cheyenne shoved her way through the mass of watchers. The urgency in her voice invaded Jackson’s system as they plowed toward the corral.

He saw the cowboy regain his feet. With fifteen hundred pounds of incensed bull charging after him, the man bolted toward the closest section of fence where the teenagers sat. The rider scrambled up the side of the corral and over, barely evading the Brahma’s horns.

The animal spun, kicking and bucking. Its back hooves smashed into a support post. Once. Twice.

Jackson heard a crack of wood splinter the air. Cheyenne screamed Johnny’s name. A look of horror crossed the teen’s face as his body teetered. A half second later, he pitched forward into the corral. The bull bucked, a roar of motion and sound as both hind legs kicked into the air.

Jackson saw the hooves crash into Johnny’s side, heard the boy’s startled bark of pain.

Short, rusty breaths scraped at Jackson’s throat. Adrenaline surged through his body like fire. He levered over the corral’s top rail, snagged the back of Johnny’s belt. Using both hands, Jackson jerked the boy’s limp body up at the same instant the snorting bull’s deadly hooves trampled the earth where he’d landed.

“Give him room! Give him room,” Cheyenne shouted, shoving people back.

Lungs heaving, heart pounding, Jackson eased the teen onto his back on a patch of grass beside the corral. Johnny’s eyes were closed, his mouth slack.

Cheyenne dropped to her knees beside him and swallowed a sob. “How bad is he hurt?”

Jackson looked up. Her face was ice-pale, her eyes filled with pure fear. When he reached and squeezed her shoulder, he discovered his hand was trembling. “One of the bull’s hooves caught his left arm. It’s probably broken.”

“God.” Blake Fallon crouched beside Jackson, his mouth clamped in a hard line. “Someone saw Dr. Kent getting a drink at the dining hall. I sent a couple of the ranch hands to find him and drive him here.”

Cheyenne’s hand shook as she brushed dark hair off the boy’s pasty forehead. “We tried to get to you,” she said softly. “We tried.”

Jackson studied her with grim assessment. She had known. She had known ahead of time the cowboy would fall. That the outraged Brahma would surge out of control. That Johnny would topple into the path of its deadly hooves. She had known. How the hell had she known?

He looked toward the corral where several wary-eyed ranch hands twirled lassos over their heads as they approached the bull from all sides. The echo of a memory stirred in Jackson’s mind, bringing with it the picture of a young Cheyenne trailing after her brother around the Colton stables. And with that memory came tales, rumors—

“Make way for the doc!” The shout from behind him jerked Jackson back to the present.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Dr. Nicholas Kent was tall and powerfully built with thick silver hair and a matching mustache. A network of lines pulled at the flesh around his blue eyes. Having spent most of his growing-up summers in Prosperino, Jackson had been ministered to a number of times by the man.

“Doctor Kent.”

“Jackson.” Kent crouched just as Johnny’s eyelids fluttered open. He thrashed, his eyes half-open, the whites showing, straining.

“Easy, Johnny.” Jackson placed a hand on his chest, held him down.

“Just relax, son. We’ll get you taken care of.” Kent’s evaluating gaze swept the boy’s arm, then lifted. “What happened?”

Jackson used a forearm to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He had to force every word past his dirt-dry throat as he related events of the accident. “One of the bull’s hooves caught him in the left elbow,” he finished.

The doctor nodded. “I sent one of the hands to drive my car over here. My medical bag’s in the trunk.”

A thick moan rose up Johnny’s throat.

Kent placed a practiced hand on his shoulder. “I know it hurts. I’ll give you something for the pain in just a minute. Then I’ll drive you to the hospital. I need a couple of pictures of that elbow.”

“Gotta…go…to…hospital?”

“That’s right, son.”

The teen’s dazed, half-shut eyes met Jackson’s. “You…go, too?”

“Sure.” The knot in Jackson’s chest tightened. Over the past week, he and Johnny had developed a camaraderie while they’d worked side-by-side.

Dragging in a steadying breath, Jackson inclined his head toward the boy’s arm, which was bent at an almost impossible angle. A bloody slice ran down the length of his forearm, which was already turning black and blue. “Listen, Collins, there are easier ways than this to get yourself taken off my paint crew.”

“Yeah. I’ll remember that…next time.”

Blake furrowed a brow. “I’ll follow you to the hospital and take care of the paperwork.” He looked at Cheyenne. “You’ll let the other counselors know what happened? Take care of things here?”

“Of course.” Her voice hitched. “Don’t worry about anything.”

A ranch hand barged through the circle of onlookers and handed Dr. Kent a black bag.

While Kent tore paper off a disposable syringe Jackson patted Johnny’s good arm. “Cheyenne and I need to talk for a minute before I leave. I have to make sure she’s got everything lined up to judge the target shooting in my place.”

Johnny rolled his head, gazed up though dazed eyes at Cheyenne. “I guess I messed up. Can’t…be on your archery team.”

“You’re on my team.” She cupped a hand against his cheek. “You just get to take a break from practice for a while.”

Jackson rose, held out a hand to help her up. She hesitated, then slid her hand into his.

He pulled her through the maze of onlookers, stopping a few feet away. Turning, he placed his hands on her shoulders. Beneath his palms, she felt as taut as a coiled spring.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. It’s good Johnny asked you to go with him, Jackson.” She kept her eyes on the injured boy while she spoke. “He trusts you. For Johnny, that doesn’t come easy.”

“For a lot of people, I think.”

“If someone could call from the hospital, let us know how Johnny’s doing…” Her voice broke. “You saved his life.”

“We saved his life.” Jackson cupped her chin in his hand, nudged it up until her gaze met his. Her eyes were huge and dark in the pallor of her face. “I’m not sure how we did that. When I get back, you and I have to talk. I need to know what just happened.”

“I know.” For a brief instant, the wrenching sadness in her voice closed around him. “I know you do.”



Hours later, Cheyenne stood alone on her dark porch. Under the pale light of the moon, her small front yard was a mix of subdued shades of gray and black, with occasional patches of white. Leaning a shoulder against the porch rail, she wondered if she had actually thought she could open herself intimately to a man, yet keep secret the gift of her heritage. A gift that coursed through her veins.

“Idiot.” Her quiet voice drifted on the warm night air, blending with the music coming from the far-off bandstand. After Johnny’s accident, she had forced herself to work, carry out the duties required of her. Yet, she had drawn the line at going to the dance, so she’d asked another counselor to take her place. She had opted for the coward’s way out by refusing to watch couples move beneath the dance floor’s twinkling lights while the memory of Jackson’s voice replayed in her head.

Save me every dance tonight. After that, I’m going to take you home and make love with you. All night.

Her throat tightening, Cheyenne shrank away from the thought. Instead of dwelling on what might have been she had to face what was.

Johnny would recover, that was the important thing. Blake had called after the teenager had been wheeled out of surgery, with two pins in his elbow. Dr. Kent predicted a full recovery. For that, Cheyenne was grateful.

What made her heart clench was the knowledge that Jackson had witnessed what he had that afternoon. At this point he didn’t know any specifics, but he had seen enough to know she had willfully deceived him.

He would walk away, just as Paul had. The blame was all hers. She had intentionally kept the truth from Jackson and fate had taken a hand.

He had been honest with her. He’d come to her, told her the police suspected him of two attempted murders. By doing so, he had given her a choice of accepting or backing away. Because she’d been afraid of the outcome, she had denied him the truth about herself.

“Idiot,” she said again.

“Are you talking to me or yourself?”

Jackson’s voice caught her like a slap in the face, had her spinning around. When he moved across the lawn through a swath of weak moonlight, the grimness in his face had her nerves jittering.

“Myself,” she managed. “How’s Johnny?”

“Out like a light.” Jackson came up the porch steps, then paused. “Blake’s spending the night at the hospital. Dr. Kent says we can bring Johnny home tomorrow.”

“Good. That’s good.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, cupped her elbows in her hands. “I owe you an explanation.”

He moved toward her like a shadow, controlled and observant. “I’m not sure you owe me one, but I would appreciate one.” His voice was even, his eyes intent. Unnervingly so.

She took a deep breath. “I’ve mentioned to you that my mother died the night she gave birth to me. I never heard her laugh. The only memories I have of her are through the stories River and Rafe tell me. Even so, I feel she is always with me because she passed a gift to me, through the blood. The gift of sight.”

“Are we talking ESP?”

“A form of it.”

“I’d say it’s a pretty exacting form. Today you saw the accident before it happened. You knew Johnny was in danger before that bull kicked the fence.”

“Yes. I have visions. I see certain things and events before they happen.” She put an unsteady hand to her throat. “I know what I’m telling you is hard to believe, but it’s true.”

“If I hadn’t been there today, I wouldn’t believe it. But I was a part of what happened. Johnny would probably be dead now if it weren’t for you.”

“Us. We were both meant to be where we were.”

Jackson raised a hand, let it fall. “I chose the oak tree as a place for us to meet off the top of my head. I could have just as easily asked you to meet me at the shooting range.”

“You didn’t. We were meant to be near the corral.”

“So, you’re saying fate put us there so we could save a life?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how incredible that sounds?” he asked, his voice taking on a hard edge.

“Of course I do. And I know you would like me to give you a rational explanation for everything, but I can’t. Any more than I can explain why the visions that come to me don’t always have a clear purpose, like the one did today. I sometimes don’t know why I see the things I do, why I sense them, or what they mean. I just accept what I see and deal with it the best I can.” She pulled in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, Jackson.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sorry that you have visions, or that you failed to mention them to me?”

Pride stiffened her spine. “I’m not ashamed of my gift. My mother’s people revere my visions for their power to do good. I am sorry I wasn’t truthful with you.”

“So am I.” He took a step toward her, his hands clenched. “That first night we ran into each other, when we went for coffee, I told you I remembered something about that shy, skinny little girl who used to follow River around like a shadow. I asked if you read palms or minds.” His fingers flexed, fisted again. “You said no.”

“That’s because I don’t do either. I can’t look at the lines in your hand and predict your future. I can’t gaze into your eyes and read your thoughts, only imagine them, like now.”

He angled a rigid shoulder against one of the porch’s columns, crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you imagine I’m thinking right now?”

“You’re angry that I kept this from you. You feel betrayed and hurt.” She shut her eyes. “I never meant to hurt you, Jackson. My intention was to help.”

“Help?”

“Do you think we met in the lobby of the movie theater by chance?”

“Hell, yes,” he answered, even as something flickered in his eyes. “I walked out of the police department and started driving. I didn’t know I was going to wind up at the movie until the minute I whipped a U-turn in the street.” He leaned in. “Why were you there?”

“I was meant to be there,” she answered quietly. “The last thing I planned to do that evening was see a movie. I was at home, writing a grant for funding of a new vocational work-training program for the ranch. Then a vision came to me of a man’s eyes, hard and gray. I didn’t know whose eyes they were. All I knew was he was in trouble, that he needed my help and that I would find him at the movie theater. I went there, bought a ticket and waited in the lobby. I didn’t know the man in my vision was you until I saw your eyes.”

“So you just dropped everything and headed to the movies?” Although his voice remained steady, raw emotion flickered in his gaze. “You didn’t know why or how, you just came?”

“My visions are always for good. I don’t question them. I accept and respond. I still don’t know how I’m meant to help you, Jackson. The answer will come in time.” She turned and stared out at the moonlit yard. She could smell the poignancy of the yellow roses that edged against the porch. “It always does.”

“Is that why you’ve let me hang around you?” He jerked her around to face him, forcing a stunned breath from her lungs.

“I—”

“Is that why you let me kiss you?” His hands clamped on her upper arms. “Agreed to make love with me? So you can bide your time until some vision lets you know how you can help me?”

She blinked. “I… No, I… No—”

“You claim you wanted time for us to get to know each other. We’ve had a hell of a lot of long talks lately, Cheyenne. I even managed to squeeze in that the police suspect me of trying to kill my uncle. I told you that little tidbit because I couldn’t in good conscience let you walk deeper into a relationship with me without knowing how things stood.”

“I know—”

“You had plenty of opportunity to tell me about this…gift.” His fingers tightened like steel rods on her arms. “Instead, you kept it to yourself. Dammit, Cheyenne, it hurts that you don’t trust me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Guilt weighed like a stone, dead center in her heart. “I thought about telling you, even sometimes imagined myself doing that. I was afraid to take a risk, so I stopped myself.”

“Why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

“It would have changed everything.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do know!” Jerking from his touch, she fisted her hands against her jeaned thighs. “What you’ve learned about me tonight changes how you look at me. What you think of me. I’m different, Jackson. Too different to have a normal relationship.”

His dark brows slid together. “Who the hell told you that?”

“No one told me. I learned it. My father left me with my aunts on the reservation because he couldn’t handle the fact I was different. He was a drunk, he beat my brothers, but I didn’t know that when I was little. All I knew was my mother was dead and the father I needed didn’t want me.” She felt tears she’d thought she had finished with years ago stinging her eyes. “At the Anglo schools I went to, the other kids called me names, shunned me because I wasn’t like them. In college, I told the man I loved about my visions. He looked at me as if I had some terrible disease. He told me to stay away from him—stay away—then he walked out.” Her voice hitched with the memory. “You can stand there and tell me that being different doesn’t matter, Jackson. I know better.”

“All right, so you know.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “You thought that was what I would do? If you told me about your visions, you thought I would walk away?”

A single tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her swipe it away. “Look at history. People have hanged, burned or drowned those who seemed different. These days they mostly avoid them.”