Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

F ive lonely years had passed since Mac had walked out of her life. Sometimes, she almost felt like she could breathe again, but then something would remind her of him, or she’d have a dream in which either he didn’t go, or he returned to her. Waking from those dreams to find herself alone was gut-wrenching.

Willa moved Gator toward the mustangs that were her quarry. She needed to get them to the small canyon hidden behind the waterfall, the one she had used many times, taking advantage of the easily blockaded entrance and ample food and water. The men who she had liberated this herd from would be in hot pursuit as soon as they changed a tire on each of their vehicles. Willa was a good shot, and disabling their vehicles was the most effective way to delay their reaction to her theft. The rustlers—at least that was how Mac had always referred to them—might take up the chase, but their cursory search wouldn’t last long.

Mac—the thought of him still had the power to wound. Willa wondered if she’d ever truly heal from that loss. She shook her head to clear it. The rustlers would move on to easier and unguarded prey. She didn’t have another expedition booked for a couple of weeks. That would give her plenty of time to lie low with the horses until the men moved on. After that, she could easily drive them to protected lands.

She urged the wild horses on, using Gator’s intimidating size to push the stallion, his mares, and foals toward the entrance of the hidden canyon. They were reluctant to follow the trail along the bottom of the cliff, but she relentlessly moved them forward. Once past the waterfall, a tunnel opened up, and the stallion led his mares into the secluded valley.

Willa followed them in, then stepped off Gator and put the gate in place that would block the only exit out of the lush meadow nestled in the ring of steep, sharp cliffs. She set up the makeshift corral under one of the big trees and pulled Gator’s tack, so he could munch grass and relax for a few hours.

I n the five years they’d been apart, Mac’s standing within the agency had only improved. He threw himself into the job in order not to have to think about Willa. The mandate of his team was to be available to assist other marshals on an immediate basis or launch a fugitive retrieval action for those listed on the service’s Most Wanted list.

Though he loved his job, his team was stable, and the past few weeks had been relatively quiet, more and more Mac found his thoughts dwelling on what might have been with Willa. Having her walk away had gutted him. He had never found another woman who could compare to her. More than one friend had tried to set him up. In fact, everyone in his life seemed to think he needed to settle down. Everyone, that was, except John. His old friend knew Mac had lost his heart to Willa and never said a word, except when both had had too much to drink, then he’d encourage Mac to go back and take what was his.

“For Christ’s sake, Mac, she isn’t doing any better than you. The two of you belong together.”

“What do you think I should do? Buy her a ring, take her over my knee, and spank her until she agrees to marry me, then fuck her silly?

“Why not?” John said, grinning. “It worked for me.”

Mac had laughed, recalling that John had convinced Mandy to build a life together just that way.

Now, as settled as he was going to get without her, he allowed his mind to wander to what they’d had and how easily they had both let it slip away. It was late one night when he’d been nursing a Kentucky whiskey, he had decided compounding initial pride and stupidity with continuing pride and stupidity was just, well… stupid. With a clarity only a good sour mash could give a man, Mac decided he was done being proud and stupid—he was going to get Willa back. She was and had always been, the only woman he ever loved. He needed to get her back, put their lives back on track, and build the life they always should have had… together. Mac had never found with anyone else what he’d had with her, and he knew from John, Willa had been similarly alone.

There had been rumors about a change in location for his team. He had the seniority and success that would allow him to write his own ticket about where they went, assuming he even stayed with the Marshals. He often wondered if his time in public service wasn’t coming to an end. He’d realized, recently, how much he missed riding every day. Most of his youth had been spent on the middle of a horse’s back. He missed having a life that was about more than hunting down bad guys and didn’t involve a lot of bullshit bureaucracy. He wanted to be out on the open range again, but most importantly, he wanted Willa.

When his phone rang, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he had the oddest foreboding something was about to change. Glancing down at his cell, he recognized John’s number. He’d taken Mac’s post on the Fugitive Retrieval Task Force out of Arizona when Mac left to head up the SOG.

“Mac? It’s John. I was hoping to be able to catch you tonight. You and your guys ready to roll?”

“Always,” replied Mac with a smile.

“Remember that bastard Simon Eastwick from Scottsdale who murdered his wife?”

“The one who strangled her, buried her in the desert, then reported her missing?”

“That’s the one. If it hadn’t been for the coyotes, we’d never have found a body. Well, he’s out on a $2.5 million bail and failed to show up for his court appearance. They’re about ready to add him to the 15 Most Wanted. His passport has been confiscated, but it looks like he’s gone off the radar.”

“We had his assets, right? How far could he go?”

Mac heard a humorless laugh on the other end of the line.

“Oh, you’re going to love this. We think he took off on horseback.”

“Are you kidding?” Mac laughed with genuine amusement. “Of course, you aren’t, or you wouldn’t be calling. Any ideas where he’s headed or if he has any help?”

“No, but if you and your group could give us a hand and help us bring this guy in, I’d be awfully grateful.”

“No problem, John. Let me run it by the suits upstairs, and we’ll be headed your way.”

“Thanks, Mac. I want this guy… bad.”

“We’ll be wheels up within the hour. How long has he been on the run?”

“We’re not sure. He was last seen this afternoon about one our time, two yours.”

Mac glanced at his vintage Rolex—a gift from Willa. “So, at most, he’s been on the run for four hours. It’s about three hours to you. That’s seven hours. Why did you wait so long?”

“We had all of his vehicles, and we thought all of his bank accounts. The local law dogs were keeping as close an eye as we could, but his lawyer has been all over us for harassment. We didn’t realize he’d flown the coop. The only things missing from his place are a couple of horses and some camping gear. We looked for him, but I could use your help. The local guys are having to pull back and trying to distance themselves. If he escapes clean, it’ll turn into a news cycle nightmare. If it becomes public knowledge, we need to be on top of it.”

“I don’t think getting the go-ahead will be difficult, given the notoriety of the case. Unless you hear from me to the contrary, we’ll see you at your office for a briefing in about three-and-a-half hours. We can come up with a game plan and be ready to ride or to roll at first light.”

“I owe you, Mac.”

“No worries, John. If you bring me one of Mandy’s homemade meatloaf sandwiches, we’ll call it even.”

John laughed, this time, laced with humor. “You have yourself a deal. See you later.”

Mac hung up the phone, cleared the operation with the higher-ups, and called his men. They were on the plane assigned to them within thirty minutes.

W illa managed to settle the herd, so both she and Gator could get some much-needed rest. She would head to the old stagecoach stop in a few hours, ensuring the men who might have followed her would have given way to the heat and retired from the field, then she and Gator would mosey back to pick up her other horse and gear. She’d be able to make better time when she returned since, by that time, the sun and its accompanying heat would have begun to abate for the day.

Doing so meant setting up in the dusk and pre-dark, but it would be easier on her horses. Her plan was to set up the skeleton of the lean-to and small corral for her own horses before she headed out. That way, there would be less to do when she returned this evening.

Once she figured enough time had elapsed, and she had accomplished the tasks she had set for herself, Willa resaddled Gator, swung up, and headed out. Glancing toward the stallion and his mares, she smiled. She’d like to think he knew she was trying to help, but she’d settle for knowing he didn’t see her as a threat.

Willa was careful to leave the canyon entrance behind the waterfall surreptitiously, ensuring no one could see her exit. She set off at an easy, ground-covering trot along the trail, then across open range. Several hours later, Willa reached Tortilla Flats and checked in. Mandy assured her their next scheduled expedition was in two weeks, and she had everything under control.

“So, if I need to catch up with you, boss lady, are you going to be reachable?”

“Maybe.” Willa smiled. Mandy knew her far too well. “I’m going to doing some riding.”

Mandy laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Mandy knew better than to pursue that line of questioning. If Willa was doing some riding, it usually meant she was skirting the legalities of something to do with saving her beloved mustangs. The two women had been friends and worked together for more than seven years. Willa was respectful of John’s husband’s job and tried to ensure anything she did would not compromise either of them.

Having made sure everything was under control, Willa bundled all of her gear onto her packhorse.

“Excuse me? Excuse me miss?” a young woman about her age called to her.

“Can I help you?” Willa asked, walking toward her.

“I was wondering. My friends and I are from Jersey, and we’ve never seen a real cowgirl before…”

Willa smiled through the pa,in—cowgirl had been Mac’s pet name for her. She thought about correcting the girl, but realized to many, chaps, boots, a hat, and spurs only meant one thing—cowboy, and if it had boobs, cowgirl. Her attire was everyday riding gear, but to them, it was unique and photo-worthy.

She made good time and was able to take advantage of the dying light and accompanying cooler temperatures. During the last part of the ride, when they needed to go behind the waterfall, the sun had fallen behind the horizon, leaving them to use the full moon and star-studded desert sky to negotiate their way.

Willa was glad Gator and the packhorse had made this trek many a time. Neither of them was fazed by the powerful rushing water or the dark tunnel beyond. As they slipped behind the waterfall, Willa took out an electric lantern and held it up, so they could see where they were going. Once they were through the tunnel, she pulled the gear from both horses, then put them into the makeshift corral. She finished setting up the lean-to and put in chopped feed and some grain. She made several trips to the running stream to fill up an inflatable trough, so they’d have water.

After seeing to her horses’ needs, she turned her hand to putting together an orderly camp. She stowed some of her gear outside the corral under the covering she had used to build the makeshift lean-to for the horses. Then she set up one of the tents she used in her business. Inside, she arranged her food supply in airtight containers, formed a shelf system of sorts to store pots and pans, clothing, etc. Inflating the comfortable blow-up bed, she spread out her opened sleeping bag as well as a soft flannel sheet, down comforter, and her trusty pillow. Having placed her tent on a rock floor meant she could keep things neat and tidy.

Hanging two of the solar-battery-powered lanterns, she constructed her cookfire with a grill and tripod from which she could hang her Dutch oven for cooking. The stream that ran through the canyon and the small lake where the waterfall ended were stocked with trout, meaning she could catch her dinner. In addition, she’d brought other food supplies and hunting gear. Willa was quite comfortable in the wilderness and looked forward to a reprieve from her everyday life for a week or so before moving the mustangs to safety.

Making a quick check of her camp and ensuring the gate barring the entrance to the canyon was secure, Willa entered her tent, stripped out of her clothes, tucked them away neatly, then slipped into a long T-shirt, and crawled into bed. Happy with all she’d accomplished, she laid her head on her pillow and was asleep in moments.