Lone Rider

CHAPTER ONE

Careful to keep her low-slung convertible on her side of the road, Tess Marsh stared up at the starry night sky. Spread out endlessly before her
,
the ebony heavens twinkled, flaunting
their
diamond-encrusted landscape.

Diamonds
. Yes! Hundreds of them, very small, less than one point, perhaps even a half-point, but still a girl’s best friend.

Drawing a deep breath, she envisioned a diam
ond brooch replicating the free-
form pattern of star constellations. It would be an eye-catcher, brilliant, with first
-
quality diamonds, set in platinum, with minute amounts of delicate, angel-breath, filigree.

             
             
And she’d call the line of jewelry
Sky Fire
.

“That’s it!”  Now she couldn’t wait to find a motel room and start sketching the designs dancing in her head.

This new line would be fabulous.

Maybe even fabulous enough to quiet once and for all the critics who wondered aloud whether her
jewelry-design
work received praise on its own merit or because she was the daughter of John Winston Marsh III.

Well, they hadn’t seen anything yet.

She was determined to succeed and knew exactly where she was heading. Besides, she’d just hooked her wagon to a star!

Forcing her concentration back to the road, she shivered from excitement as well as the cool night air. She glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard. Holy crow, it was almost two! Where had the time gone? Three hours had disappeared in a creative fugue.

She had undoubtedly missed her turn. Slowing, she started looking in earnest for a place to turn around and double back.

The attendant at the last gas station warned her this was a desolate stretch of highway -- the reason she’d chosen it. She did her most creative thinking behind the wheel. In fact, the majority of her top-selling jewelry designs had been conceived driving at night.

Of course, that driving had usually been done within a few hours of
Boston
, which she knew like the inside of her own closet, not half-the-country away, on a deserted highway in northeast
Montana
. She pressed down on the accelerator.

But instead of picking up speed her car sputtered and jerked, coughing itself to death as it slowed. Alarmed, Tess steered onto the shoulder. The car was only a few months old and had never given her trouble. She eased the car out of gear before trying to start it again. The ignition whirred, but the engine didn’t turn over.

Her eyes drifted across the dash to the gas gauge and it’s blinking caution light. The one that warned you were almost
out...of...gas
. She sighed. How long had it been blinking?

She drew her jacket closer. All of a sudden she felt cold. Even though it was the first week of July, this far north the lows could drop into the forties. Reaching behind the seat for her backpack, she dug out her cellular phone and
opened it. 

Then wished she hadn’t.
The phone’s LED message read “no signal.”

Leaning forward, she
dropp
ed her head against the steering wheel. Moments ago she soared on a jet stream of optimism. Now she’d crashed and burned.

Tess climbed out of her car and slammed the door. Then she started swearing. Now what?

She stared dubiously east, in the direction she’d been headed. How far to the next town? Or even a farmhouse? She squinted. For that matter, did the road even go any farther than this?

She stuck out her arm
,
unable to see anything beyond her hand. Now she realized why the stars seemed bigger than life tonight. There was no moon, no ambient light. Just lots and lots of dark. The really black kind.

As far as she could see.

The cold closed in. She zipped her jacket and crammed her hands in her pockets. She stepped back toward the car, her foot kicking up loose gravel. The noise seemed to intensify in the stillness. Then it grew quiet.

Very, very, quiet.

She swallowed, senses alert.

A different noise sounded on the far side of the road. A stick-broken-underfoot type of noise. Apprehension pressed a hand to her lower back. If she were stranded on a deserted road, in the middle of the night in
Massachusetts
, she might have worried about muggers. But here in
Montana
-- God’s country -- the first thought that came to mind:
wild animal
.

Tess scrambled for her car and jumped back inside. Twisting the key to ON, she jabbed the power buttons to close the windows and raise the convertible top. Thankfully, the car had a strong battery.

When the top was secure and the doors locked, she leaned forward and listened. No noise reached her from outside.

What had caused the noise? A grizzly? She eyed the convertible top
,
realizing how little protection it offered. The claws of a strong bear could easily rip through the canvas exposing her like a can of sardines. She winced, imagining herself on a cracker.

She scanned the car’s interior. Anything that qualified as a weapon was locked in the trunk. She’d even abandoned her key-chain pepper spray once she left
Boston
, lulled by the
West’s pervasive sense of small-
town security.

She squirmed, watching the windows fog as ten minutes stretched to twenty. Finally
,
her curiosity got the better of her. Rubbing the moisture from the glass, she peered out at the dark highway.

And started laughing.

Two gigantic elk, one with an impressive rack of antlers, the other without, drifted in and out of the darkness
just beyond her car
. They stared at her, their steamy breath looking like smoke as it left their large nostrils.

She studied the unmoving animals, trying to recall what she’d heard about elk. Something about forest fires driving them from their normal habitat in search of food. That wasn’t much.

Were they an aggressive species? Did they eat meat? She watched the big one shake his head furiously. She gulped, keeping an eye on the wide swath his antlers cut.

To her horror, the animal stepped closer, neck extended, and started scraping at the asphalt with a front hoof. She suddenly remembered that other thing she’d heard about elk, gruesome stories about rutting and aggression. Surely, the elk wouldn’t... It wasn’t even that time of year, was it?

The second elk moved in. She sank lower in her seat, spooked.

Their deliberate disregard eroded her relief -- and dissolved what little bravery she’d mustered. So much for taking care of herself, like she promised her mother. Madeline would pass out if she knew of Tess’ present predicament. But at least her mother would call out the cavalry before she fainted.

And even though Tess rarely agreed with her mother on anything, now
would
be a good time for the cavalry to come by and rescue her.

*     *     *

Engine wide open, the Harley-Davidson ate up the miles of deserted highway.

Dallas Haynes stared above the horizon, catching sight of a falling star. An omen, he thought. Good or bad? Of course, out h
ere falling stars seemed common
place. There was a reason this was called Big Sky Country. Nights like this proved it.

He shifted on his motorcycle, glancing at the odometer. Another thirty miles to go. Compared to the last eight hundred, it would be a piece of cake. He’d been riding for nearly twelve hours, crossing over from
Canada
at the
Michigan
border. He couldn’t wait to pry this bike off his ass.

He glanced at the dark highway, ever watchful for deer and antelope grazing along the side of the road. They could wreak havoc on an unsuspecting driver.

It seemed strange to be riding alone. Bogen’s men usually traveled in pairs. Or packs. However, this wasn’t the usual trip. He was on a special mission, with a special message for Bogen from Sanchez. A message Sanchez wouldn’t trust with just anyone. That trust acknowledged
Dallas
’ status. He was one of Bogen’s lead men
,
and Sanchez’s action seeded him for the top position. Which was exactly the spot
Dallas
sought.

Reaching the crest of what he recognized as one of
the final hills before his turn
off, he sat forward, hand easing off the throttle. Below him, in the valley, on the opposite side of the road, he saw the blinking yellow flashers of a disabled vehicle. He slowed. Probably some damn farmer’s kid had run out of gas while out driving and drinking on a Saturday night.

Well, he wasn’t about to stop. The kid was probably long gone anyway, not wanting to get busted for DUI if a deputy cruised by. Gunning his engine, he picked up speed.

As he drew closer, a glimmer of movement on the highway caught his eye. A pair of elk bounded from around the vehicle!

Braking hard, he skidded. Tires screeched as he fought to hold the bike steady without laying it down. Acrid smoke billowed thickly in the night as he careened sideways to a stop, just beyond the car. The elk disappeared, leaving the highway clear.

Revving his engine, he looked over his shoulder at the car that had distracted him in the first place. To his surprise, the car’s interior light came on as the door swung open. He started swearing as soon as he caught sight of the driver’s slight frame. A woman. Of all the rotten luck. Turning his motorcycle around, he headed toward her.

Make that a gorgeous woman, he corrected as he pulled in behind her car, his headlight capturing her. That was even worse. She had apparently started to come after him, as if afraid he’d drive past without stopping. Now she hovered in the middle of the highway, reminding him of a doe caught in the lights. Or a damn elk!

He switched off his engine, leaving the headlight on and taking advantage of her temporary blindness. She was one neat package, he admitted begrudgingly. The wolf in him wanted to whistle at the long lines of her legs and the obvious curves beneath her jacket. Her eyes had been huge
,
making him curious to know their color. Blue? Green? A light breeze carried her scent. Roses. God, she even smelled alluring.

Several strands of windblown, light-colored hair had escaped the neat knot atop her head, framing a delicate oval face. He’d bet she’d been cruising with the top down.
Tourist style.

She wasn’t from around here. He’d known that even before he’d seen her out-of-state plates.
Massachusetts
. He would have guessed that. Or
New York
. She looked like old,
East C
oast money.

He sized up the situation: a beautiful woman, alone on the side of the highway with a brand-new, broken down BMW. Damn it! Did she have any idea how much trouble she could be in? He climbed off the motorcycle and strode toward her.

Tess stared at the dark silhouette of the lone rider as he dismounted. When she’d first spotted him and realized he was speeding up but hadn’t seen the elk, she had scrambled to get out of the car and scare the animals. She hadn’t been quick enough, but fortunately, he had still managed to avoid an accident.

The concern she felt for his safety evaporated as the man stepped out of the glare and strode toward her.

Every
Hollywood
stereotype of a motorcycle gang member came to mind. He wore boots, wickedly tight jeans, ripped at both knees, and a worn leather jacket -- black of course. He wore no helmet, his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. A Fu-Manchu mustache and an abbreviated V-shaped goatee completed the bad-boy picture.

She started to wave him on, tell him she was okay, that help was on the way, but he was already in front of her. Self-conscious, she backed up toward the safety of her open car door. The man was tall, probably six-two, which gave him eight inches over her, and added to the menacing figure he cut.

When he stepped closer, into the narrow band of light spilling from the car, she gasped, the stereotype crumbling. The man was incredibly handsome. From his chiseled jaw to his bedroom eyes, his face was perfect. The day’s stubble on his cheeks only enhanced his dark good looks.

If you liked that type, she amended quickly, which she didn’t. He looked like trouble cruising for a place to land.

She backed up another step and bumped into her car, but still the man approached, crowding her, not stopping until he was almost on top of her. He stretched out an arm, resting his hand on the edge of the car’s roof, mere inches from her head, and leaned in close, bowing his head slightly so he controlled the eye contact.

She held her breath and stared up at him, catching a glimpse of icy silver eyes. Unusual eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.