Chapter 2

He managed not to stutter or show a tenth of the feelings roiling through him. Although Dan stood not an arm’s length away, he’d better not do anything stupid. Instead, he turned toward the cluttered desk where Ben did the paperwork for the shop.

“Sure, you can leave the truck. I wouldn’t want to drive up or down Alamo Canyon Road with iffy brakes myself. Let me write out a work order for you.” Finding the right pad of forms and a pen took enough attention that he regained some focus so his good hand only shook a little as he filled out the information. Then he gave the pad to Dan, careful not to touch the other man’s hand.

“I’ll need you to sign this and then I’ll give you a copy to keep while we work on your truck. Not that it isn’t immediately recognizable as yours. Everyone knows the Flying W brand and this particularSilverado, at least everyone in Copper Canyon.”

Dan scrawled his name across the line and handed the pad back. “Thanks. Do you want to me to call Ben inthe morning or can you explain to him?”

“I’ll take care of it, unless you feel a need to speak to him,” Mal said. “You’re a regular customer so I doubt he’ll have any questions, but he can call if he needs to.”

“All right.” Dan nodded. “Good. Thanks.” The single toot of a horn alerted him that his ride had arrived. He spun and headed for the door.

Mal stood and watched as the other man headed for a pickup, a much dustier, older, and well-worn one than the shiny blue Silverado he left behind. Mal had to admire the horseman’s trim ass, set off by a snug pair of Wranglers, as he lifted a leg to climb into the cab.

Dan—make that Mr. Winslow—was one good-looking guy. Chocolate-colored hair that curled a bit behind his ears and along the edge of a silver-gray Stetson, a matching moustache, and the greenest eyes Mal had ever seen. Almost too pretty, but all man despite his looks.

Well, of all the fucking luck. I hope I handled that okay. I know Winslow is a regular customer and kind of a pal of Ben’s from way back. At least he didn’t make a comment about my hand or whether or not I could do the work. Maybe he didn’t notice or even care.

He exhaled a ragged half-sigh as he went to open the door on the garage’s empty bay. Then he carefully drove the Silverado in and set the emergency brake. A few minutes later, after securing the braces under the pickup, he manipulated the hydraulic lift to raise the truck. He locked it down high enough hecould stand underneath to examine the lines and the rest of the brake system. The truck was only a few months old, so a sudden failure seemed peculiar, even downright suspicious. Mal had to wonder what was going on, what he’d discover.

* * * *

Dan wasn’t sure what specifically intrigued him about Ben Carroll’s current mechanic, but something did. The guy held his left hand in an odd way, but it was more than that. Even not bad looking…He strodeout of the garage and climbed into Fred Hampton’s truck for the trip back to the ranch. Fred wasn’t one for idle chatter, so Dan had the half hour’s drive to ponder several matters that were chewing awayat his peace of mind.

What was going on with his new truck? Last week, he’d had to replace the fuel pump as the original seemed to be clogged up. Now the brakes. For a near-new vehicle that was too much to be a coincidence. Hecould almost believe someone was tampering with his latest ride. But who and why? All his employees were long term, familiar and trusted. Most of them had worked for his dad before the old man died suddenly three years ago, leaving the ranch to Dan much sooner than he’d expected to inherit. If he could not trust them, who could he trust?

Then the next worry floated to the surface of his thoughts. Darrel, his stepbrother, was turning into a real problem. Dan suspected the kid was into drugs and probably running with a very bad set of so-calledfriends. A sophomore in college in Los Mercados, Darrel still came back to the ranch often, even though his mother had moved back to town after Dan Senior’s death. Dan wasn’t sure what the younger man wanted, but he hung around many weekends, sullen, surly, even bordering on hostile.

Darrel still kept a horse at the ranch and often rode off alone to be gone the better part of the day. He sometimes ate in the bunkhouse with the cowboys and more rarely had dinner with Dan in the main house, speaking only if Dan spoke first or asked him a question. Dan couldn’t figure out what Darrel wanted orwhy he spent so much time there when he’d always been contemptuous of the whole idea of ranching and the tedium of life some miles out of town.