EROCIOUS AS A WOLF, THE STORM snarled across the foothills and tore through Beaver Rock. The wind and sideways-slashing rain drowned out Emily’s voice as over and over she called Joey’s name. She didn’t know the region well—she’d only ridden out this way once before with Pete—but she did recognize the steep ravines that bordered Beaver Rock, the wild and craggy trails strewn with rocks and mountain ash and brilliant purple columbine. In the midst of the storm, a savage beauty gripped this wild stretch of the foothills, but she saw nothing of the rain-drenched wild roses or bluebells, of the beauty of white fir trees or snowberry shrubs trembling in the wind. She saw only the driving rain, the harsh and treacherous hills, the dangerous ravines, where a little boy could be roaming, dwarfed by the huge rocks, terrified and alone on those slippery slopes…

She forced herself to ignore the rain and the raging wind that nearly unseated her, forced herself to ride slowly, deliberately, twisting in the saddle to scan every crack and crevice of the slick trails, squinting through the downpour as her mare picked her way below, around and then up and up toward the crest of Beaver Rock.

Beneath the brim of her hat, and beneath the thick yellow slicker that shrouded the dry clothes she’d quickly changed into before setting out on the search, Emily’s heart grew heavier and heavier.

There was no sign of Joey.

Or of Uncle Jake.

She’d checked the line cabin he’d mentioned and had spotted cattle huddling here and there beneath stands of box elder, but she hadn’t seen her uncle anywhere. Her hopes that he could join the search and increase the chance of finding Joey had all but disintegrated.

She prayed Clint Barclay was having better luck.

Clint had headed toward Pine Canyon and had promised to keep an eye out for Lester. The more people joining the search, the better, Emily had pointed out as she’d fastened the slicker over her riding garb and led her palomino mare, Nugget, from the barn.

That had been hours ago. And still the lightning and the thunder raged. Her mare was shaking, and reared up in panic at each flash from the sky. If Nugget was this frightened, how must Joey feel? Emily wondered in dismay. The very thought of him wandering out here lost and alone made her want to scream.

But screaming wouldn’t help. She had to find him. Soon.

“Whoa, girl—easy,” she muttered as the mare danced sideways after a particularly loud roar of thunder. “Steady, girl, hold steady.”

Desperately she scanned the landscape, a nightmare of solid, rising rock, whirling tumbleweed, driving rain. The wind tore at the new spring leaves and whistled deafeningly in her ears.

“Joey!” she screamed yet again. “Joey!”

Something moved—there—down in the ravine. Just a shift of movement, but perhaps … Her heart pounding with a sudden hope, Emily spurred Nugget in that direction.

“Joey! Are you down there?”

Clenching the reins, she whispered a prayer of hope as the mare started down the slippery trail. But suddenly she saw that what she’d glimpsed was only a badger—it darted across the trail just as a streak of golden lightning exploded across the sky. Almost simultaneously, thunder boomed, then another flash of lightning sizzled, striking an aspen only ten feet away.

Nugget reared straight up, whinnying in terror, while Emily fought to stay in the saddle.

“Whoa, girl!” she cried, but it was too late. The panicked mare reared up even higher than before, and this time Emily was thrown from the saddle. Pain shot through her as she hit the earth, and small squares of white light danced before her eyes.

Then yet another slash of lightning arced overhead, sending the mare bolting down the trail.

“Nugget!” Emily called frantically after her. “Nugget!”

But the palomino never slowed and as Emily watched in despair, she galloped frenziedly out of sight.

No, Emily thought in dazed disbelief. No! This can’t be happening. I have to find Joey.

Pain and dizziness washed over her, but she fought them off. Summoning all her determination, she tried to stand, but the agony that squeezed through her ankle as she tried to put her weight on it made her gasp. Tears smarted in her eyes.

Unable to bear the pain, Emily sank to the ground again and peered around her through the driving rain.

I must be about four miles from the line cabin, she thought bleakly. She knew it might as well have been four hundred.

But staying here wouldn’t do any good. She had to find some kind of shelter, even if she had to crawl to it. If night fell, and no one came this way to find her, it would get bitterly cold this high up in the foothills. Not to mention that the trail was already swirling with water—it could easily flood…

Trying to block out the throbbing in her ankle and the rain soaking her face, Emily gritted her teeth and began to crawl.

“What the hell are you doing here, Barclay?” Lester Spoon demanded. “I oughta horsewhip you!”

Half a mile from the rim of Pine Canyon, with the rain pouring down all round them, running off their hats and their slickers, Lester glared at Lonesome’s sheriff. “You scared this boy to death!” he yelled over a blast of thunder. “And in case you haven’t noticed, he’s hurt—fell into a gully, no thanks to you. Now get out of my way, I’m taking him home.”

Clint barely spared the freckle-faced giant a glance. He was studying Joey, seated before Lester in the saddle, tiny as a burr. The boy’s thin face was dirty and tear-streaked, and a blood-soaked bandanna that must have been Lester’s was wrapped around his right hand. Relief that the boy was safe flooded Clint—but so did concern for Emily, searching even now at Beaver Rock.

The storm was worsening every moment—the real brunt of it closing in fast.

“You all right, Joey?” Clint shouted, his horse edging in closer as thunder rumbled. “What happened to your hand?”

“I f-fell, Sheriff,” the boy answered on a gulp, huddling against Lester’s big frame. “When I was running away from the bad man. He’s coming after me, isn’t he?” Joey yelled, shrinking against Lester. “I know he is—I heard you and Em-ly talking—”

“Hold on, Joey—you’ve got it all wrong.” Clint’s voice was raised so that he could be heard over the wind, but it held steely calm. He looked directly into the boy’s panicked eyes. “No one’s coming after you. The bad man left town—he never even knew you were here, thanks to Emily.”

“R-really? You … sure, Sheriff?”

“I swear it, Joey. You’re safe,” Clint yelled. “Emily will explain it all to you later—right now you need to get home and out of this storm!”

“You hear that, Lester?” Joey twisted around in the saddle to give the big man a wavery smile. “I’m safe!”

“Sure you are.” Lester clapped a hand to the boy’s shoulder. “I told you—no one’s going to hurt you, not while you’re with us.”

“Is Em-ly mad at me?” Joey shouted at Clint over the rain.

Clint shook his head. “No, but she’s awfully worried about you. I’m headed out to find her and let her know you’re safe—”

“Find her?” Lester demanded. “What the hell do you mean ‘find her’?”

“She’s out by Beaver Rock, looking for Joey!”

A sudden violent gust roared all around them, whipping the horses’ manes and tossing the leaves on the aspens.

Consternation crossed Lester’s face. “Damn! Em’s all alone in this storm? This is your fault, Barclay!”

Clint was too concerned about Emily to waste any more time arguing with Lester Spoon. “She’s hoping to run into your father,” he yelled, turning his horse toward Beaver Rock. “Maybe she will and maybe she won’t—but I’m going to let her know Joey’s safe. And bring her back!”

“You stay away from her, Barclay! My pop’s out there—he’ll take care of her. Or I’ll send Pete—”

“Do whatever the hell you want, Spoon,” Clint shouted, his face grim. “But I’m going to Beaver Rock to find her—now”

“Damn it, Barclay—we don’t need you to look after—”

But Clint was already gone, spurring his horse toward the foothills. As another streak of lightning split the sky, Joey gasped and ducked his head and Lester muttered, “It’s all right, Joey. Emily will be fine.”

“You … sure?”

“That sheriff’ll find her. If there’s one thing he’s damned good at, it’s tracking. But he’d better not even touch her, if he knows what’s good for him.”

Then he spurred his horse too, as the sky darkened to a murky green and the rain pounded like nails and the bay horse flew along the trail toward the ranch.

Silver rain pummeled the rocks and the mountains, bent the aspens, and sent the wild creatures diving and digging for cover. Dust and stones flew, lightning raked the savage sky, and the night roared like a lion.

Clint Barclay rode through the fury and the thunder and searched for the midnight-haired woman on a golden horse.

Where before he had shouted the boy’s name, now he called out the woman’s. “Emily! Emily, where are you?”

The wind snatched away his voice and his words, but he only yelled louder, controlling his skittish horse as he controlled the alarm thrumming inside him.

“Emily!”

Squinting against the rain that streamed from the wide brim of his hat, Clint scanned the wild night in every direction. Not only hadn’t he come upon Emily Spoon, either upon Beaver Rock or at the line cabin a few miles away, he hadn’t run across Jake Spoon either. He wondered if she’d already found her uncle, if they were both still out there searching in ever-widening circles for Joey. Or had Emily not come across her uncle at all—was she instead out here in the storm all alone—somewhere …

But where?

His gut clenched as the unbidden and unpleasant thought occurred to him that maybe she hadn’t even made it this far. Maybe something had happened to her along the way.

He rode on doggedly, all of his mind and being intent on the search, blocking out as best he could the battering wind and rain, the crashes of thunder that sounded like cannon fire as they echoed through the canyons and ravines.

A tumbleweed hurled across his path and his horse reared.

Damn it, he thought, gripping the reins and staring through the madness of the storm, where is she?

It was possible, he reflected as the rain ran in hard icy rivulets down the length of his slicker, that she’d turned back before he even got here. But he doubted it. If Emily thought there was even the slightest chance Joey was out here lost in the storm, she wouldn’t have turned back until she found him.

She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met.

And undoubtedly the most loyal.

But where the hell was she?

Suddenly a sound pierced the fury even of the storm, a sound Clint recognized instantly.

A gunshot. And it had come from due west.

He jerked on the reins, every muscle knotted with tension as he galloped in the direction of the shot.

He saw her in the next brilliant blaze of lightning that seemed to light up the entire state.

She was huddled in her slicker, on the ground, a gun in her hand. He spurred his horse forward and saw the snake lying dead not five feet from where she crouched, the little derringer gripped between her fingers. It was a prairie rattler, Clint realized in alarm—poisonous as hell.

Her pale face lifted to his and tension shot through every muscle in his body as he saw her drained features, her eyes bright with fear. Vaulting from the saddle, he reached her in two quick strides.

“Are you hurt? Did it bite you?” he demanded, hunkering down beside her.

“N-no—I shot it first. But my ankle—it’s twisted … Did you find Joey?” Desperately she searched his face.

“Lester found him.” Frowning, Clint noted that she was shivering—badly. Her lips were blue. “He’s fine, except for a few scraped fingers. They’re back at the cabin by now, no doubt warm and dry—which is what you ought to be.”

For a moment Emily forgot all about the storm, about the pain slicing through her ankle and the icy chill creeping through her bones even as the rain pelted her face. Joey was safe. Safe. Relief filled every part of her, obliterating everything else.

“What happened to your ankle?” Clint asked, slipping his arms under her. “And your horse?”

He lifted her with ease and cradled her against his chest as the wind nearly blew her hat off.

“She threw me … and bolted. Spooked by lightning.” Emily tried not to think how good it felt to be held by Clint Barclay. Held so effortlessly and easily, as if she were a doll. His warmth and strength seemed to be flowing into her, easing the icy weariness that had eaten into her bones. “I… I was trying to find a cave or something … I didn’t think I’d reach the line cabin …”

Clint’s arms tightened around her as he felt her trembling all over. Her face was icy white, her teeth chattering. Damn, she needed warm blankets and a good blazing fire … fast.

“Well, you’ll reach it now,” he said grimly. “We’ll wait out the storm there.” As if she weighed no more than a penny, he hoisted her into the saddle and vaulted up behind her.

Lightning split the sky in a fiery arc and she flinched involuntarily. When Clint Barclay’s powerful arms closed around her she could only sag against him with relief.

She closed her eyes then, too spent and weak to do anything else. She blocked out the storm that swirled all around them as they galloped away from the ravine and night began to descend. All she knew was that she was safe. That Clint was holding her, warming her, taking her to shelter.

When they reached the line cabin, Emily half expected to find Uncle Jake inside, but when Clint kicked the door open they found it dry, stocked with supplies, cold as a tomb—and empty.

Where is he? she wondered uneasily, finding it odd that she hadn’t come across him once during all the time she’d been searching for Joey.

“I’ll get a fire going,” Clint said curtly as he set her down upon the neatly made-up cot on the far wall. He noticed then that her hands were shaking so much with cold that she was having difficulty removing the wet slicker. Swearing silently, he paused long enough to undo the fastenings for her and help her out of the heavy covering. There was a saddle blanket folded at the foot of the bed and without a word he draped it around her shoulders.

“I never should have let you go out to search in this storm,” he muttered.

“It wasn’t for you to decide.” Emily clutched the blanket around her and lifted her eyes to the hard planes of his face.

“Yeah? Well, now I’m in charge. Sit here, don’t move, and take it easy.”

For some reason, despite the numbing cold, his nearness and his touch as he had wrapped the blanket around her had sent a wave of heat through her body.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she murmured defiantly, wondering why. Why did this man have such an effect on her? Why did his nearness make her heart do strange little somersaults, and warm her blood, and make it difficult to think clearly?

“I can make coffee while you …”

“Move off that cot and I’ll hogtie you.” Clint’s stern gaze brooked no argument. He regarded her warningly for a moment, then swung away to the hearth, already stocked with two thick logs. “The first thing we have to do is get you warm.”

If anyone had ever told her she’d be hiding out from a storm in a line cabin with a lawman, letting him make her coffee and a simple supper of hardtack and jerky, she’d have thought they were crazy. But here she was, and she was startled that it didn’t feel as strange as she would expect. Despite being cold and exhausted, and her ankle hurting, it was almost… pleasant to be here with Clint Barclay.

She felt grateful he had found her and … she felt unaccountably but completely safe.

You’re delirious, a small sharp voice inside her insisted, as the rain battered the cabin’s roof and a roaring wind seemed to shake all four mud-thatched walls. The sooner the storm ends and you can go back to the ranch, the better.

“Do you think it’s going to stop storming any time soon?”

“Like tonight?” He poured more coffee into her tin cup and brought it over to the cot. “Don’t count on it. By sunrise, maybe.”

Sunrise? “I can’t stay here all night,” Emily said firmly. She accepted the cup and felt a current of heat as his hand brushed hers. No, she couldn’t possibly stay here all night.

“Why not? I don’t bite.”

“As soon as the storm lessens a bit, I’d like you to take me home.”

As if to mock her words, lightning slashed beyond the single window at that very instant, lighting up the sky and the entire shack as if it were daylight. It was immediately followed by thunder exploding even closer and louder than before, and the downpour suddenly intensified.

“Like I said before—sunrise,” he repeated, then flashed her a quick grin. “Come on, you’re not that afraid of me, are you?”

“I’m not afraid of you at all.”

Those cool blue eyes smiled into hers as he lowered his tall frame so that he straddled the spindly chair across from the cot. “Then why are you trembling?” he asked, studying the delicate hands that gripped the cup.

“I’m not. I’m just cold.”

But it was a lie because, to Emily’s dismay, a tingling warmth was rushing through her. She wasn’t cold anymore in the least.

“Tell me about Joey.” That was a safe subject. Anything to escape the intensity of those eyes. They looked even bluer in the dimness of the cabin, lit only by lightning and firelight. Even bluer yet against the lean swarthiness of his handsome face, the dark stubble of his jaw…

“Where did you find him?” Emily asked desperately, taking a sip of the coffee.

He told her about his encounter with Joey and Lester, adding, “Mostly, he was scared—and wet as a drowned rat. I made sure he knew that John Armstrong had left town.”

Emily’s eyes mirrored her distress. “I never should have discussed that man while Joey was anywhere around,” she muttered.

“It wasn’t your fault. I pressed you to tell me.”

“I can’t bear to think that if he hadn’t run into Lester, he might still be out there right now—in this!” She flinched as the rain pounded in a driving frenzy upon the shack’s roof.

“But he did run into Lester, Emily. He’s safe. And so are you.” But he was wondering if he’d have ever found her if she hadn’t fired that shot.

“He’s been so frightened,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And he was finally beginning to get over that fear.”

“I know.” Clint nodded, his eyes narrowing. “I saw the fear on his face today. Poor kid. It reminded me …”

His voice broke off.

“Reminded you of what?”

Abruptly he stood up, went back to the coffeepot, and began to pour himself a cup. “Nothing,” he said in a flat voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.” Emily watched him, watched him wrestle in his own mind, trying to decide if he wanted to explain. At last he took a swig of coffee and then spoke in that same flat voice.

“Joey reminded me of my own brother, Nick. The way he looked after our parents were killed.”

Tension shot through her at his words. And at the rigid clench of his jaw, the flash of pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the silence that followed. “What… happened?”

He swung back toward her, straddled the chair once more, and in the firelight, his face looked hard again, as if nothing penetrated that iron calm. “Their stagecoach was held up. Nick was with them.” He shook his head, remembering, and Emily sat perfectly still on the cot, watching that sharp, swarthy face as if she too could see the ghosts walking through his mind.

“My older brother, Wade, and I were staying with neighbors while our parents went to Kansas—they wanted to visit my mother’s aunt, who was dying. Nick was only seven—the baby of the family—so they took him along. I guess my mother didn’t feel right leaving him behind.” His big knuckles whitened on the tin cup, then, with an effort, she saw him deliberately relax. “But they never got there. The stage was stopped.”

Emily sat very still, no longer hearing the drumming of the rain, only hearing his voice, so calm, dispassionate, almost detached.

“The outlaws who held them up killed all the passengers—except Nick. Every man, every woman—and the driver. My father tried to fight, tried to save my mother, and she in turn pushed Nick behind her, trying to shield him with her own body. Pleading for them to spare him with her last breath. That’s what Nick told us later. For some reason, maybe because she tried so hard to protect him, the bastards didn’t shoot Nick. They let him live.”

Clint’s eyes were slits of deadly blue ice. A shudder ran through Emily as she closed her own eyes a moment, thinking of that small boy, the lone survivor of such a massacre.

“He was the only one,” Clint said softly, and she marveled at the steadiness of his tone. “The only one to get out alive. And he came back to us, to me and Wade. When he did,” he said, drawing in a deep harsh breath, “he looked a lot the way Joey did today. The way no kid should ever have to look.”

Emily swallowed. Words couldn’t express the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “How … horrible. I’m sorry.” How silly and feeble those words sounded.

Clint looked at her, his expression unreadable. “It was a long time ago,” he muttered.

“But the pain never really goes away.” Emily’s tone was soft. She was thinking of her own parents, who’d died of the fever, thinking how much she missed them still. For a moment, gazing into Clint’s eyes, she thought she felt a flash of understanding between them.

“I hope for Joey it will go away someday,” he said, his jaw clenching.

Emily was still picturing him as a young boy who’d lost his parents in such a brutal way. “How … how old were you when all this happened?” she asked.

“Nine. Wade was eleven.” Clint shook his head. “Suddenly we were orphans. All we knew was that no matter what it took, we wanted to stay together. Things looked pretty bleak on that front—until a man by the name of Reese Summers stepped in.”

“Who was he?”

“Reese was my father’s best friend. The two of them went way back. After the holdup, Reese came and got us and brought us back to his ranch in Wyoming. A place called Cloud Ranch.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Emily exclaimed. Cloud Ranch—one of the largest ranches in all of the West. “That’s where you grew up?” she asked, a little awed.

“Yep. It’s a great ranch now—Reese built it up from a tiny cabin not much bigger than this one. It was his dream, his life. And it became our home. And he became like a father to all of us.”

Suddenly he drained the last of the coffee and swung off the chair. He left the cup on the small table near the fire and came to stand before Emily. “It took time though. It wasn’t easy, especially for Nick. That’s why I understand about Joey and his fears. After Nick saw our parents and everyone else on that stagecoach killed, he didn’t speak for a long time. Not one word. But thanks to Reese Summers, he got over it, and the fear—and the silence—eventually went away.”

“Where’s Nick now?”

“Who knows?” Suddenly the harshness lifted from his face and he laughed. “He moves around a lot, my baby brother does. He stays in touch, though. He’s a gun-fighter.”

“A gunfighter!”

“Guess it’s his way of getting back at the men who killed our parents,” Clint said. “The bastards were never found, never identified. Never punished. They’re the kind of vermin my brother hunts down.” His face was grim again and Emily shivered, suddenly knowing that if Clint Barclay himself ever found those men, he’d make them sorry they’d ever been born.

“And this is your way of getting back at them,” she said slowly, looking up at him. Her gaze flicked to the badge glinting on his vest. “It’s the reason you’re a lawman.”

There was a pause. The only sound was the rain drumming upon the roof and the wicked hiss of the wind. “Guess you could say that,” Clint said at length. “All I know is it’s something I need to do.”

A wave of compassion swept through her and at that moment it was hard to hate him for being who he was, what he was. Once Clint Barclay had been a young boy like Joey, scared and alone, torn from his parents. He had become a strong man, determined to fight the kind of brutality that had nearly destroyed his family.

“And Wade?” she asked, to change the subject, a bit unnerved by her own reflections.

“Wade took over Cloud Ranch after Reese passed on recently. Actually, a part of the ranch was left to all three of us, but Wade has the biggest share. He’s the foreman and he has the same love for the place and for Silver Valley that Reese had.” Again his face softened, just a trace. “He got hitched recently. It was his wedding I was coming back from that first night I met you,” he added.

“Oh.” Emily’s thoughts went back to that night, to how frightened she’d been when Clint Barclay had first grabbed her in the darkness. Now, despite his imposing figure, the fact that he was so tall and so muscular, with that sharply handsome face and those eyes that could cut your heart in two, she somehow couldn’t imagine being frightened of him. Not in the way she had been at first. Those gentle kisses had seen to that…

She mustn’t think about those kisses. To stop herself, she said abruptly, “Well, now that your brother has married, I guess you’re planning to do the same thing.”

His eyes narrowed. “What would make you say a fool thing like that?”

It was Emily’s turn to laugh. “Nearly every woman of marriageable age in this town has asked me to sew her a new dress in time for the box lunch social. From what I’ve heard, they’ve all set their cap for you. Though I can’t imagine why,” she couldn’t help adding tartly.

Instead of rising to the bait, Clint just sighed. “Neither can I.”

“Well, you must have done something to make them all start chasing you like bees after honey.”

He looked startled. “Hell, no. Why would I? I’ve got no intentions of settling down, not for a long time. If ever.”

“Oh, not the marrying type, are you?” Emily inquired coolly.

“Nope, and I never pretended to be. But then most men aren’t.”

“Your brother just got married,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, that was a surprise. But Wade got lucky. He met a perfect woman. Someone perfect for him,” he added with a grin. “I wouldn’t trade in my freedom, even for a girl as gorgeous as Caitlin Summers—I mean Caitlin Barclay now.”

“What is she like?” Emily couldn’t resist asking. There was no mistaking the admiration in his face when he spoke of Caitlin Barclay. An odd prick of jealousy assailed her. What was wrong with her?

“Caitlin’s a looker. Blonde. Elegant. She was raised in Philadelphia—the type at home in the finest drawing rooms—but she’s taken to Cloud Ranch like no greenhorn you ever saw. For all of her fancy manners, she’s feisty as hell. A little bit like you, in that respect,” he added suddenly, his gaze settling on her.

“Well, if you’re looking for someone like her to marry, I don’t think you’re going to find her in Lonesome. At least, I haven’t met anyone who sounds so … perfect.”

She spoke offhandedly but heard the vinegar in her voice too late. Clint shot her a quizzical look. “I didn’t say she was perfect,” he remarked. “I said she was perfect for Wade.”

“And what kind of girl would be perfect for you, Sheriff Barclay?” The words flew out of her mouth before she even realized what she’d said. She saw his eyes narrow on her and darken to the color of a stormy sea.

He took a step toward her. Emily tensed.

Another step. She had to force herself to remain perfectly still upon the cot, to resist the temptation to edge away from him. Her heart was beating so fast she could barely catch her breath.

Clint Barclay across the room was distraction enough—but up close, less than two feet away, well, she thought weakly as he paused directly before her, that was too close for comfort.

He loomed over her, seeming to fill the tiny low-ceilinged shack with his height and broad shoulders. She gulped as she saw that the blue chambray shirt that encased his shoulders was open enough at the neck to show the dark curling hair on his chest. And what an impressive chest it was: taut, muscular, powerful—like all the rest of him, she thought on a gulp.

She tried to tell herself that he was only a man, like any other. But something about him didn’t seem like any other man. She’d never felt this drawn to any other man or been so fascinated by the way dark hair could tumble over a brow or by a deep, cool, steady voice. As he watched her intently in the flickering firelight and seemed to be considering his next words, she felt her breath get all caught up in her throat. Those searing eyes pierced her face as the firelight danced crazily—and so did her heart.