Stealing Thunder. Patricia Rosemoor

years.

      Despite her arthritic hands, Grandmother was too stubborn to give in to the affliction. Ella knew this from their phone conversations, even as she knew Grandmother would have been cooking since dawn, to celebrate the return of her granddaughter.

      Was there true reason to celebrate?

      Though Ella was no less determined to return to the rez, doubt had set in after signing the contract with the movie company. Was she really ready to face her past and the people responsible for her father’s death? Who had started the rumors? Who had whipped the crowd into a feeding frenzy? Would she know them when she saw them?

      Picking her way back to her SUV, she heard a twig snap nearby and froze. Her pulse fluttered. Focusing in on the sounds around her, she heard an explosive squeak like that made by the tail feathers of a hummingbird…in the opposite direction, the low, throaty noise of a jackrabbit in distress…and directly behind her a whispered footfall that reminded her of a cougar preparing to pounce.

      That would account for the mustang herd taking off, she thought, scanning the ground wildly for a weapon and spotting a softball-sized rock.

      Before she could reach for it, a sharp pain in the back of her head accompanied by an explosion of light confused her senses, made everything go in and out of focus, sent her reeling, facedown into the earth.

      

      FOR ALL HIS curiosity, Tiernan hadn’t expected to find anything, so when he spotted the dark green SUV sheltered under a boxelder amidst the pines, he stiffened, his surprise touching Red Crow, who danced sideways. Not making a sound, Tiernan held the gelding in check and focused all six senses.

      What came to him strongest was a blinding pain. He let go and the pain subsided and his vision cleared.

      Dismounting, he looped the horse’s reins in a low branch of a pine and moved carefully to the left, through a scattering of trees, toward a clearing overlooking the meadow valley. That’s when he saw her—an attractive lass in jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, dark hair flowing down her back in a thick ponytail. She was sitting on the ground, trying to get to her feet but not quite managing.

      Tiernan rushed to her side to help, but what he got for his trouble when he touched her arm and murmured, “Easy, there,” was a fist square in his chest.

      The air rushed out of him and he let go of her and she scrabbled back, staring at him with wide-open amber eyes. “Get away from me, or I’ll…I’ll…”

      She looked around wildly—for a weapon, he supposed.

      “You’ll what?” he asked in the soft, melodic voice he used when working with horses, a voice meant to calm and seduce. “I’ll not be hurting you.”

      “You knocked me out!”

      “’Tis someone else you need to be accusing. I just rode up a few seconds ago.” He indicated Red Crow, now standing quietly in the pines, his head lowered as if he were napping.

      “If it wasn’t you…”

      Again, she looked around.

      “The culprit would be gone,” Tiernan said.

      “How can you be sure?”

      He concentrated, tested the atmosphere, then shook his head. “If anyone else was around, I would sense it. ’Tis my fey Irish blood,” he explained.

      Frowning at him, she tried to stand once more. And once more he moved closer, this time hesitating before touching her.

      “May I offer my help?”

      She thought about it for a second, then gave him her hand. Though she wasn’t a small woman—only a few inches shorter than he and nicely curved—he easily pulled her up to her feet. She stood there, amber gaze taking him in, while he did the same. Pale skin, wide-spaced round eyes, high cheekbones, strong chin, full lips—a mix of the people in this state.

      She was the most fascinating-looking lass he’d ever met.

      “Thank you,” she said. “Ella Thunder.”

      He grinned. “Powerful name. Tiernan McKenna. I would be a cousin to Rose Farrell.”

      “Farrell.” As if suddenly realizing he hadn’t let go of her hand, she pulled hers from his grasp and slid it behind her back. “They have a ranch a couple miles from here, right?”

      So she didn’t know them. “That they do. The MKF—stands for McKenna-Farrell. Aren’t you from this area?”

      “I used to be,” she said. “I was on my way to visit the grandparents.”

      “On refuge land?”

      “On the rez. This is a shortcut.”

      He could see it in her—she was definitely part, though not all, Native American. “You stopped for some reason.”

      “Just to look around. It’s been a long time,” she admitted. “I was here maybe five minutes.” She checked her watch. “I must have only been out for a few minutes.”

      “So, in the five minutes you were here just looking around, someone decided to hurt you?”

      She frowned at him again, her thick dark brows nearly pulling together. “You don’t believe me?”

      “Nah, nah, that’s not what I was saying.”

      “Then what did you mean?” she asked.

      “Just trying to make sense of it all. Wondering if the thing that spooked the herd was human rather than something four-footed.”

      “I thought it might be a cougar, too.”

      “So if the culprit was human, he could have done something to scare off the herd and then didn’t want you to see his face. The question is…what was he up to?”

      “I don’t know. We could look around to see.”

      “I’m thinking you shouldn’t be walking around. Or driving. You could have a concussion.”

      “What I have is a headache.” She gave him a fierce look. “Of the human kind.”

      He stared down at her, tried to read her for anything unusual. Oddly, he didn’t get much off her, as if she were somehow blocking him mentally. Now how was that possible? he wondered.

      “Are you dizzy? Any ringing in the ears?”

      “I’m a little off-center. Not exactly dizzy. More like light-headed. No ringing.” Her voice rose with her irritation. “Are you a doctor?”

      He shook his head. “Working around horses, I’ve seen enough accidents—had a couple myself. I know the signs of a concussion. Let me get a better look at your eyes.”

      Before she could deny him, he lifted her chin. The contact was potent and he froze like that, not daring so much as to breathe. What was it with this woman? What was she doing to him? It took all his concentration to suck in some air and do what he meant to do. He checked her pupils—both equal in size and therefore normal—and gazed right through them, searching…searching…

       A quick flash of light accompanied sharp pain and disorientation and finally the sensation of falling.

      Tiernan blinked and shook his head to clear it. “I don’t think you were hit at all—not enough to knock you out, that is.”

      She stiffened. “I thought you believed me.”

      “Turn around. Let me look at the back of your head. Please.” With that she turned and he asked, “Where does it hurt?”

      “Here.”

      Inspecting the area she’d indicated, he saw a tiny pinprick. “Just as I thought. You were darted.”

      “What?”

      Ella flipped around to face him. A