Rawhide Ranger. Rita Herron

old father, not the frail man he’d been lately, the man she’d feared might be suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s or dementia.

      The man she tried to hide from the press and police.

      If word leaked that Jonah Becker was seriously ill, especially mentally incapacitated, not only would the cops attack, so would the media and his competitors. Jonah’s business investors might also lose faith in him and drop their support.

      “They can’t do that to us.” Her father slapped a shaky hand on the arm of his chair.

      “Dad, the land is the least of our worries,” Jessie said. Not that she wanted her father arrested for a fraudulent deal, but murder was much more serious. “Daniel Taabe’s body was buried in a Comanche ritualistic style just as those other two were. The face was painted with red paint, paint which has human blood in it. The blood didn’t match Billy Whitley’s, so now the Rangers believe that Billy didn’t kill Marcie and Daniel, that someone forced him to confess to their murders, then killed him.”

      “I don’t understand.” That confused look she’d seen the past weeks momentarily glazed his eyes. Releasing a weary sigh, he puffed on his pipe. A moment passed, then his lucidity returned.

      “Someone else in this town killed them,” her father snapped. “A lot of people in Comanche Creek are jealous of us, Jessie. Jealous of me and my success.” He turned toward her, his eyes imploring. “Don’t you see? Someone is trying to frame me.”

      Jessie squeezed her hand over her father’s. “You’re probably right,” she said with an encouraging smile. “I’ll find out who’s doing this, I promise, Daddy.”

      Suddenly the door burst open, and her brother, Trace, stormed in. “What in the hell is going on, Jessie?”

      She stiffened. “Calm down, Trace. What’s wrong?”

      “I heard you were hanging out with that Comanche Ranger. What were you doing, trying to help him hang us out to dry?”

      Hurt mushroomed in Jessie’s chest. Her brother had resented their mother for taking Jessie with her when she’d left and for leaving him behind. He also resented her return and any attention her father gave her now. He even hated the fact that the horse training she had arranged had garnered success.

      And he looked sweaty and winded, panic in his eyes. Suspicions mounted in Jessie’s mind. Trace had arranged the deal with Jerry Collier, and would do anything to win his father’s favor and safeguard the family ranch.

      She flinched, hating her own train of thought. Had Trace known the land was an ancient burial ground, that the papers giving ownership to their father had been doctored?

      A sick feeling gnawed at her at the venom in his eyes. Had he killed Daniel or Marcie to keep his secrets and protect the business?

      Was he the shooter who’d fired at her and the Ranger a few minutes ago and tried to kill them?

      CABE PAWED THROUGH THE brush and dirt, examining trees and rocks for the bullets and casings. After several minutes, he finally located two bullets, one embedded in a shattered tree limb on the ground near where they’d crouched in hiding, the second a partial one that had hit the boulder, warped and landed on the ground a few feet from the grave he’d just discovered.

      He searched for footprints, and noticed matted grass, but there were no definitive footprints, nothing clear enough to make a plaster cast.

      A mud-splattered vehicle pulled up, gears grinding as it slowed to a stop. Dr. Nina Jacobsen, the forensic anthropologist who’d worked the original crime scene with Wyatt, threw her hand up in greeting as she climbed out.

      He’d heard she and the lieutenant had hooked up during the investigation—like Sheriff Hardin and Livvy—and that they planned to marry.

      “Wyatt said you found another body,” Nina said as she approached.

      “Yeah,” Cabe said. “Evidence suggests it’s a Native American female.”

      A smile of excitement tilted her mouth. “Then I was right. I thought this property was sacred.”

      The energy of the spirits and the sound of their cries reverberated through the air, and Cabe nodded, then led her down the embankment around the boulder to point out the latest find. “Wyatt is working on a court injunction to prevent the land from being touched and the bodies moved,” Cabe said. “But we have to verify that the bones are not a recent murder, and if possible, identify who they belong to.”

      Nina squinted through the sunlight, excitement lighting her face as she skidded across the rocky terrain, and halted to hover over the bones. “Judging from that headdress, which looks like it might have been from the 1700s, you’re probably right about it being a female. But I’ll need to study the bones in detail to verify the age and sex.”

      “As long as you don’t move the body,” Cabe said.

      “I understand.” Nina’s ponytail bobbed as she nodded. “Wyatt also mentioned that you found a leather pouch.”

      “Yeah, Jessie Becker identified it as belonging to one of her groomsmen who worked here two years ago, a woman named Linda Lantz. Let’s just hope the girl it belonged to isn’t dead and buried on the property as well.”

      Another vehicle rolled up the drive, this one a squad car.

      “That’s Deputy Spears,” Nina said, shading her eyes with her hand. “He’s been taking shifts guarding the site with the floating deputies Sheriff Hardin called in.”

      “Good. Once the Native Americans hear we found another Native buried here, some of them may be tempted to come out to pray for the dead.”

      “Or protest,” Nina said. “That woman Ellie Penateka has been leading marches at the county office for months.”

      Ellie—a name blasted from the past. “I know. And I don’t want trouble out here.”

      Nina adjusted her camera over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll alert you if there’s a problem. I want to preserve and document this find myself.”

      A blond deputy climbed out and strode toward them, his stance wary as he studied Cabe. “Deputy Spears. Sheriff Hardin sent me.”

      Cabe shook his hand and introduced himself.

      “I heard there was a shooting,” Spears said. “Is Jessie all right?”

      Something about his tone sounded personal. “She’s fine,” Cabe said. “Are you two … involved?”

      A faint blush crept on the young man’s face suggesting he wanted to be. “No. Not really. But I was worried about her.”

      Cabe clenched his jaw. What did it matter if the deputy and Jessie hooked up? once this case was over, he’d be hauling ass out of Comanche Creek.

      “I’m going to run some evidence by the sheriff’s office, then call a meeting of the town and local Native American faction to update them on the investigation.”

      Spears nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll guard the area.”

      Yeah, and he’d probably guard Jessie if the need arose.

      But Cabe would handle Jessie himself. He didn’t trust anyone else.

      “Good luck,” Nina said, as she headed back to her SUV to grab her equipment.

      Cabe stowed the bagged bullets he’d recovered in his evidence kit, then started the engine, hit the gas and sped toward the road leading into town.

      A few minutes later, he dropped the evidence at the sheriff’s office, signed the chain of custody form for the courier, then phoned Mayor Sadler to request a town meeting. Sadler agreed to call the Town Council as well as the leaders of the Native American faction.

      Cabe grabbed a quick bite at the diner, then headed back to the inn, showered and shaved. With an hour to kill before the