Beneath the Texas Moon. Elle James

climbed into his Lexus and rolled the window down. “Nice to meet you, Eve.”

      “Uh, Mayor Logan?” She walked toward his car.

      “Ma’am?”

      “Are wolves native to this part of Texas?”

      His brows rose and he tipped his head to the side. “We don’t get a whole lot of them this far south. We have been known to have coyotes around here, though. Why?”

      “Just curious. What with all the problems the ranchers are having.”

      “I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re in town. Most animals won’t come near a town. Now, if there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

      “Thanks.” Eve forced a smile and waved. Clint’s answer to her question hadn’t made her any less nervous. With Mac telling her to keep an eye out and Clint saying not to worry, she leaned toward the more cautious advice. That creepy howl still plagued her memory. She’d sure like to know what it was.

      THE STEADY CLIP-CLOP of horses’ hooves provided background noise in an otherwise still environment. Mac and Daniel had ridden over two hours, combing the four-hundred-acre ranch and finding nothing. They’d started by heading east away from town, dodging through brush, scrub cedar and live oaks. Molly had padded alongside Mac the entire way, keeping the pace set by the horses.

      When the eastern side of the property hadn’t turned up a goat or a rift in the fence, they headed west.

      Each time the horses’ hooves touched the ground, dust rose like a puff of smoke. A whirling gust of wind lifted the powdery soil and twisted it around the horse and rider, reminding Mac of another sandy day back in Iraq.

      They’d been hunting the men responsible for the attacks on occupying American troops.

      Mac inhaled deeply. The dust stung his lungs, but not like it had in Iraq. Too many times he had to inform himself he was in Texas. He was home. Thank God for Daniel. The only family Mac had left.

      When he’d joined the Army, he’d found a family in his troops. Only to have them ripped away in an ambush. The same ambush in which he was hit in the leg and the forehead, knocked out cold and left to die. But fate had played a cruel trick. He’d woken up just as another convoy of American troops happened on the ambushed soldiers. As the soul survivor, he was destined to watch the cleanup of the dead young men—his men—who were little more than children themselves.

      The medics had doped him up with painkillers and packed him off to a medical staging facility. They’d evacuated him from the country without giving him a choice. He’d wanted to stay and continue the fight.

      At the Fort Bragg hospital, the doctors told him his knee was wrecked from the shrapnel. He’d never see battle again.

      Several months had passed since he’d come home to the ranch, but Mac’s memories were no less vivid.

      Clouds hung low, pregnant with rain, yet holding back as if waiting for a signal from God to let loose. Mac was glad the rain held off. Two hours in the saddle was hard enough without the added aggravation of sliding in mud. He had a nervous feeling that had nothing to do with being on horseback for so long.

      The feeling had a hell of a lot to do with one red-haired, green-eyed woman on the other side of the ridge in front of him.

      His land bordered the edge of town. The last house on Main Street, Eve’s house, was located next to the property line. He couldn’t see it from where he rode, but he knew it was there. Eve and Joey were probably at home.

      Mac and Daniel had ridden separately, but within shouting distance, for most of the search. As Mac neared the hill blocking his view of Spirit Canyon, Daniel joined him.

      “Anything?” Daniel asked, reining in his horse beside Mac’s.

      “No.” Mac scanned the countryside around them, searching the brown and green brush for the white goat.

      The horses plodded along steadily, the tattoo of their hooves a soothing rhythm to Mac’s heightened senses.

      “It just doesn’t add up.” He stared out across the brush land.

      “What?”

      “Leider lost a couple lambs less than a week ago. Huckabee’s missing a two-month-old Hereford calf. You’d think they’d at least find the carcasses.”

      “Yeah. Kinda hard to lose an entire calf without finding a carcass.” Dan removed his straw hat and combed his fingers through his hair. “At least with a body, you have half a chance of figuring out what ate it. Hard to protect your livestock when you don’t know what’s stalking them.”

      “We lose the young all the time. But we’re looking for a full-grown goat. You’d think we’d have found her by now.”

      “Don’t look now, but I think we have.” Daniel nodded ahead.

      Molly bounded to a spot a few hundred yards in front of them, barking wildly, scattering a half-dozen buzzards clustered on the ground. She sniffed the pile of skin and bones, and then tipped her nose skyward and howled, a long, eerie sound, shattering the stillness of the day.

      The clumsy birds flapped their wings, heaving themselves from the ground into the air. Once aloft, they rose gracefully to circle and wait for the humans to move on.

      With a sharp tug on his reins, Mac stopped his horse several feet from the picked-over carcass and swung to the ground. The smell of blood and dust assailed his senses, rendering useless his ability to block the memories of other bloody bodies strewn in the sandy streets of Fallujah. Mac’s gut clenched and churned, lifting the bile to his throat.

      “What a waste.” Daniel’s words cut through Mac’s thoughts. “She was a good producer.”

      With the toe of his boot, Mac nudged at something in the dirt. It was a yellow plastic ear tag with the number twenty-one on it. Mac studied the rocky ground around the goat, but the birds had disturbed any loose dirt. He couldn’t discern animal prints in the dust.

      “What do you suppose got her?” Daniel asked.

      Mac shook his head and widened his search in a growing circle. Nothing. Not a footprint, pawprint, disturbed grass or droppings from anything other than the greedy birds and Molly.

      “I heard Mr. Largey say they’d seen a cougar around these parts last year,” Daniel said as he scanned the surrounding hills. “I hadn’t heard any more about it this year. I know they can have a pretty wide range.”

      “You think a cougar did this?” Mac asked.

      “Who knows? Could be anything. Been a rumor about some kind of cult in the county sacrificing animals and all. Suppose they got hold of her?”

      “No.” Mac shook his head. “An animal did this.” Maybe a cougar. His gut clenched. Or maybe a dog. A big dog.

      With her nose to the ground, Molly trotted away from the carcass.

      Mac followed the dog until they reached the crest of the hill overlooking the little town. Molly paused and stared down the steep incline. Then she looked back at him and whined.

      Spirit Canyon sprawled quietly in the meager, late-afternoon light, a few cars ambling along Main Street toward the Community Center. Addie had mentioned something about today being the annual Harvest Festival planning committee meeting. Should be a lot of people crowded into the Community Center. Mac could see Eve’s house, the old tire swing hanging from a tree in the backyard.

      “Damn.” Mac frowned.

      “Did you find anything?” Daniel joined Mac and followed his gaze. “Damn.”

      “No kidding.”

      Daniel shook his head. “Awful close to town.”

      “Yeah.”

      “You don’t suppose whatever animal did this would attack