Chapter 1
Rancho Sanchez, North Texas, November 1868
A high-pitched whine buzzed by Anna Sanchez’s ear. She ducked as a bullet slammed into the stall’s support beam behind her. She pulled her pistol from the saddlebag still strapped to her horse and ran to the large door, skidding to a stop when the ranch-hand’s body fell backward, landing at her feet. Grabbing his boots, she pulled him inside and turned him over.
She covered her mouth with her gloved hand, staring at his mangled face. Chunks of flesh and shattered teeth were all that was left of his jaw and mouth. She blew out a long breath, and with a trembling hand, closed his sightless eyes. She kicked his feet away from the door and pushed it almost closed, leaving enough space for her to see what was going on outside.
Grabbing for his rifle, she held it to her chest and closed her eyes, pulling in long, slow breaths as she tried to calm her racing heart. She had no idea what was happening, but she’d be damned if she let someone come onto her stepfather’s ranch and take everything.
Her eyes popped open as loud war cries rent the air. She peered through the doors, trying to see how many Indians there were, but she couldn’t see any. Noise assailed her ears; men screaming in pain, the sound of constant gunfire, and high-pitched cries. Her heart beat out a harsh rhythm against her ribs, and nausea roiled her stomach. She forced a calming breath through her clenched teeth and focused on what she had to do.
A shrill whistle near the barn startled her, pulling her attention from the fight outside to the barely understandable hollering going on at the opposite end of the barn. A rumbling began—low at first, then increasing—until even the ground she kneeled on vibrated from the overwhelming crescendo surrounding her.
She threw a quick glance through the window to where the horses were nervously milling around the fenced corral beside the barn. With terrified gazes, they churned like butter.
Crawling over to the ranch-hand’s body, she peered around the edge of the open doorway, only to jerk back from view as a group of riders raced by. The pounding of their hooves was nearly imperceptible amid the roar of the stampeding cattle. She reached down and pulled the pistol from the dead man’s hand. After a quick check, she found only one cartridge had been fired. She tucked it behind the waistband of her pants, knowing she’d probably need it.
Taking a deep breath, she counted to three, then eased around the door and into the shadows, holding as still as she could. If someone had stayed behind, she didn’t want them to notice her. Glancing around the yard, bodies lay everywhere. Most looked as if they were struck down running for cover; two hadn’t even made it off the porch. And most of the hands had been shot with crude arrows.
She heard the distant thundering as the cattle stampeded through the field. For the first time since the raid had begun, she was able to focus on the attackers instead of dodging bullets. She scowled at the men’s retreating figures. There was not a single Indian among them! Fury raced through her like a wildfire. There was only one man strong and stupid enough to attack the Rancho—their neighbor, Wade Phillips.
Only a week ago, she’d tried convincing her stepfather that Phillips was nothing more than a thief and a cur. That the man couldn’t be trusted. Instead, he’d believed her mother, who’d convinced him that Anna didn’t trust men and was just being silly.
Running back to the barn, she refastened the front saddle cinch, which she’d been undoing when the attack started. She stepped into the stirrup and slid onto the worn leather seat, patting the horse’s neck with her gloved hand. Her anger had settled into a fiery determination, and she said a quick prayer that she’d find her stepfather alive and well when she got back.
“Okay, girl,” she whispered to her horse. “We’ve got our job cut out for us. Let’s go get us some thieves.”
With a tug of the reins and a quick squeeze of her legs, the salt and pepper gray horse trotted from the barn. However, her chase ended before it even began. Facing her in a tight circle were six mounted men—and in the middle, Wade Phillips.
“What are you doing here—you have no right!”
He sat his horse with a smug grin. “Oh, my dear, but I have every right.” He pulled something from the inside of his coat and opened it. “You see, Anna, I have the law on my side.”
