He slowed the buckskin as he turned away from the gully. Denny writhed loose and dropped to the ground, stumbling when she landed. She tried to catch her balance but failed. She wound up sprawling on the ground. From where she lay, she saw Rocket come to an immediate skidding halt ten feet from the gully. He turned and gave her a disdainful look.

  Denny scrambled up and charged at the mustang. She yanked her hat off and started swatting at him as she yelled, “You loco crazyman! Were you trying to kill both of us?”

  Rocket shied away from the blows, snorted angrily, and reared up. His front hooves pawed at the air. An arm went around Denny again, this time from behind, and jerked her away from the rearing horse.

  “Looks like you’re the one who’s tryin’ to get killed,” Markham said as he held on to her. “Quit swattin’ that dang horse!” He had dismounted and run up behind her. His arm was clamped around her torso at the bottom of her breasts, and even though she had bound them before donning the shirt she wore, he could probably feel the sort of bulges he wouldn’t expect to find on a cowboy’s chest.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, her hair had come loose when she yanked her hat off and was swirling around her shoulders as she struggled. Given all that, if he hadn’t figured out that she was a girl, he had to be pretty damned stupid, she thought. She writhed and twisted and jerked free of his grip, stumbling again as she pulled away from him, but she didn’t fall.

  Rocket had settled down and stood a few yards away looking amused. He was sweaty from the hard run, too, although his sides weren’t heaving the way Markham’s buckskin was.

  “Leave me alone!” Denny cried, not bothering to disguise her voice anymore.

  “If I’d done that, you’d likely be dead now,” Markham responded.

  Denny waved a hand toward Rocket and said, “He wasn’t going to try to make that jump.”

  “Maybe not, but if you’d still been on him when he stopped short like that, you’d have gone flyin’ off and fallen into that gully, more than likely. That horse is a killer.”

  “No, he’s not!” Denny cried. “He’s just . . . high-spirited.” That sounded ridiculous even to her.

  Rocket might make a good horse someday, but as Rafael had said, that day wasn’t there yet and might not ever come.

  “Well, because of him, we’ve done lost the race, no doubt about that,” said Markham. “And ol’ Buck”—he turned toward his horse—“poor ol’ Buck may not ever be the same. I hope I didn’t run the heart plumb out of him.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Denny called after him as he started striding toward the buckskin. “I hope he’s all right.”

  Markham rubbed the horse’s nose and patted his shoulder as the buckskin continued breathing hard.

  Denny followed him and asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Reckon you’ve done enough, ma’am,” Markham replied without looking around at her.

  “I’m not a ma’am,” Denny said out of habit.

  “Who are you, then?”

  “Denise Nicole Jensen.”

  That was enough to make him look around. “Jensen,” he repeated. “Any relation to Smoke Jensen?”

  “He’s my father,” Denny said tautly.

  Markham stared at her for a moment, then let out a bray of laughter and slapped his thigh. “And here I was, goin’ on about how he was an outlaw! Reckon I’m lucky you didn’t kick me in the shins.”

  “I felt more like punching you in the face.”

  “Then I really am lucky,” he said as he turned back to the buckskin. “I think maybe ol’ Buck here is gonna be all right.”

  “I hope so,” Denny said. “I mean that.”

  Markham nodded. “I know you do.”

  Both of them looked around at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. A couple of riders were headed toward them. Denny recognized Cal and Pearlie. The Sugarloaf’s foreman and former foreman reined in and stared at her.

  “Dadgum, Miss Denny,” exclaimed Pearlie, “when some of the fellas in the race said a couple of riders looked like they was in trouble, I didn’t figure one of ’em would be you!”

  “Are you all right?” Cal asked.

  “I’m fine,” Denny assured them.

  Pearlie’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Rocket. “I’m guessin’ that dang mustang had something to do with the trouble.”

  “He ran away with Miss Jensen,” Markham said. “Luckily, I was able to lend a hand before they both piled up in one of these gullies.”

  “Who are you, mister?” Cal wanted to know.

  “Name’s Markham. Steve Markham. I was ridin’ in the race.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Reckon I can forget about winnin’ it, though. By now most of the other fellas are probably back at the finish line.”

  “Yeah, the race is just about over. I’m glad you came along and saved the lady’s life, though.”

  “Wait just a doggone minute,” Denny objected. “I never said he saved my life. I would have gotten Rocket under control again.”

  Markham cocked his head to the side. “That ain’t quite the way it looked to me.”

  “Well . . . well . . . you don’t know what might have happened!”

  “Neither do we,” Cal said, “but you’re alive and that’s all that matters. What in the world were you doing riding in this race, though, Miss Denny? Do Smoke and Miss Sally know about this?”

  Pearlie rested his hands on his saddle horn, leaned forward, and grinned as he said, “I’d bet a brand-new hat that they don’t.”

  “That’s not important,” Denny said with a wave of her hand. “I guess we’d better get back. People may be starting to worry.”

  “Yeah, I reckon,” said Pearlie. “I’ll catch that mustang and lead him back, Cal. Miss Denny can ride double with you.”

  “Or with me,” Steve Markham suggested.

  Denny just snorted at that idea and reached up to grasp the hand that Cal extended to her. He took his foot out of the stirrup and she used it to help her swing up behind him. They rode back toward the ranch headquarters with Markham coming along slowly behind them, leading the buckskin.

  CHAPTER 12

  After starting the race, Smoke went back to the ranch house’s front porch where he found that Sally had come out of the house and joined Louis and Brad there.

  “How’s Melanie doing?” Smoke asked his wife.

  “She’s fine,” Sally replied. “Very nervous and excited, of course.”

  “But she’s not getting cold feet,” Louis added. “I’m very happy about that.”

  Brad frowned, looked up at him, and asked, “Why would her feet get cold? The weather’s warm, and she’s wearing shoes, isn’t she?”

  Sally laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s just a figure of speech, Brad. It means that someone who’s about to get married decides not to.”

  “Well, she’d better not,” declared the boy. “I know she’s my ma and all, but she’d be a durned fool to back out now.”

  Smoke couldn’t help but chuckle, which drew a faint look of disapproval from Sally. He patted Brad’s other shoulder and said, “Don’t worry. Your ma’s a smart woman.”

  “I always thought so.”

  Sally turned to Smoke and went on. “There’s one thing that has me a little worried, though. Denise isn’t up in Melanie’s room. Melanie said she hasn’t seen her all day. Where could she be, Smoke?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m betting she’ll turn up soon.”

  Smoke was telling the truth about that. He didn’t know exactly where Denny was, right that minute, but he had a hunch she would be around again . . . when the horse race was over.

  “I’m always a little concerned when someone’s not where they’re supposed to be. I mean, she could have been kidnapped or something. You know how many enemies you have, Smoke.”

  “I know, but I don’t think any of them would be bold enough to try staging a kidnapping in the middle of this many people.”

  Louis said, “This crowd might actually be a good cover for some sort of nefarious activity—”

  “You’re not helping, son,” Smoke said.

  Before the discussion of Denny’s whereabouts could continue, one of the guests shouted, “Here they come!”

  Other enthusiastic cries went up as the leading riders in the race thundered back toward the starting line, which had become the finish line. Smoke, Sally, Louis, and Brad turned to watch. They would have a good view of the race’s conclusion from the porch, and it was liable to be a thrilling one.

  As the riders came into sight, Smoke noted that several in the lead were neck and neck, leaning forward in their saddles and straining to get that last little bit of speed out of their mounts, that extra push that would gain them the victory. Crowds of spectators lined both sides of the course as well as being gathered well beyond the finish line so the horses would have plenty of room to stop. Some of the Sugarloaf hands who weren’t taking part in the race had been charged with keeping the course clear and guests out of harm’s way.

  The horses charged down the final stretch. A couple faltered, having reached the last of their strength. Three surged ahead, two chestnuts and a roan. At the very last second, the roan extended to a seemingly impossible length and beat the other two animals by a nose. A huge cheer went up as the victor and the other horses right behind swept across the finish line.

  Smoke joined in the applause for the winner, but a slight frown creased his forehead. He had expected to see a black mustang among the leaders with a familiar figure in the saddle, but there was no sign of such a horse—or rider. He waited as more of the racers arrived at the finish line and joined the crowd milling around but still didn’t see who he was expecting to see.

  A faint worry began to nag at him. He had been convinced that Denny had slipped out of the house early, spirited Rocket out of the barn, and planned to ride the mustang in the race, probably disguising herself as a cowboy in order to do it without being discovered. He knew that was exactly the sort of thing his headstrong daughter would do.

  Calvin Woods came to the bottom of the porch steps and lifted his voice above the hubbub to say, “I need to talk to you for a minute, Smoke.”

  “Trouble?” Smoke asked. He knew his foreman quite well and could see the concern in Cal’s eyes.

  Cal shook his head “Probably not. Just something that needs to be looked into.”

  Smoke went down the steps and gave Cal a nod. “Go ahead.”

  “Some of the fellas who were in the race are saying that a couple of horses went off the course out by Elephant Butte. Said that one of them looked like it might’ve been a runaway, and the fella on the other horse went after it trying to help.”

  “There’s some rough country out there,” Smoke said as his frown deepened.

  “I know. A runaway could fall or even go sailing off into one of those gullies. I was thinking I could take Pearlie and go have a look, just in case somebody needs a hand.”

  “I’ll come with you—” Smoke began.

  “No need for you to do that,” Cal said. “This is a big day, and you need to spend it here with your family. If there’s a problem, Pearlie and I can take care of it.”

  Smoke knew that was true, but what Cal didn’t know was that if Smoke’s hunch was right, part of his family might be out there by Elephant Butte, maybe hurt or even worse.

  Smoke drew in a breath. He wasn’t going to allow himself to think that. Cal was right. Sally was liable to be upset if he stampeded off like he wanted to. He forced himself to nod and say, “All right, you and Pearlie go check it out. Just let me know what you find.”

  “Sure, Smoke.”

  Cal started to turn away, but Smoke stopped him. “Those fellas who were talking about the runaway . . . did they describe the horse?”

  “Not to me,” Cal answered.

  Smoke nodded again and waved him on.

  “What was that about?” Sally asked when Smoke had gone back up the steps to the porch.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Smoke said, hoping he was right.

  The minutes dragged by while Smoke waited for Cal and Pearlie to return with news.

  He was a little distracted by everything else that was going on, including the moment when the young cowboy who had won the race was brought over and introduced to him.

  “Name’s Jim Gale, Mr. Jensen,” the man said as he shook hands with Smoke. “It’s a plumb pleasure to meet you.”

  “Same here, Jim,” said Smoke as he managed to put his worry over Denny aside for a moment. “That roan of yours is mighty fast.”

  “Yes, sir, he sure is.”

  “If you happen to be looking for a riding job . . .”

  “I’m obliged to you, sir,” the young man said, “but I have a spread of my own up at the far end of the valley. Got some beeves but raise mostly horses.”

  Smoke clapped a hand on Gale’s shoulder. “If that roan is an example of the sort of stock you raise, son, you’re going to do just fine. In fact, next time you’re ready to sell some off, come and see me first. I’ll pay you a good price.”

  Gale grinned. “I’ll sure do that, Mr. Jensen.”

  With his hand still on Gale’s shoulder, Smoke turned the cowboy to face the crowd and said, “Let’s hear it for him, folks! The big winner!”

  Whoops, whistles, and shouts filled the air.

  “Everyone keep on enjoying your visit,” Smoke went on. “We’ll be having the wedding ceremony in a little while, and then all the food will be brought out and ready a short time after that.”

  As the crowd in front of the ranch house broke up somewhat, Sally came to Smoke’s side “It’s all going well, isn’t it?”

  “So far,” Smoke agreed, even though he wasn’t completely convinced of that. He kept glancing in the direction of Elephant Butte, even though he couldn’t see the rock formation from where he was. After several more minutes, he stiffened as he caught sight of a familiar rider. He had no trouble recognizing how Cal sat the saddle.

  Someone was riding double with Cal. As Smoke caught a glimpse of sunlight on thick blond hair over the foreman’s shoulder, he felt relief wash through him, followed by a sense of vindication that his hunch had been right.

  He looked past Cal and spotted Pearlie riding about fifty yards behind, also with a second rider. Pearlie was leading two horses, a nondescript buckskin—and the sleek black devil of a mustang called Rocket.

  Sally’s hand suddenly tightened on his arm. “Smoke, is that Denny riding with Cal?”

  “It sure is,” he replied, and now that he could tell Denny appeared to be all right, he was looking forward to hearing what she had to say for herself.

  CHAPTER 13

  Cal didn’t say much on the way back to the ranch house, and Denny didn’t go out of her way to make conversation. He probably didn’t know what to say and wanted to stay out of whatever ruckus developed between Denny and her parents. Cal might have been impulsive when he was young, even reckless at times, but he had grown into a sensible man.

  Hearing Pearlie and Steve Markham talking behind them, Denny looked over her shoulder and saw that Markham was riding double with the former foreman. He had offered to let her ride with him, but she wouldn’t have done that even if his horse hadn’t been exhausted. She was glad to see that he was leading the valiant animal instead of riding.

  Pearlie also had hold of a lead rope tied to Rocket’s reins. The mustang came along peacefully, as if he’d never wanted anything other than to be docile and cooperative. Damn devil was snickering at her, thought Denny. She wanted to take a two-by-four and wallop him between the eyes just to get his attention and let him know that what he’d done wasn’t the least bit funny.

  She wouldn’t do that, of course. She loved animals and had never mistreated one.

  A lot of cheering and applause came from the crowd gathered at the house. Cal said, “Smoke must be congratulating the winner of the race. I know he planned to do that.” He turned his head a little toward Denny. “You figured that would be you, didn’t you?”

  “It would have been,” she said through clenched teeth, “if that mustang hadn’t gone loco.”

  “He didn’t go loco. He always has been. Rafael told you that.”

  “I thought he liked me. I thought he’d be willing to cooperate with me.”

  “Horses have minds of their own. Every day’s a new day for them, too.”

  She knew what he meant by that. The way a horse behaved one day might not be the way he acted the next day—at all.

  “I’m just glad you weren’t hurt,” Cal went on. “It’s a good thing that fella Markham was around.”

  “I’d have been fine without him,” Denny snapped.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Her jaw clenched angrily at that dry retort, but she didn’t say anything. She had enough to worry about knowing that in a few minutes she’d be facing her parents.

  The crowd had spread out some by the time Cal rode up to the porch. Smoke and Sally had seen them coming and were standing there with Louis and Brad. Denny could tell by her mother’s expression that Sally was angry.

  With Smoke, it was harder to tell. He wasn’t happy, Denny decided, but maybe he wasn’t all that upset, either.

  “Young lady, what were you thinking?” Sally demanded as Cal reined to a stop and Denny slid down to the ground.

  Her chin jutted out defiantly as she replied, “That I’m just as good a rider—or better—than anybody else in that race, and I deserved a shot at winning it.”

  “By taking a chance on getting yourself killed?”

  Smoke said, “What happened, Denny? Did Rocket run away with you?”

  She hesitated but knew there was no point in lying. “That’s right. He had run a really good race up to that point. He’d done everything I asked of him. Then all of a sudden he . . . he . . .”

  “Did what he wanted to do,” Smoke finished for her. “The mustang blood is strong in him. He may act like he’s tamed sometimes, but he’s not. He’s just biding his time until he gets a chance to go wild again.”