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Chapter One

The morning breeze rustled through the autumn-yellow leaves of the aspen. A few yards below the white-barked trees, a horse and rider picked their way along a trail that skirted the stand of trees tucked along a mountain slope in southwestern New Mexico.

Kate Summers rode with the ease of one born to the saddle. At twenty-five years old, she was tall and boyslim, with a mane of auburn hair as bright as a copper penny.

A beauty she wasn't. Her features were too strong for that. But Kate Summers was far from plain. There was a sculpted purity to her profile: the strong chin, the clean jawline, and the prominent ridging of cheekbone. Yet, her looks didn't fall under the heading of exotic or striking, but rather that of a handsome woman with an innate strength and confidence that most men found uncomfortable. As a result, Kate had dated rarely. And her one fling with love had left her badly bruised and twice as wary.

But the memory of that episode was far from her mind as she rode along the trail. Her thoughts were on something else entirely.

Legally, Kate was trespassing. The land she traveled was no longer part of the Summers Ranch. Her father had sold this particular section while she was away on the horse show circuit last winter. The parcel now belonged to a stranger by the name of josh Reynolds.

She hadn't met him. More than that, she had no desire to meet the new owner of the canyon land she loved so much.

But it was fall roundup time, and a section of downed fence had been a clear reminder that cattle paid no attention to boundary lines. There was grass and water in the canyon. If any of their livestock hadstrayed onto Reynold's land, Kate was certain she would find them.

just ahead, the trail made a sharp bend to round the mountain slope. When Kate made the turn, the rocky trail dipped to a level stretch of ground that reached all the way to the mouth of the canyon. The buckskin gelding pricked its ears, looking ahead with interest.

Tall cottonwood trees crowded the banks of the small stream that ambled across the grassy floor of the narrow canyon. Walls of craggy stone rose on either side, a-tumble with giant boulders and bristling with spruce, pinon, and pines. Seeing it all again, Kate was gripped by the familiar feeling that she was coming home.

Agriculturally speaking, the section of land Reynolds now owned had little value other than this area of grass and water. But, to Kate's mind, the rugged beauty of it couldn't be measured in worth.

initially, the raw grandeur of the scene claimed the whole of her attention, and her heart ached a little more over the loss of it. Then she noticed the first change to its landscape-utility poles marching along the rutted track that led from the distant county highway to the canyon.

Riding closer, Kate saw more changes. The old holding pen had been repaired. The paleness of new wood railings and posts stood out in sharp contrast to the weathered darkness of the old. A shed had been added, with a lean-to that would provide shelter for the muscular gray horse lazing in the pen. There was a tidiness to the whole area, as well, the brush and debris had been cleared away and the tall weeds cut.

Sunlight glinted on something metal beneath the cottonwood trees-at a spot extremely near the ruins of the old hacienda that had so completely captured her imagination as a girl. Focusing on the sheen of metal, Kate recognized the shape of a travel trailer, roughly twentyfive feet long, parked under the shelter of the trees. Utility lines ran toward it.

She had a sick feeling in her stomach the instant she saw evidence that even more extensive clearing had been done around the trailer-and the site of the old hacienda. She reined her horse in, unwilling to ride close enough to see what the new owner had done to the ruins.

Range etiquette demanded that Kate approach the trailer and advise its occupant that she was looking for stray livestock on his land. But there was no vehicle parked by either the trailer or the pen, no sign of life.

"It doesn't look like anyone is home, does it?" she said to her horse.

Convincing herself, Kate veered away from the trailer and pointed the buckskin toward the meandering stream, lifting the horse into a jog-trot. She knew every inch of the canyon, and every place a stray might go, of which there were few. She would check those and leave, with no one the wiser for her having been there.

As they approached the tree-lined bank, the buckskin slowed to a walk of its own accord. At this time of the year, the water ran clear and shallow, barely more than an inch deep in places. The sound of it running over its gravel bed was a restful murmur that echoed the soft whisperings of the wind in the trees and invited pause.

When the buckskin paused along the bank and stretched its nose toward the water, Kate dismounted to let the horse drink and take a short break herself. She took off her hat and shook loose her long hair, letting it tumble about her shoulders, then hung her hat on the saddle born and idly scanned the area between the stream and the canyon's side wall. But she saw no cattle.

The buckskin pawed at the water between drinks, seeming to take as much pleasure in splashing the water as he did drinking it. Kate smiled at the horse's antics and crouched down upstream. Slipping off the bandana around her neck, she dipped one end of it in the water and wiped some of the morning's trail grime from her face and neck.