Stealing Her Heart, page 1
part #1 of Wild Hearts Series
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyrighted 2023 by Delta James
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Created with Vellum
Stealing Her Heart
Wild Hearts
Delta James
Contents
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Bonus Scene
Also by Delta James
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedicated to My Two Best Friends:
Renee and Chris, without whom none of
what I do would be possible and to the Girls,
who bring joy to my life every single day
Editing: Lori White Creative Editing Services
Cover Design: Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
Proofreader: Melinda Kaye Brandt
Special thanks to Maggie and Autumn for
their help in getting this story where it needed to be
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When you begin your journey as an author, you don’t realize how much it is you don’t know. Such is the case with the Wild Hearts series. I’ve learned a lot since then. I’ve worked hard to hone my craft and have hooked up with my wonderful editor, Lori.
What follows is the result.
Chapter 1
Etta Ross stood vigil alone in the moonlight. Her sixteen-hand, varnish roan appaloosa, Timer, was a four-time world champion—twice each in Trail and Western Riding, but right now he was simply a horse, scenting the night around him. She watched his nostrils flare as aromas of the night wafted his way on the gentle breeze. Etta felt a sense of timelessness, both in images from the past and in the small band of wild horses that she could see moving quietly in the night looking for a safe place to rest.
Under the watchful eye of its lead mare, the small herd began to settle down for the night. The herd was too small to rate their own stallion, but rather followed the intrepid grulla mustang mare. That appaloosa blood ran through her veins was obvious in the characteristics she carried—a distinct blanket with spots covering her hind quarters and the sturdy, striped hooves that needed no shoes for protection from the rugged terrain.
Etta scanned the surrounding area with night goggles to ensure that the mares with their foals were safe from predators, both of the two-legged and four-legged varieties. She was grateful for the benevolent harvest moon shining down, brightening the night with its welcoming light.
She smiled at the thought that her friends, enemies, and other competitors at the Appaloosa World Show would never imagine that instead of being tucked safely away for the night, the recently crowned world champion was standing here now, quietly awaiting the touch of his rider’s leg telling him to begin closing the gap between them and the herd.
Timer was so much more than a pampered show horse, though. He existed as a friend and companion to Etta, of course, but he also carried in his blood a heritage of exploration and bravery. Etta could feel the anticipation humming through his powerful musculature as she sat atop him, the awareness that he was here for something important.
Tara, her best friend and coach, was most likely concerned that Etta had failed to show up for the closing night banquet and awards ceremony. Those fears would undoubtedly increase when Tara read the note that Etta had left back at the show barn. It couldn’t be helped. She and Timer had something important to do.
Etta had learned of the existence of a small band of wild mustangs who carried the prized blood of the horses sacred to the Nez Perce that were close enough for her to save. She found it intriguing that they had wandered this far to the southeast. Had they been driven from what should have been their natural domain in Idaho by modern society or had their migration been more gradual, occurring over the centuries? An interesting question, but one that would have to wait for another time.
The mystery of how they came to be here had been pushed to the back of her mind when she’d learned there were rustlers in the area hell bent on rounding up and driving as many wild horses as they could to an undisclosed central location. Once the rustlers had the mustangs corralled, they would crowd them into tractor trailers and spirit them into Mexico, where they could be sold for slaughter.
It was an unfathomable idea. Not only because the herd carried such incredible genetics, but simply that the beautiful creatures were slated for such an ignominious, disrespectful death.
“Not this time,” she whispered as she reached down to stroke her big gelding’s neck. “Not on my watch.”
With that quiet vow, Etta nudged Timer with her heel and the big horse began to pick his way quietly and carefully down the hill.
Brody Jensen, Texas Ranger, sat in his comfortable office chair outside of Del Rio trying to discern a pattern in the random set of tracks he’d found.
Brody’s fellow Rangers joked that he was the embodiment of the romantic fantasy about Rangers—tall and broad-shouldered, with well-defined six-pack abs, dark hair and eyes, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. While they teased him relentlessly about his looks and easy charm, it was his skills in riding, tracking, and marksmanship that they envied. That and the fact that he seemed to have no trouble finding female companionship whenever he wanted.
Most Rangers these days did their patrolling in trucks, jeeps, or ATVs. Brody still preferred to ride horseback. He could get in and out of places on a horse that simply could not be reached with a motorized vehicle. Sometimes it took a little longer, but there was something far more pleasing and thorough in being more primally connected with the territory for which he was responsible. He felt that connection whenever he rode a horse.
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Like the tracks he’d found; they would have been easy to miss had he not been riding horseback. It was too easy from the inside of an air-conditioned vehicle to just drive along the roads, looking to the horizon. From the back of a horse, it was easy to see both what lay ahead and what had gone before.
The suits in the head office of the Texas Rangers in Austin weren’t especially fond of Brody’s outside-of-the-box ways of doing things, but they couldn’t argue with his results. The fact that he never actually crossed a line or endangered a prosecution helped. This, coupled with the fact that the men under his command would have followed him through the proverbial gates of hell, made the suits in Austin turn a benevolent blind eye.
It was on one of his early morning rides that Brody had found the set of tire tracks he had photographed and was now studying. The tracks didn’t tell him all he needed to know; he’d need to investigate further. But they told him something, probably an illegal something, was going on. The width and tread told him they were from several different tractor trailers coming and going in different directions. It was the different depths that had more specifically caught his attention. It was obvious to him that the discrepancy in depth was caused by a difference in weight. But were they heavier going in or coming out? Where were they coming from and going to? What could those trailers possibly be hauling, out in the middle of nowhere?
He wondered if they were connected with the reported injuries of some undisclosed men treated south of the border. There had been speculation across various agencies—state and federal—as to whether the injured men had been less than reputable horse brokers or something more nefarious. Another rumor floating around was that a federale from south of the border had disappeared, and it didn’t take a genius to figure he was dead. Was the missing federale involved in the illegal slaughter trade, something else, or nothing at all?
Brody was convinced all of the isolated threads connected. What the final tapestry would reveal, he mused, remained to be seen.
Etta allowed Timer to pick his own way down the steep ravine. The gelding had never put a foot wrong with her in the saddle and she wasn’t about to second guess him now. They moved quietly toward the small herd. The lead mare watched them approach, sniffing the breeze with an inherent wariness as they did so.
The mare let out a low, muffled sound that was part greeting and part warning. Etta’s big gelding answered in his own quiet way, the same way he had soothed so many other wild horses. Etta had been moving mustangs out of harm’s way for many years. She was well known by those who hunted them for either sport or profit. The large scabbard on her saddle carried the powerful rifle she had only needed to use twice.
Timer stopped directly across the herd from the lead mare and waited. One of the foals who was too young to know the danger of a human’s scent got up to investigate. His mother rose slowly to her feet and took a step forward, and then another. Et
The colt approached in a respectful manner, showing his submissiveness to the big gelding, who gently reached out to rub the youngster’s withers. The baby grew bolder and came close enough to sniff Etta’s boot. Etta sat quietly. She knew if she could get the herd to accept her and Timer as the same entity, the task of moving them to safety would be much easier.
Etta wasn’t the only one who had been watching the band with night goggles. Rustlers had been following the herd for close to a week and they were finally coming to the area where they’d be able to complete their mission.
The rider watching Etta knew that the boss was going to be none too happy about her arrival on the scene and wondered to himself if now might be a good time to vanish permanently into Mexico. The last time the boss had crossed paths with Etta and that damn gelding of hers, three men had ended up in the hospital just across the border and the boss had to have a bullet removed from his shoulder. The rustler turned his horse away and headed back to the camp where the others waited.
Etta allowed Timer to move slowly into the herd, among the mares and their foals. She wished she could let them rest, but the hair on the back of her neck tickled, as though they were being watched. She’d done this kind of thing often enough to trust her gut, and her gut said they were not alone.
They approached the pretty lead mare who watched but didn’t give any ground. She had shifted her weight back and was poised to move if she sensed she or her herd were in danger. Timer stopped just short of invading her space and again called softly to her. The mare lost some of the tension in her body and then slowly approached.
Etta never failed to thrill at being able to witness and be a part of something wild and right. The mare got close enough to Timer to reach out and rub her head against his. He returned the gesture and the remaining strain in the lead mare visibly dissipated. Timer then turned and nuzzled Etta’s boot as if to introduce her and reassure the mare that she need not fear his mistress.
As the mare moved closer to sniff Etta’s boot for herself, Etta repressed every desire she had to reach out and stroke the pretty mare’s face and speak to her. She simply waited for what she now knew would be inevitable. The mare would accept them and then the band of wild horses would follow her and Timer as they led them to the safety of protected federal lands.
Chapter 2
The following morning, as the sun began its slow ascent on the eastern horizon, Brody made his way into the break room of the office and started the coffee. The Rangers he served with had laughed when he began buying the expensive coffee from the Pacific Northwest, but they didn’t shy away from drinking it. He swapped the coffee pot for his own cup in order to catch the freshly brewed coffee. Once filled, he slipped the pot back into its place so that the rest of his people could have what they all referred to as the ‘dark elixir of life.’
“Morning, boss man.” Brody looked up to see Brad Gentry, a longtime friend and colleague, enter the room. “Thank God you took the night shift. I always know there will be coffee waiting.”
Brody said nothing, but smiled, watching Brad patiently wait for the coffee to finish before pouring himself a large mug from the carafe. It was emblematic of the differences between them, Brody mused to himself. He was more direct and to the point, where Brad was more patient and willing to wait for a resolution.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” asked Brad.
Brody nodded towards his office and the two men removed themselves from the break room and sat down in the more comfortable chairs in his inner sanctum. “How’d Jenny do at the World Show? Didn’t she have one of your geldings entered in the trail class?” Brody asked.
Brad nodded. “She went Reserve World Champion behind Etta Ross and that big gelding of hers. I know she wanted to win but coming in second behind the reigning world champ isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Especially, as she says, when you just sit and watch in awe at the run they put in.”
Brody grinned. “Well, I’m sure you gave her a nice consolation prize when she got home.”
Brad chuckled but said nothing, instead bringing his mug up to his lips to take a sip.
“I think, now that you’re here, I’m going to head back to where I found those tracks and see what more I can dig up.”
“Need help? Elliott should be here any time and I can scrounge up a horse if you want to ride.”
Brody shook his head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I want to see if I can’t follow one of the lighter sets of tracks back to where it got heavy and see if I find anything. Whatever is going on out there in the middle of nowhere, I suspect is being done under cover of darkness. By the time I get there, it’ll be full on light and whoever is causing trouble will be long gone.”
Brody suspected that while Brad knew Brody was right, the idea of Brody riding into what could be a bad situation with no back-up except for his horse didn’t sit well. What Brody knew, but Brad refused to put much stock in, was that his appaloosa mare had a unique ability to keep her master safe. A trait that had earned her the nickname of Lassie from the other Rangers. They joked that someday she’d come running into the Ranger station to tell them Brody had fallen down the proverbial well.
But whether he went alone or with back-up was his call.
“If you’re sure,” he said mildly.
Brody tipped his chin at his friend with an upward crook of his lips, guessing at the conflicting thoughts that must be going through his friend’s head. “I am. I’ll call if I find anything or when Lassie and I get home.” With nothing more to be said, Brody walked out to saddle his trusty mare.
He never failed to be astounded that he’d picked her up at a kill auction where she’d been dumped because of an injury to her leg. It had healed but had left a nasty scar that ended her halter horse career. More than once she had proven to be the best five hundred bucks he’d ever spent.
As the sun crept into the sky and the herd began to stir, Etta guided Timer to start bringing the herd together and moving them in the direction she wanted. Mindful of the young foals, Etta wanted to move them at a slower pace and be able to stop for water and good forage as they found it. She figured they could make the Bureau of Land Management—BLM—where the herd would be somewhat protected, by some time tomorrow afternoon.
The trip might have been doable in a hard day’s ride, but the foals were too young and the mares too tired. Etta knew the first order of business was to get them moving. She wanted to use the cooler parts of the day—morning and evening—to move them forward. She’d allow them to graze and drink at the stream during the afternoon heat.
Etta laughed as the mares slowly started moving and the young foals started running and scampering to and fro. The lead mare had fallen in quickly behind the big gelding. It seemed as though they accepted Timer, with Etta on his back, as the newest member of the herd.
Etta envied the mare’s natural instinct to follow rather than lead. More than once she had hoped to find a man with whom to share her life—someone who could take some of the decision making off of her shoulders. But to date, the only one she allowed herself to count on to help with life’s burdens was the horse around whom she had wrapped her legs.
Etta reached back and petted his rump affectionately. “And if they could just be built like you, I’d have it made.”
Timer snorted. Etta chuckled.
“I know. I’m ridiculous.”
The herd continued to move forward until they came to a small grove nestled in one of the smaller canyons. Etta sighed. It was perfect for a few hours of rest and refreshment. There was a stream that moved gently but swiftly, which meant the water was most likely safe to drink. There was still some grass left over from spring and summer that looked more than adequate to fill the bellies of the horses now in her care, and there was a grouping of nice trees that would provide lovely shade from the midday sun.
