walk back to civilization.
Anna had never met Henry Mills, but she regretted his death. He’d been stabbed several times, as if he’d tried to defend himself. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed the finger of guilt pointed at Jeremy. Who else in the area would have any bone to pick with an editor from New York?
Unless, of course, Henry’s death was an accident and Jeremy had been the intended target.
In that case, the list of suspects was endless. Jeremy was a ladies’ man and that was a quick ticket to trouble. No telling how many women were angry with him and eager for his hide.
A woman would need the advantage of surprise. It wasn’t an easy thing to kill someone. She’d heard her grandfather speak of such things and knew that he told the truth.
Anna found that she was blinking back tears, and they weren’t from the bright sun that now struck her full in the face. She was mad at herself when she realized they were from self-pity. She now found herself in a situation where there were no good choices.
She was running from Jeremy Masterson, and soon the law would be behind him. She was accused of a crime she hadn’t committed, but if they captured her, she felt certain no one would believe her. And why? Because of who she was.
The situation mirrored the same predicament in which her grandfather had found himself in. Accused of a series of brutal murders that he hadn’t committed, he’d also run—deep into the wilderness, into the land that was supposed to belong to him and his people. He’d tried to develop a life as far away from the white settlers as possible.
But every murder that took place on the Texas range had been blamed on him.
The history books had convicted him without benefit of a trial or even of reading his version of the truth.
Anna’s hand drifted to Calamity’s saddlebag. The handwritten document she’d labored over was still there, still safe. But she’d been a total fool to think that Jeremy Masterson might look at it.
Like all the others, he didn’t care about truth. He only wanted a good story. And a scapegoat.
Chapter Four
Jeremy shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun as he studied the tracks. For the past two hours, he’d been following Anna’s trail. She’d allowed her horse only a walk during the night, as any horseman would have done. Now the tracks showed she’d picked up her pace: she was trotting. He guessed that this was the point when daybreak had given her the advantage of sight.
His watch showed nine o’clock. By his calculation, she was three hours ahead of him. That wasn’t bad, considering that she’d had a good six-hour start. He was steadily gaining on her. With a little luck, he’d have her before the close of day. And this time he wouldn’t be foolish enough to underestimate her.
He urged his horse forward into a steady lope. The footing was good, and he intended to make the most of it. Ellie had provided him with two of her best horses. Things were definitely in his favor.
He heard the chirp of the cell phone in his pack and stopped to answer it.
“Lem and the deputies are at the campsite,” Ellie said without preamble. “He’s mad as a hornet and threatening to put me in jail. Once he saw all the flats, it wasn’t hard for him to figure that someone brought you horses.”
“If Lem tries to blame you, I’ll straighten him out. You won’t do more than a day or two of jail time.”
“This is no time to be flip.” Ellie’s voice rose in anger. “I overheard some of the men talking, Jeremy, and they weren’t shy about saying that maybe you killed Henry.”
“Me?” Jeremy couldn’t hide his astonishment. “Me?”
“The man is dead in your home, and you’re out chasing a woman. They’re saying this Anna Red Shoes may be your accomplice. They’re implying that the scene in the bookstore was staged. By you. A publicity stunt.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I wish I were.” Ellie sighed. “Lem is very angry, and there’s more bad news.”
Jeremy waited.
“Blane Griffin’s heading the tracking team.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” Jeremy wanted to crush the small telephone. “Has he called a press conference yet?” It would be just like Blane to try to capitalize on the horrible murder.
“You guessed it. The television crews are arriving right now. They’re doing a live feed at the campsite. And they’re listing you as a wanted suspect.”
“Well—” There wasn’t anything Jeremy could say that wouldn’t offend Ellie. “Lem isn’t buying into this, is he?”
“I can’t tell for certain,” Ellie admitted. “He’s mad about the way you handled it. Blane has been gnawing on his ear all morning. They’ve even got a national news crew coming in. It seems that the popularity of your novel, the fact that Henry was your editor—all of that is national news. Even the tabloid shows are scheduled to come in. Blane had the nerve to ask if I would host a show in the bookstore.”
Jeremy wanted to bite nails—and then spit them into the lid of Blane’s coffin.
“The sensible thing to do is come home and handle all of this mess,” Ellie said.
“No.”
“Jeremy, you pigheaded son of a gun, you’re only making matters worse. You’d better get back home and take care of this.”
“No.”
“At least talk to Lem.”
Jeremy hesitated. He needed to talk with the sheriff, if only to protest his innocence. But talking would do no good. Lem would order him to come back, and when he didn’t he would be in a worse situation than he was now.
“I can’t do it, Ellie. I have to finish this. I’m gaining on her. I’ll have her by nightfall. I’m sure of it.”
“When Lem asks me for the number to your cell phone, I’m going to give it to him, and you’d better have a pretty speech thought up. I’ve seen you charm the pants off ladies and convince the moon to shine just for you. This time, Jeremy, you’d better be at the top of your form—you’re in serious trouble.”
“I’ll be back with her before tomorrow morning.” He punched the Off button and put the phone in his pack. Now it couldn’t ring. It was the only way he had of making sure he didn’t talk to Lem.
“Come on, Jetta,” he said to the mare as he pressed his legs on her. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
Though the tracking absorbed him, Jeremy still had time to worry. He conceded that perhaps he was guilty of rushing off half-cocked in his pursuit of Anna. But never in his wildest dreams had he thought that he might be considered a suspect in the killing of his editor. It was one of the most absurd things he’d ever heard.
Aside from the fact that he wasn’t psychologically capable of murdering anyone, the physical evidence was against such a possibility. What about the small footprints? He wanted to call Lem up and ask the sheriff about that. What did they think? That he’d bought a pair of lady’s boots and painstakingly made the prints just to leave a false trail? It was ridiculous! His anger skyrocketed.
This was all Blane’s doing. Jeremy had to hand it to the man. Blane had seen a perfect opportunity to even the score, and he’d taken it. Now he would receive the national attention that he so desperately wanted. At Jeremy’s expense.
This was all a media game to Blane, and Lem was so simpleminded that he didn’t realize it. Ellie had said one theory was that Anna Red Shoes was his accomplice. What straight-thinking person could ever believe that? Why would he need an accomplice? And why her? It didn’t