It was a mansion by any standards, the K.C. ranch house. Damian had thought he was coming to another town when he saw it and the surrounding buildings from a distance. It was like no ranch he’d seen before in his travels in the West, and he’d passed by many.
He was impressed and yet disappointed by its huge size, since a ranch so obviously successful would probably have no record or recollection of a single horse a young girl had named Old Sam, purchased by her father many years ago. Even if they did keep that type of record, he didn’t know her father’s name either.
He’d been hoping someone might remember the man from the description Damian could offer, but now he seriously doubted it. They must sell dozens of horses here every month. The many stables he could see as he got closer suggested they bred them as well as cattle.
He still had to try. Whoever had sold the horses here five or six years ago might have an excellent memory and still might be working here. And someone as dangerous-looking as Casey’s father appeared to be, when Damian had seen him that day in Fort Worth, had a better chance of being remembered than an average buyer.
He’d rented a horse in Waco after getting directions to the K.C. Ranch. Funny how he had done it without much thought, hadn’t even looked for a buggy to rent instead. But now he actually felt comfortable on a horse, something he would never have imagined a year ago.
There was a very long, wide porch on the front of the house. Two hitching rails, just as long, spread out on each side of the stairs leading up to the porch. Damian tethered his horse to one before approaching the front door.
While he waited for his knock to be answered, he faced the front of the porch. There wasn’t much to see out there but open plains, cactuses, and the occasional tree—then he realized the porch faced westward. And he’d seen some of the incredible sunsets they had in this part of the country. The porch must be extremely relaxing at the end of a hard day’s work, with such a magnificent view. The many chairs and tables scattered along its length said a number of the ranch folks here probably took advantage of that serenity.
The door opened. A quite handsome, middle-aged woman stood there; her light brown eyes were vaguely familiar, though in Damian’s nervousness he couldn’t think why. His hope of finding Casey through this place wasn’t high, yet it was the only chance he had. It was because he would find out today, one way or the other, that had him so nervous.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked curiously.
Damian doffed his hat and cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a young woman who rides a horse that came from this ranch—or at least, it was branded here.”
“What’s her name?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know her real name,” he admitted. “Her father purchased the horse for her, probably about five years ago. And no, I don’t know his name either. But I was hoping someone here might remember him and know who he is, maybe even where he lives.”
She seemed to be waiting to hear more, but when no more was forthcoming, she said, “A lot of horses get sold here. Is there anything special about the horse that might distinguish it? Or anything unusual about the man who purchased it? Without a name, it’s going to be pretty hard to—”
“I can describe him,” Damian interrupted, though he didn’t mean to, had just realized he should have said so right off. “He’s probably about as tall as I am.”
“Well, that helps,” the woman said with a grin. “Since you’re quite a bit taller than average.”
Damian smiled back, feeling slightly more at ease. “He’s got black hair that he may or may not wear extremely long. The one time I saw him, it was very long, but that was recently. He’s probably in his mid-forties now, so figure around thirty-eight or nine back then.”
The woman chuckled. “Sounds like any number of men around here, including my husband. Anything else to set him apart and make him memorable? Scars, maybe?”
Damian shook his head. “I didn’t get a very close look at him. But there was a quality about him, a dangerous quality that would probably make some people nervous. To be frank, he had the look of an outlaw.”
“Goodness, are you sure you want to find him again?” she asked.
“It’s his daughter I need to find.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “What about the horse? Was it unusual at all?”
“It’s an exceptionally fine-looking animal. It could probably be termed a Thoroughbred, even though Casey calls him Old Sam.”
The lady stiffened. “Casey? I thought you said you didn’t have their names.”
Her reaction was encouraging, but he explained first, “I don’t. Casey is just a name I gave her, since she was going by the initials K and C—probably taken from the brand on her horse, though I never got around to asking her about it. Actually, all she called herself was Kid. Do you by chance know who I’m talking about, ma’am?”
“Oh, I might. Why are you looking for her?”
“That’s a bit private—”
“Then I guess I can’t help you,” the woman cut in and actually started closing the door on him.
“Wait!” Damian said. “She was a bounty hunter when I met her. I hired her to find my father’s killer, which she did. But before I could get him back to New York for trial, he managed to escape.”
“So you’re looking for her to hire her again?” she asked sharply.
That was certainly none of her business, which was why he replied, “Something like that.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re here?”
It was Damian’s turn to stiffen somewhat at her persistence. “Why else?”
She was frowning as she said, “I think maybe my husband would like to talk to you. Come inside.”
He did. She immediately walked away from him with a curt “Wait here,” leaving him no choice but to obey.
Her behavior had him utterly baffled. She was definitely angry about something. Her eyes had turned hotly amber. And it had started when he’d said Casey’s name. Could that really be her name? The woman did seem to know who she was. That “I might” she’d said about knowing her had clear connotations of “Yes, I do.”
Damian went very still. Amber eyes?
Sounds like any number of men around here, including my husband.
Hope surged through Damian. Had he actually found Casey’s home? Was that her mother he’d just spoken to who had eyes like Casey’s when she was angry? And the woman’s husband he’d described…?
The tap on his shoulder turned him around, and sure enough, it was Casey’s father standing there with his fist drawn back. Damian had no memory beyond that except for stars exploding in his eyes.