Page 5 of River Justice

“What—” He started to get up.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she warned.

“Seriously?” He leaned back on his elbows. She wasn’t honestly threatening him on his land, was she? He reminded himself that he’d just let this snip of a woman kick his butt. He blamed the hangover along with everything else he had going on right now for why he was finding himself in this situation.

He couldn’t help sounding indignant as he said, “I’m Brand Stafford,” and tossed the lariat aside. He got to his bare feet. She’d stepped back to let him rise, but there was still a challenge in her gaze. He met those gray eyes feeling as if they were locked in a standoff.

But it was the smile on her face that told him she’d known who he was all along. “Who areyou?” he demanded. “And what are you doing trespassing on Stafford Ranch property?”

For a moment, she looked as if she didn’t plan to answer. He debated what he would do if she took off running. Or whether he even wanted to try to stop her. She didn’t appear to have stolen anything. He couldn’t imagine what she’d been doing sneaking around the place, but he told himself she hadn’t really done any harm—at least, not to anything but his ego.

He noticed that she was wearing a black T-shirt, designer jeans and a pair of new-looking cowboy boots. Everything about her looked expensive and well cared for. He was asking himself who this woman was when she decided to tell him.

“I’m Birdie Malone,” she said, her chin rising and those gray eyes shining with open defiance. “My father was Dixon Malone, your mother’s second husband, the man whose body was found in a well near here recently after he supposedly disappeared years ago.”

She could have knocked him over with dandelion fluff. He had heard a private detective, hired by Dixon’s daughter, had been around asking questions before the body was found. But the young woman standing before him was not what Brand would have expected.

“Which doesn’t explain why you’re trespassing on my ranch.”

“Doesn’t it?”She looked amused again. “If you were me, wouldn’t you be curious about the woman who killed your father? Even curious about her...offspring, Brand,” she said, as if trying out his name and finding it distasteful. “My father told me about all of you, you especially. That’s why I followed you last night from the bar. Nice of your friends to give you a lift home. You always drink like that?”

“No,” he snapped, shocked to hear that she’d followed him. “Not that it is any of your business.” He must have really been out of it last night not to have noticed her at the bar since she’d more than noticed him.

Given the way he felt, she really shouldn’t be messing with him. A thought elbowed its way through his foggy brain. Frowning, he said, “Don’t tell me that you’ve been here since last night.”

“You really should lock your doors at night,” she said. “Slept in the room next to yours. Are you aware that you snore when you drink? Your difficult childhood must have driven you to it,” she said sarcastically.

He couldn’t believe she’d been right next door last night in CJ’s old room. “You don’t know anything about me or my family.”

“You might be surprised,” she said with a flip of her hair. That shiny black wave cascaded over her shoulder before she swung it back. “Did you know I was going to come live here as soon as my father got some things settled with your mother? Apparently, whatever those things were, your mother decided to settle them permanently.”

Brand didn’t remember much about his mother’s marriage to Dixon Malone. He’d been too young, and he figured his mother had been, too. But he’d heard through local scuttlebutt since then that the marriage had been the knock-down, drag-out variety. The man had spent a lot of time in town at the bar telling anyone who would listen what he thought of Charlotte Stafford. Not that most people in the county didn’t know that she was hell on wheels.

“Just think, we would have met years ago if those things had worked out and your mother hadn’t killed him,” Birdie said. “My father was a big man. I’m just curious who helped her get him into that well. She had to have an accomplice. Any ideas?”

He stared at her. The thought had never crossed his mind. Until now.

“Okay,” Birdie said. “I guess I’ll be going, then, since you don’t seem to be in any shape to provide those answers. Thanks for the accommodations last night, and no, I’m not leaving town until I see Charlotte Stafford behind bars—and her accomplice in the cell next to hers.” She smiled as she held his gaze. “Don’t worry. Our paths will cross again.” She made it sound like a promise. Or a threat.

Turning her back on him, she started toward the stand of cottonwoods along the river. “By the way, Brand Stafford,” she said over her shoulder, “you look like hell.”

He watched her go, only a little surprised that she didn’t seem concerned he might try to stop her again and have her arrested for trespassing. The way his life was going today, he felt no compunction to do so. Anyway, he didn’t doubt he’d see her again.

Wiping dirt off himself as he walked back toward the house, he felt as if he’d been in a brawl. His head hurt, his stomach ached, and his pride was definitely bruised. Yet all he could think as he turned to see her disappear into the trees was,thatwas Dixon Malone’s daughter?

His mother was definitely not going to like this. Normally, he would have felt sorry for anyone brash enough to take on Charlotte Stafford. But this time, he thought his mother might have met her match in Birdie Malone.

BIRDIECLIMBEDINTOher SUV parked on the county road, grinning to herself. She kept thinking about the expression on Brand Stafford’s face when he found himself flat on his back on the ground. He’d underestimated her, something she should have been used to when it came to men. She’d expected more from one of the Stafford men, though.

Still, she couldn’t help grinning. Earlier she’d pretended not to know who he was, but she’d known. One of his friends had called him by name when the men were playing pool at the back of the bar last night. She’d been curious about him long before that. Curious about his whole family, but maybe especially him because the two of them were about the same age.

She couldn’t wait until their paths crossed again, only next time he’d be ready for her—and so would his family. Which was fine with her. She wanted them to know that she was coming for the Stafford matriarch. She wouldn’t rest until her father’s killer was behind bars doing the time Charlotte so richly deserved.

But she had to admit as she drove toward Powder Crossing, she hadn’t expected her reaction to the Stafford Ranch, let alone Brand. The place was much more impressive than her father had described. That had been almost thirty years ago. The house had grown over that time as the Stafford children had.

Seeing it made her realize how large, how beautiful, how wonderful it would have been to grow up there. Her father had told her that once he was settled, she would have two older sisters and three brothers. Brand, because they were so close in age, had been her father’s favorite. He used to talk about him a lot. She’d been excited, anxious to meet them, dreaming of her new life. He’d described them all as cute, but Brand was the cutest.

Brand was a whole lot more than cute. She could still smell the fresh-from-the-bath scent of him on her. His longish dark blond hair had still been wet, and he’d been half naked, his feet bare—like his muscled chest. Under other circumstances, she told herself, she might have flirted her way off the Stafford Ranch.

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