Page 1 of Deadly Evidence
CHAPTER ONE
At the sound of a truck door slamming, Anna Remington grabbed her rifle and strode down the aisle of the barn, anger simmering through her veins.
Eight miles of rough ranch road led out to the highway, and another forty miles of pure desolation lay between here and the tiny town of Saguaro Springs, Texas. Visitors—the welcome kind—rarely stopped by.
The unwelcome kind came far too often.
But the truck parked outside wasn’t Garcia’s silver Ford, and the tall, broad-shouldered stranger sauntering toward her wasn’t the cocky little guy who had delivered Garcia’s threats in the past.
“Brady Coleman, ma’am.”
The rifle lowered at her side, she stepped out into the bright March sunshine. “Who?”
“Sorry I’m late getting here. I was held up for a few days in El Paso.”
Thiswas the guy who’d called last week about a job? She’d been rushing outside to tend a difficult calving at the time and hadn’t even caught his name. “Today’s fine. No problem.”
Definitely no problem at all.
She’d held little hope that her advertisement in the county paper would garner any notice, much less bring her a capable ranch hand.
The last two applicants had been stove-up old cowboys with missing teeth and a mind-numbing smell of bad whiskey, barely able to sit a horse.
Maybe there was something about this guy that was a little too...polished, for an ordinary ranch hand.
But his saddle-worn Levi’s, black Resistol, and scarred western boots were those of an experienced cowboy, and he appeared muscled and fit, young enough to put in a good day’s work.
Best of all, he looked like he could take on someone in a fight, deck him, and be ready for more.
Given the increasing numbers of late-night drug smugglers fording the Rio Grande and crossing her ranch, he’d be perfect.
“We’ll be branding, fencing, and moving cattle onto summer range soon. I do some horse training, but you won’t be involved in that.” She narrowed her gaze. “As the ad said, no drugs, no alcohol. Wages include a cabin and meals up at the house.”
“Wages?”
Her heart sank. “You’re not here about a job?”
Pulling back the lower hem of his denim jacket at an angle, he displayed a silver badge clipped to his belt. “Special Agent Coleman. DEA.”
Startled, she stared at the badge.
“Agent Luis Mendoza talked to you several weeks ago. Remember?” he added in a voice gentle enough to reassure a small child.
His patronizing tone bit deep. “Of course I remember.”
She’d called the DEA regional office several times and had been expecting the arrival of a female agent next weekend.
This guy had to be for real, though, because no one around here knew about those calls.
Even so, his presence sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the slow grin deepening the dimples in his rugged face, or that strong jaw. He was living proof that the DEA had taken her seriously.
Finally.
Frowning, she surveyed his black Dodge Ram pickup. A couple of dusty duffel bags were piled in the back, along with a well-worn roping saddle. “So where is she?”
“She?”
“The agent—the woman who was supposed to come out here. Did you bring her?”
