Stealing Thunder

“I hope you’re right.”

Not wanting to dismount and break the fragile bond he had with Ella, Tiernan stayed fast as he addressed the other horseman.

“Looks like you and I will be working together, wrangling horses for this film. Tiernan McKenna.” He held out his hand for a shake.

Dark eyes seared him as if trying to look through him, to make him retreat, or at least look away first. Tiernan didn’t so much as shift in the saddle. There was something to this Nathan beyond what he could see, only he couldn’t put his finger on what. He trusted his instincts, though—psychic or otherwise—and they were all on alert.

Finally, the other man reached out and took his hand. “Nathan Lantero. Ella’s cousin, though she’s probably already told you who I am. What’s an Irishman doing in the wilds of South Dakota?”

“Working with horses, same as I would do back home,” Tiernan said, getting everything and yet nothing from the contact with the man, as if Nathan were blocking him. “Well, in a manner of speaking,” he qualified. “In Ireland I trained Thoroughbreds. And I’m here in this area because the Farrells are blood.”

“Good people,” Nathan said, pulling his hand free. “I used to work for Kate’s husband, Chase, on the refuge.”

“But you quit?”

“I had more pressing interests.”

Though his curiosity was piqued, Tiernan didn’t ask Nathan to explain what those interests might be. “I shall be seeing you, then.” He nodded to one of the trailers. “Right now, I need to be getting the tack shop set up.”

Nathan simply inclined his head.

Tipping his hat in return, Tiernan signaled Red Crow to go back the way they’d come. He waited a bit before saying to Ella, “So your cousin worked for the refuge.”

“I didn’t even know that. He was barely eighteen when Mother brought us back to Sioux Falls, and then Grandmother said he went to California, to go to school and to live with his father’s people.”

“But he returned here. His pressing interests in the Black Hills?”

Ella didn’t look thrilled about the fact. Tiernan supposed she feared the activists could start a war over their holy land. He hoped not. He hadn’t forgotten the troubles in Ireland. He wouldn’t wish that violence and fear on anyone.

As they approached the trailers, he asked, “Where should I drop you?”

“The parking lot would be best since I was on my way out when I saw you.”

When Ella dismounted near her SUV, Tiernan felt an inexplicable sense of loss. He couldn’t say why, but he wasn’t ready to let her go.

“I’m wondering if we could get together later,” he said. “Maybe have a drink.” When her expression shifted to one of caution, as if she was searching for reasons to decline, he wheedled, “I think we should talk more about what happened yesterday, don’t you? Besides, I wouldn’t be knowing anyone here but relatives.”

Ella’s expression cleared. “Sure. A drink. I could meet you in town this evening about eight? A place called Red Butte Saloon.”

“I will be there.”

Tiernan smiled down at Ella and he kept himself from giving her a wink. She reminded him of a deer poised to flee at the slightest hint of danger.

There was danger enough around them—he was certain of that, no matter what the deputy had claimed—reason enough for him to keep Ella close.

ELLA CENTERED HERSELF before entering. The Red Butte Saloon had a purposely Old West feel and its bar was of black walnut, massive and hand-carved, a long mirror along the back wall making the place look twice as big. The walls themselves were lined with wood paneling and decorated with Western and Native American memorabilia.

Part of Ella wished that Tiernan wouldn’t be there, while another part looked forward to seeing him again. Beyond his being attractive and charming—he was definitely both—he interested her and she couldn’t quite say why.

Tiernan had gotten there before her and didn’t see her come in. He stood at the bar, beer in hand, with a group of men. She doubted he knew them—at least he’d said