Tucker's Claim

Tucker remembered how Bella had thrown herself after Sam when he’d tumbled over that cliff, how she’d clung and refused to let go, pitting her tiny weight against the force of gravity to keep him here in this world, to the point that she’d almost gone over with him, as she waited for help to arrive. “She’s got what it takes.”

Tucker’s left eyebrow went up. “You sound convinced.”

“I am.”

“Then there’s going to be quite a wedding in a couple months.”

“Yup. Bella’s an heiress in her own right.”

“That must have stuck in Sam’s craw. He’s an independent SOB.”

“Might have, but along with her big ranch came a pack of trouble.”

Tracker laughed, the vicious scar on his cheek glaring white in the predawn. “That would have cheered him up.”

The only thing Sam loved more than Bella was a challenge. “It did lessen the sting.”

“Did he really threaten to kill her mother?”

“Her and the entire crew at the Montoya ranch when Bella went missing.” It was Tucker’s turn to shrug. “They underestimated his devotion to Bella.”

In the shadows, there was a glimmer of Tracker’s smile. “People always underestimate Sam.”

“Yeah, well, this time it was Sam who underestimated Bella’s people. You’re going to like them, Tracker. They’re almost tough enough to be Hell’s Eight.”

“Heard that, too.” Tracker shifted the bundle he held tucked against his side and took another step forward. The first rays of sunrise touched his face. The jagged scar down his cheek almost glowed red with the light. For a moment, Tucker was thrown back in time to the small town where he’d been born, heard again the battle cry of the invading Mexican army, relived the terror, felt the bullet slam into his chest as his knife slid into the stomach of his opponent. Saw Tracker standing over him, blood pouring down his face, a feral smile on his lips as he tossed aside the man who’d shot Tucker.

Tucker reached up and grazed the bullet hanging on a rawhide string around his neck. His lucky charm. His impetus to never forget. The smell of blood lingered in his memory long past the fading of the mental image.

Tucker motioned to the bundle Tracker carried. “What’s that?”

Tracker grinned. The scar crinkled. He was not a handsome man, but he was a fierce-looking one, full of strength and power. And his smile definitely had the tendency to put the fear of God into people.

“Desi sent you a present.”

The bundle wiggled. “It’s not my birthday.”

Suddenly, Tracker cursed and held the bundle away. It whimpered.

“What?”

“I think the damn thing peed on me.”

It was a puppy. Tucker had a way with animals and was known for his ability to train them. “What’d you expect him to do when you were holding him like that?”

“Not use me as an outhouse.”

Tucker could see a red-brown muzzle and long floppy ears. There was no mistaking the pup’s heritage.

“Looks like Boone’s a daddy.” A wave of homesickness washed over him, thinking of the rawboned hound back at the Hell’s Eight compound that everyone had written off as lazy and worthless, but had turned into the hero who’d saved Caine’s wife’s life. “Who’da thought he’d ever work up the energy to court the ladies?”

Boone had always been the laziest hound around. Turned out, he’d just been saving his energy for when it really mattered. Or at least that’s the story Desi touted in the aftermath.

Tracker folded his arm across his chest. “Desi’s kind of disgusted. The one saving grace for Desi is the only dog Boone wants is Daisy. Won’t have any other dog and won’t let anybody else near her.”

Tucker could imagine the dog’s joy and Desi’s consternation. “Must be true love.”

“Uh-huh. Well.” Tracker put the pup on the ground. The similarity to Boone grew as he immediately lay down with a long, drawn-out moan. “Desi saved this one for you. She says he’s Boone’s best.”

“Saved him?” Tucker bent and scooped the pup up. He was big boned, but still not large and he was all gangly puppy wiggles. His ears drooped to his knees and his nose wrinkled back to the bridge. Tucker held him at eye level. “Cute little thing.” The pup licked his face. “Why’d she have to ‘save him’ for me?”

Tracker shook his head, sending his long hair swishing around his shoulders. “There isn’t a body in the territory who doesn’t want one of Boone’s offspring. A dog that’ll track with a knife wound to his chest with no direction other than his conviction that his mistress needs him, hell, that’s the stuff legends are made of.”

There was no doubt the hound had earned his forever place at Hell’s Eight. “Just because Boone’s that way doesn’t mean his kin is.”

Tracker shrugged. “You try telling folks that. They pretty much don’t want to hear anything but that there’s a puppy for them.”

“How many were there?”

“Six, and the competition is stiff for every one. People keep raising their offers.”

“As in money?” The pup snuggled in a disjointed flop against his shoulder.

“Yup. And Desi keeps turning them down flat, much to Caine’s disgust.”

“Why?”

“Seems Desi is real particular where she’ll let the pups go. Calls them Boone’s children.”

“Damn.” Tucker laughed. He would like to have been there to see Caine’s reaction to that. Desi’s Eastern ways often clashed with Caine’s Western practicality.

“Caine used stronger words.” Tracker grimaced and pulled his wet shirt away from his stomach. “He needs the money, and Lord knows the ranch could use it with the pressure those Easterners are putting on us, trying to force Desi out of safety.”

“They haven’t given up?” Tucker sighed. Desi and her twin sister, Ari, were heiresses, but someone didn’t want them to come into their money and was doing his level best to make sure they didn’t. It looked like their father’s trusted solicitor was the culprit, but who the hell could be sure? This wasn’t the kind of battle he was used to. He was used to a straightforward track, hunt and kill. You knew your enemy, and if only for the moment it took to get off a shot, you saw him. But this battle with the threat against Desi and Ari, this was a whole different animal. This took place behind the scenes with whispers and payoffs and well-hidden third parties calling the shots. And the fights were like shooting at ghosts that slipped in and out of the shadows, sniping at Desi and Caine’s happiness, but never coming into the light so they could be exorcised.

“Desi is worth a hell of a lot of money.”

Tucker grunted. “It’d be easier if Caine would take it.”

“A lot of things could be easier, but blood money always comes with a curse.”

“So you’re siding with Caine on this one?”

“You’re not?”

Tracker released his shirt. “It’s Desi’s money. Just because some cowardly son of a bitch hired Comancheros to kill her family to get it doesn’t change that fact.”

“It’s cursed.”