Rusty cursed as the fire truck pulled away, leaving the home she’d lived in for most of her life a wet mess with half of it gutted and the other half covered in wet grime from the smoke. Her luck had turned from bad to worse. Two years ago, she’d gone on a bender and ended up in a cheap motel with Danny Stikeleather, a local high-school quarterback hero whose glory days ended with high school. Six weeks later she realized she was pregnant. Her first thought was to dig out one of her mama’s special recipes and cook up a brew to rid herself of the child. But killing wasn’t in her, so she’d allowed Danny to talk her into getting married for the sake of the child.

She knew when she married him that his promises to be a better man were probably as valid as a four-dollar bill, but she never expected him to turn into a drunk. Inside of six months, he’d not only lost his job but had lost himself in a bottle and beaten her with a shovel badly enough that she lost the child. While she was in the hospital, he got drunk and ran his truck down the side of a mountain, killing himself and leaving her to discover that he had no life insurance and a mountain of debt.

Danny’s family had tried to swoop in and take control, browbeating her since the day Danny died, to hook up with Danny’s older brother Dennis so the family could look after her and Blackhawk Farm.

That wasn’t going to happen. Rusty had never been keen on Danny’s family and sure as heck had no intention of hooking up with another one of them. One Stikeleather per lifetime was enough. She knew all they really wanted was to get her married to Dennis so they could sell her land out from under her and take whatever money came from it.

That also was not going to happen. No matter how much they pestered her she wouldn’t give in. She’d finally filed a complaint with the sheriff and asked for a restraining warrant to keep them off her land.

That only made things worse. Now the whole family was gunning for her and doing everything they could to make her life miserable.

It hadn’t been easy. She’d tried to keep up, to pay off the debt, to keep her head above water, but there was only so much one woman could do. And truth be told, she’d let some things slide in order to hang onto what was more important than a good credit rating or even a roof over her head. Namely, her horses.

Rusty had inherited the land she stood on and ten good stock horses when her mother died ten years ago. Today she still had the land and had increased her herd to thirty-five, but it looked like that would change shortly.

The previous year, a cousin several times removed came to the Carolinas and was introduced to Rusty. Ana Stillwater-Hawks. Ana now raised horses with her husband, Chase, whose family owned a big spread, the Circle R, in Arizona. Thanks to Ana, the Circle R had offered to go into partnership with Rusty. In exchange for paying up all of the outstanding debts, they would own half of the stock, and she’d work for them as head breeder and trainer. All she had to do was agree to put up with one of the Circle R men riding roughshod over her while she did her job, and the Circle R would foot all the bills. And she would keep her land. The deal did not call for her to share ownership of the land, only the assets. It was a five-year contract that was renewable at the end of the term if both parties agreed.

Rusty was both elated and sad at the prospect. She needed the money to settle all the debt Danny left her with, but having a stranger take up residence on her land and call the shots was a bitter pill to swallow. But she figured she could live with a goat for five years if it got her out of debt.

It would be good to have a steady income and Rusty planned on squirreling away every dime she could. That way at the end of the contract she could decline to continue the relationship and go back to her life on her own.

Ana had promised to visit in the spring. Seeing Ana again would be a treat. Rusty had discovered during their first meeting that they shared much more than common ancestry.

Ana’s grandfather was the brother of Rusty’s grandmother. Rusty had never heard of Ana. Probably because Rusty’s grandmother had left the mountains of North Carolina and moved to the Carpathian Mountains near Hungary with her husband—his father’s people had settled there generations ago when they left their homeland in Punjab, part of the displaced nation of the Romani people.

Rusty’s mother, Mary Puxon, was born in the Carpathian Mountains and grew up there. At the age of eighteen her parents sent her to the United States so that she could see the land of her mother’s birth. While on that trip, Mary met Russell Blackhawk, a native Cherokee man. They married before her trip ended and she moved to Russell’s home in North Carolina. They had five happy years. Three months before their daughter was born, Russell died, thrown from a horse he was breaking. Mary was devastated by the death of her husband. She named her daughter after her dead husband and did her best to raise Rusty and give her a good life.

Rusty was grateful for all her mother had taught her, and the love she’d given her. Mary was a seventh generation witch, what popular fiction of the current day liked to refer to as a white-lighter. She’d taught all she knew to Rusty, along with a strong warning never to use the Craft for ill-will or it would be revisited on her three-fold.

Rusty had tried to live by that rule, and not only did she rarely use her power, she kept it a secret. Danny, her husband, had never suspected. Everyone knew that Rusty’s mom was a witch, but never thought that Rusty had followed in Mary’s footsteps. It might have had something to do with the fact that Rusty was always outdoors with the boys, running and riding and getting into as much mischief as any boy around.

Ana had recognized it right away, and Rusty was secretly thrilled to have not only discovered new family, but someone who could understand things a non-witch would never comprehend.

Rusty turned and looked at the sad state of her home. No use crying over spilled milk, her mother would have said. Koda, the grey wolf breed who was her familiar and closest friend, wandered over and leaned his head against the side of her hip.

“Yeah, I know, look on the bright side. Only half if it’s gone,” she said with a rueful smile as she rubbed his broad brow. “Well, daylight’s wasting, and those horses aren’t gonna feed themselves.”

* * * * *

Clay was swallowing the last of the cold sweet tea in his glass when his cell phone rang. He looked at the display and grinned as he answered.

“You calling to tell me you’re ready to shuck Chase and hook up with a younger, better looking and much more intelligent brother?”

Ana laughed at the question. “Well hell, Clay, you know I like old broke-in cowboys a sight more than young feisty ones.”

Clay laughed as he heard his older brother, Chase in the background yelling, “Old broke-in? You get your sweet little butt over here on this couch and I’ll show you old.”

“Woo hoo!” Ana replied then addressed Clay. “Well, I guess I’m gonna make this short since I’m about to get lucky. I wanted to see how close you are to Rusty’s place.”

Clay heard Chase laugh and wondered what was so funny about him having driven for the last two days.

“I think I’m gonna find a place to sleep and finish out the drive in the morning.”

“But it’s only six!” Ana protested. “And Clara told Rusty that you’d be there tonight at the latest.”

“So call him up and tell him I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Ana sounded miffed. “But call me the minute you get there.”

“Yes ma’am,” Clay replied.

“You promise?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Well that means diddly but I’m holding you to it and if you don’t I’ll…I’ll—”

“Cast a spell and give him a case of jock itch!” Chase yelled in the background.

“Now that’s just mean,” Clay said with a laugh. “I’ll call you. Have a good night, Ana.”

“You too. I love you,” she said before she hung up.

Clay closed the phone and returned it to the case clipped on his belt. Ana and Chase had been acting awfully peculiar about this deal with the Blackhawk fellow. Even Clay’s father Charlie was being close-mouthed about the guy.

Clay still wasn’t sure why he’d gotten elected to take on the running of the Blackhawk operation. He was more interested in riding bulls than breeding horses at the moment. This year he figured he’d qualify for the nationals.

But a man had to make a living and since he’d graduated with a master’s degree in animal husbandry five years ago, he’d been working to build up a reputation. Today the Circle R boasted the finest stock horses in the country. As far as Clay was concerned they were doing just fine, with no need to take on a small operation like Blackhawk’s.

But Charlie was adamant. Actually, Clay was convinced that Charlie was standing firm on it because of Ana and Clara. Apparently this Blackhawk fellow was a distant relative of Ana’s she’d discovered last year when she and Chase took a trip to the Carolinas to visit the place where Ana’s grandfather had lived.

After they returned, Ana and Clara went to work selling Chase and Charlie on the idea. In the past Charlie wouldn’t have let anyone talk him into doing anything he didn’t want to do. But now things were different.

After nearly losing Clara to the maniac ex-husband Ana had run away from when Ana first arrived in Arizona six years ago, Charlie had realized how much he loved the woman. It took him three years to convince her to marry him, but she’d finally said yes, and Charlie wasn’t about to upset the apple cart by denying her something she obviously wanted so badly.

All Clay could figure was that Ana wanted to help her cousin or whatever Blackhawk was to her. And since Ana and Clara were now thick as thieves, the men of the Circle R didn’t stand a chance against them.

So here he was, headed for the Blackhawk place with orders to get it up and running and making money as fast as possible. While Clay might have been a little annoyed to be the one to inherit the job, he was also secretly a little pleased that his father trusted him to oversee things. And he was determined to make it a success.

How he’d get along with Blackhawk was a mystery. All he’d heard about the man was that when it came to training horses there wasn’t anyone who could touch him. And apparently he’d trained the last three years champion barrel racers and their horses. That was something Clay had to admire.

Whether that admiration would lead to congenial working relations was anyone’s guess, but that question would be answered soon enough and right now all Clay wanted was to get a shower, stretch his legs and relax. Tomorrow was soon enough to face the mystery of Rusty Blackhawk.