Castle Rock by Carolyn Hart Page B

She said the word with force aloud, to herself and Hurricane.
    Her mind wouldn’t be deflected. Accidents can be caused. Accidents can be arranged. Uncle Dan rode out to Castle Rock. If, when he started to dismount, something had startled Senator at just the right instant, Uncle Dan was vulnerable. It could have been done. Easily. A sharp rock thrown at Senator’s flank. A gun shot nearby into the air. Once the horse bolted, Uncle Dan wouldn’t have had a chance.
    Dead, Dan McIntire couldn’t stop whatever had infuriated him the night before, and, if there was one thing Serena knew for certain, he had intended to stop it.
    Serena nudged Hurricane with her knee and he began to trot. They were nearing the point where this trail diverged from the one that led up to the Anasazi ruins. Serena urged Hurricane to go faster. She felt a compelling need to get back to the ranch as fast as possible. She must make an attempt to find out what had made Dan McIntire so angry his last night alive.
    If she could find the man he had been talking to . . .
    She had barely heard the other voice speaking to Uncle Dan. The voice was lower, softer. A man’s voice? Yes. She was almost sure of that. But it could have been anyone, a member of the family, a dude, a guest.
    Or Jed, she thought unhappily. It could have been Jed. It could have been anyone at all.
    Serena slowed Hurricane when they reached a narrow wooden bridge that spanned a stream. His hooves clopped hollowly on the wooden spans. The water beneath hissed and gurgled. Somewhere ahead, she heard a rattle of falling stone. Someone must be coming down the Anasazi trail.
    â€œHello,” she called out. She reined in and waited for an answering call.
    None came.
    Again, distinctly, unmistakably, she heard the click of a horse’s hooves.
    â€œHello.” She leaned forward in the saddle, listening.
    The hiss of water, the vague rustlings of the undergrowth, the sharp wail of a raven, all these she heard, and nothing more.
    Pine trees crowded close to the trail here. A prickle of unease touched Serena, the first faint stirrings of fear.
    â€œHello there. Who’s coming?”
    Hurricane moved uneasily beneath her. Did he sense her fear? Serena patted his shoulder.
    Now, listen though she might, she heard no sound of another horse, nothing but the rushing of the water and Hurricane’s measured breaths and the rustlings among the pines.
    If anyone had been coming, they too had stopped.
    Abruptly, Serena flicked her reins and Hurricane started forward. The path here ran deep among the pines. They pressed toward her, their thick resiny scent almost suffocating.
    When they reached the fork, where the other path angled up toward the ruins, Serena stopped again. She looked up the path. If she had heard another horse, if her ears hadn’t tricked her, the rider must have been on this trail. Someone could have reached this point in the trail, heard her shout, and within a few yards been able to move off the trail and disappear into the pines.
    She scanned the woods. A white-tail deer looked warily at her.
    Twenty riders could be hidden among the pines and she would never be able to see them.
    Why would anyone ignore her call and plunge off the trail to hide?
    The answer was obvious, of course. The rider didn’t want to be seen, was determined not to be seen.
    Serena sat stiffly in her saddle. Were eyes watching her at this very moment? Waiting for her to go?
    Her face set and grim, she turned Hurricane down the trail back to the hacienda.
    She felt a grim resolve. Something was very wrong indeed at Castle Rock, but she wasn’t going to be intimidated or fooled or deflected. She was going to get to the bottom of it. The trail led past Will’s studio. She would start with him.
    Serena had always enjoyed entering Will’s studio. The entire southern exposure was a plate glass window. More light streamed in from two skylights. The studio always seemed