Cowboy PI by Jean Barrett Page A

overcast. The first rain fell as they struck camp and headed along the trail. It continued to fall throughout the morning and into the afternoon. By then, the fine weather of their first day on the drive was only a memory.
    There was nothing now but this dreary drizzle as cattle and horses pushed on through the endless valley. The ridge was buried in low cloud so much of the time that it wasn’t possible to know whether their mysterious rider was still out there. Nor, on those infrequent occasions when the curtain did lift, was there any sign of him.

    If he is still there, Samantha thought, he’s either keeping a low profile, or else he was a phantom, after all.
    It was easier to tell herself he’d only been an illusion, since none of them could afford to worry about him. Not when they had to deal with all the difficulties of herding cattle over land that hundreds of hooves churned into a mire. Samantha played what part she could in keeping the longhorns on the move, sodden and uncomfortable though she was.
    The spirits of the entire outfit lifted when, late in the afternoon, the clouds parted. The backs of the longhorns steamed under the warmth of the sun that finally appeared. Samantha welcomed its glow, and by the time they made camp and she was able to change into dry clothes, she was smiling again.
    “Hate to spoil all that cheer,” Roark said when she emerged from behind the blanket, “but you and I have drawn the dogwatch tonight.”
    “I won’t ask what that means.”
    He told her anyway. “We get the late shift guarding the herd.”
    She managed not to groan. “I don’t have to sing to them, do I? Please tell me I don’t have to sing to them.”
    Roark chuckled. “Not unless your Irma has a special request. Hey, it won’t be so bad. If we turn in early, we’ll have four or five hours of sleep before our— What’s the matter?”
    He’d noticed that she was no longer listening, that something else had captured her attention.
    “Up there on the ridge,” she said.
    He turned around, gazing in the direction she indicated. A thin column of smoke rose from behind the distant trees.
    “It’s him again, isn’t it? He’s still with us.”
    “Samantha, it could be anyone’s campfire. Or maybe someone has a cabin up there.”
    “I suppose.” She wasn’t convinced, but she tried toforget about the smoke. It was no longer evident, anyway, when Ramona called them to supper.
    Roark roused her just after midnight. By the time she got into her clothes, he had their horses saddled and waiting. The watch turned out to be not as unpleasant an obligation as she’d feared. Once they were mounted and in place at the edge of the herd, and with the sleep cleared from her brain, Samantha was actually able to appreciate the beauty of the scene.
    The moon had risen. It was a full moon, with the light it shed so bright she could easily distinguish the shapes and patterns of the longhorns browsing contentedly on the rain-freshened grass. She recognized Irma among them. Roark teased her about Irma, and it was true she was protective of her. Maybe just because she’d noticed that the older, larger longhorns sometimes bullied the heifer, which was probably why Irma had a tendency to wander from the herd.
    The heifer was peaceful now, as quiet as the rest of the herd in the stillness of the night. There was no sound either from the direction of the sleeping camp. Roark’s deep voice broke the silence.
    “Cold? I have a thermos of hot coffee in my saddlebag if you need it.”
    “Maybe later.”
    Although there was an autumn sharpness in the late-night air, she didn’t seem to be feeling it. Maybe his nearness had something to do with that. Even though they were both on horseback, he was so close she swore she could actually feel his body heat. That might have been just her imagination. But what she saw, when she turned her head and looked at him in a light almost as bright as day, was not.
    She had noticed it before,