Native Cowboy by Rita Herron

then a click and Mason answered.
    “Cara?”
    “Someone was in my cabin while I was in the bath.”
    His breath rushed out. “What?”
    “He’s gone now but he left a note.”
    “I’m on my way.” The phone went dead and Cara quickly pulled on a robe, then went to the front door to watch for Mason.
    * * *
    M ASON’S HEART POUNDED as he grabbed his gun and raced to his car. Dammit, he’d checked Cara’s cabin earlier and it had been clean.
    But the intruder must have been watching. Waiting on him to leave Cara alone.
    He floored the gas and sped across the terrain, lights beaming across grass and gravel. He scanned the property as he drove, looking for anything suspicious, a car or truck driving too fast, escaping.
    The ranch seemed quiet though, the sound of a lone coyote howling in the distance. Brody had had trouble on the ranch before, and had hired extra security then. Mason made a mental note to make sure he still had that security in place.
    Better yet, he’d stay with Cara. No way he’d leave her alone and vulnerable.
    He slowed, easing near her cabin, eyes darting around the edges of the property to all the places a killer could hide. Something moved near the right corner, and he tensed. But a second later, he realized it was a stray dog.
    He threw the car into Park, jumped out and stalked up the steps. Cara must have been watching for him because she swung the door open. She looked pale and shaken, and dammit, she was about to burst with his child.
    He couldn’t resist. He pulled her up against him. The fact that she didn’t push him away indicated just how upset she was. “Are you okay?”
    She nodded against him, her breathing unsteady.
    Her fear twisted his insides, and he held her for a moment, soothing her with soft whispers. Finally she relaxed, her breathing steadying.
    But he sensed the moment she realized she’d allowed herself to lean on him, and she pulled away.
    “What happened?” he asked, missing the contact.
    “I locked up after you left, then ate a bite. While I was in the bath, I thought I heard something.” She knotted the belt around her robe. “When I came out, the bedroom window was open. Then I saw the note.”
    “Note?”
    “Yes,” Cara said, fear flickering in her eyes. “He left a note and a box.”
    “What’s inside the box?”
    ‘I haven’t opened it yet,” Cara said with a shiver. “But the note...it’s disturbing.”
    Mason strode to the bedroom, then halted by the bed. Dammit. Now he understood what had upset Cara so badly—the words had been written in blood.
    “Do you think it’s human blood?” Cara asked.
    “I don’t know, but I’ll send it to forensics and find out.” He leaned closer to inspect it, his stomach churning as his mind raced to a dark place.
    If the blood was human, did it belong to Nellie Thompson?
    “Did you touch it?” Mason asked.
    “No, God no,” Cara whispered.
    “Good. Let me get a kit from the car. I don’t want to contaminate the evidence.”
    Cara nodded, and he rushed outside then returned a moment later with his crime kit. He pulled on latex gloves, then bagged the note. Had it been left by the same person who’d sent that threatening note to the clinic?
    Anger immediately hit him as he opened the wooden box.
    Cara peered over his shoulder. “What is it?”
    “A deerskin pouch,” Mason said.
    “I don’t understand,” Cara said with a frown.
    Unfortunately he did. “It’s called a navel fetish. It’s actually a birth amulet.”
    “Like a gift the mother receives when she delivers?”
    “Not exactly. It’s used by Native Americans for holding an umbilical cord. In the Plains tradition, the mother places the pouch on the cradleboard above the baby’s head. At a later age, the child wears it around his neck or attached to clothing. The amulet brings the baby good luck and keeps the umbilical cord preserved, and the mother-child connection alive.”
    Cara clasped her hands together. “Is anything inside