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       1858: Texas Territory

      He hated the sound of a woman’s scream. Caine pulled Chaser up short. The black Appaloosa’s hoofbeats ended in cadence with Tracker’s and Sam’s horses. After fifteen years together, there was no guesswork to the men’s moves. They were a team.

      The high-pitched scream came again, cutting through the cold morning air, hovering a desperate moment on the heavy mist before dropping off with eerie abruptness.

      Tracker took the blade of grass he’d been chewing from between his teeth. “Looks like we’ve found them.”

      “Yup.” Caine pulled his rifle from the scabbard, scouting the surrounding area. There weren’t that many areas a man could hide here in the flatlands.

      Sam tipped back his hat, his blue eyes glittering like cold ice. “About the only place that offers protection is that cluster of trees yonder.”

      Caine didn’t need to hear the grim edge to the statement to know what that meant. If those were true Comancheros who’d stolen the women, they’d already been spotted. The women were as good as dead, and that scream had merely been a baited invitation to a trap. However, nothing in this whole kidnapping spoke of the snake-in-the-grass intelligence Comancheros were known for. Greed, yes. The women stolen had been the youngest and prettiest, but there was a certain lack of intelligence displayed in taking the sheriff’s wife. Even if he had been out of town at the time. There were some things a smart man didn’t do, and one of them was stealing a lawman’s woman.

      Tracker slid off his horse, stepped forward and squatted next to hoofprints