Heart Of The Eagle
“All right, go on.”
“These poachers are a multinational band of men and women who know predatory birds well. Not only that, but they’ve got outlets for the stolen eggs, or eyesses, over in the Middle East. As you know, falconry is a major way of life for the sheikhs and princes of those kingdoms. And now, they have a penchant for the types of birds I just mentioned, to train them into falconry.”
Dal nodded grimly. “Falconry is popular in Europe, also.”
Jim halted. She looked vulnerable to the point of fragility. What would she do when she found out the rest of the problem? “The demand is on an upswing. You know there’s a black market for exotic or imported hawks and falcons. Some people will stop at nothing to acquire a unique specimen—much like the first kid on the block with a new car. The Middle Eastern clients are willing to spend any amount of money to get these eggs or the resulting hatched eyesses. If a prince is seen with a golden eagle, then every one of his noblemen wants one, also. The demand becomes astronomical and creates lucrative blackmarket rings that operate against the law to acquire the birds.
“Basically what’s been happening is that such a group is active in North America and has been supplying falcons and eagles to these countries. Like jewel thieves, they’re professionals. Many times they’ll send in a team of three people: two who are mountain climbing experts to scale the cliffs to get the eggs or nestlings, and a third member who’s an expert on spotting nests, or is familiar with the nesting habitat of a given area. They fly in by helicopter and ferry out their stolen goods. Or, they may go into an area posing as hikers on a pack trip. They’re ingenious and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police have been close to capturing them, but they’ve always eluded them at the last moment.”
“And they’re operating in the States, too?” Dal asked.
“Yes. Five months ago, information pinpointing certain predator nesting areas was found to be missing in Washington,” he said, watching her closely. “Information that was in a computer to which only a few knew the access code. The maps showing locations of these birds, their nesting habitat and exact location were taken, Dal.”
Her brows drew down. “That means the locations on the Triple K are open for poaching?”
“Those and several other key areas in Wyoming and Montana.”
She pushed her fingers through her hair in an aggravated motion. “Damn these people! If it isn’t the ranchers shooting these poor birds, or sheepmen poisoning them with meat, we have poachers to contend with!” Her voice took on an anguished edge. “Where is it all going to end? My God!”
Jim put his hands flat on the surface of the desk, holding her gaze. “There’s more, Dal.”
“How can there be?”
“Your ex-husband, Jack Gordon, is suspected of paying the government employee who took the information from the computer. Not only that, but evidence leads us to suspect he will mastermind the U.S. connection to the international poaching ring this year. The FBI has been following this case closely, and photos of Jack Gordon with key members of this ring were taken down in the Virgin Islands early this year. With Gordon’s knowledge and skill as a trapper of exotic birds, the poaching would be a piece of cake if he chooses to get involved in it.”
Dal blinked once, a gasp escaping as she stared at him. She felt as if someone had hit her in the chest, leaving her heart aching with a blinding jolt of pain. Pain that she was trying to get some distance on and forget. And then Jim Tremain blurred before her eyes as tears silently ran down her drawn cheeks.
“Here,” Jim said, placing a linen handkerchief in her hands. He rose, unable to stay that close to her and not reach out and touch those tears that were falling.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered and then turned away, unable to absorb the pain so apparent on her suddenly waxen features. He walked toward the door and opened it. He felt stifled and helpless to do anything for Dal. As he turned back toward her, he saw her wiping the last of the tears from her cheeks. She looked like hell.
Dal controlled her breathing, willing back the rest of the tears that wanted to fall. She was vaguely aware of Jim moving toward the liquor cabinet. An avalanche of conflicting emotions ripped through her: anger over what Jack had done and then anger at Jim Tremain for dredging up a part of her life that she wanted to forget.
“Drink this,” Jim offered quietly, putting a shot glass filled with apricot brandy in front of her. “Go on….”
Wordlessly, Dal took a hefty gulp, the brandy burning all the way down. But it staunched her tears and steadied her roiling emotions. “Thanks,” she murmured, setting the glass down.
“I’m sorry. I know you were recently divorced.” Jim’s mouth worked into a grim line as she lifted her head and looked at him. “I had a choice: come to you for help or let the FBI start crawling all over the place trying to capture Gordon and his counterpart. I came to you for help because you know the location of all these nesting areas. No one knows predators like you do.”
Dal gave him a mirthless smile. “Certain two-legged predators, Mr. Tremain. The feathered variety, not the human ones.”
Jim steeled himself. Now it was Mr. Tremain and not Jim. She was on the defensive again, but he couldn’t blame her. He kept his husky voice low and steady, as if calming a frantic horse. “My men and I will take care of the other two-legged predators. If you can act as guide, we’ll set up a trap that will capture Gordon and his people.”
“Am I a suspect, Mr. Tremain?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Jim steadily met her blue eyes. “Given your record of conservation of predators, doctor, I felt you were innocent.”
“So someone didn’t think I was?”
He met her cool smile. “The FBI considers you questionable. If you want to know.”
“And you don’t?”
“No.”
She gave him a flat glare of disgust. “I’m surprised I’m not an accessory to the fact, Mr. Tremain.” Dal rose and paced the study for a minute before meeting his gaze. “Let me get this straight. You want me for a guide in late May to find the location of the eggs or nestlings?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll have the men who are at my disposal close in on the ring once we know they’re in the area. The eggs of most predators will be hatched by early June, making them prime for poaching. The eyesses are best caught just before they learn to fly. I think Gordon will start with the nests in the southern regions and work his way north with the warmer weather. And the Triple K is the farthest south of all the areas.”
Dal paced some more, explosive anger building within her. “I came to the Triple K for a long rest, Mr. Tremain. I don’t want to play tour guide. I don’t want to even think about that ex-husband of mine!” She halted, drawing herself up, her face mirroring her feelings. “Jack wouldn’t step on Triple K land. Rafe would kill him and he knows that.”
Jim spread his hands in a gesture of peace. “Look, I know this comes as a shock but—”
“I won’t do it, Mr. Tremain.”
He winced at the anguish in her voice. “I need your help, doctor. If I can’t enlist your aid, then the FBI is going to come barreling in here and take over. I don’t think your brother would like to get the law entangled in the daily running of his ranch. Right now, there’s calving and moving the herds to higher country for the summer. Do you want a bunch of three-piece-suited dudes from D.C. overrunning this place? I know they’ll botch the capture of the poachers because they’re unfamiliar with the terrain and methods that it will take to capture them. And they’ll also make a mess of things here.”
Dal glared at him, rubbing her temples with her fingers. “What are you talking about?”
“If you don’t agree to help me, they’re going to set up operations here at the Triple K. I persuaded the inspector to let me take on the task and see if I could get you to work with us. That way, your brother can go about his business of running his ranch and we’ll stay out from underfoot.”
“Either way, you’ll be here,” Dal said bitterly, crossing her arms.
Jim felt his heart wrench. The kind, soft-spoken Dal Kincaid he had seen a short while ago was gone. And he had caused the change. Now, she was defensive and hurting. Whatever trust he had briefly established with her was destroyed. “It’s better than the alternative, doctor.”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to sob. Oh, God! Jack, again. The man whom she had loved at one time and who had learned to love money more than her or their marriage. He had known how to manipulate her emotions until she had felt herself shredded by his razor-blade tactics. Dal knew she had to get hold of herself. She had to think clearly. Fairly. Lifting her head, she looked over at Jim Tremain.
“It’s stuffy in here. I want to go outside.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
The April sun was weak but welcome on her face as they crossed the muddy yard between the horse and cow barns. Dal led Jim to a pipe-fenced paddock and placed both elbows on the pipe. The breeze was inconstant, occasionally lifting strands of her hair across her jacketed shoulders. For no identifiable reason, Dal felt an island of momentary peace when Jim Tremain hitched up his foot onto the lowest pipe of the fence. Their elbows almost touched.
“I love coming out here,” she confided softly. The paddock contained four brood mares and their newborn foals.
Jim glanced at her. “The babies?”
She nodded, a tremulous smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “The babies,” she agreed. “When Rafe took over the operation of the Triple K eight years ago, he replaced the quarter horses with Arabians. They’re smaller, but they have more endurance and are as tough as the mustangs that cross our land.”
“They’re like you, then, doctor.”
Dal turned, perplexed by the intimate tone of his voice. She trembled beneath the smile that reached his clear brown eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re as beautiful as they are and you have an inner core of endurance that will see you through.”
She laughed, but it was a hollow sound filled with pain. “Oh? And just where did you gain such insight, Mr. Tremain?”
His smile broadened as he held her confused gaze. “My mother. She was a full-blooded Navaho. She was the one who taught me to listen to my heart and not my head. Call it a sixth sense. I just feel that when the going gets rough, you’re there with commensurate strength to survive and become stronger because of the experience.”
Warmth flowed through Dal, dissolving the icy cold fist in the pit of her stomach. She stood beneath Jim’s gentle inspection, lost in the smoldering gold of his eyes, seeing much and unable to decipher all that he said with them. Dal felt breathless and tore her gaze from his, staring at the brood mares instead.
“Right now, Jim,” she said in a whisper, “I’m at the end of my rope emotionally. I won’t bore you with the travesty of my marriage to Jack Gordon. The past two years of hell have worn me down. I once thought I had a backbone of steel like the rest of the Kincaids, but I don’t. Not anymore. I’m raw. I can’t take too much emotionally or I’ll crack and I know it.”
She removed her elbows from the pipe and stood, hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket as she looked up at him. The brim of his hat shaded his eyes and hid his reaction to her admission. “That’s why I’m here at the family ranch, Jim. I’m trying to patch myself together so I can go back out in the world and live again.”
Jim raised his hand, taking a strand of hair from her cheek and easing it behind her delicate ear. His voice was thick with emotion when he finally spoke. “If I told you I’d take care of you through this problem we’ve got with Gordon, would you believe me?”
Chapter Two
Hot scalding tears pricked the backs of Dal’s eyes as she stood looking up at Jim. His image blurred and she turned away, walking a few paces, her back to him.
Jim stared at her back, noting the way her shoulders were tensed and drawn up. He had watched her vulnerable eyes darken with a torture known only to herself and had seen her full, generous mouth draw into a line of anguish. What had happened in her marriage to tear her apart like this? Swallowing hard, he waited, his senses cautioning him that if he were to approach her too soon or try in some way to comfort her, she would turn on him. Trust, his senses screamed at him; she trusts no one. No man. He searched his memory for facts regarding Jack Gordon: he was an entrepreneur in the business of birds, capturing rare or colorful species from jungles around the world and selling them to zoos or private patrons. In those six years of marriage, had Gordon used Dal to sharpen his own education and utilized her knowledge to enhance his lucrative, international business?
Dal struggled to force down the lid on the caldrons of emotion that Jim Tremain had torn lose with his one touch. He had shaken her to the core. He wanted to use her just as Jack had at the end of their once happy marriage. Jim was even more dangerous because he knew how to read her and get what he wanted. Jack’s methods were always obvious once he had allowed material goods and stature become the center of importance to him. Jim knew that a simple gesture, such as placing a strand of hair behind her ear, would catch her off guard and place her in a more vulnerable position. Anger warred with a heart that said: he did it out of care, not because he wanted to use you. Pressing her fingers to her temples, Dal shut her eyes tightly for a moment, willing all her anger, frustration and pain back into a tightly lidded place in her heart.
She turned, her shoulders sagging as she stared at Jim. As much as she tried, Dal could not find one shred of selfishness in his face. If anything, she was screamingly aware of the tender light that burned in his golden eyes, the laugh lines at their corners and the way his mouth was pursed. Oh God, no! she cried inwardly. She had learned to take a secondary role to Jack’s aims. But she had no defense against a man who showed her kindness. It’s all a sham, her mind screamed. He wants something from you, just like Jack did. Only he’s going to take it from you a different way. Jack wanted your knowledge. Jim wants the same thing.
Dal had not realized that two paths of tears had streaked down her cheeks as she stood staring at him. It was only when she saw his eyes darken and his mouth part in protest that she became aware of why he was reacting. Quickly wiping the telltale signs away, Dal lifted her head, her azure eyes darkened with confusion.
“No, I wouldn’t believe that you or anyone could protect me from Jack. Not now. Not ever,” she forced out in a low, quavering tone.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Dal looked blindly toward the paddock, unable to hold his understanding gaze. Jim was dangerous to her and she wanted to run. Run and hide. “I told you, I’m in no shape to help anyone. Not even myself.”
Jim moved closer, but not close enough to frighten her into fleeing. She reminded him vividly of a hunted deer standing tautly before him, an almost imperceptible quiver surrounding her. “My mother always told me tears were healing. I see nothing wrong with them.”
She snapped her head to the left, glaring at him. “Part of your half-breed heritage, no doubt.”
Jim’s mouth thinned as he studied her in that glacial moment. Half-breed. The word made his mouth go bitter with the taste of his past. He struggled with his anger toward her and then surmounted it. She had hurled the insult at him to get him to stop pressuring her. He drew the cowboy hat down a little lower on his brow, forcing a one-cornered smile. “My half-breed status has gotten me out of more trouble than in,” he countered mildly.
“How? By pushing papers in an office for the government!”
Jim leaned languidly against the pipe railing, studying the foals, who were now frolicking around their mothers after their recent meal. “My boss complains I’m not there enough to push those papers around. Usually, I’m in the field with my people.” His gaze moved to her. “I’d rather have the sky for a ceiling and a good horse under me instead of sitting at a desk. How about you? Which do you prefer?”
Dal frowned and licked her lips in a nervous gesture. He was cunning. He had diffused her attack and managed to steer the entire matter into an innocuous but important investigation of her as a person. “I’m sure you have a file on me in your office, Mr. Tremain. There’s little I care to add to that.”
“We’re not the FBI, doctor. The file I have on you is about your educational background, not your personal life.” He scowled. “But if you don’t allow me to enlist your help on this project, the FBI will come in. I don’t think you or your family will want that. It’s my opinion that because I and my people know the mountains and habitats, we stand a much better chance of netting the poachers than the FBI will.”
Dal clamped her lips together, refusing to be drawn into his soft banter. She liked his voice. It reminded her of a cat’s roughened tongue licking her hand, and sent delicious prickles of pleasure through her. She tried to squash all those feelings. “I’ll let my brother Rafe decide what’s going to happen, Mr. Tremain. It’s his ranch. I’m only a guest here.”
“All right,” he said slowly. “It will be necessary to talk to him, anyway. He’s as much a part of this plan as you are.”
“Rafe will be back tomorrow morning. He had business in Denver.”
“Maybe you can tell me where there might be a motel around here?”
Dal gave him a brief glance. He looked more like a wrangler than a government official. Cowboys had their own code and could be trusted. Jack was a civilian. An outsider. But Jim Tremain wasn’t. “There isn’t a motel within sixty miles of our ranch.”
“I see….”
Guilt twinged in her and Dal was unable to maintain that barrier of anger toward him. She could see his mind working beyond those lion-like eyes, and she watched as he rested his long, tapered fingers on his slender hips. She could discern the Indian blood in him by the sharp planed features of his face and his sun-darkened flesh. Another shaft of guilt struck her: she had called him a half-breed. God, what was wrong with her? She never threw prejudiced comments like that at anyone.
“There’s no sense in you driving all the way back to Denver just to come here again tomorrow morning,” she heard herself say. “I’ll get Millie to fix up one of the spare bedrooms and you can stay here tonight.”
Jim’s eyes glimmered with some undefined emotion as he met and held her nervous gaze. “That’s more than kind of you, doctor. Thank you.” So, he thought, there was ground for them to work on after all; he hadn’t totally destroyed the possibility of their combining their expertise on the poaching problem.
Shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket, Dal stared down at the muddy earth. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, walking past him. “Let me tell Millie you’ll be staying.”
He watched her walk between the barns and knit his black brows. She was scared of him. As a man? Or as a government emissary? The Kincaids had a sterling reputation of having worked closely with conservation officials in the past on a number of wildlife projects. As Jim ambled around the paddocks, eyeing the horseflesh in each, he narrowed down Dal’s reaction to her distrust of him as a man. That cut down the chances of her agreeing to help him.
Sunlight bathed the valley as the clouds parted, slats shining across the lush land of the Triple K. Jim watched as a group of wranglers coaxed a herd of about a hundred Herefords out of a paddock, heading them in the direction of some upper pasture. He inhaled the crisp spring air, glad to be out of the office and in the field again. And then a rueful smile split his harsh features. Would “guard dog” Millie allow him to stay at the ranch overnight?
* * *
“What do you mean he’s stayin’, Dal?” Millie lifted her head, her chin jutting out stubbornly.
Dal walked farther into the spacious kitchen that was Millie’s territory. The red-tiled floor gleamed from a recent waxing, giving the cedar walls even more warmth. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter. Millie resumed folding the bread dough on the table, flour spotting her plump arms.
“He wants to talk to Rafe about poachers. I didn’t have the heart to make him drive sixty miles to a motel and then come all the way back tomorrow morning.”
“You know Rafe doesn’t like strangers about,” Millie chided gruffly.
“I know….”
Millie straightened, put the dough into a bread pan and then transferred it to the countertop. “Still,” she muttered, moving back to the table to begin folding another batch of dough, “he doesn’t seem all that bad.”
Dal raised an eyebrow at the housekeeper. Millie was mountain born and bred. She had an uncanny knack of summing up people on first sight. “What do you mean?”
“He might be with the government, but he’s got some horse sense in him. Can see it in those whiskey-colored eyes of his. That man’s always thinking. I nearly took his head off at the door earlier and he was like a duck, letting my snaps and snarls roll off his back like water. Didn’t let it ruffle him one way or another. He’s a man of patience, I can tell you that.” And then Millie looked up at her. “The exact opposite of that sidewinder of an ex-husband of yours!”
“What would I do without you around, Millie?” Dal asked with a grin.
“Humph! You might’ve listened to me when you first dragged Gordon home here to the ranch with you. Your parents didn’t like him. Rafe hated him on sight. Even your sister Cathy couldn’t stand him.”
Dal lost her smile and drank the rest of the water. “Nobody liked him,” she agreed quietly. “Except me.”
“Humph! What did you know? With you being in love for the first time in your life and Gordon being ten years your senior, he manipulated you just like a hand puppet.” Millie’s stern features softened momentarily. “But that’s all right, lamb. You did love him up until the time he let all that worldwide fame go to his addled brain. The important thing is you’re out from under his clutches. I told you then he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I was right. We all make mistakes. The important thing is not doing the same thing over again!”
Dal’s laugh was strained as she placed the glass in the sink. “No chance of that, Millie. Men and marriage are two things that have been written off my life list.”
Millie shot her a know-it-all glance. “Maybe right now, lamb, but you’re a woman who needs a partner. You were made for marriage. Your sister Cathy isn’t, but you are. You work better in a team harness than as a single.”
Dal laughed and went over, hugging the housekeeper. “Oh, Millie…”
Regaining her stern look, Millie pinched Dal’s cheek, leaving a bit of flour on it. “Just listen to us, lamb. That’s all I ask. Your parents are right in wanting you to stay here to recuperate. So what if you miss a year of teaching at the university? You’re hurt bad by this divorce. Just don’t shut us out.”
Dal nodded, feeling her heart wrench in her chest as she walked slowly around the airy kitchen. “I have been, haven’t I?”
Millie nodded. “You need to talk to someone about all this. Ever since you came home, you’ve kept to yourself. All you do is meet that eagle every morning and go for long horseback rides. Rafe’s worried about you….”
Dal turned, her face contorted. “My God, Rafe’s got enough on his shoulders, Millie. He just lost his wife and baby a year ago. He doesn’t need me crying the blues to him. I didn’t lose someone I loved, Millie. Jack killed my love for him. Rafe lost the two most important people in his life. How can I go to him?”
“Sometimes, lamb, healing takes place between two hurt animals. You’ve seen how cats or dogs will lick each other’s wounds to speed their recovery. Maybe you need to do the same thing. Think about it.”