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  PROTECTIVE CUSTODY FOR THE CHILD HE NEVER EXPECTED

  There was no man more dedicated to his job than Detective Mason Blackpaw. Yet when he discovers a dead body at the Bucking Bronc Lodge, he’s forced to confront his moment of greatest weakness—and a reunion with the very pregnant Dr. Cara Winchester.…

  AND THE WOMAN HE COULDN’T FORGET

  Cara fell for the sexy Comanche officer the moment she laid eyes on him, captivated by his loyalty and fiercely protective instincts. Their romance was brief but intense, and when it ended, he left partof him with her. Now a killer was kidnapping her patients’ babies, and Mason was on the case to stop him. But how would he react once the killer targeted her…or when Mason found out her child was also his?

  Panic flickered in her eyes for a brief second before she masked it. “I can take care of myself and my child, Mason. For God’s sake, I’m a doctor.”

  “This has nothing to do with you being a doctor or a competent woman,” Mason said, his blood boiling. “It has to do with the fact that a crazed killer murdered one of your patients and may come after you.”

  His statement must have sunk in, because her face paled in the moonlight spilling through the car. He clenched his hands to keep from pulling her into his arms and comforting her.

  She didn’t look as if she would welcome his comfort.

  “I did the math, Cara. We were together nine months ago. So unless you jumped into bed with another man right after I left—”

  “How dare you imply that,” Cara bit out.

  “Then tell me who the father is.”

  Cara massaged her stomach again as if to protect the baby inside. “Mason—”

  “Just tell me the truth,” he said on a pained breath. “Is it mine?”

  A long heartbeat passed, then she whispered, “Yes.”

  Rita Herron

  Native Cowboy

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, or visit her website, www.ritaherron.com.

  Books by Rita Herron

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  861—MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES*

  892—VOWS OF VENGEANCE*

  918—RETURN TO FALCON RIDGE

  939—LOOK-ALIKE*

  957—FORCE OF THE FALCON

  977—JUSTICE FOR A RANGER

  1006—ANYTHING FOR HIS SON

  1029—UP IN FLAMES*

  1043—UNDER HIS SKIN*

  1063—IN THE FLESH*

  1081—BENEATH THE BADGE

  1097—SILENT NIGHT SANCTUARY‡

  1115—PLATINUM COWBOY

  1132—COLLECTING EVIDENCE

  1159—PEEK-A-BOO PROTECTOR

  1174—HIS SECRET CHRISTMAS BABY‡

  1192—RAWHIDE RANGER

  1218—UNBREAKABLE BOND‡

  1251—BRANDISHING A CROWN

  1284—THE MISSING TWIN‡‡

  1290—HER STOLEN SON‡‡

  1323—CERTIFIED COWBOY**

  1329—COWBOY IN THE EXTREME**

  1336—COWBOY TO THE MAX**

  1390—COWBOY COP**

  1396—NATIVE COWBOY**

  *Nighthawk Island

  ‡Guardian Angel Investigations

  ‡‡Guardian Angel Investigations: Lost and Found

  **Bucking Bronc Lodge

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Detective Mason Blackpaw—Tracking down ruthless killers is his job, but will he be able to save the woman he loves and his unborn child when they become the target of a demented serial killer?

  Dr. Cara Winchester—She has dedicated her life to saving women and children, but now she and her unborn baby are at risk and she must trust the man who broke her heart in order to protect them. Can she guard her heart against falling for the native cowboy again?

  Reverend Webber Parch—Would he use God to justify killing those he deems sinners?

  Alfredo Thompson—Would he kill the mother of his child because she gave their baby up for adoption?

  Julie and David Davidson—Would they kill an innocent woman because they feared losing their adopted child?

  Les Williams—Is this bitter war veteran killing women because of his PTSD?

  Farr Nacona—Could this staunchly raised Native American be demented enough to punish women by death for what he perceives is their sin?

  To Sue and her cowboy boots!

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Excerpt

  Prologue

  She had to find out if her baby was okay.

  Nellie Thompson pressed the accelerator, pushing her beat-up sedan to the limits as she veered onto the back road leading to the Bucking Bronc Lodge.

  The people at the Winchester Clinic in town said Dr. Winchester lived on the ranch. But this section seemed deserted. Dark.

  Isolated.

  Panic clawed at her. Had she taken a wrong turn?

  Fumbling with the directions she’d scribbled on a napkin, she tried to make out her own jagged writing, but it was too dark to see.

  Her headlights caught the image of a wooden sign ahead. A sign that welcomed her to the BBL. Arrows told her the main lodge was to the left. It housed the counseling center and on-site clinic. Dr. Winchester’s cabin was supposed to be to the right. She swung on to the dirt road, tires screeching and spitting gravel.

  Dr. Winchester would know what to do.

  She had helped her before. She would help her now.

  But she had to tell her about the threats. The man’s eerie voice...

  She heaved a breath, pushing at the tangled hair on her cheek as she glanced in her rearview mirror. She thought she’d seen a car a mile back. Thought someone was following her.

  Had she lost them? Or was she just being paranoid?

  No...the truck had been too close. But where was it now?

  Suddenly a loud popping sound rent the air. The car bounced, jolted forward, then rolled over a rut in the road.

  Fear clogged her throat. Her tire had blown.

  The car jerked and sputtered out of control. She pressed the brakes but the car spun sideways.

  She pumped them again, but instead of slowing the car seemed to speed up. A cry caught in her throat, and she stomped the brakes one more time, then clenched the steering wheel in a death grip as it careened toward a boulder.

  She swung the vehicle to the left to avoid it, but the car skidded off the road, trampling brush and bushes and bouncing over more ruts. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, struggling to regain control, but it was no use.

  The front bumper slammed into a tree and the car screeched to a stop. Her head jerked forward and hit the steering wheel, and her world fa
ded to black.

  Seconds or maybe minutes later, she stirred, her vision blurred. Trembling from the impact, she reached for her purse.

  She had to get her phone and call for help.

  But someone wrenched her car door open. Relief warred with fear as a man pulled her from the seat. She blinked in confusion. Was he going to help her?

  Something glittered in the dim light. A gold chain around his neck.

  Then the shiny blade of a knife flashed in front of her face, and terror shot through her.

  “Let me go,” she shouted.

  But his fingers tightened on her arm, and he dragged her toward the woods. She kicked and fought back. She had to get away from him.

  A hard blow to his kneecap, and his grip on her loosened. She screamed for help then turned and ran. She had to make it to Dr. Winchester’s cabin....

  The terrain was dark, though, the night sounds ominous as she plunged through the bushes. The creek rippled nearby, but she stumbled over a tree root and fell.

  The sound of crackling twigs and a man’s cursing echoed in the air, and she pushed herself up and trudged on. She cut a path toward the creek, praying she was almost at the

  doctor’s cabin, but her foot hit a tangled vine and she lunged into the brush. Her hands scraped rock and scrub brush, and she tasted dirt.

  Then he was on her. His rancid breath bathed her face as he grabbed her hair and flipped her over. She tried to scream, but one hand gripped her neck, choking her, while he raised the knife with the other.

  She kicked and tried to throw him off, clawing at his hands to release her.

  But the knife blade plunged into her stomach, and she choked on another cry as death whispered her name.

  Chapter One

  Three days later

  Detective Mason Blackpaw watched the guard close the prison doors behind Pruitt Ables and breathed a sigh of relief that the Slasher case was finally over. Ables had been the missing link in their investigation, but once they’d realized Robert Dugan, the man who’d viciously killed a half dozen women, had a half brother, the pieces had fallen into place.

  Mason exited the prison with a satisfied smile. He was a cowboy, a loner and a cop. He spent most of his days tracking down criminals.

  His job was his life and that was the way he liked it.

  No ties. No one to nag him about not being home when he was on a case. No one to expect him to be something he wasn’t.

  Except for the law enforcement agencies. Tracking had come so natural to him that he was called in on high profile missing persons and most wanted cases.

  But now that he and Miles McGregor had locked up the sociopath and his accomplice, they’d decided to take some much needed R and R. Miles was headed to his new ranch with his son and new wife, and he had decided to devote some time to the troubled boys at the Bucking Bronc Lodge.

  He checked his watch, then jumped in his SUV and drove toward the BBL. He’d promised Brody Bloodworth, the founder of the operation, that he’d teach the kids some survival skills as well as tracking techniques.

  An hour later, he sat astride his favorite chestnut and introduced himself to the small group of twelve- to fourteen-year-olds. Ray was thirteen, had been beaten over and over by his old man and had a bad attitude. Wally was twelve and had lost an eye in a freak accident. Pablo had been in and out of foster homes and juvy.

  And Carlos...he had been a hero of sorts when the Slasher had taken some of the kids and Jordan Wells, Miles’s fiancée, hostage a few weeks ago.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  The boys nodded, although Ray looked surly and Wally a little unsure in the saddle. He’d keep an eye on him, maybe ask Johnny Long, the rodeo star of the group, to spend a little extra time working with the kid on riding skills and building his confidence. “We’re riding out to the creek on the south end,” he said.

  He led the troops while Carlos held up the rear. As they rode, Mason pointed out landmarks, the different varieties of plant life on the property and how to use the sun as a compass.

  When they neared the creek, they climbed down from their horses, and he gave them a short lesson on herbs and plants that could be used for medicinal purposes. They hiked into the woods several hundred feet, and he pointed out some poisonous berries and explained how important it was to know the difference between what was safe to eat and what wasn’t if you were ever stranded in the wilderness.

  “That’s what the Indians do, ain’t it?” Wally asked. “They make medicine from plants.”

  “You’re an Indian, aren’t you?” Pablo asked.

  Mason forced a smile. “Yes, I’m part Comanche. And yes, many herbal medicines and cures originated from Native American culture.”

  He was proud of his heritage, but he’d also encountered prejudice at times. Shocking that it still existed but it did. God knows he’d suffered the brunt of it a few times over the years. The last time had been seared into his memory. He had the scars to prove it.

  But the boys didn’t need to hear that.

  Late afternoon shadows slashed the treetops as they walked along the stream, and he pointed out beaver teeth marks on a log and a coyote’s paw prints near the water.

  A squawking sound cracked the air, and he glanced up and noticed several vultures circling above a rocky section a little farther south. An uneasy feeling splintered through him.

  Vultures circling... An animal was probably dead. Maybe a deer or another small animal.

  He had to check it out.

  “Guys, I’m going to ride over there and see what’s going on.”

  Wally had been studying the beaver teeth marks. “We want to go, too.”

  Two of the vultures swooped down. “I’d better go alone,” he said, hoping to shelter the boys from the grisly sight in case there was trouble.

  Ray folded his arms with a belligerent look. “We ain’t kids no more,” he said. “I thought you were going to teach us survival skills.”

  “Yeah,” Pablo said with a scowl. “How we supposed to learn to track if you don’t show us?”

  They were right. Besides, these kids were tough. He hadn’t wanted to be treated like a child when he was a teenager.

  “All right,” he said. “But stay behind me. And do what I say.”

  The boys mounted quickly, then Miles led the posse along the creek. The sun was dipping lower, but the temperature had risen today, and sweat beaded on his brow as the acrid scent of death drifted toward him.

  He peered through some brush where he noticed one of the vultures descend, and saw a mound of rocks beside a mesquite tree. Hmm...he’d expected a dead calf. Maybe a deer carcass. But he couldn’t see from where he was.

  He halted his horse, then motioned for the boys to wait.

  “Carlos, stay here with them while I check it out.” He dismounted, tipped his Stetson back and surveyed the area as he broke through the thicket of trees.

  With each step he took, though, his gut tightened. The mound of rocks...the stones...the way they were placed...

  He’d seen it before.

  Dammit. It was a grave.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, he scanned the area again, searching for anything suspect. For someone watching.

  But an eerie quiet settled over the land, his shaky breath rattling in the silence, as he knelt to examine the stones. His cop instincts kicked in, and he removed a bandanna from his pocket and used it like a glove as he gently lifted two of the stones.

  Anger shot through him.

  A woman was in the ground, her eyes blank and staring up at him in death.

  * * *

  DR. CARA WINCHESTER RUBBED at her lower back as she closed the file on her desk. “Are you certain you want to go through with the adoption, Ramona?” she asked the Hispanic woman sitting across from her.

  Ramona nodded, her expression torn. “I don’t know what else to do. How I raise this baby with no money for food?”

  Cara offered her a gentle smile. She did what she
could for her patients at the Winchester Clinic, but unfortunately she couldn’t support them all financially herself.

  “Why don’t we set you up with an appointment with Sherese and she can discuss some options with you, maybe help you find a job.”

  “Sí, thank you, Dr. Winchester.”

  Cara walked her to the door, sympathy for the woman and the baby filling her. Her hand automatically went to her own rounded belly, and protective instincts surged to life.

  Thankfully she had the resources to take care of herself and her child, but not every woman had the same good fortune.

  Not that she didn’t wish the father was in the picture...

  Sadness washed over her as Mason Blackpaw’s face flashed in her mind. She had fallen hard for the sexy cowboy cop, but in the end he’d trampled her heart and walked away without looking back.

  Three weeks later, she’d discovered she was pregnant. She had considered calling him, but he’d made no bones about the fact that he didn’t want to settle down. No, he’d spewed some nonsense about how a relationship with a white woman would never work. His argument had been so archaic she’d been furious.

  Besides, she and the baby were a package deal.

  And if he didn’t want a white woman for a wife, he wouldn’t want a baby with her, would he?

  Her phone trilled, and she hurried to answer it, dismissing thoughts of Mason. But ever since she’d seen his picture in the paper with Miles McGregor, heroes because they’d solved a huge serial killer case, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

  Or remembering how heavenly it had felt to be in his arms.

  Her phone trilled again, and she snagged it from her desk, tucking Ramona’s file in the box to be refiled as she clicked to answer. “Dr. Winchester.”

  “Cara, it’s Sheriff McRae.”

  Tension knotted her shoulders at his tone. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just received a call from Mason Blackpaw out at the BBL. He found a body on the ranch.”

  A shudder tore through Cara. Mason was at the BBL? And he’d found a body...

  “Cara,” the sheriff said. “Did you hear me?”

  She swallowed back the sudden case of nerves assaulting her. She hadn’t expected to ever see Mason again.