Only 05 - Autumn Lover

better than the crows and carrion eaters who descended after a battle to pick over the dead.
    Like the Culpeppers , Hunter thought, meaner than snakes and twice as low .
    Barely human .
    No. Not even barely. The devil’s own, corrupt to the center of their black souls .
    What other kind of creature could do what they did to helpless women, and then sell their terrified children to Comancheros for the price of a fancy ruffled shirt ?
    There was no answer to Hunter’s silent question.
    There had been no answer since the moment he came back from war and discovered that everything he fought for had been raped and murdered, utterly destroyed by rebel raiders.
    Culpeppers.
    Southerners, like Hunter. That was the worst of it. Betrayal upon betrayal.
    Slowly, soundlessly, Hunter let out his breath. He hadn’t felt this depth of rage since he had learned his children’s fate. But thinking about it wouldn’t help. It just got in the way of doing what had to be done.
    Take the Culpeppers back to justice .
    Dead or alive .
    Nothing could be allowed to interfere with that. Nothing at all. Not memories. Not rage. Not regret.
    And certainly not a spoiled, sassy girl like the one standing in front of Hunter right now. Another Belinda, knowing only her own wants and to hell with anyone else.
    “All right, Miss Elyssa Sutton,” Hunter said neutrally, “you’re not having trouble with the Paiutes or the Shoshones. Yet. What are you having trouble with?”
    “Culpeppers.”
    “Culpeppers,” Hunter drawled. “Heard of them. They seem to have more kith and kin than Russian royalty.”
    Elyssa grimaced.
    “Royalty?” she repeated sarcastically. “Hardly. They have less breeding than lice.”
    “Even hell has a hierarchy. Which devil is in charge here?”
    “Mac said it was the oldest one. Abner.”
    Tension snaked through Hunter.
    He had followed the trail of Ab Culpepper and his murderous kin for more than two years and a thousand miles. Yet each time Hunter closed in, Ab slipped like smoke through Hunter’s fingers.
    And then Ab went on to raid and rape and murder more unsuspecting settlers.
    It will end here, in the Ruby Valley , Hunter vowed.
    Soon .
    Deliberately Hunter ran Bugle Boy’s reins through his fingers, trying to still the savage eagerness that came when he realized how close he might be to getting his hands on the man who had sold Ted and little Em to an early grave with the Comancheros.
    “Miss Sutton,” Hunter said softly, “you’ve just hired yourself a ramrod.”

2
    F or an instant Elyssa had the distinct feeling that Hunter was giving an order rather than accepting her offer of employment.
    Nonsense , she told herself stoutly. It’s just his way. Comes from too many years of giving orders .
    It will do him good to take a few .
    “That fast?” Elyssa asked archly, echoing Hunter’s earlier words.
    He shrugged.
    “What about pay?” she pressed.
    “Is it a problem?”
    Elyssa made an exasperated sound.
    “You don’t even know what I want you to do,” she said.
    “Kill Culpeppers.”
    Elyssa swallowed. “I’m not a—a—”
    “Scalp hunter?” he offered, his voice bland.
    Bugle Boy tugged again at the reins, wanting to be fed and watered and rubbed down.
    “Easy, boy,” Hunter said, stroking the horse soothingly. “It won’t be long now. The little miss will make up her mind before the moon goes down.”
    “Mr. Hunter—”
    “Just Hunter,” he interrupted. “The war burned outall the formality in me. Hunter is the name I go by now—first, last, and middle.”
    Impulsively Elyssa couldn’t help wondering what else had been burned out of Hunter by the war. Softness, certainly.
    But not all kindness.
    He handles his horse gently , she reminded herself. Surely that speaks of an inner tenderness .
    And surely I’m soft in the head to even think it! That’s one hard man standing in front of me .
    Yet that was just what Elyssa needed at the moment.
    A hard man.
    “Mr. Hunter—Hunter, that is—”
    Elyssa made an impatient sound and started all over again.
    “I’m hiring you to round up livestock with a Ladder S brand and take them over the mountains to the army at Camp Halleck. Along with the cattle you’ll be driving eighty head of green-broke mustangs, also to be delivered to the army.”
    “By what date?”
    “Thirty-seven days.”
    “Thirty-seven days.” Hunter whistled softly. “You left it kind of late, little girl.”
    “My name is Miss Sutton,” she said