The Rogue Read online

  Praise for the Storytelling Talents of Bestselling Author

  JANET DAILEY

  “[Dailey] moves her story ahead so purposefully and dramatically ... readers will be glad they’ve gone along for the ride.”

  —Chicago Sun-Times

  “A page-turner.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Bittersweet.... Passion, vengeance, and an unexpected danger from the past add to the mix.”

  —Library Journal

  “Janet Dailey’s name is synonymous with romance.”

  —Tulsa World (OK)

  “Careful writing and brilliant characterizations create an engrossing read.”

  —Booklist

  “A master storyteller of romantic tales, Dailey weaves all the ‘musts’ together to create the perfect love story.”

  —Leisure magazine

  “Dailey is a smooth, experienced romance writer.”

  —Arizona Daily Star

  Books by Janet Dally

  Calder Born, Calder Bred

  Stands a Calder Man

  This Calder Range

  This Calder Sky

  The Best Way to Lose

  Touch The Wind

  The Glory Game

  The Pride of Hannah Wade

  Silver Wings, Santiago Blue

  For the Love of God

  Foxfire Light

  The Hostage Bride

  The Lancaster Men

  Leftover Love

  Mistletoe & Holly

  The Second Time

  Separate Cabins

  Terms of Surrender

  Western Man

  Nightway

  Ride the Thunder

  The Rogue

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  A Pocket Star Book published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 1980 by Janet Dailey

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN 978-1-4391-8916-0

  eISBN 978-1-4516-4035-9

  First Pocket Books printing February 1980

  30 29 28 27 26 25 24 23 22

  POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798 or [email protected]

  Front cover illustration by Gerber Studio

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  The chronicles of the Old West are filled with legends about a pacing white stallion. Many noteworthy personages have mentioned sighting the wild mustang in their diaries and papers. Among the first was Washington Irving. The range of this magnificent stallion was said to extend from Texas to Oklahoma into New Mexico and Colorado. His exploits were legion. He was known by many names: the Pacing White Stallion, the White Steed of the Prairies, and the White Mustang. The Indians called him the Ghost Horse of the Plains.

  THE

  ROGUE

  Chapter I

  The eastern range of desert mountains cast long morning shadows onto the valley floor. Its slopes were blackened with thick stands of pinion and juniper trees. Coming from the south, the breeze carried the scent of water from the irrigation pipes spraying the fields where Nevada sage and ricegrass gave way to a green carpet.

  Stacks of hay, like golden mounds of bread, stood beside the outbuildings of the horse and cattle ranch. Stables, corrals, and equipment sheds dotted the yard, dominated by the unpretentious ranch house sitting on a rise, the slightly higher elevation giving it an overlooking view of the entire operation. Precious water wasn’t wasted for lawns, and hardy desert growth claimed the land around the buildings.

  A trio of sleek Arabian yearlings was cavorting in one of the corrals. Two people watched from the rail. One was young and one was old. With arms draped over the top board, the grizzled man was supple and weathered like a good rope. There was a permanent squint to his eyes from long years of looking into the sun and wind. Experience was etched in his sun-beaten face along with a certain sourness that came from dreams lost.

  The closest Rueben Spencer had ever come to making it big was shooting a hard eight in an Ely casino and winning a month’s pay. The closest he had come to a home was one unit of the ranch’s fourplex—room and board and wages, courtesy of his boss. And the closest Rube had come to a family of his own was the teen-aged girl perched on the rail beside him, the boss’s daughter. He had made no tracks in his lifetime that the Nevada wind couldn’t wipe out in a minute.

  For Diana Somers, it was all ahead of her. The world was waiting at her feet, as it had since the day she was born. Having held the status of a teen-age for almost one full year, Diana was beginning to realize the privileges that came with being the boss’s daughter and only child, privileges she had taken for granted before.

  The knowledge gave her a sense of authority and power. It showed in the way she carried herself—the faintly regal tilt of her head and the willful set of her chin. Only to one man did she bow her head, and that was her father. He was the driving force in her life. It was only in his company that vulnerability glimmered in eyes as vividly blue as a clear Nevada sky.

  Her mother was a blurred memory, a shadowy presence in her past who had died when Diana Was four from complications brought on by pneumonia. A picture in a photograph album confirmed her mother’s previous existence, but Diana felt no sense of loss for someone she barely remembered.

  The Somers ranch consisted of a thousand deeded acres plus thousands more leased federal acres for grazing. Diana was the princess in this small empire, her father the king. It never occurred to her that there should be a queen. She needed only her father, and her father needed only her. The world was complete.

  The rattling thump of a pickup truck as it bounced over the rutted lane leading from the highway to the ranch yard drew her attention. Glancing over her shoulder, Diana frowned at the unfamiliar vehicle. The crease in her forehead deepened at the Arizona license plates.

  She turned to Rube Spencer. “What do you suppose that stranger wants?”

  Rube looked and spat out a sideways stream of tobacco juice from the chaw in his mouth. “Goddamned if I know.” He shrugged. “Could be that new man the Major hired.”

  “What new man? The Major never said anything to me about hiring someone.”

  Everyone called her father the Major, including Diana.

  John Somers had resigned his commission in the army a few months after Diana was born. He had given up a promising military career to return to the family ranch when his older brother was killed in a car crash. He had brought with him military discipline and command, and the title of Major had stuck.

  “Just the same, he did.”

  “Where was I?”

  Rube paused to recall. “It must have been when we was hayin’ and you was out drivin’ the tractor. Yep, that must have been the day. I was dosing the gray mare.” Rube despised farm work and shirked it every time there was any to be done. The Major had finally stopped fighting with him and assigned him strictly to the horses. “I come out of the stable and saw the Major talkin’ to this fella, showin’ him around.”

  He continued to ramble on about the day, but once Diana had gleaned the information that Rube had questioned the Major and had been told he had hired a new man, she stopped listening. Few people listened to all that Rube had to say. The Major had once declared that Rube could talk a man deaf.

  The battered pickup stopped in front of the main house. The slamming of a screen door brought an abrupt en
d to Rube’s recounting as he suddenly remembered work to be done, his sixth sense warning him of the Major’s appearance.

  Diana paid no attention to Rube’s sudden interest in his job. Swinging around, she hopped down from the corral fence, intent on meeting the man the Major hadn’t told her he had hired. The idea didn’t set well. Over the years, he had always confided in her, teaching her every facet of the ranch business until Diana knew its workings almost as well as the Major did. This closeness between them was something she treasured, and discovering this gap in their communications made her uneasy.

  Slim, and tomboy-clad, Diana crossed the ranch yard with long, eating strides, copied from the Major’s. In a nervous but essentially feminine gesture, she reached up to smooth one side of her raven-black hair, cropped close to her head in a boy’s cut.

  The Major descended the porch steps and walked toward the pickup. With shoulders squared and posture erect, he weighed not an ounce more than when he had resigned. His ranch-cut trousers in a dark tan, durable material, had a military crease. The print shirt he wore had a stiffly starched collar, and his boots were polished to a high sheen. His dark hair was short, not coming anywhere close to touching his shirt collar, sideburns liberally sprinkled with gray. The Major was a vigorous, vital man, born to command.

  A handsome, distinguished man, his position in the community alone would have made him a target for unattached females. That, coupled with his looks, made him doubly desired. Once Diana had been jealous of the fawning attention women at church or in town displayed for her father, but his indifference eventually assured her that he had no interest in marrying a second time. All his life he had lived in a male-oriented world, from his childhood on this ranch to the military and back to the ranch. Bachelorhood suited him. Any feminine companionship he sought was done discreetly. Diana didn’t feel threatened by these odd evenings out and viewed with contempt any woman who tried to establish a more permanent relationship with her father. She silently laughed at those who told the Major she needed a mother. She needed only him, and she was determined that he would need only her.

  His voice was crisp but friendly as he greeted the man stepping out of the pickup to meet him. The two were shaking hands when Diana arrived at the Major’s side. Her carriage was as straight as his, her bearing equally authoritative. He gave her a warm, indulgent look but made no display of affection, such as placing a hand on her shoulder. Not that Diana expected any such gesture.

  “Your welcoming committee is complete, Holt, now that my best girl is here.” The Major addressed the man they faced. “This is my daughter, Diana. Our new hand, Holt Mallory.”

  Her gaze openly inspected him, as if her approval was needed before this Holt Mallory actually started work. Tall—at the six-foot mark—and whipcord-lean, he courteously removed the straw Stetson from his head. The rumpled thickness of his brown hair had been bleached by the sun to the variegated shade of tobacco. His tanned features were carved in implacable lines. His eyes were a hard, metallic gray, like shards of splintered steel. They looked old, old beyond his years. Yet he couldn’t have been more than twenty-six.

  “How do you do, Miss Somers?” His voice was low-pitched, with a cool, drawling sound.

  “Fine, thank you.” Prickles of dislike crawled over her flesh, a feeling that intensified when Diana glanced at the Major.

  “Is that your son?” The Major was looking beyond the new man, and Diana’s gaze followed.

  “Guy, come here and say hello to the Major.” For all the quietness of Holt Mallory’s voice, it was definitely an order.

  A nine-year-old boy stood beside the truck. Thin and pale, he looked lost and frightened. An attempt had been made to plaster down the cowlicks in his sandy blond hair, but it hadn’t been very successful. Hesitantly and reluctantly, he came forward to limply shake the Major’s hand.

  “How do you do, sir?” he mumbled.

  The Major straightened and smiled. “He’s a fine-looking boy, Holt.”

  Diana looked again at the young boy, trying to see what her father had found so “fine looking” about him, but she didn’t find it. He seemed a nondescript little boy, small and sensitive and frightened of his own shadow. Diana felt a surge of contempt for the boy’s lack of strength, but it was tempered by an inexplicable desire to protect.

  “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying, Holt,” the Major announced, then turned to Diana. “You bring Guy along. It will give the two of you a chance to get acquainted.”

  Diana had no desire to become better acquainted with the young boy. But, if it was what her father wanted . . . she concealed a sigh and reached for the boy’s hand. He hid it behind his back and Diana shrugged her disinterest.

  “Come along, Guy,” she said and fell in step behind her father and the new man.

  When the small boy trailed them, Diana slowed her pace to walk with him. She never had much to do with children, except those her own age in school. She glanced at the downcast eyes of the boy and tried to think of something to make conversation.

  “Are you from Arizona?”

  There was a moment of silence after her question. Diana thought she wasn’t going to get an answer. Then the pair of rounded blue eyes looked up at her.

  “No. My dad lived in Arizona, but my mom and me lived in Denver.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  His bottom lip quivered. “She’s dead.”

  “Mine, too.” Diana offered the information in polite empathy. “She died when I was four.” She stared at the man ahead of them, walking beside the Major. “How come you lived in Denver and your father lived in Arizona? Were your parents divorced?”

  There was an affirmative nod of the boy’s head. Diana didn’t blame the boy’s mother. She didn’t like the man, either, but she was surprised when the boy indicated a similar opinion.

  “When my mother died last month, he showed up and said he was my father and that I was to live with him now.” There was a wealth of resentment in the boy’s tone.

  “Do you mean you had never seen him before?” Diana frowned.

  “My grandma and grandpa said he is my father, so I guess he is,” he admitted. “My mom told me that my dad went off and left her after I was born, because he didn’t want either of us.”

  Remembering those hard, gray eyes, Diana could believe that. “If that’s the way he felt, why is he bothering with you now?” She spoke her thoughts aloud.

  Little Guy Mallory seemed to flinch at the question. “He claims he always wanted me,” he answered skeptically, “but that my mother wouldn’t let him see me. But she would have. I know she would have.”

  The defensive outburst on his mother’s behalf drew an assessing look from Diana. The boy might be sensitive, but he wasn’t completely meek.

  “I’m sure your mother would have if he really wanted to see you,” she agreed. Poor kid, Diana thought, and spared a moment of pity that the boy had a father who didn’t want him. No wonder he looked so bewildered and frightened.

  They were passing the stud pens where the Major’s prize Arabian stallions were kept. Breeding and showing purebred Arabians was one facet of the ranch’s operation. In addition to the thirty broodmares and their offspring, there were yearlings and two-year-olds, some being kept as show prospects and others being readied for sale. Plus, the ranch had a remuda of working horses. The two Arabian studs were penned some distance from the other horses. The magnificent bay Shetan raced to the rail to whicker to his master. There was nothing unusual in that, but Diana noticed the wide-eyed stare the boy gave the horse. “Can you ride?” she asked.

  “I’ve never seen a horse in person before, only on television and from the truck when we were driving here,” was his reply.

  “You’ll see plenty from now on,” she said. “You can even learn how to ride while you’re here. It’s easy.”

  “Is it?” His breathless voice made it seem as if she had just offered him the whole world.

  “Sure.” Diana s
hrugged. “I’ll teach you.” And she immediately regretted the impulse that had made her volunteer. She didn’t want to spend her summer playing nursemaid to a green kid.

  “Wow!” Guy Mallory was already erupting with joy, animation entering the previously strained features. “That’s terrific!”

  His exuberant voice caught the attention of the two men pausing on the doorstep of the largest unit in the fourplex, the one that had stood vacant for more than a month. A smile softened the rough contours of Holt Mallory’s features as he looked curiously at his son, who was practically skipping with delight.

  “What’s all the excitement about, Guy?”

  “She promised to teach me how to ride a horse!”

  A frown flickered across Holt Mallory’s face. “You never told me that you wanted to learn,” he said with forced lightness. Obviously, Guy had confided more in the few short moments with Diana than during the hours with his father.

  “I do!” Guy declared. “And she’s going to teach me!”

  “That’s very generous of Miss Somers, but there’s no need to trouble her. If you want to learn, Guy, I’ll teach you—that is, if the Major doesn’t object to us borrowing a horse.”

  “I have no objections, Holt, but since Diana has offered to teach him, I think it would be a good idea to let her,” the Major insisted. “The ranch is going to be pretty busy for the next couple of months. Diana will have more free time than you will. And she will be good company for the boy, help him settle into his new surroundings.”

  Holt Mallory didn’t look pleased with the logic of the Major’s argument. “That’s true,” he admitted and leveled a steel look at Diana. “As long as you don’t mind, it’s all right with me.”

  “I don’t mind,” she lied.

  “Great!” Guy exclaimed. “I’d rather have her teach me, anyway.” The boy missed the sudden flexing of muscles along his father’s jaw, but Diana noticed it. So did the Major. “When can we start?” questioned Guy. “Today?”

  The Major smiled. “Not today. Your father is going to need your help unpacking and settling into your new home. Here’s the key, Holt.” He handed it to him. “Diana and I will leave the two of you to explore the place on your own. If you need anything, or have any questions, I’ll be at the house most of the day.”