Susan Sipal
Writer

Excerpt from Chasing Kat:

Prologue

Texas, late spring, 1879

    Shane Chandler strode out of the Rio Brazos after a dip in the cool water, rivulets trickling down his bare body. He shook his long hair and reached for his leggings on the bank.

    They weren’t there.

    And neither were his guns.

    He rooted himself to the spot, water dripping at his feet, and surveyed the area. Nothing. Only the lazy lap of water.

    Damn. He’d planned to add another zero to his savings by morning. Fat chance he’d get a bounty unarmed and buck-naked.

    The money-belt he’d left beside the clothes caught his eye. He opened the soft leather and ruffled the crisp bills with a callused fingertip. Ed Moran, the train robber he was chasing, sure wouldn’t have stolen his clothes but left his money.

     Must be someone wanting to beat him out of the bounty instead.

    He sat on a chunk of rock--no easy task on a bare ass.

    Ears still strained for any noise that shouldn’t be there, he didn’t move a muscle. But the only sound was that of rustling leaves whispering in the evening breeze.

    Shane rubbed his temples, and the sight of his moccasins leapt at him from the corner of his eye. He turned to get a better look. His long leather boots were propped up against a cottonwood, as if the tree had feet. And, shit, if that wasn’t his gunbelt wrapped around the waist of the trunk. His beaver cowboy hat with its rattlesnake band perched jauntily on the limb directly above.

    Gritting his teeth, he disarmed the tree and replaced the belt on his waist. He cocked one of his six-shooters in case the smartass showed himself. Slipping on the moccasins his mother had made, he shook his head. Whoever it was had a bowed sense of humor.

    The prankster sure wouldn’t have left his weapons if he’d meant harm. It couldn’t be his partner, Cliff Baldwin. He was somewhere north of Dallas tracking the Joe Rollins gang, and was too serious to try and yank his chain.

    Slapping his hat on, he headed for where he’d left his pinto mare, Pihi, grazing. Good thing he always kept a change of clothing in his saddlebag.

    Reaching the clump of sugarberry trees where he’d left the horse, he stopped, buffaloed.

    Pihi was gone.

    “Son of a bitch.” His cheek throbbed with a tic he couldn’t control.

    Damn, he’d have to track his horse, clothes, and Ed Moran.

    Hellfire, but he was as mad as a peeled rattler. And he normally didn’t boil over. He’d done enough of that in his youth to last a life-time.

    Well, whoever wanted him out of the way was in for a big surprise. No man was going to beat him out of a prize. He’d hunt Ed Moran without a horse and naked as the day he was born if he had to, so long as he won that bounty.

    He looked down at himself and smiled.

    He had nothing to be ashamed of.

###

    The sun flashed faint pink rays across the parched sky as Kat Love belly crawled through the dusty brush. Thorny vines pulled at her hard buckskins and cut into her soft flesh. Her long hair caught on a low branch and pulled out of the leather thong binding it tight. She aimed her Winchester rifle over the ledge, toward the scalawag in black with a red bandanna tied above his nose.

    The bounty said, “Dead or Alive.” She preferred to wing him, though. It was dangerous, dealing with a wounded criminal, but she’d sleep better.

    She drew a bead on the train robber in the narrow gorge below clearing his campsite, and cocked her gun.

    Something nearby moved, catching her attention. She glanced toward a boulder on the other side of a ledge.

    Dag-nabit. It couldn’t be. She’d taken care of the competition.

    The sleek, dark man crouched against a granite boulder. His pitch-black hair flowed over his shoulders. Had to be a half-breed. His features were so chiseled.

    She looked down the rest of his body and gulped.

    That wasn’t the only thing sculptured.

    She’d tracked him the last few days, after she’d realized he was after her bounty, and made sure to slow him down. But there he was--without any clothes. Just like she’d intended. But she hadn’t intended his continuing on naked and without a horse. She detected the dark barrel of a long revolver clutched steadily in his hand.

    Dad-blame it. She needed this prize. She was so close to meeting her uncle’s price. There was no way she’d let this hard-earned bounty get ripped out of her grasp.

    Kat slithered out of her hiding place, head low, and carefully stepped over the rocky path. The gravel crunched beneath her feet and a lizard scurried out of its hiding spot under a prickly pear. She froze, a wary eye on her unwanted companion. Thank the Lord the stranger hadn’t heard her. But she was no fool.

    She quietly inched to the edge of the ledge, and leapt to the opposite ridge. A lawn of prairie grass muffled any sound as she crouched between the long stalks, heading toward the thieving fox.

    As the man pulled back the hammer of his pistol, Kat, ignoring the familiar stab of fear in her gut, pressed the long barrel of her walnut-stocked rifle against the center of his bare back.

    Nice ass.

    “Ed Moran is leaving this place over my saddle, not yours,” she hissed.

    “And who the hell are you?” The half-breed glanced casually over his shoulder and asked in a husky, almost appealing voice. His being naked didn’t help.

    She thrust the gun harder. “No, who are you?”

    He laughed, low and throaty as his gaze pierced her with eyes as black as midnight. “Shane Chandler, ma’am. At your service.”

    That one . Her heart beat a rapid tattoo.

    He glanced back down the gully at his prey-–her prey--glossy, ebony hair cascading below his neck with his movement.

    Kat swallowed. He had the widest shoulders she’d ever seen. “I’ve heard of you,” she finally said.

    “I wish I could say the same for you.”

    “Oh, you’ve heard of me.”

    “Lady, I haven’t the fog—“

    “Wildcat Love.”

    He blew a low whistle. “The Wildcat is a little woman?”

    “Yes, and this little woman has a fully loaded Winchester ready to split you in half.”

    Silence.

    “What do you want?” he asked.

    She poked him with the rifle. “I want Ed Moran. And I want you to get lost.”

    “Let me turn around.”

    She stepped back two feet, maintaining careful aim. “Okay. Turn.”

    The bleached boulder in the background contrasted with the magnificent, brown and muscled body of Shane Chandler as he slowly turned to meet her gaze. Her stomach churned.

    Yep. He had the blackest eyes she’d ever seen, framed by incredibly long lashes. And she’d seen dark eyes like his before. A long time ago.

    She suppressed a shudder.

    He held his gun toward the ground, but she cocked her head toward the dirt. “Drop it. The gun in your holster, too.”

    His jaw clenched, but he did as she asked. In the meantime, she openly perused him. He was big--all over. Not that she went for that sort of thing. She’d vowed long ago no man would ever touch her again.

    And certainly not an Indian.

    She met his onyx eyes again. They glittered with amusement. He wasn’t shy. And he was enjoying this. She’d heard that about him.

    Every bounty hunter and outlaw knew about Shane Chandler and his partner Bayou Baldwin. Baldwin was cold as ice, but Chandler was worse. Comanche tricks were his game when it came to getting a criminal to surrender or talk, and he did it all with a smile on his face. He loved his job; loved provoking fear. To her, that was much more dangerous.

   “Ed Moran is mine,” she reiterated in a steady voice to mask the shakiness she felt.

    Chandler crossed his arms over his flat belly. “I was hired by the railroad.”

    “I’ve been tracking Moran three weeks now.”

    Chandler arched an eyebrow and gave her a once over. “You don’t seem bigger than a kitten and you think you can capture one of the most wanted men in Texas.”

    “Big has nothing to do with it. I’m skilled with a gun, can pick off a man at five hundred yards with my rifle. That and,” she knocked her head, “my superior brain.”

    Chandler snorted. “So you’re Wildcat. How come I never heard you’re a woman?”

    “How would I know?” She wasn’t about to tell Chandler that since Pa had died she’d collected her bounties by telegram or postal service. Payments got wired to her bank account.

    “Yeah, well, I'm the best there is," he drawled. "You can't beat me."

    “I already did." She smirked. "And if I was an outlaw, you’d have been killed while skinny-dipping.”

    He grinned. “So I have you to thank for my prancing around in my bare glory.”

    “That’s right.” She aimed steadfastly at the man’s massive chest to show she meant business.

    But Lawd, she’d hate to shoot that beautiful body. A foreign tingling seeped through her stomach.

    “I could get you for horse stealing, you know? Where is she?”

    The hard edge in his voice told her that he cared for his animal as much as she cared for her horse, Diablo.

    “A mile west of here,” she answered. “Move.” Kat jerked her rifle toward an elm tree on the other side of the boulder. “Hug the tree,” she barked.

    “So you can leave me out here to die? I don’t think so."

    “It’s a heap better than getting shot,” she bluffed, holding her stare straight and firm. “At least I’m giving you a fighting chance.”

    With a deep grunt, he wrapped his muscled arms around the trunk. She pulled out her Colt and laid down her rifle, then grabbed a length of rope from her belt and tied his hands together. It was awkward keeping her gun trained on him while she tied him with one hand, but she kept her rope looped for just such emergencies, and besides, she’d had lots of practice. She tied him easily. Too easily, perhaps.

    “You’ll regret this, lady,” the breed’s husky voice promised.

    His piercing gaze speared hers. Mesmerizing.

    Not knowing what came over her, she leaned forward and brought her lips within a hair’s breadth of his. She hovered there for a moment, then broke away, darting back.

    Lawd have mercy. What had she almost done?

    Pupils dilated, his magnetic irises shone. He seemed surprised, too.

    “Today’s your lucky day,” she squeezed through a tight throat.

    “How’s that?” His tone dripped with sarcasm.

    “I’m feeling generous. I won’t leave you to the rattlesnakes while I take Moran in.”

    She unsheathed her bowie knife strapped to her leg and studied the reflecting metal, heart heavy. Her initials were carved on the steel blade, etched by the man she’d called Pa.

    But she’d get it back.

    “Open your hand.” She placed the knife in his too-trusting palm. It was large, callused, and brown. “It’ll take you a while to cut through the rope.”

    She stepped quickly away, but twisted to look at him one more time. He was already working the knife into the thick twine, no easy task considering his hands were tied. “I’ll leave your clothes for you. You can track my steps to them.”

    “Better run far and wide,” he rasped.

    They stared at each other. Somehow, Kat didn’t think he’d hurt her. After all, she’d left him her special knife.

    Anyway, the bounty was hers.

    She tossed him a feral smile. “Have a nice day.” Then, making a point to drag her gaze one last time down the length of his naked body, added, “It’ll be a scorcher.”

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