Free How to Rope a McCoy (Hell Yeah!) by Sable Hunter Page B

to
know. If it was something else…well, she wanted to know that too. Bottom line,
some things and some people were worth risking everything for and Heath McCoy
fit the bill. “Okay, okay.” She threw her hands up in surrender. “You convinced
me.”
    “Yay!”
Ryder pumped her fist. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.”
    Cato
was skeptical. “I’ll withhold judgment on that matter.”
    Giving
them a quick hug, she made it to her vehicle. As she was pulling out, Cato saw
Heath standing on the porch, watching her leave. Damn that man. He had been
hiding from her, she’d bet her life on it. Feeling a little mischievous, she
held up her hand and waved. “Thanks for the dance, cowboy. See you soon.”
    Heath
stood up straighter, jamming his hand down in his pocket. That woman was
trouble, nothing but trouble. “Not if I see you first,” he mumbled under his
breath.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
     
     
    A
week is a long time to wait when you’re looking forward to something.
    Cato
had started her new job and been assigned an area and a few topics for her
research. It had always been her contention that history was being forgotten
and lost at an alarming rate. She wanted to do her part to preserve the past
and keep alive as much of the culture of their ancestors as possible. She was
lucky. Being homeschooled, Cato had ‘graduated’ early and had more freedom to
study topics she’d been interested in. History and languages had been her first
love and she’d also studied philosophy and anthropology. Learning had been her
only outlet, since a social life hadn’t been a possibility.
    Before
Edith took sick, Cato had dreaded her future. She didn’t want to just walk away
from her mother, but that was what she’d been prepared to do. Cato firmly believed
that if her mother knew what a great gift she’d given Cato in her job, she
would have snatched it back if she had the power. The job and the people she
met at the Culture Center became her salvation. Her work didn’t entail going to
a desk from nine to five. For the first time, Cato was free to travel, meet
people and come and go as she liked—it was amazing. And here, as she had in
Louisiana, Cato spent much of her time on the road visiting libraries, museums,
private homes or the countryside—anywhere and everywhere she could dig up
interesting, relevant facts and relics to be chronicled and preserved for
future generations.
    For
example, at the moment she was climbing through a fence, trying not to get her
jeans hung in the sharp barbs. Her destination was Dead Man’s Hole, a gaping
Texas sinkhole which was used during the Civil War as a place to throw the dead
and dying. One known victim was Judge J. R. Scott, but there were at least
sixteen others. A gruesome piece of history, but history nonetheless. The state
had acquired the land it was on and a heavy metal grate covered up the hole.
Cato wanted to see the place for herself. As soon as she climbed from the jeep,
a chill swept over her. The weather didn’t warrant goose bumps, it was warm and
there was no breeze whatsoever. “Spooky,” she muttered as she moved forward.
    Scrub
oaks and prickly pears surrounded her and a pathway covered with white rock led
up to the historical marker. The gravel crunched under her feet, Cato could
feel it. A movement to the left caught her eye. It was a hawk diving down to
catch a field mouse. She didn’t stop to read the history carved on the marker,
but rather stepped around it to view the deep cave itself. Now it was covered
by a grate, but Cato knew it was at least a hundred-fifty feet deep with two
offshoots. Dangerous gases once filled the space, which had made exploration
impossible until the 1950s. The grate was necessary to keep people or animals
from wandering near and falling in.
    When
she drew near, Cato stopped and let herself feel the past. A large oak once
stood over Dead Man’s Hole, used to hang hapless victims. Rope marks marred