“Nope,” Sean said. “Not by himself.”
“So, either Troy had help or someone else is trying to hurt Rachel Parker.”
The last time Mike’s instincts had waved a red flag, a woman had been murdered.
Rachel removed a nail from between her teeth, held it in place, and raised the hammer. That pain-in-the-butt gray horse picked the wrong day to bust through the fence.
“Miss Parker?”
She jumped. The hammer slipped and smashed her thumb. Pain shot through her hand. “Shit.” Rachel gave her throbbing fist a shake, then tapped the last nail into the new top rail and turned to face the chief of police. He had a file tucked under his arm.
“I’m sorry.” Chief O’Connell’s ruddy face creased with concern. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She scanned the back lawn, where Emma and Alex played in a large cardboard box. Tied to a nearby tree, Bandit took a break from digging and barked. Mud obscured his black and tan coat. Above it all, a sky of unbroken gray threatened to dump more rain on her swampy pastures.
“I have a lot on my mind.” Rachel tested the board. It held. She looked at him. His hair was still damp, his face freshly shaven, but he could’ve packed for the weekend in the bags under his eyes. She’d managed a two-hour nap on Mrs. Holloway’s sofa. O’Connell looked like he hadn’t even blinked. Even puffy with lack of sleep, those baby blues overloaded her brain’s circuit board. A He-Manly man shouldn’t have eyes that soft and beautiful. A girly squeal floated across the yard, and Rachel seized the chance to glance back at her nieces. No more of this locking gazes bullshit.
“I guess you do.” O’Connell’s eyes shifted to the barn. His mouth tightened. Rachel followed his gaze. In the unforgiving light of day, the side of her barn might as well be a profane marquis. “The threats seemed…personal. And nasty.”
“They do. My nieces can’t read yet, but covering that up is on my to-do list.” She lifted a heavy shoulder. The ache in the injured joint reminded her that failure and pain were part of life.
“You’ve had a lot of vandalism since you moved here. Are you sure it was all Troy?”
“Why?” Rachel froze. A damp chill crept up her arms. “Who else would it be?”
“I don’t know. When you put it all together, it seems awfully well organized for Troy. Are you sure no one else has a grudge against you?”
Tough question. “I can’t think of anyone else who’d go to that much effort to get rid of me.” She jerked a thumb toward the barn. “That graffiti sounds just like him.”
The chief just stared at her for a minute in silence, as if contemplating her comment. Then he nodded at the girls on the back lawn. “How are they?”
“Better than I would have predicted. Kids are resilient.” She tried to shrug off the comment, but her insides knotted.
Rachel headed to the barn. One of the barn cats snaked around her ankles as she heaved at the sliding double doors. A wide dirt aisle separated two rows of stalls. She had a clear view of Alex and Emma while she worked. She led Lady from her stall and snapped the mare onto the cross-ties in the aisle. O’Connell tagged along. His huge body moved with controlled grace that suggested athletic prowess. He leaned a shoulder against the wooden wall like he needed the support. He scanned the pasture in the distance, as if searching for a way to say what was on his mind. She doubted he’d driven over just to check on the girls.
Rachel waited a few seconds, and when he didn’t show any sign of spilling his news, she went to work with a soft brush. As she swept it across Lady’s gleaming side, the slight swell shifted. Rachel splayed her hand against the mare’s belly. The lump moved under her palm. Fleet’s baby. Hope budded in her chest. She jerked her hand from the mare’s side before optimism could take root. She couldn’t get too attached. Fate had the nasty habit of yanking happiness away from her every time it dangled within reach.
“When’s she due?”
Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat. “February.”
Denim rustled behind her as O’Connell moved closer, invading her space. When she looked over her shoulder, he was right behind her, stroking Lady’s neck. His broad hand slid down to caress the mare’s shoulder. “She’s beautiful.”
His fresh musky aftershave tingled in her nostrils—among other places. The soft cotton of his button-down stretched across the heavy muscles of his torso. Which she should not be staring at like a horny teen. But damn, he liked horses and everything.
She ripped her gaze off the chief’s impressive chest and patted a gleaming coppery haunch. “This baby’s our first, isn’t it, girl?”
Lady’s ears flickered. Usually a little of the horse’s quiet contentedness rubbed off on Rachel, filling her with the peace she imagined other people got from an hour of yoga or a massage. But not today.
O’Connell’s face spread into a sad half smile that recategorized him from man-next-door attractive to edible. Rachel’s heart did that fluttery thing again, like it wanted to bat its eyelashes at him. Ridiculous.
Rachel sidestepped to the grooming box and selected a stiff brush for Lady’s tail. “So, you like horses?”
“I had one when I was a kid.” His voice roughened. When Rachel glanced back at him, the smile had slipped from his face and his eyes were clouded as the sky. How could a man that big have a vulnerable streak? And why was he more attractive because of it? He cleared his throat. “You inherited this place from your grandfather more than ten years ago. Why did you just move out here six months ago?”
“I was riding competitively, traveled most of the time.” Until one slip of a hoof ended her career—and Fleet’s.
He looped an arm over Lady’s neck and rested his forehead on her arched crest. Lady bent her graceful neck into an elegant curve and nuzzled the waistband of his jeans. Shameless hussy. But Rachel was a teensy bit jealous.
“So, you retired?” he asked.
A twinge ran through the scar tissue in her shoulder. “Yeah. You could say that.”
“Are all these horses yours?”
“I wish. Just Lady. The others are here for training.” She moved her eyes from the cop to check on the girls. Two pairs of feet protruded from the box. Muffled childish chatter drifted through the humidity. OK. Enough pretending she had an ounce of patience. “So, what brings you out here this morning, Chief O’Connell?”
“Call me Mike.” A sigh heaved through his chest. Muscles bunched and released. “Please?”
“OK, it’s Rachel, then. Mike, what brought you out here?”
“I have papers for you to sign.” He raised his hand and pressed the palm to his eye. “And we need to talk. Can you take a break?”
Discomfort lodged in her belly. Without asking, she knew it was bad news, like a vague message from the doctor’s office requesting a callback. “Sure. Give me a minute.”
She led the horse back into her stall. Across the aisle, she pulled out her pocketknife, sliced through the baling twine, and tossed a fresh section of hay into Lady’s stall. She folded the knife and returned it to the pocket of her jeans.
“If you want to talk, come up to the house. I need coffee.”
He followed her as she left the barnyard and strode across the grass. Bandit barked and growled as Mike approached. Emma and Alex crawled out of the soggy box as they approached. Their jeans were soaked from the knees down. The dog’s paws were encased in mud.
“We’re hungry.” As usual, Alex spoke for both of them.
“Keep it down, Bandit.” Rachel untied the bristling dog but kept a firm hold on his leash. “How about lunch?”
Bandit led the charge as the girls skipped to the back door of the house, where Rachel toweled off the mutt’s paws and belly before letting them all into the kitchen. The dog squirmed in her arms, and she lost her grip on his sausage-like body. He hit the floor and headed for the cop. Shit. Growling, the dog approached Mike on stiff legs.
“Look out.” Rachel made a grab for his furry body, but the dog duck
ed her hand. He sniffed suspiciously at Mike’s feet, then slunk back to sit by the girls’ feet. Rachel stopped midlunge.
“Little defensive?” Mike set his file on the table.
“Just a little.” Keeping a doubtful eye on the dog, Rachel pulled a chair over to the sink and turned on the faucet. Bandit liked his visitors in small, juicy bites.
Five-year-old Alex scrambled up, squirted soap into her palm, and lathered up. “Bandit’s par-ti-cu-lar.” She drew out the word, enunciating carefully. “He bit Daddy.”
Emma moved her fist toward her face. Rachel took her tiny hand and squeezed it gently before the filthy thumb made it into the child’s mouth.
Mike squatted down and held a hand out. Bandit curled a lip. “What kind of dog is he?”
“The rescue kind,” Rachel said. “Sarah got him at the animal shelter. He must be part hunting dog of some sort though. That nose of his can find a single potato chip crumb buried under the sofa cushions.”
Alex climbed down and dried her clean hands on her dirty jeans before Rachel could stop her. Rachel lifted the younger Emma onto the chair and washed the smaller child’s hands between her own. In her peripheral vision, she watched Alex wrap an arm around the small dog’s neck. Bandit turned his head and licked her chin.
“Daddy says he’s a useless mutt.” Alex’s lip trembled. “He won’t let Bandit in the house. Sometimes it’s cold outside.”
Rachel’s chest tightened as she set Emma down. Mike’s gaze caught Rachel’s. Too much sympathy there. Her eyes burned, and she turned away to collect herself. Behind her, she heard Mike soothing her niece. “Bandit has lots of fur to keep him warm.”
She blocked out his deep voice before it completely melted her resolve. Rachel slapped two peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches together, handed the dog a chew, and led all three into the den. She switched on the old TV before retreating back to the kitchen. The swinging door closed, muffling SpongeBob’s squeaky voice.
“Kids are tough. They’re going to be OK.”
Mike’s voice startled her. She looked at him. The understanding in his eyes made her feel trapped. Something about him tempted her to let go, to let him in, to let her guard down. Her spine stiffened. One weak moment could lead to more. Then where would she be? Dependent. Emotional. Vulnerable.
Not gonna happen.
“How about you?” Mike took a step toward her. The room shrunk, the space contracting around them.
“Fine.” Her bruised face throbbed, and she reached for a bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet. After swallowing two tablets, she turned her back on him, measured coffee into the basket, and filled the reservoir with water. She flipped the on switch. The machine gurgled.
When she turned around, he was there, just an arm’s length away. Close enough to touch her. Close enough to feel the heat emanating from his body and smell that damned aftershave.
He reached out and lifted her chin with one finger. His gentle touch sent a shiver straight down to her toes. The buzz amplified. “How’s it feel?”
Her face ached, but her girl parts were singing “It’s Raining Men.” Not that she was going to tell him that. It wasn’t bad enough that this man was all sexy muscles and gorgeous blue eyes. He had to be über nice too. She was in deep trouble.
Rachel jerked her chin away and took two hurried steps back. “It’s not bad.” He-Man was dangerous.
He raised a brow in disbelief. “Looks like it hurts.”
She had to stay away from this man. He did something to her. Not only did he seem to see right through her, he made her feel things she had no interest in.
Rachel retreated to the coffeepot to pour two cups. Steam heated her face. Yeah, right. It was the steam. Cripes, she should’ve brewed decaf. She handed him his cup. He was still giving her a seriously toe-curling sexy look. She snatched a Pop-Tarts box off the counter and thrust it toward him. He shook his head. “That’s disgusting.”
“To each his own.” Pastry in one hand, coffee in the other, she backed up to lean a hip on the kitchen table. The Pop-Tart went down in three bites. As Mike watched, disgust replaced the smolder in his eyes. Thank God. She braced herself for the bad news she was sure he’d come to share. “Let’s get down to business. You said you needed to talk to me.”
His expressive blue eyes filled with regret. “Troy’ll be out on bail tomorrow.”
Rachel’s legs went limp. She braced her weight with a palm on the table and sank into a kitchen chair. She didn’t know why she was so surprised. She’d known this was coming, but the reality of the entire situation swept her knees out from under her. “I knew his father wouldn’t waste any time, but I’d hoped…”
For what? A miracle? No such thing. Not for you.
“If he’d been in any condition to go in front of a judge today, he’d be out already.” Mike dropped his gaze to his coffee. His face sagged with guilt. “I wish I could keep him locked up, but he has no official record of violence.”
Rachel gave her head a slow shake. “It’s not your fault. He’s always been a loudmouthed bully, but to my knowledge he’s never hit her before.” The coffeepot hissed and Rachel stared at it, numb. She wrapped both hands around her cup, grateful to feel the warmth spread into her palms. She lifted her chin. “I can handle Troy.”
He shot her that look again, the one she now recognized as the we-both-know-you’re-full-of-shit look. He opened the file on the table. “I need you to sign your statement, and I brought copies of the police reports.” He gave her instructions on filing for a temporary restraining order and recommended Sarah get a good lawyer ASAP.
Rachel barely heard him. Last night Troy’d been drunk. She’d taken him by surprise. That wouldn’t happen again. Her fingers touched the bandage on her cheek. Bravado aside, she had no idea how she was going to protect Sarah and the girls.
And what if Mike was right and all her troubles hadn’t been caused by Troy? What if someone else was out to get her? Mike’s words echoed in her mind. Are you sure no one else has a grudge against you?
If only she could’ve answered yes.
Mike set his cup on the counter. No more women were going to get hurt on his watch. He could barely live with the one he’d failed.
Rachel’s courage, although admirable, wasn’t going to keep them all safe. Not from Troy or anyone else who was willing to go to such considerable lengths to cause her harm.
Mike crossed the room and opened her door. The shiny new deadbolt and hardware were all heavy duty, as was the sturdy old door. No glass panes. But crowbar marks scarred the jamb. “Is this where he tried to break in?”
“Yeah. About a week after I moved in, I heard a noise in the middle of the night. He took off when I came downstairs. All I saw was a shadow. I called it in, but he was long gone before the officer got here.” She frowned. “Good thing I’d already installed that new deadbolt.”
He’d read the report, but seeing the evidence of the attempted entry—and how close the prowler had come to getting in undetected—demonstrated that Rachel’s farm was too remote for Mike’s comfort. The lock operated smoothly when he turned it. “Top of the line. You were expecting trouble?”
“Troy was pretty clear how he felt from the beginning. He made some threats.”
Locks would barely slow down a determined man.
“Look, you’ve done your best to make this place secure, but windows can be broken, by Troy or someone else. You really need an alarm system.”
Her eyes narrowed, that attractive spark of annoyance returning. “It’s on my wish list.”
The situation was unacceptable. Mike had to do something. He couldn’t leave her—them—this exposed. He pivoted, striding through the kitchen and down the hall, past dented trim and hanging strips of faded wallpaper, toward the front of the house. Except for investing in new locks, Rachel had obviously put all her resources into renovating the barn. The old farmhouse needed to be completely gutted.
He turned and nearly bumped into Rachel as she
stood, arms crossed over her chest, in the center of the hall. “Where are you going?”
He looked down at her. Why was the fiery flash of anger in her eyes so damned hot? The last temperamental woman he’d fallen for had filleted his heart like a trout.
“I just want to check your front door.” He brushed past her and walked out onto the wide front porch. Protected by the overhang, the door was solid, with no visible rot or glass. The deadbolt was new here as well. Mike pulled out a notebook and made a few notes on the general layout of her house as he walked back toward the kitchen.
She bristled, stiff-legged. Her face flushed as she barred his path with a rigid arm. “What are you doing?”
Mike stared down at the arm across his chest. Did she have any idea how small she was? Or how vulnerable? He raised his gaze to her face. She did. Over the stubborn jaw and bandaged, bruised cheek, doubt lurked behind the fire in her eyes. And maybe some well-suppressed fear. He sighed. She still wasn’t going to make this easy on either one of them.
“Look, you really need a security system. I know a guy who’ll give you a good deal. Rachel, let me help. Just a little.” He tilted his head toward the den. “For their sake. Please.”
Her inner battled waged across her face. If it weren’t for her sister and nieces, she’d probably tell him where he could stuff his assistance. But for the girls’ protection, he knew she’d cave. He’d only known her one day, and he was already certain she’d put their needs above her own desires.
“One condition. All the bills come to me. I don’t do charity or personal debt.”
“OK,” Mike agreed. Sean would do the job regardless of how or when she paid him. Women and kids were his super-tough friend’s weakness. He’d give her a great deal. Some of the invoices would likely get lost.
“Let me make the call.”
“Fine.” She exhaled hard and met his gaze. The defeat in her expression made something in Mike’s gut ache even more. He preferred those brown eyes all feisty. “Thank you.”
He knew he should say something, acknowledge her gratitude, but all he could manage was an awkward nod. Something about this woman pulled at him, and it wasn’t just the way her threadbare jeans hugged an incredibly tight butt. No, it was her fierce loyalty and courage that was reeling him in, along with her willingness to humble herself for her family’s benefit.
She Can Tell Page 4
