Chapter Two
Abbie didn’t take the time to tell herself that it’d been a really bad idea to come to the Ryland ranch. But that’s what she would do later. For now, she just had to get out of there as fast as she could and hope that she could somehow make it to safety.
Safety with no car, no money, no shoes.
Clearly, she had some big strikes against her.
Abbie glanced over her shoulder and saw one of the biggest strikes of all. Mason Ryland. Her boss and perhaps the person who wanted her dead.
She’d been a fool to come here, and that foolishness might soon get her killed.
With Mason’s footsteps bearing down on her, Abbie didn’t give up. She ran, praying that she would make it to the fence before he could grab her. The fence wasn’t a sure thing. First, she’d have to scale it and then try to disappear into the thick woods that surrounded the sprawling ranch. But just reaching the fence was her next obstacle.
“Stop!” Mason yelled.
His angry voice tore through the darkness, through her, and she had a terrifying thought.
What if he shot her?
After all, he had a gun. Abbie had seen it when Rusty and he had pulled the door off her. The sight of that weapon and his fierce take-no-prisoners expression had caused her heart to skip a beat or two.
She kept running, her lungs already starved for air, but she wasn’t fast enough. With the fence still yards away, Mason grabbed her shoulder and dragged her to a stop before he whirled her around to face him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mason demanded.
Abbie wanted to demand the same thing, but she couldn’t gather enough breath to speak. Mercy, her teeth were chattering from the chilly night air and the fear.
“Well?” he pushed. He looked down at her. At her face. At her gown. At the garment she was wearing over her gown. “And why did you steal my shirt?”
“I borrowed it,” Abbie managed to say. She would have done the same to a pair of shoes if she could have found them. She hadn’t. So she’d run out of his office barefoot.
He mumbled some more profanity and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. But thankfully he didn’t shoot her or threaten to do it. That reprieve meant she had a chance to try to talk him out of whatever he was planning to do to her.
“Look, I’ll just go,” she managed to say after sucking in some more air.
“To heck you will.” He kept a punishing grip on her arm. “First, you’ll tell me about that fire and why you ran. After that, I can decide if I’ll arrest you for arson.”
That put some air back in her lungs. “What? Arrest me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Mason gave her another you’ve-lost-your-mind glare, and those ice-gray eyes drilled into her. Abbie couldn’t see the color of his eyes in the darkness, but she knew them well enough from her job interview. Not that he’d given her more than a passing glance in the three days she’d worked for him.
Well, he was doing more than glancing now.
In addition to the glare he’d aimed at her, his gaze kept dropping to her cotton nightgown. It wasn’t a garment meant to be provocative, but she felt exposed with Mason’s attention on her.
Mason had a way of doing that, she’d learned.
Tall, dark and dangerous with his black hair and hard face. His brothers had those same Ryland looks, but they were softened on their faces and bodies. Not Mason. He looked like an ornery vampire.
Without a shirt.
Added to that were those gunmetal-gray cop’s eyes that saw, and had seen, way too much.
Abbie slid her left hand over her chest. Over the silver chain that veed down into her gown and in between her breasts. She couldn’t let Mason see the pendant at the end of the chain. If he did, the anger and questions would come at her full blast.
“We can stand out here and freeze our butts off,” he continued, “or you can tell me what happened.”
Because she couldn’t tear out of his grip and because he had that gun, Abbie knew she had to give him some kind of answer. The truth?
Probably not.
Not until she was sure she could trust him, and so far Mason hadn’t done anything to make her believe she could. Well, except pull her out of the burning house, but she wasn’t sure yet why he’d done that. Maybe her shouts for help had drawn so much attention that he felt he had no choice but to make a show of rescuing her. He probably wouldn’t have wanted anyone saying he’d let his trainer burn to death. Even if maybe that’s what he’d wanted to happen.
“I already told you I’m not an arsonist,” she explained. “I woke up, and the place was already on fire. I tried to get out, but when I made it to the front door, someone pushed me to the ground and shoved the door on me.”
“What someone?” he challenged.
Abbie shook her head. “I didn’t see his face.”
He studied her, his glare getting even harder. “So why accuse me then?”
Now, here’s where she had to lie. “I was scared. Talking out of my head. I’ve never come that close to dying.”
And that, too, was a lie. A whopper, actually.
Oh, she’d come close all right.
The seconds crawled by, and even though her teeth were still chattering and the goose bumps were crawling all up and down her, that didn’t seem to give Mason any urgency. Even though he was no doubt cold, too.
That no-shirt part caught her attention again.
She didn’t want to look at him. Okay, she did. Once more she was intrigued by how the Ryland genes could have created this puzzling mix of danger and hotness. Under different circumstances, she might have been attracted to Mason Ryland.
Abbie mentally groaned at that thought. Not good. Thoughts like that could only make this situation worse. And she was already at worse. The trick now would be to stop the damage from escalating into a full-blown nightmare.
“I have to get out of here,” she blurted out. “I can’t stay.”
Still no urgency from Mason, and when she tried to move, he snapped her back in place. “You honestly believe someone tried to kill you tonight?”
Abbie thought about her answer. “Yes,” she said, even though she dreaded what he would ask next. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Why would someone want to kill you?”
Mason’s question hung in the air and was just as smothering and as potentially lethal as the fire and smoke had been. Abbie tried to shrug. “Since I’ve been here at the ranch, I’ve had the feeling someone’s watching me.”
Also the truth.
Without warning, Mason released the grip on her, but he continued that ruthless stare. “Did you tell anyone about this?”
Abbie settled for a head shake.
“Well, you should have,” he growled. “We have surveillance cameras all over the ranch, but they’re not monitored unless I’m aware there’s a problem. I wasn’t aware. Plus, there’s the part about me being a deputy sheriff. I would have been very interested in knowing that you thought someone might be watching you.”
“I’m sorry,” Abbie mumbled. But there’s no way she could have told him about her suspicions without making Mason and his brothers suspicious. “I’ll pack my things…” Except her things had all burned. She was literally wearing everything she owned. “I have to leave,” she repeated.
“Not a chance. If the fire was arson, there’ll be an investigation. Grayson will need to interview you. There will be paperwork. And I hate paperwork,” he added in a gruff mumble.
Grayson, the sheriff. Another set of cop’s eyes. Just what she didn’t need right now. But she couldn’t very well break into a run and expect to get away.
No.
Her best bet was to pretend to cooperate so she could get out of there as fast as possible. Then she could regroup and figure out what to do.
Abbie glanced down at her gown to make sure the pendant was still hidden. It was. “Could I maybe borrow some clothes?”
Mason didn’t jump right on that with a resounding yes, but he finally grumbled one under his breath. What he didn’t do was stop the staring, and he sure as heck didn’t move.
“For the record, I think you’re lying about something,” he informed her. “Don’t know what yet, but I will find out. And if you set that fire, so help me—”
“I didn’t set it,” Abbie snarled back.
“You’re willing to have your hands and clothes analyzed for traces of gasoline or some other accelerant?” he snapped.
The question stopped her cold. Under normal circumstances, no, she wouldn’t mind. She would even volunteer. But these were far from normal circumstances. She obviously needed to get out of there.
Still, Abbie nodded. “Of course.”
Mason stared at her. And stared. Before he finally hitched his shoulder in the direction of the fire and the other ranch buildings. “Come on.”
Not exactly a warm and fuzzy invitation, but Abbie was thankful they were walking. Not easily and not very quickly. After all, she was barefoot, and Mason seemed to be as uncomfortable as she was.
“Tell me why you came here,” Mason tossed out. A demand that almost caused her heart to stop. Until he added, “Why did you want to work at the Ryland ranch?”
“You asked that in the interview,” she reminded him, but Abbie paraphrased the lie to refresh his memory. “You have one of the best track records in the state for cutting horses. I wanted to be part of that.”
Mercy, it sounded rehearsed.
He made a gruff sound to indicate he was giving that some thought. Thought smothered with suspicion. “You knew a lot about the ranch before you applied for the job?”
Abbie nodded—cautiously. The man had a way of completely unnerving her. “Sure. I did a lot of reading about it on the internet.”
“Like what?” he fired back.
She swallowed hard and hoped her voice didn’t crack. “Well, I read the ranch has a solid reputation. Your father, Boone Ryland, started it forty years ago when he was in his early twenties.”
Mason stopped and whirled around so quickly that it startled her. He aimed his index finger at her as if he were about to use it to blast her into another county. Then, he turned and started walking again.
“My father,” he spat out like profanity, “bought the place. That’s it. He didn’t even have it paid off before he hightailed it out of here, leaving his wife and six sons. A wife who committed suicide because he broke her spirit and cut her to the core. He was a sorry SOB and doesn’t deserve to have his name associated with my ranch that I’ve worked hard to build.”
The venom stung, even though Abbie had known it was there. She just hadn’t known it would hurt this much to hear it said aloud and aimed at her.
“You don’t look as much like your father as your brothers do,” she mumbled. And before the last word had left her mouth, Abbie knew it had been a Texas-sized mistake.
Mason stopped again, so quickly that she ran right into him. It was like hitting a brick wall. An angry one.
“How the hell would you know that?” Mason demanded.
Oh, mercy.
Think, Abbie, think.
“I saw your father’s picture,” she settled for saying.
The staring started again. Followed by his glare that even the darkness couldn’t conceal. “What picture?” he asked, enunciating each word.
Abbie shook her head and started walking. Or rather, she tried to do that. But Mason caught onto her arm and slung her around to face him.
“What picture?” he repeated.
She searched for a lie he’d believe, one that could get her out of this nightmare that she’d created. But before she could say anything, Mason’s gaze snapped to the side.
And he lifted his gun in that direction.
For one horrifying moment, Abbie thought he was going to turn that gun on her, but his attention was focused on a cluster of trees in the distance. The trees were near the fence that Abbie had fought so hard to reach.
Mason stepped in front of her so quickly, she hadn’t sensed it coming. He put himself between her and those trees.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Shh,” he answered, and like the rest of this conversation, he sounded rough and angry.
Mason was a lot taller than she was, at least six foot three, so Abbie came up on her toes to look over his shoulder. She saw nothing. Just the darkness and the trees. Still, that nothing got her heart racing.
Because someone had set that fire.
In her attempts to evade Mason, Abbie had failed to realize that if Mason wasn’t on to her, if he didn’t know why she’d really come to the ranch, then someone else had set that fire.
Someone else had tried to scare her. Or worse.
Hurt her.
“You think someone’s out there?” she asked.
But Mason only issued another shh and looked around as if he expected them to be ambushed at any moment.
Abbie stayed on her toes, although the arches of her feet were cramping. She ignored the pain and watched.
She didn’t have to watch long.
There.
In the center of that tree cluster. She saw the movement. So slight that at first she thought maybe it was a shadow created by the low-hanging branches swaying in the wind. But then, the shadow ducked out of sight.
“I’m Deputy Mason Ryland,” Mason shouted. “Identify yourself.”
Silence. Well, except for her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. Who was out there? The person who’d set the fire? Or was this something worse?
“Get down on the ground,” Mason said to her. “I’m going closer.”
Abbie wanted to shout no, that it could be too dangerous to do that, but Mason caught onto her arm and pushed her to the ground. “Stay put,” he warned. And he started in the direction of those trees.
With each step he took, her heart pounded harder, so hard that Abbie thought it might crack her ribs. But she didn’t move, didn’t dare do anything that might distract Mason.
He kept his gun aimed. Ready. Kept his focus on the trees. When he was about fifteen yards away, there was more movement. Abbie got a better look then—at the person dressed head to toe in black.
Including the gun.
The moonlight flickered off the silver barrel.
“Watch out!” Abbie yelled to Mason.
But it was already too late. The person in black pointed the gun right at Mason.
Chapter Three
Mason dived to the ground and hoped Abbie had done the same. He braced himself for the shot.
It came all right.
The bullet blasted through the night air, the sound tearing through him. Mason took aim and returned fire. The gunman ducked just in time, and Mason’s shot slammed into the tree and sent a spray of splinters everywhere.
And that’s when it hit Mason. The gunman hadn’t fired at him.
But at Abbie.
Mason glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was okay. She seemed to be. She had stayed put on the ground with her hands covering her head. Good. But her hands wouldn’t stop a bullet.
What the devil was going on?
First the fire, now this. It wasn’t the first time danger had come to the ranch, but it was a first attack on one of his employees.
An employee who had plenty of questions to answer.
After Mason took care of this gunman, he would ask Abbie those questions. First, he wanted this shooter alive to answer some, too, but he had no trouble taking this guy out if it came down to it.
Mason kept watch on the spot where he’d last seen the gunman, and he lifted his head slightly so he could have a better chance of hearing any kind of movement. He heard some all right.
Footsteps.
Mason cursed. The gunman was running.
Escaping.
Mason fired another shot into the trees and hoped it would cause the guy to stop. It didn’t. Once the sound of the blast cle
ared, Mason heard the footsteps again and knew the shooter was headed for the fence. He would make it there, too, because it wasn’t that far away, and once he scaled it, he could disappear into the woods.
That wouldn’t give Mason those answers he wanted.
Mason got to a crouching position and watched the fence, hoping that he would be able to see the shooter and wound him enough to make him stop. But when the sound of the footsteps stopped, the guy was nowhere in sight.
“Don’t get up,” Mason barked to Abbie.
But that’s exactly what he did. He kept his gun ready, but he started running and made a beeline to the fence. Mason ran as fast as he could. However, it wasn’t fast enough. He heard the gunman drop to the other side of the fence.
Mason considered climbing the fence and going after him. That’s what the rancher in him wanted to do anyway. But his cop’s training and instincts reminded him that that would be a quick way to get himself killed.
Maybe Abbie, too.
The gunman could be there waiting for Mason to appear and could shoot him, and then go after Abbie. His brothers and some of the ranch hands were no doubt on the way to help, but they might not arrive in time to save her.
So Mason waited and stewed. Whoever had set that fire and shot at Abbie would pay for this.
When he was certain they weren’t about to be gunned down, Mason stood. He kept his attention and gun on the fence and backed his way to Abbie.
“Let’s get out of here,” he ordered.
Mason didn’t have to tell her twice. She sprang to her bare feet and started toward the ranch—backward, as Mason was doing.
“Why did he try to kill you?” he asked her without taking his attention off the fence.
Abbie didn’t jump to deny it, but she didn’t volunteer anything either. She was definitely hesitating, and Mason didn’t like that.
“Why?” he pressed.
“I’m in the Federal Witness Protection Program,” she finally said.
Of all the things Mason had expected to hear, that wasn’t on his list. But his list now included a whole barnyard of questions.
“Who’s the gunman?” he asked.
Mason Page 2
