Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  “I’m so glad you were there to help her,” Jessica said fervently.

  He shrugged. “Doc Hamilton saved the day.”

  The vet replied from his other side, “I couldn’t have pulled that calf by myself. She was really wedged in there. You might want to consider breeding to a smaller bull next time. You’d get smaller babies.”

  Wes pulled a face. “I bought these cows already pregnant. And you can be sure I’ll be careful when it comes time to choose my own bull.”

  They went inside, and Jessica shooed him out of the kitchen. “Go take a shower. You’re covered in gunk and straw. I know how to use the coffee maker.”

  The vet excused herself to wash up in the guest bathroom, and Wes retreated to the master bath to take a fast shower. He was disgusted to realize how eager he was to get out of the shower and back to the kitchen, however. He was done with Jessica, dammit.

  Then why was he still smiling over that look on her face as she’d watched the new calf take its first steps? Everyone reacted that way the first time they saw a baby animal born. Jessica’s reaction was nothing special. Except he’d loved seeing that look on her face. Loved sharing this most magical part of life on a ranch with her.

  What in the hell was wrong with him?

  He was just feeling all sappy and sentimental after the scare of nearly losing his first cow and calf. That was all. He steeled his resolve not to respond to Jessica. Not to let her worm her way back into his life. He knew better.

  As they sat around the kitchen table, John commented, “You ought to see what Jessica’s doing with the hunting cabin. It looks like a million bucks. You should let her redo this place.”

  Wes rolled his eyes. “Right now, I’m putting all my money into the cattle.”

  John snorted. “You have a trust fund. Use the damn thing. You can afford to fix up this house and the barns and have ten times as many head of cattle and still have money left over.”

  Wes winced. Sure enough, Jessica’s eyebrows sailed up toward her hairline. He had never let on to her that he came from any kind of money, although that cat was probably out of the bag the minute she’d set foot on Runaway Ranch. The place screamed of wealth. But it was not his home anymore.

  This place—as crappy as it was—belonged to him and him alone, bought and paid for with money he’d saved over the course of his entire military career.

  He got up from the kitchen table and carried a handful of coffee mugs over to the sink. Jessica set the coffeepot down beside him and murmured under her voice, “A trust fund, huh? Why’d you always give me so much crap about mine, then?”

  “You use yours.”

  “Why don’t you use yours?”

  He glanced over at her, his eyes narrowed. “Because I give a damn about being my own person.”

  She retreated from the sink looking stung. Good. The sooner she was out of his house and out of his life, the better. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d called her poison and an addiction.

  Thankfully, John, the vet and Jessica loaded up in John’s truck soon after that, saving him from any more awkward revelations by his father or any more unpleasant exchanges with Jessica.

  Except as the truck disappeared from view, a sense of loneliness washed over him. What was the point of building all of this if he was never going to share it with anyone? He looked around the yard at his ramshackle barns and even more ramshackle house and seriously wondered if he’d done the right thing. Maybe he should have kept right on going when he’d hit the city limits of Sunny Creek a few months ago. Maybe he would be better off far, far away from here. Away from his family. Away from Jessica and her damned, irresistible sex appeal.

  * * *

  After her eventful morning and upsetting exchange with Wes, Jessica decided to head for Hillsdale and do a little shopping for the cabin. Miranda and John had agreed on a color palette of mossy greens and light woods, and she needed to pick a fabric for the vintage sofa Charlotte had found for her yesterday and agreed to reupholster.

  Why hadn’t Wes ever mentioned that he had all the money he could ever want? He’d always insisted on paying for their dates and had refused to let her take him on any expensive vacations or buy him extravagant gifts because he couldn’t reciprocate in kind. But he could have all along! How hypocritical was that?

  Sure, he had issues with his father. And having met John, she could see how the man could be overbearing. Lord knew, her own father was at least as domineering and controlling as John Morgan, if not more so. If her trust fund had come from him instead of her mother, would she have been less inclined to use it?

  Nah. She would have wanted to burn through his money to punish him. But then, she was vindictive that way. Wes wasn’t. She supposed she could see how he would refuse to take handouts from his father.

  She’d been driving for perhaps twenty minutes when she heard a loud bang. Startled, she swerved a little. Another bang, and her car swerved on its own this time. Hard. The distinctive flapping-rubber-on-concrete noise of a blown tire made her groan. She eased onto the brakes and fought the steering wheel grimly as the little car fishtailed wildly. It took several long, heart-stopping seconds to wrestle it to a stop.

  Well, hell. Good thing her daddy was a Marine who believed in preparedness. He’d taught her how to change a tire well before she’d even gotten a driver’s license. She climbed out of the car and headed for the trunk. Just as she bent over to lift out the tire, something metallic pinged above her head. She looked up, startled, and spied a tiny hole in her lifted trunk hood.

  She dropped to the ground instinctively. Nope, she hadn’t been raised by a Marine for nothing. That was a freaking bullet hole!

  Replaying the noises of the last minute in her head, she decided that the gunshots had been coming from behind her. She crawled frantically around the side of the car, using it for cover from the shooter.

  Why in the hell was someone shooting at her?

  Surely whoever had been threatening her hadn’t found her out here in the middle of nowhere!

  Another shot zinged off a rock behind her. She huddled against the side of the car and searched the hillside rising above her for a hiding place with decent cover. Nothing. It was bare dirt and rock. She was going to die out here.

  She fished in her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She started to dial 911, and thought better of it. The police were in Sunny Creek, a good half hour away. Wincing, she hit the speed dial number for Wes. He was going to blow his stack at getting called again to rescue her.

  The line connected and Wes growled without greeting or preamble, “What the hell do you want now?”

  “Someone’s shooting at me. I’m on the Westlake Road. I left Runaway Ranch and was heading toward Hillsdale—” She broke off and ducked as another shot pinged off rock just above her head. The shooter was zeroing in on her position. She had to get out of there.

  “That was a gunshot!” Wes said urgently.

  “I know. Like I said. Someone’s shooting at me. Took out one of my tires. It’s shredded. Undrivable.” Weird. She’d dropped into some strange state of calm, detached from her emotions and focused on dealing with the crisis. She ought to be scared out of her mind. Instead, she was thinking at hyperspeed and feeling nothing.

  “Do you have a gun?” Wes asked tersely.

  “No. You know I hate the things.”

  “Damn.” She thought she heard gravel crunching from his end of the call.

  “Look. I don’t expect you to come rushing to my rescue again. But could you call your father and have him send some of his men out this way? I figure they’ll get here faster than the sheriff could, coming from Sunny Creek. I don’t have John’s cell phone number or I’d have called him myself.”

  “I’m on my way.” She heard an engine roar in the background.

  She ducked as a gunshot took out the passenger side
rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, Wes—”

  “Save it.”

  This was the last time she was likely to speak with him, and by God he was going to hear her out. She talked right over his objection. “There’s no cover at all out here. I’ll likely be dead before you get here, so shut up and listen. I truly am sorry for what I did to your career. But I genuinely believed you would be killed if I didn’t lie. And I cared—care—far too much for you to sit around and let you die. If that pisses you off, so be it. I forgive you for being mad at me. I know you, Wes, and I don’t want you to beat yourself up with guilt after I’m gone. I chose to come out here and warn you. This is on me. Whoever kills me will undoubtedly have done it because of mistakes I made in my past. There was nothing you could have done to protect me.”

  Wes’s voice was ragged when he said, “Get in the car. Drive it away from there. If your shooter’s zeroing in on you, he’s in a stationary position, maybe in a sniper’s nest. Get away from there.”

  “The car’s not drivable—”

  “Sure it is. You’ll wreck a rim, but that’s replaceable. Move!”

  He made an excellent point. She reached up over her head and opened the passenger door. Immediately, a gunshot ripped into the white leather door lining. She dived across the seats, and awkwardly jackknifed her body. It was nearly impossible to stay low, turn around and get into a position to drive. Who knew it would turn out to be a lifesaver to have fooled around in this car a few times? She knew how to maneuver around the tight interior.

  A gunshot shattered the rear window as she started the engine and released the brakes. The car was difficult to turn back onto the road and it took all her strength to horse the steering wheel left against the pull of the ruined tire.

  A flurry of gunshots announced the shooter’s frustration that she was getting away from him.

  A voice came out of her phone, which she’d laid on the passenger seat beside her. “Jessica? Talk to me!”

  “I’m here. Your suggestion worked. I’m moving away from the shooter. Not fast, but I’m getting away.”

  “Describe the spot in the road where you got shot at.”

  “Uh, mountain rising on both sides of the road. Sheer rock face on the left. Dirt and rock hill sloping up on the right. The road was rising approaching the spot. I went around a gradual left turn, and the road had just straightened out.”

  “Got it. I know the spot. I’m going to hang up and call my father right now. If I can’t get in touch with you again, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes. Keep driving forward until I come up behind you in my truck.”

  “Okay.” She hated the idea of not being in contact with him, but she understood the necessity to be brave right now and let him call in reinforcements.

  The line went dead. Her poor, ruined car limped along at about fifteen miles per hour, which was as fast as she could go and still force the car to stay on the road. It was closer to ten minutes than five and there was still no sign of Wes.

  Her adrenaline rush and crisis-induced state of calm drained away, leaving her hands shaking so bad she could hardly steer the car and her entire body trembling in terror. Someone had just shot at her! Narrowly avoided killing her.

  Who had she angered so violently in her past youth and stupidity that he or she wanted her dead?

  For that matter, how did the shooter know where she was?

  She hadn’t told anybody she was coming out here!

  Was that some random nutjob shooting at her as she drove past for crazy hillbilly grins and giggles? Or was it something more sinister? An attack aimed specifically at her? How could it not be aimed at her?

  Her heart was going to give out if she had to keep driving along this isolated road for much longer, waiting for the next shot to ring out, for hot lead to slam into her head and kill her. Her life might not be all that great right now, but she had no death wish and was definitely not suicidal. She was an optimist by nature and fully believed that things would get better eventually.

  Where was Wes?

  Her mind continued to churn on who was shooting at her. It had to be a specific attack aimed at her. Nothing else made sense. Which meant the sniper had known where she was and clearly had a grudge against her. How? Who? The obvious answer of who it was would be whoever was behind those damned emails, but who that was and why he or she had it in for her and Wes was a mystery.

  In the interest of thoroughness, she couldn’t discount other explanations out of hand. Had she infuriated anyone in Sunny Creek enough to make them want to kill her? Honestly, the only person who fit that bill was Wes. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he hadn’t tried to kill her. Not that she hadn’t given him plenty of reason to do so. But he was too honorable, too good, to ever harm her, no matter how enraged he might be at her.

  A truck rounded the curve behind her and she tensed. Had the shooter caught up with her, or was it Wes charging to the rescue? The vehicle drew closer, and she spied its silver-blue color—Wes.

  She slowed and guided her broken car over to the side of the road. Wes had barely pulled to a stop behind her before she spilled out her door and ran to him.

  He got out of his truck and his arms opened. She ran straight into them, plowing into him, tears already flowing down her cheeks. He wrapped her in an embrace that unquestionably bruised a few of her ribs. He buried his face in her hair, and they stood like that for an endless moment of pure relief.

  Then Wes broke the spell, saying tersely, “Get in the truck. I want you out of here in case that bastard’s following you. He undoubtedly had a vehicle hidden nearby and could be here any second.”

  “Oh, God. I hadn’t thought of that.” She ran around to the passenger side of Wes’s truck and jumped in as he gunned the engine. She was silent as he drove grimly, breaking all the speed limits. Thankfully, he seemed familiar with the road, and he was a combat-trained driver. Which was good because he was driving like their lives depended on it. And, for all she knew, they did.

  They drove for about a half hour and came down out of the high mountains to a relatively flat plateau before she finally asked, “Where are we?”

  “We’re taking a circular route back to the west side of the McMinn Mountain Range.”

  Okay. That meant nothing to her. But she wasn’t about to bicker with Wes over it. He’d saved her life, and she was more grateful than she had words to express.

  The road finally started to look familiar, and she realized they were only a few minutes from Runaway Ranch.

  She was surprised, however, when Wes turned into Outlaw Ranch and didn’t take her on up the road to his parents’ place. But she held her silence. Did she dare hope he was actually concerned about her?

  She’d done it again. She’d called him and dragged him into the middle of her insane life. And he’d come running. Again. Did it mean he secretly—way down deep—had actual feelings for her? Or was he just acting out of human decency? Either way, he seemed to have declared a temporary truce with her and wasn’t being a gigantic jerk at the moment. Thank God.

  He parked in front of his house and she climbed out silently, following him up the front steps. As he fiddled with his key ring looking for the house key, she ventured to ask, “Who carved this door? It’s magnificent.”

  “Thanks. I did it.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You? Are you kidding?”

  He looked at her, frowning slightly. “No. If you want to see my workshop, I’ll show it to you later.”

  “I never knew you were such a talented artist!”

  “You never asked.” He pushed open the front door and she followed him inside.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dim interior and she commented reflectively, “When you and I were together, talking wasn’t exactly at the top of our activity agenda. Which is a shame. I would have liked to know more about you.”

  Hi
s gaze lifted to hers, and a combination of wry humor and heated memory swirled in his dark blue gaze. Oh, Lord, he looked edible when he had that particular expression on his face. She walked toward him slowly, never breaking eye contact, giving him plenty of time to run for cover if he chose.

  He didn’t choose, apparently. He stood there as if rooted in place, staring at her as she came toward him, his gaze burning down her soul. She stopped in front of him, less than an arm’s length away.

  “Thank you for saving my life, Wes. Again. I seem to keep going deeper and deeper in debt to you.”

  A frown twitched on his brow. “Helping other people isn’t a thing you keep track of in a ledger.”

  She took the last step toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of his neck, and she laid it there just like she used to. He stood there, unmoving and stiff as a board for a long time, but she persisted, holding her ground. Eventually his arms came up around her but felt reluctant. Her heart hurt at that, but it was no more and no less than she deserved.

  “I know you’re not the kind of man who keeps a tally of debts owed,” she murmured. “But you keep doing the right thing, and I keep putting you in danger. I have never meant to cause you any harm.” A shudder that was half sob and half self-hatred passed through her.

  “Look at me, Jess.”

  She lifted her head and stared into the depths of his beautiful eyes. Something moved deep in her belly that had less to do with lust and more to do with genuine feelings for this man. She confessed, “You have no idea how much I would love to go all the way back to a year ago and have a complete do-over with you.” His arms tightened a little more as she added, “I owe you so much. And not just for the rescues.”

  One dark, sardonic eyebrow rose.

  Her gaze did fall away from his then. But she forced herself to look back at this man upon whom she’d inflicted so much damage. “You changed me, Wes.”

  The eyebrow inched a bit higher.

  “When you broke up with me, you forced me to see myself through your eyes. As I really was. And I didn’t like the person I saw. I was angry that you made me examine myself. Honestly, it put me in a really bad headspace for a while. That was why I went to the pop-up club that night. I knew I was taking a big chance going there alone and accepting a drink from a stranger. But I was determined to act as shallow and stupid as you saw me to be.”