Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  The front door opened again. This time it was Joe Westlake. “Wes? Can I talk to you outside? There’s something I need to show you.”

  Jessica watched the two men’s tall figures move toward the blackened skeleton of the burned barn. Certainty that Joe had found proof of arson coursed through her. For all her brave talk to the contrary, she was not so naive that she wasn’t terrified at the prospect of staying here with Wes.

  However, someone was out to harm or kill them. And until that person was caught, neither she nor Wes would be safe anywhere.

  CHAPTER 14

  Calving season went into full swing, and perhaps the stress of the fire triggered more of his cows than usual to give birth, but for the next week, Wes was up around the clock babysitting his cows through their first deliveries. Most of them went fine, and a few required visits from Dr. Hamilton to expedite. But so far, Wes had yet to lose a single cow or calf.

  It was about damned time a bit of luck went his way.

  An official arson investigator came to the ranch and poked around in the remains of the burned barn for about three minutes before confirming Joe’s finding and declaring the fire to have been arson. Not that it was news to him. He’d known the second he’d heard Mac screaming that night that someone had deliberately torched the barn.

  He was just grateful that the bastard hadn’t gone after the calving barn, where over half his herd and a half-dozen newborn calves had been housed. Had the arsonist merely been sending a warning by torching the big, mostly deserted barn? Or was it possible the guy had gone after the biggest structure without realizing it wasn’t the most important structure on the ranch? If that was the case, it would mean the arsonist was a city slicker and not a local.

  Wes and Joe ended up driving a four-wheeler up into the high pasture and hunting around until they found a pair of trees with bullets buried in their trunks. It took them a couple of hours to find the first distinctive hole in a tree trunk. After that they found the second slug quickly. They dug out the slugs and took a close look at them.

  Joe commented, “These look a lot like the rounds we dug out of Jessica’s car.”

  “You’ll run them through a forensic comparison, though, won’t you?”

  “Dude. They’ll get mailed off to the FBI this very day.”

  As Joe bagged and tagged the bullets, noting the time and location where they were found, Wes said, “Those aren’t very deformed, which means they were moving at a slow rate of speed when they impacted the trees.”

  “Which means what?” Joe asked.

  “They were fired from very near the limit of the weapon’s effective range. The slugs were slowing down. Losing velocity. They traveled a long way and bled off a lot of energy before they reached those trees. They were only buried a half inch or so deep in the wood. Had they been fired from close range, they’d have smashed into the trees and buried themselves four or five inches deep, at least.”

  Joe grinned. “You’re good at this stuff. Ever consider a career in law enforcement?”

  “Nope. I’m happy to leave the handcuffs and speeding tickets to you, big guy.”

  “Aw, the handcuffs can be fun to play with...with the right partner. And you ought to hear the crazy things people say and do to get out of a speeding ticket. I live for those excuses.”

  Wes just shook his head. He’d take a nice, quiet life as a rancher any day. Although, it hadn’t been the least bit quiet since Jessica had shown up on his front porch.

  * * *

  Several times over the next week, his father’s ranch hands, standing guard at Outlaw Ranch, heard movement in the middle of the night. But when they pursued the source of the intrusion, whatever or whoever it was took off.

  Wes continued to argue daily with Jessica to leave Outlaw and, potentially, to leave Montana altogether, until the sheriff and the Morgans caught whoever was attacking them. She refused to budge. She was adamant that any risk he faced was a risk she would face, too. He had to give her credit. She was made of sterner stuff than he would ever have guessed.

  Jessica had almost finished the interior of his house, and today the crew had torn the exterior siding off the house, wrapped it in some sort of insulation and was now installing beautiful golden siding—vertical wooden planks that had been stained and coated to maintain their freshly cut color indefinitely.

  He barely recognized the house anymore. In a matter of weeks, it had become a gracious and inviting place full of light and color. Everywhere he looked, he saw something pleasing. Who knew how big a difference it would make to his mental state to live in a space that reflected his tastes and made him happy and relaxed.

  Or maybe it was Jessica who’d done all of that for his mental state. He never knew where another reminder of her free spirit would show up around the ranch. She named his calves and thought he should massage the cows that were still expecting, and she’d even installed a stereo in the calving barn that played relaxing music for the expectant mothers. There were always wildflowers in a vase on the kitchen table now, and his bathroom and bedsheets smelled of gardenias. She’d invaded his workshop, building new shelves and installing dozens of drawers and bins that neatly held all of his tools and bits of raw wood. She’d even moved in a ridiculously comfortable chair for him to sit in while he carved. He looked up the brand name online and was stunned to discover it was a thousand-dollar-plus ergonomic chair.

  She cooked for him and all the guards from Runaway Ranch, laying out huge spreads of tasty food that rivaled his mother’s cooking—which was saying something.

  If he didn’t know better, he would say she was settling in beautifully to ranch life. Thing was, he knew in the back of his mind that this wouldn’t last. She was a flight risk. Someday she would tire of playing rancher’s girlfriend, and she would take off. Without warning, she would up and leave, and never look back.

  He would be left with reminders of her everywhere he looked. And it would kill him.

  * * *

  Jessica was shocked to discover how much she loved the steady rhythms of ranch life. Each day was tied to the weather and the land and the animals—no two days were the same. And yet, the progression of spring, of calving, of renewal and growth was slow and steady, as inevitable as sunrise and sunset.

  The incursions into the ranch stopped, and John’s ranch hands went back to Runaway Ranch. Even Wes finally relaxed and quit worrying constantly. Oh, he still kept a loaded shotgun by the bed, within arm’s reach, but he slept through the night now. They both did. Running and growing a new ranch was hard work, and there was always more for both of them to do in a day than there was time. But she found deep satisfaction in working beside Wes and helping him make his dream come true.

  At long last, she did a final walk-through of the renovated house with the general contractor, clearing the last few items from her checklist of fixes and tweaks before the project was done to her exacting satisfaction.

  She had just watched the contractor’s truck retreat down the newly paved asphalt driveway when her cell phone rang in the back pocket of her jeans. A moment’s amusement that she now more or less lived in jeans struck her as she dug out her phone.

  She stared in shock at the caller ID. “Dad? Hi. Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?”

  More to the point, had he run a find-my-phone app and figured out where she was? God, why hadn’t she thought of that before? If her dad could do it, her stalker could probably do it, too.

  Her father was speaking angrily. “...you’re the one who up and ran away from home without a single word to anyone.” He devolved into a tirade about how she was selfish and ungrateful, and she tuned it out, walking back up the porch steps and sitting down in one of the pair of beautifully carved bench swings Wes had made for her as a surprise to say thank you for redoing the house.

  Eventually she tired of her father’s ranting and interrupted. “Do you
have something specific to say to me, or are you just calling me to vent?”

  Her father stopped speaking abruptly. Then he continued, “Since when do you think I’ll stand for that kind of insubordination from you?”

  “Insubordination comes from a soldier to his superior officer or an employee to his boss. I am neither a soldier nor your employee,” she snapped.

  “You’re my daughter. I raised you and fed you and housed you and clothed you, and you’ll by God show me the respect I deserve!” he bellowed.

  “Every parent has those responsibilities to their children. You didn’t do anything special by providing for my needs. You merely did what was required of you. And, let the record show, I paid for my own clothes and my own housing and needs out of my trust fund for a good chunk of my youth.”

  And he was off and running on another tirade, shouting this time. She put him on speakerphone, lowered the volume and laid the phone in her lap to wait for him to wind down. A few months ago, she would have hung up on him and given him the silent treatment for a few weeks until she got over her petty tantrum and he cooled off. She’d grown up a lot since then.

  She could forgive the man for being lost after his wife died and for never finding himself again. Now that she’d experienced the partnership a man and woman could share, she understood how devastating Rebecca’s death must have been to George. God knew, he hadn’t signed up to be a single parent of a little girl. That had to have been a terrible shock to a military man like him. Not only had he had to be both mother and father, he’d had to learn how to parent a girly girl, totally unlike his rough-and-ready Marine troops.

  Some of his words penetrated her thoughts, and she listened in dismay as he shouted, “You’re just like your mother, and, mark my words, you’ll come to the same bad end she did!”

  The old pain, the empty place in her heart that should have been filled by her mother’s love, reared its ugly head. She hated it when George played that card. How could she be anything like her mother? She’d never gotten a chance to even know Rebecca.

  While George continued to rage through the phone beside her on the bench, demanding that she come home immediately, she reflected that, truth be told, he hadn’t really been that much of a father to her over the years. He’d expected her, at age six, to learn how to make her own lunches, do her own laundry, get herself to and from school every day and do her own homework.

  Honestly, she’d felt like a trained pet most of the time, marched out to perform for his guests, and then put away and forgotten until it was time for her to perform again. When she’d gotten a little older, he’d expected her to act as his social aide, planning and hosting business dinners and meetings by the dozens.

  Of course, as a kid she hadn’t known any other life or anything different. And she had learned to be independent. To take care of herself.

  But as she reflected back on that little girl, she saw now how lonely she’d been. That she’d been starved for love. That she had become a flamboyant class clown so the other kids and teachers and her friends’ moms would like her and fill the gaping void in her heart.

  She liked the person she had become for the most part. And, thanks to Wes, she’d discovered that she wasn’t as broken and unavailable emotionally as her father liked to accuse her of being. Which was ironic. The man had the emotional depth of a spoon.

  She would like to think that all his love had died with Rebecca and that he had never recovered from that tragic loss. But when he was being an ass like right now, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe he really was just a cold, hard shell of a human being after all.

  “...sick of waiting for you to come crawling back home. I give up. Where the hell are you, anyway?”

  She snorted. He must have an important dinner meeting coming up and had finally noticed her absence. She’d been gone over two months, and he was just now bothering to call and ask her where she was?

  She just shook her head. How in the world had she ever mistaken his sporadic attention for real love?

  She started, jolted out of her own wandering thoughts. “I’m with Wes, Dad. And I’m happy.”

  “Are you insane? That bastard tried to ruin you! He was prepared to drag you into court and force you to describe in public the humiliation you suffered, so his own precious career wouldn’t be ruined. He was going to destroy you to save his own sorry, worthless hide.”

  “That’s not how it happened, Dad.”

  “Don’t you tell me how it happened! I was there. That sonofabitch was going to drag you down into the mud with him.”

  What kind of drugs was her father smoking? She’d called Wes and dragged him into the middle of her mess. The only reason she hadn’t suffered serious harm and humiliation—life-destroying, horrible emotional damage—was because Wes had come charging to her rescue the instant she’d called him. The fact that she’d escaped the bastard who’d drugged her pretty much unscathed was wholly due to Wes.

  “You’ve got it all wrong, Dad—”

  He yelled right over her, ranting about how Wes had ruined her life and, furthermore, ruined his life.

  “Hell, for all I know, that disloyal, selfish bastard set you up just to get back at me!” George shouted. “My career tanked because of him! My personal aide forced to resign or face court-martial—it was a fatal stain on my flawless record!”

  Really? Her father was going to make this all about him? She had escaped rape by the skin of her teeth, and somehow the whole nightmare was all a giant plot to ruin his precious career? Wow. Her father really had gone off the rails.

  On a hunch, she asked, “So. Have you retired yet, Dad?”

  “Bastards put me out to a pasture like some broken-down old mule. No matter that I have forty years’ experience. That I was a general, for crying out loud. That I wanted to keep working. Oh, no. They had to make room for new goddamned blood.”

  Or maybe they were getting rid of the crazy old man who’d fallen way off his rocker. She’d known for a while that her father was becoming increasingly unstable, but she had no idea he’d gotten this bad.

  “Have you thought about talking to somebody about your feelings? Someone who can help you deal with them?” she tried.

  “Like a shrink?” her father squawked. “You think I’m crazy? You? You’re just like your mother, and she was completely unhinged!”

  “You just seem really upset. Maybe if you talked to a counselor, they could help you let go of your anger. Show you some ways to help calm your emotions—”

  Nope. The rant was back on.

  Having been away from him for a few months, maybe that was why his deranged emotions were so striking to her now. Or maybe he’d just completely lost it since she’d left Washington. Either way, she was shocked. Her father had been a formidable man in his day. A hard taskmaster, yes. Tough as nails and leading by intimidation rather than inspiration. But he hadn’t been crazy. This man, the one yelling and sputtering incoherently, was a stranger to her.

  And then something her father said made her sit up straight and stare at her phone in dismay.

  “Wesley Morgan ruined my life. And, mark my words, he’s out to ruin yours. You need to leave him. Now.”

  “I’m not leaving Wes, Dad.”

  “Then he’s going to break you. You’re more fragile than you know. When he rips your heart out and stomps on it, you’re going to fall apart. And then you’ll pull some stupid stunt like your mother did and end up dying.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” But a chill rippled down her spine at his dire prediction. Was he right? Would she crumble if Wes left her? It wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. She’d laid her heart bare to Wes and had thrown herself into this relationship with everything she had. She’d held nothing back from him this time.

  “Leave him, Jessica. I’m ordering you.”

  “I’m. Not. A. Soldier,” she huffed. �
��You can’t order me around. I’m an adult, and I’ll make my own choices.”

  “Leave him. Or else,” her father growled angrily.

  “Or else what? What will you do to me?” she challenged. “You can’t touch me or my trust fund. I don’t need you anymore.”

  “Wanna bet?” he snarled. Lord, she’d never heard her father sound quite this enraged—and she’d seen him get pretty darned furious over the years.

  She’d had it with him. He could just get over himself and get over trying to push her around. She declared sharply, “I’m not leaving Wes, no matter what you say.” Her voice rising, she added, “Do you hear me? I love him!”

  She disconnected the call, jabbing furiously at the off button.

  A movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to look up.

  Wes.

  He was standing on the steps, leaning against one of the new porch posts.

  “Who was that?” he asked evenly.

  “My father.”

  “What the hell did he want?”

  She was abjectly grateful to Wes for not dwelling on her last, shouted assertion to her father. She shrugged. “He called to demand that I leave here and go back to Washington. Apparently, he thinks my place is there, taking care of him.”

  Wes snorted. “Last time I checked, he’s not in his dotage. He’s what? Fifty-eight? Sixty?”

  “He’ll be sixty next month.” Her hands were shaking, and the aftermath of the call was starting to hit her. She felt tears well up in her eyes, although she couldn’t tell if they were from sadness or anger. Who did her father think he was, yelling at her like that and trying to order her around like she was a child?

  “Aw, Jess. I’m sorry you had to deal with him.” Wes opened his arms, and she ran into them, sobbing in earnest as all the pent-up emotions precipitated by her father’s hatefulness came flooding out.

  * * *

  Wes didn’t know what to say to make it better for Jessica. He knew full well how mean her father could be. The man had a gift for going for the jugular. How she’d turned out loving and kind and warm and generous with George Blankenship for a father, he had no idea.