by Dana Mentink
Frantically, she turned in a circle. Which way? The late-morning sun was prying through the clouds, so she knew which direction was east. Roughwater Ranch would be west, set along the cliffs. Keep going. Run back toward the ranch, toward people, her only chance of saving Ben.
She had just turned to go when she felt him behind her.
“Janey,” Wade said. “Are you showing my son the ranch? Turn around and let me see my boy.”
Hardly able to draw breath, terror screaming in every bone and sinew, she slowly shifted to face him.
“What’s your name, son?” Wade said.
Ben didn’t answer, stuffing his fingers in his mouth and shrinking back into Jane’s shoulder. Wade looked at Jane. “He’s mine, anyway. I’ll pick out what I want to call him.” He held out his palms. “Give him to me.”
She recoiled, stepping back until her knees banged against the watering tank. “No, I won’t.”
“I will take him, Janey, or you can hand him to me. Make it easy so he won’t cry anymore.” Wade’s nose wrinkled. “It’s making the snot run down his face.”
She summoned every last shred of courage. “Wade, you don’t own me, and you don’t own Ben. He’s my son and I will fight you with my dying breath. You will not take him from me.”
Wade tipped back his head and laughed. “Janey, of all the women I have killed, you will always be the best of the bunch.”
“Mommy,” Ben screamed as Wade marched toward them. Jane turned and ran, clutching her boy, willing her legs to go faster, despairing as she heard Wade closing the gap behind them.
* * *
Liam and Mitch burst into the hollow at the same moment. Wade wheeled around and fired. The shot whistled over Mitch’s left shoulder.
Jane screamed and cradled Ben to her. Had they been hit?
“Get them out of here,” he yelled to Liam, leaping from Rosie and giving her a smack on the rump that sent her galloping away. He tumbled as he hit the ground. Cattle, frightened at the gunshots, ran in a tornado of hooves.
“Liam,” he yelled again, unable to see from his belly-down position if Jane and Ben were clear of the stampeding cattle. He used the commotion to roll to his feet.
Wade was scanning for him, had not yet pinned down his position. Mitch knew he had only a moment, and he did not hesitate. Scrambling up, he ran behind the nearest cow, using it as a screen until he got close enough. With a mighty gulp of air, he dived for his brother, with all the vigor and enthusiasm he’d had as a high school tackle. His head made contact with Wade’s stomach, the air whooshing out of him. They somersaulted three times. Wade still gripped the gun, and it took all Mitch’s energy to clutch at his brother’s wrist.
The grass soaked into his back as Wade twisted on top of him.
“I will kill you, brother,” he grunted, the whites of his eyes going bloodshot with the effort. “And then I will have my son.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Mitch choked out, and with a strength he could not have fathomed from his almost forty-year-old self, he squeezed his brother’s hand until he heard the bone snap. Wade jerked, and Mitch wrenched the gun free, toppling Wade over backward.
Wade crab walked, blood streaking his face, breathing hard.
They both heard sirens now, and Mitch smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they saved your old room in prison for you.”
Wade glowered, beaming hatred as he got to his feet. Mitch raised his weapon. “You won’t shoot me,” Wade said.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Foley inching closer, hands gripping his weapon. Wade edged backward, limping away toward the road. Mitch lowered his revolver and nodded at Foley. He would allow Foley to have the satisfaction of bringing in the fugitive who had escaped on his watch. This time the arrest and credit would go to Foley.
Foley gave a slight nod, the merest bob of his chin, as much thanks as he would ever show. Mitch didn’t care. Foley could have all the kudos he could collect as long as Jane and Ben were safe.
He holstered his gun and ignored the pain rippling through his back and ribs. Down the road, safely sequestered behind Danny Patron’s police car, he found Liam.
“Are they...?”
“See for yourself.” Liam pointed to the back seat.
Jane erupted from the car, Ben still sheltered in her arms. He blinked hard as she hurtled into his arms. Hands skimming her back, kissing her hair, murmuring silly nothings to Ben, he allowed himself to believe that God had delivered. Jane and Ben were safe.
He tried to speak, but his throat was locked shut. All he could do was hold her and Ben next to his heart and thank God.
TWENTY-SIX
Jane slept for a solid day, awakening in the comfortable guest bed at the Roughwater Ranch only long enough to eat and check on Ben, who was happily taking turns playing with Liam, Chad, Helen and Uncle Gus. The day passed with endless rounds of police interviews and doctor’s checks for her and Ben.
As the day wore on, she felt ripples of horror when she considered Bette, who was now in custody. She knew Bette was just another victim, and maybe she and Bette were not so different deep down. Bette could not trust herself to pursue a normal, healthy relationship. She hoped the woman could get some help.
And what about Jane’s own self-doubt? Not hours before, she had thought Mitch betrayed her. The euphoria of knowing she was finally free mingled with a weighty melancholy. Her horrific experience with Wade would always cast that shadow on her judgment, preventing her from committing herself to a good man, an excellent man, like Mitch.
She tried to force herself to celebrate. She could go anywhere, start over and work toward building her floral business, raise Ben, take that Disneyland trip. She’d shared all these plans with Nana Jo, who’d cried along with her. Tomorrow, she thought. I’ll leave tomorrow. There would be one final night here at the ranch. Aunt Ginny and Uncle Gus had planned a quiet cookout.
She gathered Ben from his playtime and gave him another bath, as if she could wash away what had happened. She could only hope that Ben was young enough that other memories, the good memories she intended to make with him, would fill his heart to overflowing. With mixed emotions, she rocked Ben for the last time in the chair Mitch had provided.
Catty Cat followed them out to the campfire as the sun wilted into the horizon and darkness took its place. Lanterns strung across the patio danced spots of gold into the night sky, and the smell of grilling meats and a pot of chili in the kitchen perfumed the air.
Helen and Liam greeted her with smiles. Uncle Gus pressed a lemonade into her hand and a boxed juice for Ben. “Look who got invited to the cookout, Ben,” Uncle Gus said.
Chad led Sugar up to the edge of the patio. The foal flicked her mane and whinnied, sending Ben into wide-eyed peals of delight.
“Would you like to pet her?” Uncle Gus said.
Ben nodded so hard he almost fell over. Uncle Gus and Chad led them onto the grass. Jane’s vision went blurry as she watched her precious son, her gift from God, her solace and her joy.
“He doing okay?” Mitch said. He’d come close, thumbs hooked on his belt loops. Her stomach fluttered.
“Yes, he’s okay,” she said. “Thanks to you and your family.”
“You did great before we got there,” he said. They lapsed into silence, strolling to the fence. It felt so right to be there with him, and so painful to consider that she’d leave the next day.
She pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry...that I didn’t stay, that I didn’t trust you.”
He shook his head. “No need to say that.”
“Yes, there is. Mitch, I didn’t trust you, because I don’t know how to trust. I think maybe I never will.”
He turned her then, gently, and circled her wrists with his thumbs. “You just gotta have someone trustworthy around so you can practice on ’em.”
She yea
rned for—no, craved—the chance to learn with Mitch, but she could not ask it of him. It was best for her to move on, and him, too. The sky grew suddenly darker, and Jane struggled to find even a single star.
Mitch was quiet, but she could sense that he was wrestling with what to say next. She was determined to be kind to him, to make their parting as easy as possible. “I think I’ll go join Ben.”
“Wait. I want to say something.”
She stopped, trying to read his emotions, but the combination of lamplight and his stoic expression stymied her.
He rubbed a hand over his freshly shaven chin. “Do you know what my favorite time of year here at the ranch is?”
“Uh, no,” she said, wondering why he felt the need to share such a topic.
He swallowed so hard she could hear the gulp. It ticked her pulse up a notch.
“Spring.”
She nodded. “All the green grass and blue skies. I’m sure it’s glorious.”
“That’s not why it’s my favorite.”
“Why, then?”
“Because the calves come, and they are new and full of wonder and...you make me feel like that.”
“Mitch,” she gasped. “I...I’m not sure what to say.”
“Just listen,” he said. “’Cause I’ve been practicing this in my mind so many times Liam is accusing me of having conversations with myself.”
She put her fingers over her trembling lips and watched him suck in a deep breath. “When I’m with you, the world feels new and fresh and it makes me want to tear down the walls I’ve built up to keep the past out and start something new.”
When he stopped speaking, she put her hand gently on his arm. “Mitch, I will treasure what you’ve said my whole life, but I’ve already told you, because of my past with Wade...” She forced herself to say it. “With your brother...”
“Wade has no ties on you anymore, and none on me, either. Remember what you said? Nothing can separate you from the love of God. I finally get what that means, because nothing, not the past or the pain or the troubles ahead or behind, is gonna make me love you any less. Only more—it’s just gonna be more, every day, every year.”
Every day, every year. What was he saying? What could she be hearing?
“I love you,” he said, “and I love Ben, and that’s the bare honest truth of it.”
She thought it was the bravest thing she’d heard anyone say, ever, and it left her speechless.
“I think we could be a great family. Don’t you?” He gazed at her, head slightly cocked, moonlight catching the planes of his face.
Out came the fear that held her captive. “I’m not sure how to be a wife to a good man.”
He smiled shyly and took her hand, kissing the knuckles. “The same way I learned how to ride horses. The same way you learned how to be a spectacular mother to Ben—one step at a time, one day at a time.”
“What if I fail?” she whispered.
“Do you trust me?” His eyes shone like black lightning. “Do you believe that I love you and I will take care of you and Ben every day for the rest of my life?”
Did she? Could she? He’d risked stepping through her walls and his, for her, for Ben. “Yes,” she managed. “Yes, I do trust you.”
Emotion rippled across his face. “And do you love me, Jane? Can you love me in spite of who I am and what my brother did to you?”
That one required no thought at all. She leaned forward and brushed her lips ever so gently against his, feeling his sigh. Love kicked up in her spirit, the love she’d been suppressing, caging, denying, bursting forth like a calf eager for the glorious feel of sunshine.
“I love you, Mitch. I...” He stepped close then and stopped her with a kiss.
“That’s all I need to know, all I’ll ever need to know.” He lifted her off the ground.
“But wait... Mitch...how will we explain it to Ben? You’re his uncle...but...”
“I’ll be his uncle, his daddy, his coach and mentor or whatever he needs me to be. I’ll raise him to know he’s loved, no matter what he calls me, even if it’s Moo Moo.”
She cried then, too overcome to manage a word.
“And I’ll build a house for the three of us here in Driftwood.” His arms tightened around her as he put her down. “Unless... I mean...unless there are too many bad memories here.”
She trailed her fingers along his face, skimming his cheeks, staring at him until the outline of the scar was no longer distinct from the other precious contours of his face. “Here,” she whispered, letting the past fly away like the curls of smoke rising from the firepit. “Right here in Driftwood.”
He laughed and pulled her close again, burying his face in her curls. She giggled and allowed him to whirl her around. Finally, at long last, she let herself accept that her life was about to begin anew, full of promise and the sweet taste of second chances. Tipping her face to the sky, she watched the moon rise over Roughwater Ranch, starting off on its path toward the ocean.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story, look for these other books by Dana Mentink from Love Inspired Suspense.
Cowboy Christmas Guardian
Treacherous Trails
Cowboy Bodyguard
Lost Christmas Memories
Keep reading for an excerpt from Hidden Twin by Jodie Bailey.
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Dear Reader,
Miles of ocean, acres of grassland, plenty of heroes. Welcome to the Roughwater Ranch, owned by Aunt Ginny and Uncle Gus. I just adore a good cowboy story, don’t you? In this series you’ll meet Mitch, Liam, Helen and Chad, four people who are closer than kin, part of the glorious Roughwater Ranch family. All four books take place along the central California coast, a favorite spot of ours to visit. The last time we were there, we watched the sea lions hanging out on the beach, just across the road from herds of cattle grazing on the pastureland. Surf and turf at its finest! I hope you will enjoy coming along on my coastal cowboy adventures!
God bless and giddyup!
Dana Mentink
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Hidden Twin
by Jodie Bailey
ONE
Rain-chilled wind blew dead leaves across the parking lot at South Georgia Community College, a damp reminder that winter was rapidly overtaking fall. Amy Naylor stopped at the end of a covered sidewalk and stared across the wide sea of vehicles to the far row where she’d parked her midsize SUV. The rain that had poured earlier had given way to clear skies, but the accompanying cold front had dropped the temperatu
re a good twenty degrees.
It figured she hadn’t brought a jacket to wear over her navy button-down shirt. Hiking her messenger bag higher on her shoulder, she glanced at the building where her small office offered the warmth of central heat. It would be easy to go inside, make herself a cup of hot coffee and read over the papers she’d assigned her freshmen biology students. For a few more minutes, she could pretend summer wasn’t over.
But it was Friday afternoon and the building would empty rapidly after the next class ended in an hour. The long empty halls that echoed small noises after everyone was gone had always forced her out of the building with the feeling that something was lurking in the shadows. She preferred her third-floor one-bedroom apartment, where there was only one way in and one way out. In her home, the couch faced the front door, and no one could sneak up on her through a half-open window. Even her bed was shoved against the wall so she could sleep on her side, eyes toward the door, pistol at the ready in her nightstand drawer.
No one was catching her unaware.
Something buzzed against her side. Amy jumped and threw the messenger bag off her shoulder, then stared down at the gray fabric as she tensed.
Her cheeks heated as the side pocket buzzed again. It was only her cell phone, still switched to silent mode so she could teach her classes without interruption. Not a bomb. Not a kill shot.
Yep. She was going home. Stepping back inside and pouring more caffeine into her system with another cup of coffee was a bad idea after all. She scooped the bag up by the strap and glanced around, praying no one had noticed her brief dance of panic.
She’d probably never get over the sensation that someone was breathing down her neck or staring at her through a sniper’s scope, seconds away from ending her life. Every time she turned the ignition in her car, she held her breath and waited for the explosion that would finally end her life of terror.
The phone had stopped buzzing by the time she retrieved it from the pocket and ducked deeper into the shadow of the building to see the screen.
