Wild Wyoming Nights

by Joanne Rock

  Reluctantly, she straightened, distancing herself ever so slightly.

  “Anyway, she fell asleep after that and she dropped the necklace. I picked it up so it didn’t get lost in the linens, thinking I’d set it on her dresser, but since the locket was open anyhow, I glanced at the photo inside.”

  She’d been stunned to recognize the face.

  “Who is it?” Carson asked.

  “Her name is Barbara Harris. I’ve seen her photo plenty of times at the Ventura house when I helped my mother clean.” Remembering that Carson’s family didn’t know anything about her, she explained, “My mom is a maid for Emilio Ventura, Antonio’s father.”

  Maisie turned to her dad. “Antonio is the director of Winning the West,” she explained. “All the Hollywood tabloids say he’s a first-rate tool, but his movies make lots of money. And his father, Emilio, was a director before him. They’re sort of Hollywood royalty, but neither of them sounds like a particularly nice guy.”

  “So who the hell is Barbara Harris to the Ventura family?” Donovan McNeill asked, his voice raised with exasperation. “And why is my wife calling this woman Aunt Mary for the last twenty-some years?”

  Emma couldn’t answer the latter, but she felt compelled to address the former. “I just know that Barbara acted in a lot of B movies that Emilio Ventura directed. Horror flicks and low-budget stuff. Emilio has a framed poster of a zombie film in his office and Barbara’s on it.”

  “Maybe Barbara is a stage name and her real name is Mary,” Carson suggested. “Actors don’t always use their real names.”

  Across the room, Cody nodded. “Or Mary could be Barbara’s twin,” he said drily.

  Emma couldn’t deny the possibility, given how much Carson and Cody looked alike. But that didn’t feel right. Carson had said that Scarlett wanted to ask Emma about the Venturas. There was a connection between the McNeills and the Venturas, she was certain of it.

  Maisie took a sip of her coffee. “Or for all we know, Barbara could have worked as a model before she became an actress, and her face was the photo that came inside the damn locket when Mom bought it.”

  Her sarcasm suggested they were getting off track with all the conjecturing.

  Donovan swore softly before he pounded the heel of his hand against his forehead. Once. Twice. “None of this gets us any closer to the truth. And time is ticking. Do we call the cops for help, or not?”

  “First, we ask Granddad,” Maisie insisted, getting to her feet.

  She strode toward the front door with purpose.

  “What are you doing?” Donovan asked. Through the picture window behind him Emma could now see an elegantly dressed older couple slowly make their way up the walk.

  The woman had long gray hair piled into a chignon and kept in place with a jeweled comb. She held a closed umbrella in one hand and used it like a cane. Next to her, a silver-haired man in a trench coat clutched her arm tightly, though it was unclear which of them supported the other.

  Something about the way they touched said they were very much in love, the tenderness so evident it made Emma’s heart ache for all that she wouldn’t experience with Carson. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t long for that kind of love.

  “I texted your father to come join us,” Maisie explained to Donovan McNeill before opening the door. “So your feud with him ends right now, Dad.”

  * * *

  Carson had to hand it to his half sister. She didn’t pull punches.

  He’d been trying for months to convince his father to make peace with Malcolm, to no avail. But Maisie went straight for the jugular. She pulled open the front door of their father’s house to admit Malcolm and his girlfriend, Rose Hanson, wrapping each of them in a quick hug.

  Cody had been the last holdout among Donovan’s kids to smooth things over with their grandfather. Yet even he’d caved last week after Malcolm had offered his plane and pilot at a moment’s notice when the family needed to fly to Yellowstone.

  Carson reached for Emma’s hand and squeezed it, telling himself he needed to protect her in case fireworks broke out between his dad and grandfather. More likely, Carson simply craved her touch on a day that had left him reeling.

  It had to be tough for her, too. Talking about her mother’s issues in front of his family, people she’d only just met, couldn’t have been easy. But she’d done it to try to help solve a mystery that he was chasing around and around his head. His father knew that just the name Ventura upset Paige. Yet he’d remained silent about that in front of the family, not relating last night’s episode when Paige hadn’t wanted to go to sleep until Antonio Ventura was off McNeill land.

  Did his father know more than he was admitting about Paige’s past?

  But right now, the bigger issue was the McNeill showdown in his father’s living room. Cody and Carson rose to greet the older couple at the same time. Carson introduced Emma to them both. And then, there was nothing to do but see how Donovan reacted.

  Carson held his breath during a moment of awkward silence.

  Then, slowly, his father rose from his seat.

  Donovan’s expression revealed nothing as he approached his father.

  Rose pressed tighter to Malcolm’s side. It was just a hint of movement, but the gesture was so damned endearing. As if this tiny wisp of an eighty-year-old woman was prepared to protect Malcolm from any rejection by his middle-aged son.

  Donovan cleared his throat.

  “Thank you for coming, Dad,” he said finally, belatedly holding out a hand as if to shake.

  Malcolm took an awkward step forward, his arms outstretched. “Always.”

  The two men hugged, clapping each other on the back. Malcolm’s eyes squeezed shut, but Rose didn’t bother to hide a few tears, her smile wide as she nodded her approval.

  “Now.” Malcolm straightened, using the back of the recliner to aid his balance. “Let’s put our heads together and figure out how to protect that wife of yours, shall we? No worthless blackmailer is going to rip apart the McNeills as long as I draw breath.”

  * * *

  An hour later, after much catching up, more coffee and then a rehashing of details about the blackmailing incidents so far, Carson realized his father was leaning toward brazening the whole thing out, come what may for the family.

  Donovan didn’t want to negotiate, and he didn’t want to bend. He wanted to just see what the blackmailer did next.

  Malcolm seemed prepared for the worst, although he was making notes about whom to phone so that all of his grandsons could be prepared. Maisie was already searching for publicity firms that could help control the McNeill side of the story if it came to that. Carson thought he should probably take Emma home. He was about to offer when his phone vibrated.

  He checked it since the whole room turned to stare at him. They were all on edge after the blackmail letter arrived.

  “It’s Scarlett,” he informed them, his stomach knotting with a new worry. “I’d better take it.”

  Make sure she was safe.

  “I messaged her about the letter,” Maisie called over the screen of her laptop as Carson excused himself from the living room to answer the call.

  No doubt his youngest half sister was worried about her mother. She probably wanted to come home as soon as possible.

  “Scarlett.” He moved deeper into the kitchen, so he could still see his family over the breakfast bar, but wouldn’t distract them from their conversation. “Everything okay?”

  His gaze met Emma’s, her attention suddenly turning his way. She must have heard the concern in his voice even though they were in different rooms. That silent connection between them made him think about Rose Hanson pressing close to Carson’s grandfather. A wordless gesture of support.

  But Carson hadn’t earned that kind of support from Emma. He’d sought to protect her from her stalker ex
and now it appeared he’d embroiled her in a crisis of his own. Before Emma, he’d always kept relationships simple, with minimal emotional drama. But now, the whole damn world was upside down.

  The thought evaporated as Scarlett drew a breath and let loose on him, her voice vibrating through the phone.

  “No, in fact it’s not at all okay,” Scarlett practically shouted at him.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” He tensed, prepared to fly to California personally to take apart this actor boyfriend if he’d hurt her. Again.

  “What’s wrong?” his half sister asked, as if he ought to know. She sounded frustrated. Angry, actually, more than hurt. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Carson. You hired a private eye to spy on me. Is that your idea of fun? Keeping tabs on me without telling me?”

  Ah, damn.

  He felt the pinch of guilt, but only for a second. He’d only been looking out for her, a protective instinct drummed into him at a young age.

  “Scarlett, I was worried about Logan. I wasn’t trying to spy on you. I just wanted to make sure that the guy wasn’t the blackmailer.”

  Was it so damn wrong he needed to keep her safe?

  “And you don’t trust my judgement on this? Did you listen to a word I said when I saw you last night at the airfield?” Scarlett was always the sweet sister with her butterfly hairclips and bangs, her glittery shoes and whimsical outlook. But right now, she sounded furious. “Did you hop on Gramp’s jet two seconds after we spoke and start texting California investigators?”

  Emma started to walk his way, perhaps drawn by the tone of his voice. Before she reached the kitchen, however, she stepped out the front door, lifting her own cell to her ear.

  Carson turned his attention back to his sister, feeling torn, wanting to know more about the tense expression on Emma’s face. “Scarlett, it wasn’t like that. I’ve been working with an investigator to look into the blackmail. I just asked for extra protection for you while you were in LA, since you were obviously targeted by the blackmailer the last time you were there.”

  And speaking of extra protection, was Dax outside to look after Emma? They weren’t on the Creek Spill property here since his father’s home sat on the Black Creek Ranch. Carson had messaged Dax long ago, but the guard might have left since then.

  He hated to interrupt Scarlett. But she seemed okay. She only wanted to vent about Logan getting into a scrap with the guy when he’d caught him lurking around his place in Malibu. Then she threatened to move to the West Coast and not speak to Carson again.

  “Honey, I’m sorry,” he tried to interject gently while he moved toward the front door. “Truly, I am. But things are falling apart here, and I need to check on Emma. I can call you back—”

  He realized before he finished the sentence that his volatile half sister had hung up on him. Cursing under his breath, he pocketed the phone and stepped outside. It had started to rain again, the clouds from earlier having lingered all day.

  And there was no sign of Emma.

  Fear chilled his gut. Just a little at first.

  Remembering what her ex had done to her made his fists clench. Clearing his throat, he shouted her name. “Emma?”

  He jogged out the driveway to get a better view of the yard and still didn’t see her, so he called again, “Emma, where are you? Emma!”

  Only silence answered his call, turning his fear into a solid ball of ice.

  Thirteen

  Inside Donovan McNeill’s small stable, Emma strained to hear the caller on the other end of the bad connection. The storm must have something to do with it. She’d only come in here to take the call because a few fat raindrops hit her on her way out the door. Now, the rain was falling in earnest.

  “Hello?” she said again, double-checking caller ID even though she knew she didn’t recognize the number.

  When she’d picked up, she figured it was a client, or potential client, contacting her about the personal training services she offered. Of course, there was always the hope that it could be a casting agent booking her for another stunt job. Plenty of people did business from their cell phones and didn’t list the numbers.

  “How long do you think you can hide from me, Emma?”

  The threatening male voice on the other end was unmistakably familiar.

  Austin.

  Emma told herself to hang up. But fear seemed to have invaded her limbs, making them immobile. Robbing her of speech.

  Memories of her ex-boyfriend rushed through her, the shock of him punching her. The momentary confusion that came when someone you thought cared about you suddenly turned into an ugly stranger, capable of anything. An old hint of that confusion returned now, making a mockery of everything she’d done to protect herself. To feel strong.

  “I know where you are, Emma,” the voice crooned in a way that made her stomach heave. “And I’m coming for you.”

  The fear chilled her as her knees seemed to give out. With a shaking hand, she stabbed the end button on her phone, disconnecting the call. She staggered against the rough stable wall, a board snagging her tank top and scratching her shoulder.

  The pain—however small—helped chase away that frozen feeling, the hurt reminding her that she had battled through so much pain and fear these last three years. She was strong. She stepped into knife fights for fun, for crying out loud. That was her job now.

  Being fearless. Being tough.

  She wouldn’t let him hurt her again.

  “Emma!”

  She became aware of another voice outside the stable, calling to her through the storm. A far more welcome voice.

  Carson.

  Relief made her dizzy. She dragged in a breath of air scented with clean hay and horses, then cracked open the stable door to call out to Carson. The rain had slowed to a light patter.

  “In here!” she shouted, willing her heart rate to return to normal as she ducked back into the stable.

  She had to pull herself together to face Carson. She didn’t want him to see how the call had rattled her. And while it would be easy to lose herself in his strong arms, and to forget all about being independent for a little while, she couldn’t afford to do that. She had calls to make—the police, the parole board, her roommate, a lawyer? She didn’t know. She needed a private space to assess her options and figure out her next move.

  Swallowing down the wild flux of emotions, Emma busied herself with saddling the roan mare Carson had given her to ride from Brock’s house. She needed something to do with her nervous hands and the roan was already whinnying impatiently in her stall. Emma led her out of the stall and toward the tacking area, glad for the activity when she was cracking under the pressure of too many feelings.

  “Emma.” Carson burst in through the stable door, his shirt wet with scattered raindrops, making the cotton cling. “Are you okay? What are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, though her voice gave her away with a tremble. “But I need to get back to the house. I—um. I have some business to take care of.”

  She reached for the saddle, but Carson rushed over to take it from her, settling it on the horse for her.

  “Will you wait a second? What business?” He studied her face, his eyes full of concern.

  But damn it, the concern wasn’t because he loved her. It was that protective streak, too engrained to ignore. And this wasn’t his battle. It was hers. She busied herself with the bridle, positioning the straps as she murmured soothingly to the horse.

  Or to herself.

  “Emma?” Carson prodded when she didn’t answer right away, his hands automatically tightening the girth, helping her with the bit. “What business? I can tell you’re upset.”

  “I am upset,” she told him, as calmly as she could when she was scared and hurting inside. But she wasn’t her mother and she wouldn’t fly into a panic. “My ex-boyfriend jus
t phoned me, and I need to file a police report.”

  Carson’s hands fell away from the roan. He turned to Emma, his shoulders tense. “My God, Emma. How did he get your number? Does he know where you are?”

  He reached for her, but Emma couldn’t let herself fall into his arms, even though everything inside her shouted at her to take the comfort he offered. She stood tall, her hand on the reins.

  She really needed to leave before she dissolved into a mass of emotions in front of him. She’d already been battling heartbreak and rejection this morning after the way Carson had pulled back from her at his brother’s house. It had been all she could do to hold it together in front of the McNeills. But now? Her reserves were gone after that call from Austin. She needed to get away from here, fast. Before she revealed how hard she’d fallen for a man who was more interested in being her protector than her lover.

  “I don’t know how he got the number,” she admitted. “He said he knows where I am, but he didn’t taunt me with the information, which makes me think he’s bluffing. If he knew where I was, he wouldn’t waste time calling me to warn me.”

  She backed up a step, toeing open the stable doors so she could mount up and make a tactical retreat. She just couldn’t face having Carson insist on staying around her out of some protective sense of obligation.

  “Emma.” Carson stepped in front of her, his big body blocking her path. “You’re not thinking straight. What if he’s out there, waiting for you?”

  She bristled at the move. “He’s not. And if he is, that’s my business. From now on, I protect myself. Your protective services are no longer required. I will update the police and let them take care of the matter.”

  The rain had stopped, and a cool breeze was blowing from the north. She needed that fresh air to clear her head. Needed the cold wind to ease the burn in her chest.

  “I don’t understand.” Carson touched her shoulder, his hand a gentle warmth she still craved. “Whatever you’re angry with me for, please don’t use it as an excuse to put yourself in a dangerous situation.”