[Lonestar 01] - Lonestar Sanctuary

by Colleen Coble

  Still, it took guts to make an offer like that.

  His solution hung out there, tantalizing and repelling at the same time. It would work, there was no doubt in her mind. Betsy would be safe from any custody suit. But what a price to pay. Allie didn't know if she had it in her to make that kind of sacrifice, even for Betsy.

  There had to be another way.

  She rolled onto her side and stared at the hump in the bed next to hers. Her daughter enjoyed the sleep of the innocent. Betsy's deep, easy breathing should have eased the tension humming along Allie's veins, but something was off. She strained to hear the sounds outside: the crunch of horse hooves in the paddock outside, the shuffle of cattle in the pasture, the wind chimes tinkling in the night breeze.

  He couldn't have found her already. The sense of something lurking outside was her imagination. Rick's preposterous suggestion had put her out of kilter.

  Though all the sounds were normal, she swung her feet out of bed and moved to the window. The breeze lifted the gauzy curtains and brushed them against her cheek with a touch as light as spiderwebs. She shivered and pushed the fabric away, but the wind blew it right back against her. Moving them out of her way, she stepped to the screen and looked down on the bucolic scene, illuminated by the moon and the security lights.

  The remuda of horses stood in a corral west of the barn. Huddled together against the chill that had swept down off the mountain with the setting of the sun, they dozed on their feet. A few head of cattle lay nestled on the other side of the fence. The two trucks sat silent and empty on the far side of the barn.

  Nothing stirred but the wind.

  Then why did the hair on the back of Allie's neck stand out? Why did she feel if she breathed someone would hear? Something had awakened her, but nothing in the barnyard below gave any cause for concern.

  Then she heard a sound that stole the oxygen from her lungs. The bloodcurdling scream pierced her eardrums.

  Someone was in trouble.

  In her bare feet, she leaped for the door and threw it open. The tile chilled her toes. Her feet pounded down the steps, then she was at the front door. She threw it open and stepped out onto the porch. The scream came again, and she shuddered. The poor woman was in deadly peril. Did no one else hear? Why wasn't Rick out here too? Or Elijah?

  "Rick, Elijah, help!" she yelled up the steps.

  Maybe they were exhausted from lack of sleep tonight. She needed a gun. Whirling, she dashed back inside and grabbed the key from the top of the gun cabinet. Twisting it in the lock, she threw open the cabinet and lifted out a shotgun. The shells were on the top shelf. She grabbed a handful, jammed two into the gun, then relocked the cabinet.

  The moon illuminated the outdoor scene. The horses moved restlessly in their paddock. Their skittishness spooked her even more. The scream didn't come again, but Allie had localized it just past the big rock at the edge of the piiion grove. She stepped off the porch. Her toe slammed against a rock, and she winced.

  Jem, the ranch border collie, whined and touched his nose to her hand. The warm contact strengthened her. "Come with me, Jem," she whispered, slipping her fingers under his collar. Limping, she picked up the pace. At the grove, the trees blocked out the moonlight, and she hesitated before stepping into the darkness. She should have brought a flashlight. Maybe she should wait for the men.

  The unearthly scream came again. Were there ghosts in these mountains? She'd heard of the Marfa lights, the centuries-old unexplained phenomenon of lights with no apparent origin.

  The men were slow. Some protectors they were.

  She pointed the gun and sidled toward the trees, inhaling the scents of vegetation. "Where are you? Are you hurt?" The trees bounced her voice back in her face. There was no other sound beyond normal night noises. She stepped cautiously away from the safety of the clearing and farther into the darkness. Her own breathing sounded harsh and fast.

  A twig snapped behind her. The sound of rushing steps came toward her, and she whirled to run. Before she made it two steps, someone grabbed her. In several quick moves, hard hands flipped her around, yanked the gun from her hand, and pinned her against the bark of a pine tree.

  It was too dark to make out more than a hulking shape. "Let go of me," she said, jerking her arm in the man's grip.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Rick's voice was a low growl.

  She should have been relieved it was only him, but her terror fueled anger instead. "Get your hands off me."

  His big hands lifted from her shoulders. "What in the sam hill are you doing wandering outside with a mountain lion on the prowl?"

  "Mountain lion?" She clutched the fabric of her shirt in her fists. "I -I heard what I thought was a woman screaming"

  "Oh brother." He grabbed her arm and hustled her back toward the porch. "You don't have any shoes on either. You want to get snake bit or stung by a scorpion?"

  "Wrong time of year," she said, dragging up a bit of defiance. How stupid of her. A mountain lion. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see yellow eyes or a large cat springing toward them, but there was only darkness. "Wait, what about the rifle?"

  "Leave it."

  "We can't leave it. Betsy might find it." She jerked her arm out of his grip. "You threw it down. Where is it?"

  "Feel free to get it. I don't carry a firearm. Not for any reason."

  A cowboy that didn't carry a rifle? What did he do about snakes and other varmints? If only the moonlight were brighter here in the trees. She'd like to study his expression and try to determine what was behind his odd statement. His voice was as prickly as a cactus too.

  She retraced their few steps and felt around on the ground for the rifle. Her hand touched stiff grass, rocks, and sand. Then her fingers settled on cold steel. She picked up the rifle and hurried back out of the tree cover, all the while expecting to feel the teeth and claws of an angry panther. When she started back to the clearing, she realized he'd followed her. At least he hadn't left her at the lion's mercy.

  It was probably long gone by now, and she was being skittish for no reason. She nearly ran from the trees into the warm wash of moonlight and Rick's solid presence.

  "The least you could have done was come with me," she said.

  "You made enough noise to scare away a pride of lions. The cougar was long gone."

  "Do you have mountain lions here often?" she asked him. The breeze, laden with the scent of pine from the piiions, touched her face.

  Rick didn't reply. They stepped into the moonlight, and he stopped for a second, then took off running for the barn.

  Allie darted after him. "What's wrong?" Then she saw. The gate gaped open, and the horses were out. She put on another spurt of speed, ignoring the rocks that poked her feet. A rope, she needed to help lasso them. Dodging Rick, she stepped into the barn, grabbed two ropes from the hook, and rejoined him in the paddock.

  She handed him one of the ropes. "It wasn't open a little while ago. I looked down from my window and watched the horses before the scream came. The gate was closed. I'm sure of it."

  "I'll check it out. But first, we'd better get those horses back." Uncoiling the rope, he walked away.

  Allie followed. There were four horses out. At least she could show him she knew how to rope and ride. While she might not have a lot of skills, she'd be an asset to any ranch.

  He called out the name Moonbeam, and a black horse with a gleaming white blaze turned its head to stare at him. Rick approached, and the horse snorted and backed away. The coil of rope he threw missed Moonbeam's neck, and the horse whirled to bolt.

  Running her hands over the rough rope, Allie twirled it and let it go. The rope burned her palm as the loop on the end sailed through the air and settled around the horse's neck. She braced her feet, digging her bare toes into the sandy soil. Moonbeam's head came up and he snorted, but she had him.

  "Come here, boy," she coaxed, pulling on the rope.

  "Nice," Rick said, his voice grudging. "Where'd you
learn to rope like that?"

  "Rodeo. I could rope a calf by the time I was five." She ran her hands over the horse's gaunt frame. She winced at the bones poking through his rough coat. "He's so thin."

  "You should have seen him when we rescued him. I didn't think he'd make it." Rick grabbed Moonbeam's rope halter when the gelding neared. "I'll put him in the barn while you lasso the next one."

  Some men would have been intimidated by her superior skill. Score one for the cowboy. She spared a glance after him. He was powerfully built, with broad shoulders and muscular thighs. Very different from Jon. Maybe that was a good thing. It would ensure that she and Betsy wouldn't put him in Jon's place.

  Her thoughts danced away from his preposterous suggestion again. Marriage to him terrified her.

  She lassoed the next horse, Cupcake. The mare came willingly with her colt following after. They were probably skittish after hearing the mountain lion. If the big cat had gotten hold of little Frost ... Allie shuddered.

  Once all the horses were secured, she and Rick walked the fence line. "Maybe the gate failed to latch, and one of the horses pushed it open," she suggested.

  "It's got a chain on it." He secured the chain and latched the padlock. "It couldn't have been accidental."

  The stalker had found her. No. No, she was sure no one knew where she'd gone.

  "Could Betsy have come out to see Frost?" Rick asked.

  "I had trouble sleeping, and she's been asleep since her head hit the pillow."Allie followed him toward the porch.

  "I'd guess it was kids, but we're so remote out here they'd have to come from Alpine or Marathon."

  The explanations all fell flat. Why come here?

  "Maybe campers from the Big Bend." He stretched his big frame, then folded his arms across his chest. "We didn't get a chance to finish our discussion."

  She took a step back. 'T ---I don't know what to say. I appreciate the offer, but I just can't marry someone I don't know." The night air held a chill, and Allie told herself she was shaking only because of the temperature.

  He didn't answer right away. Rick leaned his shoulder against a porch post and looked out into the star-filled sky. "Jon saw this coming," he said finally. "He said if anything happened to him that his parents would try to get Betsy. He made me promise if it happened that I'd marry you and adopt her. I guess his childhood was bad."

  "I know," Allie said. The cold penetrated her bones, and her teeth began to stutter together. "Always drinking and fighting. They've got several foster kids too, so they'll look good to a judge with their pseudoChristian mask. They go to church all the time and quote all kinds of rules, but it's all for show. They don't possess an ounce of real faith."

  "Didn't Jon ever tell you what he'd asked me? He said he would."

  Allie shook her head. "He only said if I was ever in trouble to come to you. Maybe he didn't want to worry me. I I think it seems a little extreme, his solution, I mean. You've been in special ops. Surely you can pull some strings and make the problem go away."

  He smiled, his white teeth catching a glint of moonlight. "No strings that could alter a custody battle. They'll find you eventually, but there would be nothing they could do if we were married and I adopted Betsy"

  She studied his face, the strong planes and angles, the determined jaw. Jon said Rick was one in a million, but she couldn't imagine being tied to him for the rest of her life. Maybe it wouldn't have to be that way. "W we would divorce once Betsy was secure?"

  "If that's what you want."

  Was that relief she heard in his voice? He probably didn't want this any more than she did. Maybe she wasn't his type any more than he was hers. "I'll think about it," she said, turning to flee to the safety of her room.

  RICK DISMOUNTED GUNNER AND SCANNED THE FAINT MARKS IN THE DUST. Two people, one smaller than the other, had left their tracks in the pasture behind the barn. Maybe a man and a woman or a man and a youth. Or the tracks could have been made before last night. He was too tired to tell.

  He shaded his eyes with his hand and let his gaze wander over the hills around the ranch. There was no movement other than a jackrabbit darting from shrub to shrub.

  "Anything, Cowboy?" Charlie asked.

  "Nope." Rick dropped his hand back to his side. His gaze lingered on Charlie's new saddle. "Nice chrome. You must have spent a year's pay on that."

  Charlie grinned. "It was worth it."

  "Did you hear anything last night?"

  Charlie shook his head. "I fell asleep with the TV on. The volume was kind of high." He gestured to the tracks. "Could be illegals. I'd guess a couple wandered through here and tried to catch a ride. Maybe the big cat scared them off."

  "Maybe." Rick wasn't buying it. "You go to rodeos.You ever see her?"

  "Allie? She was working the rodeo in El Paso I went to last month. I told her Elijah might be able to help Betsy."

  "What do you know about her?"

  Charlie mounted his roan mare, Freckles. "Her parents were killed in a small plane crash about a year ago. Her mom was Anna Morgan."

  Rick whistled. "I heard about that crash. It will probably be a long time before anyone breaks Anna's record. Most barrel racing wins. She was a phenomenal rider."

  "Word was Allie had a good shot at it. I saw her in one event. She's fast. She had a great horse. I wonder what happened to the mare?"

  The men turned their horses' heads to the trail that rambled to the top of the butte. A good barrel-racing horse was worth as much as forty thousand dollars. Plus whatever she got from her parents' estate.

  "So the poverty act is just that all show." His lip curled at the memory of the way she'd wolfed down the sandwich. And he'd fallen for the act. What a sap.

  Charlie shook his head. "Not according to the chute boss who told me about it. Her dad liked toys: his own plane, the best of everything. Wasn't much left after everything was sold, and she sold the horse to pay for trying to fix Betsy's problem."

  Rick regretted his cynicism. Okay, maybe she wasn't just a good actress. He eyed Charlie. "You sure know a lot about it."

  The kid flashed a grin toward Rick. "She's a hottie, man, in case you didn't notice. So, yeah, I watched her."

  "She's a little long in the tooth for you."

  "Only ten years or so. Her sister was a real looker too."

  "Was?" Though Rick knew she was dead, he wanted to probe a little. Maybe Charlie had heard some rumors.

  "She was murdered about a month ago, I think. What a waste."

  Rick pulled up on the reins and stopped in the trail. "What happened?" Maybe Charlie could add to what Allie had told him.

  "Talk around the rodeo was it was someone who was after Allie. Hey, race you to the top." Charlie shook the reins, and Freckles leaped forward at the jingle of tack.

  Rick let Charlie beat him while he pondered the information. Parents and a sister, all killed just like she'd said, though she'd said the sister walked in on a burglar. Why would rumors be flying that the killer was after Allie? She'd said nothing about that.

  But it didn't matter. He saw no way out of fulfilling his promise to Jon. He'd been as surprised as Allie when he blurted out that marriage proposal, and ever since the words left his mouth, he'd been looking for a way to take them back.

  His contacts in special ops might be able to shed some light on her situation.

  Charlie turned in the saddle to look at him, and Rick waved him on. He pulled out his cell phone. Coverage was spotty on the ranch, but he'd always found good reception on this hill. Reining Gunner to a stop, Rick called up the number and waited for Brendan to answer on the other end.

  "Waddell." Brendan's curt voice came over the line.

  "It's Rick. You got a minute?"

  "Hey, Cowboy. It depends. I've got a situation here I need you for. Tit for tat. I do your favor, you come back to work."

  "You know I can't do that." Rick let the grin filter through the phone to his friend. He and Brendan never had a conversation with
out his ex-partner grinding that old ax. By now Brendan should know it was a lost cause.

  The sound of Brendan closing a door came through the phone. "You know you miss it."

  Sometimes Rick longed for the days of never knowing what country he'd be in come nightfall, but if he showed a sliver of weakness, Brendan would be all over him.

  He forced derision into his voice. "What's to miss? Hard beds, crappy food, a bullet around every corner."

  "It's paradise, I know. I can hear your voice break." Brendan laughed, and his voice sobered. "What can I do for you, buddy? Got cattle rustlers bothering you? Illegal drugs being smuggled across the desert?"

  "Nothing so exciting. A woman and kid showed up here, Jon Siderses widow and daughter. Her parents died in a plane crash, then her sister was murdered. Now she's asking for my help because Jon's parents are suing for custody of the daughter."

  "Jon was a good man. I always wondered what happened to his family." Brendan's voice fell, and the hiss of a bad connection filled the phone line. "You going to do something about it?"

  "Something like that."

  "What's her name?"

  "Allie. Little girl's name is Betsy." Rick debated about telling Brendan the little girl was mute. Nah, it wasn't an important detail. The names would be enough. "She seems to be in some kind of trouble. Won't talk about it. Can you see what you can find out?"

  "Sure. Let me check it out. I'll get back to you by tomorrow. You sure you don't want to get in on the rescue of some hijacked tourists in Baghdad?"

  "I think you can handle it by yourself," Rick said, his grin widening. "Thanks, Brendan. I owe you." He closed his phone, then called up directory assistance and had the woman dial the rodeo where Allie said she worked. Rick gave his name but was careful not to say where he was calling from. The man he talked to there told him she'd been one of his best employees for eight years, and he hated to lose her. He'd said she might have won the national barrel-racing competition as well, if she hadn't taken off.

  Rick put his phone away and urged his horse on up the slope. Had he been hoping it was all a scam that she really wasn't Jon's widow? How could he? One look at Betsy spoke a world of truth. He saw Jon in the little girl's eyes.