by Lisa Jackson
He acquainted himself with the house, locked all the doors, made sure the windows were secure, then made his way back to Jenner’s. room. Dog tired, he kicked off his boots and stripped down to his shorts. He’d rest, but only for a few hours, because whoever was out there stalking the McKee family wasn’t going to give up.
It was nearly noon before Casey was finally up, showered and changed into fresh clothes. She should be thrilled, she told herself as she brushed out her hair; she was home again. She was safe. She was alive!
But she and Sloan were no longer alone, and waking up in bed without him brought a lingering sadness she couldn’t quite understand. Instinctively she realized that it wasn’t just because they’d made love, at least she hoped not, but the melancholy clung to her like her shadow. Somehow she’d have to get rid of the sense of depression. Sloan would be leaving in a few days or as soon as his job here was finished. That was all there was to it. He wouldn’t look back and neither should she.
Setting the brush on the bureau, she decided it was time to get on with the rest of her life. She’d had a lot of hours to think while being bound and sometimes gagged and she’d come to terms with her future. She didn’t want to live at the ranch the rest of her life; she needed some sense of independence, but she couldn’t be too far away, either. She’d tried the life of the big city. The bright lights of L.A. had been dazzling at first; the exciting city had pulsed with a life all its own. But the allure had faded with the everyday problems of commuting, smog, crowds and her own unfulfilled ambitions.
So, even though she’d told Sloan she was considering moving to Portland or Seattle, she realized that she had to be closer to home. She’d find an apartment in Dawson City, where she would try to substitute teach for the remainder of the year, and hope to eventually find a full-time job working with kids. And what about Sloan? Are you just going to forget him? Chalk him up as an interesting experience? She glowered at her reflection, shook her head and decided that she’d simply have to find a way to get over him. That thought caused her to stop as she reached for the handle of the door. Get over what? It wasn’t as if they were in love or anything. It was just circumstances, physical chemistry and a moment of weakness. That was all.
But you’ve never been weak before, have you? Never let a man touch you too intimately, much less let him talk you into his bed. No, Casey McKee, weakness isn’t a part of your nature. You made love to Sloan Redhawk because you wanted to and it didn’t have anything to do with gratitude for his saving your life, either. You wanted to make love and you wanted to make love to him. No one else. In all your grown-up life, only him.
Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders and told herself to forget him; she was better off without a silent, brooding man complicating her life.
She headed straight to the kitchen where Kiki was busy peeling carrots and potatoes. Beef broth was simmering on the stove, lending the air a warm, spicy odor. “‘Bout time you woke up,” Kiki teased. “I thought you might sleep ’round the clock.”
“Almost.”
“There’s coffee warming, if you’re interested.”
“What, no espresso? No cappuccino?”
Kiki chuckled. “No, city gal, there ain’t. Just dark, bitter, gut-rotting ranch coffee around here. You missed breakfast, but I could scramble some eggs and there’s leftover biscuits and—”
“I’m really not that hungry, but the coffee sounds great.” Casey grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of the strong brew, then sat at the table. She glanced out the window to the barn, and her insides lurched as she spied Sloan standing in the paddock, ankle-deep in snow, talking with Chester Wilcox, the ranch foreman. As if he’d been a part of the Rocking M for years.
She couldn’t help the expectant little beat of her heart and chastised herself for being such a fool.
“I wasn’t sure how long he’d still be here—Sloan, I mean. I thought he was paid to bring me back here and then he’d leave...” Or had he said something about hanging around until the criminals were caught?
“Him leave without botherin’ to say goodbye?” One of Kiki’s steely eyebrows elevated a fraction.
“I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“Didn’t ya now?” Kiki dried her hands, then sliced off two thick slabs of homemade bread, which she popped into the toaster. “Nope, the way I hear it, he’s stayin’ on as a ranch hand and a kind of security guard for the Rocking M. At least until the culprit who’s been causin’ all this trouble is caught.” She reached for another potato from a ten-pound bag lying open on the counter.
Casey’s stomach tightened. “Oh.”
“He’s takin’ over Jenner’s room for the time being.”
“Is he?” She warmed her hands around her mug and didn’t say more. The thought of Sloan being at the ranch was comforting in one way, disconcerting in another. She knew he’d do his level best to keep everyone in the family safe, but then there was her heart to consider.... She was attracted to him, dangerously so, and if she ever did fall in love she would probably fall for a man like him. She’d tried to convince herself for years that she wanted the button-down type. Sharp suits, good job, easy smile, educated to the hilt and yet... She’d always been more attracted to the rough-and-tumble men of the range—not that she’d been involved with any. At least not until Sloan. She’d been smarter than that.
Kiki plopped a plate of toast and a jar of raspberry jam on the table in front of her, but Casey’s eyes strayed through the window and past the curtain of falling snow to Sloan, his Stetson firmly in place, only a fringe of black hair visible near the sheepskin collar of his jacket.
What was she going to do about him?
Nothing. There was nothing she could do.
In the privacy of her bedroom, she dialed the long-distance number of the women’s shelter in Seattle. On the third ring, a woman answered and Casey explained who she was. “I’m looking for Clarisse James,” she said.
“Ms. James is no longer here,” was the abrupt reply.
“But a week ago—”
“I’m sorry. If you want to leave a message I’ll see that it’s passed along to her.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Is that what you want to say?”
Frustrated, Casey gritted her teeth. “Please tell her that Casey McKee called. I’m all right and back in Rimrock. She can reach me at the number for the ranch.” After rattling off the telephone number, Casey hung up and wished she knew that her friend was okay.
She saw her ring—the silver band set with turquoise that she’d fished out of her pocket earlier. She’d always loved the ring. Jenner had bought it for her when he’d been on the rodeo circuit and had stopped somewhere in New Mexico. Now it reminded her of the day Barry White had demanded she take it off to send to her family. Her stomach turned at the memory, but she was determined not to let her abductors win. She slipped the ring over her finger and didn’t even wince; her hands had nearly healed. “There,” she said, glancing at her reflection. All of her was beginning to heal.
She heard the front door burst open. “Aunt Casey! Aunt Casey!” Hillary’s voice, punctuated by the sharp, fast tap of the child’s boots against the floor, carried through the house.
Casey dashed out of her room just as her five-year-old niece came charging down the hall. With a squeal of delight, Hillary hurtled her little body into Casey’s eager embrace. Chubby arms circled her neck. “Did your daddy bring you?”
“Daddy and Skye,” Hillary said. “They got to make plans about the wedding. I get to be a flower girl!”
“Do you?”
“And wear a fancy dress and shoes!” Hillary beamed, her cheeks bright from the cold, her eyes glowing at the prospect of a wedding. “They said some bad guy took you away and hid you in a cabin in the mountains.”
“True, unfortunately,” Casey said as she transferred Hillary to her hip and carried her back toward the sound of excited voices.
“But U
ncle Jenner’s friend rescued you.”
“That he did.” Her heart warmed at the mention of Sloan.
“Were you scared?” Hillary asked.
“Nah!” Casey said, then, deciding that she should be a little more honest with her niece, sighed. “Well, yeah, I was a little. But I knew your daddy wouldn’t let me stay up there forever.”
Skye was hanging her coat on a clothes tree near the front door. Her blond hair fell around her shoulders and a smile crossed her face when she spied Casey. “Thank God you’re safe!” she said. “I was so worried...” She let her voice trail off when Hillary’s eyebrows drew together. “I mean, it just wasn’t the same here without you.”
“Are you gonna ask her?” Hillary demanded.
“Ask me what?”
Skye winked at the curly-headed girl before meeting Casey’s curious gaze. “If you’ll be in the wedding. Dani’s going to be my matron of honor...at least I think she is,” she said as a shadow passed over her gaze, “but I’d like you to stand up for me, as well.”
“You get to be in the wedding, too!” Hillary enthused.
“Of course I will,” Casey said with a grin. “I think a wedding’s just what we need to lift some spirits around here.”
“Well, there’s going to be one. We didn’t want to send out any invitations until we were sure you were all right, but they’re going out in the mail today. The wedding’s scheduled for the weekend of Christmas. That cuts it kind of close—only two and a half weeks away—but we figured no one would mind, what with the extenuating circumstances. It’s going to be small, anyway, here in the house, with only about fifty guests.”
“Small or not, you’ve got a lot of work cut out for you.”
Skye blew her bangs from her eyes. “I think we can handle it.”
Hillary, impatient with the conversation, wiggled out of Casey’s arms and announced she was going outside to ride her horse.
“It’s snowing,” Skye said gently. “Maybe another time.”
Hillary shook her head. “Daddy will let me.”
“He usually lets you ride when Dani’s here to instruct you, but she’s not coming by today.”
“Doesn’t matter. Uncle Jenner can teach me or that guy who saved Aunt Casey. He’s a cowboy, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but—”
Hillary didn’t stop to listen. She yanked open the door.
“Hey, wait. Let me zip your jacket....” Skye’s voice trailed after the girl who would become her stepdaughter. Embarrassment staining her cheeks, Skye closed the door behind Hillary, who raced across the porch and through the snow to the paddock. “I’m afraid she inherited her father’s stubborn streak.”
“It’s a McKee family trait.”
“Don’t I know?” Skye said with a laugh, and Casey was reminded of the pride and lies that had caused Skye and Max to break up years ago. Only this past summer had they found that their love was strong enough to enable them to endure the pain of the past and face the future. Oh, if only she could find a love like that.
“But you came back, didn’t you?” Casey observed as they walked to the kitchen, where the scents of a spicy stew mingled with the aroma of carrot cake. “Despite everything.”
“Yeah,” Skye agreed, gazing through the window to the barn where Max was talking with Jenner, Chester and Sloan. As Hillary approached them, he leaned down and, in one swift motion threw her into the air, caught her and slung her over his broad shoulders. “Max was a hard act to follow.”
“You never got over him.”
“No,” Skye admitted as Casey poured them each a cup of coffee from the pot still warming. “I told myself I did, but it was a lie.”
“Same with Beth and Jenner.”
“I suppose.” Skye sat in a chair next to the window. Snow collected in the corners of the panes and the warm air of the kitchen caused steam to fog the glass. “I guess when you fall in love, I mean, really fall in love with the right man, you never fall out of it—not completely. I’ve never considered myself particularly romantic, but when it came to Max...well, it’s hard to explain. Nothing like it had ever happened to me before.” She took a sip of her coffee, but her gaze remained fixed on the man she loved, while Casey slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table. Kiki, in a rare moment of sensitivity as if she knew the conversation was private, turned up the volume of the radio. A Garth Brooks song was echoing through the room when Kiki headed out to do the laundry.
Skye’s relationship with Max hadn’t been smooth. They’d been lovers but had a falling-out, mostly instigated by Jonah, who knew of Skye’s apparent inability to have children and felt that his firstborn son should marry another woman, Colleen Wheeler. Jonah had lied about Skye to Max and even created some incriminating evidence that seemed to prove that she was just using him, that she wanted only to further her career as a doctor and wasn’t interested in a husband, only dating him because of his money. Skye had left town, and Max, brokenhearted and believing that she had betrayed him, had taken his father’s advice and married Colleen. The result of their short, unhappy union was Hillary, the apple of Max’s eye.
As if reading Casey’s thoughts, Skye said, “Everything worked out for the best, I think.” She didn’t elaborate, but Casey understood. If it hadn’t been for Max’s marriage to Colleen, he never would have become a father. Skye had been told her chances of bearing children were nearly zero.
“So, tell me what can I do to help with the wedding plans,” Casey said.
“I wish I knew where to start. What I need is more time. Even though Jenner and Beth have helped out a lot by managing the apartment house, I still have a million things to do. Beth’s been a dream—she helps out at the clinic, too. We needed a nurse of her caliber. I don’t know what we’ll do once she and Jenner get married and move into the lodge next summer. Oh, well, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Casey couldn’t imagine the ranch without Jenner. Though he’d been away for a period of years, off chasing his dreams of becoming a rodeo star while he rebelled against their father, the Rocking M had never been the same without him.
But then, things were changing. Quickly.
Skye set her cup on the table and folded her hands under her chin. Skewering the woman who would become her sister-in-law with a searching look, she said, “Why don’t you tell me all about Sloan Redhawk.”
“What’s to tell?”
Skye’s lips twitched upward. “Lots, unless I miss my guess,” she said, glancing out the window to the paddock. Max was leading a horse through the heavy snow while Jenner, Chester and Sloan looked on. “That man is one sexy cowboy. And don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, because I won’t believe you. I just saw the way you looked at him, and believe me, Casey, I know that look. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Chapter Eight
Sloan hated inactivity. Worse yet, he hated the feeling that while he was doing nothing other than trying to protect Casey, she was a sitting duck. Oh, he was busy enough, he supposed, as he sat astride a gray gelding and blinked against the snow, searching the drifts and brush for signs of any cattle that might have strayed from the herd. But this work, the kind he usually enjoyed, was little more than irritating for him now because he wanted to do something, anything to find the bastard behind Casey’s abduction.
He’d started his search with Jimmy Rickert, but the little snitch hadn’t revealed anything. He’d checked Steve Jansen’s work orders—the ones the sheriff’s department had already subpoenaed. He’d even started a computer check of boot companies that sold black leather boots with chains on the heels. But it wasn’t enough. Even background searches—on top of the ones he’d already conducted—of the suspects hadn’t gained him any more insight.
His nerves were stretched as tight as a newly strung bow, his gut feeling telling him that Casey wasn’t safe. Even though Jenner and Max were somewhere on the ranch today, Sloan didn’t like being separated from her. If he had his way,
he’d steal her away himself and hide her far from Rimrock until he was convinced that all the culprits involved in the plot against the McKees had been put behind bars.
He found a small herd of five cows huddled against a windbreak of spindly pines. Shaggy red coats stood out against the stark, snow-covered ground. As he had since he was a kid on his grandfather’s ranch, he used his horse and voice to move the lethargic animals, urging them to follow the lead cow, who plodded through the drifts back to the central area of the ranch. Within half an hour, they were in sight of the herd, and with a loud bawl, the lead cow picked up the pace, lumbering toward the other disinterested animals. Knowing that the animals would now return safely to the herd, Sloan rode along the fence line, found the break and repaired it as best he could, restretching the broken, rusted wire and staking it together with a branch from a pine tree. His efforts were only temporary; once the weather had improved, this whole stretch of fence would have to be replaced.
But it wasn’t his problem. He’d be gone long before spring began to thaw the frozen ground; hopefully he’d be on his own ranch, with his own herds of range cattle and quarter horses. He climbed into the saddle, clucked his tongue, and the gray responded, trotting after the cattle.
Sloan had talked things over with Max and Jenner, the FBI, Sheriff Hammond Polk and even Rex Stone, the private investigator whom Virginia McKee had refused to kick off the case. In Sloan’s opinion, Stone was a slimy bastard, an unprincipled man who would do whatever he had to—including breaking the law—to get what he wanted.
A lot like you, my friend, an inner voice taunted, and he couldn’t really argue. Hadn’t he, like Rex Stone, accepted the case because of the lure of dollar signs? Wouldn’t he bend the law as far as possible to put the right man behind bars? Wouldn’t he damn near kill to protect Casey? And really, how noble were his intentions when he was anticipating accepting the reward money and then leaving?
