Tough Enough

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Eyes widening, Rachel looked up at the grim set of his face. “The sheriff?”

  “Damn straight. Bo’s going up on assault charges. He’s not going to hit you and get away with it,” he growled as he rose to his feet.

  Rachel closed her eyes once again. Her head, cheek and nose were throbbing. Within minutes, the homeopathic remedy stopped the bleeding and took away most of the pain in her cheekbone area. As she sat there in the wet snow, she began to shiver and realized shock was setting in. Lying down, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths to ward it off. The snort and stomp of nervous horses snagged her consciousness. She heard Jim’s low, taut voice on the walkie-talkie, Chet’s high, nervous voice as he talked to Bo in the background.

  What had happened? Chet said a cougar had charged them. Yet Rachel had seen the female jaguar. And how had Jim known she was in trouble? He’d come off that mountain at a dangerous rate of speed. It was all so crazy and confusing, she thought, feeling blackness rim her vision. She hoped the homeopathic remedy would pull her out of the shock soon. It should. All she had to do was lie quietly for a few minutes and let it help her body heal itself from the trauma.

  More than anything, Rachel wanted to be home. The violence in Bo’s eyes had scared her as nothing else ever had. She knew that if the jaguar had not charged him, if Jim hadn’t arrived when he did, they would have raped her—simply because she was a Donovan. The thought sickened her. Jim was right—the sheriff must be called. She had no problem laying charges against Bo and Chet. If she had her way, it would be the last time Bo ever cocked his fist at a woman. The last time. Judging from the murderous look in Jim’s eyes, he was ready to beat his older brother to a pulp. Rachel had seen the savagery in Jim’s face, but she knew he wasn’t like his two older brothers. He’d hit Bo just enough to disable him so he couldn’t hurt either of them in the meantime. Unlike his brothers, Jim had shown remarkable restraint.

  A fierce love welled up through Rachel as she lay there in the cooling snow. Though she felt very cold and emotionally fragile at the moment, the heat of the sun upon her felt good. No one had ever hurt her like this in her life. The shock had gone deep within her psyche. The last thing Rachel expected was to be physically attacked. Now all she wanted to do was get Bob Granby up here with the humane trap. And then she wanted to go home—and heal. More than anything, Rachel needed Jim right now, his arms around her, making a safe place for her in a world gone suddenly mad.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RACHEL’S head ached as she sat on the edge of the gurney in the emergency room at the Flagstaff Hospital. If it weren’t for Jim’s presence and soothing stability through a host of X-rays and numerous examinations by doctor and nurses who came into her cubical from time to time, her frayed nerves would be completely shot. Luckily, Jim knew everyone in the E.R., making it easier for her to tolerate the busy, hectic place.

  Rachel closed her eyes and held the ice pack against her badly swollen cheek. She’d found out moments earlier that her cheekbone had sustained a hairline fracture. At least her nose wasn’t broken, she thought with a slight smile. Jim’s hand rarely left hers. She could tell he was trying to hide his anger and upset from her. Bob Granby from the Fish and Game Department had come out and met them on the Cunningham land about the same time a deputy sheriff, Scott Maitland, had rolled up. Chet and Bo were taken into custody and transported to the Flagstaff jail, awaiting charges.

  Rachel was about to speak when the green curtains surrounding her cubical parted. She felt Jim’s hand tighten slightly around hers as Deputy Scott Maitland approached the gurney. She knew Maitland was going to ask for a statement. Her head ached so badly that all she wanted to do was crawl off alone to a quiet place and just rest.

  Maitland tipped his gray Stetson in her direction. “Ms. Donovan?”

  Rachel sat up a little and tried to smile, but wasn’t successful. “Yes?”

  Apologetically, Maitland looked over at Jim and reached out to shake his hand. “Sorry about this, Jim.”

  “Thanks, Scott.” He looked worriedly at Rachel. “She’s in a lot of pain right now and some shock. Can you take her statement later?”

  Maitland shook his head. He held a clipboard in his large hands. “I’m afraid not. Your father already has his attorney, Stuart Applebaum, up at the jail demanding bail information for your brothers. We can’t do anything until I take your statements.”

  Rachel removed the ice pack and tried to focus on the very tall, broad-shouldered deputy. The Maitlands owned the third largest cattle ranch in Arizona. The spread was run by two brothers and two sisters and Scott was the second oldest, about twenty-eight years old. The history of the Maitland dynasty was a long and honorable one that Rachel, who was a history buff, knew well. For her senior thesis, she’d written up the history of cattle ranching for Arizona. She knew from her research that Cathan Maitland had come from Ireland during the Potato Famine in the mid-1800s and claimed acreage up around Flagstaff. He’d then married a woman Comanche warrior, whose raiding parties used to keep the area up in arms, as did the Apache attacks.

  As Rachel looked up into Scott’s clear gray eyes, she saw some of that Comanche heritage in him, from his thick, short black hair to his high cheekbones and golden skin. He had a kind face, not a stern one, so she relaxed a little, grateful for his gentle demeanor as he walked over and stood in front of her. His mouth was pulled into an apologetic line.

  “Looks like you’re going to be a raccoon pretty soon,” he teased.

  Rachel touched her right eye, which she knew was bruised and darkening. “You’re right,” she said huskily.

  “I’ll try and make this as painless and fast as possible,” he told her. “I think the docs have pretty much wrapped you up and are ready to sign you out of here so you can go home and rest.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ll see if I can beat their discharge time for you.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel whispered, and placed the ice pack back on her cheek very gently.

  “Just tell me in your own words what happened,” Maitland urged, “and I’ll fill out this report.”

  Rachel tried to be as clear and specific as possible as she told the story. When she said that she had seen the jaguar, Scott’s eyes widened.

  “A jaguar?”

  “Yes,” Rachel murmured. She looked at Jim, who continued to hold her hand as she leaned against his strong, unyielding frame. “Jim saw it, too.”

  “I did, Scott. A big, beautiful female jaguar.”

  “I’ll be damned,” he said, writing it down.

  “Why are you acting so surprised?” Jim inquired.

  “Well, your brothers swear they were attacked by a cougar.” Maitland studied Rachel. “And you’re saying you saw a jaguar come running down that hill and attack Bo?”

  “I’m positive it was a jaguar,” Rachel said.

  “Scott, let me break in here and tell you something Rachel doesn’t know yet. When she left to head down to the meadow, that female jaguar just sat at the opening to her lair, cleaning off her paws after finishing her jackrabbit. And then suddenly she jumped up, leaped off that ledge and ran right by me.” Jim scratched his head. “She stopped about a hundred feet away from me, growled, looked down the mountain and then back at me. As crazy as this sounds, I got the impression I had to hurry—that something was wrong.” Grimly, his eyes flashing, he added, “I leaped into the saddle and rode hell-bent-for-leather down that mountain. That jaguar was right in front of me, never more than a hundred yards away. She was running full bore. So were we. When I came out of the woods, I saw my brothers had Rachel down on the ground. That was when the jaguar really sped up. She was like a blur of motion as she ran right for Bo.”

  “I saw the jaguar leap,” Rachel told Scott in a low voice. “I heard her growl and saw her jump. I saw her slash out with her claws at Bo.” She frowned. “You saw Bo’s chaps, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Scott chuckled. “No way around that. That cat slashed the
hell out of them and that’s thick cowhide leather.” He scratched his jaw in thought. “The only disagreement we’ve got here is that two witnesses say it was a cougar and you both say it was a jaguar.”

  “Does it really matter?” Rachel asked grimly.

  “No, I guess it doesn’t. The fact that Bo assaulted you and Chet threatened you with rape is the real point of this report.”

  Shivering, Rachel closed her eyes. She felt Jim place his arm around her and draw her against him more tightly. Right now she felt cold and tired, and all she wanted was rest and quiet, not this interrogation.

  “Let’s try and get this done as soon as possible,” Jim urged his friend. “She’s getting paler by the moment and I want to get her home so she can rest.”

  “Sure,” Maitland murmured.

  RACHEL NEVER THOUGHT that being home—her new home on her family ranch—would ever feel so good. But it did. Kate and Jessica had come over as soon as Jim had driven into the homestead. They’d fussed over her like two broody hens. Kate got the fire going in the fireplace out in the living room and Jessica made her some chamomile tea to soothe her jangled nerves. Jim had gotten her two high-potency homeopathic remedies, one for her fracture and the other for her swollen cheek and black eye. She drank the tea and took the remedies. Five minutes later, she was so tired due to the healing effects of the remedies that she dropped off asleep on her bed, covered by the colorful afghan knit by her mother many years before.

  Jim moved quietly down the carpeted hall to Rachel’s bedroom. The door was open and Kate and Jessica had just left. He’d told them he was going to stay with Rachel for a while just to make sure she was all right. The truth was he didn’t want to leave her at all. Torn between going home and facing his infuriated father and remaining with her, he stood poised at the door.

  Rachel lay on her right side, her hands beneath the pillow where her dark hair lay like a halo around her head. The colorful afghan wasn’t large enough to cover her fully and he was concerned about the coolness in the house. The only heat supply was from the fireplace, and it would take a while to warm the small adobe home. Moving quietly, he went to the other side of the old brass bed, pulled up a dark pink, cotton goose-down bedspread and gently eased it over her. Snugging it gently over her shoulders, he smiled down at Rachel as she slept.

  Her golden skin looked washed out, almost pasty. Reaching down, he grazed her left cheek, which was soft and firm beneath his touch. Her lips were slightly parted. She looked so vulnerable. Rage flowed through him as he straightened. His right hand still throbbed and he was sure he’d probably fractured one of his fingers in the process of slugging Bo. Flexing his fingers, Jim felt satisfaction thrum through him. At least Bo was suffering just a little from hurting Rachel. If Jim had his way, his brother was going to suffer a lot more. This was one time that neither his father’s lawyer nor his money would dissuade Rachel from putting both his brothers up on charges that would stick. With their past criminal record, they were looking at federal prison time.

  Jim needed to get home and he knew it. Leaning over, he cupped her shoulder and placed a light kiss on her unmarred brow.

  “Sleep, princess,” he whispered. I love you. And he did. A lump formed in his throat as he left the bedroom and walked quietly down the hall. Shrugging into his sheepskin coat and settling the black Stetson on his head, he left her house. Outside, the sun was hanging low in the west, the day nearly spent. What a hell of a day it had been. As he drove his pickup down the muddy red road, Jim’s thoughts revolved around his love for Rachel. He knew it was too soon to share it with her. Time was needed to cultivate a relationship with her. If he’d had any doubt about his feelings for her, he’d lost them all out there in that meadow.

  Working his mouth, Jim drove down 89A toward Sedona. Just before town was the turnoff for the Bar C. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he wound down Oak Creek Canyon. The world-famous beauty of the tall Douglas firs, the red and white cliffs rising thousands of feet on both sides of the slash of asphalt, did not move him today as they normally did.

  Would Rachel allow him to remain in her life after what had happened? Would his Cunningham blood taint her so that she retreated from him, from the love he held for her? He sighed. There would be a trial. And Jim was going to testify with Rachel against his brothers. Everything was so tenuous. So unsure. He felt fear. Fear of losing Rachel before he’d ever had her, before she could know his love for her.

  Jim tried to gather his strewn emotions, knowing all hell would break lose once he stepped into the main ranch house when he got home. His father, because he was wheelchair bound, relied on one of them to drive him wherever he wanted to go. Jim was sure Frank was seething with anger and worry over Bo and Chet. But his father ought to be concerned about Rachel, and what they had done to her—and what they would have done had it not been for that jaguar attacking.

  Shaking his head as he drove slowly down the dirt road toward home, Jim wondered about the discrepancy in the police report. How could Bo and Chet have seen a cougar when it was a jaguar? What the hell was going on here? No matter, the fish and game expert would see the tracks, would capture the jaguar in a special cage, and that would be proof enough. His brothers were well known for their lies. This was just one more.

  “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING on?” Frank roared as Jim stepped through the door into the living room. He angrily wheeled his chair forward, his face livid.

  Quietly shutting the door, Jim took off his hat and coat and hung them on hooks beside it. “Bo and Chet are up on assault charges,” he said quietly as he turned and faced his father.

  “Applebaum tells me Rachel Donovan is pressing charges. Is that true?”

  Allowing his hands to rest tensely on his hips, Jim nodded. “Yes, and she’s not going to withdraw them, either. And even if she did,” he said in a level tone, holding his father’s dark gaze, “I would keep my charges against them, anyway.”

  “How could you? Dammit!” Frank snarled, balling up his fist and striking the chair arm. “How can you do this to your own family? Blood’s thicker than water, Jim. You know that! When there’s a storm, the family goes through it together. We’re supposed to help and protect one another, not—”

  “Dammit, Father,” he breathed savagely, “Bo hit Rachel. She’s got a fractured cheekbone. Not that you care.” His nostrils flared and his voice lowered to a growl. “You don’t care because she’s a Donovan. And you couldn’t care less what happens to anyone with that last name.” Punching his finger toward his father, he continued, “I happen to love her. And I don’t know if she loves me. This situation isn’t going to help at all. But whatever happens, I’ll tell you one thing—they aren’t getting away with it this time. All your money, your influence peddling and the political strings you pull aren’t going to make the charges against them go away. Chet and Bo were going to rape her. Did you know that? Is that something you condone?” He straightened, fury in his voice. “Knowing you, you’d condone it because her last name was Donovan.”

  Stunned, Frank looked up at him. “They said nothing about rape. Applebaum said Bo threw a punch her way because she lashed out at him.”

  “Yeah, well, it connected, Father. Big-time.” Jim pushed his fingers angrily through his short hair and moved over to the fireplace. He felt his father’s glare follow him. Jim’s stomach was in knots. He was breathing hard. A burning sensation in the middle of his chest told him just how much he wanted to cry with pure rage over this whole fiasco.

  Frank slowly turned his wheelchair around. Scowling at Jim. “What’s this you said about loving this woman?”

  “Her name is Rachel Donovan, Father. And yes, I love her.”

  “She love you?” he asked, his voice suddenly weary and old sounding.

  Jim pushed his shoulders back to release the terrible tension in them. “I don’t know. It’s too soon. And too damn much has happened. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t tar and feather me with the same brush as Bo and Chet.�
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  “My own son … falling in love with a Donovan… ?. My God, how could you do this to me, Jim? How?”

  Looking into his father’s eyes, Jim saw tears in them. That shook him. He’d never seen his father cry—-ever. “You know,” Jim rasped, “I would hope the tears I see in your eyes are for what Rachel suffered at their hands and not the fact that I love her.”

  Frank’s mouth tightened. “Get out of here. Get out and don’t ever come back. You’re a turncoat, Jim. I’m ashamed of you. My youngest boy, a boy I’d hoped would someday run the Bar C with his brothers… ?.” He shook his head. His voice cracked with raw emotion. “Just when I need you the most, you turn traitor on me. And you’re willing to sell your brothers out, too. How could you? Your own family!”

  Fighting back tears, Jim held his father’s accusing gaze as a lump formed in his throat. He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Suddenly, he didn’t care anymore. “I’ve spent nearly a year here, trying to straighten out things between you, me, and my brothers,” he said thickly, “and it backfired on me. I got warned more times than not that I can’t fix three people who’d like to stay the way they are.” He headed slowly to his coat and hat. “You can’t see anything because you’re blinded by hate, Father. The word Donovan makes you like a rabid dog. Well,” he said, jerking his coat off the hook, “I won’t be part and parcel of what you, Bo or Chet want to do. I don’t give a damn about this ranch, either, if it means others will suffer in order to claim it.” He shrugged on his coat. “You’re willing to do anything to get revenge for transgressions that died with Kelly.”

  His heart hurt in his chest and his voice wobbled dangerously as he jerked open the door. Settling his hat on his head, he rasped unevenly, “I’ll be moving out. In the next week, I’ll come over and pick up my stuff. I’ll be seeing you in court.”

  “RACHEL, YOU LOOK SO SAD,” Jessica said with a sigh. She touched her sister’s shoulder as she headed for the store in Rachel’s kitchen. “The homeopathy sure helped get rid of that shiner you had and there’s hardly any swelling left on your cheek. But nothing has cheered you up yet.” She smiled brightly and poured some tea for both of them. Sunlight lanced through the curtains, flooding the cheery kitchen.