by Rita Herron
Rethinking the scene, he remembered he and Jessie had ducked behind the column for cover. The shooter had obviously tracked their movements. He knelt, spied the broken plaster in the crevice of the wall behind a fake rosebush in front of the diner, and dug it out as well.
After securing it in his crime kit, he headed to the sheriff’s office and jail. Jessie Becker sat in a straight chair tapping her foot while she waited.
He gave her a perfunctory look, the camaraderie they’d shared during their meal together lost as business took center stage.
Sheriff Hardin emerged from the back. “Did you find the bullets?”
“Yeah.” He removed them from the kit, and signed transfer papers for the courier for chain of evidence to be sent to the lab in Austin.
The sight of Jessie sitting all alone stirred some primal protective instinct inside him that he had to ignore. She had removed her hat and was running her fingers through those red tresses. The movement made his fingers itch to feel the silky strands.
But he couldn’t touch her now.
If Trace had shot at them, or at her, then he had to be stopped.
He adjusted his hat as he walked past her, then down the short hall connecting the jail cells. He’d let Trace stew a while and talk to Ben Tolbert first.
Cabe found the tired-looking man in the first cell, pacing. “Ben Tolbert?”
Tolbert stopped pacing and glared up at him. “Who are you?”
“Ranger Sergeant Cabe Navarro.”
“Another damn outsider,” Ben grunted. “I’ve already given my confession. What do you want?”
“To know why you shot at a Ranger and a cop if your son was innocent.”
Tolbert rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “My boy is innocent,” he said firmly. “But I’ve been around long enough to know that the law don’t always work.”
“So you risked your own future by trying to kill a cop?”
“I’m Shane’s father. I’d do anything for my boy.”
Cabe studied him intently. The man seemed sincere, at least sincere in that he believed in his son’s innocence.
Animosity flattened Tolbert’s eyes. “Now, unless you came to release me, leave me the hell alone.”
Cabe silently cursed. He recognized a dead lead, and Tolbert was one.
Leaving the old man, he walked back to the interrogation room. Trace sat at the table with his arms folded, hatred spewing from his eyes.
“Where’s my lawyer?” Trace grumbled.
“You don’t need one if you’re innocent,” Cabe said sharply.
“That’s a load of crap,” Trace muttered. “I don’t trust you or the law in this town. For all I know you volunteered to come here so you could throw your badge around and make life hell for those of us who weren’t your buddies when you lived in Comanche Creek before.”
Cabe slanted him a steely look. “If you think I give a damn about high school and you idiots, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.” He gestured at the table. “Now let me see your hands.”
The door screeched open, and the sheriff escorted Jerry Collier inside. Collier was a weasel of a guy with dusty gray eyes and sandy hair. His pinched face made him look untrustworthy like the sack of garbage Cabe had expected him to be.
Collier planted his briefcase on the table beside Becker. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m Ranger Sergeant Cabe Navarro. Gunshots were fired tonight near the diner. Your client was running from the scene.”
Collier’s eyes flickered toward Trace, then back to Cabe. “Did he have a weapon on him?”
“No, but we’re searching the hardware store, streets and alley now.”
“Is he under arrest?”
Cabe swallowed back irritation. “Not officially. He’s here for questioning.”
Collier nodded. “All right, let’s get this over with so he can go home.”
“First, I need to process his hands.”
Trace twisted his mouth into a grimace, but complied. Cabe studied Becker’s palms and fingers, but didn’t spot GSR on his skin. Still, he removed a swab from the kit, dabbed it in the chemicals the lab had issued, and brushed it across Trace’s hands and fingers. Then he took a DNA swab from Becker’s mouth, and bagged and labeled both of them.
Cabe leveled his most intimidating stare at Trace. “Now, tell me again, why you were running down that alley.”
Trace shoved his hands down into his lap. “Because I heard the shots, saw you coming and figured you’d blame me.”
“Why were you behind the hardware store anyway?” Cabe asked.
“When I heard the commotion in the street, I decided to take a shortcut to my car.”
“Sounds logical to me,” Collier said. “Now, unless you have enough evidence to arrest him, which you don’t, Sergeant, we’re done here.”
Trace stood, and Collier reached for his briefcase.
Cabe slid a hand to his weapon. “Don’t leave town, Becker. And if I find that gun and it has your DNA on it, I will come after you. And this time, no lawyer is going to get you off.”
“I should file harassment charges against you,” Trace snapped.
Collier herded Trace toward the door. “Let’s go, Trace.”
Cabe stepped in front of the door and folded his arms. “Just a second, Collier. Where were you when the shooting took place?”
Collier’s eyes bulged with outrage. “After your little impromptu meeting, I hid out in my office to escape the mob of activists. I was afraid there might be a riot.”
Shooting Cabe a defiant look, Collier shouldered his way past Cabe, and he and Trace rushed down the hall to the front office.
Cabe followed, and saw Jessie jump up to speak to Trace. “I’m going home,” Trace said to her. “And if you know what’s good for you, Jessie, you’ll leave that Comanche alone.”
Collier shoved Trace outside, and Jessie glanced up at him just as he walked back into the room.
The wary look she gave him knotted his insides, and he strode toward her and stroked her arm. A tingle shot through him, the need to pull her against him and ease her burdens nearly overwhelming him.
“Be careful, Jessie,” he warned in a gruff voice.
A mixture of emotions flickered in her eyes. “I appreciate your concern, Ranger, but I can take care of myself,” she said softly.
Her gaze met his, something passing between them, an attraction that completely caught him off guard.
What the hell was wrong with him? He never got tied in knots over a woman.
An almost panicked expression lit her eyes as if she’d read his mind. “I have to go.” Then she eased her arm from his hand, and darted out the door.
Anxiety filled him as he spotted Trace standing outside watching through the window. “She can’t save you or your daddy if you’re guilty,” Cabe muttered. “And she can’t save your daddy if his blood matches the victims’ either.”
He just hoped to hell that Jessie wasn’t covering for them.
He didn’t want to have to arrest her.
TRACE STORMED TOWARD Jessie as soon as she exited the sheriff’s office.
“If you aren’t going to stay away from the Ranger, at least you could try to sway suspicion from me and Daddy.”
Jessie glared at him, tired of his bully ways. “You need to behave, Trace. If you hadn’t practically attacked Cabe at the meeting, he might not be suspicious of you. If he arrests you, it’ll be your own damn fault.”
“So now you’re taking up for him?” Trace said in a nasty tone.
Instead of acknowledging his comment, she rolled her eyes in disgust, then turned and stalked down the sidewalk toward the parking lot and her Jeep. She wouldn’t have blamed the Ranger if he’d thrown Trace’s butt in jail for the night. Her brother’s hotheaded ways would land him in real trouble someday.
If it hadn’t already…
A light breeze stirred the trees as she drove back to the ranch, but the Santa Gertrudis roaming the land and horses gallo
ping in the pastures were a comforting sight. Concern for her father overrode her exhaustion, and she stopped by the main house to check on him. But when she entered the house, it was dark.
A note on the kitchen counter from Lolita explained that her father was already in bed. Maybe it was better they talk in the morning anyway. She didn’t want to upset him by having to relay that Trace had nearly been arrested.
She gathered the other messages and flipped through them. One of her grooms had reported that a second creek bed in the north end of the ranch was dried up. Odd. What had caused that? A second message asked her to check on one of the quarter horses. The vet had already treated his injured foot, but Jessie had requested that she be informed any time there was a problem.
Wanting to check on him herself, she walked back out to her Jeep and drove over the graveled road to the stables where they housed the quarter horses. She left her hat in the car, jammed her phone in the pocket of her jeans and hiked over to the barn.
The smell of hay and horses soothed her frayed nerves as she entered, the horses whinnying and kicking the walls in greeting. Brown Sugar jammed his nose through the grate of the stall, wanting her attention, and she paused to pet him. “Hey there, sugar. I missed you, too.”
She moved down the row of stalls, petting Honey and Pepper as well, then stopped at the last stall to check on Buttercup. She was lying on her side, but lifted her head and looked alert. Jessie unlatched the stall door and slipped inside, then stooped and stroked her back. “How are you feeling, Buttercup? Is that foot getting better?”
Buttercup nudged her head, and Jessie lifted the bandage edge and checked the wound. Already the redness was dissipating, the swelling going down. Relieved, she started to stand but the floor creaked behind her, and the lights went out.
Panic slammed into her, and she scanned the darkness, but suddenly the floor creaked again and a hulking figure lunged toward her. She threw up her hands to ward off the blow, but his hand came down and something sharp and hard slammed into her head.
Pain knifed through her skull, the barn spun in a dizzying circle, then she collapsed into the darkness.
Chapter Six
Cabe was still stewing over Trace’s threatening tone with Jessie when the sheriff’s cell phone trilled.
Reed snapped it open. “Sheriff Hardin.” Pause. “Jesus. All right. I’ll send Sergeant Navarro out there now.”
Cabe frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“That was one of the ranch hands at the Becker place. He found Jessie unconscious in the barn.”
Cabe’s pulse spiked. Dammit, maybe he’d been right about the shooter targeting her tonight. Had he followed her home, then attacked her?
Or had Trace come after her?
“The ranch hand called an ambulance,” Reed said. “You want to check it out while I help Deputy Tolbert search for the gun used in the shooting tonight?”
Cabe was already heading toward the door. “I’m on my way.” Perspiration beaded on his neck as he jogged to his Land Rover, jumped in and sped from town. Traffic had definitely died down since the earlier shooting. The quiet of the countryside should have been soothing, but knowing Jessie was hurt fueled his anger.
Why would someone want to kill her? Because of her father’s enemies?
Or had she and Trace fought over him?
If that was the case, he’d kill the SOB.
The rumblings in the diner when the two of them had walked in echoed in his head. What if someone in town was riled because they thought she was siding with him?
Miles of scrub brush, mesquites and oaks dotted the landscape as he ate the distance between the town and ranch. The ranch hand who’d found Jessie must have already opened the gate for the ambulance, so he zoomed up to the drive, then veered off onto the dirt road leading to the horse barns.
His headlights flickered up ahead, and he spotted Jessie’s Jeep and an old pick-up truck to the side. He raced to a halt, jumped out and hurried into the barn. The smell of hay and horse assaulted him, the sound of the horses’ whinnying filling the air.
A craggy-looking man wearing jeans and weathered boots limped toward him, favoring his right foot. “I’m Wilbur. You the law?”
“Ranger Sergeant Navarro. How badly is she hurt?”
“Looks like she took a blow to the head. She’s startin’ to stir, but I didn’t want to move her till the paramedics said it was okay.” The old man gestured toward the back stall just as the sound of a siren rent the air. “I’ll meet the medics and send them in.”
Cabe gave a clipped nod, then strode toward the back stall. His heart pounded as he pushed open the stall door, and saw Jessie lying on her side in the bed of straw. The horse lay beside her, nudging her face with his nose.
Her brilliant red hair was tangled around her, and her face was pale and chalky. He spotted a few droplets of blood in her hair, and knelt to examine her. Gently, he lifted strands of hair away from the wound to judge the depth and severity.
A gash about an inch long marred her scalp, but thankfully the cut didn’t look too deep.
“Jessie,” he said softly, “can you hear me?”
A low moan sounded, and he gritted his teeth. “It’s all right, Jessie,” he whispered. “The medics are here now.”
Voices rumbled from outside, then closer as the medics hurried into the barn. Cabe stood and moved outside the stall, allowing them access.
One medic checked her pulse while the second one examined her wound. He glanced up with a frown. “Looks like she needs a couple of stitches.”
“Her vitals are stable.” The second medic glanced up at Cabe. “We’ll get the stretcher and transport her to the hospital for X-rays. It’s possible she has a concussion.”
Cabe nodded. “I’ll meet you there. I want to search the barn for the weapon her attacker used.”
Maybe he’d get lucky this time and find some other forensics as well.
But his anger mounted as he studied Jessie’s pale face and closed eyes, and protective instincts surged to the surface.
From now on, he’d make sure she was safe. No one would ever hurt her again.
JESSIE BLURRED IN AND OUT of consciousness, her head aching as if a jackhammer was pounding her skull. Perspiration trickled down her neck and into her shirt, and she pawed her way through the darkness, struggling to grasp on to something to help her up.
But her body felt weighted and heavy, the air humid, the rumble of a car engine whining in her head.
Where was she? What was going on?
She blinked against the dizziness, pinpoints of light pricking her eyes.
“Just relax, Miss Becker,” a strange male voice murmured. “You have a head injury, and you’re in an ambulance. We’ll be at the hospital soon.”
Head injury? Hospital? What happened?
As the ambulance raced along, slowly the events of the night returned. The trip into town. The shooting. The Ranger questioning her brother. Her confrontation with Trace. The attack in the horse stall.
Someone had struck her over the head. But why? Who would want to hurt her?
Trace?
Good God, surely not.
Thoughts of her troubled family taunted her. Did her father know she’d been assaulted?
She prayed he didn’t. Bad news would only agitate his condition.
And Trace…he had no reason to be jealous of her.
Her father didn’t love her, at least not the way Trace thought. If he had, he never would have allowed her mother to take her away when she was a little girl. He would have insisted on visitation, holidays, but he hadn’t, not once.
And her mother—at first, she’d lived in a fantasy world, believing that her mother had wanted custody because she couldn’t live without her. But then she’d jumped from man to man, from city to city, and Jessie had realized that the only reason she’d taken her was to hurt Jonah, and to get the money he regularly sent.
A soul-deep ache rolled through her. No matter what
she’d done to impress her parents, she’d never been close to either one of them. Moving back to the ranch had been her attempt to win her father’s love.
But then his mind had started slipping away.
And she’d felt more alone than ever.
Ranger Cabe Navarro’s strong, chiseled face flashed into her mind. She’d heard his voice in the barn, soothing, husky, sultry, like a hot summer’s night washing over her. She closed her eyes and, for just a moment, allowed herself to think that he really cared about her, that he was sliding those muscular arms around her and pulling her to his broad chest.
That his mission might not destroy her family.
That she was lying in his arms, safe and loved, and that someone hadn’t just tried to kill her.
THE ODDEST FEELING pressed against Cabe’s chest as the ambulance drove away with Jessie. Something akin to fear that he might lose her.
Which was ridiculous. Jessie didn’t belong to him, and she never would.
But the night his brother died rose to haunt him, and he couldn’t shake the worry that he needed to be by her side.
“Reckon I’ll go tell the family about Miss Jessie,” Wilbur said.
Cabe nodded. “Did you see anybody when you first got out here?”
Wilbur scratched his chin. “Naw. Weren’t no cars here, and it was pitch-dark.”
“Did you hear anything? Maybe a car nearby or a horse galloping away?”
Wilbur angled his head in thought. “Not that I recall. Don’t know how long Miss Jessie had been out, but I saw her Jeep and went inside. It was quiet, that kind of spooky quiet where you know something is wrong.” He worked his mouth side to side as if he had a wad of tobacco in his cheek. “You know what I mean?”
He knew exactly what he meant. Instincts. “Yes, sir. Then what happened?”
“Then I checked to see if she was breathing. Thank God she was.” He raked a hand over his scraggly hair. “So I called for an ambulance.”
“How long have you worked for the Beckers?” Cabe asked.
“Half my life. Mr. Jonah’s been good to me. He’s not as tough as everyone thinks.” The old man shifted and rubbed at his leg as if it was aching. “So if you think I’d hurt Miss Jessie, you’re wrong. I love that little girl like she was my own. Her coming home was the best thing ever happened to her daddy.”
