“Riley and the other two clowns are parked across the lot. I’m going to discourage them from hanging around. I want you to wait inside.” He started to swing around.
Rachel caught his elbow. “Discourage them how? I was only joking when I talked about shooting them. I thought you knew that. They’re just kids—barely twenty. You can’t hurt them, Garrett.”
He scowled. “Yeah, well, they’re old enough to be packing weapons and issuing threats. I don’t plan on hurting them . . . unless there’s no other way.”
“There has to be. Let me handle this. I’ve known Riley Metcalf and his brothers, Arnold and Matt, for half their lives. I was there when their mother passed away. Those young men are my neighbors. They’re not going to hurt me. ”
Riley’s mother had died when the boys were still in high school. Rachel, Amanda, and Peg had brought meals to the family and helped wherever they could while Mrs. Metcalf was sick. Amanda had tried to keep the boys in school, too, but Arnold dropped out and the other two soon followed. After that they’d gone wild and seemed to always be in trouble. Still, they’d treated Rachel with respect . . . until now. She’d assured Garrett they meant her no harm, but truthfully, there’d been a glaring difference in Riley’s visit today.
Garrett snorted his disbelief, and his hands found rest on his hips again as he glanced toward the door. Finally, he swept his gaze slowly back to hers. “What in the hell do you think they had in mind earlier? From where I was standing, it looked pretty damn serious. I’m not leaving you. Believe me, I’d like to, but I can’t. So, you’ve got two choices. Call someone—boyfriend, brother, friend—someone who can stay with you and then see you safely home. I’ll hang around until they get here. Or you can lock the place up right now. I didn’t see any other vehicles out there so I’m assuming someone dropped you off. Call ’em. If they can come right away . . . fine. If not, let me give you a ride home. Please.”
Rachel stifled a giggle. He’d almost choked on that please. Apparently the big man wasn’t well versed in the niceties of society. Still, he seemed genuinely concerned with her safety. She hadn’t expected kindness or concern from Garrett Harding, but why else would he be putting himself in harm’s way to protect her?
He’d encroached on her space, and his size alone was intimidating. It wasn’t that he was so tall, although he was at least six feet—maybe a little more—but his shoulders, arms, and thighs were thick with muscle. Every ridge and plane of his chest and abs was outlined on the black T-shirt he wore tucked into snug-fitting blue jeans. A set of dog tags hung to midchest and called attention to his well-formed pecs.
His dark brown hair was cut short, and the cowlick in back suggested he may have slept on it recently. It was obvious he hadn’t shaved in a day or so. She hated to admit it, but the overall package was off-the-charts hot.
Nothing wrong with enjoying the view, but no way would she let her guard down simply because he looked damn good in a T-shirt—not this man. It didn’t matter that Garrett Harding was strong, muscled, and wore dog tags. It made no difference that he’d served his country, returning with a slight limp that he tried hard to hide, or that he was a sucker for dogs. He’d helped her, a complete stranger, out of a jam, and now he refused to leave her with the threat of danger. None of that was important. She wouldn’t allow herself to be taken in by him—not by Amanda’s heartless and unforgiving son.
Skirting around him, she hurried to the door, peering over the top of one of the panels. That stupid rusted-out pickup sat at the edge of the lot right where he’d said it was, and that probably wasn’t good. What did Riley want with her? At first, she’d thought he’d just meant to scare her, but when he’d grabbed her and made it clear she was leaving with him whether she wanted to or not, she’d immediately recognized that this was something outside of Riley’s expertise. He was obviously taking orders from someone. But who?
Was it possible that Jeremy had found her after all this time? She’d become complacent. She was supposed to be hiding from her stalker here in the backwoods of Idaho, but she’d gotten comfortable in her new life. Living out in the open, where anyone might see her—recognize her. She hadn’t taken Jeremy seriously ten years ago either, and the consequences had been disastrous.
Rachel bit her lip as a tremor started between her shoulder blades and radiated outward. Jeremy’s phone calls had started again about five years ago. When he called, often she wouldn’t hear anything on the other end—other times just heavy breathing. If he spoke, his voice was always muffled, and he’d ask about whom her friends were and if she was dating. Her answer was always the same—she had a couple of girlfriends and no, she never dated. Forcing herself to talk to her stalker, trying not to anger him, would cause her to break out in cold sweat and usually always culminated in her heaving the contents of her stomach. When each call was over, she’d throw her old phone away and buy another, yet somehow he’d always get her new number and call again. Maybe she was being naive, but in a way, his calls had made her feel safer. Common sense said if he could find her phone number, discovering her address couldn’t be that much harder. But as long as he wasn’t leaving her notes or flowers in the privacy of her dwelling, or calling and complimenting her on how she looked today, she clung fast to the belief that, for now at least, he didn’t know where she was. Fully aware that circumstances could change in a heartbeat, she’d remained ready to leave on a moment’s notice.
The click, click of the dog’s toenails drew her attention as he sidled up beside her and leaned his head against her thigh. His eyes were big and curious, and Rachel couldn’t help smiling as she reached to scratch under his collar. He was a big dog, and with him close by, she felt protected. Her sense of security had absolutely nothing to do with the testosterone-laden hulk whose gaze she could feel boring into her back even now.
Making up her mind, she swung around and started toward the bar. “There is no boyfriend or brother. I was only here to pick up something for Peg. It’s too early in the season—the bar isn’t even open yet. I walked down from the resort. That’s where I live.” She stopped in front of him. “If the offer is still good, you can give me a lift home . . . but then you have to go. I won’t have you upsetting Peg.”
“Peg is my aunt. I’m not here to upset her. I just want answers.” For a heartbeat, anger simmered just below his dark look, and she was sure he would open up and let her have it, but his facial features slowly relaxed until he almost smiled. “What else do you have to do? Can I help with anything?”
“I need to grab some papers from behind the bar, pour out the coffee, grab my purse, and lock up on the way out.” Rachel performed the first three chores as she spoke.
Garrett tapped his hand against his leg and the dog loped toward the door ahead of him. A quiet command brought him to a halt just inside the bar, swinging his head around to see what the holdup was. Garrett ran his fingers through Cowboy’s fur as they both waited at the door. Rachel stood still and watched them, feeling guilty for the warm glow that started in her stomach at the obvious affection the two shared. Was it possible for a bad man to care about an animal the way Garrett clearly cared for Cowboy? Rachel didn’t believe so, but he was putting on a pretty good act.
Just as Garrett glanced back for her, she busied herself searching through her purse. Then, with keys in one hand, she slid the strap of her purse over her head and hurried toward the waiting pair.
“Are they still there?”
“Evidently, they’ve got all the time in the world.” When Garrett glanced down at her, she suddenly realized how close they were.
He took a step toward the door, laying one hand on top of the swinging panels. “Any idea how far these fools will go to get what they want? It’s none of my business, but it might give us some insight as to how they’ll react once they see us leaving.”
“If there’s trouble anywhere around, Riley’s usually right in the middle of it.” She peered over the doors beside him. “Matt would follow him of
f a cliff, but Arnold usually has a mind of his own, though apparently not today. No, I don’t know how far they’re willing to go. This is the first time anything like this has happened.”
“If that’s true, why are you so well armed behind the counter?”
“Everyone around here carries. Some hunt, some come here running from something and wouldn’t be caught dead without a weapon, and some are involved in bootlegging or white supremacy. They’re all my neighbors, and sooner or later they all end up in my bar. I’d be crazy not to be well armed—crazier still not to be able to handle myself if the situation were to arise.”
He searched her eyes for a little too long before he finally faced the door again. “Cowboy and I will get the Jeep. If your friends think I’m leaving, they might wait, hoping they’ll catch you alone again. As soon as I’m outside, you lock up just like you always do. By then I’ll have the Jeep running and your door open. My ride’s not that fast, but I think we can outrun that rusted piece of shit they’re driving.” Warmth stole into his voice as he ended on a chuckle.
Rachel forgot herself for a moment, returning his grin as merriment bubbled over her defensive shields. As soon as she remembered whom it was standing beside her, her good humor vanished, leaving her cold and bitter. “Let’s not prolong this. I’m sure you have someplace you’re supposed to be.”
She glanced away, but not before one of his brows shot up toward his hairline and an irritated scowl blackened his features. He mumbled something as he shoved the wooden door back on its hinges, but she couldn’t tell if he was commanding Cowboy or grumbling at her. She almost hoped it was the latter because annoyed and angry was a lot easier to deal with than kind and protective.
As soon as Garrett and Cowboy stepped off the porch, she followed them, pulling the secondary doors into position and locking them. She turned to find the Jeep purring softly directly in front of her, the passenger door open about two steps from the porch. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t keep herself from glancing across the parking lot. The instant she did, the engine of Riley’s truck rumbled to life.
Rachel jogged down the steps and scrambled into the Jeep. Calm and unhurried, Garrett ignored her as he checked the rearview mirrors, but Cowboy barked impatiently, wagging his tail from side to side.
“Hand me my gun from the glove box and buckle up. Here they come.” Garrett peeled out before she got her door completely closed.
A quick glimpse over her shoulder confirmed his announcement. The pickup was closing the distance between them. She faced the front and gripped the edge of the seat while her world spun dangerously for a few seconds. The young men in the truck behind them were her neighbors—members of the community where she’d lived for most of her adult life. If she handed Garrett his gun, what would he do? Did she care? Lord only knew what they’d have done to her if she hadn’t gotten free—if Garrett hadn’t stopped by. Funny how the suspicion that Riley and his brothers might be working for Jeremy changed the direction of her moral compass.
She jerked the glove compartment open and felt around the dark interior until her fingers bumped hard steel. A Colt .45 semiautomatic. Garrett apparently had excellent taste in weaponry. She smoothed her hand along the gun barrel until she saw him watching her curiously, then shoved the weapon toward him. His big hand wrapped around it, and he slid it between his thigh and the seat.
Another quick glance from the rear window told her Garrett was beginning to leave the old Ford pickup behind. Fumbling with the seat belt, she became more self-conscious with each unsuccessful attempt to close the buckle. After a few mumbled expletives on her part, he reached over and easily seated the metal latch inside the clasp.
An electrified jolt hit her as his knuckles brushed her hip. Her gaze darted to his, and the anticipation in his darkened eyes said she hadn’t just imagined it. Evading the intensity of his perusal, she eased away from his lingering touch. So not happening. It’d be a cold day in hell before anything heated up with the likes of him.
“Sorry,” Garrett rasped as he returned his hand to the steering wheel. “Just trying to help.”
“No problem.” Rachel forced herself to act as though his touch hadn’t reached into her bone marrow and turned her to mush. What was wrong with her? She despised Garrett Harding for callously remaining silent in spite of every letter, every invitation, every birthday card Amanda had sent him over the past twenty-some years. Rachel had been there for the last ten, and she’d seen firsthand the heartbreak he’d inflicted on his mother. The other one—Garrett’s brother Luke—had hurt his mother too, but he’d been little more than a toddler when Amanda left. He probably didn’t remember her or understand why she’d gone. But Garrett would have, and yet he’d withheld the most precious gift he could have given her—his forgiveness—and now it was too late.
Okay. She banished that spark of desire, or hormones, or whatever it was. Loathing swelled within her again for the man in the driver’s seat.
Garrett was covering ground rapidly—albeit in the wrong direction, but before she could point out that they should be traveling uphill, he slammed on the brakes and skidded around. Stomping on the gas pedal, he straightened the wheel, and now they were barreling straight toward Riley’s pickup. Rachel gasped and shrunk down in her seat.
“Chill, Cowboy.” Immediately, the dog dropped to the floor, his head lying partway between the seats. Garrett glanced at Rachel. “Get down lower.”
She freed the latch on her seat belt and slid onto the floor, squished uncomfortably between the seat and the dash. Garrett was obviously expecting Riley’s crew to have more weapons than the ones they’d left in the bar—and he was probably right.
“What about you?” She searched his face, trying to convince herself that her concern wasn’t for him, but rather for herself if anything should happen to him.
“Why, Rach, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared.” A thin smile mocked her.
Okay, she’d deserved that, but if he was waiting for her to apologize, he’d have a very long wait.
Irritated, she rose up until she could see out the window. The old Ford pickup was so close, her knuckles whitened on the edges of the seat in anticipation of the crumpling of steel around her as the two vehicles met. At the last minute, Riley swerved, the truck spinning 360 degrees and balancing on two wheels for a second before slamming down to all four.
The Jeep raced past them, and she heard the whirr of their starter as they tried to get the pickup going again. Garrett grabbed another gear and accelerated up the mountain road. Rachel pulled herself onto her seat again, studying him from beneath lowered lashes. So, Garrett Harding knew how to play chicken and win, and he’d never even broken a sweat. Why couldn’t she help admiring that?
Rachel glanced behind them periodically as they rolled along the narrow chip-sealed road. Garrett kept one eye on the rearview mirror too, but it was Cowboy who alerted them with a rumbling growl seconds before the old Ford rounded a corner and came into view behind them.
“They’re gaining on us.” She whipped around and stared straight ahead, then leaned forward and pointed. “Take a left up ahead where the sign is . . . and lay on the horn.”
A quizzical glance was directed her way. “The horn?”
“Just do it,” she snapped.
Despite his grumbling, he fishtailed onto the gravel road beside the rustic billboard with its arrow pointing toward the Cougar Ridge Hunting Lodge and Resort. Accelerating as much as the winding trail allowed, he slammed the palm of his hand on the center of the steering wheel, and the blaring bark of the horn drowned out everything else.
The Jeep slid around a corner, gravel flying in its wake, and Rachel welcomed the sight of home up ahead, surrounded by green, forested landscape. The road dipped through a meadow filled with spring wildflowers, crossed a small bridge over a narrow but deep creek, and then swung into a long cul-de-sac and parking area in front of the idyllic log buildings of the resort.
As soon as
they crossed the bridge, Rachel turned to peer out the back. A smile formed when a huge, dark-haired man walked calmly to the center of the bridge and stood with arms crossed, staring at Riley, who had stopped his pickup and clambered out. Relieved, Rachel laid her hand on Garrett’s arm.
He let up on the horn as his gaze sought the rearview mirror. “What the hell . . . Who is that?” He slammed on the brakes.
Rachel would have jumped out, but he caught her arm. “Friend of yours?”
“It’s Jonathan. He works for Peg.” It was none of Garrett’s business, but Jonathan was also her best friend. It had been his idea to have a signal she could use if she was ever in trouble. With all the new people moving into the area—strange people—he hadn’t liked her going out alone or working in the bar late at night. Too damn dangerous, he’d said. Of course, Jonathan had secrets of his own and was probably more paranoid than he needed to be. Rachel had simply refused to put up with a 24/7 bodyguard, so he’d had to settle . . . right after he’d taught her basic self-defense and shooting skills.
The signal had worked exactly as planned. Jonathan had blocked the road after she’d passed and stood ready to deal with the trouble for her. No doubt he’d give her hell later for accepting a ride from Garrett Harding.
She opened the door and jumped out. Turning toward Garrett, she started to tell him to wait in the Jeep, but all she saw was his back and Cowboy’s furry rear end as they exited the other side. She scurried to the rear of the vehicle and was barely able to keep up with his huge, angry strides as he stomped toward the confrontation at the bridge.
Riley paced angrily in front of his pickup. He didn’t appear to be armed, but the two waiting in the truck probably were.
Jonathan wore his Sig openly in a shoulder holster, the weapon left over from a law enforcement career he seldom mentioned. That, coupled with a seriously dark and dangerous demeanor, pretty much guaranteed that the Rileys of the world didn’t mess with him.
Rescued by the Ranger Page 3
