by Dana Mentink
As far as he could tell, the woman had not moved. The fall hadn’t covered a great distance, no more than fifteen feet, he figured, but who knew what kind of injuries she might have sustained if nothing had broken her fall? Again the cold, sick sensation gathered in his belly.
When he was about a yard from the ledge, he stopped, feet braced against the mud. “Ma’am?” he called. “My name is Barrett Thorn and I’m coming to help you.”
She didn’t answer. He hadn’t figured she would, but it was worth a shot.
He settled gingerly onto the ledge, crouching next to her. A mass of wet hair covered her face and he reached out a finger to pull it away. Her profile was visible, nose small, chin narrow, face heart shaped. The delicacy of it struck him.
Without warning, he was plunged back in time some four years earlier, when he’d pulled Bree from the wrecked car. Her eyes had been shut, too, but they’d fluttered open for one precious moment before they’d closed for the last time. There was nothing in this world that could hurt worse than that, except being reminded every day in a million ways that he was alone. Strange the things he missed about Bree.
The pillow next to his with a satin case to “keep away the wrinkles” of which he’d never seen a hint on her face.
Her ready laughter.
The smell of the candles she always insisted on lighting for every evening meal.
Her horrendous cooking. He even missed that. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to eat another plateful of tuna casserole, crunchy with half-cooked noodles. He swatted at a trail of water running down his cheek. Business at hand, Barrett.
Swallowing hard, he found the junction of the unconscious woman’s chin and neck, and pressed his fingers there, seeking a pulse.
“Lord God,” he prayed, but he could not finish. The last time he had prayed for the life of a young woman, his woman, his love, God’s answer had been no. Gritted teeth, pounding heart, his soul quaked with fear that he would find no spark of life. Gone, like Bree, with him crouched there helpless. Rubbing his hands as dry as he could, he tried one more time. This time, the proof was dramatic.
She jerked to a sitting position with a scream and shot out a hand that nearly shoved him over the edge.
“Easy,” he said, holding open palms up to show her he was not a threat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her eyes were wide as silver dollars, whole body trembling. Her breath came in short bursts as she scrabbled away as far as she could get from him. He attempted to reassure her that he wasn’t some random killer who’d appeared on a ledge in a storm, but she moved backward and he lunged forward to catch her.
The rock ledge gave way beneath her feet. Her eyes were bright with fear as she disappeared before his eyes for the second time.
* * *
Shelby’s senses cartwheeled through a dizzying cascade as her legs slithered over the side. Pitch-black night, cold rain, the sick sensation of no ground under her feet. The jagged edge of rocks cut into her belly as she clutched at anything that might keep her from falling the rest of the way.
“Help,” she wanted to scream, but she could not manage a single syllable as she continued to slip down the slope.
Rocks ground against her hips and roots broke away under her fingers. She felt a jerk and a painful pressure on her wrist. Looking up against the sheeting rain, she saw the man with the beard hanging on to her wrist with both hands. His full mouth was contorted with the effort.
No, no, her mind screamed. He’d come to finish what he’d started when he’d struck her and stuffed her in the trunk of her car. She braced her legs against the canyon wall to push away.
“Listen,” he said between clenched teeth. “I am not the guy who hurt you. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that because you’re wiggling and I don’t wanna drop you.”
Trust him? She had no intention of doing any such thing, but the canyon below her did not give her much choice. Die on the rocks, or live long enough to get away from the bearded guy? Her forearms ached and her ribs burned with pain.
“Give me your other hand,” he ordered.
Fighting her instincts, she heaved her other arm up and he clasped it tight. They both breathed hard for a few seconds before he began to haul her back up. She helped with her legs as much as she could. Inch by painful inch, she was pulled upward until she landed on her knees on the ledge. The man bent over at the waist, panting.
Their eyes locked, like two wild animals sizing each other up.
“Barrett,” came a shout from above, making her jump.
“I got her,” he hollered back. “Gonna need to pull us up.”
There was some response that she could not decipher.
He puffed out a breath and straightened, rising to something over six feet she guessed, plenty strong enough to have clobbered her and shoved her into the trunk. Then again, if his goal was to hurt her, why would he have kept her from falling into the ravine? Doubt clouded her thinking along with the cold that seemed to be freezing her one layer at a time.
“All right,” he said. “My brothers are going to pull us up on the rope, so you have to hang on to me for a minute, okay?”
Not okay. The furthest thing from okay. To deliver herself into the hands of this stranger and now his brothers? Needing more time to think, she shook her head.
His expression went a little softer, or so she imagined. “I know you’ve been through a fright and you’re scared, but I’m a good guy, mostly.” He offered a wry smile. “At least, some folks might say so. I’m not here to hurt you, but there’s really no way I can prove that to you under the present circumstances.”
He could be telling the truth but her fear still ran rampant. She pressed herself to the cliff wall, staying far out of reach.
He tucked his hands onto his hips. “All right. If that’s your choice, we’ll honor it. I’ve never in my life forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to, but I for one am tired of being out here in the rain, and I’ve got a horse to find, so if you really want to stay down here by yourself, it’s a long wait until sunrise.”
She saw now there was a rope knotted around his waist. He looped an extra length around himself, grabbed hold above his head and shouted to his brothers to start pulling.
Below, the river water rushed wildly on past the rocky ground. The wind teased her wet skin, her body shivering uncontrollably. She recalled her mother’s admonition, always gentle, too gentle. So stubborn, Shell. It’s not always you against the world.
“Wait,” she said.
Water ran down his crew-cut hair and wide chin. Slowly he held out a hand to her.
Just get out of the ravine, she told herself. Then you can figure if this guy is the genial cowboy or the man who locked you up. She reached out shaking fingers. His palms were rough and calloused, the hands of a working man, and he scooped her to his side in one strong movement.
His shoulders were solid, wide under the sodden jacket, his waist tapered and trim as she clung to him, gripping his leather belt.
“Keep holding on tight,” he advised.
She did as the rope was pulled up from above. The journey threatened to spin them in circles, but the man she’d heard called Barrett kept them relatively steady by bracing his long legs against the canyon walls.
Foot by slippery foot, they gradually reached the top where she found herself surrounded by three more men and their horses. Their physical similarities marked them as brothers, except for the one who was more slender and lanky than the other three.
“I’ll call for an ambulance when I can get a signal,” said the brother who was still astride his horse. He peered down at her curiously.
Another handed her a blanket. Barrett helped wrap it around her shoulders.
“Mama’s waiting at the house,” one of the brothers said.
Barrett nodded, taking the reins to a big horse from one and retrieving his wet hat from the saddlebag. “You can ride with me—” he hesitated “—unless you’d rather not.”
She was miserable and shivering badly as she surveyed the men who stared at her. Something in their appearance took the edge off her suspicion, or maybe it was the reference to Mama. She’d always called her mother that, a sweet endearment that bridged the gap between angry daughter and desperate mother. Mama. Two syllables packed to the brim with feelings, and she would give anything to say it one more time and see understanding in her mother’s eyes.
We’re oil and water sometimes, Shelby, but I’ll always be your Mama.
Oil and water. More like fire and ice.
Mama, I miss you.
Expelling a breath and straightening her shoulders, she nodded. Barrett got onto his horse in one fluid motion and offered her an arm.
After a moment of paralyzing doubt, she took it and he swung her up behind him.
“Where are we going?” she said into his ear.
“Home,” he said, urging the horse through the pounding rain.
THREE
Barrett was not too cold to feel uncomfortable at having a woman’s arms wrapped around his waist. It had been four long years since any woman had touched him except his mother and assorted relatives. The lady was strong and soft at the same time, holding on to him tentatively, it seemed to him. Fortunately, Titan was eager to get back to the barn so his pace was brisk as they returned to the house.
The string of Christmas lights twined around the porch railing twinkled in the gloom. His father met them, taking the reins from Barrett as he helped the woman off the horse. Barrett tied the horses under the wide porch as a temporary measure until he could unsaddle them, dry them down and see to their feed.
His father tipped his wet hat to her and introduced himself. “Tom Thorn. Very sorry for your trouble, miss. Come inside and my wife, Evie, will help you feel comfortable.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Got Swanny,” he said to Barrett. “She’s in the barn, looking plenty sorry.”
“I’m sure.” Barrett chuckled. More likely, she was pleased as could be now that she was back in a warm stable with a bucket of oats. It eased his mind to know that his wife’s dotty horse was unhurt after her mad escape.
Barrett’s mother stood in the doorway, gesturing. “Enough chatting, Barrett. Bring that poor girl in the house.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed her in where Evie looked the woman up and down. His mother was all of four feet eleven inches, hair graying but green eyes sparkling as brightly as they ever had.
“What’s your name, honey?” she asked.
“Shelby,” the woman replied, teeth chattering.
“Well, Miss Shelby, I am eager to hear how in the world you got halfway down a ravine on Joe Hatcher’s property, but first things first. Everybody needs some dry clothes. I’ve got a pot of coffee on, so go change, boys, and we’ll have a talk.”
She put an arm around Shelby’s shoulders. “Come with me. We’ll get you a change of clothes and check out your bruises.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I was an RN before I traded it in for ranch life, so I’m not just a nosy mom to those four gorillas.”
Barrett marched to his room, stripped off his wet clothes and pulled on a dry pair of jeans and a T-shirt, along with his less favored pair of boots. He tried not to rush, but he was dying to hear Shelby’s story. It was an odd sensation. Since Bree died, he had been interested in nothing and no one, only his family and the workings of the Gold Bar Ranch where his life was 100 percent about the horses.
Forcing a slow pace, he ambled into the kitchen to find twins, Jack and Owen, sitting at the table sipping coffee while their youngest brother, Keegan, leaned against the refrigerator, munching a cheese sandwich.
Keegan had a bottomless appetite and a head for mischief. He shook his dark hair from his face and grinned. “So, Barrett. For once it’s not me that broke the rules. What’s it feel like to be a trespasser?”
Owen laughed as their father joined them. “Good thing you didn’t run across any of Joe Hatcher’s booby traps.”
“Those are rumors,” their father said with a frown. He scrubbed a hand over a scalp of stubbly gray hair that had not thinned in spite of his seventy-three years. “Joe is a good man, or used to be. Top-notch saddler until his life took a turn.”
“If you say so,” Owen said.
“I do say so, son,” he said quietly. “Everyone’s life takes a turn now and then, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” Owen looked at the table, probably feeling again the enemy bullets that had carved a trail into his leg and left him scarred and limping. Keegan understood, too. He was adopted into the Thorn family at age sixteen when there was no one to care for him but Evie and Tom Thorn. In Barrett’s case, one careless turn of a drunk driver’s wheel had brought his life to a full stop.
Yes, he agreed. Life could take a sudden turn.
Owen and Jack stood as their mother ushered Shelby in and seated her in one of their vacated chairs.
At last he could get a good look at her. Trying not to stare, he drank in the details. She was slender and fine boned, probably somewhere close to five feet seven inches. Now he could see that her eyes were the green of forest moss, her hair brown. She’d pulled it into a wet ponytail that swept the flannel shirt his mom had loaned her. A navy blue pair of sweatpants, which his mother must have dug up from somewhere, engulfed her legs.
“I think she’s going to be okay,” Evie said. “But I would lobby for a hospital visit to be sure there isn’t a concussion from where she was struck on the head.”
Struck on the head? What kind of person would hit a woman? That notion made his stomach flip. And the fact that she thought he’d done it? He cleared his throat and introduced everyone properly.
Shelby nodded solemnly at each brother and his parents.
“Thank you,” she said, her gaze finally landing on him. “Especially you, Barrett. I...I thought...” She twisted a finger in the hem of her borrowed shirt. “Well, anyway, thank you.”
He nodded. “What were you doing on Hatcher’s property?”
His mother shot him a scolding look. “Can you offer her a cup of coffee before you start the interrogation? Even cowboys should have good manners.”
Ignoring the smiles from his brothers, he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Shelby.
“Thank you,” she said, the slight quirk of her lips indicating she was enjoying seeing him chastised. “I thought I was still on my uncle’s property. I got caught up in my work and I didn’t realize I’d strayed. Lost track of the time, too.” She looked thoroughly embarrassed.
Her uncle? Which of their neighbors was her relation? He was about to ask when a loud pounding on the front door made her jump, spilling some of the coffee.
“Don’t think that’s the cops yet,” Owen said. “I called them, but they’re working an overturned lumber truck on the main road that has traffic stopped in and out of town.” He opened the door.
Joe Hatcher stepped in, white hair plastered over his skull. His angry gaze swept the kitchen until it fastened on Shelby. “I was out checking my property. Saw Barrett pulling you out of the ravine. You got no business on my land, like I told you last week. You trespass again and you’re gonna get hurt,” he snarled.
All the brothers stepped a pace forward.
“You’ll be civil,” their father said, “or you’ll leave.”
“Civil?” Hatcher’s eyes narrowed. “I gotta be civil when she can trespass on my land? Go poking around in my mine?”
“I wasn’t anywhere near your mine and I didn’t mean to stray onto your property. That was my mistake. I was taking some samples along the road and I got diso
riented.”
Samples? For what purpose? Barrett wondered.
“Fool thing to do. You deserve what you got,” Hatcher said.
Shelby stood and lifted her chin. “So was it you who hit me from behind and locked me in the trunk of my car?”
“’Course not,” he said. “If I’d known you were on my land, I’d have shot you.”
Evie gasped and Barrett started to speak, but Shelby faced Hatcher, a glint of fire in her expression. “There is no need for threats. I apologize for trespassing. I was taking some surface samples and I didn’t realize I was no longer on my uncle’s property.”
“But let’s be clear,” she continued. “That isn’t your mine. I have every right to enter and collect samples and I will do that in the near future.”
“You gonna tell me I don’t own the property that’s been in my family for a hundred years?” he snapped.
“Of course you own the land. That’s why I came to see you last week, but you wouldn’t talk to me. As I would have explained if you’d answered your phone or read your mail, you don’t own the mineral rights. My uncle does, and he wants an assay of the ore. That’s my job and you don’t have the legal right to interfere.”
Hatcher’s mouth worked, brows drawn into a ferocious scowl. “I don’t care what the law says. If you step on my property again, I’ll kill you.”
Barrett’s pulse hammered as he grabbed Hatcher by the arm. “That’s enough. You’re leaving.”
Hatcher shook away Barrett’s grip but stalked to the front door with Barrett following. “Get your car off my property,” he called to Shelby. Before he stepped outside, he poked Barrett in the chest. “You won’t be so eager to help when you know who her kin is,” he hissed.
Barrett stared him down. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to come into this home and threaten a woman’s life.”
Muttering, Hatcher stomped down the porch steps.
