Bucking Bronc Lodge 04 - Cowboy Cop

by Rita Herron

  But when she heard the troubled wails coming from the frightened little boy, she simply squeezed his arm and hurried into Timmy’s room. He looked haunted, his small body tucked tightly into a fetal ball as he rocked back and forth. The painful sounds rolling from deep in his gut were almost unbearable to hear.

  She took a calming breath, then slowly walked toward him. “Timmy, it’s me, Jordan.” He didn’t acknowledge her, but she moved closer anyway, forcing her voice to remain calm as she lowered herself beside him on the floor.

  Tension radiated from Miles, so she gave him a sympathetic but encouraging smile.

  Then she reached out one hand and gently stroked Timmy’s hair. “I’m right here, Timmy. And so is your daddy. You’re all right now, you’re safe.”

  His rocking motion slowed slightly, and he looked up at her with tear-stained, swollen eyes. His thin face looked gaunt, shadowed by the pain eating at his insides. “You had a bad dream, didn’t you?”

  He chewed on his bottom lip, another sob escaping.

  “Except that it felt real, didn’t it?” she said gently.

  This time he nodded, a tiny movement, but it was an encouraging sign. “I know you’ve gone through a terrible ordeal. You lost your mama, and you were scared.”

  His face crumpled, then he fell into her arms with another bone-deep cry. Jordan swallowed back her own emotions, then wrapped her arms around him and patted his back.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re hurting. You miss your mother. And you learned something that most kids your age shouldn’t. That there are bad people out there.”

  His crying intensified, and she held him tighter, allowing him to purge his sorrow. “But your daddy loves you, and I care about you, too. And we won’t let anything bad happen to you, not ever again.”

  He clung to her, his little body shaking for what seemed like hours as he unleashed a flood of tears. When she looked up at Miles, she felt his agony as if it were her own.

  His jaw tightened, then he suddenly left the room. Jordan wanted to go to him, but she had to stay with Timmy. He needed her more than his father, although Miles also needed help. But he was too proud to ask for it.

  Instead he’d channeled his grief into anger and the need for revenge.

  Timmy’s chest rose and fell on another sob, but his body finally relaxed, his cries subsiding.

  “I promise, Timmy, one day you’ll feel better. You’ll be happy and you’ll laugh and play like the other kids.” She soothed him with other soft words, repeatedly telling him how much his father loved him and that one day they would have a good life again. Finally he drifted asleep against her chest.

  She lifted him in her arms, then carried him back to bed and tucked him under the covers. For a long moment, she sat beside him, stroking his arm, not wanting to leave him until she was sure he was resting and at peace.

  When she felt confident he’d settled down, she stood and stretched, then rubbed the knots from her shoulders and left the bedroom in search of Miles. She found him standing outside on the porch, his head bowed, his hands clenching the porch rails in a white-knuckled grip. His shoulders were shaking slightly, pain radiating from him in such strong waves that she felt his turmoil deep down in her bones.

  For a moment, she watched him, her mind spinning with the fact that he was the toughest-looking man she’d ever met, that she knew what he did for a living and the sacrifices he’d made, but he was vulnerable and worried sick about his five-year-old little boy.

  She reminded herself to keep her distance, that she couldn’t get personally involved with Miles. But she had never been one to listen to reason when emotions were involved.

  Slowly she opened the door and stepped outside. He was as lost in himself and his tragedy as Timmy had been in his nightmare. Another reason she couldn’t keep herself from reaching out to him.

  The sky seemed darker than normal, the stars hidden by the ominous clouds, the wind whistling through the trees and tossing dead leaves across the yard.

  She took a deep breath, then closed the distance to him and gently laid a hand on his back. “He’s resting now.”

  A long-suffering sigh escaped him, gruff and agonizing in its intensity. “He didn’t want me near him.”

  Jordan swallowed hard. She didn’t quite understand why Timmy was shutting out Miles, but she knew it was difficult for him to accept.

  “You can’t take his behavior personally.” She rubbed his back. “You’re Timmy’s father. He loves you, you know that.”

  “Then why didn’t he want me?” he said gruffly. “He went to you.”

  “I’m a woman,” Jordan explained. “Maybe he associates me with his mother.”

  He turned his head toward her, and she saw the moisture in his eyes. “No, he hates me. He blames me for not being there and saving his mother.”

  On some level, he might be right. Timmy was an innocent child who’d trusted that things were safe in his life. And then it had all fallen apart.

  But she didn’t want to compound his guilt. “Miles, listen to me, Timmy is going to make it through this and so are you.”

  “How?”

  The desolation in his voice ripped at her heart. “It will take time, but you are doing the right thing for Timmy.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Miles said. “I let him down that night and I don’t know how to help him now.”

  “You are helping him.” She framed his face with her hands. “You brought him here so he can recuperate, so he can feel normal again. You have me and everyone at the BBL looking out for him. But it takes time to heal.”

  A muscle twitched in Miles’s jaw. “I just want him to be okay again.”

  “I know.” She offered him a warm smile, but a heated moment passed between them, the close proximity of his body arousing hers. He was so strong yet he needed someone to give him strength.

  And God help her, she wanted to be that person. To alleviate his pain.

  His gaze met hers, something hot and sexual flaring in his eyes. Hunger. Need.

  Desire.

  Her breath caught in her chest as he lowered his head and traced one finger over her lip. Jordan sighed, her heart pounding ridiculously in her chest. Heat sizzled between them, the air thick with the raw attraction building between them.

  His breath hissed out, a desperate kind of groan erupting from his throat as if he was fighting this attraction.

  But then he gave in and claimed her mouth with his.

  * * *

  MILES KNEW IT WAS WRONG to want Jordan. Even more wrong to touch her, to kiss her, to pull her into his arms.

  But he was a desperate man, and he did it anyway.

  One second his lips grazed hers, the next he felt her lips part, an invitation to delve deeper. And he took it at that.

  He was just a man. One who had been beating himself up for weeks. One who knew he didn’t deserve redemption, but a man who craved a moment of relief.

  Jordan’s lips moved beneath his, her hands gently stroking his shoulders as he cradled her face in his hands and deepened the kiss. She tasted like sweetness and understanding and passion, a reprieve from the pain eating at him like a poison slowly killing his soul.

  Then Jordan moaned, and her hands trailed up, and she threaded her fingers in his hair, and he groaned. He wanted more.

  He slid his hands down to her hips and pulled her closer, the heat in his body driving his sex to a throbbing ache. He swung her around, positioned her against the porch rail, then lowered his head to taste her neck.

  Suddenly she stiffened, and she gently pushed at his shoulders. “Miles, stop...we can’t.”

  “We damn well can,” he growled against her throat.

  “No.” She wrapped her fingers around his hands and lifted them, then gave a gentle push to put some distance between them. Just a hairbreadth.

  But enough for his common sense to kick in.

  “I’m sorry,” Jordan said. “I...know
you’re hurting but—”

  “Forget it,” he said then stepped back, a coldness suffusing him. “I don’t want your pity—”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Miles.” Jordan’s face constricted. “It’s just that we both got caught up in the moment. We both want what’s best for Timmy, and we can’t let it get personal.”

  “Of course not,” Miles snapped. “Now he’s resting, you should go.”

  Jordan stared at him for another moment, then sighed. “Please—”

  “Just go,” Miles said. “It’s late.”

  Jordan gripped the porch rail and sighed. “All right, but call me if Timmy needs me.”

  Pain stabbed at his chest. Jordan was supposed to take care of Timmy, not him.

  He wouldn’t forget it and touch her again.

  * * *

  HIS PULSE POUNDED as he watched McGregor paw at the blonde on the porch. So McGregor wasn’t the saint he wanted the world to think he was. His lover girl had only been dead a few weeks, and he was already rubbing himself all over another woman.

  Hell, maybe he’d had this piece on the side for a while. Maybe the kid’s mother had even known about it and that was one reason she’d strayed.

  Did McGregor know about her secret rendezvous?

  Would he have cared?

  He remembered the way Marie had looked naked in bed and smiled. He had pictures he could torment McGregor with when the time came.

  But for now, he’d follow the blonde.

  He climbed on his horse and rode toward her cabin, his body stirring with heat. He’d wanted to draw this out, but after watching her grabbing at McGregor, his blood was hot with lust.

  Maybe he’d take her tonight. Have a little fun.

  Then leave her for McGregor to find in the morning. Marked and scarred with his touch just like the woman Marie...

  Chapter Eight

  Jordan silently chided herself as she drove back to her cabin. How could she have made such a mess of things?

  She’d only meant to help Timmy and console Miles, but the moment his lips had touched hers, a heat had lit up inside her.

  She hadn’t felt this intense an attraction to a man in ages.

  Maybe never.

  What was she going to do?

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing except remember that she was a professional and that once Timmy healed and Miles caught Marie’s killer, they’d go back to their own ranch and she’d have to move on.

  Without them in her life.

  She climbed from her car, then headed toward the front door. Suddenly the hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she turned and scanned the property. For a millisecond, she thought she saw something move behind a rock.

  Shaking off her paranoia, she unlocked the cabin door. The fake Christmas tree she’d boxed up but hadn’t yet stowed in the attic mocked her. She had dragged the blasted thing out this year in an attempt to celebrate the holidays. Like others who’d lost loved ones, the holidays always triggered sad memories and depression, but she had been determined to fight it and win the battle this year.

  Still, she hadn’t had the energy to decorate the damn thing. It had stood bare in the corner, a reminder of how empty her personal life had become since she’d lost her brother.

  She shut the door and locked it, then glanced at the clock. 4:00 a.m. Two hours until she needed to start the day.

  She threw off her clothes again, crawled into bed in her T-shirt and pajama pants.

  By the time her head hit the pillow, she was dozing off.

  But seconds later, a squeaking sound jarred her. She bolted upright, listening. She had to have imagined it. She was dreaming or paranoid from all that had happened the past few days.

  Suddenly a shadow moved in front of her and a hand clamped down over her mouth.

  Jordan tried to scream but the pressure cut off her breath. Dear God, she’d seen what Dugan had done to those other women.

  If this was him, she was going to die.

  * * *

  MILES BERATED HIMSELF for mauling Jordan. She had come in the middle of the night to help his son, yet he’d taken advantage of her compassion and thrown himself at her.

  Fool. He’d made a total fool out of himself.

  Too wired and disgusted to sleep, he stood and watched the clouds roll in. The howl of the wind mimicked the howl of a lone coyote out in the wilderness and hammered home the fact that he was alone now, too.

  He and Marie hadn’t exactly had a great relationship, but he hated that she’d died because of him.

  Stomach knotted, he strode back inside, made a pot of coffee, then sat down and studied the files on the Slasher case again.

  Dammit, what had he missed?

  He combed through the notes on Dugan’s family, frowning as he reread the interviews. Something Dugan had said once that had seemed insignificant at the time suddenly jumped out at him, and he studied the interview more closely.

  Detective: Tell us about your family.

  Dugan, with a sardonic chuckle: Which one?

  Detective: Come on, Dugan. It says here your parents are both dead. What happened to them?

  Dugan: How the hell should I know?

  Miles stewed over the wording, then realized that Dugan had asked “which one” as if he had more than one family. But there was no record of an adoption, of a second marriage with either parent, or any stepfathers, stepmothers or siblings.

  In fact, in one interview Dugan had painted a picture of the perfect family, one he’d lost tragically. Had he fabricated that perfect past?

  Adrenaline pummeled Miles, and he punched in Mason Blackpaw’s number.

  Blackpaw answered on the second ring. “What the hell?”

  Miles glanced at the clock and realized it was only 5:00 a.m. “Sorry, man, I didn’t realize the time.”

  Blackpaw made a gravelly sound. “It’s all right,” Blackpaw mumbled. “Usually I’m already on my morning jog, but I pulled an all-nighter.”

  “I hope that means you have news.”

  “Not really. Thought I had a lead on Belsa, but it didn’t pan out.”

  Damn. “Listen, I might have something,” Miles said. “I was studying the original interviews and I think there might have been something in Dugan’s past we missed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “One report shows that he claimed to have the perfect family. That his mother died of cancer and his dad in an accident. But in another interview when we asked about his family, he said, ‘Which one?’”

  Once again, adrenaline spiked his blood. “Dugan said it like a joke, but what if his sarcasm really masked the truth? We didn’t think anything of it at the time, but what if he lied about that perfect family? What if he did have some family that we didn’t know about? A stepfather or stepbrother, someone who might have teamed up with Dugan.”

  Blackpaw mumbled an obscenity. “You’re right. The family we had for him on paper doesn’t fit the psychological profile of a sociopath. But if he has a past we didn’t uncover, it could explain a lot.”

  “I can come back and look into it—”

  “No, stay put and I’ll follow up. I’ll call you as soon as I find something.”

  Miles disconnected, for the first time in weeks energized that they might find Dugan and get justice for the women he’d murdered.

  Maybe when he was behind bars, both he and Timmy would sleep again without seeing Marie’s blood in their nightmares.

  * * *

  JORDAN’S HEART RACED. She was a fighter, and she didn’t intend to let this man kill her.

  She jammed her elbow in his stomach and knocked him backward, then rolled away from him.

  She slid her hand beneath the mattress, closed her fingers around the handle of the .22, whipped it out and pointed at the figure. “Move and I’ll shoot.”

  The hiss of the man’s breath echoed in the air. She had to get to her phone, call for help.

  He made a sarcastic sound as if he wasn’t
afraid of her, and she raised the gun toward his face. Then he lunged toward her. Adrenaline pumped through Jordan, and she pressed the trigger. The sound of the gun firing splintered the air, and the man swung his hand out to knock it from her, but she fired again.

  Outside, a noise sounded. A truck engine? An animal?

  The man must have heard it too, because he suddenly turned and jumped through the open window. Jordan was shaking as she chased after him.

  She had to see where he was going. If he had a car. A horse.

  Darkness washed the property in heavy grays as she searched the backyard. The rustle of bushes near the woods caught her eye. Then the sound of an engine... Where was it?

  She was almost certain she’d heard a truck.

  But there was no one in the drive. No...wait. She spotted taillights heading up the road toward the west pasture.

  Furious and rattled from the attack, she shut the window and made sure it was locked, then flipped on the lamp. She had to do something to chase away the chill engulfing her from the inside out.

  For a heartbeat, she paced the room, debating what to do. Was the intruder part of the gang who’d killed her brother? Or could it have been Dugan?

  Why would he attack her?

  A shudder coursed through her as the terrifying answers trickled through her mind.

  Because she was a female.

  And because she was working with Timmy.

  If Dugan realized that Timmy had seen him and had tracked him and Miles here, he would want to keep Timmy from identifying him.

  Calming herself with deep breaths, she crossed the room to her nightstand, laid the gun back down, then grabbed her phone. She clicked her list of contacts, then called Miles’s number.

  God, she hated to wake him after the night he’d already had. But she had to report this. Tension knotted her shoulders as she listened to the phone ring. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Then Miles’s voice. “Jordan?”

  “Miles, someone broke into my cabin. A man...” Her breath caught.

  “What? Are you all right?”

  She heard his footsteps pounding the floor.

  “I...have a derringer,” she said in a shaky voice. “I shot at him and he escaped through the window.”