by Regan Black
“Not at all,” he said. “What you’re going through is very common. People don’t like to be yanked out of the familiar routine. Not even FBI agents.” He spared her a quick glance, then put his gaze back on the road stretching endlessly in front of them. “The FBI doesn’t like for those same people to get hurt while we’re investigating.”
“At least you get to do your job.” She couldn’t fathom filling the hours she normally spent at work. “What am I going to do out here?” Too afraid of the answer, she couldn’t voice the bigger question: How long would she be stuck out here?
“You might be surprised by how busy we are on a working ranch.”
“If you’re expecting me to herd cattle, you’re in for a big disappointment,” she said.
His low laughter was unexpected. “We do have a modest herd, thirty head of longhorn cattle, and plenty of help with that. There are also horses, goats, dogs, cats and an ever-changing variety of other animals. My parents are both veterinarians, and because we have space and staff, they tend to rescue more than their share of needy animals.”
She kept her mouth shut. They might as well be from two different planets. One of her foster families had had a big orange tabby cat that wasn’t a fan of children. There’d been a year of mutual hatred between her and a yappy little Chihuahua at another stop on her route through the foster-care system.
He lifted a finger off the steering wheel and aimed it toward a point in the distance she couldn’t see. “We’ll head down Main Street, give you a feel for the town.”
Did that mean he’d allow her out of his sight long enough to come back into town? Was this a test? She understood she’d been threatened online and in real life. Understood no one wanted her help, which could only mean the FBI believed she might have assisted the Cohort’s hack of her company’s defenses. Things had spun so quickly out of her control today and she didn’t grasp the new rules of the situation.
She wanted to ask him to be clear about his expectations for her, of her. Why couldn’t she get the words out? Simple questions, really. What are my chores? Where is my room? Is there a lights-out rule? Am I under house arrest? Questions she’d learned to ask upon her arrival at a new foster home. Well, except for that last one.
They passed a beautiful white church spearing up from the landscape, backed by a lovely cemetery. She imagined the weddings, baptisms, funerals and weekly gatherings of families into a larger community that created generations of history. Her nose stung with tears she’d learned long ago to suppress. Tears were rather useless against loneliness.
As if inspired by that first church, Shadow Creek stretched out before them, buildings and businesses, and neighborhoods holding the vast Hill Country at bay. Bigger than she’d expected, it was merely a speck in comparison to Dallas or Austin. Still, something inside her relaxed as they passed bed-and-breakfasts and a sign for a farm called Hill Country. That sounded like a friendly place.
With the tidy buildings and well-maintained facades exuding charm, Shadow Creek might as easily have been found in Hollywood serving as a backdrop for a Western movie. A movie set at Christmastime, she amended. Evergreen garlands climbed lampposts and draped over railings. It seemed every business had a different festive wreath at the door. She assumed tiny white lights sparkled delicately through it all at night.
Christmas. In her head she always emphasized the word with the same dismay Indiana Jones used when he said the word snakes.
She tried to give her spirits a boost as they passed businesses like the Shadow Creek Mercantile, the Cozy Diner and the Secret Garden floral shop near a thoroughly modern bank, a salon-spa and a printing shop. A lovely spot for a weekend getaway, she thought. Too bad she didn’t bother with those.
Catching a glimpse of the tall, modern hospital was a harsh reminder of the Livia Colton announcement and the serious nature of Marie’s trouble.
“Claudia Colton owns a shop you might like down here on Main Street.” Agent Ortega pointed. “Honeysuckle Road. From the way the women around here talk, they love that she brought some New York City style to Shadow Creek.”
“You’re saying I’m free to walk around and go shopping here like a normal tourist?”
“You’re not under house arrest, Miss Meyers.” He glanced at her feet. “Although you won’t want to walk from the ranch back into town in those heels.”
“Call me Marie.”
“Marie it is,” he said, giving her another of those long looks while they were stopped at a traffic light. “And Emiliano is fine.”
She tested his name silently in her mind and decided the sensual cadence fit the sexy man perfectly.
“The FBI is simply trying to keep you safe,” he continued. “We can do that more easily out here.”
“Where strangers stand out?” She should be used to the feeling. There were so few times in her life when she hadn’t been one of the new faces on the fringes, looking at groups with established routines and hierarchy, waiting for her to prove if she could fit in.
“Where neighbors aren’t afraid to take a stand,” he corrected. “It’s a good-sized town, and the community isn’t crammed up together like Dallas. Look around.”
She had been. The businesses on Main Street sparkled as if the sun itself was happier shining here, reluctant to say farewell for the day. Sidewalks were clean and wide, and it seemed as if everyone smiled, a few people waving as Agent Ortega—Emiliano—drove by.
“Plus, with no ties to the area, no one will think to look for you here.”
No ties anywhere, she thought, craving the safe anonymity of the city. Surely one of the gazillion hotels in Dallas would have been sufficient to wait out the hacktivists. Here, she suspected people knew where everyone else came from and would never forget about a foster kid’s science project that caused a kitchen fire. Seeing a sign for another bed-and-breakfast, she felt her stomach twist. Although she’d learned long ago to deflect questions about her personal history, she’d rather not put that to a small-town hospitality test.
Dusk was falling, the sky growing heavy and deep, and as she’d suspected, those holiday greens started to sparkle. She was discomfited by the joyful, carefree vibe in town, and the space and distance of the ranch suddenly held far more appeal. “Tell me more about the ranch.”
“It’s quiet, not as big as some other ranches in the area.” He stopped for another traffic light and pointed to Big Jim’s Burger Shop. “Best burgers in town, in my opinion.” He hitched his thumb back the way they’d come. “Aldo’s vies for the same honor. We’ll try both and you can weigh in.”
Dinners, plural, with Emiliano? “Is the plan to show me around Shadow Creek?” Maybe he wanted to use her as bait to lure the hacktivists. It wasn’t a pleasant idea, though she kept saying she wanted to help.
“Plan?” His straight eyebrows snapped together. “Just an option,” he said, not looking at her. “The ranch is self-sufficient.”
Contrite that he misunderstood her real concern, she tried to apologize. “Shadow Creek is lovely. I just wondered...” As his scowl deepened, she fell silent.
“You’re wondering if I’ll hang you out like a worm on a fish hook,” he finished for her, a muscle in his square jaw twitching.
She wasn’t quite as eager to cooperate when he said it like that. “It’s a valid option.”
“It’s reckless,” he countered, turning off Main Street. Within minutes the evening sparkle of Shadow Creek was a dwindling image behind them as he gained speed on a two-lane blacktop road.
Twilight crept across the landscape, the last rays of the setting sun painting the western horizon with bold streaks of fiery oranges and muted indigo. She felt small and alone in the world without the buffer of Shadow Creek between her and all that wide-open space.
He slowed to take a turn off the paved road onto a gravel driveway. They passed u
nder an archway that declared their arrival at Ortega Ranch with a sign for veterinary services, as well.
She couldn’t see much beyond the road in the fading light, just the rails of a fence and the shape of several buildings as he named them. “The drive splits here and circles around to the veterinary offices,” he said.
She’d take his word, searching for anything familiar and latching on to the one-story stone house with a big chimney at one end caught in his headlights. A faint light glowed from a window deep inside the house.
“The cattle are farther out,” he explained as he parked the truck.
Lights, apparently on motion sensors, flooded the immediate area in a bright glow. “Where will I be staying?” At last, she managed to voice one of the questions she should have asked earlier.
“At the main house with me.” He left the cab to get their bags out of the truck bed.
She hopped out and her heels sank into the dirt. He’d been so eager to get on the road he hadn’t given her time to change. This would not be the place for heels and skirts. Thank goodness she’d taken his advice and packed her sneakers and jeans, along with easy-care T-shirts and a couple of older sweatshirts.
What a mess, she thought, coming around to help him with her luggage. Moving in with an FBI agent, temporarily exiled from her work and distanced from the city life she loved.
“Plenty of room and all the modern conveniences. You’ll hardly know you’ve left Dallas.”
She jumped and turned at the sound of a soft woof. Uncertain of her options, she looked to Emiliano for guidance as a tall dog with a shaggy golden coat trotted out of the darkness from the direction of the barns.
Emiliano crouched down. “Hey, Gordo,” he said, giving him a scratch between his ears.
“Gordo?”
“Short for Flash Gordon. My dad was in a mood that day. He found him on the side of the road and nursed him back to health after a broken pelvis. Gordo used to race up the drive as soon as he heard my dad’s car. He’s slowed down some.” Emiliano stood up, smiling at her across the truck bed. “Come say hello.”
“I don’t know how.”
He simply came to her, Gordo at his hip. “Sit.” The dog complied, his ears cocked as he stared up at her. “Gordo, this is Marie. She’s our friend. Shake.”
Gordo lifted a paw and, at the agent’s encouraging nod, she bent down and gave it a quick shake.
“Great job,” Emiliano said.
She chose not to ask if he meant to praise her or the dog. Either way, she took an immediate liking to Gordo, and Emiliano’s obvious pleasure at being home put her at ease.
“Let’s get you settled in.” He picked up the luggage, leaving her to manage only her purse as he walked along the wide covered patio that fronted the house. It was decorated with planters between each column and had padded benches set back against the firm stone wall of the house and separated by small tables, and she felt the warm welcome, even as a stranger.
Hearing the staccato barking inside, she stutter-stepped. “Another dog?”
“As I said earlier,” he replied.
“Right.” She gave Gordo a tentative smile. “I’m not used to being around animals,” she said. “I’ll figure it out.” Blending in was the key to successful transitions. This was just one more temporary transition.
“As the son of two veterinarians, I can’t imagine it any other way.” The barking grew closer and a long white snout tipped with a black nose poked aside the curtains at the front window as they passed by. Bright brown eyes shone with happiness from a reddish-brown face, split by the stripe of white that narrowed as it flowed up between the large perked ears.
A broad smile transformed Emiliano’s face. “That’s my corgi, Scrabble.”
“Another rescue?”
“Of sorts. She’s one of our best herders.” He stopped abruptly and she had to as well or run into his back. He turned, blocking the walkway. “Don’t move.”
At the window, Scrabble raised her voice again, her eyes on Emiliano, ears straight up and her small paws patting the sill. She seemed to bounce a little with every sound, as if desperate to tell him something.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He didn’t answer as he set the luggage down and drew his gun. He was in full federal-agent mode again as his gaze swept the area while he put his back to the house and the barking dog.
“Stay right there,” he ordered.
A thousand terrible thoughts ran through her mind as he crept closer to the front door. Another note? A robbery? Something worse? No one knew until a few hours ago that she would be coming here, so it couldn’t be related to her, could it?
Gordo wandered up beside her, leaned a little against her leg. She didn’t care about dog hair on her skirt, taking comfort from the mutt’s presence as she rested a hand on his head.
“Ace?” As quickly as he’d drawn his gun, he holstered his weapon, kneeling as he’d done to greet Gordo.
Another animal? She assumed this one was wounded based on Emiliano’s tone.
Gordo whimpered and she absently stroked the dog’s ear, soothing them both while Scrabble continued her efforts to communicate with Emiliano. Why had she ever agreed to this? Coming out here gave too much weight to the hacktivist threats. She gazed out over the dark fields between the house and the deserted road and wondered what she could do to regain control of her life.
“Marie! Call nine-one-one.”
“You have my phone.” Was there an emergency response team for animals out here? She hurried toward him, only then seeing the man in the doorway. “Oh, no. He’s not... Is he...is he dead?”
Chapter 4
“Ace!” Emiliano’s heart kicked hard in his chest at the sight of Ace Gregor slumped against the front door. He pressed his fingers to the man’s throat, searching for a pulse. Finding it steady, if slow, Emiliano drew his first deep breath of relief.
No sign of blood or wounds aside from scraped knuckles, which could mean anything for a man working on a ranch. Had he had a heart attack or a stroke? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities. At sixty-three, Ace had been part of life at Ortega Ranch since before Emiliano was born. The man was as good as family and reliable as sunrise. He’d never done anything so uncharacteristic as passing out in a doorway.
Carefully, Emiliano felt around the man’s head and neck for any obvious injuries. There was a large goose egg at the back of Ace’s head, but no blood in the thin blond hair going gray at the temples.
Nothing out here on the porch would have caused that kind of injury and left Ace in this position, unless the man had fallen into the doorknob. An unlikely scenario. Emiliano looked around, seeing no signs of a struggle, which baffled him even more. Had the man knocked himself senseless and passed out before he could get into the house? Again, unlikely. Knowing the first-aid supplies were in the kitchen, Ace would have gone to the back door, not the front.
“Ace. Come on.” Emiliano jerked out of his jacket and eased the older man flat on his back, pillowing his head. Stretched out, Ace seemed to breathe easier. Emiliano shook his shoulder gently, praying he’d come around.
Inside, Scrabble was going nuts, as if she was encouraging Ace to wake up. The antics didn’t surprise him, as his dog and the ranch hand had a tight bond. Ace often used her to help with the cattle and he took the brunt of her care whenever Emiliano had to travel for work.
“You know him? He’s alive?”
Emiliano turned, looking up into Marie’s worried face. “Yes. He’s our ranch manager.”
“Do you still want me to call an ambulance?”
He let his gaze drift down her compact body, from her lovely face, over the shapely legs bared by her tailored skirt, to the heels that wouldn’t last a day out here. His job was to keep her safe while they assessed the
hack and her potential culpability, not catalog her finer attributes.
“Let’s give him a minute. Help me get him inside.” Dragging her out of Dallas and promising her safety, only to find a body in the doorway, probably didn’t instill much confidence. It certainly left him rattled and wondering.
“Shouldn’t you check for intruders or a break-in?”
“If someone was inside, Scrabble would’ve told me by now.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Predictably, his stocky little dog squeezed through at the first opportunity and turned a happy circle at his feet before snuffling around Ace’s face and neck.
She jerked back and sneezed, then startled him by growling at the older man. “Settle. Back it up, Scrabble.”
The dog stepped aside and plopped onto her rump at his left foot. Her ears cocked for his next command, Emiliano saw her curious gaze drift toward Marie.
“In a minute,” he said to his dog. He’d make introductions as soon as he got Ace inside. As gently as possible, he hauled Ace over the threshold and settled him on the nearest couch in the central room.
Marie followed with Gordo and the luggage, and closed the door.
“Kitchen’s that way.” Emiliano pointed. Scrabble put her nose under Ace’s hand in a move that usually earned her an ear rub. Ace remained still. “Can you find a towel and wet it with cool water, please?”
Marie hurried off while Emiliano continued evaluating Ace. The older man didn’t reek of alcohol and wasn’t known to get sloppy drunk. The next guess was drugs, though that too would be out of character. Emiliano searched the man’s pockets, found his cell phone and checked for any incriminating messages or callers, coming up empty.
Marie handed him the cool, damp towel and stepped back while Emiliano pressed the cloth to Ace’s cheeks and forehead.
Scrabble studied the woman between her attempts to rouse Ace.
“We should call an ambulance,” Emiliano muttered. “I just don’t know what to tell them.” Suspicions of heart attack or stroke wouldn’t help a paramedic diagnose anything. With Ace breathing and a steady pulse, he decided to give the man another minute or two to come around.
