His Holiday Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “I can give you a lift home,” Merritt spoke up.

  “Thanks.” She couldn’t stop staring at the knife slit. Wild Horse was a small town and a friendly one. There wasn’t a whole lot of crime. Few people in these parts would disable a ranch truck. She couldn’t think of a single person who would.

  “Is there a problem, ladies?” Ford ambled out of the diner.

  “A small one.” Of course, it would have to be him.

  “Let me take a look.” He eased down next to her, squinting hard at the knife slash. “Looks like you’ve got trouble here. Is there anything you want to tell me about?”

  “Like what?”

  “Crazy ex-boyfriend, a long-standing feud, someone who has a grudge against you?”

  “Not for a long time, no, and not that I know of.” She swiped a lock of red-gold hair out of her eyes. “This is deliberate. No one else’s tires are slashed.”

  “I noticed.” Considering every car on the street was clustered around the diner, it was obvious. He knelt down to take a closer look at the angry gash in the rubber. Someone sure didn’t like Autumn. “Anything unusual happen lately?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, except for meeting you.”

  Was that a hint of a grin on her lips? He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Autumn smiling. He was a professional, even if he wasn’t on the clock yet. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to have unprofessional thoughts about her centering on conversation with candlelight and a nice steak. She’d turned him down once, but she hadn’t sounded one hundred percent final. There had been a glimmer in her eyes.

  “I didn’t do this, as you know. I also have an alibi.” He slipped the paperback he carried into his rear pocket. “I was in the thick of Larry McMurtry. But I’ll find out who did.”

  “If someone saw something, they would have said so. This isn’t a big city. People don’t look the other way here.” Her gaze met his, and the force of it was like the sun and moon colliding. Hard to think straight when such a pretty woman was waiting for an intelligent remark. It was even harder to pretend he was stone-cold granite, professional and unaffected.

  “Hey, you! What’s going on over there?” someone called out. A shadow fell across him. Ford looked up to see an elderly man with his wife at his side hurrying along the sidewalk. Fearless, the gray-haired stranger shook his finger angrily. “What are you doing to that truck? Get away—oh, howdy, Autumn. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Plum.” Autumn’s smile of welcome was one of greeting for old friends. She rose, the tires forgotten. “This is our new sheriff. He’s your neighbor, too.”

  “Howdy.” Ford climbed to his feet.

  “Oh. Mighty fine to meet you, sir.” The older man had a powerful stance, a direct gaze and a firm handshake. “Velma and I thought we saw someone at Miller’s rental place, but we didn’t look too close. It could have been the Realtor.”

  “Martha’s been in and out now and again showing the place. Didn’t know it was let.” Velma Plum patted his hand in a motherly welcome. “If I’d known, I would have had an apple crisp ready for you. I’d best get crackin’. Hal, remind me when we get home. You know how I am—”

  “Always stopping to chat with everyone. Always talking away and losing track of everything else.” Hal winked, as if he didn’t mind at all. When he gazed at his wife, it was with great, accepting love. “Look, there’s Betty. See what I mean?”

  “I see.” Ford watched a woman in her fifties greet Velma with a hug. Both of the women fell to talking.

  “Need a hand there, young fella?” Hal asked.

  “What I need is information. You wouldn’t have noticed anyone slinking around this truck, would you?”

  “Besides you?” Hal quipped.

  Autumn’s amusement hit him like a wind gust. He could feel her holding back laughter. More folks came out of the diner to congregate on the sidewalk, already discussing the slashed tires.

  Looked like she was right. Apparently, little went unnoticed in a small town.

  Chapter Three

  “Autumn!”

  Somewhere far away in the dark she heard her name, but it wasn’t powerful enough to yank her out of her dream. Her bed was warm and her electric blanket cozy, and in her mind she was at the diner running her spoon through the hot fudge and trying not to feel a pull in Ford’s direction.

  Keep your attention on the ice cream, she told herself. Ice cream is better for you, calories and all, than he is. Dudes are nothing but heartache.

  “Autumn!” A full-fisted pounding rattled her bedroom door. “Wake up!”

  “Dad?” The dream evaporated and she sat up. Her pillow tumbled to the floor, she kicked off her covers and rubbed her eyes. Cool air enveloped her. The numbers on the clock shone blurrily in the ink-dark room. She squinted, bringing them into focus. Two-forty-three. What was going on?

  Then she heard it: a faint, rhythmic, rapid-fire sputtering. A helicopter.

  “We got trouble,” Dad shouted, moving on down the hall to pound on Cheyenne’s door. “Up and at ’em!”

  Rustlers. Her feet hit the floor and she grabbed her clothes from last night, pulling them on as she went. By the time she threw open her door, she was only missing shoes. She’d grab her boots on her way through the mudroom.

  In the hall up ahead, Dad hammered on the last door—Addison’s—before racing downstairs. She jammed her bare feet into her riding boots and grabbed her cell from her purse.

  “Here.” Frank handed her a rifle and a box of cartridges. His phone rang and he answered it, grabbing a second rifle. “I just put a call in to the sheriff and the county. They said they’d be here in ten to twenty. They’ve got the only chopper aound, and it will take a while to get in the air.”

  Rifle in hand, she flew out the door and into the night. Surrounded by darkness and shadows, she ignored the nearby cow mooing plaintively, wondering what was going on, and hit the ground running. She ate up distance, whistling for Aggie. The whop-whop grew louder. She could see the faint flash of a helicopter’s safety lights above the far hillside’s crest before the vehicle nosed down to make another pass. No doubt it was rounding up their animals and scaring them into a hard run. She prayed the Lord was watching over the livestock.

  Aggie nickered, hooves pounding the dirt as she skidded to a stop. No time to bridle up. Autumn ripped open the gate, caught Aggie by a handful of mane and leaped. She landed on her mare’s back as the horse broke into a hard gallop. They rode in sync, bulleting up the gravel road that stretched from the house to the long row of barns, stables and outbuildings.

  Dad was behind her, calling for Rogue. His cutting horse answered with an anxious whinny. In the shadows, she caught sight of her sisters dashing full speed from the house. She searched the darkness ahead. Where was Justin? Best guess, he was headed for the rustlers.

  She wheeled Aggie toward the hillside, leaning low and urging the mare into a hard canter. She heard an engine flare to life, and a headlight pierced the darkness. Justin. Halfway up the hill, her dad on Rogue passed her. No time to say anything, but she knew her father’s plan. She gripped the gun tightly in her right hand and prayed she wouldn’t have to use it.

  The helicopter wheeled around to make another pass, and gunfire flashed from the loading door. Bullets zinged through the air, biting into rock and earth and kicking up dust all around them. Aggie didn’t startle but put her head down with determination, her hooves eating up ground.

  Up ahead, both Dad on horseback and Justin on the ATV ground to a halt. Her dad was fast, sighting and firing first. Must have been a hit, because the rustler’s semiautomatic fired in a fast burst, bullets licking haphazardly along the hillside away from them before falling silent. The helicopter went nose up and ate distance.

  “They’re not done with us yet,” Frank shouted. “You girls split up. Addison and Cheyenne, go with Justin along the section line.”

  “I’m with you, Dad.” She signaled Aggie around to th
e field gate and unlatched it, backing the horse to swing it wide. “You didn’t take a bullet this time, did you?”

  “No. Don’t you worry about me, missy.” He flashed a grin as he raced past her. “You stay behind me, you hear?”

  That was her dad, always taking the lead, fearless, although years ago he’d taken two bullets to the chest chasing off rustlers. If the county’s helicopter hadn’t been on site and flown him straight to the hospital at Jackson, they would have lost him.

  Please keep protecting him, she prayed, clinging to Aggie as the horse lunged up the dark, treacherous slope. Rocks rolled, earth shifted and Aggie lost her footing. For one terrible second Autumn felt them tumbling backwards. She leaned forward, resisting the instinct to dismount, and stuck with her horse.

  Aggie pawed her way back onto the trail and surged forward until they were on solid ground again. Grateful, Autumn wiped grit from her face, ignored the adrenaline spiking through her system and focused on following her dad along the ridge. The helicopter, farther away now, made one low sweep. Another shot rang out in their direction. Before she could hit the safety and lift her rifle, bullets whizzed by and dirt and rock flew. Something hit her in the leg—a slight sting. A rock sliver. Her dad got off another shot before the helicopter wheeled low and began to smoke.

  “Got ’em.” He sounded grim. “Trouble is, I think they got me, too.”

  It was strange to be woken out of a sound sleep by the dispatch operator and to hear the words, “Cattle rustlers.” Ford felt like he was sleepwalking through an old cowboy movie as he jumped into clothes and his Jeep. Lights flashing, he barreled through the sleeping town and along the rolling countryside, startling owls and coyotes as he broke speed barriers following directions to a ranch off Mustang Lane.

  Good thing he knew where Mustang Lane was. That brought up images of the pretty red-haired cowgirl he’d taken a shine to—now he was thinking like an old Western. Made it seem even more like a dream until he spotted the address he was looking for on a big black mailbox and the last name spelled out in silver reflective letters. Granger.

  Autumn’s ranch. Fear gripped his gut as he gunned it, taking the gravel drive at a fast clip. It wove between a shadowed copse of trees and up a rise. Up ahead a two-story house perched, windows glowing like a beacon in the night. He followed the driveway to the side of the house and a detached garage with six doors. He hit the brakes, launched out of his seat and followed the porch light to the back of the house.

  The door flew open before he reached the porch and a younger version of Autumn with serious blue eyes and red-brown hair stepped out to greet him. The college-aged girl had a streak of blood on her pajama top.

  “Autumn?” He choked out, unable to ask the question. The fear in his gut cinched tight.

  “You’re the sheriff? You made good time from town.” The girl spun on her heels, gestured to him and led the way toward the brightly lit back door. “Justin and my sister are out there, and they haven’t come back.”

  His knees felt half-jelly as he forced his feet to carry him up the walk. Usually he was invincible, but the thought of Autumn out there facing armed thieves made him weak. He glanced around. Nothing but miles of rangeland and cattle. The paramedics were volunteers from town who were at least twenty minutes away. And a hospital? He had no idea where the closest trauma center would be.

  This was a sign. He cared more about Autumn than he’d realized. He stumbled up the steps, across the porch and into the bright lights of a spacious kitchen.

  “You must be Ford Sherman.” A brawny man in his early fifties sat at a round oak table with his chair pushed back, T-shirt sleeve rolled up and fresh sutures exposed. He stood and extended his good hand. “Glad to meet you. I’m Frank Granger.”

  “Looks like you’ve been better.” They shook. He’d seen a wound like that before. “You took a bullet.”

  “Flesh wound, mostly.” Granger didn’t look troubled by it.

  “Dad, sit down.” Another red-haired young woman pointed to the chair and scowled at him. “You’ve been shot.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not bad.”

  “I don’t care. You’re going to sit down and stay down.” This daughter, who looked to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, dabbed a swab along tidy stitches, her stern tone at odds with the affection on her face. “You could have been killed.”

  “Nothing vital got hit.”

  “You still could have slipped off your horse, rolled down the ridge and died, so you will stay in this chair or I’ll rope you into it.” She dropped the swab into a wastebasket and reached for a sealed package of gauze. “I’m almost as good as Autumn when it comes to calf roping, so don’t tempt me.”

  “Women.” Frank shook his head, good-natured, as he eased back into his chair and turned to the business at hand. “Out in the field, I got a few good shots in. Didn’t see a fireball, but I probably forced them down. If I did, they couldn’t have gone far. They’ve got an injured man with them and likely one on the ground.”

  “I haven’t been briefed on all this.” As a country lawman, he was out of his depth. Back in Chicago they would set up a perimeter and start a search. “Anyone else hurt?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t heard from Justin, my oldest son. He’s either out of cell range or in a lick of trouble. Since I haven’t heard gunshots, I’m guessing he and Autumn are safe.”

  Autumn. The worry in his gut cinched one notch tighter.

  “Ow, Cheyenne.” Granger winced and yanked his arm away. “Aren’t you done yet? I gotta go.”

  “Do I need to get a lasso?” the daughter threatened.

  “Honey, you go right on ahead, but remember this. You can’t outrun me.” Frank winked, rolled down his sleeve and bounded to his feet. “C’mon, sheriff. Let’s go huntin’. You know how to ride a horse?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Granger opened a cabinet and tossed him a rifle. “You’ll need this. That little Glock you’re packing might not do the trick.”

  Ford’s fingers closed on the cold metal stock, and he clicked into action mode. The setting might be different, but the task was the same. This was what he knew. This was what he was good at. He led the way out the door, down the steps and into the night.

  “I can’t believe this.” Autumn rode up alongside her brother on the ridge. Below rolled the shadowed meadows and lowland hills, and a herd of quarter horses huddled in the hollows. “You walked up here?”

  “As fast as my boots could carry me.” His grip tightened on the binocs. “Had a blowout. Someone knifed the tires. I was lucky to get as far as I did.”

  “Puts a whole new light on what happened to the truck.” Autumn slipped down, rifle in hand.

  “My guess is that every tire in the place is flat.”

  “Mine, too. See anything around that smoke cloud?”

  “The chopper has to be down, but I can’t get a look. If we’ve got rustlers on the ground, we might have a chance of rounding them up.” He pocketed his binoculars in his bulky winter coat. “I need a horse.”

  “Take Aggie, I can get Bella out of the field.” She slid to the ground. “How many men are there?”

  “Won’t know for sure until we ferret ’em out, but we do know they’re armed and likely to be cranky at us for grounding them.” Justin bounded onto the mare, talking quietly to her. Aggie wasn’t used to being ridden by anyone else, and she cast a long, pleading look before Justin signaled her with his knees and pressed her forward down the crumbling slope.

  Autumn stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. In the meadow, a few colts moved closer to their mamas, and mares lifted their heads nervously. Only one horse broke from the herd and paraded head up, mane and tail flying.

  Bella. Autumn slipped and slid down to the valley floor, startling small creatures and dodging a stray bat. When she reached her girl, she noticed that there was foam on her withers and her sides were heaving.

  “Did that helicopter
bother you, too?” Autumn rubbed the mare’s nose. “Did you think you were missing out on the fun?”

  A loving nicker, and Bella pressed her face against Autumn’s stomach, leaning in. Sweet. She ran her fingers through her old girl’s forelock like always and laid her cheek against the hard plane of horsey forehead. Just for a moment. A greeting between old friends.

  “I missed you, too, girl.” She broke away, rifle still in hand. “Are you ready to ride?”

  In perfect understanding, her friend whinnied, head up, tail flicking. They were a team. They’d always been the best team. She grabbed a fist of mane and swung up, Bella already moving. Without a single lead, the mare wheeled in the direction where Justin and Aggie had disappeared and took off, confident, racing the wind.

  Fencing was down. It was hard from this distance to tell if it had been cut or torn down by running cattle. The cows could be hurt, and she didn’t have her pack on her. She flipped open her cell, but still no service. When they reached the hard path along the fence line, she caught sight of Aggie and Justin trying to gather the nervous animals.

  “Helicopter!” Justin called out, pointing to the south. Looked like it was approaching the ranch house. The bird was white and well lit, the county’s south-boundary sheriff responding.

  Finally. Relief flitted through her. At least they wouldn’t be stuck with an inexperienced city sheriff in this dangerous situation. Ford Sherman might well be a good city lawman, but she couldn’t picture him riding bareback in the middle of the night while sighting and shooting a rifle. Sure, he had been great in town earlier, getting Loren on the horn, and her truck towed, and interviewing anyone within earshot of the diner. But this? Probably not. A lot of men, even strong alpha men, weren’t suited to it.

  “These cows aren’t all ours,” Justin called out when she and Bella ambled closer. “I see Parnell’s brand and someone else’s.”