The Sheriff's Daughter

by Jessica Andersen

  She flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Dr. Blackwell? Thank God I’ve caught you! The people at your clinic said you were on your way back. We need you here right away!” The unfamiliar voice was rushed and breathless, though lacked the tears she associated with most veterinary emergencies.

  “Who is this? What’s wrong?” Adrenaline surged through her, clearing away the useless regrets and second guesses that had plagued her drive. Logan needed to concentrate on the Trehern trial, and on his sister. Period. There was no room in his life right then for anything else. He’d made that clear enough.

  “This is the manager at Bellamy Farms. You’ve gotta come quick, I’ve got a colt here who’s cut himself up bad. He’s gonna bleed out if he doesn’t get some help.”

  Bellamy! Sam drew a breath. “Where is Dr. Sears?”

  “Gone. I don’t know where and I can’t reach him. You’ve gotta come, Dr. Blackwell. Please?”

  She could be at the farm in ten minutes. And even though she resented how they’d ordered her off the property only days before, it wasn’t the horse’s fault people were idiots. Arterial bleeds were serious. Fatal. The colt needed help now, not later.

  Her internal debate was over almost before it began. Of course she’d go. But there was one problem.

  “I’m in a rental car and I don’t have any of my instruments with me.” In fact, most of them had been in the truck and were now ruined. “I’ll have to run to the clinic first and pick up my injectables and some sutures.”

  She could cobble together a large-animal kit from the spares in the back room. Let the feds have what was in the truck. Hopefully they’d be able to tie the sabotage to Trehern’s goons and nail them for a good, long time.

  That thought inevitably brought Logan to mind—his gentle, soothing touches the night before, and the hot, inciting ones.

  The farm manager’s panicked response broke through her foolish sensory flash. “We don’t have time for that! Just come straight here and you can use Dr. Sears’s equipment.”

  “He’d be furious,” she said, while inwardly acknowledging it was the best option.

  “Rumor has it he won’t be working here for long.” The barn manager’s voice turned pleading. “You come right now and I’ll put in a good word for you with Bellamy, I swear it.”

  She would have gone for the sake of the horse alone. But the possibility that Bellamy was thinking about replacing his staff vet decided her. She took the next turn, onto the winding road that led to the farm. “I’m on my way. But when Sears wants my head for touching his equipment, remember that you suggested it.”

  Her blood surged, as it always did when she was headed for an emergency, maybe a little more this time because the fates had handed her another opportunity with Bellamy.

  “Will do.” The barn manager disconnected with a click and she folded her phone so she could drive with both hands.

  She spun the rental around a tight corner, glad to think about her work, about the goals she’d had before Logan Hart’s arrival in Black Horse Beach.

  Before the night they’d spent together in the city.

  She sighed as a remembered heat worked its way through her body and her mind replayed bright kitchen lights, brown marble and the tense, taut line of a masculine shoulder in Technicolor glory.

  She sent the car around a slow curve between two small tangles of forest.

  Pop!

  The rental car jolted and dragged into the wrong lane. Damn it, she’d blown a tire!

  Sam felt a second jolt and slammed on the brakes, heart jackrabbiting.

  What the hell was going on?

  The passenger-side window imploded with a crash. She screamed and yanked on the steering wheel. The car spun in a complete arc and stopped dead, blocking both lanes.

  She stared dumbly at the missing window, then at the dark figure just visible at the edge of the woods. Tree-dappled sunlight glinted off the barrel of a rifle.

  The shooter!

  Sam screamed. Ducked.

  And the bastard shot out her windshield.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Leave her alone!” Sick with rage and fear, Logan floored the gas and sent the pickup hurtling toward the shadowy armed figure.

  The gunman cut and ran straight back into the trees.

  “I’ve got him!” William jumped from the truck and bolted into the forest. “You check on the woman.”

  The woman, Logan thought. Sam! He was out of the truck between one of his thundering heartbeats and the next, sprinting to the rental car.

  As he ran, the fear pounded in his bloodstream. If he’d been five minutes later, he would have gone straight to the clinic. He wouldn’t have seen her turn off the road. Wouldn’t have followed her.

  Wouldn’t have been in time.

  But was he? What if he was too late after all?

  He reached the car, yanked the driver’s side door open—

  And saw Sam huddled in the foot well. Alive.

  The rush of relief nearly brought him to his knees. He didn’t think twice about reaching down, pulling her into his arms and hanging on tight as his heart threatened to bang through his rib cage and out for her to see.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as she shook in his embrace. “Damn it, Sam, are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay.” She clung for a moment, then pushed away. “He didn’t hit me.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, seeming not to care that she brushed away small chips of safety glass.

  Logan shoved his fists in his pockets as panic shifted to anger in a heartbeat. She was okay.

  But she might not have been. He could just as easily have opened the door to find her slumped across the front seat, a neat hole in her forehead, the back of her head blown away.

  “Why did you leave the station?” He’d meant to ask the question reasonably, but it came out in a muted roar. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  She could have been killed. Logically, she should have been. They’d gotten lucky.

  Her fingers flexed on her arms. Crossed in front of her chest, they formed a shield, a flimsy barrier that might shut him out but would never stop a bullet. “The shooter was captured up in the city, wasn’t he?” Her voice climbed toward the breaking point. “Then who was that? Who the hell was that?”

  Brush crashed nearby and Logan spun, putting himself between Sam and the tree line, then relaxing when he saw the light-colored flash of a hospital sling and William’s familiar deadly walk. The fed was covered with wet leaves and a powdering of pine needles. He looked disgusted. Tired. In pain.

  “You lose him?” Logan asked.

  “Yeah. Bastard was fast, and I’ll bet you a hundred he’s local. Knew exactly where the path was to get down this slippery hillside. By the time I got to the bottom—mostly head over heels—he was long gone.”

  Sam looked from one man to the other, eyes dark with confusion, arms gripping each other spasmodically. “What’s going on here?” She glanced at William. “I get that you’re not on Trehern’s team, but what are you doing here? What are either of you doing here? And who just shot at me? I thought you people had the assassin in custody!”

  Sensing incipient hysteria, Logan took a step toward her, then stopped when she backed away. He reined in his emotions when he wanted to shout because she looked like she might shatter. The fragility he’d seen that morning as she slept had come to the forefront, though she wouldn’t thank him for mentioning it.

  He spread his hands, aware of William keeping watch at his back. They needed to get her to shelter. To safety.

  It was seeming more likely by the moment that she’d been the target all along.

  “We thought we had them, but we didn’t. Martin Gross was lying. Trehern never hired anyone to go after me.”

  Her mind made the connection instantly and her eyes flashed with panic. “Then they’re after me?”

  He took a step toward her, the need to get her into the truck thrumming through his veins. �
��We don’t know that.” Though it seemed likely—and unlikely at the same time.

  Why would anyone want to kill Sam?

  As though reading his mind, she shook her head. “I’m the town vet! Why kill the town vet?”

  “I don’t know.” He was close enough to touch her now. He linked his fingers around her arm and drew her close, though she held herself stiff. “But we’re going to find out.”

  “I led them right back here, back to my town. My friends.” There was a quiver in her voice now. Half a heartbeat later, she flinched and said, “No. I didn’t lead them back, did I? They were waiting for me. They’ve been here all along.”

  He didn’t bother to deny it. How could he?

  “Logan, we need to move her someplace safe.” William’s quiet statement sent a shiver through Sam’s body and Logan held her closer.

  Someplace safe. But where?

  “Come on.” Logan gestured her to the truck, which leaned drunkenly where he’d left it halfway up a hill. The three climbed into the vehicle in a tense, watchful silence. The forest seemed to have grown eyes and ears. It watched.

  Waited.

  Logan gritted his teeth as he boosted her into the cab, fired the engine and aimed the truck back toward the road.

  He never again wanted to experience the terror he’d felt when he’d seen the gunman fire into the windshield of her rented car. Was that what Nancy had felt when he’d gone undercover? What she felt when she waved Stephen off on his next assignment, or when she’d heard he wasn’t coming home?

  God, it was an awful feeling. If that was what it was like to care about someone in danger, he was doubly determined to spare Sam the agony.

  Though he hadn’t managed to spare himself.

  Hands locked on the steering wheel, Logan stopped the truck at the verge of the road, turning neither toward nor away from Black Horse Beach.

  He cared about her. The realization streaked through him like a threat. A promise. He might be able to keep Sam from caring about him, but he’d apparently failed miserably at not caring for her.

  That’s what the emotion had been as he’d driven toward the gunman. Panic laced with caring. He hadn’t needed to rescue her because she was in trouble, or because he was making up for not having saved Sharilee.

  He’d needed to save her because he couldn’t imagine a world without her. Couldn’t imagine his world without her.

  He needed her.

  Oh, hell.

  “We going?” William’s voice asked from the other side of Sam. The men had automatically sat on opposite ends of the bench seat, flanking her. Protecting her.

  Logan glanced over at the rental car. Two flat tires, a broken passenger-side window and shot-out windshield left it looking like the victim of a nasty, private war.

  Which is exactly what it was, except they had no idea what enemy they were fighting against.

  “We should go back to the city,” he said aloud. “She’ll be safe in the apartment.” He wasn’t sure why he even bothered to voice the thought. It was the obvious answer. The right one.

  And he knew she would hate it.

  Sure enough, she snapped back, “No way. This is my town. My home. I’m not letting them drive me out, not again.” She glanced from Logan to William and back. “And besides, they didn’t follow me to the city last time, so they probably won’t again. I’m not leaving my friends in danger when my presence could very well draw the shooters out into the open long enough for you and the cops to catch them.”

  That, Logan realized, was the reason for his hesitation. The strategist in him wanted to drive her to the clinic and stake the place out until the bastards showed their faces.

  The man in him wanted to lock her away in the high-rise where nobody could touch her except him.

  He was aware of William’s implacable gaze, of the other man waiting for him to make the call.

  As though aware of his dilemma, his turmoil, Sam touched his arm. “Please, Logan. Think of how I’d feel if Jen or Jimmy were hurt because of me.”

  Think of how I’d feel if you were hurt, he wanted to shout, but understood her point. Worry and obligation weren’t a man’s prerogative, he thought, and was surprised to realize he’d wanted them to be.

  “You want to go to the clinic?” he asked, though the answer was obvious.

  She withdrew her hand, and the place where she’d touched felt cool in comparison. “I trust you to keep me safe.”

  “Okay, then. The clinic it is.” He spun the wheel and aimed the truck for Black Horse Beach.

  He just hoped her trust wasn’t placed wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, Sam’s head spun as she sat behind her desk in the vet clinic. She put down the phone with a final-sounding clunk. “They didn’t have a colt hurt, and Dr. Sears won’t be leaving for his conference until tomorrow morning.”

  Logan made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded caught between a snort and a growl, stood and strode to the far side of the waiting room.

  She dropped her forehead to her hands because she didn’t want to watch him pace, didn’t want to admire the clean elegance of his stride, didn’t want to imagine the sleek play of muscles beneath his clothes—images made so much more vital by the events of the night before.

  True to her vow, she’d walked away. More accurately, she’d run without saying goodbye, without checking to be sure that the suspects in custody were the true shooters.

  Stupid. She’d been stupid on so many levels. And now she was back where she had started, except that everything was different.

  She glanced at Logan and amended, she was different. She’d been changed by knowing him, and where would that leave her when he left?

  Miserable.

  “Bellamy’s farm manager didn’t make the call, did he?” Jimmy asked quietly, surprising Sam, who’d all but forgotten the others were present.

  William slouched near the door, body angled toward the street, gun within easy reach. He formed a picture of casual deadliness that gave her a serious shiver.

  Jimmy and Jen sat close together on the waiting room bench, not touching, but not far away either. Good. Jen deserved a steady, dependable man. One who wouldn’t ask her for more than she could give or give her less than she deserved.

  Well, hell, Sam thought, so do I. Too bad she wasn’t attracted to that sort. No, she gravitated to the love ’em and leave ’em men. The dangerous ones.

  The protective he-men who were so damned good at waving goodbye.

  She glanced over at Logan and was instantly caught in his eyes. She read frustration there. Danger, and a hint of something softer she couldn’t quite define.

  “Sam?” Jimmy prompted, “was it the farm manager?”

  “No,” she said. “Bellamy’s people didn’t call me.”

  “So.” Logan paced back and forth, hands jammed in his pockets and a scowl furrowed across his brow. “The call was a fake designed to lure you to that particular stretch of road. But how the heck did they know you were back in town?”

  “I told them,” Jen said quietly. She looked at Sam, guilt splashed across her face. “You said to refer emergencies to your cell phone because everything was all right and you were on your way home. I know how much you want Bellamy’s business, so…” She trailed off and dropped her hand beside her chair, where Maverick stood guard. Now allowed the run of the clinic, the stray had adopted Jen as his human.

  “It’s not your fault,” Sam jumped in quickly. “You were doing what I’d asked. How were we supposed to know the police hadn’t caught the real shooter?”

  She realized her mistake just before Logan’s roar nearly shook the Victorian that housed her clinic. “You were supposed to stay in the police station until everything was clear! You were supposed to wait for me to come back and—” His teeth clicked shut, biting off whatever he’d been about to say. He glared at her across the room as though they were alone, and a tremble of fear—or perhaps excitement—worked i
ts way through her soul.

  Even now, even knowing how much it would hurt in the end, she wanted to be with him. To touch him, taste him. To store up the memories for when he was gone.

  Jimmy’s phone rang, shattering the suddenly tense silence. He answered and traded a few brief words with the caller before snapping the phone shut. “Nothing doing on the list Sheriff Bob gave us.”

  Before calling Bellamy, Sam had called her father, who had given her a brief list of the men he’d put into Walpole or one of the other area corrections facilities. Then he’d threatened to hop on the first plane out of Arizona. She’d only managed to forestall that by promising everything was under control, then handing the phone off to Jimmy, who was Bob’s second favorite person in the world, Sam being the first.

  It would have pleased him to see the two of them together, Sam knew. But the glow binding Jimmy and Jen together eased her heart, and made her think something good might come out of this mess, after all.

  Then she glanced toward Logan, and knew something painful would come, as well. Because when he left—and he would—he’d take a part of her along for the ride.

  But the rest of her would stay in Black Horse where she belonged.

  “None of Sheriff Bob’s old cases have recently been paroled? Damn.” Logan scowled harder. “So what does that leave us?”

  “Not much.” William stretched his legs out and re-crossed them at the ankles, managing to look casual and battle-ready at the same moment, even though he was exhausted and wearing a now-dirty sling. “It means we’re either looking for an enemy Sam has made personally, or we’re back to looking at you.” He gestured to Logan. “You sure Trehern’s the only one who might go after you? What about one of his competitors? Maybe someone out there would rather do business with Viggo Sr. and figured that with you out of the way, he’d walk.”

  “No. It doesn’t feel right.” Logan paused in his pacing, only a foot or so from Sam’s chair. She felt the buzz of his nearness and caught a faint hint of his essential, masculine scent. The combination revved her body even as she fought to quell the reaction. This was a council of war, not a love affair.

  She would do well to keep that in mind.