by Linda Conrad
Any continuation of this intense sexual attraction wouldn’t do. He needed to find a way of making sure she never tried anything like that kiss again. The next time he might weaken entirely and be lost.
He understood that she saw him one way, and if nothing else, coming back here had convinced him he wasn’t the kind of good guy she thought he was.
As they cleared the barn and headed out into the warm sunlight, he had a brilliant idea. She needed a healthy dose of reality where he was concerned.
“Grace, we need to talk.”
With another quick glance in his direction, this one narrowed and wary, she telegraphed her opinion that the line might not have been the right way to start the conversation. But he had already dived into the water.
“I’m not who you think I am.”
“What?” She picked up Mikey and clutched him to her breast. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean, I’m not really one of the good guys. I’ll keep you and Mikey safe from Serrano, but you need to keep yourself safe from me.”
“You’re not making any sense, Sam. I know you. And in the past couple of days you’ve proven your worth over and over.”
He shook his head violently. “Listen to me. A long time ago I let my family down. Slithered off when they needed me the most. That’s why I’ve stayed away for so long.”
Glancing toward the distant river so he wouldn’t have to watch her expression, Sam hurried on before he could lose his nerve. “If you get too close, I’ll only let you down, too. Let me keep to myself and do my job.”
“Excuse me? What a pile of horse apples! I don’t buy any of that for one moment. You’re the one who actually took a leave from your job to come find me and Mikey. If that’s not being one of the good guys, I don’t know what is.”
She tenderly leaned her cheek against Mikey’s hair and gazed at Sam with a longing look that took his breath. “And as far as letting you ‘keep to yourself,’ if you’re talking about our kiss, both of us wanted that kiss and you know it. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do—couldn’t even if I tried. But Mikey and I need you nearby. There’re things you can teach us. Things I want to know.
“So no good ‘keeping to yourself,’ pal,” she went on. “You brought us here, now live with the consequences.”
Dang, but the lady was sure something. He suddenly wanted her so badly he thought he might die of it. And that scared him much more than any lurking threat from a vengeful drug lord.
Chapter 9
Had she actually said those things? Dared to be that aggressive? Grace wondered what had come over her. Who had she suddenly become?
As they strolled back to the house in silence, she kept going over and over the bold moves she’d made, the daring things she’d said. Then she made herself stop all the self-doubting so she could consider her circumstances, her past and the man who was determined to save her.
Yes, once upon a time she’d been the kind of girl who would speak her mind and ask for what she wanted. She’d been proud and naive and full of herself. But Jose Serrano had taken all that away. For over five years now she’d been the mousy woman who stayed in his shadows, hoping not to be noticed and never smiling or speaking out.
The first big step away from Jose had come when she’d learned she was pregnant with Mikey. The doctor offered an opportunity to break free and contact the FBI and she’d jumped at the chance. For her baby. For Mikey. Not for herself.
And when she’d spotted what she’d been sure were Serrano’s men watching them in Denver, she’d taken off as fast and quietly as she possibly could. She’d left a man who had become a friend and all her government protection in the dust and didn’t look back.
That sounded now like something a strong woman would do. But she hadn’t felt strong. Only when Mikey was threatened did she become someone who could fight tigers.
Naturally her mind turned next to the kiss she and Sam had just shared. Something not even remotely due to Mikey. And the very idea that she would try anything like that surprised the devil out of her. She’d been teasing with Sam and had actually laughed. All the things she could scarcely remember doing in the past except with Mikey. Just think of that.
Who was she really?
As they came back inside Sam’s childhood home and she took Mikey upstairs for a change, Grace saw in her mind’s eye how much she, too, had been changing without her even noticing. She didn’t know what to feel anymore. Nor who to be.
What she did know—that Sam was nearly as conflicted as she was—only made her more confused. But clearly he needed her to be strong. Almost as much as she needed the same from him. Was she strong enough to be everything?
* * *
When Mikey woke her up the next morning just at dawn, Grace dragged herself out of bed. She changed clothes and then took the baby to the bathroom for a quick cleanup. The whole while she felt restless. At odds within her own body.
The air seemed too close. Ready to smother her. But when she looked out the window, the weather looked perfect. The sun shone exactly the same as it had the day before.
She wondered if she was having premonitions about Jose finding them and that was why she felt so undefined and ill at ease.
Heading down the stairs with Mikey, she smelled coffee. It took her a moment to realize Sam must’ve gotten up before them. But in that moment she had a minor panic attack. Man, she hated feeling this helpless.
“Good morning.” Sam turned his head to smile at her but went quickly back to work at the stove. “Hope you and Mikey like pancakes.”
Sam was making breakfast? “I didn’t know you could cook.”
He didn’t turn but she could hear the smile in his voice. “I wouldn’t be much of a WITSEC officer unless I could keep both the witnesses and myself alive with basic cooking skills. And believe me, my skills are basic.”
“How come you’ve never cooked for me?”
“You never needed me to cook. You did everything for yourself.”
Had she? She vaguely remembered those first few months in hiding, wanting desperately to learn how to become completely self-sufficient. To be able to care for herself and her baby without help.
“I guess I was rebelling against Jose. He never let me lift a finger. Maybe he wanted to keep me on a pedestal like his mother. Or maybe he was afraid if I became too strong I would leave. Whatever it was, when I was finally free of him, I wanted to do everything on my own.”
Sam nodded as he placed a stack of pancakes in front of her. “Syrup is warming on the stove. If you use butter, start there. Do you want me to give Mikey a pancake or simply a plate and let him share yours?”
She reminded him that Mikey had his own set of dishes. The ones made out of hard plastic that wouldn’t break. Sam retrieved one from the dish drainer and put it on the high chair’s tray table. Then he handed her the syrup. She hurriedly cut up one dry pancake for the baby and put it in his dish.
Mikey seemed pleased—and hungry—and dug in with his fingers. Good thing her son didn’t like syrup or butter yet.
Grace wished she was as hungry as he was. She’d lost her appetite somewhere last night. But the pancakes did look good.
She sat there staring at them, lost in thought, just a little too long.
“I didn’t poison yours, I promise.” Sam sat down on the opposite side of the table. “Mikey seems to like his and I’ll take a bite of my own if it’ll make you feel any better. You’re going to need your strength. Travis called a little while ago. Seems Jenna won’t eat or sleep unless she gets to see the baby today.”
“No problem about Jenna and I’m sure the pancakes are great. It’s just…” She looked over at Sam and his eyes narrowed. Nearly laughing aloud, she wanted to tell him that he needn’t worry. She didn’t feel like either kissing or talking this morning.
“Sam, I need you to do something for me.”
After a long moment’s hesitation, during which he downed a short stack, he clea
red his throat and said, “What would that be?”
“Teach me how to shoot a gun. I saw a glass case in the other room that’s full of rifles—or maybe they’re shotguns. Anyway, teach me how to fire one, please.”
Sam dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter. “That’s not a good idea. If you’re worried about Serrano, let me handle it. That’s my job.”
“No, it’s not. You’re on leave. And besides, a whole gang of Jose’s men may show up at any moment. I want to be able to help.”
“Guns shouldn’t be used by amateurs. If you came face-to-face with Serrano’s men and one of them was a man you happened to know from your time there, could you shoot him?”
Good question. But then she thought of Mikey. “Yes. If my baby was on the line, I wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”
Sam smiled. “Okay, mama bear, I believe you. But guns are still a bad idea. What if someone overpowers you and turns the weapon on you and Mikey?”
“I wouldn’t have the gun in my hand in the first place if I didn’t have every intention of using it.”
That wiped the smile from his face. “Good answer. But not one I’m sure I really believe.”
After taking a big gulp from his coffee mug, he continued, “Okay. You probably need something to occupy your mind while we’re on the ranch anyway. But if I agree to this, you will have to do it my way.”
“What does that mean? What’s your way?”
The smile on his face now seemed like a wry grin—and not a particularly friendly one. “You will learn as I learned from my father. The same way army recruits are trained. First you will learn the parts of a weapon. Next you will learn to tear one down, clean it and put it back together again. Before you ever load one or point it at a target, the weapon will become your most intimate friend.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“It is if you want me to be your teacher.”
All of his demands seemed totally unnecessary. As if he thought making her go through innumerable tedious steps would make her give up the whole idea.
Well, he was wrong about that. “Fine. Can we start today?”
* * *
While Grace did the breakfast dishes and Mikey played on the floor with a few pots and spoons, Sam went upstairs to the original wing and his father’s library. The old door stuck and he had to use shoulder power to force it open. When he stepped inside the seldom-used room, both memories and dust motes assaulted his senses.
He’d come here to find his father’s rifle manuals. The ones he had so hated reading as a boy. He hoped to hell they would discourage Grace as much as they had almost discouraged him as a child.
It had been a full five years after his father’s death before Sam could admit to himself that the old man had been right to insist on his learning the basics before taking a gun in hand. But at eight years old all he could think was how deprived he felt in having to read when all his school buddies were already practicing with BB guns and targets.
Sitting in his father’s worn-out easy chair, Sam looked around the familiar room. Like something out of a half-remembered dream, images surrounded him. On the top shelf in the left-hand corner he spied the family Bible and photo albums. He could almost say from memory what pictures were pasted in those albums and on what pages. It might be interesting to see if his memory was still good, but Sam wasn’t sure he felt steady enough to go through them yet.
In the distance he heard a vehicle pulling up in front of the house. Must be his brother and Jenna. Thinking about summer, his eyes landed on the top right-hand shelf, where his mother’s collection of cookbooks had been stored. Just the sight of them and the images of her using one or the other in the kitchen while she prepared a birthday or anniversary meal gave him an ache that felt exactly like someone had put a bullet dead center of his chest. No, he wouldn’t be touching those books anytime soon.
The middle rows were filled, as they always had been, with his father’s collection of fiction, peppered liberally with his favorite biographies. Louis L’Amour Westerns. A few legal and military thrillers and a handful of old classics. His father had eclectic tastes. Sam remembered borrowing many of them on long winters’ nights.
He let his gaze drift down to the bottom rows of technical manuals. Range Management. A Guide to Raising Chickens. Sam flashed back to his father helping him with a 4-H project. That particular manual had been invaluable at settling arguments.
Next he noted the rifle manuals that were right where he’d put them the last time he’d had to open them almost thirty years ago. He reached for the first book but his hand nearly landed on a set of psychological texts instead. Sitting back, he tried to think back to what those university books were doing on his father’s shelves.
He did vaguely remember the texts from his youth, he’d even read one or two. Oh, yeah, now he recalled that his mother had been going to college as a psychology major when she’d met his dad.
Sam had once been most interested in the sections on criminal behavior. Back when he’d wanted to be a lawman when he grew up. Back before his father insisted he would do no such thing.
Automatically Sam’s mind made the connection from criminal behavior to Jose Serrano, and he couldn’t help wondering what the drug lord was up to. As Sam saw him, Serrano was a typical Latin male, wound up tight with his machismo heritage. It would only be a matter of time before Jose lost control and went on a rampage to find his son.
Sam heard female footsteps coming down the hall but the door opened before he could rise.
“Sammy! Darlin’. Jenna insisted we stop in to see you. Come give your auntie a hug, son. It’s been such a long time.”
Sam stood, turned and found himself staring into the face of a woman whose features so resembled his father’s that a sudden melancholy threatened to choke him. “Auntie June.”
He stood and kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you. Don’t tell me Jenna talked you into bringing her out here. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“No? Why ever not? All that girl will talk about is the adorable new baby on the ranch. Besides, I wanted to see one of my favorite nephews again.”
He started to tell her he was using the place as a safe house, and it might not be wise to advertise the fact that a baby was in residence. But then he realized that was nonsense. People would know he had brought a child onto the ranch. Chance was too small to keep it a secret for long.
But just as sure as he was that the people of Chance would know Mikey was there, he also knew Serrano would come eventually. And it was Sam’s duty to be prepared for him.
Chapter 10
The sleek black Hummer with armor-plated sides sped across the Chihuahuan Desert, taking Jose Serrano to Ciudad Juárez and the headquarters of one of his lieutenants.
Jose’s U.S. Marshals Service contact had come up with a couple of possible places in the United States. Spots where the lawman who’d been hiding Jose’s son might have his own contacts and would feel protected.
Both places were in the southwestern section of the United States and Jose was confident that either would be easy for his men to penetrate. Sure it would only be a matter of days, or at most a week or two, he relaxed, thinking his son would soon be safely under his control and at home with Jose’s mother.
Sitting comfortably in the luxurious backseat as his driver and bodyguard kept careful watch out the windshield, Jose stretched out and took a moment to consider his next steps. The more he thought about that American woman’s treachery and her U.S. lawman’s duplicity, the more Jose became convinced that both of them deserved to die. But carefully. With finesse. And only after Jose’s son was out of their control and removed from the line of fire.
His satellite phone rang, interrupting Jose’s thoughts. He answered, only to find disturbing news from a henchman on the other end.
“It is true, jefe. We have cleared the Phoenix area. That is where the gringo lived when he first worked for the Marshals’ Service an
d took college courses. His neighbors there claim not to have heard from him in years. None of his army amigos have been in contact with him in over a decade, either. At least they won’t admit to it.”
Jose felt the slow burn of temper creeping up his throat. But this was only a setback, not the end game.
“Move on, then,” he told his man through gritted teeth. “What is the next place on your list?”
“A small town in Texas. Where the gringo grew up. But when we phoned the sheriff’s office, we were told our target left the place nearly fifteen years ago and had never returned. Not even for the funeral of his father.”
Jose thought about his feelings toward family. When he needed a safe place, he went home. He trusted no one as much as he trusted his cousins.
“Do not expect the Americanos to tell you the truth.” During his years spent in California, he’d discovered Anglos had no fear of lying in order to get their way or to save their asses. “You must go there. See for yourself. But be careful. You do not want to arouse suspicions or the gringo will run.”
“I have a plan for learning truth in this small town, jefe.” Hector sounded smug and Jose listened with interest. “Pedro and I will ask for temporary work. We will use the fake identification you provided. Once we are working, the Americanos will have no fear of talking to us.”
It wasn’t a half-bad plan. Jose could have thought of it himself if he’d had the time. For a second he worried that this clever employee might prove to be too smart—in a devious way.
The first rule Jose had ever learned for staying in power was to watch his back. As the Anglos said, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” It seemed particularly true in Mexico these days.
Jose thought all of those things, but what he said was, “An excellent plan. I will stay nearby—just across the border. Keep me informed.”
