Cowboy Under Siege

by Gail Barrett

  “I’m not making a mistake. It’s over. There’s nothing else to say.” And he didn’t need his father—the man who’d disappointed his family for decades—trying to give him relationship advice.

  His father stared at his tumbler with a furrowed brow. “For what it’s worth, I’m not proud of what I did. I took your mother for granted. All those years…I only thought about myself.”

  He met Cole’s eyes. “The thing is, the fame, the power—none of that mattered in the end. Your mother and our marriage did. But I didn’t figure that out until it was too late. And Bethany—”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “You’re sure? It looked like it from where I stood.”

  “I’m sure.” Cole’s thoughts veered to Bethany, and his anger flared. “Look, she lied to me. She concealed evidence about the attacks. And the last thing I need is someone I can’t depend on. I had enough of that crap growing up.”

  His father blanched. “I deserve that. I was a miserable father, I know. But I still say you’re making a mistake.”

  “No, I’m not. And I definitely don’t need your advice.”

  His father nodded. He drained his glass, then set it down on the bar. And in that moment he didn’t look like the swaggering, bigger-than-life senator who’d wielded so much power. He looked like a tired, middle-aged man—his lined face haggard, his blue eyes filled with remorse.

  “You’re a lot like me,” he finally said, his voice subdued. “Sometimes when I see you, it’s like looking back thirty years. I used to think that was a good thing.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “But now I know it’s a curse.”

  He turned, his broad shoulders slumped, his steps weary as he left the room. Cole watched him go, denials crowding his throat. His father was wrong. They were nothing alike. He felt insulted at the thought.

  And his father was dead wrong about Bethany. She’d had her chance, and she’d let him down, just as she had in the past.

  He started to top off his glass, then stopped. What the hell. He’d take the whole damned bottle to bed. Maybe then he could finally forget about Bethany and find the oblivion he sought.

  By morning, Cole knew two things with absolute clarity. Getting drunk solved nothing, and hangovers were a bitch.

  His head pounding, his stomach lurching like a fly-fishing line during a spawning run, he jerked open his blurry eyes. Sunlight stabbed his brain. The bedroom heaved and twirled, the stench of whiskey souring the air.

  He rolled over, causing a thousand hammers to flay his skull. Groaning, he forced himself to a sitting position, then gripped his throbbing head to make sure it wouldn’t split.

  Moving as if he’d aged a hundred years, he pushed himself to his feet, staggered to the master bathroom, then grabbed a handful of painkillers and washed them down. He glanced in the mirror, his bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothes proof that he’d hit a new low.

  And what was worse, even all that alcohol hadn’t enabled him to avoid the truth—that Bethany had had a point.

  Hell. He braced his hands on the vanity and released a breath. He’d seen the way Tony had acted. He knew why she couldn’t stay. He even understood why she refused to accuse her father of any wrongdoing without proof. In her place, he would have done the same.

  That thought rankling, he stripped off his reeking clothes and stepped into the shower. But while the hot water eased the ache from his muscles and helped clear the fog from his mind, it did nothing to assuage his guilt.

  Not that it mattered. Whether he’d been fair to Bethany or not, she was always going to leave. There was nothing for her in Maple Cove. Their argument might have hastened her departure, but she’d never intended to stay.

  He flicked off the tap, dried himself with a towel, and pulled on a clean T-shirt and jeans. Feeling marginally more human, he headed down the hallway to the kitchen, hoping a mug of strong, black coffee would jump-start his sluggish brain.

  Ace padded over and whined. Still moving carefully, Cole bent to rub his ears. “What’s up, buddy? Did everyone leave us alone today?”

  Straightening, he glanced around the empty great room. The deep silence permeating the house indicated that he was alone. Good. He didn’t feel like explaining his hangover to his father. It would only prove his point.

  He started toward the kitchen, honing in on the scent of coffee like a desert survivor spotting a lake. But Ace perked up his ears and yipped, then trotted to the front door.

  “Great.” A visitor before he’d had a shot of caffeine. He detoured toward the door with a sigh. It was probably the sheriff, getting back to him with the latest news.

  But when he was halfway there, the telephone rang. He paused, torn, but the shrill sound jackhammering his skull decided the choice. Desperate to stop the racket, he lunged for the phone. “Bar Lazy K.”

  “Cole? This is Caitlin. Caitlin O’Donahue. Remember me?”

  “Sure.” His sister’s best friend was hard to forget with her fiery red hair and impressive brains—not to mention her centerfold curves. He rubbed his aching head. “How are you doing? I thought you were in South America doing the Doctors Without Borders thing.”

  “I was. I just got back. I heard about Lana’s kidnapping on the news. I still can’t believe it. It’s so awful! Have you heard anything more?”

  “Not really.” Nothing he could reveal.

  “How’s your mother holding up?”

  “About how you’d imagine. Not great.”

  “She must be devastated.”

  “You should call her. She’d appreciate hearing from you.”

  “I will.” She hesitated. “If there’s anything I can do, will you let me know? I mean it, Cole. I’ll do anything, fly anywhere… She might…” Her voice trembled. “She might need a friendly face when this is done. I’m staying at my dad’s house in California, so you can reach me here.”

  “Thanks, Caitlin. I’ll pass that on.” He hung up the phone, experiencing a sliver of warmth. At least his sister had a loyal friend. His mind instantly flashed to Bethany, but he grimly fought it down. He was not going down that futile track.

  Ace pawed at the door and whined, then gave him a reproachful look. “Sorry. Sorry,” he said. Sending a longing glance toward the kitchen—and that desperately needed caffeine—he closed the distance to the front door. As soon as he cracked it open, Ace bolted out, stopping to sniff a small flat package by the steps.

  Cole’s pulse skipped. It was a cardboard mailer, the type that held CDs. He scanned the deserted yard, but whoever had delivered it was gone.

  He snapped his gaze back to the mailer. An ominous feeling crept through his nerves. Damn. With Kenny Greene out of the picture, he’d hoped for a reprieve.

  His dread rising, he scooped up the package, and returned to the house. Just as he expected, the mailer held a DVD. He crossed the room, slid it into the DVD player, and turned it on.

  The screen flickered to life. A room swirled dizzily into view. He closed his eyes, cursing that bottle of Scotch. But the unsteadiness was due to the photographer, who couldn’t quite keep the camera still.

  The camera swerved to a loveseat. And suddenly, his sister appeared on the screen, and he forgot to breathe. Although the camera continued to bobble, he could see her clearly enough—her mussed blond hair, the harsh pallor of her face, the exhaustion in her scared blue eyes. She perched on a white loveseat, clutching a piece of paper in her shaking hands.

  His face burned. Blood thundered through his skull. And he trembled with the need to avenge her, to lash out and beat her captors, to charge through that television screen and yank her to safety fast.

  But he forced himself to breathe, to take note of details instead. The white loveseat with the turquoise pillows. The thick white carpet beneath her feet. The Picasso print behind the sofa, hanging crookedly on the wall. Traffic rumbled faintly in the background. A distant siren wailed. Next to the sofa was a window, filled with autumn leaves.

  Lana clea
red her throat, then studied the paper, which appeared to be some sort of script. “As you can see, I’m alive,” she read, her voice wavering slightly. “And I’ll stay that way as long as you cooperate.”

  She hesitated, sending a look of desperation at someone off camera, the vulnerability in her eyes cracking his heart. Inhaling visibly, she looked at the paper again. “So please, Dad.” Her voice broke. “Turn yourself in. It’s the only way to…”

  She stopped. She bit her lip, then lifted her chin and stared straight into the camera, a dull flush darkening her pale cheeks. And suddenly, a spark lit her eyes, the same gritty determination he’d seen when she was a kid hounding her older brothers, determined not to be left behind.

  “Don’t do what they say, Daddy!” she blurted out. A man lunged onscreen, his back to the camera, obscuring Cole’s view of Lana, but she continued to speak. “They’re going to kill me regardless—”

  The man swung his arm, and the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh cut her off. Cole surged toward the screen, his pulse thundering, the urgent need to do violence eroding what little remained of his self-control.

  The man moved aside. Lana slumped against the love seat, her lips trembling, her shocked eyes glittering with tears, her dark-red jaw already beginning to swell.

  Cole stared at the screen, his breath shallow and fast, every muscle poised to attack. That man was dead. If it was the last thing Cole did, he’d make him pay. The man moved away from the camera, and the screen went blank.

  Cole had never been more scared in his life.

  Two hours later, the DVD ended for the second time, and a shocked silence gripped the group clustered around the screen. Cole skipped his gaze from the grim-faced sheriff to his ashen father, to his uncle Don and Bonnie Gene. Hannah stood by the kitchen, hugging her orange cat, looking as if she wanted to cry.

  His aunt finally broke the silence. “What…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “What are we going to do now?”

  “Good question.” Donald’s voice vibrated with anger. “Maybe Hank has an idea since he got her into this mess. If he hadn’t been so self-centered—”

  “Lay off him,” Cole cut in, surprising himself. “What’s done is done. It doesn’t do any good to keep blaming him now.”

  Everyone turned to face him, their mouths agape. He’d never defended his father before. But what was the point of continually hurling blame?

  He glanced at his father hunched on the sofa, his face chalk-white, his still-thick hair streaked with gray. He’d aged in the past few weeks, turning into a shell of his former self.

  And suddenly, Cole realized he pitied his father. Hank had made mistakes, but he’d received his just due. He’d lost his job, his wife, his prestige. He was a broken, pathetic man who no longer had the power to hurt anyone.

  And Cole realized something else. He’d let the bitterness he’d harbored since childhood go.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “I’ll take the DVD to the FBI. They’ll have a forensic team enhance the images, see if they can figure out the location.”

  Cole steered his mind to the DVD. “She’s back in the United States. In a city.” When everyone stared at him, he shrugged. “That siren you hear in the background. It’s not a European type. And those leaves on the tree in the window are turning colors, so she’s probably somewhere in the north or east. That room is either on the ground level or a lower floor since we can see the tree.”

  “By God, you’re right,” his father said. “Good thinking.”

  The sheriff nodded. “That’s exactly the kind of detail that can break this case. With luck, the FBI can pinpoint her location and send in a S.W.A.T. team to get her out.”

  Conversation broke out around him. But Cole tuned it out, his thoughts still circling around the revelation he’d had. And he realized it was true. He’d finally freed himself from the past, giving up the bitterness that had driven him for years.

  But his father’s accusation still lingered. Was he really as bad as his dad?

  Suddenly feeling restless, he went outside and stood on the porch. He bent to pet Mitzy and Ace, who’d instantly converged on his feet, then looked out over the yard.

  Bethany had wronged him. She’d even admitted as much. But he understood why she’d done it, and he couldn’t fault her for that. So why couldn’t he forgive her? If he’d finally stopped resenting his father after all these years, why not her?

  His arms crossed, he frowned at the distant mountains, knowing he was missing something important, something big. She’d left, just as he’d known she would—just as she had before. But had her departure really been inevitable? How would he know if he’d never asked her to stay? And why hadn’t he asked? Had he been afraid that she’d say no?

  Was he still reliving his childhood, expecting rejection at every turn?

  He scowled, not happy with that unflattering insight, but he knew he’d discovered the truth. He’d pushed her away before she could abandon him.

  But Bethany would never do that. She’d proven her loyalty time and again. She’d saved his horses from the burning barn. She’d risked her life to stop the stampede. She’d even confronted Tony—the man who’d tormented her for years—to stop the sabotage on his ranch. How much proof of her loyalty did he need?

  Hell, he’d been the selfish one. He’d overlooked the bullying. He’d ignored her medical talents, refusing to acknowledge that she’d needed opportunities she couldn’t find in Maple Cove.

  His chest tight, he gazed out at the ranch he’d worked so hard to attain—the wide-open plains and rolling hills, the rugged mountains covered with snow, the hawks soaring past on the wind. He loved this land. He loved the freedom, the history, the unspoiled beauty that soothed his soul.

  But he couldn’t ask Bethany to give up her life in Chicago, to sacrifice everything for his sake. He’d resented his father for only thinking about himself. He couldn’t do the same to her.

  He sighed. This land had always been here. It would be here when he was gone. And while he loved it, he’d used it as a crutch, to give purpose to his angry life.

  But he no longer needed it as much as he needed her.

  He went dead still. That was how he resembled his father. His staunch independence. His refusal to rely on anyone else. But while his father’s reluctance to admit he needed help could cost his sister her life, Cole’s could cost him his heart.

  He strode back into the great room and headed down the hall. “Where are you going?” his father called.

  Pausing, Cole glanced at the man who’d sired him, the man he was determined not to become. “I’m taking your advice and buying a plane ticket to Chicago.”

  To claim the woman he’d always loved.

  Chapter 15

  Bethany gazed out the taxi window, the bleak gray skies over Lake Shore Drive echoing her gloomy mood. She rarely splurged on a taxi, but a miserable, sleepless night and a raging headache had convinced her to skip the train. The noise from the taxi was bad enough.

  They exited the busy highway, then cut across town toward Michigan Avenue, whipping in and out of traffic so fast she could barely keep her seat. An ambulance screamed past. A bus rumbled by, belching a cloud of black exhaust, then screeched to a stop and blocked the road. The taxi driver lay on his horn.

  “I’ll get out here,” Bethany said, her head about to burst. She thrust several bills at the driver and hopped out, the cold breeze whipping her hair. Clutching her coat closer around her, she hurried past the towering high-rise buildings to the Preston-Werner Clinic. She still hadn’t heard from Adam, even though she’d left him a voice mail to tell him she’d returned. She’d decided to go straight to the study supervisor instead.

  A businessman strode past, and his briefcase banged her leg. “Hey!” She whirled around, but he didn’t break his stride. She scowled, wondering when Chicago had changed. She used to love the energy in the city. It made her feel exuberant and alive. Now she just felt annoyed.


  She walked through the automatic front doors of the clinic, her heels rapping on the shiny marble floor. Too exhausted to take the stairs, she punched the button for the elevator and stepped inside. Then she leaned back against the wall and watched the numbers of the floors flash past.

  Her thoughts instantly arrowed to Cole, an unbearable ache wrenching her throat, but she pushed him out of her mind. She could not go there. Not now, not in a public place. She’d save that agony for later, when she could wallow in her misery alone.

  The elevator stopped. She entered the supervisor’s office, relieved that the woman had agreed to see her. In her late fifties, Marge Holbrook was a tall, thin woman with a short, no-nonsense haircut that matched her managerial style. Surely she would take Bethany’s side.

  “Bethany,” the supervisor said when she walked in. She nodded to one of the large leather chairs in front of her gleaming desk. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Bethany sank into the chair. “I appreciate your seeing me. I just got back into town last night. I was hoping we could talk about the information I found.”

  Marge quirked a well-shaped brow. “What information?”

  Bethany’s heart skipped. “The dissertation I discovered at Montana State. I emailed Adam a copy, and he promised to pass it on.”

  “He didn’t give me anything.”

  Uneasiness trickled through her. Why hadn’t Adam given her a copy? He’d had plenty of time.

  Suddenly, Cole’s question popped into her mind. How well do you know the people you work with?

  Her hand unsteady, she took the flash drive from her purse and slid it across the desk. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe there was another explanation for this.

  Or maybe not.

  “Mrs. Bolter’s death really upset me,” she explained. “I know I didn’t misjudge the dose. So I decided to investigate to see if I could find another cause.”

  “And did you?”

  “Not at first. But I saw she’d been to rehab years ago. That surprised me because she used to bring us rum cake with a glaze that could knock your socks off. You could get drunk on the fumes alone.”