Lone Star Survivor

by Colleen Thompson

  “Guess not.” Zach rubbed his jaw again, but not before Ian saw it was already bruising. “But if you can’t talk to me, you’ll better damned well talk with someone. Before whatever’s bottled up inside you finds a way out we’ll both regret.”

  “B-but Andrea’s leaving,” Ian choked out, “heading off to Marston and never coming back.”

  “Then try that other guy she mentioned. Or anybody, Ian.”

  “I’m not spilling my guts to some damned stranger.”

  “In that case, you’d better do a little quick thinking about how to change her mind.”

  From the guest wing, they heard a door close, but to Ian’s disappointment, it was not Andrea but Jessie who came downstairs, the loose waves of strawberry-blond brushed back over her shoulders.

  “How’s Andrea?” Ian blurted. “Is she all right?”

  Jessie shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. She’s being awfully quiet, especially when I mention your name. You two have a fight or something?”

  Zach snorted and looked at Ian. “Didn’t I tell you it was obvious?”

  Ian grimaced but was saved from responding when Jessie went to her husband and reached up to touch his jaw.

  “What the heck happened to you? I could swear you were in one piece when I left you.”

  “Just a little bump, that’s all. No need to start fussing.”

  Jessie swung a narrow-eyed gaze from one brother to another. “Don’t tell me you two got into it. Really? I’d think you guys would want to circle the wagons right now, with somebody taking shots at Ian.”

  Zach stared at her for several moments before he asked, “So what if this person wasn’t after Ian?”

  Jessie shook her head. “In what universe does that make sense, Zach? Maybe I should be loading you into the car to get your head scanned, too.”

  “Just hear me out. It could be possible that—”

  “Andrea Warrington’s way too nice to have made enemies, especially the kind that would come gunning for her here.”

  Undeterred, Zach asked, “But what if the shooter meant to kill you, Jessie? After all, Andrea was riding your horse.”

  Jessie made a scoffing noise. “Seriously, are you really back on that again? I’ve already told you, I’m not giving up my work. It’s too important.”

  “It’s important to me that you stay in one piece, and these people you’re investigating—”

  “Are going to be totally blindsided when this story hits the news. Besides, even if it did somehow get out, these guys may be slimy and corrupt, but that doesn’t make them killers.”

  “If you’re not worried about these crooks, then why keep me in the dark about what you’re really up to?”

  She sighed. “Because I love you, of course, and would never want to see you accused of trying to influence— I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss this. It’s all irrelevant anyway. This shooting has nothing to do with me.”

  “What about those white supremacists you hacked off with your book last year. Who’s to say those guys don’t have long memories—and a longer reach? If anything were to happen to you—”

  “I know you worry about me.” Jessie’s green eyes locked with her husband’s. “But do you hear yourself, Zach? Think about it. Andrea looks nothing like me, with that long dark hair of hers.”

  Though Ian thought Zach’s theory was a long shot, he felt bad enough about the lump rising on his brother’s jaw to offer, “She did have on a riding helmet when we left. And besides, that flashy pinto of yours is recognizable from a long way off.”

  Jessie swung an annoyed look his way. “You might mean well, but stay out of this, or your brother won’t be satisfied until he’s locked me in a cage.” Making a sweeping gesture that took in the entry and the living room, she added, “Sure, it’s a nice cage, a first-class accommodation. But anyplace can be a prison, if you make the bars too tight.”

  “There’s a big difference between being a damned prisoner,” Zach told her, “and a treasure to be protected.”

  “Well, this treasure’s taking Andrea to the ER in Marston. And I might even talk her into a little lunch at that cute little tea room if she’s feeling up to it afterward.”

  “But Virgil’s planning—”

  “I’m sure he has better things to do,” said Jessie, waving off the protest. “But the real question is, are you willing to cut me enough slack to do it?”

  For several moments, the pair stared each other down, a clash of wills that made Ian want to excuse himself before any more was said.

  Zach raked his fingers through his black hair, looking as if he were considering tearing it out instead. “Yeah, Jessie. I can do that. But you’ll text me, won’t you? Let me know you’ve made it over there all right?”

  Jessie raised herself on her toes to kiss his cheek, then smiled at him. “I can do that, sweetheart. And did I ever tell you how handsome you are when you’re being reasonable?”

  “Don’t push your luck,” Zach warned, swatting her on the rump as she scooted back toward the guest suites.

  Once she had gone, he sighed and turned to Ian. “You ever love a woman so much you can scarcely breathe for fear you’ll lose her?”

  Ian answered with a slow nod, a dark void opening beneath his heart. “The thing is, there’re so many ways to screw it up yourself. And if you do, you’ll end up like your little brother, full of nothing but regrets.”

  * * *

  Andrea felt vindicated when the ER doctor ran her through a few perfunctory tests, used a special skin-bonding adhesive to close the cut on her head, and pronounced her good to go. Sure, she’d been warned to return if she experienced further head pain and nausea, but the instructions sounded purely precautionary to her trained ear.

  “See?” she couldn’t resist asking, as they climbed into the passenger seat of Jessie’s blue Prius. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the concern, but I told you, Ian and Zach were overreacting. It was nothing.”

  Jessie shrugged as they both clicked their seat belts. “It’s the way those Rayford men are made. I swear they’re like my dog, Gretel, on testosterone and steroids. I’ll be the first to admit it can be aggravating as all get-out sometimes. But it means they care about you, that they want to take care of you.”

  Alarm zinged through Andrea’s system, along with worry that she hadn’t done enough to make her position clear to Ian’s family. “Yes, but I’m not Ian’s to take care of. I’m just his psychologist—and an engaged woman to boot.”

  “I know you are,” said Jessie as she started the engine. “But does Ian really get that? Can he, even, with his memory like it is?”

  Andrea sighed. “I thought I could get through to him, but what happened this morning made it obvious he’s not capable of putting our past relationship behind him.”

  “You mean...somewhere between the flying bullets, you two managed to—” Jessie’s sharp eyes asked a question that brought swift heat to Andrea’s face.

  “He kissed me,” she admitted in a small voice. “And heaven help me if I didn’t kiss him back. I—I got caught up in the moment, the adrenaline. It’s disgraceful. I’m not like this. I lo— I’ve made a serious commitment to my—to Julian, and I do have ethics.”

  Jessie was quiet for a long while before saying, “You also have a history with Ian. A history that apparently includes a good dollop of unfinished business.”

  “Maybe in his mind, but not in mine.”

  Jessie looked over at her, her green eyes sympathetic. “The words are loud and clear, Doc, but if you want anyone to hear them, you’re going to have to figure out a way to keep your voice from shaking and your face from blazing red.”

  “I’m just— I’m tired, that’s all. And maybe a little hungry.”

  Jessie smiled knowingly but allowed the change of s
ubject. “All right, then. How ’bout that tearoom I mentioned earlier? We can have a nice lunch before I take you—”

  “I just want to go back to the center, all right? I need to talk to my—”

  “Come on, Andrea. I scarcely ever get a chance for grown-up girl talk anymore, and I swear I won’t bring up Ian again or the shooting, either.”

  Andrea held out for a few moments before asking, “What do you mean, you don’t get a chance for girl talk? I mean, with your mother-in-law right there in the house, how could it possibly get much better?”

  Deadpan as Andrea’s delivery was, Jessie tried to control herself, her mouth twitching before a distinctly unladylike snort broke free. Then both women erupted into laughter, assuring Andrea that no matter how disastrous her trip to Rusted Spur might have proved, at least she’d made a new friend.

  It was midafternoon by the time she finally returned to the Warriors-4-Life Center on a grassy country road outside of town. As she pulled her suitcase from the back of the Prius, Jessie promised to have one of the hands deliver her car later that afternoon.

  “That is, if I can’t talk you into coming back with me to give working with Ian one more chance,” Jessie added, putting a hand on the hatch to close it.

  Shaking her head, Andrea glanced toward the entrance of the Warriors-4-Life center, a long, low tan brick structure. In front of the building, a wheelchair-accessible walkway looped around a small pond partly hidden by a grove of trees. Park benches had been donated, creating a peaceful respite from the building’s more institutional interior. But it was the people inside that Andrea both looked forward to and dreaded getting back to. Or one of them, at any rate.

  “I have to go,” she said, foreboding rippling through her at the thought of the confession to come. “Thanks for treating me to lunch. That was really sweet of you.”

  “Least I could do after bending your ear about my—my little issue.”

  “I’m not sure there’s anything little about it, Jessie,” Andrea said, recalling the dilemma Jessie had talked to her about as they’d lingered at the table once the meal was over. Though Jessie had declined to give her the specifics, she’d made it very clear that her story would open a Pandora’s box that could end up hurting loved ones. But with her professional integrity, her very identity, at stake, too, there was nothing clear-cut when it came to her decision. “You clearly have some soul-searching to do before you decide whether to go forward with what you’ve found.”

  “Just tell me, tell me, please, as a psychologist and as a woman. What would you do?” Jessie pleaded.

  “First of all,” Andrea told her, “I don’t have nearly enough information to say. Besides, I’m not you—and I’m definitely not in the business of making anyone’s decisions for them. But I have faith you’ll carefully think it through and figure out what’s right for you.”

  Jessie snorted. “Spoken like a true headshrinker.”

  “Now you sound like Ian.” Andrea’s smile quickly faded. “And speaking of Ian, I’ll have Julian contact your husband about the counselor I recommended.”

  “If this shooting business hasn’t gotten him too paranoid to allow it.” Frowning at the thought, Jessie added, “Though I guess it’s not technically paranoia if someone’s really out to get you.”

  Andrea felt the needle-sharp bite of fear because, no matter how enjoyable it had been to pretend that the two of them were a couple of old friends enjoying a lunch getaway, Jessie’s words drove home the fact that only hours before, someone had peered down the barrel of a weapon, aimed at her and Ian, and then squeezed the trigger...

  Someone who might very well do it again after discovering Ian had escaped unharmed. “No one will get to him, will they?”

  “Zach’ll see to it they don’t, I promise. Ian won’t be riding out alone again until we know what happened. If my husband had it his way he’d put me on lockdown, too, for the duration.”

  She looked so troubled that Andrea might have tried to talk more with her about it had Julian not chosen that moment to come through the front door, looking surprised to see her here, especially without her car. As he often did on days he wasn’t meeting with potential donors, he wore a dark green polo shirt, the Warriors-4-Life logo embroidered over the left chest, neatly tucked into a pair of crisp chino slacks. Though he was several inches shy of Ian’s six-four and fifteen years older, his warm, golden-brown eyes, his strong jaw and the dusting of gray at his temples lent him an air of authority. Fit and distinguished-looking, he strode toward her, the precision of his movements reminding her—strongly and for the first time—of the father she hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years. The father she’d worshipped with a child’s fervor, before she’d learned he had another family...and had left behind a third back in his hometown without troubling himself to divorce any of the women he had married.

  She blinked and squinted at Julian, telling herself her suspicion wasn’t true. Surely, she’d been attracted to his unwavering devotion to a greater purpose, to his leadership and kindness rather than some subconscious trigger buried in her past. She was especially sure she hadn’t fallen for him because she was still pining for the father whose betrayal had shattered her family into a million pieces.

  Still, nausea roiled in her stomach, her eyes stinging with suspicion.

  “So that’s him, is it? Ian’s competition,” Jessie asked her in a low voice. When Andrea couldn’t find her voice to answer, her new friend added, “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  As she pulled back out onto the road, Andrea waved goodbye before turning to Julian, dread pooling in her stomach.

  “What are you doing back alrea—” The question died on his lips as his gaze latched on to the small white rectangle taped above her left eye. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  She raised a hand. “Before I tell you, you need to know that everybody’s okay. Doctor says I’m fine. I didn’t even end up needing stitches.”

  He studied her for a moment before reaching to pull her to him, clearly forgetting that they might be seen by anyone. When Andrea stiffened in his arms, he broke off the embrace. “What is it?”

  “Let’s walk down by the pond,” she said, leaving both her purse and suitcase on the first of the park benches that lined the pathway.

  Though he walked beside her, he didn’t try to touch her again as they descended the gradual incline leading to the pond’s green-brown waters. A light breeze whispered through the tall grasses growing on the far end, and a few water lilies skimmed the surface, along with a trio of fat white ducks.

  She recounted how she’d convinced Ian to take her with him out on the range that morning, saying, “It was the only way I could think of to get him to stop avoiding me and maybe open up a little.”

  “I had no idea you rode,” said Julian, his gaze straying to the bandage once more. “Or do you?”

  “Not very well, that’s for certain, but I managed to stay in the saddle. Or at least I did until Ian dragged me down.”

  Julian stopped walking to stare at her, his face contorting. “He attacked you? What the devil happened?” Edged with anger, his accented words sliced like a saber.

  “It wasn’t like that, I swear,” she rushed to explain. “It’s more like Ian saved me. Otherwise, I might have been shot or thrown on my head when my horse spooked.”

  She told him what had happened, downplaying her own terror and emphasizing Ian’s efforts to keep her safe and then tend to her after she was accidentally injured.

  “Even after he thought he’d heard the shooter drive off, Ian insisted we stay where there was cover and we’d be safe,” she said. “We waited there and talked. It was an excellent discussion, leading him to remember more than ever.”

  “Remember what?” Julian asked, an unaccustomed urgency in his voice. “What did he say, Andrea?”

 
She stopped walking to stare at him. “More about his life prior to his capture, but I can’t share any details. You know that.”

  His face reddening, Julian grimaced. “Of course, I know you can’t break confidentiality. I only— Seeing you injured like this made me worry that these recovered memories came out of flashbacks. That you might have...exaggerated Captain Rayford’s heroism in an attempt to downplay an unfortunate—”

  “He didn’t hit me. I swear it.” But Andrea felt her own face heat with the knowledge that, in kissing her, the handsome agent-turned-cowboy had done something far more dangerous. “We were just talking, that’s all, and then his brother and the ranch manager showed up looking for us.”

  Her heart stumbled and she felt the prickle of perspiration beneath her top. Because in her eagerness to reassure Julian, she’d left out the fact that she and Ian had done more than talk.

  Guilt pressed down on her, along with a memory of Ian leaning forward to claim her mouth. And she’d kissed him just as fervently, the memories of their original attraction igniting like dry tinder. Because when it came to the gorgeous, maddening and persistent Ian Rayford, one intimacy would always lead to another.

  “All I can think of is that you might have been shot down,” Julian said, wrapping her in his arms again, now that they were hidden from view by the trees. “I might have lost you forever, in a single moment.”

  She pulled away and resumed walking, too nervous to keep still and too disgusted with herself for words. But somehow, she must find them.

  Stalling for time, she instead answered Julian’s questions about what had happened with the shooter and whether Ian had any idea of who or why the attack may have happened. “I understand the sheriff will be looking into it. But unless the gunman left behind some clue, I suspect he’ll get away with it.”

  The injustice of the thought brought with it a rush of red-hot rage, the desire to see the guilty party punished. “It makes me absolutely furious to think that after everything Ian’s been through, he’d have someone shooting at him in his own country, on his own property. How much does he have to sacrifice to finally come home?”