by Terri Reed
Biting her lip to keep the panic from overwhelming her, she cautiously went downstairs. Faint streaks of the dawn light splintered through the cracks in the curtains. The frigid air left from the night clawed at her, prickling her skin.
With her hand on the knob leading outside, she paused. The noise she’d heard earlier became recognizable. She stepped outside and followed the steady beat of a hammer around the house until she was standing just below her bedroom window.
On the ground was a pile of clean snow, obviously cleared from the roof. She arched her back and craned her neck to see onto the roof. A male was crouched with a hammer in his hand.
Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Luke, what are you doing?”
The hammering stopped and he stood. “Blocking the vents so the raccoons don’t nest,” he replied.
The dawn light bathed Luke in its frosty glow. He had a cap pulled low over his ears. His usually clean-shaven face showed the night’s growth of beard, making him more rugged and handsome. Traces of snow clung to his work boots and his thick plaid shirt didn’t look nearly warm enough.
“It’s barely five o’clock in the morning. I nearly had a heart attack!”
“Sorry,” he called. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“It’s freezing, not to mention that roof is slick with ice. You’re going to kill yourself up there. Come down.”
He regarded her for a moment. “Worried, are you?”
Heat crawled up her neck. “As I would be of anyone standing on an icy roof.”
With a grin, he stated, “I’ll be done soon. Then we can talk.”
“Fine,” she replied and pulled her robe tighter against the chilly air.
She’d let him talk her into staying last night, but she was determined to leave today. No matter how much she didn’t want to.
The sharp winter sun beat down on Luke. Even though the temperature barely reached thirty degrees, beads of sweat rolled down his back and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
He’d long since removed his flannel shirt, opting for just a long-sleeved thermal. And now he used the edge of the material to wipe his brow as he stood to stretch his tired muscles. His gaze took in the beauty of the land.
The looming Cascade mountain range covered in lush forests of Ponderosa Pines dusted white was breathtaking. The high desert, though flat, stretched out with a beauty of its own, whether in winter or during the blush of spring or the heat of a dry summer or the turning of the leaves in fall. It didn’t matter the time of year, he loved this land.
Luke knelt down and picked up a tile, turning it over in his hands the same way his conflicted thoughts turned in his head.
He should be back with his unit, fighting the good fight to keep freedom a reality for all human life. Helping the men to keep their faith.
Yet, he wanted to stay here where his life began.
He wanted to fulfill the dream his father had for him. But which father?
His earthly father had wanted him to run this ranch, to carry on the Campbell name and pass on the legacy of love that his parents had built. Blake Campbell had never made his wishes for his son a secret.
His Heavenly Father had wanted Luke to join the military, to serve his country as well as serve God. Luke had never made his faith a secret and he’d gladly done as he felt the Lord wanted of him, never once feeling unsure of his path.
But now Luke was unsure. Why had the Lord brought Faith into his life? And why was he so glad?
The tile fell from his hands like a hot coal. Was he falling for Faith? The emotions bouncing around his head and his heart were unfamiliar. And, frankly, it scared him. Lord, what’s happening? Is this part of Your plan? But why?
He liked Faith and respected her. He admired her courage and strength, was proud of how capable and willing she was to try new things. Her sense of humor and quick wit captivated him. And yes, he was physically attracted to her. Any male with a beating heart and blood in his veins would be. Kissing her had only solidified that attraction.
But falling for her? No way.
Picking up his hammer, he pounded the nails in the last vent with more force than necessary. He had to get perspective here.
It would only complicate matters if he were to pursue any type of relationship with Faith beyond that of friend. She had baggage in her past that needed to be dealt with, and he had a life to sort out. It wouldn’t work for them to get involved.
He was a man used to being in control. He could control himself, all of him, including his emotions.
Awareness brushed over him as Faith walked outside again. As if the world had suddenly slowed on its axis, he stood to watch her walk to the fence. Three llamas trotted instantly to her side.
Sunlight danced off her girlish ponytail, making her look young and carefree. His throat constricted, trapping his breath in his chest, painfully expanding his lungs. It pleased him to see she wore the down parka he’d picked up for her in town. Much better suited to the climate than the thin wool coat she’d arrived in.
Suddenly the fence railing inches from Faith exploded with a dull thud, splintering the wood into flying junks. The llamas scattered. Faith yelped and crouched low, covering her head with her hands. Close to her feet, dirt and snow sprayed out as something hit the ground.
Gunfire!
Panic seized Luke’s lungs. His gaze frantically searched for the shooter as he stepped forward. On the main road a dark green pickup screeched away.
Luke’s foot slipped on the slick roof and he realized he’d made a mistake. He went down hard on his backside, then onto his back. His hands flayed hopelessly in search of something to grab, his body plummeted down the roof, the edges of each tile biting into his flesh. His teeth ground together in sharp pain.
From below him, he heard Faith’s cry of alarm.
The gutter rushed at him and he grabbed hold, but one end of the metal gave way with a loud wrenching creak. His grip failed and he was free-falling again.
Then he hit the snow-covered ground with a dull thud and a loud groan. The last thing he saw before his eyes slid shut was the hunk of gutter swaying over his head.
He was dead.
Fear constricted Faith’s heart, forced the air from her lungs. She ran to him, to his limp body on the snow-covered ground.
“Oh, please don’t let him be dead.”
Putting her fingers against his neck, she felt a strong pulse beating a steady rhythm and momentary relief eased her panic.
He wasn’t dead.
“Luke? Luke, can you hear me?”
She quickly searched his body for broken bones. There didn’t seem to be any obvious fractures. But his head…she stifled a sob.
“Luke—” her voice trailed off and tears sprang to her eyes. “God, let him be all right, please.”
With jerky, harsh movements, she wiped away her tears. He’s not going to die, she admonished herself gruffly. God would not do that to Luke.
He needed help and she was his only hope. She stood and turned to run, but a hand wrapped around her ankle nearly toppled her over. She screamed before noticing Luke regarding her with pain-filled eyes. Immediately she knelt beside him.
“I have to go—get h-help.” Her voice broke.
“I’m—okay,” he croaked on a deep breath before wincing.
Faith smoothed a hand over his brow. “You’re hurt.”
“Minor scrapes and bruises.”
“You might have a broken back or neck, even.”
“The snow broke my fall,” he quipped. “Are you okay?”
A ripple of terror ran through her. “Yes. Thankfully he was a bad shot.”
“Not meant to kill, only scare.”
“Well, then, he did a good job. Let me go get help.” She moved to rise again, but his hand gripped her arm.
“You help me.”
“Luke, you shouldn’t move, not until the ambulance comes.”
He closed his eyes. “I’ve fallen off that roof more times tha
n I can count. It just knocked the wind out of me.”
“I don’t know.” She looked him over, unconvinced. “I still think I should get a doctor.”
With a groan, Luke pushed himself up on to his elbows. His eyes scrunched up tight and his mouth thinned. The scar on his jaw paled. His visible pain made her nauseous.
With infinite care, he sat. The rip in his shirt revealed a raw cut on his shoulder. So much red. The sight of his blood turned her stomach. It could have been so much worse. For both of them.
And that’s when it hit her.
If anything happened to Luke she knew her heart wouldn’t survive.
She helped him stand and when his arm settled around her shoulders, she staggered slightly as she bore the brunt of his weight.
They entered the house and Faith steered him to a chair at the kitchen table. “Do you have a first-aid kit somewhere? We need to clean your wounds.”
Grimacing, he lowered himself to the chair. “I need the phone.”
She handed the phone over and clenched her hands together as he called the sheriff to explain what had happened.
When he hung up, she asked, “Do you think they’ll catch him?”
“We can pray so.” He started to rise. “I have a first-aid kit in my room.”
She rushed to support him as they made their way upstairs. “Should I get your mother? She was sleeping when I came outside.”
“If she didn’t hear anything, let’s not upset her.”
Pushing open the door of his bedroom, she realized she’d never before seen his domain. His masculine scent swirled around her, heightening her already taut senses.
He pointed to the closet. “My first-aid kit’s in there.”
The kit sat on the floor of the closet next to his cowboy boots. She also grabbed a soft-looking blue flannel shirt off the hanger. On the verge of closing the door, her gaze snagged on a blur of green.
It hit her like a punch in the stomach.
These were his military clothes—camouflage fatigues with his name sewn on the breast pocket and a dark green suit. Even in the dim light of the bedroom, the medals and ribbons were eye-catching.
At the reminder of his life outside the ranch an ache in the vicinity of her heart stole her breath away. Resolutely, she turned away, telling herself she shouldn’t be upset. She’d known from the beginning that Luke was only a temporary fixture in her life. One day soon he’d be leaving, going back to a job where worse than a fall from a roof could happen. Where his life would be in danger every second.
Masking her distress, she moved back to the bed and set the kit down. The case easily opened with a click and she pulled out the supplies she needed. Unable to meet Luke’s gaze, she handed him two painkillers. “I’ll go get you some water.”
Luke shook his head. “Not necessary.” He popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.
The large cut on his shoulder needed her attention first. She helped him to remove his shirt and forced her gaze to stay on the cut, not on the width of his shoulders and muscles on his arms. Thankful for something to keep her mind and hands busy, she doused a cotton pad with an antiseptic. Before applying the pad to his skin, she said, “This may sting.”
He nodded and she placed the soaked pad against his flesh.
Luke closed his eyes but made no noise.
Taking her lip between her teeth, Faith continued to bathe the wound, wondering at his ability to take the pain. Once the area was free from the dried blood, she used butterfly bandages to close the gap.
Tenderly, she began to tend to the various other bloodied scrapes. A nasty looking scar on his right shoulder caught her attention. The skin puckered and drew inward around what appeared to have been some sort of hole. Faith went rigid.
An image of her bodyguard flashed in her mind. With shaky hands, she touched the imperfect flesh. Hoping it wasn’t what she feared, she asked, “What is this?”
Luke shrugged. “Got too close to a pitchfork one day.”
“A pitchfork,” she repeated, her voice breaking.
His head swiveled around and he stared at her for a long tense moment. Faith looked back at him steadily, knowing his flippant remark was meant to deflect, but she was unwilling to push for the truth.
Still holding her gaze, he stated flatly, “It’s a bullet wound.”
Having the truth confirmed did nothing to ease the distress she felt. She placed her hand over the scar as if she could somehow erase the proof of his mortality.
Feeling his gaze on her again, she lifted her eyes and met his intense look. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Tell me about your life in the army.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You want to know about the good parts or the not-so-good parts?”
“All the parts.”
“War is ugly.” A bleakness entered his expression and the look tore at her heart.
“Where were you when 9/11 happened?” she asked.
“At the time I was stationed in Birmingham, Alabama.”
“And then?”
“Afghanistan. Operation Enduring Freedom. I agree with why we went, but I still have to live with the memories.”
With a gentle touch she caressed his cheek, wishing she could take away his pain. “How do you live with the memories?”
“I release them to Jesus.”
She marveled at his trust and dedication to the Lord. She didn’t completely understand, but she admired his faith. Maybe one day she’d be as certain of God as Luke was.
“I’m sorry you had to see any fighting at all,” she commented softly.
He gave her an odd look.
“What?”
The moment stretched and then finally he spoke as if she’d opened the floodgates to a dam, his words tumbled out, his voice a rough, raw rasp. She could see his torment, could hear the anguish in his tone.
He told her of secret missions long before the tragedy in New York, most in far-off places and some surprisingly closer to home. He talked of lives he’d saved and those he’d taken, and with each story he grew more distant, more mechanical.
Her heart cracked in her chest and she knew any minute it would shatter into a million pieces; her anguish at his private torment was tearing her apart. She touched her fingertip to his lips, stilling his words.
“Why do you stay in the service?” she asked, gently.
“I joined because God led me there. I stay out of obedience to what He has called me to.”
The simple honesty in his eyes struck her profoundly. She’d never experienced that kind of certainty in her life.
She helped him into the flannel shirt. Careful not to put pressure on his wounds, she wrapped her arms around him, needing to somehow comfort his soul, as well as his body. For a heartbeat he resisted.
“Let me,” she whispered.
He melted against her, coming to rest in the cradle of her arms.
It was a heady feeling, this sense of protectiveness and willingness to give of herself, one she’d never fully experienced before. Oh, she’d cared for her ailing grandfather, but this…this was different. More intense, more…consuming.
She smoothed her hand over his hair. His head rested against her shoulder and the warmth made her feel strong and sure. After a long, silent moment, he lifted his head. The spot where his head had been grew cold, but the look in his eyes warmed her heart.
“Faith, I’ve never told another person these things before,” he wavered. He sounded stunned and a bit frightened.
His openness, his trust was a precious gift. One she didn’t deserve, but one she would cherish. “Thank you.”
He reached for her and winced.
“You need rest.” Purposefully, she made her voice brusque. She’d allow things to get too personal as it was.
Waving away her concern, he said, “Need to see the damage outside from the gunshots.”
“We shouldn’t go outside,” she stated, her heart pounding with fresh panic.
He stood, his jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t go outside. Not yet. I need to figure out how to better protect you.”
As he moved past her and out the door, tenderness welled inside her chest. She would be forever grateful to God for bringing Luke into her life, for showing her that not all men were the same. Some could be generous, giving, loving. But her feelings for Luke left her no other choice. She had to leave.
No matter how much it would hurt.
Luke stared at the bullet hole. Or rather what remained of the shattered wooden fence railing. Hot coals of anger burned in his gut right alongside ice-cold terror at how close those bullets had come to taking out Faith.
The shooter was no amateur. At the distance that truck had been, he had to have had a high-powered rifle, and the lack of retort suggested a silencer.
The jilted ex-husband?
Luke didn’t think so. Not from what Faith had said about him.
A hired assassin? Then why the scare tactic?
Luke’s lip curled in disgust. Her husband didn’t want her back, he wanted to hunt her down. The man enjoyed the chase.
Luke fisted his hand. He hated the helpless, sitting-duck feeling stealing over him. Action. That’s what he needed. Take action. Find Vinnie Palmero and end this situation. Then Faith would be free to go back to her life.
Luke frowned, not liking how the thought of Faith leaving stabbed at him.
Faith needed to leave and resume her life so that he could resume his life.
With that in mind, Luke headed to his office and called the sheriff’s station again and was told the sheriff was on his way to the Circle C Ranch.
While he waited he did a Google search on Palmero. There was, he found, very little info. His name in the New York Bar Association, a few court cases, a wedding announcement for his marriage to the Delange Heiress.
And one interesting tidbit. An article about a man named Anthony Palmero who had been arrested and put in jail for the robbery and murder of a store clerk. The article mentioned that the younger brother, a lawyer named Vince Palmero, had worked tirelessly to get his brother paroled. He’d been successful. Anthony Palmero was paroled after serving ten of his twenty-year sentence.
