High-Caliber Cowboy

by B. J Daniels

  He could only stare at her—all of it too much to comprehend. “Why? I still don’t understand why you would go after your own father?”

  “Believe me, I have my reasons.”

  The anger in her voice cooled some of his own. “But he’s your father,” he whispered.

  “I told you, he hasn’t been a father to me since I was ten. He put me in one boarding school after another, never letting me return to the ranch that I loved, keeping me at arm’s length.”

  “Why did he do that?” He’d always heard that Mason idolized his daughter.

  “Isn’t it obvious? He was afraid that some day I would find out what a monster he really was. You have no idea what he is capable of,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “I do.”

  * * *

  MASON HEARD Red come back into the house and lifted his head from his hands, pulling himself together.

  “Are you all right, boss?” Red asked.

  “It was McCall. He’s the one behind all of this.”

  “Brandon McCall?” Red didn’t believe it.

  Mason could see it in his face and he knew that if he lied to Red now, he would lose him. He needed Red. Needed someone he could trust. Especially now.

  “There was another rider with him,” Mason said. “A woman. I want McCall found and brought to me. Make sure the woman isn’t harmed. And I don’t want anyone to know about this, you understand? No one.” From Red’s disapproving look, Mason knew he understood only too well.

  “I’m not going to harm them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Why not call the sheriff and let him handle it?”

  Mason gave Red a piercing look. “The sheriff,” he said through gritted teeth, “is Brandon’s brother. You think I can get any justice in this town? No sheriff. I’ll handle this myself. Just like I always handle things.” He could see Red wasn’t going to move until he got the whole story. He sighed. “The woman is my daughter.”

  Red didn’t hide his surprise. Or his sympathy. “She’s the one who vandalized the wells, broke into the house and probably started the grass fire. Not McCall.”

  Mason swore. “What the hell is he doing with my daughter if he’s not in on it?”

  Red shook his head. “I’ve gotten to know McCall in the weeks he’s worked for me. He didn’t have anything to do with what is happening here. You fired one of my best men. If this is about that stupid feud—”

  “I don’t want him with my daughter,” Mason snapped, remembering the day he’d caught his nine-year-old sitting on the curb sharing her Popsicle with the youngest McCall. They’d just been kids visiting on a hot summer day, but he’d had a horrible premonition when he’d seen them together. It was so strong he’d known he had to get his daughter away from Antelope Flats, away from Montana.

  And now Christianna was back—and with McCall.

  “I need to talk to her. Without him there,” Mason amended. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “I can find them,” Red said slowly.

  “I thought you probably could.”

  “You want me to start tonight?”

  “No, wait until first light when you can track them. I would imagine McCall will head to his ranch. If that’s what he does, we’ll wait until he leaves it again. We need to get him alone. I’ll take care of my daughter.”

  Red seemed to hesitate, but then slowly nodded.

  Mason waited until he heard Red leave before he reached for the phone and dialed Dr. French’s number.

  * * *

  ANNA STEPPED AWAY from the fire to the edge of the mountainside again. A cool breeze came up out of the pines and the valley. Lights sparkled in the distance.

  The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the gurgle of the creek through the rocks and the broken blades of the waterwheel. She breathed in the sweet smell of pine and the night.

  “I don’t want to talk about my father,” she said without turning around. “Please.”

  She felt rather than heard him come up behind her. Suddenly the night was much warmer, her skin alive with just the thought of his touch.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his breath feathering the hair at her right ear.

  She closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of him.

  His arms came around her, his fingertips making a torturous sensuous trail down her bare arms. He entwined his fingers with hers, drawing her hands back under her breasts as he hugged her to him. She leaned against his solid body and told herself not to trust her feelings—let alone fall for Brandon McCall. She’d seen the way he reacted when he found out who she was.

  Yet as he turned her slowly around to face him, her eyes locking with his, she wanted with all her heart to believe in him. To surrender to her feelings. All breath left her as he bent down to brush his mouth over hers. Her lips parted on a sigh. His eyes were the palest blue she’d ever seen. In the moonlight they were like hot flames burning pure. She tried to catch her breath, to hear his whispered words over the pounding of her pulse.

  “Anna.” He said her name like a caress.

  Her skin rippled with goose bumps, her heart galloped as wild as the horse she’d ridden earlier as she’d tried to escape this man. But she’d never been able to escape him, not in her thoughts, not earlier tonight.

  And there was no escaping him now.

  He lowered his head again and kissed her.

  * * *

  BRANDON DIDN’T WANT to react to the pain he’d heard in her voice. He thought of his own mother. Gone for over thirty years. Did anyone get over that feeling of rejection?

  He drew her close, holding her. He wanted her, wanted Christianna VanHorn. Even as he thought it, he knew they had no future. The fact that she was a criminal aside, she was a VanHorn. He was a McCall.

  And still he kissed her, not surprised by the desire that flared inside him. Or the connection he felt to her, one that had begun with a cherry Popsicle years ago.

  He didn’t question the bond between them, nor the way she responded to his kiss, her lips parting as a sigh escaped her slim pale throat. He deepened the kiss, wanting her like nothing he’d ever wanted before. Passion sparked between them, like two powerful chemicals that should never be mixed. Not unless you wanted one hell of an explosion.

  He pulled back, knowing the inevitable outcome if he continued kissing her and what those actions could cost them.

  Moonlight filled her black hair with silver. Firelight danced in her brown eyes with flashes of gold. He looked into those eyes and what he saw there almost dropped him to his knees. A combustible mixture of desire and need.

  “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you last night,” he said, his voice low and rough with emotion as he stared down at her mouth.

  Anna pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes bright with tears. He could see that she was shaken by the kiss. As much as he was.

  He nodded and tried to still his raging heart. “You can have the bedroll. I’ll be fine by the fire.”

  She smiled, tears in her eyes. “I’ll go to your brother the sheriff with you in the morning if that’s what you want. I’ll fix things with my father for you. He won’t press charges.”

  He stared at her. She would go to her father for him? “No, we’re in this together now.” Whatever the hell it was. “I’ll help you.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. She swiped at them, biting at her lower lip as she looked at him. That look could have been his undoing if he touched her now.

  But he didn’t reach for her. Couldn’t. He turned and picked up his shirt, drawing it on without looking at her. He pulled on his jacket, buttoned up his jeans and finally turned to find her still standing in the same spot.

  She looked small and vulnerable and his first instinct was to pull her to him again, to hold her, comfort her, make love to her beside the fire. Just the thought of her naked in his arms made him groan.

  He turned and headed off into the trees to find some limbs to keep the fire going
tonight. Mostly he needed to get away from her for a while.

  The fire had burned down to glowing coals by the time he returned. She was tucked into the sleeping bag, lying on her back as if staring up at the stars through the tops of the pines. Smoke curled up from the campfire. Beyond the glow of the coals was nothing but darkness.

  “Good night,” she said, not looking at him.

  He pulled the log stump closer to the fire and stretched out, his back against it. “Good night…Christianna.” He watched her close her eyes, her chest rising and falling beneath the thin bedroll. A single tear rolled down the side of her face.

  It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Brandon woke to find Anna gone. He sat up, looking first toward his saddle. It was still where he’d left it, but he’d seen her ride bareback. Half-afraid, he glanced in the direction of where his horse should have been, almost surprised the mare was still there. Would Anna have taken off on foot? She could be miles from here by now.

  Something splashed in the nearby stream. The day was just breaking through the pines. VanHorn would have his men out looking for them.

  Through the trees he spotted movement and the pink glow of bare skin. Another splash. She was taking a bath in an eddy in the creek.

  He turned away, smiling to himself. Anna Austin was one of a kind. He quickly reminded himself that she was Christianna VanHorn—no matter what she called herself—or what he’d come to think of her as.

  He’d promised her last night that he would help her. That meant trying to find out what had happened to the private investigator she’d hired.

  They would have to get moving soon, he thought as he busied himself with breaking camp. VanHorn’s men would be after them. No way was VanHorn going to let a McCall get away with running off with his daughter.

  But Brandon did wonder what VanHorn would do to Anna.

  Now last night made sense—VanHorn slipping in the mud, dropping his shotgun. He’d seen his daughter. He must have been shocked to realize she was the vandal. And to see her with a McCall… VanHorn must be beside himself.

  What had happened to make him push his daughter away? Something.

  Was that what Anna was trying so desperately to find?

  As he finished rolling up his bedroll and stuffing everything else into his pack, he heard her come up from the creek. He promised himself he wouldn’t forget who she was. Not again. He would keep his distance. The last thing he wanted was to get more involved with her.

  And last night he’d come close. He’d wanted to make love to her. No big surprise there.

  No, what worried him was that she seemed to have a hold on him he couldn’t explain—and had since the first time he’d seen her on the curb when he was eleven. It was her smile. The girl had been a heart-stealer. The woman…well, she was a heartbreaker.

  He turned to look at her and felt all his resolve wash away. Her wet hair trailed down her back in a single braid. She looked all of sixteen with her hair like that, her face flushed from the cold water, her eyes bright.

  He looked into her honey-brown gaze and found himself falling. It felt like jumping off a cliff without knowing or caring if there was water below you deep enough that you wouldn’t kill yourself.

  “Good morning,” she said, all business. “Have you changed your mind?”

  He shook his head, even though he wasn’t sure what it was he was supposed to have changed his mind about. “Good morning, Anna.” He couldn’t bring himself to think of her as Christianna after he’d seen how much he’d hurt her last night when he’d called her that. “Changed my mind? You mean about helping you? No.”

  She cocked her head at him. “Is there something else you haven’t changed your mind about?” She nodded knowingly. “About the two of us. Frightening, isn’t it, just the thought of a VanHorn and a McCall.”

  She was making fun of him.

  “Joke if you want, but can you imagine your father’s face if you told him you were interested in a McCall?”

  “As a matter of fact, I can. I saw his look when he came upon the two of us on that curb all those years ago,” she said and smiled. “I’m not afraid of my father.”

  “Maybe you should be,” he said.

  Her smile faded. “Maybe I should be.” She shivered and he opened his arms, not surprised when she stepped into them.

  The bare skin on her arms felt like ice, but soon warmed as he drew her closer, holding her. After last night he couldn’t turn her over to the sheriff any more than he could take her—and the trouble they were in—back to the ranch.

  He didn’t know what to do with her. She wasn’t just a criminal, she was a VanHorn. He was a McCall. And as much as she wanted to believe that didn’t matter, it did.

  And yet when she pulled back to look up into his face, he kissed her, not surprised by the desire that flared between them. Or the feeling that he was powerless to prevent it.

  He felt the heat of desire rush through his veins—shoving aside rational thought.

  She drew back, cocking her head as if to listen, then smiled up at him, leaning against him to kiss him. She had the most wonderful mouth. He lost himself in her mouth, in the taste of her, in the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips as he cupped her face in his hands. He could have kissed this woman the rest of his life.

  Suddenly she pulled back, her eyes wide, her breath coming quickly. “I heard something,” she whispered.

  He listened. He didn’t hear anything. Except for the thunder of his pulse in his ears.

  Then he did hear it. The sound of a truck engine coming up one of the logging roads below them.

  * * *

  CASH COULDN’T REACH Realtor Frank Yarrow until the next morning.

  “Yes, Sheriff, what can I do for you?” the elderly Realtor asked.

  “I’m calling about an employee of yours, Emma Ingles. She was a security guard at Brookside?”

  “Oh, Emma.” Yarrow sighed. “I heard what happened to her. What an unfortunate accident.”

  “I was wondering if there had been any trouble at Brookside recently.”

  “Trouble?”

  Cash thought he heard something in the man’s tone.

  “Did something happen up there?”

  “No. This has nothing to do with Emma. It’s just that I went up there the day Emma died to show the place to a woman. She’d been insistent on the phone, so I’d agreed to meet her there. She never showed. It’s silly. I can’t see that it would have anything to do with Emma. Unless the woman might have gone up there later that night.”

  “What was this woman’s name?” Cash asked.

  “I suppose I could give it to you,” Yarrow said. “She had a Southern accent. I got the impression she wasn’t really interested in buying the place, just curious. I’m afraid I get a lot of those.” He chuckled. “When I heard about Emma it got me wondering if she could have gone up there last night, while Emma was working. Silly. It’s just that Emma wasn’t a drinker. Maybe this woman upset her. Or scared her.”

  “Her name?”

  “Oh, sorry. I do get carried away sometimes. Lenore Johnson. At least that’s the name she gave me.”

  Lenore Johnson. The missing private investigator from Virginia. Why had she wanted to see Brookside?

  “We don’t need any bad publicity associated to Brookside,” Yarrow said, clearing his throat. “I’m having enough trouble finding a buyer for it.”

  “Then I’m sorry to give you some bad news.” Yarrow would read about it in the evening paper anyway. “Emma Ingles’s death is being investigated as a homicide.”

  “Oh, no. If it generates the kind of publicity it did the last time…”

  “The last time?” Cash asked.

  “The last murder. The one that ended up closing the place down for good.”

  “There was a murder at Brookside?”

  “I can’t remember all the details. You’d have to ask Abe. Abe Carmichael. He was the sheriff th
en. Some woman was killed in her bed up there. Pretty gruesome. They never caught the killer. Everyone just thought it had to be one of the other patients, you know? But after that, the place went bankrupt and the state took over the building.”

  Cash tried to remember when the institution had closed. He must have been about fifteen.

  “Isn’t it awful, but I can’t remember the woman’s name. Just the poor soul’s room number. 9B. Was a grisly death. The killer never caught.”

  * * *

  MASON VANHORN woke with a start, and for a moment he convinced himself that last night had been nothing more than a bad dream. Chrissy was in Virginia. She hadn’t come to Montana without telling him. She hadn’t vandalized his wells, broken into the ranch house or set fire to one of his hay fields. Not Chrissy, his precious daughter.

  Not the cute, little sweet cheerful girl he’d known.

  But he didn’t know Anna Austin, the woman she’d grown into. The woman he hadn’t even seen in more years than he wanted to admit.

  He’d told himself it was better that way. Better for her to make a life for herself somewhere else. He’d done her a favor, whether she realized it or not.

  He padded into the kitchen in his pajamas and made himself a cup of coffee. His hands were shaking as he lifted the cup to his mouth.

  “You stupid fool.” Dr. Niles French’s words echoed in his head. “She’s the one who hired that private investigator. She knows.”

  “She just thinks she knows,” Mason had assured him last night on the phone. “You just do your part and let me handle her. And make sure you don’t breathe a word about this. I don’t have to tell you what could happen if you do.”

  He thought he’d already handled her. When Chrissy had called last week and asked about her mother, he’d just repeated the lie he’d told her since she was a child. A horrible lie, but much better than the truth.

  He’d wondered then why she would be asking about her mother now, after all these years, but he hadn’t let it concern him. He was so sure that she’d believed the lie. Just as she always had.