Rancher Under Fire

by Vickie McDonough

  “He’s a good cook, but kind of a funny man,” Mariah said, as if unsure of whether or not to voice her opinion.

  All heads turned back to her, and her eyebrows lifted, daring someone to disagree with her.

  “You’re right.” Kelly nodded, grinning as she grabbed Evan’s arm and leaned against him. “His fried chicken is to die for. And wait until you taste his steaks. We raise beef here besides horses, you know.”

  “Is that his real name?” Mariah asked.

  The group chuckled, but Jackson narrowed his eyes, wondering if her question was mere curiosity or if she was searching for information.

  “No.” Kelly grinned, shaking her head. “His real name’s Sherman.”

  “And he has a twin brother named Herman,” Lance said.

  Amusement twinkled in Mariah’s dark eyes. “Sherman and Herman. That’s almost cruel.”

  Kelly laughed. “Guess that’s why he goes by Deuce and his older brother is known as Ace.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s all that much better.” Mariah grinned.

  The group of family and friends shared a little laugh at Deuce’s expense, though Jackson held back. It wasn’t as if he had a lot of room to talk about odd names since he bore his mother’s maiden name for his moniker.

  The sun ducked behind a cloud, and a chilly gust blew across the ranch yard.

  “Brrr! It’s getting colder out. Feels more like December now,” Kelly said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. She jogged up the porch steps.

  “Hey, wait for us, Aunt Kelly,” Hailey called, as she grabbed Mariah’s hand and tugged her toward the porch. A wave of fatherly pride swelled in Jackson’s chest. He loved his daughter so much at times he could hardly hold in his swirling emotions.

  “Wow. She’s hot.” Evan slowed his pace, shoved his hands in his pockets and started jingling the coins hidden deep in the shadows.

  “You got that right,” Lance said.

  Jackson scowled at his friend and then his brother.

  Evan turned a surprised look his way. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how attractive she is.”

  He’d noticed. But he wasn’t going to admit it—not here—not now. And he certainly didn’t want his brother or Lance noticing.

  “So, someone really took a shot at her?” Evan lifted one eyebrow.

  “Yes, I’m certain. And not just one—closer to a half dozen. I heard them.”

  Evan let out an impressed whistle.

  “How do you know it wasn’t a hunter?” Lance asked.

  “If it was, he was hunting Mariah—or at the least trying to scare her away. Barely missed her twice, from what I could tell.”

  “That’s certainly not good for business.” Evan frowned. “Why would someone want to shoot at her? No one even knows she’s here.”

  “People know.” Lance leaned against a fence post, arms folded. “Don’t forget we live in a small county, and word gets around.”

  Both brothers turned their stern gaze on Lance.

  “Hey, don’t blame me.” He held up his palms in defense. “You called Denton’s office. The sheriff and his deputies know. She stopped at the Tank Up on the way to the ranch. Lots of folks saw her.”

  Jackson pushed his hat up off his forehead. More people than he’d realized were aware of his guest. “Okay, but who would have reason to not want her here?”

  Lance remained silent for once, and Evan shrugged.

  “Well, as soon as her car is fixed, she’s out of here. I have enough to worry about besides a greenhorn from the city.”

  Evan jingled his coins faster. “You still want me to take her off your hands?”

  Jackson blinked. It took a moment before he remembered their phone conversation. Did he want to be rid of Mariah?

  Yes.

  Maybe.

  No.

  At least if she was here, he could control the flow of information she received. There was no telling what Evan might tell her. And he could protect her far better than his brother, who didn’t even own a gun.

  “Hey.” Lance nudged Jackson’s arm with his elbow. “I asked first.”

  “No,” he said, matching his brother’s actions and shoving fingertips in his tight pockets. “She can stay here. Hailey likes her.” I like her.

  Jackson hoped his heart would still be intact when Mariah left. Something about the reporter drew him like a June bug to a porch light. Maybe it was the loneliness he recognized in her whenever she dropped her reporter facade, because he felt the same way. How could he be surrounded by a loving family and still feel isolated?

  “If you change your mind, just remember I offered first.” Lance’s grin slackened. “So, has she written her story yet?”

  Jackson knew Lance had just voiced Evan’s unasked question. “No, and I’m not so sure she’s going to.”

  “Why not?” His brother scowled. “I went to a lot of trouble to get a reporter here.”

  “Maybe you should have mentioned the reporter was a woman.” Jackson faced his brother head-on.

  “You would never have agreed.”

  Jackson frowned. “So you did know in advance. You kept it a secret and let her come here, knowing how I feel about women. Knowing how important my privacy is.”

  Evan held up his hands in surrender. “Now hold your horses, J.D. That’s not true. I honestly thought the Observer was sending a man. I never even considered they might send a female reporter to do a story on a former pro athlete.”

  He released a long sigh, allowing the tension to flow out of him as he saw the truth in his brother’s eyes. Evan hadn’t known Mariah was a female. Lance stood with his arms crossed over his chest, having no qualms about eavesdropping. Well, it wasn’t the first time his friend had seen him and Evan arguing.

  “So, you two agree that neither of you knew a female reporter was coming?” Lance asked, suddenly the arbitrator.

  Jackson eyed his brother a final time, then nodded the same instant Evan did.

  “Good. Now that that’s settled,” Lance said, “do you think Mariah would want to go out with me tomorrow night?”

  * * *

  Mariah stared in disbelief at the newspaper article she’d pulled up on her laptop. Jackson wanted her to leave but he allowed Justin to work on his ranch when the young man had such a criminal past. According to this article, written after his last brush with the law, Justin had started out with simple graffiti painting that had escalated into destruction of school property and then armed robbery of a convenience store. Another search for his name told her that after a short term in a youth detention center, Justin had been sent to one of those boot camps for juvenile offenders. He was fortunate that he’d been a minor when he’d committed his crimes or he probably would still be in prison.

  Leaning back in her chair, she yawned and glanced at the clock. 11:40. She needed to hit the hay soon, but she wasn’t done yet. She drummed her fingers on the desk. Could Justin be causing Jackson’s problems? Obviously, he had the history and ability to be destructive, but what could be his motive? Could Jackson have had anything to do with Justin getting arrested and being sent to jail? But if that was true, why in the world would Justin be working at Angelfire now?

  She scanned several other articles, hoping for new information. The only other pertinent fact was that Justin had been in the same high school graduation class as Kelly. Interesting.

  She clicked the word-processing tab at the bottom of her computer to open her file and stared at her list of suspects. She highlighted Justin’s name and moved him to the top.

  She’d already researched Lance Jordan. Westin’s weekly newspaper held a wealth of information on him and Jackson. Evidently, Lance’s biggest problem was his loose mouth—that and drinking too much on the weekends.
He’d gotten arrested for DUI once last June while at summer football camp in Dallas. That had resulted in him losing a lucrative advertising contract. Then he’d gotten injured in the second game this year and was out for the season and had been sent home to recover. Last month his mother died, and he’d had to settle her estate. Now he was back in Oklahoma. He’d had a run of bad luck, but as far as she could tell, none of it was tied to Jackson.

  She picked up the articles that she’d printed on her portable printer and studied them. Lance had joined the Tornados the same year as Jackson. Though Jackson was selected as starting quarterback his second year with the Tornados, it took Lance another year to become a starting receiver. Their careers paralleled each other’s, and they’d become good friends, but it seemed odd to Mariah that Lance would buy a ranch next door to Jackson’s. She’d never had a super-close friend and couldn’t imagine wanting to live next door to one.

  Mariah rolled her head around, stretching her neck muscles. Stifling a yawn, she clicked on the article she’d started on Jackson. She’d noticed she was the only one who called him by his first name. Everyone else referred to him as J.D. Course, that was the name the world knew him as—J. D. Durant—star quarterback of the Texas Tornados.

  She could understand how losing his wife and being left the single father of a newborn daughter was enough to cause him to walk away from a football team on the way to the Super Bowl. Some Tornado fans still grumbled about him not following through on his contract and quitting near the end of an undefeated season. They blamed him for the Tornados losing in the play-offs. They had cared more for their team winning the Super Bowl than they had for their hurting quarterback.

  A vehicle rumbled to life outside her window. She recognized the loud, vibrating sound of Lance’s Camaro. He was leaving. Mariah heaved a sigh of relief. She couldn’t deny Lance’s charming good looks, but his personality was sorely lacking. She hated come-on jocks who were full of themselves. They reminded her of her brother. And thoughts of Carlos were never pleasant. He was too much like their abusive father.

  Mariah shook her head, hoping to rid it of thoughts of her dysfunctional family. She needed to concentrate on Jackson’s, not hers. Kelly was a cutie. She had felt an instant connection with Jackson’s sister. They’d chatted over dinner about the latest fashions and included Hailey in their conversation as much as possible. Given the chance, she and Kelly could probably become friends. Mariah hated to see Kelly take Hailey home with her tonight, but it was the smart thing. She would miss Jackson’s precocious daughter, but her safety was the priority—and she was safer away from the ranch for now.

  She stared at Evan’s name on her laptop. He was an older and thinner version of Jackson, more studious-looking and less brawny. Both men—in fact, all three siblings—sported the same almost-black hair and dark blue eyes. Jackson’s brother was still on her list of suspects. While it was unlikely he had anything to do with the problems on the ranch, he still had motive. Jackson mentioned Evan being upset about their uncle leaving only a small percentage of the ranch to him and Kelly, while the lion’s share had gone to Jackson. Though Evan didn’t seem the kind of person to hide guilt well, Mariah wasn’t ready to rule anyone out yet.

  Tomorrow, when she wasn’t so tired, she’d see if she could track down something on Deuce. She also had to consider that maybe the target wasn’t Jackson—maybe someone at the Observer was out to get her. Her gut told her no, that the shooting and black-truck incidents were related to Jackson’s troubles, but she had to consider all the possibilities.

  Swiping her tongue around her dry mouth, she suddenly realized how thirsty she was. She pushed back her chair, stood and stretched. A cold glass of ice water was just what she needed.

  Mariah peeked out her bedroom door. The house rested beneath a blanket of darkness. Jackson and Deuce were most likely in bed by now. She turned toward the living area, where a faint light glowed from Jackson’s office. Probably a night-light.

  Tiptoeing down the hall so as not to wake anyone, she heard a faint mumbling as she drew near the office door. Her heart somersaulted at the closeness of a voice. She peered through the open doorway, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the muted darkness. A dark figure huddled on its knees, leaning over the couch seat, forehead resting in hands. Jackson.

  “And, Lord, I really need Your help...”

  Immediate guilt lanced Mariah when she realized she’d caught him praying. She shouldn’t listen to a man’s conversation with God, but something held her immobile.

  “Help me discover the source of the problems here. Guide me to the person responsible, and thank You for protecting my family—and Mariah. I pray for Your continued protection. Property can be replaced, but not people.”

  Mesmerized, Mariah continued to listen. She looked around the dimly lit room, almost expecting to see someone else sitting in the shadows. How could Jackson talk to God just like he would a friend? The few church services she’d sat through before her mother died had been long and boring liturgical recitations, and nobody had dared pray to God in such an informal manner. Could this be what people meant when they said God was their friend?

  Guilt for eavesdropping finally overpowered her curiosity. She tiptoed past the doorway.

  “Forgive me again, Lord, for being angry with Evan and losing my temper over this situation with Mariah.”

  She stopped in midstride at Jackson’s soft entreaty.

  “I know there must be a reason You sent her here. I just need to be patient. Show me whether or not I should allow her to do the story.” Jackson heaved a sigh. The gentle glow from his desk lamp illuminated his shoulders. His fingers plowed through his hair and came to rest on the back of his head. “Maybe it’s time I quit hiding out from the real world.”

  His soft chuckle startled Mariah after the serious tone of his prayer. The excitement that coursed through her, knowing that he was at least considering cooperating with her on the story, warred with her yearning not to be the one to rock his peaceful world, as the article was certain to do. Once loyal fans and the media discovered where he’d been hiding all these years, there would surely be at least some who would seek him out and pester him.

  He chuckled again. “Yes, I know You’ve been after me for a while to quit hiding out here on the ranch. I’m listening. It’s just taken time for the idea to soak into my thick brain. And, Father...” Jackson paused, as if debating his next prayer. “Help me to keep this attraction to Mariah in proper perspective.”

  Mariah’s heart jumped again. His attraction to her? She blinked. He’s attracted to me? Swallowing hard, she struggled to keep the pulsating beat of her heart from echoing so loudly that Jackson would hear it. Now she desperately wanted to know his next words.

  But why did she care so much? Was she actually attracted to this man? Sure, he was handsome and had a nice home and a sweet child, but he could be cranky and insensitive—but then, who wasn’t at least some of the time?

  “Thanks for Your blessings, Lord. In Jesus’s name, Amen.”

  Oh, no! She’d gotten so caught up realizing she actually liked Jackson Durant that she’d missed the rest of what he’d said. He breathed another sigh, as if satisfied with his prayer time, and then he stretched and yawned. With a glance at his watch, he unfolded his long body off the floor and rose to his feet.

  Apprehension at getting caught watching and listening to him spurred Mariah’s feet into action. She sped softly toward the kitchen and banged straight into the table.

  SEVEN

  Jackson’s heart took a frenzied leap the same time his body catapulted into action. Someone was in his kitchen! He flew out the office door, skidding around the corner on his sock-clad feet, and flipped on the light. He blinked as his eyes adjusted from the muted dimness of his office to the stark brightness of the kitchen.

  “Oh, ow. Ow!” Mariah held on to the tab
le with one hand, hopping around on her left foot. She leaned forward and grasped the toes of the other foot that hung useless in midair. Pain contorted her pretty features. “Oh, man, that hurt.”

  “Sit down,” he ordered. Why in the world had she been wandering around the house with the lights off?

  Jackson grabbed a small sandwich bag from a box in the cabinet and filled it with crushed ice from the refrigerator door. Yanking out the chair next to Mariah’s, he plopped down then pulled her foot onto his knee. He laid the ice bag over her toes and looked up into her surprised face.

  She tried to tug her foot away, but he held on tight. “I—I can do that myself.”

  “I know, but I’m getting used to patching you up.” He smiled, and her brow scrunched in confusion. Good. Keep her too rattled to ask questions. “So, what are you doing up this late?”

  “What are you doing up so late?” She tipped her chin in the air and glared at him.

  Touché! “Praying.”

  Mariah blanched. “That’s—uh—nice.” She broke eye contact and glanced away.

  He wondered about her odd reaction, but she wasn’t the first person he knew who felt funny talking about prayer. “Did you need something from the kitchen?”

  She licked her lips, and Jackson felt as if a bucking bronco had been turned loose in his belly. “I just wanted some cold water before going to bed.”

  “Why didn’t you turn the light on?”

  Mariah shrugged. “With Deuce’s room on the other side of the kitchen, I wasn’t sure if the light shining under his door would awaken him.”

  “Nothing short of a tornado could wake Deuce once he’s taken off his hearing aid.” Lifting her foot, he eased out of the chair then set her heel on the seat. The ice bag rested across her toes. He retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to her.