The door opened, and Deuce rushed out, dressed in red plaid flannel pajamas. “What happened?”
“Don’t know. I’m headed out to check. Keep the door locked.” Jackson turned away.
“You can’t go alone and unarmed.” Mariah hurried down the porch steps.
“There’s a rifle behind the seat in my truck.”
“I’m going, too.” She wasn’t about to miss this scoop. Mariah shuffled across the gravel to Jackson’s truck in the oversize boots.
He paused before opening her door. “I’d feel better if you were locked in the house, too.”
Mariah hesitated for only a moment. She couldn’t pass this up and shook her head.
Jackson sighed loudly and brushed an assortment of papers lying on the passenger side of the bench seat onto the floor and held out his hand, helping her up. She shut the door as he ran around the front of the truck. Like a moth drawn to a porch light, Mariah’s gaze sought the glow that brightened the night sky like a house lit up with countless Christmas lights.
Jackson jumped in and had the truck racing down his driveway before she could get her seat belt fastened. The engine rumbled. Gravel popped and crunched beneath the tires. From the direction of the barn, Baron kept up his tirade.
She glanced at Jackson’s profile, trying to ignore how much she’d enjoyed their time together on the porch. She couldn’t understand with all her history how she could actually enjoy being held by a man. But Jackson was different. He had a quality about him that others didn’t.
In less than a minute, they bumped across the cattle guard and onto the country road. About a city block away lay a smoldering rubble, scattered in all directions.
“My sign!” Jackson moaned. “What in the world happened?”
Looking through the eerie glow, Mariah remembered how the impressive wooden marquee announcing her arrival at Angelfire had brought her great relief the day she’d arrived. And what a nice sign—more like a billboard with a trio of galloping horses—it had been, gleaming with a fresh, well-maintained appearance. But now the shattered remains littered the road and ditch. What a shame. “Looks like a war zone.”
“I don’t believe this.” He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.
Mariah jumped. She didn’t fear much, but one thing that still made her tremble was a man’s anger.
Leaving the motor running and headlights blazing, Jackson bolted out of his truck and slammed the door behind him. Not since the day she’d arrived had she seen him so angry.
She shivered, remembering her father’s tirades.
Jackson yanked a board off the road and flung it into the darkness beyond the remnants of smoldering debris. She could hardly blame him for being mad. Who wouldn’t be at such senseless destruction? But with no one else around, she was Jackson’s only avenue for venting his anger. Would he take his rage out on her? The memory of her father doing that very thing was still vivid in her mind. Maybe Jackson would only yell. Dare she risk finding out? She reached for the door handle but then paused.
No, she was letting her irrational fear of the past overwhelm her. Jackson didn’t seem the kind of person to hit someone else. But then again, he was a man—and an athlete. She pressed her hand against her churning belly. Could she afford to give him the benefit of the doubt?
Fear for herself warred with concern for Jackson. This was stupid. She was totally overreacting. Sucking in several calming breaths, she focused on the smoldering debris. Who had done this to him? And why?
Too bad she didn’t have her camera or cell phone. She watched him kick a couple of charred boards off the road, and then he marched toward the grassy shoulder and stomped out several small fires. The brief sprinkle earlier this evening must have helped contain the fires, because instead of spreading, the half dozen or so small flames seemed content to burn out once their source had been devoured.
Jackson stood in the middle of the road, his hands on his hips, his face turned upward. Was he praying again? Talking to God in that comfortable manner of his?
He turned and strode back to the vehicle. Anxiety twisted Mariah’s insides like a swirling carnival ride, mixing with compassion for all he was enduring. He didn’t deserve this.
Instead of getting in, Jackson walked past the driver’s door to the rear of the truck. The bed tilted with his weight, and metal scraped against metal. Moments later, he passed in front of the headlights again, carrying a shovel. For the next several minutes, he shoveled dirt on the few remaining fires and flung the larger pieces of debris off the road. With the last of the flames fading, the area grew darker, illuminated only by the truck’s headlights and the stars overhead.
Jackson looked around. Obviously satisfied, he turned and strode toward her. He tossed the shovel into the bed of the truck, sending a loud clatter echoing across the quiet night. Jackson slid inside, the heavy odor of smoke accompanying him, and he started the vehicle. He grasped the steering wheel with both hands and heaved a sigh. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would someone do this?”
He pounded the wheel again. When he turned to face her, Mariah all but melded with the door as she flashed back to her childhood years and how her drunken father had vented his anger on her. Jackson lifted his hand toward her. She flinched, eyes closed, waiting for the slap that always came when her father was angry. She saw her father stomp across the room, swing his arm and smack her so hard she fell against the scarred coffee table, hitting her shoulder.
Mariah jumped again when Jackson’s hand brushed her shoulder. He gently touched the back of her head, and she jerked away, bumping the door. Her heart pounded a frenetic pace.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice kind and full of compassion.
He toyed with a strand of her hair. Exhaling her pent-up breath, she opened her eyes and peeked at him through the darkness. His strokes were gentle, not those of a raging beast.
“What’s wrong, Mariah?”
Relief surged through her veins. He’d never had any intention of taking his frustration out on her. She’d completely misread the situation. Feeling guilty for putting Jackson in the same category as her father, she sucked in a steadying breath and willed her heart to stop its pounding.
Warmth from the heater saturated her feet as a blush warmed her cheeks. Suddenly thankful for the darkness, she tucked one leg under her and turned in Jackson’s direction. Maybe Jackson needed some comfort.
“Seeing this upsets you.” He blew out a loud sigh. “I knew I shouldn’t have brought you.”
“That’s not what’s bothering me.”
Jackson’s tense expression relaxed. “Care to share?”
She blew out a loud sigh. “I don’t handle men’s anger well.”
He stroked her head. “I’m angry at this senseless destruction, but I’d never hurt you.”
“I’m used to men who lash out when they’re mad. My father was a cruel man who drank a lot. My brother is a lot like him.”
Jackson turned to face her, his gut twisting. He’d had several football friends who drank, and he knew well how easy it was to lose control when they’d overindulged. He knew he was overstepping his bounds, but he had to know. “Did they hurt you?”
“Sometimes. My father got rough when he drank. He was never a kind man, and that only made things worse. Carlos—my brother—was a bully and pushed me around because he could.”
No wonder she was so tenacious. No one had ever protected her, so she had to protect herself. “I’m sorry. No child should have to endure such a life.”
“It is what it is.” She turned to face him.
“I would never harm you. I hope you know that.”
She nodded. “I do, and I’m sorry, Jackson. I’m really sorry about your sign. It was really nice.”
He tugged her shoulders gently, and before she kne
w what had happened, she was seated next to him, wrapped in his arms.
“Thanks. I was rather partial to it.” His warm breath brushed against her cheek. “I’ve only had that sign a few months. Got it in August.”
Mariah tried to ignore how Jackson’s nuzzling her hair affected her equilibrium. Her hands began shaking, but not from fear this time.
“I just don’t understand.” He sighed against her head, and his breath smelled like peppermint, though his clothes carried the scent of wood smoke. “I mean, I don’t have any enemies.”
“I think you do. What about a disgruntled customer? Or someone you’ve wronged—recently or in the past? These attacks seem personal.” She pressed her head into the hollow of his neck.
“Everyone knows I guarantee customer satisfaction. I’ve even taken back horses that people have had for several months and then decided they didn’t want.”
“That must hurt your pocketbook.”
“Not really. I have a good reputation for quality, well-trained horses, and that’s not something you can place a price tag on. It’s worth taking back a horse now and then to keep people satisfied. Contented customers come back again and again.”
Jackson tightened his grip on Mariah’s shoulder. Another time, another place and this scene would have been romantic. A chilly winter’s night, a myriad of stars illuminating the moonless sky, and a handsome man at her side. Still, her reporter’s mind refused to take a backseat to romance.
“What about a disgruntled sports fan?” she asked.
“I’m sure there were plenty of those around when I left the Tornados in the middle of a winning season, but that was six years ago, and these problems only started recently.”
Six years ago was when Hailey had been born. Had his wife’s death at the same time of his daughter’s birth been the full story of why he quit football? Her instincts told her there was more to the story.
“I guess we ought to be getting back. I’ve got the big stuff off the road, but I’ll come down in the morning and clean up this mess.”
Jackson shifted his long legs, and Mariah missed the warmth of his thigh resting against hers.
“Thank you for coming down here with me.” His soft words sounded husky. “I’m not used to having someone share my problems—other than God, I mean.”
Mariah turned her head to look up at him. With his arm still around her shoulders, he brushed back the hair from her face. “You’re welcome,” she whispered.
“Mariah...” Jackson’s soft breath tickled her cheeks. His hand slid down the side of her face until his fingers brushed against her lips. “Your skin is so soft.”
She held her breath as he continued to gently stroke her cheek. The longing to kiss this man ignited inside her with a passion she’d never experienced before. Rarely had a man ever gotten so close. What was happening to her?
Jackson leaned forward at the same time he nudged her toward him. His kiss was soft. Gentle. How could such a big, strong man be so tender?
Emotions stirred, she kissed him back, and he responded. All too soon, he pulled back, heaving a sigh.
“As much as I’d like to continue this, we need to get back to the house, and I need to call the sheriff and report this. I left in such a rush that my cell phone is at home.” He placed a final kiss on her forehead then lifted his arm from around her shoulders and put the truck in gear. As she started to slide back across the seat, Jackson slung his arm around her again, pulling her against his side. “You stay put, you hear?”
Glancing up, Mariah could just make out a twinkle in his eyes. She nodded and then leaned her head on his arm, enjoying the sense of security she felt—something so unexpected. Something she’d never before experienced with a man.
Jackson tucked her head in the crook of his neck and rested his head against hers. In a jerky one-handed circle, he maneuvered the pickup in a one-eighty and drove up the drive.
She closed her eyes, daring to fantasize. What would it be like to live here as Jackson’s wife and Hailey’s mom? To be able to cuddle him every night?
Very nice. A wonderful dream.
Reality smacked her upside the head. It was not her dream to consider. She couldn’t allow her growing attraction to Jackson to sidetrack her. Becoming a reporter had been her goal ever since she’d worked on the class newspaper in middle school.
As they pulled near the house, Mariah sat up straight. Allowing Jackson to kiss her had been a mistake. A very pleasant mistake, but one she couldn’t allow to happen again. He was her assignment.
His arm loosened, and she put a few inches between them. With great effort, Mariah forced thoughts of that wonderful kiss from her mind. She needed to finish this article. She couldn’t allow her attraction to Jackson to interfere. She had to squelch those feelings and focus on getting her story.
* * *
Jackson felt as though he ought to be taken out and shot. He’d been upset at the loss of his sign and had wanted comfort. He’d yielded to his manly impulses and kissed Mariah. And what a kiss it had been. His first in over six years.
Mariah had responded but then pulled away and acted as if nothing had happened. And nothing should have. Regret swirled around him with the force of an EF-5 tornado.
He shoved the truck into Park, exited the vehicle and helped Mariah out. He should have left her at the house instead of allowing her to go with him. Deuce’s boots shuffled as Mariah made her way across the gravel drive. Was she upset with him?
He should never have hugged or kissed her. He unlocked the door and allowed her to enter first, determined to put her out of his mind and focus on the issue at hand. Who could hate him enough to blow up his sign? Other than Howard Stunkard, he drew a blank. Maybe it was time to have the sheriff give him a visit.
Jackson rubbed the back of his neck, realizing how exhausted he was. Life on a ranch was rarely easy, but it had been even more stressful the past few weeks. He needed to talk to the sheriff, but there really wasn’t anything the man could do until daylight. He’d call first thing in the morning. He sat on the mud bench and tugged off his boots.
Deuce slipped into the mudroom. “You let her wear my boots?”
Jackson glanced up and shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the moment.”
“So, what happened out there?”
“Someone blew up our sign.”
“What!”
“Yep.”
Exhausted, Jackson pushed off the bench and padded into the kitchen, hoping to see Mariah once more tonight, but she was already gone.
* * *
Jackson swigged down the last of his morning coffee and glanced at his watch. Eight-thirty. Mariah was sleeping in this morning. Course, they’d had a late night. The hour of three had passed on the clock before he’d finally drifted off to sleep. Visions of a man dressed in black, stalking around his ranch, kept forcing him out of bed to stare out his window.
And then there’d been the memories of sharing that kiss with Mariah. As much as he wished he hadn’t kissed her, he couldn’t deny he’d enjoyed it. But even if he had to wear blinders, he was determined to ignore any spark of attraction to that reporter. He’d be polite and kind but would not show even the slightest hint of interest. He had to do that for only a few days, and she’d be gone.
At the door, he slipped on his jacket and hat and stepped out into the cold December morning. Pulling his fleece-lined leather gloves from his pocket, he studied the ranch yard. Not a thing looked out of place. Baron yipped a little bark then trotted over for his morning scratch. Justin must have come early and let the dog out of the barn. So far, the boy hadn’t disappointed him, in spite of his rocky history.
Deuce’s ancient Pinto hatchback was gone from its place behind the house as he’d expected. His old friend was off to have breakfast with a few of his war buddies at t
he senior citizens’ home in Claremore before he attended church. Same thing he’d done every Sunday for as long as Jackson could remember.
He warmed up his truck then headed down the drive to check out the explosion damage in the light of day. Maybe he could find some clues for the sheriff.
As soon as he reached the road, he knew he wasn’t alone. Mariah’s lavender jacket stood out against the stark winter landscape like a grape in a bowl of oatmeal. How had she managed to sneak out of the house without him noticing?
He clenched his jaw. Didn’t the woman have a lick of sense? She’d been shot at two days ago, and here she was, out on the road alone. Mariah didn’t even turn as he pulled his truck off the road and parked. He watched her study the area. She resembled a hound dog on a scent. In deep concentration, she walked down the side of the road then stopped and stooped down, touching something in the dirt.
Intrigued, he slid from the truck and strode to her side.
With her lips in a tight line, she glanced up at him, then back to the ground. “Jackson, I think I’ve found something.”
NINE
“Look. Tire tracks.” Mariah pointed to the ground.
Jackson squatted beside her, and the heat of her denim-clad leg radiated out to warm his chilled thigh. Ignoring the reaction it caused in his traitorous heart, he studied the marks in the hardened dirt. Yep, definitely tire tracks. Zigzag tread marks had been formed in the mud alongside the road and had hardened solid overnight. Hope soared. Maybe he’d finally found the evidence needed to locate the person harassing him.
“Last night’s sprinkle made the ground soft enough that whoever blew up your sign probably made these tracks.” She looked at him with a spark of hope gleaming in her eyes.
“Maybe. Could just be someone who lives down the road slipped off the blacktop, though. Still, they look fairly fresh. The mud that pressed up into the treads is in good condition. Maintained its shape well.”
“I don’t think the ridges would be so sharp if these were old tread marks that had been rained on.”
Rancher Under Fire Page 11
