Rancher Under Cover

by Carla Cassidy

  She’d made a call to the Kelley ranch to find out if there was anything new on the missing Lana and had talked to Cole. What he’d told her had walked cold fingers up her spine. According to him, the men who had kidnapped Lana were now threatening to send snipers to kill all of the Kelley men.

  Apparently Hank had sent a mercenary to try to rescue his daughter. The mercenary had been killed, but his action had infuriated the people who were holding Lana.

  Caitlin had asked Cole why they hadn’t gone to the authorities, but Cole told her there was a fear that doing so would instantly write Lana’s death warrant. She’d pressed for more information, but Cole had been vague and then had ended the call.

  There was also the issue of Caitlin’s missing father. Even Esmeralda was concerned about the fact that there had been no word from Mickey. It wasn’t like him just to disappear for any length of time and not stay in contact with the people at the ranch.

  As if all of this wasn’t enough to plague her mind, she’d found her gaze drifting from window to window throughout the afternoon to catch glimpses of the newest, very attractive ranch hand.

  Randall Kane definitely threw her for a loop. She’d thought the traumatic event that had brought her home had also killed any emotion that any man might ever provoke in her, but she’d apparently been wrong.

  Those men in the jungle hadn’t killed everything inside her, although at the time she’d believed they had. Randall’s bright green eyes, his strong jaw with those flashing dimples and his shaggy blond hair attracted her, and that was absolutely, positively shocking.

  As if conjured up by her very thoughts alone, the object of her musings ambled into view. He was headed toward the foreman’s quarters in the stable, but as he caught sight of her he changed directions and instead headed in her direction.

  Instantly, a not entirely unpleasant tension twisted in her stomach. As he drew closer his sexy lips turned upward into a charming, lazy smile and he pulled the cowboy hat off his head.

  “Beautiful evening,” he said as he approached the porch. He didn’t wait for an invitation from her but rather climbed the stairs, plopped down in the chair next to hers and placed his hat on the floor at his feet. “Wow, this is obviously the best seat in the state to watch the sun sink.”

  Caitlin nodded and told herself to relax as she gazed at the western sky that had begun to transform itself into an artist’s palette of lush oranges, bright golds and vivid pinks. “I’m sure the sunset here is no more pretty than the ones at the Blackstone ranch in Wyoming.”

  He smiled. “Ah, so you had a chance to read my résumé.”

  “I not only read it, I called your last employer, Ralph Blackstone, who extolled your virtues and said you were nothing short of a miracle worker with horses.”

  “He’s a nice man,” he replied. “And he was a good and fair boss.”

  “It sounded like he was really sorry to see you go. What made you leave his ranch?” This was okay, she thought. She could still have an easy conversation with a man and not completely freak out.

  He leaned back in the chair and stretched his long, lean legs out before him. “The wayward wind,” he replied. Once again a smile lifted the corners of his mouth, a smile she felt in a small burst of warmth in her stomach. “The wind blows a certain way and I get restless and that’s when I know it’s time to move on.”

  “So, where’s home?”

  “No place anymore. As I told you before, I grew up on a ranch in Wyoming, but my parents died years ago, and with no family to tie me down, home is wherever the wind blows me.”

  “Most men your age have a wife and children,” she said.

  For just an instant his eyes darkened. “Not me. I’m built to travel light with nobody to take care of but myself. It’s the way I want it, the way I like it.” His eyes brightened. “What about you? You got some boyfriend lurking around the area?”

  She shook her head. “No boyfriend.”

  “And why is that?” His gaze slid down the length of her, an assessing look that obviously pleased him and once again drizzled heat through her.

  “I dated some in high school and then again in college, but when I got to medical school I just didn’t have the time or the energy,” she replied.

  “You didn’t find love in the jungle with one of those other doctors, huh?” His tone was light, half-teasing.

  He sat close enough to her that she could smell him, a scent of leather and wind and a faint whisper of a sandalwood-based cologne.

  There was nothing to remind her of the smell of the men in the jungle—that had been the odor of sweat and filth and the scent of her own fear. Tell your father his old friends say hello. The deep, malevolent voice exploded in her head.

  “Hey, you okay?” Randall’s deep voice banished the other one inside her head. She followed his gaze down to where her fingers clutched the ends of the armrests with white-knuckled intensity.

  She consciously relaxed her grip and shifted positions in the chair. “I’m fine. I was just thinking for a minute about a friend of mine who is in trouble.” It was a lie, but the minute she spoke the words thoughts of Lana jumped back in her mind.

  “What kind of trouble?” His bright green eyes looked at her curiously.

  Caitlin frowned, wondering how much she should tell him. Both her father and Cole Kelley had sworn her to secrecy where Lana’s kidnapping was concerned, but she wished she could talk about everything to somebody.

  “Bad trouble,” she finally said. “But I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” Emotion rose up inside her and she consciously tamped it back. How had their lives gotten so screwed up? When would she get the answers she needed to understand what was happening?

  “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. “Definitely,” she replied although it was a lie. She would have loved to talk about it, to tell somebody her fears, to have somebody tell her everything was going to be okay.

  “Is there anything I can do?” His voice was soft and his green eyes glittered brightly in the failing light of day.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Like what?”

  His gaze continued to hold hers. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe listen to you talk about it, or hold you if you feel like you need to cry or scream or something like that.”

  His offer was completely inappropriate but, surprisingly, there was a tiny part of her that wanted to be held in his strong arms while he told her, as he’d told Molly earlier that day, that the worst was over and she was going to be just fine.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m used to taking care of myself.” She was pleased that her voice remained calm and collected and held none of the wistfulness that had momentarily filled her.

  “Still haven’t heard from your father?”

  “No, nothing,” she replied, grateful for the change in topic, yet feeling a new tension ratcheting up inside her as she thought of her missing dad. “Maybe he’ll be home by the weekend.” It was Wednesday now and she could only hope that in the next couple of days he’d show up, contrite that he hadn’t called to check in.

  “Is this normal? For him just to take off and not let anyone know where he is?”

  Once again she hesitated thoughtfully before replying and then decided giving Randall Kane some information wasn’t a threat to her or her father. A cowboy who traveled whichever way the wind blew probably wouldn’t be here long anyway.

  “To be honest, this isn’t in character for him and I can’t imagine where he’s gone or why he hasn’t called,” she confessed. “Although I’m assuming he thinks I’m still out of the country and that’s why I haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’ll be calling Esme soon to check in on things here and then he’ll know that I’m home.”

  At least that’s what she hoped. Even though she was a grown woman, she needed her dad here. He’d always made her feel safe and secure, had always made her feel protected and loved, and she needed to feel that more t
han ever right now.

  She knew she should go inside, but Esme would already be in her private quarters at the back of the house and Caitlin knew the silence inside the house would be conducive to thinking, and that’s exactly what she didn’t want to do.

  She looked at the handsome cowboy next to her once again. “Have you always been good with horses?”

  “My mother used to joke that when I was young she’d check me occasionally to make sure I didn’t have a horse’s tail and mane because I’d rather be out in the barn with the horses than inside the house.”

  Caitlin was surprised to feel the smile that curved her lips at his story. It felt as if it had been years since she’d felt like smiling. “So, you grew up on a ranch.”

  “My father was a professional bull-rider and my mother was a barrel racer. Rodeos and horses were a way of life for us.” He cast his gaze out to the distance where night had nearly fallen. “But it looks like your father has a thriving operation here.”

  “It is a thriving operation,” she agreed. “But in the last couple of years this has become more of a hobby for dad than a passion. His real passion is politics.”

  “Really?” Randall sat up straighter in the chair and leaned toward her, as if finding it difficult to see her in the encroaching darkness. “Does he want to run for an office or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. He much prefers to work behind the scenes. He’s a money man, backing politicians he believes in and working the fundraising angles to get them elected.”

  “What kind of a man is he?”

  Once again a smile curved Caitlin’s lips as she thought of her dad. “He’s bigger than life, although he’s under six feet tall. His hair is a ginger color and he wears it long and pulled back in a ponytail. He’s beefy and has had his nose broken more than once. He’s a real man’s man.”

  Randall’s white teeth flashed in a grin. “You’re telling me what he looks like but that doesn’t tell me what kind of man I’m working for.”

  “He’s a good man, loyal to a fault and with a great sense of humor. He likes good whiskey and expensive cigars and can break a horse that everyone else has deemed unbreakable. You’ll find him a fair employer. Now I think it’s time I call it a night.” Her yearning for her father nearly overwhelmed her as she got up from the chair. He rose, as well. “Good night, Randall,” she said.

  As she moved toward the door there was an audible ping in the doorjamb. What was that? She froze in confusion and suddenly she was flat on her back on the floor of the porch with Randall’s weight on top of her.

  A scream lodged in the back of her throat. What was happening? Oh, God, what was he doing? Her brain shut down as sheer emotion exploded. The weight of him, the helplessness she felt beneath that weight shot her back in time, back to the jungle.

  She could smell the rot of decaying vegetation mingling with the noxious odor of sour sweat. Hands held her legs, her wrists, making it impossible for her to escape as the men laughed at her.

  Trapped! She was trapped and helpless.

  Her heart screamed its beats in her chest as her throat squeezed tight, refusing to emit a sound. Terror danced a macabre tango through her veins.

  Someplace in the back of her mind she realized her wrists weren’t being held, nor were her legs. She gasped a breath and released a pent-up scream.

  She began to fight, just wanting the male weight off her, needing to get free before something terrible happened…something she’d already experienced and never wanted to experience again.

  The bullet that had whacked into the woodwork of the door as they’d stood had caught Rhett completely off guard. But the last thing he’d expected when he’d tackled Caitlin to the floor to protect her was for her to turn into a scratching, fighting hellcat beneath him.

  He fumbled and grabbed his gun from the ankle holster just inside his boot as he heard the distinctive thud of another bullet smacking nearby.

  Dammit, what in the hell was going on? Who in the hell was shooting at them? As if the imminent danger of being shot wasn’t enough, Caitlin struggled beneath him, trying to get free and making it impossible for him to focus on where the shooter might be hiding in the night.

  “Caitlin, stop it,” he hissed sharply. “Somebody is shooting at us. Dammit, stop fighting me. I’m trying to keep you safe. You have to stay down.”

  She froze and he thought he heard a small sob escape her. He raised his head just enough that he could look down at her, and in the faint spill of light coming from the front window saw that the indigo-blue ring around her pupils had expanded, nearly usurping the soft gray of her eyes. She somehow managed to look both confused and terrified at the same time.

  “Listen carefully. I’m going to rise up and open the front door,” he said softly. “When I do, I want you to crawl out from beneath me and get inside the door. Close it and lock it behind you and don’t open it again until you hear me.”

  The confused expression on her face remained. “Caitlin, do you understand what I just said?” he asked with an edge of frustration.

  “Yes, somebody shooting at us…crawl into the house and lock the door.” Her voice was faint and half-breathless, but her eyes appeared more focused than they had a moment ago.

  Rhett gripped his gun more tightly and eyed the doorknob nearby. His heart thundered in his chest as he stretched toward it and raised himself up. When he reached the knob he turned it and shoved open the door. “Go,” he said urgently to Caitlin as he lifted himself up off her body.

  She slithered out from beneath him and released what sounded like another sob as she crawled over the threshold. A second later the door slammed shut and he heard the lock fall into place.

  Rhett breathed a sigh of relief but his relief was short-lived. He rolled to his side, facing outward and wondering where in the hell those bullets had come from. Darkness had fallen, making it impossible for him to see anyone in the immediate area. Whoever had fired those shots had apparently used a silencer for there had been no telltale explosion, only the whack of the bullets far too close.

  He remained perfectly still, his head cocked as he listened for any sound that might tell him where the person was hiding, but all he could hear was the bang of his heart against his ribs.

  His best hope was that the gunman would fire again and Rhett would see the flash of the shot in the darkness and be able to identify the location of the shooter.

  Unfortunately, the only way he knew to make that happen was to rise up and make himself a target. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath he half rose to his feet, steeling himself for the potential of being shot.

  Nothing happened. No flame of a gunshot, no thud of a bullet, nothing. He straightened and quickly jumped off the porch, then crouched low…waiting…watching. Still nothing happened.

  There was no noise to indicate that there was anyone skulking around the area and night insects had begun their discordant songs once again.

  He began to make his way across the yard, using tree trunks and whatever else he could find for cover. As he moved, his mind worked overtime.

  Had the shooter somehow mistaken him for Mickey in the darkness of the night? It was the only scenario that made any real sense and it confirmed to him that Mickey was in deep. He obviously had information that somebody didn’t want him to tell.

  It was imperative that Rhett find the man before some of his cohorts did. Mickey’s very life depended on it and they needed whatever information he might possess.

  Was the friend in trouble that Caitlin had talked about really her father? What, if anything, did she know about the secret society and the mess her father was in?

  After thirty minutes of searching the area, Rhett concluded that the shooter was gone. Perhaps he had recognized his mistake in thinking Rhett was Mickey and had stolen away in the night.

  The stakes couldn’t be higher and frustration rode Rhett’s shoulders as he headed back to the house. Once there he knocked on the front door. “Caitlin, it�
�s me. Open the door.”

  The lock clicked and the door eased open. She faced him, face void of color and a gun in her hand. “Point that thing someplace else. Remember, I’m a good guy,” he said.

  A red flush that matched her flaming hair filled her cheeks and she dropped her gun hand to her side. “Sorry, needless to say, I’m a bit on edge.”

  “Could you turn on the porch light?” he asked. She nodded and flipped a nearby switch. “Stay inside,” he directed as he once again returned to the porch.

  He found not two, but three places where bullets had struck. Three shots and any one of them could have connected. He ran his hand across the wounded wood, trying to discern which direction the bullets had come from.

  He narrowed his gaze and stared into the distance, figuring that the shooter must have hidden somewhere near the stables. Dammit, one of them could have been killed.

  There was nothing more to do tonight and so he returned to the house where Caitlin awaited him, white-faced and nearly vibrating with tension.

  “I’m assuming you didn’t see anyone?” she asked as she motioned him to follow her into the living room.

  “No, but I think maybe he was hiding near the stables.”

  She sank down into one of the easy chairs and placed her gun on the end table next to her. He sat on the edge of the sofa, adrenaline still coursing through him.

  “You have any enemies?” he asked.

  He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her skin to go any paler, but it did. “Not that I’m aware of,” she replied.

  “What about your father?”

  Her eyes widened slightly as a nerve pulsed in the side of her neck. “I can’t imagine him having enemies that would try to shoot him as he sat on his front porch.” She frowned and rubbed her forehead as her gaze slid to the left of him.

  She was lying. He wasn’t sure exactly what she knew, but she knew something about her father and he needed to find out what it was.