by Kat Martin
Tory took several sips. “Thanks. After a long day, that really tastes good.”
They sat down on the porch, she in the swing while he took a seat in a wire mesh chair a few feet away. He tipped up his beer and took another long swallow, felt the relaxing burn of the bubbles going down his throat.
“Here’s the thing,” he started. “I know you’re in some kind of trouble.”
She opened her mouth but he held up his hand. “I know you’re on the run. I don’t need to know what happened to you in the past or why you’re here. The way your little girl reacts to a man pretty much gives me the story. What I need to know is if the sheriff or the cops are going to come pounding on my door. I need to know if you’re running because you’ve done something illegal.”
Tory sat up straighter in the swing. “No. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.”
“Be easy enough for me to find out. Howler’s a small county. Police Chief Logan over in Pleasant Hill owes me a favor. I could have him check you out.”
“Seriously? Do I look like a criminal to you?”
Amusement slipped through him. With her petite frame and fine features, Tory Ford looked as far from a crook as he could imagine. “No, but looks can be deceiving.”
“I’m not wanted by the police. At least I don’t think so, since I didn’t really do anything wrong.”
He didn’t even want to know what that meant.
“I admit there are people I’d rather not know I’m here,” she finished.
“Your husband?”
She swallowed, shook her head. “Jamie died in a car accident right after Ivy was born.”
Maybe that was the sadness that crept into her face every once in a while. “So an ex-boyfriend.” He knew by her expression it was true. “He hurt your little girl?”
“No.”
“Just you then.”
Her chin came up.
“You must have family somewhere. You can’t go to them for help?”
“No family. My mother died in the crash that killed Jamie.” She glanced away, an instant of pain in her eyes. “My dad ran out on us and I haven’t seen him in years.” Her fingers tightened around the bottle of beer. “I thought you didn’t care about my past.”
“I don’t. Long as you’re straight with me, I won’t say anything to anyone. But you’ll need groceries, other necessities, which means you’ll be in and out of town. There’s no way for you to stay completely off the grid. The good news is the folks around here won’t bother you. As for me, all I want is a day’s work for a day’s pay. You’ve done that so far.”
“I won’t disappoint you. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”
Josh clamped down on where that thought led. What he needed from Tory Ford was something he wasn’t going to get. He took a drink of his beer, set it down on the wire mesh table in front of the swing.
“You might have noticed I’m still not finished unpacking. I could use some help with that, and keeping the house clean. I need breakfast in the morning, a lunch packed so I can keep working through the middle of the day, and supper ready at dark. You think you can handle that?”
“Absolutely.”
“You can bring your daughter when you come over. That way you won’t have to worry about a sitter.”
Tory relaxed back on the swing. “That’d be great. Thank you.”
“I don’t know how long this is going to last, but we can try it for a while. At least you’ll have a little money in your pocket when you leave.”
She just nodded. He still didn’t know much about her, but he didn’t really want to. With any luck, whoever she was running from wouldn’t find out she was here. Or better yet, the guy would quit looking.
Josh took another long draw on his beer and rose from the chair. “How about that supper you promised? I’m still holding high hopes you can make something halfway decent out of that burned-up bird.”
Tory grabbed her beer off the table and stood up from the swing. “I’m on it. It shouldn’t take that long.” She crossed the porch and opened the screen door. “Just one thing.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“I need you to get that oven fixed. I don’t want to burn up any more chickens.” As she stepped into the house and the screen door slammed closed, Josh smiled.
He wondered if the stove really had malfunctioned, and hope resurfaced. He almost never used it. Hell, maybe it actually had failed.
Another thought occurred. If he could keep his mind off sex, it ought to be an interesting next few weeks.
Chapter Seven
The late afternoon air was cool this high in the Arizona mountains, the sky bluer than it was down in Phoenix. Damon unloaded the twin bed mattress from the pickup he had borrowed from his best bud, Anson Burke. He and Burke went way back. They’d partied together, done drugs together, shared women, and once during a booze-and-cocaine bender, wound up in bed together, though neither of them wanted to revisit that particular episode.
Nor had he mentioned to Anson the peculiar tastes that had begun to consume him. That was his business and his alone, his pleasure to enjoy.
The mattress was cumbersome as he carried it into the cabin. The dilapidated wood-framed structure had a screened-in porch, a living room with an old iron stove for heat, a kitchen along one wall, a tiny bedroom, and an ancient bathroom.
The cabin had belonged to his mother’s father. His grandfather had loved to come up to the mountains and hunt. The old man had brought Damon with him a number of times, said he had a knack for stalking, moving in for the kill.
His mother had died when Damon was twelve. His grandfather had Alzheimer’s now and was living in an old folks’ home. With both of them out of the way, Damon had taken over use of the cabin, which was remote and completely secluded.
Perfect.
He had taken the day off from work to make the two-hour drive up and finish the project he had started with Tory in mind. He’d had to modify his plans a little but he found himself looking forward to the change in direction, and he was almost ready.
Dragging the mattress across the wood plank floor, he opened the door leading down to the basement. He had hired a couple of teenagers camping in the area to empty and clean the space out, had them scrub down the cement walls and floor with ammonia.
He dragged the mattress down the wooden stairs he’d reinforced and let it fall to the floor, went down and shoved it against the wall. He glanced over at the small refrigerator he had brought down, at the Porta-Potty behind the curtain he’d hung in the corner.
A satisfied smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Just a few more days and he could execute the first part of his plan. He’d have to be flexible, make adjustments as he went along, but he was used to that. In a way it was just like hunting.
Except this time his quarry was human.
* * *
Tory couldn’t put the trip to town off any longer. She was cooking for Josh now, as well as for her and Ivy. She needed canned goods, meat, milk, bread, fresh fruit and vegetables. She needed staples like flour and sugar. Josh’s pantry was emptier than the one in the trailer.
She got her daughter up and dressed—Ivy was in the mood for a little pink-striped pinafore since they were going into Iron Springs. She was the most girlie little girl Tory had ever seen.
“How do I look?” Ivy twirled around so Tory could see, her full skirt flaring out as she turned.
“I think the white patent shoes might be a bit impractical for a ranch, but you look very pretty.”
Ivy smiled. “You look pretty, too, Mama.”
“In jeans and a white cotton blouse? I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you do. Your hair always looks like fire. I bet Josh likes it.”
Tory felt her face heating up. “Where did that come from? Josh is my boss. I work for him. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
Ivy seemed to relax. Her daughter was thinking of Damon, how nice he
had seemed in the beginning and how rotten he had turned out to be.
“You ready to go?” she asked.
“I’m ready.”
A soft knock sounded at the door. Tory checked the peephole, saw Josh on the porch.
She pulled open the door. “Good morning. I was just getting ready to leave.” She had already cooked his breakfast and made him a sack lunch. “Is there something you need?”
“I was thinking maybe you’d be smart to leave Ivy with Mrs. Thompson and go into town by yourself. If someone’s looking for you, they’ll be looking for a woman and a kid, not a woman on her own.”
It was a good idea. At least for a while.
“Mrs. T. lives just off the highway at the end of the road from the ranch,” he said. “A big two-story white house that sits back in the trees. It’d be right on your way.”
“She told me she lived there, but I’d have to call her, find out if it’s okay.”
“I talked to her earlier. She’d love to have Ivy come over for a couple of hours.”
Josh was right about one thing. The fewer people who knew she had a child, the safer they would be.
“Okay. I’ll drop Ivy off and pick her up on the way back.”
She looked up at Josh. She needed money for his groceries. She hated to ask him for an advance, but she had to pay for her own food, as well.
She opened her mouth, but he was already pulling an envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans.
“Money for groceries and whatever else is on your list. Just bring me the change and receipts. Also, there’s three days’ pay for the work you’ve done.”
She relaxed as she accepted the envelope. “Thank you for that.”
“It’s your money. You earned it. From now on you’ll get paid every week, just like Noah and Cole.”
She nodded. When he looked at her with those amazing blue eyes, she had a hard time looking away. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
She went inside and got Ivy, went out to the Chevy and settled the little girl in her booster seat, then went around to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel.
Half an hour later, with Ivy safe in Mrs. Thompson’s well-kept older home, Tory arrived in Iron Springs. She gassed the car, topping off the tank as she hadn’t been able to do in days, all the while keeping an eye on her surroundings, a habit she’d developed after she’d left Phoenix.
Parking in the lot in front of Iron Springs Food and Pharmacy, she took a moment to pull her red hair into a ponytail, then stuff it beneath the Texas Rangers’ baseball cap she had bought at a truck stop on I-20 in Abilene.
She should probably dye her hair instead of trying to hide it, but it was her best feature and she was vain about it. Her long red curls had nearly reached her waist when she was with Damon. On the run, she had decided to cut it very short, but it had simply been too painful. So, like giving up her name, she had cut it shorter but not changed it completely, refusing to let Damon win.
She checked her image in the rearview mirror. The bright color wasn’t completely hidden, but it wasn’t that noticeable, either.
She did the grocery shopping, buying enough to last a week, then ran an errand for Josh, stopping at Miller’s Mercantile to pick up a bottle of horse liniment he had called ahead to order. Mrs. Miller, the owner’s wife, was a little too chatty, but nice.
“So you’re working for one of those good-looking Cain boys, the one who just bought the Iron River Ranch.” Cathy Miller was a buxom, broad-hipped woman with silver-streaked brown hair. Tory had a hunch she knew everything that went on in Iron Springs.
“He was a war hero, you know,” Cathy said. “Famous hereabouts. He was a sniper in the marines. Killed a hundred enemy soldiers while he was protecting our troops. There’s a story about him in a book about the war.”
She hadn’t known, but she’d love to read it. “I didn’t know about the book, but now that you mention it, I remember hearing something on the news about a war hero returning to Texas.”
“That’s him,” Mrs. Miller said. “That’s our Josh.”
Tory wondered why he’d left the military, if he’d been wounded as she suspected, wondered if he’d bought the out-of-the-way property in the hope of finding a little peace.
Before she headed back to the ranch, she was going to stop at the bookstore, see if they had a copy of the book.
Tory took the brown paper bag with the liniment. “Thanks, Mrs. Miller.”
“Oh, it’s just Cathy. We don’t stand on formality around here. What was your name?”
Tory pretended not to hear her as she shoved open the door, ringing the bell above.
“Say hello to Josh for me,” Cathy called after her.
Tory turned and waved. She had hoped to get in and out unnoticed. At least the woman didn’t know her name. Not even the name she was using.
Two hours after she’d left, she headed back to the ranch with a brief stop at Mrs. Thompson’s to pick up Ivy. Wearing a borrowed blue-flowered smock made for one of the granddaughters over her pink-striped dress, Ivy grinned from ear to ear. “We had so much fun, Mama!”
Tory felt a tug at her heart. It wasn’t fair to continually uproot the little girl. She needed stability in her life, a place she could feel safe and loved.
Tory needed to start working on a plan, researching different cities, other states. Surely there was somewhere Damon couldn’t find them.
Surely.
But the bitter truth was there was no way to know.
By the time she got back to the ranch, the book tucked into her purse, the urge to read it, to know more about Josh was nearly overwhelming.
As soon as she finished putting the groceries away, she took Ivy back to the trailer, unpacked her own food, and curled up on the sofa in the living room. While Ivy played with one of her dolls, Tory opened the book and immediately became immersed.
A trade-size paperback with photos, the title was Military Snipers. It was a collection of true stories about men who had served as snipers in the army, SEALs, and marines.
Thumbing through the pages looking for Josh’s name, she found it in a story called “Ultimate Hunter.” It told of a group of marines on a mission gone wrong, twelve men trapped in an abandoned building, little more than a mud hut, in the desert sixty kilometers outside Kandahar. The men had come upon an unexpected force of Taliban fighters and been pinned down with no way to escape. They had been trapped for hours, three men killed as they held off the assault through the night.
In the darkness, Josh had managed to find a way out. He’d been able to skirt their attackers, a group of well-armed insurgents bent on killing every last American soldier, and set up a sniper’s nest behind a mound on a ridge a quarter of a mile away.
The enemy, armed with AK-47s and shoulder-fired rocket propelled grenades called RPGs, were little by little destroying the structure providing cover for the troops, exposing the men and making them easy targets. It was only a matter of time until all of them were killed, and there was no help on the way.
From Josh’s position on the distant hill, he eventually managed to take out every Al-Qaeda soldier, all twenty of them, allowing his remaining men, some of them severely wounded, to cross the desert to the extraction point, where they were picked up by helicopter and returned to base.
According to the article, it was only one of a number of successful missions Josh had completed before he was severely wounded and eventually left the special operations branch of the marines.
Tory closed the book and sat there stunned. She had rightly guessed he was a soldier. What had happened to him was part of his past, part of what made him the man he was today. She had a feeling he had bought the ranch as a way to heal, to leave the past behind and look toward the future.
Before she left Texas, she would do everything in her power to help him.
* * *
The days on the ranch had been progressing smoothly. With the warm, sunny weather, the pastures grew lush and
green. And yet Josh had been feeling restless and edgy, as if lightning might strike out of a clear blue sky or a tornado might appear on the horizon.
Though the clock seemed to be ticking down to something he couldn’t quite grasp, there were chores to be done, things he needed to accomplish.
Along with his regular chores, he had started Tory working with Satan. Nothing dangerous, just feeding the stallion, petting him, talking to him. Mostly, just getting acquainted, winning the stallion’s trust.
Josh never let her go into the pasture, the training pen, or anywhere near Satan—whom Tory called Star—when he wasn’t close by. He had to be careful. He didn’t want her getting hurt.
The stallion liked her—that was for sure. The minute he spotted her, he came running. Josh made a mental note to call the former owner of the ranch, dig deeper, find out more of the stallion’s history.
It was late when he headed for bed that night. At first he had trouble falling asleep, his uneasiness returning, like standing on the edge of a precipice waiting for the ground beneath him to crumble.
When he finally sank into a fitful slumber, he was back in Afghanistan, the rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire echoing in his ears, along with the rattle of battle armor as his men ran for cover into a dilapidated mud hut in the middle of the desert. Two were dead, one of them bleeding and dying, nothing anyone could do.
It took a moment to realize the loud banging on his front door wasn’t part of the dream.
“Josh! Wake up, Josh!” More banging. “The barn’s on fire! Josh, wake up!”
Fear gripped him. Terrified for the horses, he shot out of bed, dragged on his jeans, and raced barefoot and shirtless through the living room. The sky was unnaturally bright outside the window as he jerked open the front door and ran flat-out toward the barn.
Orange-and-red flames licked out of the hayloft, clawing their way into the sky. The windows were ringed with tendrils of red, exploding as the fire grew hotter inside.
Tory ran ahead of him, racing toward the fire. His heart nearly burst when she disappeared into the smoke-filled interior.
“Tory! Tory, wait!” Josh raced after her, running full speed across the yard into the burning building. He spotted her opening one of the stall doors, trying to shoo a bay gelding out of the stall. When the wild-eyed animal just stood there trembling, she grabbed a rope, looped it around the animal’s neck, and started tugging, but the horse still refused to budge.
