A Ranching Man

by Linda Turner

  “Of course. It won’t take me a minute.”

  She hurried into the kitchen and was back within a matter of moments, carrying a tray loaded down with tea and cookies. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush as she set the tray on the coffee table and quickly prepared a steaming cup for Angel. “I shouldn’t have told you—”

  “No, I needed to know.” Seated on the couch with Joe hovering close, waiting to help her if she so much as blinked wrong, she looked around. “Where is it?”

  “Out on the back porch. I didn’t want Emma to start asking questions.”

  “Was there a card?” Joe asked as the older woman handed Angel her tea.

  She nodded. “I didn’t read it. It’s on your desk in your study.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode into his office and returned with a small white florist envelope. Angel took one look at the fury in Joe’s brown eyes and felt her stomach turn over. She’d never seen him quite so livid. Whatever message was in the card had to be awful.

  Setting down her tea, she held out her hand. “Let me see it.”

  His jaw rock-hard, he crumbled the card in his fist. “No.”

  “You can’t protect me from this, Joe. Not if it involves Emma. I have a right to know.”

  She was right and they both knew it. Still, he didn’t give in graciously. “Dammit, there’s no reason for you to read it. It’s just going to hurt you. Let me call Nick and he can deal with it.”

  Wordlessly, she held out her hand.

  “All right!” he growled, striding over to her and dropping the message in her hand. “Have it your way. But don’t blame me when you get more than you bargained for!”

  “Thank you,” she said huskily, and carefully smoothed out the balled-up missive.

  After all the hell her stalker had put her through and all the times he’d terrorized her, she’d thought there was nothing new he could do to frighten her. She’d thought wrong. Staring down at the typed message that was delivered with the wreath, she felt as if he’d somehow reached inside her and ripped her heart right out of her chest.

  Dear Emma,

  I would like to express my deepest sorrow over the death of your mother. If she had just listened to me, she would be alive today.

  Sincerely,

  A man who loved her more than life itself.

  “He’s a fiend,” she whispered hoarsely, unable to drag her eyes away from the sinister message. “A lunatic who delights in finding new ways to torment me. He’s going to kill me.”

  “The hell he is!” Joe rasped. “He’s not coming anywhere near you.”

  “He didn’t get near me this morning and look what he was able to do,” she argued. “If the studio hadn’t decided today of all days to require everyone to have a picture ID made, I’d have walked into my trailer when I arrived on the set and I’d be dead right now. The timing was off. Next time it won’t be.”

  Her eerie confidence unnerved Joe—and infuriated him. Dammit, did she think he was going to stand by and let the bastard hurt her again? He’d kill him himself before he let that happen. “There isn’t going to be a next time,” he said coldly.

  He would have said more, but Emma had finished making her card and came running down the stairs. Her round, dimpled face alight with excitement, she burst into the family room with it clutched tightly in her hand. “Look, Mommy! Auntie Laura showed me how to drawed the flowers. It says I love you just because.”

  She took it with hands that weren’t quite steady, her smile tremulous. “I know, sweetheart,” she whispered thickly, and pulled her into her arms for a desperate hug. “It’s beautiful. I’ll keep it always.”

  Over the top of Emma’s head, Angel’s eyes met Joe’s, and the stark despair in them shook him to the core. She really thought she didn’t have an always, that her days were numbered and quickly running out. And she had no idea how that terrified him. She couldn’t give up. If she was going to beat the bastard who was doing this to her, she had to keep fighting.

  “I’m calling Nick,” he told her tersely. “He needs to know about this.”

  Nick, however, was already on his way. Stopping by Joe’s after leaving the site of the explosion, he arrived just minutes after Joe called his office in town. “Harold Bailey and I just finished our investigation of the scene,” he said as he strode inside. “Where’s Angel? The hospital notified my office that she’d been sent home. She’ll want to hear this.”

  “In the family room with Emma and Laura,” Joe replied, shutting the door behind him. “Did you get my message?”

  “Yeah. So the son of a bitch sent Angel flowers again, did he? I’ve got to give him credit—his timing couldn’t have been better if he’d planned the whole damn thing.”

  Surprised, Joe frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? He did plan it.”

  “No, he didn’t.” And with that cryptic remark, he headed straight for the family room, where he found Angel on the couch, leaning against some pillows propped behind her back, looking like death warmed over.

  Laura spied him first and rose to her feet as Joe joined Nick in the arched doorway. “Emma and I are going to go upstairs. She’s been wanting to watch the new Rugrats video, and I think now would be a good time.”

  Eager to watch her favorite cartoon, Emma left without a word of complaint, and within seconds, the three of them were alone. Struggling to sit up straighter, Angel forced a grimace of a smile. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Nick.”

  “Don’t move,” he said quickly, moving to one of the overstuffed chairs flanking the couch. “You’re fine right where you are. How are you feeling?”

  “Better now that I’m back home.” For a brief moment, weak humor sparkled in her eyes. “I have a harder head than I thought.”

  “Thank God you do,” he said with a grin. “That’s probably what saved your neck. If it’s any consolation, though, you’ll be happy to know that there’s no evidence of arson. Harold Bailey, the fire marshall, went over the scene, and the only cause of the explosion he could find was a rust spot on the propane tank that must have been leaking for some time.”

  “Then Harold needs to get his glasses checked,” Joe retorted, “because he missed something. Dammit, Nick, I told you about the flowers. The son of a bitch sent Emma a funeral wreath today!”

  “What?!”

  “And a card with his condolences over my death,” Angel added, handing it to him. “It was delivered earlier this afternoon while I was still at the hospital.”

  Without a word, Nick took the card and opened it, his angular face turning hard as granite as he read the short message. “He’s a cold son of a bitch, I’ll give him that,” he muttered. “And damn clever if he orchestrated that fire without leaving any clues behind.”

  “What do you mean if?” Joe demanded. “You read the damn card. Are you saying its just coincidence that the jerk sent Emma a funeral wreath the same day as Angel’s almost killed in an explosion? C’mon, Nick, you know better than that! The jackass planned the whole thing.”

  “Or he heard about the explosion and wants to take credit for it,” he argued. “For all we know, he ordered the flowers from Becca Ryan this morning, after the explosion. The man’s into head games, Joe. I wouldn’t put anything past him, but I’ll call Becca just to make sure.”

  “Good. Because I want to know why she allowed flowers to be delivered here when Angel specifically asked her not to.”

  “I’ll find out,” he promised grimly, and strode out.

  He placed the call from Joe’s office, only to return to the family room a few minutes later, swearing like a sailor, yet at the same time, practically rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. “You were right, Joe. The son of a bitch came in first thing this morning—before the explosion—and ordered the wreath.”

  On her second cup of tea, Angel nearly dropped her cup. “He came in?”

  “Yeah. Becca was sick this morning, so her nephew, Randy, opened up for her—which was why the f
lowers were delivered here. He didn’t know he was supposed to hold all deliveries. Your stalker was waiting for him when he got to the shop. Apparently, he was quite agitated and in a hell of a hurry.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Joe swore. “I knew it!”

  Somber, Nick said, “I don’t know how he managed it, but he did something to those gas lines that Harold and I missed. I’m going to call in someone from Colorado Springs to check them out, but first I’m going to meet Victor Hughes at Becca’s shop and see if he can draw a composite sketch of our boy from Randy’s description.

  “Victor’s the high school art teacher and the closest thing we have to a police artist,” he told Angel. “If we’re lucky, by this time tomorrow, we’ll have posters of the bastard plastered all over the county. Then the calls will start coming in. Because somebody’s seen him—they just didn’t know it at the time.”

  He was more optimistic than Angel had ever seen him, and before he headed back to town with the card and wreath stowed in evidence bags in the trunk of his patrol car, she didn’t have the heart to tell him that capturing her stalker wasn’t going to be that easy. She, more than anyone, knew just how elusive the man was. Time and again, he’d managed to evade capture, slipping through security systems and past guards and the police like a ghost, always somehow staying just out of reach. It was unnerving—and horribly frightening. Because there seemed to be no rules where he was concerned, no boundaries. He did whatever he wanted to do, just daring the authorities to try and catch him.

  And he wanted her dead. He’d just missed blowing her to bits this morning, and there wasn’t a doubt in her head that he’d try it again. When he decided to make his move, no one—not Joe or Nick or an army of security guards—was going to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to her.

  And that shook her to the core. All this time, with so many people watching over her, she’d thought she was at least safe on the set and at Joe’s. But she wasn’t. And neither was Emma.

  “You need to be in bed,” Joe reminded her as he picked up the tea things to return them to the kitchen. “Let me put this stuff in the kitchen and I’ll help you up the stairs.”

  But she was already pushing to her feet, her decision made. “I have to call my father first.”

  “The hell you do,” he growled, setting the tray back down with a bang to scowl at her when she wavered unsteadily on her feet. “Sit back down before you fall down. Whatever you have to say to your old man can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow may be too late,” she argued. “I have to get Emma out of here today. Before she gets hurt, too.”

  He wanted to assure her that she was worrying needlessly, but how could he when she sat there with a bandage around her aching head and she was so stiff she could hardly move? She’d just barely escaped with her life this morning. She had every right to be worried about her daughter’s safety. He was worried himself.

  “You’re in no shape to be traipsing all over the house,” he said gruffly. “If you want to use the phone in my study, I’ll carry you in there.” And with no other warning than that, he bent and gently lifted her into his arms.

  The tears came out of nowhere. Hot and quick, they filled her eyes before she could blink them away. Willing them not to spill over her lashes, she wondered if the man had a clue what his unexpected thoughtfulness did to her. Just when she was prepared to argue with him, he understood what she was going through, and it just destroyed her.

  Given the chance, she would have buried her face against his neck and cried her heart out in the safety of his arms. But they’d reached his study by then and she didn’t have the time to give into her emotions. If her father turned his back on her again, she would have to find someplace else for Emma to stay, and that would take time.

  So she choked back the lump in her throat and hastily wiped at the tears that trailed down her cheeks as he gently deposited her in the chair behind his desk. “This probably won’t take very long,” she said thickly when he started to leave so she could make her call in private. “I’d like for you to stay.”

  Without a word, he took the chair across the desk from her. Only then did she reach for the phone and punch in the number.

  “Someone blew up my trailer on the set and tried to kill me this morning,” she told her father the second he said hello. “Emma could be next. I know you may not care about me, but I would hope that you would care about an innocent child who’s never done anything to hurt anyone.”

  For one long, heart-wrenching moment, she thought he wasn’t going to say anything, just hang up on her as he had before. Silence stretched between them, tearing her apart. Then, just when she thought she couldn’t stand another second of the torment, he said gruffly, “Send the child to me. She’ll be safe here.”

  She cried then because she couldn’t help herself. Because for the first time in over six years, her father was actually speaking to her. Because he cared, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Because her daughter, whom she loved more than life itself, was finally going to be out of her stalker’s reach and safe. But most of all, she cried for herself and all the years that had been lost between them. They could never be regained, but at least maybe now, the two of them could make peace and try to go on as a family.

  “She and her nanny will arrive there later this evening,” she said huskily. “Thank you, Dad.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” he grumbled irritably just before hanging up. “She’s my granddaughter.”

  An hour later, Emma and Laura’s bags were packed, the travel arrangements made. The studio had sent a limo to convey them to Colorado Springs, where they would take a private jet to Albuquerque. From there, another limo would be waiting to drive them the forty miles to Thomasville, the small town where Angel had grown up and her father still lived. The entire way, they would be accompanied by two security guards who would protect them until Angel’s stalker was caught.

  “I don’t want to go,” Emma pouted as the last of the luggage was put in the limo and Angel carried her outside. “I want to stay here with you,” she told Angel. “And Mr. Joe and Spotty. Mr. Joe said when he was big, I could ride him. Please, Mommy, can I?”

  Her heart aching just at the thought of letting her out of her sight, Angel forced a smile. “It’s just for a little while, sweetheart. Just until Mommy finishes this movie. Then we’ll see about buying our own ranch. Some place just like Mr. Joe’s, where you can have your own baby horse and anything else you want. How does that sound? Would you like that?”

  It was an out-and-out bribe, one that even at three, Emma recognized for what it was—one of those rare moments when she was in the driver’s seat and could get just about anything she wanted if she played her cards right. Cocking her curly head, she eyed Angel speculatively. “Can I have a real pig? Like Babe?”

  Angel’s lips twitched. “I don’t see why not. Though he really doesn’t talk, honey. Except in your imagination.”

  “Can he sleep with me?”

  Chuckling, Angel nuzzled her neck, making her giggle. “We’ll see, Miss Wheeler-Dealer. In the meantime, you’re going to get to stay with your grandfather and sleep in the bed that Mommy slept in when she was a little girl. And I’ll write you every day, and Auntie Laura will help you write me back. Okay? It’ll be fun.”

  Safe and secure in her mother’s arms, she arched a delicate brow at Joe, who was helping the limo driver load the last of the luggage into the trunk. “Will Mr. Joe write me, too?”

  “Every chance I get, little bit,” he told her solemnly, his brown eyes twinkling. “I’ll even send you some stickers. I already gave Laura some for you to play with in the car.”

  Her face lit up at that. “Okay, Mommy, I’m ready to go now.”

  Fighting tears, Angel laughed and kissed her, then handed her over to Joe, who tickled her until she giggled and went limp in his arms. She was still laughing when he placed her in the car.

  “Don’t let her out of your sight,” she tol
d Laura as she hugged her. “And call me when you get there.”

  “I’ll call you every step of the way,” Laura assured her, giving her one last hug. “Don’t worry, she’s going to be fine. You just take care of you.”

  “I will,” she promised huskily. “Hopefully, this will all be over soon.”

  There was no reason to linger after that. After a last wave from Laura and Emma, the limo headed back to town, and Angel was left alone with Joe and the knowledge that she’d done the right thing.

  Chapter 11

  “She’ll be all right,” Joe said gruffly, breaking the silence that had fallen in the wake of their leave-taking. “The guards won’t let her out of their sight, and neither will your father or Laura. Between the four of them, they’re going to make sure nothing happens to her.”

  Dragging her gaze from the spot where the limo had disappeared from view in the distance, Angel could manage only a halfhearted smile. “I know. I just miss her already. The house is going to seem so empty without her.”

  Joe couldn’t argue with that. Emma might have been only three, but the little shrimp had a way of making her presence known. In the relatively short time she’d been there, she’d staked out a place for herself in his home and his heart, and for the life of him, he didn’t know how she’d done it. Maybe it was the way she called him Mr. Joe with that twinkle in her eye. Or her pert grin when she climbed uninvited into his lap and demanded he tell her a story. She was a sweetheart, one of those fascinating females who would leave a string of broken hearts behind her wherever she went, and his was the first she’d stolen. Yeah, he was going to miss her. He hadn’t realized just how much until now.

  “It won’t be for long,” he said as she turned and gingerly made her way up the steps of the porch. “I know the jerk’s managed to outsmart the police so far, but he’s starting to get careless. One or two more mistakes like the one he made today, and Nick’ll nail him. It’s just a matter of time.”