A Ranching Man

by Linda Turner

  Buster let out a sharp bark then, and they both turned to see a car racing down the road toward them, dragging a cloud of red dust behind it. His eyes narrowed on the vehicle in the distance, Joe frowned. “That looks like Nick now.”

  It was. He pulled up a few minutes later and stepped out of the car to come striding toward them, his angled jaw set purposefully. “That was quick,” Joe said by way of a greeting. “What happened? Run into another dead end?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he replied as he joined them on the porch. “On the positive side, Randy was able to give Victor a darn good description of the stalker. Unfortunately, he was obviously in disguise this morning, and that complicates things. Still, it’s the best news we’ve had all day,” he said quickly. “Especially since the lab wasn’t able to do anything with the rose Angel found in her hair last night. When the phone company couldn’t trace the call on her cell phone, either, I was beginning to wonder if we were ever going to get a break. It looks like we finally did.

  “Here,” he said, handing Angel the charcoal sketch the high school art teacher had drawn. “Take a look and tell me what you think.”

  Her heart thundering, she stared down at the lifelike drawing and half expected to see the familiar face of someone she’d passed on the street or in the grocery store. But the man who stared back at her was a stranger, someone she would have sworn she’d never laid eyes on in her life.

  Granted, the disguise he wore was obvious, but effective. A bad wig that was too big for his head concealed the style and color of his hair, while thick, black-rimmed glasses distorted not only his eyes, but the shape of his face. Even his size was disguised by the tattered, oversized shirt he wore.

  At first glance, he appeared to be a large, unkempt myopic man who needed someone to take him in hand. But a second, closer look chilled Angel to the bone. The eyes nearly hidden behind the glasses were stone-cold and filled with hate, the thin-lipped mouth a slash of anger in a narrow-jawed face. Despite the oversize shirt, he had a scrawny neck and was, in all likelihood, a small man, but no less dangerous for that. He might look harmless, but she wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley or anywhere else. Violence emanated from him in waves.

  With trembling fingers, she handed the sketch to Joe so he could look at him. “I’ve never seen him before,” she told Nick. “I would have remembered those eyes.”

  Joe agreed. “Did Randy see what kind of car he was driving or get an address from him? He must have gotten some information from him when he ordered the wreath.”

  “Unfortunately, he paid with cash,” Nick said flatly. “And he must have parked in the parking lot on the side of the shop instead of out front. Randy never saw a car.”

  “What about the other businesses in town? He should have stuck out like a sore thumb walking around in that getup. Someone besides Randy must have seen him.”

  “I’ve got my deputies checking on that right now and circulating copies of the sketch around town. But you’ve got to remember it was barely seven o’clock in the morning when Randy found him waiting for him at the shop,” Nick reminded them. “Most of the other businesses in town, except for Ed’s, were closed. In all likelihood, Randy was the only one who saw him.”

  “And even if anyone else did see him, he wore a disguise that only a fool would wear again,” Joe said in disgust.

  Nick nodded. “Exactly. And this jackass is no fool. He likes taking chances, likes thumbing his nose at us. And even when he’s furious at Angel and seems out of control, he’s smart enough to take precautions to make sure he can’t be identified easily.”

  Angel’s heart sank at that. “Then we’re back to square one. What good is a sketch of him in a disguise he’s never going to wear again?”

  “We’ve got more than we had before,” Nick replied, and counted them off for her. “One—we know he’s not a big man. Two—even the best disguise can’t hide a person’s height unless they’re wearing stilts and he wasn’t. Randy said he was about five foot seven, give or take an inch or so for the wig. Three—he’s small-boned and thin, and, according to him, had well-kept, manicured hands. And last, but certainly not least, he has a narrow face with a fairly sharp chin and close-set blue eyes that are colder than hell.

  “Put that all together,” he continued with satisfaction, “and we’ve got a suspect who’s five foot seven, approximate weight one hundred and forty pounds, with a small build, narrow face, and close-set blue eyes. He has above-average intelligence, is controlling and possessive, and has a dominant personality. In all likelihood, he’s a professional, college educated, and doesn’t get along well with his co-workers. It goes without saying that he’s capable of extreme violence.”

  Stunned, Angel just looked at him. “You got all that from that one sketch?”

  “Not all by myself,” he admitted. “There are profiles on these types of creeps. And for your own protection, you need to remember where this jackass is coming from. He has a controlling personality and he thinks of you as his. So when he sees you with someone else like he did last night,” he continued, shooting Joe a telling look, “he goes ballistic. This morning, he retaliated by blowing up your trailer. If there’s a next time, there’s no telling what he’ll do. Just be careful. I know you’re surrounded by security, but watch yourself. Okay?”

  He didn’t say the words, but Angel knew exactly what he was saying. If she was going to kiss Joe again, she’d be wise not to do it in public. Heat climbing in her cheeks, she didn’t dare look at Joe. “Okay,” she said huskily. “Thanks Nick.”

  He left soon after that to show the sketch to members of the cast and crew, then post it around town, and with his leave-taking, an awkward silence fell that neither she nor Joe seemed inclined to break. Finally, unable to bear it a second longer, she said, “Don’t feel like you have to stick around here because of me. I know you have work to do. And I need to lie down. In fact, I think I’ll go up now. I’m really tired.”

  She turned to go inside, but he was already there before her, opening the door for her. “I’ll help you upstairs.”

  With Nick’s warning hanging between them, memories of the kiss they’d shared on the Ferris wheel came rushing back, and just thinking about Joe helping her upstairs and into bed had her heart pounding in her breast.

  “No!” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I…I’m f-fine. Really,” she insisted when he hesitated. “I can make it by myself.”

  His dark brows knit in a frown, he studied her with too-sharp eyes. “You’re still weak as a kitten. You’ve got no business climbing the stairs by yourself.”

  “It’s my head that’s hurt,” she pointed out. “Not my legs. If I take it slow, I’ll be fine.”

  He wanted to argue, but she didn’t give him a chance. Stepping through the door, she headed straight for the stairs and started up them. Behind her, she heard Joe swear and hurry to catch up with her, but she kept climbing, her pace steady and her hand resting on the banister just in case she needed it. She didn’t.

  Standing at the bottom step, prepared to run to her rescue and catch her if she so much as hesitated, Joe watched her stubbornly climb all the way to the top and wanted to shake her. She had to be the most independent woman he’d ever met in his life! Even when she could barely move, she still insisted on doing things herself. Did she have any idea how frustrating that was for him? Or how much he admired her for her bullheaded determination? She was strong and persistent, soft and fragile, a contradiction in terms that fascinated the hell out of him. And the day was quickly coming when he would have to deal with his feelings for her.

  But not today. Today, all he could think of was sticking close and making sure nothing else happened to her. Oh, she would have been safe with the guards and Buster patrolling the grounds and watching for intruders, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. Not yet. Not when the smell of smoke from her burning trailer was still on his clothes. So while she slept upstairs, he puttered around the house, doing repa
irs and chores that he’d been too busy to do for the last six months.

  She almost slept around the clock, waking only long enough to take a call from Laura when she and Emma arrived safely in New Mexico. Once she was sure her daughter was safe, she went back to bed. Worried about her, Joe lost track of the number of times he checked on her to make sure she was okay, but she was always fine, just exhausted from the trauma she’d been through. Then when she did wake up, she was still tired, still in need of rest. Because of the explosion and the injuries to much of the cast and crew, work was cancelled for the remainder of the week, and Angel took advantage of every second of it. If she wasn’t sleeping, she was lying down, taking it easy, healing.

  By the morning of the fourth day after the accident, Joe came down for breakfast to find her already in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. Surprised, he stopped in his tracks, his dark brows knit in a frown across the bridge of his nose when he saw she was already dressed despite the fact that it was barely six in the morning. Wearing a sleeveless white cotton blouse and simple yellow shorts that showed off the enticing length of her incredible legs, she appeared to be completely recovered from her ordeal earlier in the week. The color was back in her cheeks, and her blue eyes had a sparkle that had been noticeably absent since the explosion of her trailer.

  She looked fresh and cool and beautiful, and just looking at her had the air backing up in Joe’s lungs. For the last few days, he’d given little thought to the fact that they were alone in the house together for the first time since they’d made love. There’d been no time—he’d been too concerned about Angel’s health to think about anything but getting her back on her feet.

  But now she was whole and healthy and gorgeous, and Emma and Laura weren’t there to keep him from doing something stupid—like give into the need that had been clawing at him from the first time he kissed her. Silently swallowing a curse, he glared at her. “What are you doing out of bed? The doctor said you’re supposed to rest.”

  “I did,” she replied, wry humor spilling in her eyes. “I slept for three days. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

  Scowling at her, he didn’t so much as crack a smidgen of a smile. “How’s your head?”

  She grinned and wobbled her head. “Still attached.” When he still didn’t smile, she said gently, “I’m fine, Joe. Really. All the aches and pains are gone—my head doesn’t even hurt anymore. And Emma’s finally safe. The only way I could be better would be if Nick had my stalker in custody, and even that’s within the realm of possibility now that we have a description of him.”

  “That could take a while,” he warned her. “No one’s come forward with any information on him yet, and he’s been awfully quiet over the last three days.” Glancing past her to the wall of windows that gave a sweeping view of the mountains to the west, he frowned as the first rays of the sun crept over the ranch. “Too quiet, if you ask me. I don’t like it. The bastard’s up to something. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Maybe he’s just lying low until all the hoopla from the explosion dies down,” she said. “Nick plastered that sketch of him all over town, didn’t he? He’s got to be nervous.”

  “Are you kidding? We’re talking about a man who walked right into town to order a wreath for your funeral the same day he tried to blow you to kingdom come. The Devil himself could be after him and he’d spit in his eye. No, he’s not worried—he’s too arrogant for that. He’s planning something, and God only know what it is.”

  She’d been afraid of that. Over the course of the last three days, even when she was sleeping, the knowledge that he was out there somewhere, waiting for the chance to hurt her again, had hovered just on the edge of consciousness like a dark shadow waiting to swallow her whole.

  As she’d regained her strength, she’d tried to convince herself her imagination was just playing tricks with her mind—the idiot wasn’t stupid enough to come after her when Nick and his deputies were turning over every rock in the county looking for him! But deep down inside, she’d known better. He was obsessed with her, and he wasn’t going to stop tormenting her until he had her right where he wanted her—in his power.

  Her appetite forgotten, she rose and carried her half-eaten bowl of cereal to the sink. “So what do we do now?”

  “The only thing we can,” he said grimly. “We wait for him to make a move and pray that we’re ready when he does.”

  Joe didn’t tell her that he’d let his own work slide in order to watch over her while she was recovering from the explosion, but he didn’t have to. She’d been aware of his presence in the house every time she woke up. He hadn’t hovered over her or even checked in on her that much, but she’d known he was there, somewhere nearby, within calling distance in case she needed him.

  Now that she was better, though, she’d expected him to leave her with her army of guards and get back to the business of running the ranch. He didn’t. After he ate a breakfast of cold cereal himself, he grabbed some tools from his workshop in the barn and returned to the kitchen to fix a leaky faucet.

  Another woman might have been fooled, but she was sharper than that. She knew exactly what he was doing when she came downstairs with a load of dirty laundry and found him sprawled on the floor with his head under the kitchen sink. “You don’t have to stick around because of me,” she said. “I’m much better.”

  Grunting as he loosened a nut with a wrench, he never looked up. “Good, because I’m not. I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time.”

  She didn’t believe him, but she couldn’t very well argue about him hanging around his own house. “Well, then, I’ll get out of your way,” she told him, and stepped over his legs where they jutted out into the room. “I’ve got some things to do upstairs.”

  She retreated to her room, expecting the day to fly by. It wasn’t often that she got so much time off, and besides washing her laundry, she had correspondence to catch up on and lines to study. But time seemed to drag, and regardless of what she did, she just couldn’t seem to concentrate. With a will of its own, her mind kept wandering off in a dozen different directions.

  Disgusted, she tried to blame it on the blow to her head. It must have scrambled her brains. Or maybe she was just groggy from too much sleep. She hadn’t focused on anything since the explosion and she was just out of practice. All she had to do was be patient and guide her thoughts back to the matter at hand every time they started to drift.

  It should have been that simple. But each time Joe banged on a pipe downstairs and the sound seemed to vibrate throughout the house, her attention immediately zeroed in on the kitchen. And Joe. All too easily, she could see him stretched out on the kitchen floor with his head and shoulders under the sink, muttering curses to himself as he tried to loosen the last bolt that would allow him to install a new faucet.

  Irritated with herself, she grumbled, “Stop it! You’ve got work of your own to do, for heaven’s sake! Get on with it.”

  For a while, she did. Using Laura’s room as an office, she sat down at the small desk in the corner and began sorting through the correspondence that had accumulated over the course of the last few weeks. Every other star she knew in Hollywood had a secretary to handle such things, but she’d always preferred to do it herself. If someone took the time out of their day to sit down and write her a letter, the least she could do was sit down and write them back. So she diligently wrote out checks for her bills, then started reading her fan mail. She’d barely finished the first letter and was formulating a response when the screen door opening onto the back porch banged.

  He needed something from his workshop.

  The thought came out of nowhere to drag her attention back to Joe, and whatever response she’d been planning to the fan letter flew right out of her head. With her mind’s eye, she pictured Joe heading for the barn, his square face lined with concentration, his long strides eating up the distance between the house and his workshop. Any second, he would return with whatever tool he needed
and let the screen door once again slam behind him as he walked into the kitchen.

  On the heels of that thought, the door slammed again. And just that quickly, she realized her inability to focus had nothing to do with too much sleep or the blow to her head and everything to do with Joe—his constant presence in the house, the sound of him working in the kitchen, the clean scent of his aftershave drifting upstairs to tease and distract her. As long as he was underfoot, she wasn’t going to be able to concentrate worth a damn.

  Stiffening at the thought, she immediately tried to reject it, but memories stirred like the embers of a fire that refused to go out, warming her deep inside and filling her with a longing that stunned her. Her heart thumping crazily, she couldn’t forget the feel of his arms around her, holding her close to the hard length of his body, his mouth hot and hungry on hers as their clothes just melted away.

  Shaken, she pushed to her feet to pace the confines of her room restlessly, her fan mail forgotten. When had she come to need him so much? To want him to the point that instead of concentrating on her work, she couldn’t stop wondering when he was going to find something to do upstairs. This had to stop! She wouldn’t, couldn’t let herself start to care for Joe McBride. She’d already made the mis take of falling for one man who was all wrong for her. She wouldn’t do it again.

  And there was no question that he was wrong for her. Oh, he was a good man—she didn’t doubt that for a second. He’d been there for her and Emma and gone out of his way to keep them safe. But he still had a chip on his shoulder where women were concerned, still didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. He’d kissed her and taken her to bed and shown her an ecstasy she’d only dreamed about, but she didn’t fool herself into thinking that what he felt for her was anything more than plain, old-fashioned lust. He’d only let one woman touch his heart, only to have her rip it out by the roots. He wouldn’t chance that kind of pain again. If she didn’t want to end up making a fool of herself over him, she’d do well to remember that.