by AE Rought
I stripped, sank into the water and greedily inhaled the herbal-scented steam. Lavender is supposed to soothe and calm, and I needed all the serenity I could muster. Sucking in a deep breath, I slid to the bottom of the tub, absorbed the heat, the quiet and willed my heart rate to slow. There, beneath the water, stubborn will rose within me, similar to the upstart emotion I had felt on the dance floor when Adelle had started yapping. I was no longer willing to be the victim. It was my time to stand up, fight back and own what I loved and knew was mine—my life and my love with Slade.
Dried, dressed and determined to win the war of attrition, I returned to the dining room, where all of the timeshares were gathered, even the Billings brothers. Slade, mug of coffee in hand, sat at the head of the table with a map of the ranch spread out in the middle. “Mike, I’d appreciate it if you and Mark could keep an eye on the north forty. Red is going to make sure patrols are stepped up along the highway. I’ll be watching the northeast trails. Rosie?”
“Yes, Slade. The ladies are in agreement. We’ll stay in the main house tonight.” She noticed me standing in the doorway. “And Kally will stay at a different house each day until this criminal is caught.”
Leave the main house? I tucked my hair behind my ears. I balked at the uncomfortable concept. The Fourth Moon’s main house had become my home. I hated to leave its shelter, even in lieu of one of the other houses and families. If I was going to make a stand, I damn well intended it to be here, in this house. Shaking my head, I walked into the room and stood beside Slade. “I appreciate the effort and the offer to shelter me in your homes, but I ran away from this man once before, and I don’t intend to do so again.”
Emma spoke up. “It’s only for your protection, dear, until he’s caught.”
“I understand, Emma. But you don’t know him like I do. He’s vicious and cunning. He’ll come at you sideways instead of face to face. He won’t hesitate just because the house has a different address.”
Mike Billings spoke next. “So what do you propose, Kally?”
In the following silence, the fighter in me spoke. “Let the men guard the fences. Give me a gun.”
“Kally!” Rosie’s voice scaled to a high pitch. “You can’t just shoot him.”
“I realize that, Rosie, but reason doesn’t work very well with him either.”
The reasonable discussion flared into a shouting match, which died quickly, with solid decisions made. The men divided the ranch’s borders into sections. Red would make certain patrols of the major roadways were stepped up, and the women agreed to rotate spending nights in the big house with me. With schedules set and watches synchronized, the ranchers departed for home. Rosie stopped in the foyer, grabbed my hands and hugged me. “You are going to be fine, dear. Slade and your new family will see to it.”
I patted her shoulders. “Thank you, Rosie.”
“And if anything happens and one of us isn’t here, you ring the bell on the porch and we’ll be here for you.”
“I will.”
The rest of the day was quiet. My appetite was non-existent. Slade pulled out the leftovers from Christmas, regardless, and covered the counter. “I know you said you’re not hungry, but I don’t want you to waste away with worry.”
A sigh escaped me. “I’m sorry, Slade. The worrying comes from my Dutch mother. And loads of experience dealing with Matt.”
He didn’t talk, but took my hands and led me to the rarely used sitting room off from the great room. Slade called it the Trouble Room. It’s where he and his siblings always ended up in deep discussion with their parents when they were caught doing something “less than right”. Hard shadows crouched on the sofa, stubborn and unmoving in the light of the accent lamp he lit. The furniture was older, stuffy, almost Victorian looking and an unusual scent of museum air hunkered in the room.
“I don’t like this room,” Slade muttered when he unlocked a cabinet in the closet. “But there are useful things in here.” He produced a handgun from the top drawer, a boxy looking semi-automatic, and then rummaged farther down in the cabinet for a loaded magazine and the keys to the trigger lock. He held them out for me. “These are my mother’s. I called her and she said to give them to you.”
I held the cold metal pieces in my hands and locked gazes with Slade.
“Do you know how to use them?”
“I took classes in firearms safety before I met Matt.” I removed the trigger lock and then clicked in the magazine. He nodded, reminded me to keep the safety on until I needed it and we retired to the great room until Rosie arrived and Slade set out for night patrol. When I climbed into bed, Rosie was on the sofa sleeping with a shotgun next to her. My kitty was in my bedroom and my lover was out in the cold, hunting my ex-fiancé.
Needless to say, my dreams were haunted.
Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1
Chapter Twenty-Three
Slade dragged himself into the house after morning chores. I’d never seen him so tired, his head even nodded dangerously close to the pile of flapjacks on his plate. The coffee couldn’t quell his fatigue, nor did the Tabasco liberally applied to his sausages. And nothing more than heartburn accompanied him to rest.
I tucked the sheets and blankets around him and sneaked out. In the office I called Jerry and got an update on Sue. Her condition had been upgraded, her injuries were not life threatening and she would completely recover. He also said they were considering Slade’s offer of Sue recuperating on the Fourth Moon. That was followed by him asking if Matt had been sighted in Wyoming. “Not yet, Jerry. But I can’t shake this sense of foreboding.”
“Keep your wits about you, Kally. And call me when it’s over.”
“I will. Kiss the boys for me, okay?”
We ended the conversation with promises. He promised to pass my love to Sue and the boys, and I promised to keep them informed of events here. After breakfast dishes were cleared, I paced the confines of the house, nervous and unable to shake the sense of doom overshadowing me.
Late in the day, cagey as hell, I left a note for Slade, bundled up and walked to Emma and Stewart’s to peruse her book collection. If I was going to be trapped in the house, I at least wanted something to read. Emma met me at the door and ushered me inside. Stewart bustled in the kitchen, making a stew and Emma scurried to bring me a cup of tea. I sipped Earl Grey and pored over books, looking for something to spark my interest. Years ago, I had read every fantasy novel I could get my hands on. I’d nearly surrendered hope of finding one among Emma’s women’s fiction and romance titles. Eventually, I found a copy of Tolkein’s The Silmarillion on the bottom shelf.
Slade called the Edwards’s to let me know he would be in the workshop until I came home. Looking out the window, I realized the lateness of the hour and, Tolkien tome in hand, I excused myself from the Edwards’s to walk back up the drive while the meager sunlight held.
Emma stood on her porch watching me until I made it to the barn. The workshop was only yards away and the door was open. I could hear tools banging around in there, so I waved to Emma. She waved back and ducked inside the house.
The cattle milled in the huge pen beside the barn, and Zeus snorted. I detoured to the barn to grab my cat for the night. I knew it was foolish, but I could picture Matt finding the cat and hurting it because somehow, in his sick, twisted mind, he knew it was my pet. Pulling the door open, I noticed the horses were gone. Must be out on patrol.
I begged and pleaded, offered treats I didn’t have and eventually coaxed the kitty from the shadows. With one hand I stuffed the book in my jacket, and with the other I scooped up the cat.
The light had died outside the barn. Jack was back, tethered to the front porch, and what little light remained spilled over his equine silhouette and lay, gray and weak, on the driveway. A sick sense of worry crept up through me. My legs turned to jelly and my guts knotted uncomfortably. In the driveway, Tom hissed in my arms and then leapt from my embrace and melted into the shadows unde
r the porch. Light poured from the shattered frame of the front door. A light flickered at the east end of the house, and then darkness engulfed the dwelling. The soles of my riding boots slid in the snow. My heart skipped into a stilted rhythm and the bottom dropped out of my gut.
Matt was here, somewhere. I could smell his rancid patchouli cologne. It reeked like bug spray in the fresh winter air.
Checking my pockets for Bonnie’s gun, I tiptoed across the porch. The gun was gone. I’d left it atop Emma’s bookcase. I peeked through the door. Shards of colored glass peppered the floor and were embedded in the walls. The antler chandelier lay shattered on the great room floor. The Carlsons’ beautiful home—my sanctuary—lay in ruin. Broken, overturned furniture sat at odd angles to the windows, casting surreal shadows across trophy mounts ripped from the walls. The kind of sick trepidation I thought I’d left behind flooded me. My muscles clenched and my stomach churned.
My boots crunched on the broken glass when I stepped in. I would not face Matt unarmed. I kept my eyes trained on the shadows in the center of the room, bent down and wrapped a broken antler in my fingers and lifted it from the debris on the floor. Having a weapon gave me a small measure of comfort, but when a crash rattled through the room, my heart leapt into my throat. I turned to run back to the workshop, back to safety—to Slade.
The shadows solidified behind me and around my neck in a vise grip. Matt was my demon in the dark. The beast haunting me for years had arrived. Panic flooded me. My only thought was to escape. He kicked my feet out from underneath me and dragged me into the living room. “Imagine me finding you here, Kally, on a fucking ranch in Wyoming, instead of taking care of our home like you should be.”
Time froze. For one tight breath, the old me wanted to fade, to hide in my mind until the beating was over. The old me didn’t exist any longer.
“This is my home now.” I spent the rest of my air. “And you are not welcome here.” Shifting my hip to the side, I drove the jagged antler back and down with all the force I had. The sharp end met flesh, and his howl rent the winter night. Matt released his grip on my throat and shoved me away from him in favor of pulling the antler out of his wounded leg.
“You crazy bitch! How dare you?” He pitched the antler backward into the great room. “Now I’m going to punish you.”
“You can’t punish what you don’t own.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed, moonlight glared from his teeth when he bared them, and then he wiped the blood across his chest and lunged. I sidestepped the attack, raised my foot and buried the toe of my boot in his gut. He dropped forward and wrapped an arm around my leg, forcing his weight against me and driving me to the floor beneath him. My head bounced off the floor, glass bit into my scalp, spots swarmed in my vision but they could not blur the maniacal expression on Matt’s face.
He was a man possessed, eyes wild, mouth agape and drool streaking his chin. Matt drove a knee into my stomach, pressing air from my lungs and bile up into my throat. Fists fell in a blizzard of pain. Cuss words hit me in a storm of belittlement and ended with the words, “You are mine!”
Anger blazed within me, higher and hotter with each strike he landed. The heat blazed through my limbs, pushed me to act, to fight back. His wrist was thick in my grip when I tightened my fingers around it and then elevated my hips like Slade taught me. Matt pitched off balance and tumbled to the floor. His limbs flailed, hands turned to claws raking me while I scrambled to my feet. He caught an ankle and dragged me forward. I refused to be his victim again. I was strong, I was a free spirit and I fought back. Using my heel for a pivot point, I twisted the ankle in his grip until my boot was over his wrist, and then I stood between his arms and kicked him until something cracked in his chest.
“I’m over me being under you, Matt.”
He howled a sound worse than any coyote or wolf. Blood trickled from his mouth and his eyes were wild. I backed away and my boots skidded in the shattered glass. I came down in a pile of limbs and pain. Dazed, I forced myself to sit, keeping my eyes on the beast struggling to rise. My ears rang with the slamming of my heart. Breath came in short gasps and burned along my ribs. With sick clarity, I saw the butt of his old gun clenched in his hand. Boot heels slipped on the tile and shards of glass tore my palms raw when I skittered backward. I couldn’t get enough air when I tried to scream. Words would not come out of my throat.
“Slade…” It was little more than a breath. Matt’s grunts were louder than my cry when he struggled with the sight of the gun and the seam of his pocket.
The doorjamb felt like salvation beneath my fingers, but Matt’s evil expression rivaled any demon in a Christian’s hell. The strap of my boot snagged on an upturned rug and I dug my fingernails into the wood of the doorjamb until the expression on Matt’s face froze the blood in my veins. He focused his hate black eyes on me, wrenched the muzzle free and leveled it on my chest. This time terror ripped a path in my throat. “Slade!”
Shocked, frozen—a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car—I saw everything in the foyer and could not move.
Moonlight shone through the stained glass, painting the gun in his hand red. He pulled the slide back, and muscles around his eyes tensed. The muzzle blast cracked like lightning and the force of the bullet slammed me back through the door and onto the porch.
Fire exploded in my left arm. Red motes danced before my eyes and hot blood trickled between my fingers. The sound of the ricocheting bullet casing cut like brass blades into my ears. Motion returned and I rolled to my stomach, leaving a path of blood in the snow when I crawled across the porch. In a jumble of stars and stairs I tumbled down the steps. Matt swore, cursing his jammed weapon. The metallic clatter told me he had ejected the magazine and slammed in another.
I stood and then ran for the white horse tethered to the porch support. The reins came free and I swung up onto his back under the power of adrenaline and fear. Groaning, I collapsed against the horse’s neck. “Find Slade, Jack! Find Slade.”
Jack whirled and Matt charged through the front door. He brought the pistol up. I saw the muzzle flash. The bullet ripped past us, striking Slade’s truck with a clanging thunk. The workshop door slammed open and I saw Slade standing in the doorway of the workshop, his rifle pointed at Matt, his eye pressed to the scope. “Kally, get down!” The horse stopped between the workshop and barn and I tumbled to the snow bank. Slade’s chest expanded, he held the breath and fired. Matt’s pistol hand whipped out to the side, the handgun tipping end over end through the air.
Matt’s face contorted in a mask of rage, and then he charged, a snarling fiend on two legs.
I cowered on the ground, wanting to hide in Slade’s arms, but too terrified to move. One gunshot wound was enough. The barrel of the rifle came down, cinched in his left arm when Slade pulled me up and then he thrust the gun into my hands. He stopped long enough to look at my ripped and bleeding arm. “This is gonna be man to man.”
If only Matt had as much honor. I nodded and Slade stepped into the drive, bracing to meet Matt’s charge head on.
Yards from where I stood bleeding, my cowboy and my monster collided in an audible crush of muscle and bone. Matt growled and shouted an insane language of rage. I leaned the barrel of Slade’s rifle against a shoulder gone numb and rang the bell fixed to the workshop corner. The frigid night sank its teeth into my left arm, its numbing chill settling into the limb while I pulled the bell chord over and over.
Slade shoved Matt back and the crazed brute swung at him with an overhand right, mocking Slade, calling him a fake, woman-stealing cowboy. Slade only grunted when he sidestepped and countered with a jab and over hand combination. The short punch missed, but the second strike rocked Matt’s head back. His knees buckled, and true to his football training, he lunged in for the tackle. His bulk knocked Slade off balance and he staggered backward, slamming into the barn wall.
The commotion stirred up the cattle, and they had nowhere to run. Penned, they started to pace and moo.
Bunching his fists in Matt’s jacket, Slade spun the bigger man and rammed his head into the barn wall. Matt’s head bounced from the red wall twice more, then, with blood running down his face, Matt drove an uppercut into Slade’s jaw. The Stetson flew off, and Slade’s hair swung out with the force of Matt’s strike.
The fight was out of hand, well past honor and too far toward death. Slade crumpled against the barn wall and I screamed in horror. Then Matt took advantage of my cowboy’s daze and buried his fist into Slade’s gut. The men slid down the wall, Matt throwing everything he had at Slade, yet somehow, Slade ended up in a top mount position, raining down fists. The bell rang until other bells answered in the distance—the Fourth Moon’s emergency notification system in action—and vehicles roared to life. The ranchers were coming and Matt would not get away with it this time. I left the bell and limped toward the barn.
The hulking beast rolled onto his side enough to unsettle Slade. Matt stood, despite the blows Slade landed, and then Matt launched a kick at Slade’s crotch. Slade collapsed to the snow and Matt swung his leg out and connected with Slade’s gut before taking the last few steps to the cattle pen. Dropping the gun and ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I ran to Slade’s side, cradling his head in my lap. Matt laughed, a dark mirthless sound the Edwards’s engine could not drown out. He pointed a finger at me and then dragged his finger across his throat when he lifted the latch to the gate of the cattle pen.
The crazed cows churned against the fence, lurching, kicking and bellowing. I refused to allow Matt to set the frenzied herd loose. A stampede could kill Slade who knelt only feet from the fence. I stood when Matt pulled on the gate and then I charged. He turned toward me, and I slammed my bloodied shoulder into his gut, knocking him into the cattle pen and onto his ass.
The cows milled around when he stood. “Get out of there!” Slade shouted.
