by Lynde Lakes
Through lowered lashes, she peeked up at Nick. His hard look stroked over her like hot hands. She twisted the napkin in her lap, wishing he would look at Alicia, like most men did, and leave her alone.
Lloyd leaned closer to Alicia, his gaze fixed on her, obviously fascinated by her soft Texas drawl and the way she shook her long blonde hair when making a point. Nothing new there, Sara Jane thought. Alicia collected men like she collected rodeo medals. The bodyguard’s ring finger with the telltale-untanned circle was a red flag that he could be a married man on the prowl. Sara Jane caught Alicia’s eye, traced her own empty ring finger, and gestured to Lloyd’s hand.. Alicia flipped her hair and shrugged.
Sara Jane’s natural protectiveness toward her cousin rose strong and fast. That instinct alone wouldn’t have set her off. But her run in with Nick had stirred her coals and she wanted to strike out. She leveled her gaze at Lloyd. “How does your wife handle it when you’re off on assignments like this?”
With a sober face, Lloyd said, “The last one killed herself.”
Warmth left Sara Jane’s cheeks, and she wished she could sink through the floor. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Alicia laughed. “He’s lying. He caught me with that one, too. Probably that’s why his wife is divorcing him—his cruel sense of humor.”
Angry heat shot back into Sara Jane’s face. “I hope you’re a better bodyguard than you are a human being.” All conversation stopped. Everyone’s eyes turned to Lloyd. He just sat there, expressionless.
Nick glared at him. “I think you owe these ladies an apology.”
Lloyd shrugged. “Sorry, girls. My divorce has left me bitter.”
“That’s no excuse!” Sara Jane grabbed the silver saltshaker and gripped in with all her might, wanting to hurl it at his insincere face. “And we’re women, not girls.” Then, with supreme effort, she clamped her mouth shut and uncurled her fingers. Her parents didn’t like harsh words at the dinner table and they didn’t cotton to even treating rude guests badly. Besides, she’d gotten her point across—Lloyd was a jerk. What Alicia did with the information was up to her. One thing was for sure, the guy would have to work hard to get back into the good graces of the rest of the Ryan family.
Sara Jane met the sheriff’s amused gaze. Don’t smile, Cody Bemis, your turn’s next. I’m all wound up and still itching for a fight. “Whose picture was in the locket, Sheriff? Anyone we know?”
The amusement left the lawman’s face and he exchanged looks with her dad.
She sensed Nick’s disapproval and glanced at him. He shook his head. Darn him. He had no right to judge her. Indirectly, this was all his fault. If only he’d agreed to take her to town.
“Cool it, Sara Jane,” Dad said sternly. “The sheriff is keeping that identity under his Stetson until we can talk to the person in the photo.”
“Then it’s someone on this ranch. I knew it.”
Her dad gave her another sharp look. She scanned the faces of the other family members, looking for any sign of discomfort. Uncle Luke wrinkled his brow and looked befuddled. Erik shifted in his seat, his eyes concerned. Had the mention of the locket upset her handsome cousin? Sara Jane’s stomach churned. She’d started all the trouble, but maybe her father’s anger was a small price to pay to watch Erik squirm. Earlier when the sheriff stopped Dad from going to Uncle Luke, she’d thought the picture might be of her uncle, but now…
Alicia leaned forward. “I love mysteries. Just tell us this much, Sheriff—was it a man or a woman?”
A red flush crawled up from Dad’s collar. Sara Jane bit her lip, trying to keep quiet, but the words just bubbled up. “Sheriff, has anyone reported a woman missing on nearby ranches or in Stampede Junction?”
“Not yet,” he said, in his slow drawl. “But I don’t reckon that means much. Victim hasn’t been dead all that long.”
Sara Jane tried to slip in one more question. “What about—”
“Enough!” Her father stood and threw down his napkin. “No more talk about murder at the dinner table. And y’all keep it under your hats about the FBI men on the property. Got it?”
Unstoppable words rolled off Sara Jane’s tongue like a landslide. “So how do we explain two urban cowboys hanging around us all the time, like bulls in rut?”
Nick shook his head and rolled his eyes upward.
“Dammit, Sara Jane,” her father said. “Leave it to you to come up with an unladylike phrase like that.”
Mom touched Dad’s arm, and they exchanged a silent message. He took a breath and eased back down in his chair. He cleared his voice. “Although I would’ve liked it a whole passel better if my lovely daughter would have phrased the question another way, she has a point. We’ll just let folks think Nick and Lloyd are a couple of new cowpokes who are sweet on you girls.”
Alicia beamed. “Are we supposed to pretend we like ’em back?”
“No!” Uncle Luke and Dad said in emphatic unison.
Sara Jane couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Any acting ability, Nick?” His glum expression and cold silence gave her more ammunition. “Have to do better than that if you want folks to think you like me.” That drew a small begrudging smile.
After scoring that point, she turned to her father and went for another. “What’ll we do about their ages?” she asked him.
“They look young enough,” Uncle Luke piped up, “only a couple of years past the norm. But you girls remember that they’re just acting.”
What her uncle said about the FBI guys being only a year or two past the norm was true. Nick and Lloyd were only in their late twenties or early thirties—and they look great, but most cowhands didn’t stick around much beyond their mid-twenties. Cowhands soon looked for work that wasn’t so backbreaking and lonely, or tried to start a ranch of their own. The only older guys on the ranch were key people like Alfonso Hernandez and misfits who had nowhere else to go, like Van Verdugo.
Nick was still glaring at her. Well, she’d fix him. “Uncle Luke, could you take me—”
“I’m taking you,” Nick growled before she could get it all out.
She smiled sweetly. “Why, thank you, Nick.”
He didn’t smile back—if looks could kill, she’d be buzzard bait. She decided not to stir up any more trouble—after all, she’d gotten what she wanted.
During dessert, the new hired hand, Hamm Ross, joined them.
“Would you like a plate of carne asada?” Mom asked.
“Thank ya kindly, ma’am. But I had my grub at the chuck wagon with Alfonso after he showed me the ropes. But it’s mighty nice to be here with your family.” His eyes took on a faraway gaze. “Family is everything. Nothing else counts.”
Sara Jane agreed with him on that point, but the fanatical passion in his tone unnerved her. Was this guy a momma’s boy? No, he couldn’t be that. In spite of the scar along his high cheekbone, he had such bad boy good looks that Sara Jane and Alicia exchanged appreciative glances.
When Uncle Luke introduced Alicia, she licked her lips like the little vixen that she was, and said, “Welcome, Hamm,” in a throaty south Texas drawl that was all invitation.
Sara Jane usually flirted too, but she’d annoyed Dad enough for one night. Besides, with Nick sitting there, it seemed almost unfaithful, which was ridiculous, of course. She didn’t owe Nick anything. Well, maybe she did. He had saved her from the bushwhackers. But what did she owe him for that? Not faithfulness—she would never owe that to some urban cowboy.
She studied the new hired cowpoke. Hamm smiled a lot, especially at Alicia, but something about him bothered Sara Jane. For one thing, his name didn’t suit him. His dark tan and features called for a Spanish name. Her dad was wise to keep the presence of FBI men on the property a secret with the likes of him around. At least until everyone got to know him better. The more she looked at the guy, the more he reminded her of someone. Who?
What was his background? His drawl was more Texarkana than pure Texan. “Where’re you from,
Hamm?” she asked. Uncle Luke had hired the guy, and her uncle was more apt to give a man the benefit of the doubt than her dad. Dad always complained about her uncle’s blind trust.
Hamm shifted in his seat, but as if on cue, he flashed an even set of blinding-white teeth. “Folks were military—rollin’ stones. Ya might say I’m from everywhere.”
Sara Jane forced a smile of her own. “Well, cowboy, you had to be born somewhere.”
His gaze darted at Uncle Luke. “Didn’t expect another interview. Thought this was social.”
Uncle Luke twisted his lips to keep from smiling. “You’re on your own,” he said.
Hamm cleared his throat. “Arkansas. Pa was from there, and Ma was from Berlin, Germany, but I spent the last five years on Grandma’s ranch. So, I know about cows.”
The guy smiled a lot, yet it bothered Sara Jane that he never quite met her gaze.
****
After dinner, as darkness closed around them and ranch lights flicked on in the distance, Sara Jane and Alicia sat out on the porch steps sharing feelings and listening to the crickets. Their bodyguards Nick and Lloyd sat on the railing, just out of earshot, talking in deep manly murmurs, probably about them. The agents hadn’t known each other before, and Nick didn’t seem to like Lloyd much.
As if Alicia was thinking the same thing, she asked, “What do you think of Lloyd?”
Sara Jane rolled her eyes and gave a humorless laugh. “Need you ask?”
Alicia leaned back and rested on her palms, striking a sexy cover-model pose for their bodyguards. Her widow’s peak seemed to point down at her deep cleavage. As if men needed help to notice that. “What about the new hand?” her cousin asked in her soft drawl, tapping her foot to the peppy music drifting out from the CD playing inside.
“Too shifty-eyed for my taste.”
Alicia’s smile switched from amused to pure wicked. “But he sure does justice to a pair of jeans. Think that bulge is all him?”
Sara Jane laughed. “Alicia!”
Before Sara Jane could recover from the bulge comment, Alicia rushed on to her next question. “Speaking of filling out jeans, how did you rate getting Nick as your body guard? If he’d just smile now and then, he’d be the best looking stud for miles around.”
Sara Jane recalled one of his rare smiles and secretly agreed. “Dad chose him because he can ride like the wind—and because he’s a rigid, controlling guy who reminded Dad of himself.”
“Maybe I’m lucky I drew Lloyd. He’s easy to twist around my fingers. I think he wants me.”
“So what’s new about that? Every guy does. Even the new hand.”
“But not your Nick. Is he gay, or what?”
Sara Jane laughed. “Not judging by the way he kisses.”
Alicia screamed in delight. “He kissed you already? That doesn’t sound like an uptight guy to me.”
“I started it. He just finished it.”
“It was good, huh?” Alicia looked over at the men. “I wonder how Lloyd kisses. Mom invited him to stay in one of our guest rooms.”
Uncle Luke and Aunt Amber had a beautiful place of their own on a knoll about a mile down the road. However, when important things were brewing, both families took meals together, mostly at Sara Jane’s house because Dad had a cook on staff. When Alicia mentioned where Lloyd would hang his hat, it brought up the question of Nick. Sara Jane knew the sheriff planned to spend the night in the bunkhouse with his men. Would Nick stay there, too? Maybe not, since he was supposed to keep a close eye on her. What if Dad put him in the guest room next to hers? Knowing how Dad felt about keeping bulls out of his baby calf’s pen, it wasn’t likely since it had connecting doors.
Two hours later Sara Jane discovered that was exactly where Dad had put him. To make matters worse, Nick insisted on walking her to her room. “Suit yourself,” she said, feeling herded like a balky calf.
They climbed the curved stairway with the wide, cherry wood banister and walked down the long quarry-tiled hall. Their booted footsteps echoed through the high ceilings, making the silence between them even more noticeable. Her room was at the far end of the hall and soundproof to those downstairs. Her dad must really trust Nick, putting him in the former nanny-room with its connecting door. Would he trust him as much if he knew how passionately Nick had returned her kiss? Or how much she wanted to feel that passion again?
Finally, they reached her door. Eager to escape the tension arcing between them, and without even looking at Nick, Sara Jane mumbled, “Goodnight,” and turned the cool brass handle and shoved the door open. She froze.
Drawers hung half-open and someone had strewn her underclothing about. Her open closet doors revealed piles of garments on the floor. Her jewelry box was open—the contents spilled out. The frame that had held a picture of her and her horse, Damon was empty. She sensed that Nick had stopped short right behind her. She whirled around. “Where were you while some jerk tore up my room?”
Nick, already on his cell phone, held up a hand to quiet her. “Sheriff, someone’s broken into Sara Jane’s room. Can’t tell if the bastard was after something specific or just wanted to scare her.”
“I’m not scared,” she snapped. “Let’s clear that up right now.”
Nick drew his eyebrows closer together and put a finger to his lips to shush her again. She glared at him but held in the rest of her thoughts.
The wind gusted from outside and flapped the drapes. The window was open! She pushed the drapes aside. “The screen’s gone.” She glanced out at the tangle of vines that grew up the trellis. From the rear of the wrap-around porch, anyone could climb up to her room unseen. She swallowed and fought down an urge to run downstairs. Her gaze fell on a pair of white cotton bikini panties on the floor. Her face warmed and she darted a look at Nick. He moved to the window and told the sheriff the intruder must have entered from there. Before he could look Sara Jane’s way again, she snatched up the panties and stuffed them under a pillow.
Her gaze scanned the room, seeing her things as strangers might see them. Someone had touched her most personal undergarments—put their dirty fingers on them. Getting madder by the second, she started to pick up a broken figurine of a running wild mustang, her favorite.
“Stop!” Nick shouted. “Don’t touch anything.”
She snatched back her hand and nodded.
While she paced, aching to tuck her unmentionables out of sight and put everything back in order, Nick alerted her dad. She wished her father didn’t have to know. It would give him an excuse to tighten the reins even more. She glanced into the bathroom at the mirror and gasped at the message printed in a red substance that looked like blood: FEEL SAFE?
Nick was by her side in an instant. “What is it?” Then he saw for himself. “Damn!” he said and gathered her into his arms. “The bastard.”
Something silver glinted on the sink, drawing her gaze—her missing Indian bracelet!
Her knees buckled. She grabbed fists full of Nick’s collar in an attempt to keep from collapsing to the floor. It hit her with the impact of a charging bull; this break-in was definitely aimed at her. Some anonymous predator had her in his sights. “If some creep can come into my own room, no place is safe.” She was a pawn in a game with unknown rules.
“I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
Instinctively, she snuggled deeper into Nick’s strong embrace. It surprised her when he kissed the top of her head as one might comfort a child. Is that how he saw her—a helpless, frightened child? She stiffened and moved away.
Out of his arms, she felt bereft and stunned at how much she missed his strength and warmth. Torn between diverse, confusing feelings she just stood there. She considered finding an excuse to return to his arms, but dropped the unwise idea when the sheriff charged into the room. He and his deputy must have run all the way from the bunkhouse. They had a fingerprint dusting kit with them.
Her dad followed right behind them, his face a scowl of concern. He gave her a hug then held
her away, searching her face. “You okay, lil’ darlin’?”
He hadn’t called her that since she’d hit her teens. Fighting tears, she nodded and lifted her chin. “No little break-in can get me down.”
“That’s my girl.”
But her dad kept looking at her, as though searching for any sign of weakness. She vowed not to let him see it. He and the lawmen didn’t need to know that a mere break-in could turn her into quivering mush.
“The missing bracelet showed up,” Nick said, his voice flat.
The lawmen and her dad exchanged grim looks.
When Nick tried to put his arm around Sara Jane again, she shrugged it off. He lifted his hands in a I’m-backing-off gesture and said, “Come on, Sara Jane. Let’s leave the sheriff and his deputies to dust for fingerprints while we talk to the rest of your family. They’ll want to see for themselves that you’re all right.” He paused. “You are all right, aren’t you?”
She forced her chin up. “What do you think?” Before he could answer, she whirled and headed downstairs.
The two Ryan households waited in the kitchen. Dad joined them. Everyone tried to console Sara Jane, but nothing could erase the image of the bloody words FEEL SAFE? She didn’t feel safe at all, but she continued to hold her head high while clenching her hands in her lap. If Dad knew just how scared she was, he would use her fear as another excuse to clip her wings.
Nick was watching her. She grabbed hold of the cup of coffee he poured for her and clung to it. He probably faced things like this every day in his work. To him a break-in would be no big thing. Yet, an intensity in his eyes and the gentle way he’d drawn her into his arms led her to feel that there was something different about this time for him. Was it because the break-in happened right under his nose, and he felt he wasn’t doing his job? She shouldn’t have hurled her accusation at him. He couldn’t be in two places at once.
She met his gaze with all the strength she could muster—this man would expect Matt Ryan’s daughter to stay tough. “I’m sorry for what I said, Nick. You aren’t to blame. You were where you were supposed to be, with me.”
