by Lynde Lakes
The last two words settled in her mind and shook her almost as much as the break-in. While she pondered why they meant so much to her, Nick and her parents discussed what else should be done to protect her. Cousin Alicia and Erik remained silent. Alicia’s wide, worried eyes suggested that perhaps she was thinking that it could have just as easily been her room. Sara Jane reached over and patted Alicia’s hand. “I think it’s just me he wants to scare.”
“Maybe we should send the girls away for a while,” Mom said. “With their bodyguards, of course.” She suggested a couple of promising places that brightened Alicia’s expression.
Sara Jane had to admit that the trip to Paris sounded good, but now wasn’t the time. “I can’t leave now,” she said, pushing aside emotions that threatened to overcome her. “My business is at stake. Besides, no second-rate lowlife is going to throw a monkey wrench into my life.”
“I support you an’ all that, Cuz,” Alicia said. “You know that. But you can start your little venture when we get back. Think of it, traveling abroad with our own private escorts…”
“You don’t understand, Alicia. It has taken a year to set this all up, the loan, the customers. To stop now…” Seeing her cousin’s lower lip jut out made Sara Jane feel rotten. “Nothing is stopping you from going, though.”
“Yeah, right. As if Dad would let me run off to Paris with Lloyd alone.”
Uncle Luke laughed. “You got that right.”
“Sorry,” she mouthed to Alicia. Her cousin shrugged.
Sara Jane wished her decisions didn’t affect others, but she wasn’t backing down, even if the whole family got on her case. She met Nick’s troubled gaze, then leveled her look at her dad. “Here’s how it’s going to go. I’m meeting with my client in the morning and then I’m going to Stampede Junction to check on the loan I requested from the bank. I need a horse trailer of my own.” The last part was something she’d just thought of. Admitting that the real purpose for the trip was to dig around for information about the murdered woman would only work against her. “Nick has agreed to go with me, so I’ll be safe.”
A prickle of doubt flashed through her, thinning her confidence. She wished she understood why doubt always followed the bravado. She squared her shoulders. I won’t be beaten down.
Her dad glanced at Nick. “What do you think about all this?”
Sara Jane held her breath. Nick knew the real reason for her trip. She locked eyes with him, silently warning him not to sell her out.
He studied her face for what seemed like an eternity, then leaned over and whispered, “Are you going to behave yourself?”
She rolled her eyes.
He held her gaze a moment longer then said, “I can keep her safe.”
When the sheriff finished in Sara Jane’s room and she and Nick went upstairs again, Nick entered ahead of her. “I’ll just check things out, clean the mirror, and then you can go to bed.”
His thoughtfulness sent a lump to her throat. The welling of emotion took her off guard.
“The sheriff had to bag your bracelet and take it,” Nick said. “He’ll return it after forensics checks it over.”
She nodded and flicked her gaze over the clothing-strewn room. “Was this only about terrorizing, or was the intruder looking for something?”
Nick shrugged. “After you put things away, tell me if anything is missing.” The tone in his voice sent a chill through her.
While Nick scrubbed the mirror, she tidied up part of the jumble. Then, bone tired, she just sat on the bed and stared at the remaining mess.
“Hey,” Nick shouted. “How come our rooms are laid out like a hotel?”
“Dad built them to accommodate a nanny. I had a nanny for a while when I was a baby. Do the connecting doors bother you?”
Nick came out of the bathroom, his face grim. “No, it works for us. Leave them open.” His voice had a hard edge.
In spite of her tender thoughts about him, she bristled at his demanding tone. “Did you forget so soon? I don’t take orders.”
“Maybe I should tell your dad just why you want to go to town.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“Not exactly. I figured after I backed you up that you’d feel obligated to go along with a simple request.”
Too tired to argue, she let out a breath and said, “All right, you win.” She grabbed a robe and a pair of cotton PJ’s and headed for the bathroom. The mirror gleamed at her, all signs of the sinister message gone. Her exasperation disappeared in a surge of tenderness.
She closed the bathroom door and wiggled the handle to make sure the lock had latched. After showering and blow-drying her hair, she peeked out, then ran on tiptoes from the bathroom and dove into bed. She pulled the sheets up to her neck. How would she ever sleep with him so close? She wasn’t used to a virile man, who she was beginning to like all too much, staying only a few steps through that wide-open doorway?
One boot, then another thudded to the floor. Did she just imagine the soft metallic slide of a zipper? Her heart pounded so hard that she pressed on her chest to quiet it down. Barefoot steps crossed his room. She waited for Nick’s bathroom door to close. It didn’t. She heard a rush of water hitting tile. Steamy heat curled from the adjoining room, mingling the scent of leather shampoo with the moist haze of jasmine from her shower.
Sara Jane closed her eyes and then opened them again. Would Nick come out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, or buck-naked? If she leaned just a few inches out of the bed to the right, she could see him as he passed the door. Her face warmed, imagining a tanned bare chest and a large bath towel tied around slim hips, then she imagined a hard body minus any towel at all. Her heart pounded wildly. How would she ever fall asleep?
She had to think of something else. Not the mirror…not the bracelet or the man who had ransacked her room. Her dad, then. How cool that he hadn’t balked when she stood up to everyone and told them how things were going to be. She’d always had to fight to hold her own and carve out her own niche. She knew she was smart and quick, and she had learned to fake an I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. Sometimes she wondered who she was under all that bluster. No doubt, Nick wondered that too. She had the scary feeling he knew her better than any stranger passing through her life should. To complicate things, she was starting to like having him around.
****
The fleeting instant of fear Nick had seen in Sara Jane’s eyes when she looked at the blood-like letters on the mirror had intensified every protective instinct in him. Her tough facade was mostly a front, a fight for independence. By her reaction, she hadn’t realized until that moment, that she was someone’s target. Now that it had sunk in, she had to be scared. But even fear hadn’t made her knuckle under. Even the return of the bracelet hadn’t done it. To get her cooperation, he had to play this right. The open door helped, but it was a double-edged sword. He could protect Sara Jane better that way, but it was as though they shared the same room. Earlier, he had heard the shower come on, and imagined the gentle cascade caressing her body. God, he ached to stroke her, possess her. By the time he climbed into his own shower, he was stiff with desire. He slicked soap over tense muscles and fantasized what it would be like to shower with Sara Jane. With her ranch-firm build, she would have a flat abdomen and firm breasts. Her slender curves would feel smooth to his touch. Did she have a birthmark or scar? He chuckled. Or maybe a tattoo?
When he finished his warm shower, followed by a cold one, he crossed the bedroom to the open door, leaned against the wall next to it, and listened for movement. If she was still up, he wanted to tell her she could count on him. Hearing no sounds, he just stood there like a fool, allowing the moist heat from the two showers to tease his senses. He breathed in her flowery fragrance, heightening a desire that his promise to Matt and his own code would never let him fulfill.
Chapter Four
Sara Jane squinted as the sun shot yellow splinters of torture through the blinds. She covered her head wit
h her pillow. After rolling from side to side in her bed until at least 3:00 a.m., she didn’t need sunshine to jolt her awake. She lay still a moment, buried in soft down hoping to sink back into oblivion. What am I doing? She had too much to do before her trip to Stampede Junction to lie here. Sara Jane threw her legs over the side of the bed and bounded to her feet. She peeked through the open door of the connecting nanny room at Nick’s empty bed. Rumpled sheets lay half on the floor as though he’d twisted and turned all night. Well, that was two of them. She should have slept better knowing her protector was only steps away, but images of him—and fantasies of them together played dangerous games with her mind. The door to his bathroom was closed. She decided not wait until he came out; she was in no condition to face him. Besides, he would only delay her.
She dressed quickly and tiptoed out of her room. In the kitchen, she gulped down a large glass of orange juice and headed for the barn, betting Nick would be right behind her. A part of her even hoped it. The distant roar of ranch machinery and trucks hummed as ranch activity shifted into high gear. The familiar sounds that were so much a part of Sara Jane’s life energized her and added energy to her steps. The morning sun beat down on her face and flashed the surrounding barns with a hot-white glare. She tilted her Stetson lower. Jeans and her favorite green long-sleeved shirt protected her from the sun, but not the heat.
Sara Jane yanked opened one of the double doors of the barn and stepped inside, letting the cooler air wash over her. Light streamed through the high windows under the eaves. All the horses were out except Nick’s mare, the five that she was responsible for, including Vision, and her own horse Demon. She checked them to make sure they were properly shod, and had no saddle burns. Later, Tito, the foreman’s twelve-year-old grandson would groom and brush them. She usually took care of Demon herself. It was their time to talk. But today, she would have Tito groom him while she was busy with Vision.
Noticing the stalls needed fresh hay, she grabbed a pitchfork. As she worked, her thoughts shifted to the lowlife varmint who had trashed her room. Thinking she was alone, Sara Jane shouted, “Damn him!” and kicked a bale of hay. Demon moved restlessly in his stall, his edginess deepened by her outburst.
“Good opening act,” Van Verdugo said. “But I woulda’ gone for throwing the pitchfork into the hay. More dramatic and easier on the toe.”
He always spoke in theater terms even though at forty he still hadn’t achieved any of his pipe dreams of becoming a famous actor. Just hearing his voice and knowing she was alone with him brought back the old wariness. Van had cornered her in the barn when she was thirteen. She still remembered the flushed determination on his face, the lust glistening in his eyes, and the way her heart had pounded in loud thuds of terror. She had kicked him where it counts, and escaped. After that, except for heated stares, he’d kept his distance until now. A shiver slid down her spine.
Sara Jane pointed the pitchfork at him and forced herself to step forward. “What does a once-a-year rodeo clown know about feelings and expressing them?”
He backed up and laughed, but his eyes held no humor. “Right on cue—a sassy comeback. But don’t be black-listing me. I jus’ came to tell ya that Monica Dickson is waitin’ for ya in the wings up at the main house.”
It took a moment for his message to register. Keeping the pitchfork aimed at him, Sara Jane turned her wrist enough to glance at her watch. Good, Monica was early. It wasn’t yet seven, so they could finish before ten in plenty of time for her trip to Stampede Junction with Nick. Sara Jane didn’t put the pitchfork down until she got outside. Van followed her out of the barn, but hung back. She walked a little faster, and sighed in relief when he didn’t try to keep up with her.
She’d been looking forward to visiting with her blind friend again. Monica was only twenty-six and fun to hang out with. Training a sightless person to ride in the barrel competition would be a challenge, but when it came to horses, she could teach anyone to do anything. It helped that Vision had his role down pat. Although horses don’t know how to run in races or move in circles naturally, she had already trained him to do his part. Now her job was to bond Monica with her horse. They had to become almost one. Competing was a fifty-fifty proposition—if rider and horse aren’t in sync it affects their performance. She had to start Monica slowly. Monica would need hours to learn how to properly seat herself and steer the horse with minimal effort. Once they got that handled, she had to teach them unconditional trust and communication.
In the distance, in the shadow of an equipment shed, Sara Jane saw huddled figures talking. Thinking about last night’s break-in, she hesitated and took a deep breath. Then, with squared shoulders, she continued walking toward them. As she got closer, she recognized the men. What would Skeeter Hoag, a man interested in buying a large parcel of Ryan land, have in common with Hamm, a new and unproven young cowhand? As far as she knew, the only thing they had in common was they were both new to Texas. In his black leather duds, Skeeter looked more suited to riding Harleys than horses. Both men waved and smiled. Skeeter had asked Sara Jane to train a horse for him, but she hadn’t given him her answer.
He left Hamm and sauntered over to her, his spurs jingling as he walked. “Made up your mind?” he asked.
The jingle of his spiky spurs warned her not to jump into anything. She looked him squarely in the eyes and saw no evidence of kindness in the man. Kindness was necessary for handling horses properly. An uneasy feeling told her to not to reject him outright. “I just took on a blind client, and that’ll take up most of my time for the next few weeks until we get used to working together. Let me get back to you.”
Skeeter’s plastered-on smile faded. “Don’t wait too long.” His low, sinister monotone sounded like a threat. She forced a smile, and struggled to walk away from him at a normal pace. Once out of his sight, she quickened her steps.
****
Nick dodged the news crew that pulled up in a van in front of the ranch house. One of the reporters must have had a friend in the sheriff’s or coroner’s office who had spilled the beans about the murder and its possible link to the Honey Killer. He would let Matt handle them. His job was to keep a low profile and stick to Sara Jane.
He stayed out of sight and watched her. She was beautiful like a wild horse is beautiful. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His insides tightened, and his skin warmed another degree in the sweltering heat, plastering his shirt to his back. When she left the barn her stride had been brisk, her expression furious. Nick didn’t like the cocky stride of the man who had followed her out. Before Nick could weigh the implications of her encounter with that guy, another unlikely cowboy in black leather approached her. At first they seemed cordial, then her stance stiffened. Damn. Even on the ranch, she could find trouble. Imagine the opportunities when she left the safety of the compound. He shook his head. Why had he agreed to take her to town? It was too late now. He had given his word. If he could help it, he wouldn’t break it. Still, a cold uneasiness told him that taking her to Stampede Junction spelled disaster.
****
In the music room, a lovely rendition of “Clair de Lune” greeted Sara Jane. Monica had been her piano teacher a few years back. Sara Jane eased onto the bench beside her and joined in the melody, her fingers flowing across the cool keys.
Monica turned gray unseeing eyes on Sara Jane and smiled. “You’ve been practicing. Good girl.”
When they finished the duet, Sara Jane asked, “Ready to play with Vision?”
Rising, Monica laughed and said, “Is he ready for me?”
As they passed the stairway, Sara Jane glanced up. Had Nick gone back to bed? Maybe urban cowboys weren’t used to getting up before daylight, as did most ranch folks. She should talk—with her worries about the break-in and thoughts of Nick, she had tossed and turned until 3:00 a.m. and overslept.
Earlier, seeing Nick’s tangled sheets had given her a measure of satisfaction. She hated to admit she missed him. Well, she would get to see mo
re than enough of him when they went to Stampede Junction. Her heartbeat quickened. The time alone with him could present new problems. Trying to clear her mind of the image of them alone together, and the tension that even thoughts of their closeness aroused, she hurried Monica out of the ranch house and headed for the corral. Van stepped out of the shadows of a shed and blocked their way. His look challenged her.
“You want something?” Sara Jane asked, her patience dwindling.
He shed his wolfish leer and, as if going into an act, dug the toe of his scuffed boots into the dusty earth. “Mind if I tag along and watch?”
“Yes. What are you up to, anyway? Dad doesn’t pay you to follow me around.” She arched an eyebrow. “Does he?”
Van laughed. “No. Just takin’ a break.”
“Well, take it somewhere else.”
In a way, she wished she’d told her dad about Van when he first cornered her, but her father had warned her not to go into the barn alone, and she’d straight-out disobeyed him. Van would have lost his job, which at the time had seemed a high price to pay, since she’d escaped him. She had to admit her main reason for keeping quiet was the knowledge that her super-strict dad would have taken away more of her precious freedom. She hadn’t thought too much about the wisdom of the decision until the murder. The newspapers and media too often carried stories of rejected men who held onto their resentment for years—then snapped. Sara Jane rubbed her arms and looked around. Where the devil was her bodyguard?
She took a fortifying breath. “Come on, Monica.” Sara Jane tightened her grip on the blind woman’s elbow. “We have work to do—” She paused and met Van’s narrow-eyed glare, aiming the rest of the sentence at him. “—in the corral where there’s a pitchfork handy.”
Monica smiled as though sensing that the word pitchfork carried a warning to the cowpoke.
****
The session went better than Sara Jane could have dreamed. It had paid off that Monica’s parents had raised her around horses. It took very little time to teach Monica the proper sitting stance, head up, heels down.
