by Brook Wilder
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m under lock-down here. Next thing you know I’ll be locked up in a jail cell at the sheriff’s office.”
Elsie rolled her eyes. “Please! You know you can talk your dad around on anything.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rachael sighed. “Well, I gotta go. I’m not even supposed to make any calls. I just needed to talk to another real live human being besides my perfect twin sister.”
“Goodnight, Rae. Be nice to Hannah.”
“You know I love her, it just… it’s hard, you know? Always being the screw up. Always being compared to her.”
“I know. You got this, though. You are amazing, Rae. That’s why you’re my best friend.”
“You’re pretty amazing yourself. Bye!”
Before Elsie could get anything else out, Rachael had already hung up the phone. She tried to put her friend’s problems out of her head. Knowing Rachael, she would wriggle her way out of it and be back in her dad’s good graces before sundown tomorrow. She had a way of charming people into forgetting what sort of trouble she’d gotten into.
With a sigh, Elsie pulled up the program that mapped where all the trackers were for the cattle, still thinking about the three that had gone missing earlier in the day. A frown wrinkled her otherwise smooth forehead when she finally located them. There they sat, in a cluster near the southernmost point of the ranch’s property. And they weren’t moving.
Elsie watched the flashing dots for a long while, waiting for any sign of movement, but after a half hour she knew something was wrong. Maybe they were sick. Maybe they’d gotten into some plant that they shouldn’t have while out grazing and needed help. She glanced down at her watch. It was almost midnight. She could make it out there in about under an hour and be back before her daddy realized that she was gone. Besides, anything was better than replaying his words over and over again in her head.
She hastily threw on the same dirt-stained shirt that she’d worn all day. Out of habit, she grabbed the straw hat that she always wore when she was out in the field, taking the time to tuck her long, golden blonde hair up inside it so it wouldn’t get in her way. She looked at the revolver on her table for a second but decided against it. It’d be a quick trip out anyways. A moment later, she was sneaking out the back door. Her father was still enclosed in his office, oblivious as he ran through what Elsie knew would be an inexhaustible list of numbers and figures.
It took fifteen minutes to get Goat saddled once more and another five before she was trotting out over the rolling expanse of the ranch towards the spot where she’d spotted the unmoving trackers. Elsie had a feeling that they would still be there and just hoped that she had whatever she needed to help them. She had some antibiotics and some natural painkillers in the rucksack she had slung over her shoulder. She just hoped she’d get there in time to save them.
There was a moment of doubt as she drew near the spot, and Elsie wondered if she shouldn’t have just given in and called Dr. Compton, but then she stopped herself. She cared more about the animals than that old grouch. She knew each one by name, had been there for nearly all of their births. He did not.
Minutes later she pulled Goat to a stop on the top of the rise where the GPS had shown the cows to be, but as she scanned the empty area a feeling of unease settled over her. There were no cows.
In fact, there wasn’t anything at all.
A coyote’s sharp howl broke through the darkness that settled around her and Elsie flinched, jerking on the reins in startled reaction. Goat turned instantly, following her unconscious command, snorting his displeasure at the sharp tug. She patted him on the neck and had just opened her mouth to apologize to the offended horse when, suddenly, something big came barreling towards her. All she could get out before it reached her was a strangled shriek of panic. Her hand flew instinctively to her hip where her revolver would be, and her heart stopped in her throat when she grabbed nothing but the empty night air.
Elsie pulled hard on the reins once more and Goat, in his typical disagreeable way, whinnied loudly before launching his two front hooves into the air. She lost her grip on the reins as Goat bucked wildly. Her world tilted and the last thing she saw before flying off Goat’s back was a broad shouldered, tattoo-covered man with piercing dark eyes rushing towards her on the back of a massive horse.
Chapter 3
“Fuck!” Hatchet bit off the curse as he saw the startled gelding pawing at the air, its eyes rolling so wildly that he could see the whites around the edges. That was when he saw the rider—the same farmhand he’d tracked earlier—fly off the saddle. Hatchet didn’t realize he was moving until he was already off his own horse and leaping forwards, his arms outstretched in front of him.
He reached the young man just in time, catching the farm hand a bare handful of inches from the ground. Hatchet released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
This is the last fucking thing I needed, he thought to himself as he glanced around the otherwise empty field. He’d just gotten the cattle tied up and ready to go after removing the trackers when he’d heard a sound coming from this direction. Thinking it might be another stray cow, he’d ridden back in a hurry. He hadn’t planned on running into another person all the way out here. Not at this time of night.
He glanced down and all the breath that had just left his lungs came right back in again on a sharp intake. What the hell?
The big brimmed straw hat had gotten knocked loose in the fall and wave after silken wave of golden blonde hair fell over his arm. Hatchet had to blink his eyes in the dark several times to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating. But no. He wasn’t. The soft honey-colored waves were definitely real, and as he leaned closer he could just make out the outline of wide cheekbones, a pert nose, and a pair of way-too-kissable lips pouting up at him.
“What the fuck!” he cursed again and realized instantly that the body he held pressed against him could never, ever have belonged to a man. There were way too many soft curves and entrancing peaks and valleys to be anything other than a woman’s. His own body reacted instantly, and inconveniently, and Hatchet nearly cursed again. But a soft voice stopped him. Her voice.
“Th–thank you,” her breath whispered against his face.
“Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart,” he replied with a thick drawl. His twang always grew heavier when he was aroused and there was no doubt in his mind that holding her fine form in his arms was wreaking havoc on his own body, not to mention stalling his mental faculties altogether.
Hatchet stared down at her for another long moment, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the scrawny farm hand he’d seen earlier had actually been this gorgeous woman the whole time. He couldn’t believe that he’d been so god-damned wrong.
Shake it off man. You’ve got a job to do and it sure as hell isn’t ogling this beautiful stranger in the dark. The warning rattled through his brain and it took Hatchet a few more seconds than normal to finally heed it. Reluctantly, he pulled back just enough so that he could look down at her fully, examining her for any injuries he might have been too slow to prevent.
“You okay, baby?” The endearment slipped out too easily at the end of the question and shock froze him for a moment.
“I-I’m fine, I think.” The woman narrowed her eyes at him, “You may have saved my life, mister, and I’m grateful for that. I truly am. But that does not make me your baby.”
“So, you’re someone else’s baby then?” Hatchet asked, and then nearly punched himself in the forehead. Where the hell had that question come from. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Not that it’s any of your damn business,” the spitfire said, still glaring up at him before letting out a sigh and rubbing her temple with one hand. “But no.
Hatchet chose not to look too deeply at the sense of relief he felt at her answer and instead focused on the woman, who was now grimacing slightly, still laid out with his arms around her.
“Hey, you su
re you’re alright?” he asked worriedly. Part of his worry was for her health, but the other part was all selfish. He still had the cattle waiting and he couldn’t afford to take her to a hospital. The nearest one was clear out in Chester’s Point. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t have her opening her sweet mouth about him.
“I told you I’m fine,” she said with a rough edge to her honeyed voice. Suddenly, she looked around her. “Where’s Goat? Is Goat okay?”
“Goat…?” Hatchet cocked an eyebrow. Maybe she’d hit her head harder than he thought after all.
“Yeah, Goat,” she insisted again, pushing herself up enough to sit and point at the horse that she’d been thrown from, the same horse that was now contentedly grazing just a few yards away.
Hatchet felt a pang of regret at the loss of her in his arms but, at the moment, he was more worried about her. Maybe she’d got a little scrambled in the fall. He sure as fuck hoped so because, with every passing second, he realized that he couldn’t just let her leave. She’d seen his face. She could ID him in a lineup. And he sure as hell wasn’t up to babysitting a crazy person until he could figure out what to do with her.
His mind instantly conjured up several, incredibly appealing things he would be more than happy to do with her, but he shoved the images to the back of his mind, forcing himself to stay focused.
“Sweetheart… that’s a horse,” he finally said, trying to keep his voice gentle, all the while aware that he was running out of time. They couldn’t just stay there out in the open like that.
The blonde beauty rolled her big eyes in his direction. It was too dark to tell their color, but he saw that gesture, no problem.
“I know it’s a horse,” she snapped. “The horse’s name is Goat.”
“Funny name for a horse,” Hatchet said.
“Funny, maybe. But he looks just fine and that means I can get going.” She started to rise but he stopped her.
“Go?” Hatchet shook his head as he spoke. “I don’t think you understand yet, lady. You aren’t going anywhere, except with me.”
“What the hell?” She jerked her body away from him and Hatchet regretted what he was about to do. In his experience, women didn’t really like being told what to do. And they especially didn’t like being tied up and thrown over the back of a horse, but that was exactly what was about to happen.
“Come on, sweetheart. It’s gonna be a whole hell of a lot easier on you if you don’t struggle.”
“Struggle?” She hissed out the word, staring at him wide eyed. “I’m not about to let you take me anywhere, mister.”
“It’s not ‘mister’. It’s Hatchet.”
“Oh, that’s real reassuring, Hatchet.” She snorted as she said it. “What sort of name is that anyway?”
“What sort of name is Goat for a horse?” Hatchet shot back.
“This is ridiculous. I’m going home.”
“I’m afraid you’re not, darlin’,” Hatchet sighed, reaching out to grab her arms. That’s when the hollering started.
“Let go of me right now, you… you… insane person! What the hell do you think you’re doing! You have no right to…” Her angry stream of words cut off abruptly as Hatchet reluctantly shoved the bandana he had in his back pocket in her mouth, quickly tying it securely behind her head.
“I really am sorry about that, sweetheart, but you’re being awfully loud and I can’t afford you bringing any attention out here.”
Shocked by the gag, she just stared up at him with those big eyes. He cursed the darkness, suddenly needing to know just what shade they were. Get your fucking head in the game, Hatchet. You’re no Romeo and this fine female form sure as hell ain’t your Juliet.
The mental scolding had Hatchet moving quickly, tying her hands together behind her back so she couldn’t move. His hands on her arms kept her from bolting but it did nothing to protect him from the glare she cast over her shoulder at him.
Slowly, as gently as he could, Hatchet patted her down. Running his hands down the side of her ribcage, he marveled at her tiny waist, easily encircling it with his two hands. Halfway through the search, he didn’t notice his touch slowing to almost a caress as he swept his palms up and down her soft body. For a long moment, he lost himself in the feel of her, barely remembering what he’d been doing in the first place.
With a jolt, he pulled his hands away from her, but his palms were still tingling and the unexpected – and damned unwanted – attraction was still making itself known in the tightening in his pants. Hatchet shook his head, cursing himself for a fool, and forced himself to keep his focus on the job ahead of him instead of the delectably curvy woman. It was harder than it should have been.
Quickly, he finished the pat down, finding only her cell phone. He threw it on the ground behind him and ignored her gasp of outrage. It was muffled by the gag, but it did nothing to dilute the glare she was shooting at him now.
“What the hell am I going to do with you?” Hatchet whispered the question out loud, but no answer came, just that furious glare and her soft skin glowing pale and luminescent in the moonlight. It was the only light besides the stars that twinkled down at them and, before he could second guess himself, he was pulling her to her feet and sweeping her up in his arms like some damned white knight. More like black knight, Hatchet thought to himself. He was definitely not the hero of this story and, from the looks of it, the woman now wriggling against his arms was no damsel in distress.
He looked down at her then, struck by a vague familiarity as he tried to make out more of her features in the dark. But after a moment he gave up. Jackrabbit’s out there waiting for me and the cattle, and I’m just standing here drooling over a dirty but beautiful farm hand.
With one final look around him, Hatchet carried her over to his horse. With a bit of maneuvering, was able to get the woman on the saddle before leaping up to sit behind her. Hatchet breathed in sharply as the back of her body fused against the front of his and her hips nestled tight in the open vee of his own. Hatchet cursed silently again at the delicious feel of her.
Damn it, maybe this is a bad idea after all, he thought as he heeled his horse to a trot. He had to gather the cattle and get back to Jackrabbit fast, before he did something really stupid.
***
What is happening to me? This can’t be real. This just can’t be real. But, as Elsie watched the ranch disappear behind her, she knew just how real it was. Her hands were bound tightly and the stale taste of the fabric gagged her mouth. She’d been kidnapped. Of all the ridiculous, annoying, bothersome things to have happen to her, she had one more to add to the list. Elsie McLaurel – kidnap victim.
It wasn’t something she’d ever thought would be added to her resume, but she had to admit that the man sitting snugly behind her on the large stallion wasn’t like any kidnapper she knew. Not that she knew many or any personally, if she was being honest. The only kidnapping she’d ever seen was on the big screen. But if this had been a movie, he’d be scary and mean—terrifying her, threatening her. Instead he’d been… gentle, if tying up a woman and dragging her off to god knows where could ever be gentle.
And there had been something else there too. Maybe it was just because, even in the dark, she had seen his dark eyes burning over her skin, or the fact that he’d towered over her, or the fact that he was more handsome than sin, all wrapped up in a bad boy package that had her body going haywire. But when he touched her while he was binding her wrists together with the rope, his hands had lingered longer than they needed to and a spark of electricity had shot through her. It was something she’d never felt before and something—damn her soul to hell and back—she desperately wanted to feel again.
What the hell is wrong with me? I should be fighting. I should be doing something! But she didn’t. And that worried her far more than the man currently riding in the saddle behind her.
She’d always been cautious, careful. Too careful according to Rachael. But right then, at that moment in the
darkness, with the feel of a stranger’s hand—big and hot and heavy—against her waist, she felt anything but cautious. For the first time in her life, Elsie McLaurel felt reckless.
What was worse, she liked it.
That was it. Maybe she really had lost her marbles when Goat had bucked her from the saddle. Maybe she’d hit her head, and this was all some big hallucination. Yep, that’s it. That’s the only reasonable answer for all of this. That was the only solution that made sense. She’d finally gone off the deep end.
Elsie held that thought tightly as her captor—Hatchet if he could be believed—rode confidently through a dark forested area. She had to admit that he knew his way around a horse, the large stallion responding easily to his deft touch on the reins. It made her wonder what else he had a deft touch with. The thought left her cheeks burning so hot that for a split second she was glad of the darkness.
