Her Sanctuary

by Toni Anderson

  The sharp tang of pine mixed with the rising scent of earth churned up by the horses’ hooves. They’d ridden for two hours straight in a loose circle around the north perimeter of the ranch. Now they were at the eastern-most edge of the property with the jagged mountains dominating the backdrop behind the trees. Fierce. Imposing. Cold.

  Shivering, she drew up her shoulders.

  Dense thickets of lodgepole pine blanketed the upper ridges with a dark-green cloak, stopping dramatically at the tree line, leaving the icy peaks with a scrubbed, clean look.

  Nat grabbed Tiger’s reins and pulled Elizabeth to a stop. With his finger pressed to his lips, he motioned for her to dismount. Elizabeth climbed down, withholding the drawn-out sigh of relief that usually accompanied the feel of solid ground beneath her feet after such a long time in the saddle.

  Nat motioned her to follow him as he approached the brush this side of the creek. Crouching low, she made her way along, careful not to tread in the mud puddles that had grown as the snow had melted.

  She inched between scrubby bushes and followed him as quietly as she could, curious as to what he had spotted across the creek. Reaching his side, she held her breath as he turned back towards her with a smile on his face and pointed through a mesh of tangled brambles towards the opposite bank.

  Elizabeth dragged her gaze away from his and spotted a tall doe standing guard over two fragile spotted fawns. The fawns’ legs were spindly, spread unevenly apart as they stood besides their mother who was drinking from the clean waters of the creek.

  Bambi’s mom.

  Elizabeth pressed closer to Nat, enjoyed the excuse to touch him without worry. The doe raised her head, her ears huge and pricked forward, listening for any hint of danger. Her nose quivered as it sifted the air for trouble, her liquid black eyes scanning the scrub, elegant, graceful and breathtakingly beautiful.

  One of the horses snorted and the deer darted into the undergrowth.

  “Wish I’d brought my camera,” Nat said, rising to his feet, and putting a hand to her waist when she nearly lost her footing in the mud. “Easy,” he said.

  Elizabeth looked up into his narrowed blue gaze and wished for one crazy moment, that she had the nerve to kiss him. Like a normal woman. Just for once, she’d like to pretend she was ordinary.

  Not rich.

  Not a target for a mob hit.

  Not a rape victim.

  His eyes darkened with molten heat, his grip tightened on her arm.

  “You gonna freak out if I kiss you?”

  She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his mouth as it lowered towards hers. Then she felt his breath just before his lips touched hers, slowly and gently, eking out a response that melted her bones. His hands cradled either side of her face, made her feel like she was the world and everything in it that mattered. She moaned and closed her eyes, her lips straining towards him.

  It was a gentle kiss and he probed her mouth lightly with his tongue. Feelings swamped and staggered her with the passion that swelled up and exploded.

  He raised his head and stared at her oddly.

  “Well,” he said, and took a half step away. “That sure beats the hell out of castrating cattle.”

  Elizabeth laughed. Startled by the sound, she looked away. She didn’t know the last time she’d felt this happy and that scared the hell out of her.

  “Talking of which, Ryan is going to skin me alive if we don’t get back soon, so I guess we’d better move it.” His voice sounded rough around the edges.

  He fetched the horses from where they grazed the undergrowth beside the creek, and with the slightest touch, he helped her mount. She wasn’t supposed to feel these bursts of anticipation, these little tingles of desire. She was as good as dead, her heart a lifeless weight inside her chest—but she felt them anyway and savored the uncertain tug of attraction and the bittersweet feeling of hope.

  ****

  New York City, April 12th

  Marsh took the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway to the Manhattan Bridge, crossed the East River through Chinatown and headed northwest. Passing the trendy craft shops and gaily-colored umbrellas, he turned into the old redbrick tenements on Grove St.

  He climbed out of his BMW, leaving it parked half on the sidewalk. It seemed a good area, tidy with neat little trees starting to bud, protected by green painted cast-iron scrolls. Black cast-iron trelliswork edged the building and numerous window boxes promised brilliant displays come summer.

  Marsh stood in the street, lighting a cigarette. He glanced around looking for anybody suspicious, anything out of the ordinary, but it was hard to tell in Greenwich Village. He walked up the front steps and pressed the buzzer for apartment four, looked up, and saw a face peering down at him from the balcony on the top floor. Unfortunately it wasn’t the face of a willowy blonde, but rather that of a young guy showing off his hard-earned fake tan, and wearing a black wife-beater T-shirt.

  Marsh’s smile turned deadly and he crushed out the cigarette with the heel of his shoe.

  “Yeah? What can I do for you?” a fuzzy voice came through the intercom.

  “I want to speak to Josephine Maxwell.”

  A slight hesitation, a telling pause. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”

  “You have a forwarding address?” Marsh’s voice was hard. He’d had a lousy day.

  “Sorry, pal, can’t help you.”

  Wrong answer.

  “Listen, pal,” Marsh’s voice rang like steel, his usually endless patience erased by the growing feeling of panic. “I want to speak to you about Josephine Maxwell and I don’t want to have to beat down the door to do it. Understand?”

  “Look man, I’m calling the cops.”

  “Don’t bother, I’m FBI and if I have to get a warrant to talk to you, I’m going to make your life a living hell.” Marsh waited. He could almost hear the wheels turning in the young man’s head. Come on, just open the goddamn door.

  The buzzer went off and Marsh pushed through the heavy outer doors and ran up the three-flights of stairs, adrenaline punching through his system. The young man stood by the open door of the apartment. Marsh ignored his spluttered protests and brushed past him into the lounge.

  The main room was large and almost blindingly bright. White walls reflected sunlight and huge skylights dominated the ceiling. Exposed oak beams supported the roof and plants flourished every shade of living green. Enormous canvases in vivid hues dominated three of the four walls. The fourth housed a walk-in fireplace that was simple but elegant.

  He crossed the polished oak floor and stared up at one of the paintings. It was a fascinating twist of wreathing color, each one melding and evolving like a spirit. It spoke of fire and passion. Smoke and mystery. He found the signature in the bottom right-hand corner. J. Maxwell stood out in neat, stark lines.

  Another contradiction.

  Marsh turned his attention back to the young man who stood behind him. He couldn’t say why he’d taken such an instant dislike; maybe it was his pretty boy good looks, or maybe it was the over-sculpted body and trendy black jeans trussed up with a leather belt studded with silver. Whatever it was, he hated the little bastard.

  Marsh nodded toward the picture. “Where is she?”

  The young man closed the door and followed Marsh into the lounge, glancing toward a room off to the right.

  “She’s not here.” The tone was petulant. “I’m just apartment sitting while she’s away.”

  “Did she say how long she’d be gone?”

  The young man shrugged his pecs. “I’m just staying till this semester is over.”

  Again, that suspicious glance to the room on the right. Someone was in that room. Marsh walked over to the fireplace and picked up a framed photograph that caught his eye. It was a black and white of two young women sitting on a dock beside a quaint looking boathouse. Josephine and Elizabeth. Marsh thought of the squalid apartment where Josephine Maxwell had grown up, the contrast with this one like looking at night and
day.

  He was beginning to appreciate the bond forged between the two women, but that didn’t help him to find Elizabeth. They both needed protection and the danger grew every day as the mob trials drew closer. He didn’t want Elizabeth killed, nor did he want Josephine Maxwell punished for being her friend.

  Ignoring the shout from lover-boy, he strode through the bedroom door, expecting to find a stunning willowy blonde in hiding. The person lying naked on the bed was blond all right, but he wasn’t quite as beautiful as Josephine Maxwell. The guy was handcuffed to the bedposts and didn’t look awfully pleased to see Marsh standing there.

  With great aplomb, he said in a beautifully cultured British accent, “Be a love would you and get the keys? These bloody things are killing me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tiger’s haunches bunched and swayed as Elizabeth and Nat made their way down the embankment. Elizabeth leaned back, held tightly to the raised pommel, clinging with her legs. She’d enjoyed herself today, had even managed to stay on the horse, so far. Grabbing a branch, she superstitiously touched wood, just as her mother had always done when she’d asked for trouble.

  Elizabeth concentrated on staying on Tiger’s back and barely noticed the route they took. The land leveled out, trees thinned and spread across a wide glade, quaking aspens replaced the pines.

  Nat stopped his horse, stepped down and scouted about as if looking for something on the lush valley floor.

  Elizabeth watched him and knew that with every second she spent in his company, she was falling for him, hard, like a meteor plummeting to earth. He cast a spell on her that she couldn’t break. It wasn’t just the good looks or the tough rangy body, though God knew they fueled her fantasies. It was that solid core of strength, rolled up beneath a subtle layer of tenderness and painted with honesty. Two weeks ago she hadn’t even known he’d existed, but now she craved him with every cell in her body.

  Fear of his touch was gone. Dissolved like a sugar-cube in water by each subtle glance, each fleeting contact, each soul shattering kiss. Hope grew in her heart; a feeling that she couldn’t quell even though it was dangerous. Even though it could kill her.

  She had to run before her luck ran out.

  But she couldn’t leave yet.

  Nat shouted, breaking into her thoughts. “Hey, come over here.” He held his hand out to one side as she approached him. “Watch your step.”

  Hunkered down, balanced on the soles of his battered cowboy boots, he stared at a small mound of vegetation that encrusted a rotted stump.

  “What is it?” she asked and peered closer at the innocuous-looking plant.

  “One of the smallest orchids in the world. Venus’ slippers.” He scanned the surrounding area for more. “Whole wood’ll be full of them in a few weeks time.”

  She leaned closer and tried to take in the detail of the pouty little flower. She’d never thought of orchids coming from the Rockies; they’d always struck her as expensive hothouse plants in need of fussing and nurture.

  Nat touched her; his calloused fingers gliding along her forearm, making the fine hairs rise up on end. She shivered at the contact, but it felt warm and good and normal.

  Blue eyes were shadowed beneath his hat. “They burst into flower late spring and then in the summer they disappear.” He snapped his fingers. “Like they were never here.”

  Nat looked down at the orchids, an unreadable expression on his face and she knew, like the orchid, she was going to disappear. But he wasn’t a mind reader and she couldn’t afford to confide in him. It was too dangerous...the mob didn’t play games. All that mattered to them was life, death or payback. Rising to her feet, she swayed as she tried not to look guilty.

  “Watch your step.” Nat reached out and caught her arm just as she was about to tread on another small plant. “They’re endangered because photographers and naturalists keep trampling them in their search of the perfect shot.” He gave her a slanted smile. “One of life’s little ironies.”

  Nat shrugged shoulders that looked massive in his thick coat. They stood like that for a few seconds, his hand firm, but gentle on her wrist. Then he gave her a searching glance before he released her, removed his hat and rubbed a hand through his flaxen hair.

  He was going to ask her about her past—she knew it as surely as she knew her own name.

  The reprieve was over.

  ****

  “You’re lucky to live in such a beautiful place.” Her hair danced in the wind as she moved away and gazed out at the valley stretched out below.

  She was avoiding him again.

  “It’s for sale.” The words squeezed past the lump of pride that lodged in his throat. “This whole wood goes up for auction in a few days time.” He looked around the forest that had been in his family for five generations and forced a laugh. It came out bitter and angry. And he was pissed that he felt sorry for himself. So they might have to sell off some land? Big fucking deal. They were hanging on with their fingernails, and he for one had no intention of letting go.

  And he’d make damned sure the wildlife people knew that the orchids were in this valley after the sale went through. Whoever bought the land would have to build around the protection zones that would be put in place. But that wouldn’t be his problem.

  Not anymore.

  If his plan made him unethical, tough. He could live with it as long as he could protect the land and keep his family from sliding into bankruptcy.

  “Why?” Eliza asked. “Why would you want to sell it?”

  “I don’t want to sell, Eliza, I have to.” His anger came out hot and loud. “If we don’t sell these woods, we’ll lose the whole goddamned ranch.” His voice echoed across the valley floor and Eliza’s uncontrolled flinch had him turning his back, frustrated and unable to hide it.

  Shit.

  Land was the only commodity he had that could generate sufficient funds fast enough to save the ranch. But it was like cutting out his own heart.

  And he was taking out his anger on Eliza.

  Damn.

  He scrubbed calloused hands across his face. She may as well hear the whole of it. She affected him. He wanted her in his bed, but she wouldn’t stay and he didn’t want her to, because he had nothing to offer her.

  Nor did he completely trust her. Her secrets were stacking up against her like little black marks, but he still wanted her. Turning to face her, he saw she had carefully blanked expression. He’d hurt her feelings.

  Guilt made him curse under his breath.

  “We’ve got two-hundred grand’s worth of debt hanging over the ranch and time’s running out on the repayments.” A Saker Falcon hovered over a nearby thicket, pinned to the sky in its hunt for the next meal. “If we don’t come up with the money real soon, we’re finished.” Nat looked down at his boots and kicked a stone out of the grass.

  “Is this the neighbor who’s trying to force you out?” Eliza asked. She must have been talking to Ryan.

  He nodded. How could he doubt it? At first he’d thought Troy Strange just wanted his Arabians. Now he figured Troy’s wife, Marlena, was spinning tales. Women sometimes had a piece missing. He’d seen it often enough to recognize the breed. They got what they wanted using sex and if they weren’t leading a man around by his dick—they punished him. Nina had been the same, he hadn’t even realized till afterwards. She’d controlled him with sex, blinded him with lust. He glanced at Eliza and found her watching him, earnestly, but he wasn’t going to fall for that trap again. His lips twisted cynically.

  “Can’t you expand the holiday business?” Her green eyes lured him as she held her hair out of her eyes with one hand on top of her head, “or run photography courses, nature trails?”

  Nat wasn’t stupid. He had a ton of ideas for expanding the ranch vacations; photography, fishing, livery, but there wasn’t enough time to turn a profit. He told her about his plans, watched her mull over the problem in silence.

  “I could give you money,” she offered.r />
  Nat nearly fell on his ass. He hadn’t expected that.

  “No.” The woman had two hundred grand to give out to strangers? “Hell, no!”

  She looked down at her boots. Nat thought he saw a shimmer in her eyes, but it was gone when she looked up at him.

  “I just thought—”

  “No. We’d better head back,” Nat shook his head. He’d had enough of talking about his problems. Talk solved nothing and there was no way he would borrow money from Eliza Reed.

  What the hell did he know about her anyway?

  She was beautiful, and rich apparently, could sharp-shoot and fight dirty. She’d told him she was in law-enforcement, but she’d been damaged along the way. He started to walk away. Remembered that look in her eyes last night when she’d pulled the gun on him. The utter desolation and the nightmares.

  Did he really want to get involved with Eliza Reed? A woman as dangerous to his heart as Nina had ever been?

  Nat stopped and let her move ahead of him. As he followed her back to the horses, he couldn’t help but notice the way the soft denim of her jeans clung to her long legs. He imagined those same legs wrapped around his hips...

  Oh yeah, he wanted to get involved all right. He wanted to get very involved.

  He liked the way she moved. He liked the way she kissed. He’d wanted this time alone with her to gain her trust and he was slowly prying his way beneath the surface, finally seeing behind the mask that slipped over those wide green eyes whenever he got too close. He was learning to read her body language. Not just the signs of physical attraction, but the subtle things, like the way she dragged her hands through her hair when she was frustrated and twisted the ring on her pinkie when she got nervous. And the way she unconsciously bit her bottom lip when she watched him.

  Heat kicked uncomfortably into his groin, but he ignored it.

  The woman had a past. She was paranoid enough to sleep with a gun under her pillow and flinched at the slightest touch. She sure as hell didn’t need him or his problems. But still he wanted her.