by Jo Barrett
“Oh, Granny’s quilt,” she said, gently lifting it from the floor where it lay in a ball. Carefully, she unwound the fabric and found a few rips here and there.
“He’ll be right over,” Jackson said. He moved to stand beside her. “Can you fix it?”
Her fingers brushed across the faded fabric, as memories of curling beneath it while Grandpa told one of his fish stories flashed through her mind. “I think so.”
He brushed a kiss to her temple. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. We’ll find out who did this. We’ll make it right.”
She looked at him and nodded, having very little to say that wouldn’t bring new tears to her eyes.
“Let’s see if I can set some of this furniture back in place.” He moved to her grandfather’s old desk and wrestled it back to its feet.
She moved to the corner beside it and lifted a drawer still half filled with fishing lures her grandfather had made. It was sort of his hobby.
“Why would someone do this? Why—” She stilled and looked at him. “Are you thinking the same thing I am?” she asked.
“Morgan,” they said in unison.
“Looks like he’s trying to scare you out now,” he said, as he put one of the drawers back in place.
She shook her head and slid the last drawer not broken back in place. “But he has to know he’ll be the prime suspect.”
Jackson shook his head as he placed his hands on his narrow hips. “You’d think so, but if he paid some drifter to do some dirty work, he could potentially get away with it.”
Chapter Seven
The sheriff asked questions and took notes for more than an hour. They’d walked the entire house and found the upstairs to be only partially wrecked. Jackson suggested that they’d not had enough time to do a thorough trashing with his arrival.
Once they finished walking over every inch, Clare made a pot of tea, and they sat at the kitchen table while they went over the events of the afternoon several more times.
“So you both think that Morgan is behind this,” the sheriff said.
Clare put down her cup with a nod. “It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
Jackson placed his hand on her wrist. “Wait a minute, sweetheart.”
The sheriff cocked his head. “You got another theory?”
Jackson looked at Clare, then back at the sheriff. “There is a man from Clare’s past that could be involved.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “You think Mark did this? Why?”
“I don’t know that he is. But he abused you, and from what I’ve heard, men like that don’t let go easily.”
The sheriff looked Clare straight in the eye. “I want his full name and his last location.”
“Sheriff, it’s not Mark,” she said.
“Name,” he said, not taking her denial for an answer.
She got to her feet with a huff. “It’s ludicrous to think it’s him.” She went to the stove and refilled her cup. “He doesn’t even know where I live.”
Jackson came up behind her and steadied the tea pot shaking in her hand. “Clare, he has to be checked out.”
“I need to check every possible avenue,” the sheriff added. “I can’t just jump on Morgan because you two have had words.”
She looked up at Jackson’s handsome face, and he gave a half nod. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “His name is Mark Cutter. He lives, or lived on Bay Wood Drive in Los Angeles. The way he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s moved again.”
“He moved around a lot?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes. He’s always looking for a better place. Each one more impressive than the last. Something about charming his clients, or some such BS.”
She took a long sip of her tea and burned her tongue, but she didn’t care. It was better than talking about Mark. Anything was better than talking about him, especially if he really was behind the break-in. He wouldn’t be happy with her disappearance, and that thought sent a chill down her spine.
The sheriff got to his feet. “Okay, that’s enough for me to go on.” Jackson and Clare walked him to the door, and he paused. “Are you staying here tonight?” he asked Clare.
She nodded as she wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s my home. I’m not leaving.” No matter how scared she was.
The sheriff looked to Jackson.
“And I’m staying with her,” Jackson said.
Clare’s gaze jumped to Jackson as a zing shot through her at that statement. She knew he didn’t mean that he’d be sleeping in her bed, but it still made her stomach do a flip.
“Call if you hear anything or think of anything else,” the sheriff said as he left.
Jackson shut and bolted the door behind him. “Let me call Kyle and let him know what’s going on,” Jackson said. “Then I’ll cook up those steaks you’ve got sitting in the fridge.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said with a rush. “I’ve got my gun. I can take care of myself.”
He grinned. “You certainly can. But nothing short of Armageddon is going to get me out of this house. And besides, it will take both of us to get this place back in shape.”
Her shoulders fell. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been at the thought of spending the night alone. She had to sleep, not that she’d be able to, but all she had to do was fall asleep, and she’d be vulnerable.
She shoved her hands in her jean pockets. “I would say I’m sorry you got involved in all this, but I’d be lying.”
He winked at her, then put his cellphone to his ear. “Hey big brother. Just wanted you to know I won’t be home tonight. No, nothing like that. Something’s come up.”
Clare went about preparing dinner, her mind buzzing with all that had happened.
Jackson appeared beside her and told her how Kyle was spitting bullets and wanted to charge over to Morgan’s and punch his lights out.
“No love lost between them, I take it,” she said.
“Can’t stand one another.” He took the steaks and placed them on the old griddle on the stove. “I’d do these outside, but that grill is ready for the dump.”
“Grandpa was probably the last to use it. Granny and I tried to keep it simple.” She hesitated, the carrots she’d cut for the salad sitting on the chopping block. “Jackson, do you really think it’s Mark?”
He came up behind her and gave her a gentle hug. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to take any chances.”
She nodded and resumed her work on the salad.
They talked over dinner, mostly about the break-in, but very little about what they’d intended to discuss from their earlier conversation.
Once they finished dinner, did the dishes, those that hadn’t been smashed, they began to clean up the rest of the house.
“Although my gut tells me it was probably not your ex, I think it was still a good idea to tell the sheriff about him,” Jackson said, after he’d tried to put one of the desk drawers back together without success.
“I know. It’s just I’d hoped that part of my life could stay in the past.”
He looked up from her grandfather’s old chair. “It will be when this is all over. And I think too, that you might feel better after the sheriff runs a check on him.”
She sighed with a nod, the broom still in her hands. “You’re right. It will be better to know a little more.” She moved to the closet and put the broom away with a yawn.
“Why don’t you go up to bed? You’re exhausted,” Jackson said.
She stifled another yawn. “Okay. But I don’t think I’ll sleep.”
He grinned. “Give it a try. I’ll be right here should you need me, or if anything happens.”
She cast him a small smile then went upstairs to bed. The minute she lay down, however, her eyes popped wide open and sleep refused to come.
****
It was hard to watch Clare disappear up the stairs and not follow her. After the terror that had ripped through him that evening at the sight of the fron
t door busted open, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a big soft bed and hold on to her forever.
According to his mother, the Chase men had a tendency to fall hard and fast for the right woman. Which explained why he hadn’t ever actually proposed to Brittany. He’d eased into a relationship with her, convincing himself she was the one for him. Maybe, when he thought about it, that was why she left. Maybe she knew they weren’t right for one another from the beginning.
However it happened, he’d finally found the right woman. And he planned on keeping her safe.
With that thought, he noted the late hour and decided to make a few rounds around the house. Make sure everything was as it should be. He hadn’t expected on being overtaken by a couple of guys hell bent on beating him to a pulp.
Without a word, they hammered him, over and over. When Jackson finally had trouble getting back to his feet, one of them said, “Leave. Or else.”
“Afraid I can’t do that,” he replied, and spit out the blood pooling in his mouth.
He hated it was so damn dark he couldn’t make out their faces. He didn’t think he’d ever seen them before, but with sweat and dirt in his eyes, the night sky overcast with thick clouds, one of them could’ve been his brother and he doubted he’d know it.
The one that spoke nodded to the other. That’s when the silent one produced an axe handle.
Bracing for the blow, trying to think how the hell he was going to get out of this alive, a shot rang out.
Chapter Eight
Clare helped Jackson into the house and onto the couch. She set the rifle aside and ran to the kitchen. In seconds she returned with an ice pack and a towel.
As she wiped the dirt and blood from his face, she sighed. “What in the world am I going to do with you?”
He grinned beneath her ministrations. “Look at it this way, at least you finally got to shoot somebody.”
“That isn’t funny,” she said, and smacked his chest, and he winced. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, with a rough chuckle. “I’m just glad you’re a good shot.”
She nodded. “Grandpa taught me. I guess he knew it would make me feel better if I knew how to protect myself. Did you get a look at them?”
“No. Did you?”
“No. In seconds they’d disappeared into the woods beside the drive. I couldn’t even see where to shoot. I did hear a car start up though.”
He nodded. “No way to tell then, if they came from nearby or not.”
“Sit still while I go get the first aid kit. You could use a few bandages.”
“Later.” He rose to his feet with a groan. A few too many well placed blows to the ribs, but he didn’t think any were broken. Bruised for sure, but not broken. That axe handle would’ve probably done the job, though.
“Where are you going? What are you going to do?”
“I need to check on some things,” he said.
“Outside?” He nodded, and she cursed beneath her breath. “No, Jackson. You’re not going back out there.”
“I have to. There’s no telling what they were doing.”
“I’ll tell you, they were here to kill you, and they very nearly did.”
He took her hand from where it clutched at his coat. “You can watch my back with your gun. Maybe you’ll get to take another shot,” he said with a wink.
“Jackson—”
He lifted his hands rested them on her shoulders. “I’ll be fine,” he said, then pecked a kiss on the tip of her nose, then turned to the door.
“You’re not going out there alone.” She rushed to the closet and grabbed her coat. “I’m going with you.”
He gave a nod, knowing he couldn’t stop her if he tried.
She handed him her rifle and snatched up a shotgun for herself.
They took a slow and careful tour around the yard. He found his flashlight on the ground where they’d jumped him and flicked it on. When they reached the side of the barn around midnight, it started to snow, covering fresh tire tracks.
“Looks like a truck or maybe an SUV. We need to call the sheriff and let him know what happened,” Jackson said.
“Do you think they were planning on breaking in again?” she asked, and he heard the faint quiver in her voice.
He slipped his arm around her, and liked how she settled in against him as if they’d been together forever. “I don’t know. But they’re gone now, and they know you’re not alone. They also know you’re a crack shot,” he said, with a gentle squeeze.
“That’s not something I thought I’d ever have to do,” she said with a shiver.
“You did what you had to, and I for one, am grateful.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “I couldn’t let them kill you.”
“I don’t think that was their intention.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek, wiping away a lingering snowflake.
“I couldn’t take that chance,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
There was no stopping himself. He’d been working up to it with small kisses here and there, but they’d been almost brotherly. A press of lips to her forehead, her temple, and just a few moments ago, the tip of her nose. It was time to show her he wanted to be much more to her than a friend or neighbor.
“I don’t want to rush you into anything, but I’ve got to kiss you, so remember that I’m already wounded,” he teased, as he lowered his head.
His lips met hers with a soft, tentative touch. Anything more, and he feared he might frighten her, or drive her away. But she surprised him and leaned into his kiss with a sigh. With a slip of his tongue along the edges of her lips, she opened to him, and he found the sweetness he’d been craving.
But he had to hold back, not go too fast, and they still had to deal with the men who’d attacked him and whoever broke into the house.
As much as he hated to do it, he pulled back just a bit, leaving his lips against hers, and whispered, “It’s after midnight.”
She brushed her lips back and forth, over his mouth with a murmur. “And it’s snowing.”
He pulled her tighter against him, ignoring his bruised ribs as she tormented him. “Are you cold?”
“Mmm, not at all,” she said, continuing to tease his lips with her own.
But what had happened that day, the danger she could be in rushed to the forefront of his mind. “We should go inside and call the sheriff,” he said.
She sighed and broke the connection, but remained nestled in his arms. “You’re right. It stinks, but you’re right.”
He chuckled and walked her back to the house with his arm still wrapped around her. When this business was settled, they had some serious talking to do. After tasting her sweet lips, he knew without a doubt that they were meant for one another.
****
It was after one o’clock in the morning when the sheriff arrived, and the snow had covered the tracks they were able to find.
With a weary sigh, the sheriff shook his head at Clare’s offered cup of hot coffee. “I’ll check the hospitals for a gunshot wound, but I have a feeling nothing’s going to turn up.”
Jackson gave his best description, size, build, but that was about all.
“I still think it was Morgan,” Jackson said.
“We still need some proof,” the sheriff said with a shake of his head.
“Would a sick ranch hand be proof enough?” Clare asked.
Both men looked at her with a puzzled frown.
“Well, you said you didn’t think they’d show up at the hospital,” she said. “So if Morgan has a sick ranch hand, my bet would be he’s the one I shot.”
The sheriff nodded with a small grin. “I’ll make sure to check on that.”
After the sheriff left, they sat on the couch for several minutes in silence. There was no use going up to bed, Clare knew she’d not sleep a wink now.
She leaned forward and set her cup down on the coffee table. “I’m still trying to figure out why this ranch would be so i
mportant to Morgan that he’d go to such extremes.”
“Morgan is a narcissistic ass. He’d sell his own mother just so he could be the biggest rancher in the county.”
She sat back and pulled her legs beneath her as she gathered her grandmother’s quilt around her. “Yes, but doesn’t it all seem a bit extreme?”
He nodded, then laid his head against the couch, his arm stretched out across its back, his eyes closed. “Who knows what he thinks is extreme?”
She rested her cheek against the couch and watched him. He was bone-tired. He deserved his rest after all he’d done for her, all that he’d been through for her.
And she was falling in love with him, even though she knew she shouldn’t. Not so soon, or so quickly, but she couldn’t stop herself.
One of his eyes opened, and he smiled without lifting his head.
“Come here,” he said, wiggling his fingers where they almost touched her shoulder.
Without a second thought, she scooted across the couch, covered them both with the quilt, then placed her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his battered cheek against the top of her head and promptly fell asleep.
Chapter Nine
“B-Billie. Billie Jo. Billie, may I please talk to my brother for just a minute?”
Clare’s lips twitched. Poor Jackson was having a terrible time getting through to his sister-in-law that he was fine. Apparently Kyle had told his wife that Jackson had been beaten up, and she’d snatched the phone. Those pregnant hormones were going to do both men in if that baby didn’t hurry up and arrive.
Jackson rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, she’s taking very good care of me. Yes, I’ll go to the doctor today as soon as the office opens.” He nodded his thanks for the coffee Clare placed in front of him. “Now may I please talk to Kyle?”
After several minutes of discussion, once his brother had finally gotten the phone back, he slid his phone into his pocket and gave Clare a long steady look.
“The answer is no. I’m not leaving my home,” she said, knowing that both he and Kyle, and probably Billie Jo wanted her to move into their house until this thing was settled. “If I leave, there’s no telling what they’ll do to the place. Probably burn it down.”
