Passion to Protect

by Colleen Thompson

  Jake, thought Liane, it’s Jake, talking to Kenzie....

  “He says Mommy’s going to heaven, just like Grandpa. He says she’s going to ride Buttercup and see the carrots growing upside-down and the peppermint mountains and all the other cool stuff.”

  “We don’t know that, Kenzie. The doctors said your mom could wake up any—”

  “I don’t want her to leave without me,” Kenzie sobbed. “I want to go with her—and Grandpa, too.”

  “Then who would keep me company? And your brother? How could we all be a family, like your mommy wanted, without you?”

  “Then she has to stay here with us! You and her can get married, and we can all be a real family with a mom and a dad and everything!”

  “It’s what I want, too, Kenzie,” he said gently, “more than anything, but sometimes, what we want can’t come true, no matter how hard we...”

  As the sound of her daughter’s weeping overrode his words, Liane’s body shuddered, sending a blast of competing sensations ricocheting through her: the crisp cotton of the sheets, the dryness of her lips, the tight itch of a sore spot on her back. But it was the emotion pouring into her that had her fighting to open her eyes, to reach out and—

  “Her hand moved! She’s awake!” Kenzie cried.

  “Sometimes,” Jake warned, “it’s like when you kick the covers when you’re sleeping.”

  From somewhere deep inside her words formed like tiny bubbles, forcing their way through what felt like thick mud before rising to the surface. “And sometimes,” she managed, her voice a threadbare whisper as her eyes took in their hazy figures, “sometimes it means you’ve fought your way back to everything you love.”

  * * *

  Though the nurses scolded them repeatedly about “tiring the patient,” there was little Jake could do to dampen Kenzie’s joyful squeals, along with Em’s and Cody’s when they returned from their brief foray to the hospital cafeteria. There were tears and hugs, joy and relief, until finally Liane’s strength subsided and she fell into a blessedly natural slumber.

  As she regained her strength over the next few days, Jake came as often as he could, sometimes bringing the children and at other times returning on his own. Aware that the time wasn’t right to talk about everything that had happened, much less what might happen next between them, he contented himself with talking about the ordinary details of life and helping her do the things she still found difficult, such as walking the hallway with her IV stand, and—once he judged her stamina sufficient—giving in to her pleas to help wash her long hair.

  After they were finished she sat up in a padded chair, resting while he carefully worked a wide-toothed comb through the sweetly scented, damp brown waves. Finally she sighed.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  Nodding, she reached out to catch his hand, her blue eyes filling with tears. “You’ve been so good to me, and so wonderful with the kids,” she said, “but this isn’t right, I can’t—can’t keep letting you do all this when I can’t—there’s no way we can ever—”

  He squeezed her hand. “There are things we need to talk about. Things I’ve been waiting until you’re well enough to tell you.”

  She sighed, then nodded, looking apprehensive.

  He began with the hardest news. “Harry Wallace passed away. They say it was his heart.”

  “Harry? Oh, no. That’s terrible.”

  “There’s worse,” he said, before explaining, as gently as he knew how, about Harry’s misappropriation of the money her father had turned in.

  “Then, my father—” Fresh grief leached her returning color. “He tried to do the right thing.”

  “He did. And the bulk of the money was found where Harry hid it, underneath the flooring of an old camper he had stored in his garage.”

  She closed her eyes. “I know he loved his wife, but if he hadn’t—if Mac had known the money was out of his reach, he never would’ve come here. Never would’ve killed my father, and—”

  Jake gathered her into his arms, stroking her damp hair until her trembling subsided. “I’m so sorry, Liane. I know this is hard. Maybe we should talk about it later.”

  “No,” she said, pulling away from him, visibly steeling herself for what she had to say. “I need you to understand, I’m going to have to leave again, to sell the ranch to pay back the money Harry put down on the taxes and—and I’m going back to my old job in Las Vegas.”

  He saw in her face what that would cost her, and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let it happen. “There was a pretty substantial reward for capturing your ex and his buddies,” he told her, “and when I led the FBI to the money, it turns out there was a reward for that, too. The agent put my name in for it. But, Liane, that money’s yours, to cover what Harry paid on those bills so you can stay here. To save the ranch for your kids.”

  “But I can’t—there’s no way. The business has been slipping away for so long, and besides that, I could never hope to run it on my own the way my dad did.”

  “Not alone,” he admitted. “But what if you had help? What if you could do things better?”

  “After everything you’ve done already, you’re offering to give up your own career?” she asked in amazement.

  He laughed and took her hands in his. “Liane, I hate my work. I’m bored stiff. I want to be outdoors again, out in the forest. And leading tourists on horseback tours, sharing everything I know about these mountains, sounds almost perfect.”

  She smiled at him, her color returning. “Almost?”

  “For it to work, I’d need your help full-time—your ideas and your expertise to make Equine Adventures bigger and better than it ever was. We can remodel the old cabins into first-class accommodations the way you were always trying to convince your dad to do, and add a gourmet chuck wagon to do high-end sunset dinners for the well-heeled types from the lodge.”

  “You’ve been plotting with Em, haven’t you?”

  He nodded. “While you were unconscious, I had a lot of time to plan.”

  “To daydream, you mean,” she said with a shake of her head. “But what you’re suggesting—it’s risky. And it would take a lot of money.”

  “Em wants to invest, to buy a minority share, and then she’ll start referring clients from the lodge and adding package deals once we get things going. And I have some savings, too, to throw in. Since my grandmother’s property in Tahoe finally sold, I’ve been looking for a good place to—”

  “I can’t take your money, Jake. I can’t—”

  He smiled and went to his knees, gazing up into the beautiful face he’d been terrified would be taken from him forever. “Don’t you understand? Whatever’s mine is yours, Liane. My heart, my soul, everything I have to offer. Because I want to marry you. I want to be your husband, if you’ll have me. I’ll work at your side—or, hell, if you really want to give up the ranch and take another job anywhere, I’ll go with you and keep translating.”

  “If I thought there was any way to do it,” she said, emotion shimmering in her gaze, “I’d keep my family’s legacy forever. And I love you so much, Jake, I do, but I—”

  “Then say yes. Say yes and be my wife.”

  When she shook her head, his heart plunged toward jagged bedrock, threatening to shatter. Could she really be rejecting him again?

  “I can’t,” she said, tears streaming, “because of what Mac—the scars you saw—I can never give you children. Children of your own.”

  “I figured that much out already, but don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter to me. Only you do.”

  “But you’d be—you’re meant to be a father. It’s what you’ve always dreamed of.”

  “Then, damn it, let me be a father to your children. Let me give them my name and be the dad they’ve never had. And let me be the man you’ve alway
s deserved, the one you should have—”

  “But, Jake, I—” She shook her head. “Are you really sure about this?”

  “Are you kidding?” Rising to his feet, he told her, “For five long days I prayed and hoped and hugged those children whenever Em brought them to visit. When she took them home, I stayed here. I spent every minute of every night just watching you breathe, praying that I’d—that we’d get one more chance to finally get this thing right. Well, now we have it, Liane, so tell me, after everything we’ve been through, are you really going to let that bastard win?”

  Shaking her head, she somehow got to her still-unsteady feet and then stepped into his arms.

  “Not on your life,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe to claim a kiss so sweet, so right, so perfect, that the memories gave way, allowing the shared dream of their future the space it needed to unfurl.

  * * * * *

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  Chapter 1

  The bright sun felt warm on his skin. If he’d been here for no reason other than a desire to enjoy the weather, Mac Riordan would have stopped and turned his face up to let the bright rays try to heat blood that these days always seemed chilled. Instead, he glanced around while keeping his quarry in sight, taking in the lush greenness of the park crowded with citizens enjoying the early spring air.

  He couldn’t believe the hunter’s rush he felt at this planned-for encounter. Finally, after all this time, he’d meet the woman who had, inadvertently or not, stolen everything he had left to live for.

  He’d planned this carefully, just happened to take a stroll along the tree-lined, paved walking path when the very woman he’d come to town to find strode past him on her daily walk—Emily Gilley. He’d been watching her for a week, after all, and figured an accidental meeting in the park would be a great way to meet her.

  True, if he wanted this to appear unintentional, keeping up with her confident pace without looking as though he was stalking her might prove difficult, though not impossible.

  He doubted she’d find him suspicious. From what he’d heard about the east Texas town of Anniversary, everyone was friendly and trusting and looked out for each other. If this was true, then Emily Gilley would have no reason to worry about a friendly stranger.

  He allowed himself the slightest of grim smiles. If only she knew.

  So far, he’d been careful. After all, he’d only been in town for three weeks. It was just long enough to establish his brand-new trucking business and to put out a few feelers about her, the woman he’d spent several years trying to locate: Emily Gilley, twenty-nine-year-old widow of one of the most notorious drug dealers on the Eastern Seaboard. She’d changed her name, taking back her mother’s maiden name Gilley, and altered both the cut and the color of her hair, all to help her disappear. But for someone with the far-flung resources to which he had access, finding her had been a matter of time and a tenacious effort. He was fortunate to still have a lot of the tools from his law enforcement days at his disposal.

  Her long, blond locks were now dark, short and spiky. Instead of designer fashions, she wore clothing that looked off the rack at a big bin department store. She’d gone from a glamorous life in Manhattan to this: a tiny lakefront community ninety miles east of Dallas.

  As he hurried around a bend at the end of the trail, trying not to appear in too much of a rush, he nearly ran into her. She’d stopped at the weathered wooden bench that marked the entrance to the paved parking lot of Sue’s Catfish Hut, which was crowded with lunchtime patrons.

  She was stopped and turned to face him, apparently willing to wait for him to catch up.

  This was going even better than he’d hoped, he thought with some satisfaction. And then he got a look at her annoyed expression.

  Hands on her hips, she glared at him, her brown eyes full of anger mixed with only the barest hint of fear. “What do you want? Stop following me! If you’re trying to creep me out, you’re succeeding admirably.”

  He dipped his chin, sending her an abashed smile he hoped she’d find reassuring. “My apologies. I had no idea this was a private trail.”

  Instead of growing flustered, she shook her head, sending her shaggy spiked hair rippling. “It’s not. But I walk here every day on my lunch break, and I know almost everyone in town. Every time I look up, you’re right behind me. You never pass me or fall back. And while this is the first time I’ve seen you here, you have to understand how such behavior can make a woman feel threatened.”

  “Threatened? Interesting choice of words.” He crossed his arms. “I’m new here, and I mean you no harm. I wasn’t aware being a newcomer and taking a walk were crimes.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she studied him, apparently not buying his too-easy, confident patter. In his experience, overly suspicious or outright paranoid people usually had something to hide. But then again, she had a point. He was a stranger who was following her, and her former husband had been a drug dealer. No doubt, looking over her shoulder had been deeply ingrained in her psyche. She’d be foolish not to worry. And one thing he’d learned about Emily Gilley, formerly Cavell, was that she was anything but stupid.

  Finally, she took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.

  “Look,” she said, her tone reasonable this time rather than furious, “you’ve been following me way too closely. What matters is that you’ve made me very uncomfortable.” Swallowing hard, she studied him, her caramel gaze unflinching. “And even though this is a small town, one can’t be too careful.”

  It was especially true for a woman like her, with so many secrets to hide.

  He nodded, feigning chagrin. “Again, I apologize. If I’d known I was frightening you, I would have dropped back or—” he grimaced ruefully “—I would have tried to pass you.”

  Rather than accept his apology, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You said you’re new in town, right?”

  “Yes.” Relieved and slightly surprised that getting to know her was going to be this simple, he gave her a practiced, easy smile, holding out his hand. “Mac Riordan.”

  Instead of a handshake, she simply continued to stare him down. Only when he’d dropped his hand and frowned did she speak again in a cool, measured tone. “Welcome to Anniversary, Mac Riordan. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but in the future, please leave me alone.

  Tamping down shock, he feigned confusion instead. “Ma’am, I—”

  Backing up slightly, she tilted her head and peered up at him. “Let me ask you something. Are you the one who mailed me the note? It was postmarked Dallas. Is that where you’re from?”

  “Note?” He eyed her warily. Had someone tipped her off about his arrival? “What note? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You didn’t send me an anonymous note? Cut out letters on white paper?”

  Was this a joke? Then, as he realized what she’d said, his former cop instincts made him ask, “Is someone sending you threatening notes?”

  Again he got the sharp, brown-glass stare, as if she thought if she tried hard enough she could read his mind. Since he’d been looked at
all kinds of ways by all sorts of people in his previous life in law enforcement, he let her. Silence was often the best interrogation method of all.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Are you from Dallas?”

  “No,” he fired back. “Albany, New York. Now tell me about this note.”

  “That’s none of your business,” she said calmly, her spine so rigid he thought it might snap. Then, apparently considering he might in fact be harmless, she swallowed, still eyeing him warily.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’ve got to go.” She mouthed the words, sounding anything but. Without another word, she marched off, her spiky dark hair ruffling in the breeze.

  Watching her slender, lithe body as she went, he couldn’t help but respect that she knew enough to be wary. Because if their situations had been reversed, he’d have done exactly the same. People on the run from former lives couldn’t afford to befriend curious strangers.

  This was exactly the reason he had to make sure he gained her trust—no matter what it took.

  * * *

  Even as she hurried away, Emily Gilley felt the tall, dark-haired stranger’s gaze boring into her back. She felt flushed and hot, though not entirely from her brisk walk. Instead, she worried about the man with the striking cobalt eyes. At first glance, the tinge of gray in his hair had made him look older by at least a decade. But up close, his rugged face appeared to be only a few years older than she. Mid-thirties, perhaps, a handsome, muscular man who moved with easy grace. Any other woman would have been intrigued by his blatant masculinity, his self-confident virility.

  Not she...she knew better. Sex on the hoof didn’t last past the morning, and men like him were nothing but trouble. After all, she’d been married to one once.

  This man singled her out. Why? She couldn’t help but wonder if this attempt to appear older was deliberate, an effort to camouflage who he really was—or what he was.

  He was a threat. She couldn’t believe his sudden appearance the same day after getting her first threat since moving here was a mere coincidence. How could it be?