“My pleasure.” Nellie smiled.
“I’ll peek in on him for only a minute. We really need to hurry.”
“Be careful,” Nellie said.
“We will.”
But she hadn’t been careful. She’d fallen for Donovan Callahan.
She went upstairs and opened the door to her room. Mark was sleeping peacefully, his car lying beside him as it did every night.
She gave him a kiss on his forehead.
A clap of thunder made her jump, but her son slept peacefully. He was probably exhausted. She doubted she’d sleep as peacefully that night.
The pending storm, no matter how intense, couldn’t compete with the storm in her heart.
As the thought filtered through her head, she heard Donovan’s footsteps on the stairs.
“We’d better hurry,” he said from the doorway.
“I’m ready,” she replied, as he stepped aside to let her descend the staircase first.
Though they needed rain, the storm couldn’t have come at a worse time. They had planned to wait until the next day to herd the cattle to the corral by the barn to make it easier for them to take to auction. But tomorrow would be too late. They could spend hours tonight and tomorrow hunting for strays spooked by thunder and lightning. If that happened, they’d miss the auction.
Lightning lit up the northern sky as they rode off.
“Do you have a poncho?” he called out.
Phyl pointed to her saddlebag and opened the flap. “We should have realized this was on the way,” Phyl yelled. She pulled out the slicker and pushed her arms into it. As she tightened her legs around Skye’s girth, the mare broke into a run.
“We’re not going to make it,” Donovan yelled next to her.
“We should have put them up today. We came in too early,” she yelled back.
She was probably right, but after the scare she’d given him, Donovan didn’t want to keep her in the heat too long. Plus, he’d wanted that talk.
Cal would have been a big help now. Guilt sat heavily on Donovan’s shoulders. What had made him the way he was—quick to unleash his temper, slow to calm it down?
In his heart, he knew. And he didn’t like it.
A clap of thunder came on the heels of jagged lightning. A downpour followed. In seconds, they were drenched, their ponchos useless against the deluge.
Then came the wind.
By the time they reached the herd, there was no way to be heard over the din. With hand signals, they explained their intentions. Bent over the saddle, Phyl made a loop around the herd, yelling and whooping for them to go in the right direction.
They had to get them to the corral by the old homestead. Fast. They’d be safe there. Not out of the weather, but at least enclosed.
Donovan started around the opposite way. Phyl knew what she was doing. How long had she worked on a ranch? Where was it? Why was she here instead of the ranch she’d obviously left?
Thunder clapped as loud as a thousand drums, drowning out his questions and startling the cows. Cattle hated loud noises. Every streak of lightning, every clap of thunder scattered the herd. At this rate, they’d be here this time tomorrow.
In the meantime, they’d lose some valuable livestock that would take hours to find.
Donovan spurred Stormy forward. Waving his Stetson, he yelled and pleaded, trying to get the cattle to move in the right direction.
A lull in the fireworks helped. Donovan and Phyl pushed them closer to their destination.
Every so often, Phyl would leave the herd and head off. Soon she’d be back herding a couple of strays ahead of her. How she saw them, Donovan didn’t know. But she had instincts that were proving invaluable.
Whooping louder, he waved the cattle forward. Another thirty minutes and they’d be there.
Wishful thinking.
Ten minutes later, the sky opened up once more and the cattle had to be coaxed or bullied back into the herd.
Instead of thirty minutes, it took another hour to get them to the homestead and into the corral.
“We did it!” Phyl shouted over the pelting rain.
“Go inside. We’ll dry out, give the storm time to let up before we head back,” he said, making one last circuit of the cattle. They weren’t happy. Or content. They jostled each other, stomped their feet. With every lightning flash—with every earth-rocking crash of thunder, they threatened to run.
Donovan grimaced. There was nowhere to run. They were safe. Tomorrow, with Phyl’s help, they’d bring them to the corral by the barn. The following day, take them to auction.
He guided Stormy into the lean-to behind the house, climbed wearily from the saddle. Skye stood there, her head down. At least they were out of the weather.
Exactly where he wanted to be.
Giving one more glance at the restless cattle, Donovan stomped onto the porch and into the old farmhouse.
Phyl hadn’t wasted a minute. A fire crackled in the fireplace, several candles were lit and on the mantel. Water pooled at her feet. Her hair hung in wet strands down her back. Her clothes clung to her body like a second skin. He let his eyes feast.
Every curve made his mouth water, his blood heat.
“Are there any more candles?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Don’t you think this is enough?”
When Phyl looked over at him, Donovan saw the golden flecks in her eyes—the alarm. The rancher in her knew the danger. But he was looking at the woman. He liked everything he saw. Her dedication to her son and her job—her love of ranch life—her beauty and the way she stirred him.
Most of the women he’d dated over the years liked the ranch—as a nice place to visit. Not one wanted to live so isolated, they’d told him. Those he’d dated in college thought the town backward with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
Phyl seemed content here, equally happy in a saddle or helping Mom around the house.
It hadn’t been his intention to kiss her. But how could he not?
The unexpected surge of feelings that had swamped him at the touch of her lips had startled him. If she’d been willing, he would have made love to her right there on the rock. Thank God, one of them had been paying attention.
Her response brought a smile. The memory of how she’d leaned into him, given herself over to the kiss sent a flash of desire to his groin.
He’d never felt this way about a woman before. One kiss and he was lost in another world.
Thunder clapped. She jumped.
“How many do you think we lost?” she asked.
“Not lost,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We’ll find them tomorrow.”
She moved closer to the fire, away from him.
Two long strides took him to the bedroom. “You’ll get sick if you stay wet.” He came back, offered her a soft quilt. When she shook her head, he went to her, draped the quilt over her shoulders and handed her a towel. “Dry off and wrap yourself in this.”
“And you?” she asked as she tried to dry her hair.
He retrieved another quilt and wrapped himself in it. “I’ll be fine,” he said, wiping his face and hair with a second towel he’d collected. After taking off his boots and wet socks, he put his feet close to the fire. It felt good. Anything other than wet felt great. The only thing better would be Phyl in his arms.
“We still need more light.”
“Why? You have candles and the light from the fireplace.”
“There’s a reason,” she said softly.
“Wanna talk about it?”
She paused then gave an uncertain nod. “My mother died when I was five. My dad told me she was with the angels and wouldn’t come back. I wanted my mom, and I was scared. I ran to the cellar and hid in a closet. After a while I decided to come out. Mom would be upstairs and everything would be like it should. Only the door wouldn’t open. I screamed and shouted, but no one came. I don’t know how long I was in there, but I passed out. I haven’t slept in the dark since. Over the years I’ve also
had panic attacks because of that incident. I had one at the barn the day you fired Cal. I should have stopped you, but when an attack comes on, I’m helpless.”
“I’m so sorry.” He reached over and took her hand in his, felt it tremble. “It’s okay, Phyl. I’m here. There’s nothing to hurt you and when the rain lets up we’ll go back to the house.
Rain pummeled the metal roof. The sound was both soothing and deafening. Cocooned in the quilt in front of a blazing fire, Phyl could have fallen asleep. Except that Donovan was staring at her, making her aching muscles tense in anticipation. What did he think of her now? Did he understand?
Her gaze swept over him. His wet shirt clung to wide shoulders, his jeans to tight buns. He looked good. Better than good. He looked wonderful. She wanted to be back in his arms, relax, and forget her troubles.
It wouldn’t be possible until she talked to him. It was past time. She should have told Nellie immediately. But if she had, Nellie would have sent her on her way that first day. More than likely she and Mark would still be running.
Phyl didn’t know what would happen after she had her say, but now was the time.
In the firelight, his face was all angles, his eyes dark pools of lust. He wanted her.
He moved closer. He was so tempting her heart turned over.
Of its own volition, her hand moved to his. He put an arm around her shoulder. The touch sent shivers through her. He reached for her, pulled her close, their faces inches apart. He muttered a quiet curse before he crushed his mouth with hers.
Sensations exploded in every direction. His tongue teased hers until she thought she would die with longing.
Then, just as quickly as that hurried need, he turned all soft and sensuous. He kissed the corner of her mouth, once, twice. So sweet she thought she might melt right into the puddle of water on the floor.
Her heart thumped an erratic rhythm as the kiss deepened. Every nerve ending pulsed with need. Every cell screamed for release. When his tongue danced with hers, liquid heat flowed through her like a pounding drumbeat.
Her body grew tight—waiting. Heat built to the melting point.
He reached for the buttons on her shirt, started to unbutton them. Trembling, she asked herself if she dared let this happen. His hands cupped her breast. A moan escaped her lips. She’d been lost and insecure for so long, but right now, right this minute, she felt safe and loved.
Her hands went to his shirt, popped open a few buttons. She wanted this more than she wanted anything except the safety of her son.
Her hands stilled. She had to tell Donovan her story. Now, before it was too late.
She pulled back. “Don,” she gasped. “There’s something I have to tell you about why I came here.” She could barely get the words out. What she wanted to do was melt into another kiss, fall into the sanctuary of his arms.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, pulling her closer and kissing her again.
She pushed away. “No. I need to tell you that I witnessed Mark’s father’s murder.”
“What?”
“He was shot.”
Lips that moments ago were soft and sweet on her lips, pressed into a tight line. He moved away. Not physically, but mentally.
She took a deep breath. She should have told him long ago. “I was raised on a ranch in Wyoming. Like I said, my mom died when I was five years old. My dad raised me. He was ranch foreman for a big spread. He worked from daylight until dark. By the time I was twelve I was doing a man’s job alongside him. When I was in my teens, he keeled over from a heart attack. His sister came and took me to live with her in California. San Diego. It took a long time to adjust to city life. I met Mark’s dad while I was in college.” She paused. “I divorced him soon after Mark was born. Victor was the wrong man for me from the beginning. But he was Mark’s dad, and since Mark wanted his dad in his life, I couldn’t object when he came around. Not that he was around much. He’d be gone for months, then show up. Victor was after the fast buck, the easy money. But every scheme left him more in debt than the previous one. On his last visit, I thought he might have finally gotten his wish.”
“Why was that?”
Donovan’s voice didn’t sound like his own. It was deeper, cautious, and it made her even more nervous.
“Because he promised he was going to take care of us, something he never said before. He seemed pleased with himself. As if he held riches in the palm of his hand.”
“And?”
“One day while he was with us, I picked up Mark from kindergarten, and stopped for groceries. When we were back at the house a strange car was in the drive. I opened the door to the house, and heard shouting. I motioned for Mark to stay at the door while I went to see what was going on.” She paused to gather herself. This was even harder than she’d thought it would be. “What I saw stunned me. There were two men in the room with Victor. One of them was screaming that he wanted something Victor apparently wouldn’t give him. The man walked over to Victor, slammed his fist in his face. He said something like, ‘You should know better than to cross Al.’” She shook her head, remembering. “But Victor just laughed. ‘Al has millions,’ he said. And then he said the strangest thing. ‘He can afford the one I want. If he doesn’t give it to me, I’ll see all of you in the pen.’” Trembling anew, she stared at Donovan. “I was so scared.”
Phyl didn’t know if she could finish. Just the memory of that horrible day made her sick. But Donovan was watching, his eyes wary and questioning. Waiting for her to finish. “The man said something low and angry. I didn’t hear what. Victor kept laughing. Suddenly the man jerked out a gun from his pocket and pulled the trigger. It was so fast—so unbelievably fast and horrible—that for a moment I couldn’t move.”
She looked at Donovan. “Just like that. One minute Victor was laughing at this guy, the next he was…not.”
“What happened then?”
“I screamed. The man who shot Victor turned and saw me. So did the other man. Both of them aimed their guns in my direction. I scooped up Mark at the door and ran for our lives. We made it to the car. But they chased us and fired. Twice. Somehow, we managed to get away.”
“My God, Phyl.” Donovan reached for her. She shook her head.
“On the other side of town, I stopped at a satellite bank, went in and took out what little money I had and took off. I didn’t know where to go. I just knew I had to get away.”
“How did you end up here? The Hill Country is a long way from California.”
Phyl shrugged, feeling drained now that she’d told the worst of the story. “In Arizona, I sold my car. I used the cash to travel from one state to another. By bus, train, whatever. We were in New York for a couple of days, took the bus from there across country to Colorado, then here. We got off the bus in Oaktree for a thirty-minute layover when I heard some people talking about the Callahan ranch needing a hand. I hitched a ride with a couple who said they were coming this way, walked to the door, and talked to your mom. She was nice enough to let me try out for the job. That must have been about a week after you left.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“When Freckles was poisoned, I wondered if the killer had found us.” She looked at him, saw the hurt in his eyes. “I don’t see how he could, but you should know the truth.”
Donovan dropped his head in his hands for a moment—as if he couldn’t look at her. Her heart plummeted. What was he thinking?
Donovan finally lifted his head. “Would you recognize them? Did you call the police?”
“I was too scared to call the police, but I’d know both of them anywhere.”
“Did you call anyone?”
“No. I just ran.”
“You’re safe, then. There’s no way anyone could track you here. But we have to tell Dugan.”
“No! No one can know. One word and we’ll be in danger. Can’t you see that?”
Donovan took her shoulders, squeezed. “You can’t live like this. You have to
know you’re safe or you’ll drive yourself and Mark crazy.” He looked into her eyes, kissed her lightly. “You’re here and you’re safe, Phyl. That’s all that matters.”
She wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe she could make a life here with a man she admired and loved.
A streak of lightning lit up the room. Phyl’s eyes went to the window. She couldn’t stop the scream that started deep in her throat and filled the room.
Donovan leapt to his feet. “What?”
Phyl stood, the quilt falling to the floor.
“It’s him!”
“Who?” He looked toward the window and the darkness beyond. “It’s your imagination, Phyl. There’s no one there.”
“No! The man who killed my ex is here!”
Donovan reached out to pull her close. “It’s your imagination.”
Phyl pushed him away. “I know what I saw.”
She had to get to Mark.
Chapter Twelve
Her nightmare had come to life.
How?
It wasn’t possible. But the killer was here now. They were all in danger.
She stumbled away from Donovan, ran to the door.
“Phyl, wait!”
She yanked open the door. Strong wind made candles flutter, shadows dance. “I have to get to Mark.”
What if the killer got to him first? He couldn’t.
Donovan grabbed her arm. She jerked away. “You don’t understand!” she hissed. “He’s here to kill us.”
She ran from the warmth of the fire, the warmth and safety of Donovan’s arms, and into the cold, slashing rain. In seconds she was spurring Skye toward the house.
If only she had a cell phone! She vowed that if Mark was safe, she would take some of her precious savings and get a prepaid one.
Even with the hard, driving rain pounding her, bruising her skin, blinding her eyes, she couldn’t erase the face in the window. She swiped a hand across her face, urged Skye into a run. Dangerous. The thought was fleeting. Nothing mattered except Mark.
Her heart clogged with fear. Seeing Victor get shot was horrible. Their cross-country flight was unnerving and stressful. Nothing compared to her fear for Mark.
Promise Kept Page 11
