Roping Ray McCullen

by Rita Herron

  Glass shattered, and her panic mushroomed.

  “I have a gun,” she called out. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Suddenly the lights flickered off, pitching her into the dark. The scent of her own fear pervaded the air, and she fought a scream as a noise erupted behind her.

  Back in the living room? How...

  She couldn’t wait on Ray. She snatched her phone from her pocket to call 911. A knock at the front door made her jump again.

  It was loud, pounding.

  Her hand trembled as she inched back to the front room. The knock sounded again, louder this time.

  Then she looked through the peephole and Pullman was standing on the porch, his beady eyes glaring at her through the tiny hole.

  * * *

  RAY SLOWLY ROUSED back to consciousness. His back throbbed and his eyes were blurry, but he blinked, the world finally sliding into focus.

  Damn. Some bastard had not only run him off the road, but he’d gotten the best of him and beaten him to a pulp.

  That rarely happened.

  He wouldn’t get away with it.

  He wiped blood from his right eye that was already swollen half-shut and peered around his surroundings to make sure his attacker was gone. His Range Rover was still sitting there, but the sedan was gone.

  Relieved, he pushed himself up from the dirt, wincing as pain knifed through his lower back. Hell, he’d probably be sore for days.

  Mentally retracing the past hour as he stumbled back to his vehicle, he scrambled to recall details of the man’s face. But it had been dark and that first blow to his kidneys had sent his world into a blur. He thought the car was black, but it could have been dark green. He hadn’t seen the license plate.

  Hand shaking, he wrenched the car door open and fell into the driver’s side. He fumbled for the keys, then realized they weren’t in the ignition and spit out an obscenity. Had his attacker taken them so he couldn’t follow?

  More blood trickled down the side of his face and he swiped at it with the back of his hand, then searched the seat and floor, but the keys weren’t there.

  Frustration screamed through him, and he turned to scan the dirt by the car. It was so dark the ground and grass blended together, so he grabbed the flashlight he kept in the backseat and used it to light a path.

  Pain throbbed through his body as he searched the bushes and trees. But either the man had taken the keys with him or thrown them into the woods.

  It would take all night to find them.

  Time he didn’t have. Scarlet had called because Pullman was outside her house. She sounded terrified. He’d been on his way to her.

  He bellowed in anger. He didn’t have time to search the damn woods. He needed to get to Scarlet.

  He hurriedly limped back to his SUV. Seconds later, he hot-wired the vehicle, then sped onto the road, slinging gravel in his haste to turn onto the highway.

  He quickly glanced left and right, looking for that car again, but the road seemed deserted. Scarlet’s terrified voice echoed in his ears, and he punched the accelerator.

  If Pullman had hurt her, he’d never forgive himself.

  Lights nearly blinded him as a car raced toward him. He tensed, bracing himself in case his attacker had returned, but the car flew past and disappeared the other direction.

  Ray reached inside his pocket and grabbed a handkerchief, then wiped at the blood on his face as he maneuvered the curves and turns until he reached Scarlet’s neighborhood.

  The houses were spread apart, a few lights glowing from inside, cars parked in the driveways. He spotted a pickup parked in front of Scarlet’s, and slowed before he reached it, scouting out her yard in search of the man.

  Not wanting to alert Pullman of his arrival, he parked two houses away. Unsure if the man was armed, he jimmied open the locked dash and grabbed his weapon. Gripping his gun, he opened his door and slid from the seat, scanning Scarlet’s front yard, then the side of the house for Pullman. Woods backed up to her property, which made it a great place to hide.

  Anxiety knotted his shoulders as he inched behind some bushes and crept toward Scarlet’s. He spotted a shadow to the side of the house and paused, studying the movement. It went from the side to the back, then disappeared.

  Gritting his teeth, he crept closer, then inched his way into Scarlet’s yard, staying close to the house and bushes so Pullman wouldn’t see him coming. By the time he reached the corner, Pullman had disappeared, though.

  He circled the back, searching the shadows and trees, but didn’t see the man anywhere. Dammit, was he hiding back there?

  He walked to the opposite side of the house, but didn’t spot him, then eased his way to the front again.

  Pullman stood on the front porch knocking.

  What was the bastard doing? Then the truth hit him—he’d been toying with Scarlet. The sick creep wanted to terrorize her.

  Keeping his gun at the ready, he inched up the front to the porch. The stairs creaked as he climbed them, and Pullman swung around.

  He slowly raised his hands. “Hold on, man. Don’t shoot.”

  Ray kept his weapon trained on the man. “You found out she survived the car crash and came here to finish her off, didn’t you, you bastard?”

  Pullman actually looked surprised. “What are you talking about? I came here to apologize.”

  “That’s a lie and we both know it. You tried to kill her.”

  “If I’d tried to kill her, she’d be dead,” Pullman said through gritted teeth.

  Ray didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “I think you did. And now you’re trying to intimidate her.”

  “She took my daughter from me.” Pullman’s lips curved into a sneer. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to get her back.”

  Ray removed his phone from his pocket to call the deputy. “Then go through the courts. And if I find evidence to prove you cut her brake lines you’re going to jail for attempted murder.” Ray snagged the man by the shirt. “I can have the deputy pick you up or you can get off her property now.”

  “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” Pullman snarled.

  Ray gave him a lethal stare. “Someone you don’t want to mess with. Now, Miss Lovett is filing a restraining order against you. If you bother her again, I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine, then lock you up. And trust me, then you will never see your child again.”

  * * *

  SCARLET HEARD VOICES echoing outside the door and looked through the peephole again. For the past half hour, Pullman had tormented her by circling her house, knocking on the windows and then running to the next one.

  He wanted her to know that he could get to her.

  He already was, just with his mind games.

  Her breath gushed out in relief as Ray escorted the big man to his truck. Pullman slid in the seat, then gave her a sinister leer. In spite of what Ray had said, he wasn’t finished with her.

  Ray shoved the door shut, then Pullman took off, tires squealing as he screeched away. Scarlet hated that she was shaking and that he’d gotten to her.

  But he had.

  Ray strode back to the porch, his face illuminated by the streetlight. Dear God. His eye was bruised and swollen, his cheek purple and blood had dried on his forehead and below his eye.

  She swung the door open, her heart racing. “Ray, my God, what happened to you?”

  “I had an accident.” He must have seen the fear in her eyes because he pulled her into his arms. She collapsed against him, so grateful to see him that she could barely breathe.

  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No, come on in.” Forgetting her fear over Pullman, she led him through the door and ushered him to the kitchen where she could examine his injuries. He was
limping slightly and winced when he sat down. She wet a washcloth in the sink, brought it to him and tilted his chin up so she could clean his wounds.

  “That looks like it hurts.” She gently dotted away the blood with the wet cloth. “You need a doctor, Ray. Where else are you hurt?”

  He caught her hand in his and stilled her movements. “I’m just banged up, don’t worry about me.”

  “But you’re all bloody and you have a black eye.” She narrowed her eyes remembering her own accident. “Tell me what happened. Did someone cut your brake lines, too?”

  He shook his head, then allowed her to continue cleaning his forehead and eye. “Some man tried to run me off the road. I veered onto a side road and managed to stop, but he followed me and beat the hell out of me.” Self-derision laced his voice. “I can’t believe he got the better of me.”

  Scarlet gently stroked his hair from his forehead. It was sweaty and sticky with blood. But at least the cut above his eye wasn’t too deep.

  Still, she didn’t know who was shaking more, her or him. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Show me where else you’re hurt.”

  Ray shook his head. “I told you I’m fine. I’m just sorry I was late getting here. Did Pullman try to break in?”

  A shudder coursed up Scarlet’s spine as she remembered his taunting. “Not exactly.”

  Ray took her hands in his, the worry in his eyes touching a tender chord inside her.

  “What does that mean?”

  Scarlet sighed and averted her eyes. More than anything she wanted Ray to wrap his arms around her again. To hold her.

  Kiss her.

  Stay with her tonight and keep her safe.

  “Scarlet?”

  “He just taunted me, Ray. He ran from window to window, banging and making noises, tapping at the windows, acting like he was going to come in.”

  “Sick bastard,” Ray muttered. “He claims he didn’t cut your brake lines, but we’ll find a way to nail him. And you’re going to take out a restraining order against him.”

  Scarlet nodded. “What about you? Did you recognize the man who attacked you?”

  Ray shook his head. “No. But I’ll file a police report.”

  Scarlet’s gaze met his, the tension between them thick with worry and fear and...something else. A sexual tension she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  She needed to step away. Remember all the reasons she shouldn’t get involved with Ray. His brothers didn’t even know about her. They had his father’s will to work out.

  “You should have called the deputy,” Scarlet whispered.

  Ray’s breathing grew heavy, his gaze steeped in desire. Then he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I was too worried about you. Too afraid Pullman had broken in.”

  His voice triggered a warm tingling to start deep in her womb. She wet her suddenly dry lips, aching to touch him more intimately.

  Ray murmured a sound of need. “Dammit, Scarlet, what are we doing here?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. But she was helpless to stop the ache in her body and in her heart.

  Ray must have sensed her need because he traced a finger over her lips with one finger, then drew her to him and closed his mouth over hers.

  * * *

  RAY’S BODY HEATED with need as Scarlet parted her lips for him. Images of his crash, of her accident, of that maniac Pullman getting to her flashed in his head, and he deepened the kiss, desperate to feel her against him.

  He needed to know she was safe.

  Her lips felt soft, tender. Her body quivered against his. He stroked her back and plunged his tongue into her mouth. She sighed into him, a breathy sound filled with desire, and he lifted her hair from her neck, then trailed kisses along the smooth column of her throat.

  She tilted her head back, and he tasted the sweetness of her skin, making him want more. She tossed his Stetson to the sofa, then dug her hands into his hair, and he groaned, then they walked backward to her bedroom.

  Raw need consumed him, and he pressed her against the wall, then eased open the top buttons of her blouse, dropping kisses along the sensitive skin of her throat as he pushed the fabric aside. She rubbed his calf with her foot, moving her body against his in invitation.

  His sex thickened, hardening at the contact, and he made quick work of the rest of the buttons, exposing a dark blue lacy bra that barely covered her breasts.

  He sucked in a breath. His body ached for her like he hadn’t ached for anyone in a long time.

  Bruises marred her torso, from the air bag, he assumed. But a couple of other scars caught his eye. Two small round ones that looked like cigarette burns. Then a crisscross one that had probably been made by a knife.

  She must have realized he was looking at them, because she covered herself with her hands. “Ray?”

  “Shh, it’s okay. How did you get them?”

  She tried to pull away, but he pressed his body into hers. “Tell me. Was it a foster parent? Bobby?”

  “Both,” she said in a pained whisper.

  Dammit to hell. Pure rage engulfed him, but he held himself in check. Scarlet had obviously seen her share of angry men who took their anger out on women.

  He would not be one of them.

  Instead, his gaze met hers, and he tried to tell her with his eyes that she could trust him. She must have read the silent promise because she lifted her head and kissed him again, this time her kiss filled with a greedy kind of hunger that invited him to love her.

  He wanted her. The sex would be epic.

  But if he made love to her, would he be able to walk away from her later?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fueled by passion, Ray kissed her deeply, then trailed his tongue down her breasts to those scars and gently kissed each one of them. Scarlet moaned and tunneled her fingers in his hair again, as he stroked her nipples through the thin lacy barrier.

  She whispered his name, and he quickly unfastened her bra, his breathing husky at the sight of her breasts spilling into his hands. Her skin was soft, her breasts full and round, her nipples perfect rosebuds.

  They stiffened at his touch, making his mouth water, and he lowered his head and drew one turgid pebble into his mouth. Scarlet whispered his name on a moan, letting him know she liked it, and he suckled her until her body quivered.

  She reached for the buttons on his shirt and unfastened them, then slid her hands inside, raking her nails over his chest. He inhaled at her touch, his body humming to life with erotic sensations.

  Then her finger slid over his bruised ribs and he winced.

  “I’m sorry, Ray.”

  “You can make it better,” he said in a gruff voice.

  His shirt fell to the floor and he walked her backward to the bed, but as they started to lie down, she shifted to move something.

  A doll.

  Ray froze, his heart thumping. That doll...the blond hair, big baby blue eyes...

  For a moment, he felt as if he’d been sucker punched. “Where did you get that doll?”

  Scarlet’s eyes were glazed with passion, but his question dampened the mood. “Your father gave it to me.”

  Ray had no idea why that bothered him, but it did. “My mother collected those dolls,” he said with a pang to his chest.

  “I know,” Scarlet said softly. “Joe told me about her, that she loved the dolls. That’s the reason he wanted me to have one.”

  An image of his mother with those dolls haunted him. For some reason, it seemed wrong that his father would give away one of the few things they had left of hers. Not that he wanted the dolls, but...they had been special.

  It felt like another betrayal, just as he’d felt betrayed when he’d seen his father with Barb
ara as a child.

  Scarlet gently touched his arm. “Ray?”

  He flinched slightly. Then his phone buzzed, and he yanked it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. Brett.

  Damn.

  Scarlet was half naked. His body shouted for him to take her to bed and finish what they’d started.

  But that doll and his brother’s call reminded him what was at stake. He’d felt betrayed by his father—how would his brothers feel if they discovered they had another brother, and that he had slept with the girl Joe had considered his daughter?

  The girl he’d kept secret. The one who was going to inherit part of their family legacy.

  “I...” Ray grabbed his shirt and backed away. He hated himself for leaving Scarlet when she looked so beautiful. And so damn vulnerable.

  His phone buzzed again, and he gestured toward it as he inched to the doorway. “I’m sorry, Scarlet. I have to take this.”

  She looked hurt, but she reached for her robe on the side chair. Ray left the room, feeling like a bastard.

  * * *

  SCARLET YANKED ON her robe and belted it, a flush creeping up her neck. She felt naked and lonely and...hurt.

  What had she done wrong? Ray hadn’t seemed repulsed by her scars. But the sight of that doll triggered a different reaction.

  She closed her eyes, battling tears. She refused to cry over his rejection. But how dare he get her all heated up and needy, then leave her wanting more.

  She tiptoed to the doorway and saw him pacing by the fireplace, his phone pressed to his ear. Maybe the phone call had been really important.

  God knows they’d both almost been killed today. And the danger wasn’t over. Someone was sabotaging the ranch, and Pullman wanted revenge against her.

  All the more reason she needed Ray.

  Needed him? The thought sent fear streaking through her. She had never needed a man before. And she couldn’t allow herself to need Ray.

  But this was a different kind of feeling, she silently reminded herself. She craved comfort, a pair of strong arms to lean on, a night of lovemaking to relieve the sexual tension brewing between them. Being with Ray would have reminded her they were both still alive.