by Bonnie Vanak
Cooper glanced down at his groin with a wry look. “Yeah, some parts of me do.”
She sputtered as he flashed a wide, impish grin. Soft laughter followed her as she fled down the stairs.
* * *
Cooper watched Meg take the steps two at a time. Still dripping, he went to the bedroom to grab the spare hair dryer. His had shorted out.
Damn if that wasn’t one fine, brave woman. Oh yeah, she was lovely and the air seemed to crackle between them when they were together. But there was depth to her, a depth that intrigued him.
Meg was a paradox, a puzzle. And Cooper adored solving puzzles. His brain wove through them, analyzing facts and figures, until arriving at the answer.
Nearly a week after he’d first found her, shivering in the car at the roadside, he still had not come any closer to obtaining answers about her past. Or the two men he was interested in knowing more about—Randall Jacobs and Prescott August.
Cooper sensed he would not be solving the puzzle of his pretty, brown-haired refugee any time soon.
She appealed to him, with her grit and confidence and refusal to be pampered. Meg fit into the farm more smoothly than any other woman he’d known.
She’s an assignment, he reminded himself. Nothing else. No permanent attachments here, nothing that would interfere with his attention to family.
No snobbish airs about her like he’d seen in the wives of some Navy brass whose noses were so high in the air it was a wonder they didn’t trip over their fancy heels. Meg was friendly, her warm smile lighting up the room, the cold pinking her pretty porcelain cheeks. Light from the overhead hallway light had picked up honey strands among her dark brown hair. She was as pretty as the first flush of spring growth poking through the sullen snow.
No airs and graces with this princess.
Yeah, he wanted her, not just for a quick one-nighter, because Lord knows he’d had those before, but something deeper and richer. More lasting, like the relationship his parents had shared, the deep love and affection that got a couple through the bad times and made the good times even more treasured.
Coop almost laughed as he dressed. Look at him. Only days with the princess and he started getting starry-eyed dreams of settling down. He’d been a SEAL for years, and relationships were out of the question. The only relationship he must focus on was his family and helping them out. He would not quit the teams for a pair of big, woebegone green eyes and a tempting mouth.
No matter how kissable it was.
Because Meg August hid something, a secret she hadn’t yet shared, despite his coaxing.
He would get it out of her, one way or another.
And not just to protect her, but his family as well.
He only hoped he could protect the one organ he feared losing the most.
His heart.
Chapter 10
The next afternoon, she joined Cooper in their usual afternoon ride. He’d said nothing more about catching him in the nude, and she was grateful for that.
Now, as they rode down through the empty fields on the dirt road leading to the river, she tried to figure out how to ask him about diving in Lake Beebersim to retrieve the secret Randall had stashed there.
Cooper tipped his Stetson back and talked about the crops the farm had grown.
“Land’s been in my family for five generations. At one point, Gramps wanted to sell because the farm was nearly in foreclosure, but Dad refused. That’s when they came up with the idea of a B and B. We all had to work hard to make it happen, but it was worth it to save the family land.”
In his faded jeans, blue chambray work shirt and sheepskin jacket, he looked the image of a rugged cowboy sitting on his mount. She appreciated families who worked together and sacrificed to save their business or their land.
“My grandmother had a dream of taking the company public. It never happened. I wish she’d have seen it come to fruition before she died.”
“What happened?”
Meg lifted her shoulders. “Prescott argued that the time wasn’t right. You can spend up to two million to make a company’s stock available for purchase. And the regulations...the federal regulations are extensive. More red tape.
“But I knew how hard Gran worked to keep Taylor Sporting Goods afloat when we went into the red. She and senior management cut their salaries rather than cut staff. She hired Randall Jacobs, a family friend, to research ways we could improve our products. I would work in the office after school, sending out shipping orders to our distributors. Eventually Gran hired Prescott to bring his business expertise to our company.”
His blue gaze was steady. “Is that how you met your ex?”
The delightful sunshine suddenly seemed cold. She remembered that day well when Prescott first arrived in the office. “Yes. I was eighteen and he was charming, swept me off my feet. We dated, but I had to leave for college. All the time while I was away, he sent letters, called, showered me with attention.”
Prescott’s devotion had showered her with the loving affection she seldom knew growing up.
“When I graduated, we got married. He was wonderful that first year we were married, and then his true colors came out.”
Silence fell between them for a few moments, broken only by the wind rustling the leaves on the ground and the horses’ clopping hooves. How naive she’d been when they first met, and starved for attention. Prescott sensed that and preyed on her vulnerability like a snake attacking a fat mouse.
Later, she realized he cared only about himself. By then they were married, and fervent devotion had turned into excruciating domination. He would never let her go, and she partly suspected he held on so tightly to their marriage because he didn’t like admitting to failure.
Divorce was failure in Prescott’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you leave him earlier?”
Leather creaked beneath her as she turned in the saddle to face him. Meg didn’t know why it was important he understand why she’d stuck it out in a bad marriage.
“I kept hoping he’d revert back to the charming man I’d married. He was a hard worker and dedicated to the company. But one week while we vacationed at the Palm Beach house, we were invited to a private party. I didn’t want to go, but Prescott went. He changed after that night. They had cocaine at the party and he started using.”
She flushed remembering the other personality changes, how Prescott insisted on rough sex. Their sex life had been mundane until then.
“He insisted it was purely recreational. But then he got nervous and paranoid, and controlling. He insisted I quit working for the company and when I balked, he beat me. My only escape was my charity work, which made him look good to his business associates. I tucked away money so I could escape, but it was hard to escape his attention. And then Gran fell ill and I couldn’t leave her.”
Her voice cracked. “After she died, there was nothing to hold me there. So I ran.”
Cooper halted his mount as she did. Admiration shone in his intense blue eyes. “You did the right thing, Meg. I’m glad you left that bastard.”
Mouth wobbling, she forced a tremulous smile. “Me, too.”
As they rode through the fields, they passed a distant pickup truck parked by tall stacks of hay. Hank, the hired hand, picked up the bales and put them into the bed of the truck.
She gave an appreciative look at the stretch of freshly mowed grass rolling in a gentle slope down to the trees banking the river. “It’s so peaceful here.”
Cooper flicked the reins. “I know. It’s a good place to get your head on straight after deployment.”
“I’ve always wanted to open a sports retreat center for veterans returning from the war,” she mused aloud. “Many vets told me how difficult it is to return to civilian life. Even a simple trip to the average grocery store c
an be harrowing. Turning a corner and running into someone. We think nothing of it, but to a Marine who was clearing buildings, running into someone could mean that person was armed and prepared to kill you.”
He gave her a warm smile. “It’s not easy to come home and assimilate when you’ve been running on adrenaline for weeks, even months. Thanks for understanding.”
Her chest felt hollow at the appreciation. Meg said nothing, feeling a pinch of regret. She’d founded Combat Gear to help military personnel and give them an advantage in the field. Instead, her product had hurt, not helped.
They cleared the field and came to the trail snaking through the woods. Snowflake tossed her head and danced with anticipation, knowing what was coming. The young mare liked to have her head, running through the woods to the pretty picnic spot near the river. “Whoa, girl,” Meg said, laughing. “You want to race, huh?”
Cooper’s cell phone dinged. He removed it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Mom asked me to tell Hank to get an extra bale of hay for the inn’s porch because she wants to decorate for Thanksgiving.”
“Why didn’t she text him herself?”
“Cell phone service is iffy out here, so Hank never brings his phone.”
She looked around. Silly to be afraid and paranoid here when he was only a minute away. Snowflake, impatient to be off, pranced and pulled at the reins.
“Go on. I’ll meet you at the picnic tables.”
Cooper frowned. “I don’t know, Meg.”
“I’ll be fine.” With that, she entered the woods. Meg leaned forward in the saddle. “Come on, Snowflake, let’s roll!”
She kicked the mare’s sides, urging Snowflake on. Laughing, Meg enjoyed the rush of wind against her cheeks, the thrill of the thundering hooves kicking up the dirt.
Slowing her mount, she allowed Snowflake to stop. Meg dismounted, letting the reins drop. The picnic tables, set in a clearing in the woods, overlooked the swift-moving river. It was a lovely spot to eat lunch. Maybe she and Cooper could picnic here tomorrow.
She walked toward the tables, admiring the last lingering color on the trees. While she was here, she wanted to enjoy every single moment of freedom. Too soon, it would all vanish. But it would be worth it to bring justice to the young police officer who had died wearing a vest she thought would protect her.
A flash of movement among the trees caught her eye. She turned her head. About fifty yards away, a man stepped out from the thick bushes rimming the riverbank. He wore a camel-hair coat and had a large streak of gray lining his hair. Tall as her ex, and with the same paunch...
No. It couldn’t be.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Black spots danced in her vision as her throat closed tight. Meg began to shake uncontrollably, but she could not move. Fear paralyzed her.
The man started forward.
It was Prescott. She knew it, surely as she knew he would kill her once he reached her.
Do something! The slow, stalking menace in the man’s gait reminded her of the times Prescott would stalk toward her, leather belt in hand. The sounds, thwack, thwack, against his open palm...indicating what he planned.
Memories pushed through her terror. Never again would she be his victim.
Frantic, she whipped her head around, searching for any kind of weapon, wishing Cooper with his gun was with her. But he was at least half a mile back, and had no idea.
The whistle! Fingers shaking, she dug into her jeans pocket, but her hand shook too badly. Prescott kept walking, getting closer; he would lace his meaty fingers around her neck and squeeze until no air existed, and then he’d dump her body into the river...
The whistle wasn’t in her pocket. She forgot it, and now would pay the price for her carelessness...
Closer still he came, shuffling through the dead leaves on the ground as if he had all the time in the world...as if he knew how much fear had paralyzed her...
The other pocket, the whistle has to be in the other pocket, c’mon, try it, get a grip...
There!
Her trembling fingers dropped the whistle. Oh God, where was it? There, a spot of silver in the leaves, had to be it...c’mon, c’mon, move!
Meg put the whistle into her mouth and blew with all her might. The piercing sound shrieked a warning, lending her courage. The man hesitated and stepped backward. Still blowing, Meg mounted Snowflake and galloped back toward the field.
On his gelding, Cooper raced through the woods, halting when he saw her. “Meg!” he shouted.
With considerable effort, she halted Snowflake. Cooper pulled up Farmalot beside her. “What happened?”
The calmness in his deep voice shattered her numbness. Opening her mouth, she watched the silver whistle fall to the ground. Her breath came in little gasps.
“Just breathe, Princess. Breathe and tell me what scared you.”
Deep breaths. Finally she pointed in the direction of the picnic tables. “I—I s-saw him. Prescott. Over there.”
Cooper wheeled his horse around and removed the pistol from his holster. “Stay here.”
He galloped off. She tried to quell the panic clogging her throat, the rise of terror that always immobilized her when Prescott raised his hand to strike.
A few minutes later, Cooper returned. “I did a quick search. No one was there, Meg.”
“But he was standing there in the trees not even ten minutes ago. I’m not going crazy. I saw him!”
She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. Or was she losing her mind?
Could he have run off that quickly?
Cooper’s gaze hardened as he scanned the forest. “I believe you. You say you saw him, then you did. But there’s no trace of him now. He couldn’t have run that fast. Unless he took to the river, and that current is ripping today. You’d have to be an experienced boater to tackle it.”
“Prescott is an experienced boater. He owns a powerboat he docks at the marina in Palm Beach. He used to kayak in the Intracoastal as well.”
Cooper gazed around. “Hank told me he already knew about the extra bale of hay. Someone used my mother’s phone to send that message to try to separate us.”
It worked. Someone had been watching her, knew that she liked to race Snowflake through the woods to the picnic table. Knew that Snowflake always got anxious when entering the woods, anticipated the gallop.
Meg knew if she let fear rule her, she’d always be a prisoner to it. “I need to see.”
He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Then don’t. If I run back to the inn, I’ll always wonder if I was crazy and imagined it.”
Cooper nodded. “Stay right by my side and obey my every word. If I tell you to run, you run. Understand?”
“Yes.”
The woods were quiet as they rode along the trail, Meg trying to peer through the thick copse of hickory, oak and maple trees. Prescott could be hiding anywhere.
They dismounted at the picnic tables, tying their horses to a nearby fallen log. Taking her hand, Cooper instructed her to take him to where she’d seen her ex.
When they reached the area, Cooper scanned the ground.
Frowning, he bent over and touched the leaves. “Someone has been here, all right.”
Relief filled her. She wasn’t crazy.
They walked to the river. The bank sloped gently down to a man-made sandy beach. The area looked undisturbed to her inexperienced eye.
Cooper gazed at the sand. “Easier to make a landing here, but the woods aren’t as thick. And current’s ripping beyond the swimming area.”
Meg followed him as he walked along the narrow bank. He held out his hand to assist over a large boulder.
She relished the warmth of his touch as his fingers encased hers. Cooper was
strong and reliable, and Meg was glad he was with her. These woods spooked her with their denseness. Anyone or anything could hide here.
They reached another landing area where the river flowed at a more sedate pace instead of tumbling over rocks. Cooper squatted down and touched the muddy earth. “Look,” he said quietly. “Something’s flattened the ground here. See that mark ending in a narrow point?”
Meg could barely make out the indentation in the ground.
Cooper stood, brushing off his hands. “Looks like a kayak. He could have brought it here, tied it up and floated downstream and then disembarked on the other side. Wouldn’t take long for a skilled boater.”
“But he was wearing an overcoat and dressed for business, not for anything athletic,” she told him.
Not responding, Cooper kept his gaze focused on the ground. “He could have used the rocks to access the water, but he’d have to leave some kind of... There!”
Meg looked down to where he pointed.
At the riverbank next to a stone partly set into the water was a large footprint barely sunk into the mud. A flat sole, just like the ones outside the cottage the first night she’d arrived.
Cooper frowned. “Looks like the same size outside the cottage, the night you heard the crash. I don’t know anyone who wears size 14 men’s shoes with a flat sole. Everyone around here wears boots or shoes with traction.”
Meg looked up at Cooper, her heart racing. “I told you before that Prescott wears that size shoe. He was here. He’s been here all along for one reason. To kill me.”
Chapter 11
When they returned from their ride, Cooper thoroughly questioned all the staff at the Sunnyside Farm, and even questioned the guests.
As far as Meg’s safety was concerned, he took no chances.
All the staff were accounted for and most of the guests. Except Richard Kimball, the nature photographer. Fiona had not seen him since breakfast. He’d mentioned something about shooting the scenery in the White Mountains.
Awfully odd for a nature photographer to take photos when the season was mostly over. Cooper made a note to question the man upon his return.
