Rancher's High-Stakes Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  Her room was on the second floor at the front and had wood floors and tall ceilings and a claw-foot tub in the bath. Instead of a closet, there was a scarred oak armoire, standing across from the vintage tubular steel bed. It was all so lovely that the only thing she would even think of changing was the line of small iron birds that danced along the top bar of both the headboard and the footboard. Not only were they just too much, as Jeffrey said about excessive decorations, their sharp beaks and wing tips looked a little dangerous for someone wandering to or from the bathroom in the middle of the night.

  She sat at the small oak table that served as a desk, her tablet and keyboard in front of her. She intended to spend the rest of the evening the way she usually did—a few games of Candy Crush, then a few chapters of whichever book caught her fancy. Fantasy tonight, she thought, with dragons and knights and self-rescuing princesses. Something that would take her out of Cedar Creek and far, far away from Daniel’s dislike.

  “You dumped him,” she muttered aloud. “Did you really expect him to be happy to see you?”

  No. She’d never thought he would be happy. He took things so seriously. Sometimes she’d wondered how someone raised by two majorly passionate people could be so cool and unemotional. Maybe he was just a version of her: coming from such a chaotic family, she’d craved quiet and calm. Maybe he’d craved rationale and reason.

  But he felt things. Felt them deeply. He’d trusted until he’d learned better. He’d been fiercely loyal until she’d showed him disloyalty. He would have done anything for her until she’d done everything to him. He was done with her. She understood that. Respected it. Accepted it.

  But it still stung.

  With the email icon on the tablet screen showing new mail, she raised one hand to swipe across it, then hesitated. The tiny hairs bristling on the back of her neck told her there would be an email from him. The reason she had made this trip. The reason she’d had to face Daniel. She wanted to indulge in childlike games: if she didn’t open the program, she wouldn’t see the email, and if she didn’t see the email, it didn’t exist. He didn’t exist.

  But he did, and all the pretending in the world couldn’t change that.

  She had the usual spam in her inbox, a funny message from her sister, Stacia, and a sweet how-did-it-go note from Archer. He was the gruffer, blunter of the two Harper men, but he had a soft spot for her, and she for him.

  And yes, there was also an email from him.

  RememberMe.

  The sight of his screen name made her skin crawl and her hand tremble when she tapped on it. Her cell phone had been blissfully silent today, but Monday he’d texted her multiple times.

  You’re late for work, Nat. Why?

  Your office said you didn’t call in. Are you sick? I should call Stacia to find out.

  Where are you, Nat?

  On Tuesday, he’d opened with...

  There’s no family emergency or Stacia would be gone, too. Where are you? What are you doing? Why are you making me worry?

  Are you too sick to answer your phone? Should I ask the dispatcher for a welfare check?

  Is this about Kyle’s accident?

  Answer me, damn it.

  His final text that night had made her shiver and hunker deeper into the covers of a cheap motel somewhere in Texas, along Interstate 40.

  I went by your apartment tonight, and your car was gone. What are you up to, Nat? Why are you doing this to me?

  What he was doing to her apparently counted for nothing, and what he’d done to Kyle...

  Goose bumps everywhere, she finally focused on the tablet screen.

  You shouldn’t have done this, Nat. But it’s okay. I’m not mad. I was, but I’m not anymore because I know I’ll find you. The connection between us is so deep and strong that I’ll always find you, and when I do—after all, Cedar Creek’s not that big—you’ll never want to leave me again.

  Damn it, he knew where she was. Deep inside, though, she wasn’t surprised. Coming here had been on the spur of the moment; on Sunday night she’d called Archer and gotten Daniel’s information, told Stacia she was leaving, packed her bags and slipped out of the apartment before dawn Monday morning. But she’d known RememberMe would figure it out. He knew everything she did.

  Swallowing hard, she pressed her hands together to stop their trembling. He made her feel so damn vulnerable. There had been times when his messages were almost sporadic, a few weeks when she hadn’t heard from him at all. She’d readjusted to life quickly, neglecting to be wary when she was out, to look over her shoulder or to search for familiar faces in unfamiliar places. Then, when she’d thought he’d moved on, that some other woman had caught his fancy, another email had found its way into her inbox, or a text to her cell phone, or a card to her mailbox.

  RememberMe. When the first emails had come, she’d thought the name was cute, a friendly question without the question remark. Hey, remember me? After what had happened to Kyle, she knew there was nothing cute or friendly about him.

  And she didn’t have a clue in hell who he was or what he wanted besides frightening her. She didn’t know why he was fixated on her, how he’d gotten her email address or her cell number or her home address. She didn’t know how he tracked her down every time she changed jobs, where he watched her from, what he wanted from her.

  What was the point of his sick game?

  Right now it didn’t matter. All she had to do was warn Daniel. Have that conversation he so clearly didn’t want to have. Give him one more reason to hate her. She would do the same with her other two exes—she was still searching for them—and then she would find herself a hiding place so far away that RememberMe would never find her.

  She closed her email and stared at the screen a long time before opening the browser. Cedar Creek was a pretty little town, but she needed to put it in the rearview mirror as soon as possible. Vulnerable wasn’t a pleasant way to feel, and she wanted it done.

  It wasn’t likely that a town the size of this one had more than one bowling alley, and a search showed that was true. She’d discarded her wet shoes when she came in from the diner and hadn’t brought another pair that went so well with the dress, so she changed into jeans and a button-down, put on chunky-soled boots that should keep out the worst of the water, grabbed a raspberry-colored slicker and her bag, and left the room.

  Claire Baylor, proprietor, manager and housekeeper of the Prairie Sun, was sitting behind the grand oak counter, a book propped open on the desk. When she closed it, Natasha caught a view of the cover. The Unlucky Ones.

  “I’ve heard that book will give you nightmares,” she commented.

  Claire came to stand in front of her. “It makes me unbearably sad.”

  “I haven’t read it. These days, if it doesn’t make me laugh or give me the thrill of adventure, I don’t read it.”

  “It’s disturbing but hopeful. She survived horrible things and went on to live a good life.” Claire glanced past her to the wet street outside. “Are you heading out?”

  “Yeah. I was wondering where to find Highway 97.”

  “Main Street, a couple blocks west, becomes 97 when it leaves town. Anyplace in particular?”

  “The bowling alley.”

  The woman winced. “I had to take a physical education class in college, and I chose bowling because...well, let’s face it. I’m not a physical sort.” She patted her rounded hips. “Luckily, the instructor graded on effort, because I don’t think I threw a single ball all semester that didn’t go into someone else’s lane.”

  “I’ve never tried the game. I just can’t see the point of heaving a twelve-pound ball at a bunch of pins that far away. Of course, I never got the point of golf or tennis, either. Hockey—that makes sense to me. Pounding people who get in your way.”

  Claire’s laugh was hearty and easy, as if it was second nature. “I�
�m with you, sister. Anyway, just go up to Main, turn right and it’s a couple miles north on the right side of the road. Have fun.”

  Claire left the desk and walked with Natasha to the rear door, where the hour and the weather kept the lot dimly lit. “Feel free to park on the street out front when you come back. Your key unlocks both front and back doors, and after talking about that book, the front’s just less creepy.”

  “Thanks.” Natasha jogged to her car and locked the doors as soon as she was inside. There’d been a time when that had instantly made her feel safer. Not any longer. Even a thorough look around the vehicle didn’t inspire confidence. She didn’t know what skills RememberMe possessed. He’d found her new email address every time she’d changed it; within twenty-four hours of her changing her cell number, he was calling again. She’d moved from an apartment in her own name to one in her cousin’s name, and flowers had arrived at her doorstep the next morning. Was tampering with her car beyond him? Was anything beyond him?

  The tears that had put a quaver into Kyle’s mother’s voice last weekend answered that question effectively.

  But the car started fine, and when she turned on the heat to dispel the chill, nothing noxious poured from vents. This was one of the problems of a stalker: he frequently made her lose sight between reason and paranoia. At the moment, she wasn’t convinced there was a difference.

  The gutters along First Street were overflowing, spreading into the street and sometimes bubbling onto the sidewalks. With no oncoming traffic, she drove, straddling the dividing line to stay out of the deepest water. It wasn’t seven thirty yet, but it seemed hours past her bedtime. The clouds, the constant flow and splash, the damp and the chill all combined to convince her winter was on its way in a place where it mattered. Not the mild few months they got at home but real cold, real snow, real ice.

  Thunder Lanes couldn’t be missed. It sat in a mix of industrial and residential structures, the only business open now, its blacktop parking lot full. Natasha was lucky to find a space near the front as another car backed out. She swooped in, sat there gripping the steering wheel for a while and then forced herself to let go. Open the door. Take off her seat belt. Get out. Close the door. Walk to the main entrance and...and...

  She actually decided to leave but got caught in the shuffle when two customers left and four more came in at the same time. Before she got untangled, she was on the other side of the doors, with escape behind her and loud music and loud voices ahead.

  She wasn’t intending to talk to Daniel tonight. She would just walk inside, keep her distance from his group. How hard could it be to avoid a bunch of cops, deputies and firefighters? She would get a snack and find an out-of-the-way place to watch him for a bit. See how he interacted with the others. See if he was still angry.

  See if he’d brought that girl, Taryn.

  The lanes were busy. The food counters weren’t. She got a beer and a corn dog, a glob of mustard and napkins and scoped out the best place to go unnoticed. The arcade was mostly empty, and only a couple of kids played in the enclosed toddler playground next to it. A narrow counter and chairs lined one side of it so parents could keep watch.

  Only one woman sat there, dark-haired, pretty, the messy remains of hot dogs and pop to one side, along with a mountain-sized pile of dirty napkins. She caught Natasha’s look and smiled drily. “Silly me. I thought it would be hard to create disaster with a bun, a wiener and a spurt of ketchup. Who knew?”

  Natasha left two seats between them and sat to the woman’s left, where she would have an excuse for looking toward the first responders at their side-by-side lanes at the far end. “Your kids?”

  “Oh, no. Samwell is my husband’s cousin’s child. He’s spoiled rotten, throws temper tantrums at least once an hour and thinks he will absolutely ‘diiiieeee’ if he doesn’t get his way every single time. The girl who ignores him and plays so politely is the daughter of one of the firefighters over there.”

  “You don’t bowl?”

  “I only come for the popcorn. Who are you with?”

  Natasha’s face flushed. “I only came for the corn dog and the beer. I’ll have to try the popcorn next.”

  Briefly taking her gaze from Samwell, the woman smiled. “I’m Mila.”

  “Natasha.” She dipped the entire end of her corn dog in mustard and was taking a big bite when Mila made an interested sound.

  “Are you the Natasha?”

  Mustard went down her throat the wrong way, and bits of breading tried to work their way up and out her nose. She covered her face with a handful of napkins, spitting and wheezing at the vinegary burn, so lost in her little fit that she barely heard Mila say, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Followed by, “Ooh, I’ll take that as an even bigger yes.”

  Natasha swiped the tears from her eyes and wiped her face clean before looking toward the lanes where all the good-looking guys were. Had been. One was weaving his way around benches and bowlers toward them.

  And he didn’t look happy.

  Copyright © 2018 by Marilyn Pappano

  ISBN-13: 9781488093258

  Rancher’s High-Stakes Rescue

  Copyright © 2018 by Beth Cornelison

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