Читать книгу Ransom At Christmas - Barb Han - Страница 10

Torpedoing through trees at breakneck speed, Kelly Morgan drew a frustrating blank as she glanced down at the intricately detailed bodice of the white dress she wore. Branches slapped at her face and torso, catching the puffy layers of the full-length dress. She pushed ahead, anyway, because a voice in the back of her mind rang out, loud and clear.

It shouted, Run!

Trying to recall any details from the past few hours, let alone days, cramped her brain. All she remembered clearly was that there’d been a man in a tuxedo trying to force some kind of clear liquid down her throat.

Other than that, Kelly was clueless as to what she was doing in a white dress and her dress cowgirl boots barreling through the woods on a random ranch.

A cold front had moved in and she was shivering in her formal attire. Instinct told her to follow the creek.

As she fought her way through the underbrush, a vine caught the toe of her right boot. Her ankle twisted, shooting pain up her leg and causing her to stumble forward a few steps as she tried to regain balance.

Those couple of steps couldn’t stabilize her.

Momentum shot her forward onto all fours.

Thankfully, she missed banging her head on a mesquite tree by scarcely two inches. Her knees weren’t so lucky. They scraped against thorny branches. Rocks dug into her palms as she landed on the hard, unforgiving earth.

It was probably adrenaline that stopped her from feeling the pain of her knees being jabbed by rough edges and her hands being cut by sharp rocks.

Or whatever was in that glass of water the tall, bulky tuxedo-wearing male figure had forced down her throat.

“Tux” seemed familiar but she couldn’t pull out why. And the drink he’d tried to shove down her throat? Kelly had instantly figured out that it was laced with something. The second that tangy liquid had touched her tongue, she realized how much trouble she was in. The tacky metallic taste must be what it would have been like to lick a glue stick that had been dipped in vinegar.

Of course, she’d spewed out as much of the liquid as she could, but then the dark male figure—why couldn’t she remember who he was or the details of his face?—had pushed her a few steps backward until her back was flat against the wall. He’d pressed his body against hers, pinning her. He’d been so close, mere inches from her face, and yet she couldn’t recollect the details of his face. She’d struggled for control of the glass before he forced the liquid into her mouth.

All she recalled next was the gross metallic taste and the overwhelming feeling she wanted—no, needed!—to vomit. The cool liquid had made gurgling noises in her throat as he forced back her head. The room had spun as a dark cloud wrapped around her, squeezing, suffocating her.

Instinct told her to fight back and get out of the bride’s room of the small wedding chapel. But why she’d been there in the first place was still fuzzy.

The memory caused a rocket of panic to shoot through her and her brain to hurt. She pushed up to a standing position and grabbed a tree trunk to steady herself.

Kelly blinked her eyes, forcing them to stay open by sheer force of will. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she needed to find shelter while she was still conscious. Temperatures were dropping every minute. There had to be a place she could hide and lie low until the effects of the contents of that glass wore off.

The minute she gave in to darkness and blacked out, any wild animal—coyote, bear or hog—could come along and use her as an easy meal.

Keeping a clear head was getting more difficult. Darkness nipped at her even though the sun shone brightly through the trees. She had no idea what had really been in that drink or how much longer she could fight it off.

At least she’d stopped the man in the tuxedo, aka Tux, from giving her the entire glass like he’d threatened to do, like he’d tried. Her quick thinking and action—a sharp knee to the groin—was the only reason she could still function. Otherwise, she’d be splayed across the velvet sofa, pliant. Dead?

That swift knee to Tux’s groin had put a halt to those plans.

Was he trying to subdue her or kill her? To what end? What could Tux possibly have gained from either?

Her first thought was sexual motivation, but for reasons she couldn’t explain she knew that wasn’t right.

Figuring out exactly who Tux was and what he wanted would have to wait until her mind was clear again. There was another threat closing in. It felt like it wasn’t more than a few feet behind her, gaining ground.

Trees were thickening and the underbrush felt like hands gripping her legs, stopping her from forward progress.

Was there anything or anyone around? Could she shout for help? Or would that draw the wrong kind of attention?

Fear that Tux would be the only one to respond kept her quiet as she dredged through the thicket. Her body was getting weaker, she was moving slower.

What was in that drink?

Rohypnol? She’d read about the date-rape drug being used rampantly on college campuses.

Kelly leaned on a tree’s sturdy trunk to stay upright as her body trembled and she tried to shake the overwhelming feeling of doom as it enveloped her.

THE WORDS HIGH ALERT didn’t begin to describe the mood at the Kent family ranch as Will Kent walked his horse, Domino, along the fence on the north-eastern border of the property. A few days ago, one of the heifers was found near the base of Rushing Creek. Her front left hoof had been cut off, mangled. As disgusting as that act was, it didn’t end her life immediately. From the looks of her when she’d been found, she’d been left to bleed to death.

Will couldn’t allow himself to believe the killer had stuck around and watched, although speculation about what had happened was running wild. Jacobstown was a small, tight-knit community that had seen little crime.

Thinking about the incident caused Will’s trapezoids to tense. His shoulder muscles were strung tight to the point of pain. It didn’t help matters that his older brother, Mitch, and his wife had been targeted by criminals and had narrowly escaped, as well. Thankfully, Mitch, Kimberly and their twins were safe. The jerks who’d been tormenting Kimberly were securely locked behind bars.

A year had passed since that incident, and there was no sign that the person or group who’d brutally killed one of his heifers planned to return. The Kents didn’t leave much to chance. They decided to remain vigilant, anyway. As far as they were concerned the threat to the herd still loomed.

Life was beginning to return to normal around the ranch. And normal for a rancher meant up by 4:00 a.m. every day. Will suppressed a yawn. Early mornings had been always been Mitch’s thing, not Will’s. He’d never been a morning person. His night-owl tendencies were being pushed to their limits since moving back to the ranch to work full-time.

Will, like everyone in his family, was paying extra attention to the threat to their livestock. So far, only one heifer had been affected, but who knew where this would ultimately end. Their cousin, Zach McWilliams, was the sheriff and he had no leads in the case, which had horrified and disturbed the bedroom community of Jacobstown. He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

Anger caused Will’s shoulder blades to lock up. Hurting an innocent animal, whether out of ignorance or blatant torture, was right up there on the list of things Will would never tolerate. Especially not animals in his and his family’s trust.

The Kent family fortune had been made from owning thousands of acres of land across Texas and the accompanying mineral rights. Their mother, the matriarch, had passed away four years ago and their father nearly two years later. Will and his siblings had inherited the ranch and all its holdings, and were sewing up other business pursuits as each made his or her way to living on the land full-time.

Will circled the base of Rushing Creek again in order to cover the area one more time. Normally being out on the land brought a sense of peace. Not today. Not since the heifer.

Other than the occasional and rare prank of cow tipping, the ranch was normally a peaceful place and Jacobstown would be considered a sleepy town by most people’s standards. The kind where everyone was on a first name basis, a handshake was considered similar to a legal document and the streets rolled up by eight o’clock every night. Will ran his finger along the shirt of his collar again, needing a little more breathing room.

He took in a deep breath, trying to breathe a sense of calm into his soul. He was restless. Had been since the heifer. Longer than that if he was being honest. Analyzing himself like a shrink wasn’t at the top of his list. Protecting the herd was, however, and he was all-in when it came to the animals on his family land.

A streak of white caught his eye in the distance. He couldn’t see clearly between the trees and it was most likely nothing. But he turned his horse toward the object, anyway.

As Domino moved closer to the area, Will could see more movement. The white figure was zigzagging between trees and he could tell someone was on the move. A woman?

He nudged Domino into a trot. At the faster pace, the person was no match for his horse, even as he slowed his horse enough to wind through the thickening trees.

“Stop!” Will shouted, not wanting to surprise the person. He was close enough to see that the material was expensive and was wedding-dress white. It was some type of gown that trailed behind her as she whipped in and out of the trees. The cloud-puff-looking garment alternated between the trees, flowing behind her. The scene was something out of a bride’s magazine and was oddly mesmerizing. It also caused his chest to squeeze.

She kept running, which made her look guilty of something quite frankly. He doubted she was responsible for the heifer but she was up to something or she would have stopped when he called out to her. Innocent people didn’t run.

The trees slowed Domino’s pace as he wound through the tall oaks and mesquites that were abundant as they tracked White Dress.

There was something frantic about her pace and the way she zigzagged through the woods. Was she running from someone besides him?

Nah. He shook off the possibility.

“Hold on there.” He decided to take a different tack and intentionally softened his voice. “Do you need help?”

Domino’s pace slowed to a crawl as the woods thickened near the eastern fencing. Kent land stretched miles beyond this area. Where did White Dress think she was going?

“Whoa,” Will said to his horse.

Domino’s size was getting in the way of being nimble enough to catch her. At this point, Will could walk faster.

He climbed off his horse and tied Domino to a tree. He patted his gelding. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ll be right back, buddy.”

From behind, he could see that White Dress was five-and-a-half-feet tall, give or take. As he moved closer, he saw streaks of red on her dress. Blood? Was she hurt?

Her warm brown hair with streaks of honey looked more like a galloping horse’s mane, shiny and flowing as the wind whipped it around.

“Slow down. I have no plans to hurt you,” he said.

She glanced back at him and the look on her face was a punch to his gut. There was so much desperation and fear.

As he got closer, he could see that she wore a short-sleeved lacy wedding dress that fell just below the knee and a pair of dress boots with an intricate teal inlay. Will was gaining on her but not because he was increasing his speed. White Dress was slowing down and she seemed to be stumbling over her boots a little bit. His mind took a different turn. Was she under the influence of something?

She grabbed onto a tree trunk before glancing back at him. She was just far enough ahead for him to barely make out the details of her face. The woman was a looker with those hauntingly beautiful eyes. There was no argument about that. She held onto that tree like gravity would shoot her into the clouds if she let go.

“Who are you?” Will asked again, using the softer tone. She wore the expression of a frightened animal as she made another run for it.

White Dress’s boot must’ve caught on something because she vaulted forward and narrowly missed planting the crown of her head against an oak tree’s trunk when she landed. She popped up onto all fours and tried to scramble away. Her movements were awkward and wobbly, causing more questions to flood him. Had she hit her head? Had she lost a lot of blood and was about to pass out?

Then again, she might’ve been drinking and gotten hurt. He’d seen more than a few instances of hormone-infused good-ol’-boy drinking and the ensuing antics.

Growing up on the family ranch, he’d seen everything from cow-tipping to the south pasture accidentally catching on fire because of a gang of intoxicated teens. They’d claimed to be unaware the state was in a drought when they’d decided to roast hot dogs on a campfire at three o’clock in the morning after sneaking out.

“Look. I’m not going to hurt you so you might as well stop and tell me what you’re doing on my family’s land.” This time, he let his frustration seep in his tone. He didn’t have time for this. It was getting late in the day and he needed to head back to the ranch.

White Dress seemed determined to get away from him. He’d give her that. So, he jogged ahead of her and turned around to face her.

Those violet eyes of hers—filled with an interesting mix of sheer determination and panic—fixated on him as she managed to stumble to her feet and hold onto another tree trunk.

“We can do this for as long as you’d like. But you’re on my land and I’m not going anywhere until I know why you’re here and that you’ll leave safely.” He stood in an athletic stance, ready to take action the second she bolted.

“Then help me.” Her words slurred and for another split second he wondered if she’d been drinking.

“Tell me your name and I’ll see what I can do.” He fished out his cell, keeping an eye on her. For all he knew her tipsiness could be an act and she could take off again once he was distracted.

She hesitated. Her grip on the tree trunk was white-knuckled.

“My name’s Will Kent.” He figured a little goodwill would go a long way toward winning her trust. She had that frightened-animal look that came right before a bite. A scared animal could do a lot of damage.

On closer look, she seemed familiar. Did he know her?

“I know who you are. I’m Kelly Morgan,” she finally said and there was a resignation in her tone that made him inclined to believe she was telling the truth. Her facial expression wasn’t so defeated and he knew instantly that she would take any out that presented itself.

“Are you supposed to be somewhere, Mrs. Morgan?” He glanced at the white dress and then his eyes immediately flew to the ring finger on her left hand to see if the wedding had already taken place. There was nothing.

She shook her head almost violently.

“I’m not. I mean, I know what this must look like but—” Again her words were slurred.

She followed his gaze to the dress and her face paled.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, focusing on the long red streaks of blood.

“I don’t think so,” she said in a panicked tone as she ran her hands along the beading of her dress at her midsection.

His thoughts instantly skipped to the possibility that she’d had a few shots of “liquid courage” before she ended up chickening out and splitting on her wedding day. The thought of the man she’d left behind, another human being, standing at an altar somewhere and waiting—like an idiot!—for a woman who would never show stuck in Will’s craw. He tensed at the possibility. No man deserved to have his hopes trampled like that.

Will bit back what he really wanted to say.

“Today your wedding day?” he asked in an even tone as memories he’d tucked away down deep clawed to the surface.

“No.” She looked bewildered. “But it’s not safe for me. I have to keep going.”

She aimed herself at another tree and more or less threw her body toward it, grasping at the trunk.

“Whoa. Steady there,” Will said, stepping toward her to catch her elbow and hold her upright.

She mumbled an apology and something that sounded like she was saying she’d been drugged.

Did he hear her right?

This close, he could see the unique violet color in her irises, and when he looked deeper there was something else that would haunt him for the rest of his days—a split second of unadulterated fear.

Did she think he was going to hurt her?

“I’ll help you get this sorted out,” he said to reassure her, thinking this day was turning into a doozy.

“Why did he…? What did he…?”

Did she know where she was?

Even sounding confused, there was a musical quality to her voice.

It dawned on him what had been bugging him.

He knew that name.