Читать книгу Christmas Ranch Rescue - Lynette Eason - Страница 12

ONE

Becca Price’s slowly healing back shouted its discomfort as she heaved the water hose into the horse’s stall to fill the bucket. She ignored the pain and listened to the old barn creak. The feeling of someone watching her spiked the hairs on her neck and she shuddered.

Someone watching, waiting. Not exactly how she wanted to start her Monday morning.

The ominous feeling had just grown stronger over the past few weeks ever since her fall. She glanced around and did her best to shake off the creepiness.

Again.

Unfortunately, she just couldn’t quite manage it. A shiver rippled up her spine and it had nothing to do with the forty-degree temperatures outside.

“Nathan? Is that you?” Nathan Williams, her former best friend and reformed practical joker, was back in town and asking to see her. Maybe he’d come early and was reverting to their teenage days.

Silence echoed back at her. She wished Jack, her five-year-old golden retriever, had followed her into the barn. He’d tell her if someone was out there. But he’d taken off across the backyard and through the pasture.

She shook her head. “Focus on the horses,” she muttered. Owning her own barn had been a dream since childhood. A little pain—and paranoia—wouldn’t stop her from giving her clients what they’d paid for. “One down, eleven more to go.”

She moved to the next stall. The pretty paint nickered and nuzzled up against Becca’s face. Absently, she stroked the animal’s warm neck. She couldn’t help but scan the open area between the stalls once more, even as she took comfort in the horse’s calming presence. He didn’t seem worried. Becca stepped back and her foot caught the edge of the bucket, dumping what she’d just filled.

She sighed and righted the pail to start over. Even with all of the hard work, she wouldn’t do anything else, have any other career—not even use the medical degree she’d been arm-twisted into getting. At least, not right now. Right now, horses were her passion.

No matter the backlash she got.

Becca tightened her jaw. She’d succeed. She would. She’d find the money to keep the barn going. Somehow, someway. And she wouldn’t ask her parents for help—that was for sure. She’d go back to working a full-time job before she’d ask them for help. Which they wouldn’t give her anyway.

Don’t let me give up, please God. Give me strength. The prayer felt weird, and she felt almost guilty for praying it. Her parents had both been born in Wrangler’s Corner and grown up not too far from where Becca now lived. But they’d had bigger dreams than horses and ranching. Not only for themselves, but for her, too. Their only child. So they’d packed her up and moved to Nashville when she was seventeen years old.

She still wasn’t sure she’d forgiven them for that—even though she’d gone along with it without outward argument.

Somehow she’d survived the move, the new school, and the never-ending social engagements she’d been required to attend. She’d excelled at pleasing her parents.

Until she’d had enough.

A year ago, she’d bought this place with the small bit of money her grandmother had bequeathed her and moved home.

The barn door squeaked again and she jumped. “Nathan? If that’s you, it’s not funny.”

Silence echoed back at her. Nathan used to like practical jokes, was always pulling off some stunt when they were in high school, but he’d never been mean or deliberately creepy. Even he wouldn’t take it this far. When he’d called this morning and asked to see her, she’d been stunned. Pleasantly stunned for sure, but she knew she hadn’t hidden her surprise well. “I’m back in town,” he’d said, “and I need some work. Do you think I could come talk to you about a job?”

She stumbled through a yes and he’d promised to be there shortly.

But even he couldn’t have gotten here that fast. So that meant someone else was there. But who and why wouldn’t that person answer her?

Her pulse began a swift beat and her nerves shivered. Becca kinked the hose and the water flow stopped. She stepped from the stall and looked out into the open area. Nothing. Again. She shuddered and bit her lip, chastising herself for jumping at her shadow. No one was there after all.

The door to the barn creaked but didn’t open. She stomped her foot and turned back to stare at the door. She’d moved too fast. Pain shot through her and she grimaced. “Hello?”

Only the sounds of the horses answered her. Her nerves stretched and she moved from the stall to the center of the barn. Her boots crunched on the combination of dirt and scattered hay as she stopped and listened. Before the accident, she would have marched up to the door and thrown it open. Now, fear invaded her body, and she shivered. It didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t shrug it away.

She reached for the pitchfork she’d leaned against the stall opposite the paint’s.

A flash of memory taunted her. Pounding hooves and a horse’s crazed whinny. She gasped and knew the memory was from the day of her fall. She had very little recollection of what had happened that day.

Four weeks ago, when she’d awakened in the middle of the field, the pain had taken her breath away. Christine Hampton, her trainer, had been on the phone screaming at the 911 dispatcher.

Now it seemed as if someone was trying to get in her barn. And Becca didn’t know if she had the strength to defend herself if that someone had evil on his mind.

* * *

Nathan Williams watched the trees pass by as his anger simmered beneath the surface. The conversation with Clay Starke had riled him, and he almost missed the turn for Becca Price’s gravel drive. He pressed the brake hard and made a quick turn in the right direction.

Once he knew he was back on track, he let the conversation he’d had not twenty minutes earlier run through his head. He’d been in Clay’s office, sitting across from the man who’d just asked him to spy on the woman who’d been his best friend since childhood.

Granted, they hadn’t spoken much in the past several years, but she’d meant the world to him once upon a time, and he was kicking himself over what he’d just agreed to do.

When Clay Starke, sheriff in the small town of Wrangler’s Corner, Tennessee, located about an hour outside of Nashville, had called asking for his help, Nathan had listened with the intention of letting Clay down gently.

However, when his friend had told him about Becca’s accident and that she was desperate for help, he hadn’t been able to say no. He’d come home and found out what was really going through Clay’s mind. “It’s possible she’s running drugs off her ranch and I need it proven one way or another.”

“There’s no way that’s possible.” He’d immediately defended Becca. “I’m not going to do it.” He’d shoved the chair back and stood, anger thumping through him. Betrayal burned in his belly. “You lied to me.”

Clay had leaned forward, regret and determination stamped on his lined face. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything because I knew this would be your reaction. I remember how crazy you were about Becca in high school.”

“Yeah, well, she wouldn’t give me the time of day, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” At least not in the romance department. But she’d loved hanging out with him at his house and playing Sunday afternoon football in the big backyard with him and his dad.

Clay had sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m at the end of my rope, Nate. People are dying. The last victim of an overdose, Donny Torres, was only nineteen years old. And while he had a rap sheet as long as your arm, he didn’t deserve to die.”

“I agree.”

“I talked to Donny’s parents. I’ve known them for a while now, and I knew Donny well. He was a hard case, I’ll admit. He didn’t hang around with the good guys, and his name has popped up several times in my various investigations. I think he knew a lot more about the drugs in this town than he was letting on. And...”

“And?”

“He had Becca’s cell phone number in his phone. When I asked her who he was and why he would have her number indicating a call from her, she said she didn’t know. I mean, she knew Donny, of course, it’s a small town. But she said she had no idea why he had her number in his phone and that she’d never called him.”

“Maybe she didn’t.”

“I pulled her records and they had a ten-minute conversation the day of her accident. Two days before that, they talked for six minutes, and a week before that, they talked for four and a half minutes. And there was a text message to him that said, ‘Shipment 125 4AM.’”

Nathan had frowned. Okay, that was kind of weird. “What did she say when you told her you had a record of the calls and the text?”

“She just shook her head and denied knowing anything about them. And honestly, she did look completely confused. But...I don’t know, Nate, I just don’t know. You and I’ve worked the bigger city crimes. You know what good actors some people are. My gut is saying she’s innocent, and my heart wants to agree, but the evidence is saying otherwise.”

“Did you get a warrant to search her place?”

Clay had grimaced. “Yes. Last week. I thought the message about the shipment might mean December 5, at four in the morning. I staked the place out that night and never saw a sign of anyone. But I’d already put off the search as long as I ethically could, so I had no choice but to go in. Rumors were swirling, and people were demanding something be done—especially Donny’s parents. I can’t say I blame them.”

“And?”

“And, I’m happy to say, we found nothing.”

“Did you use a drug dog?”

“Yes. I had a buddy bring one in from Nashville. The dog got a little antsy in the barn but never alerted to anything. We searched the barn anyway. Tore the place apart and still found nothing.”

“Then...could someone have it out for her and be trying to set her up?”

“Of course it’s possible, but again, I just don’t know. I mean, if someone was going to set her up, I would think we would have found something, not come away empty-handed.”

“Yeah. True.”

“I do know she’s hurting for money, and sometimes desperate people do desperate things.”

“Hurting for money?” Nathan had raised a brow. “With her parents? That’s not how I remember things. Her parents are loaded.”

“Becca and my aunt and uncle had a falling-out when she quit her job at the hospital and moved back to Wrangler’s Corner. I’m not sure they’ve spoken over the last year.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah.” Clay had sighed and raked a hand through his dark hair. “Look. Whoever’s running these drugs through my town has to be stopped. If it’s Becca, then so be it. I need you to do this because I can’t be objective.”

“And you think I can?”

“You have to.” He’d pierced him with a hard look. “High school was a long time ago. You’ve moved on. You were engaged to another woman, which means you were over Becca.”

That was true. And, had he married Sylvia, he wouldn’t have thought twice about Becca. But Sylvia’s betrayal had shifted something inside of him. Made him long for the innocence and sweetness that had encompassed his relationship with Becca. He’d liked being with her, had respected her and, yes, wanted more than friendship, but knew she hadn’t, so he’d been content just to hang out with her. Until she moved.

He realized Clay was waiting for him to respond. “Yes, I was over Becca. What I felt for her was a teenage crush. And, yes, I truly loved Sylvia.” Which was why her betrayal had nearly gutted him. “But—”

“No buts. You need to keep your feelings out of it. She’s off-limits until we know for sure she’s not involved.”

The shock of Clay’s omission about Becca’s suspected involvement had faded, leaving a simmering anger. Nathan had jabbed a finger at the man he’d always looked up to and trusted. “You said you needed my help. You said there was a drug ring operating right under your nose. And you said that Becca was hurt and I could work for her while I decided whether or not I wanted to go back with the DEA. You just said you wanted me to investigate. You didn’t say anything about going undercover or suspecting that Becca was involved in the drug running.”

“Nath—”

“You want me to lie to her and I won’t do it.” He’d ended his tirade and rubbed his left shoulder, the ache a constant reminder of why women were off-limits.

Especially Becca.

He’d once thought himself in love with her, a middle school crush that had grown as they’d moved into their teenage years. But he’d gotten over her and moved on.

Or so he’d thought.

The feelings that had raced through him once he realized the intent behind Clay’s manipulation made him understand he’d been fooling himself. And that made him mad. He had no intention of fanning an old flame, but the desire to see Becca and protect her from whatever was going on unsettled him. Sylvia had taught him that romance was a waste of time and should be avoided at all costs.

And yet...Becca would never do what Sylvia did.

Would she?

He hated the small kernel of doubt that sprouted its ugly head, but he couldn’t help it. People changed, he knew that. But was it possible for Becca to change that much?

For the most part, Nathan had physically healed from the gunshot wound to his shoulder, but emotionally healed was another story.

After he had refused to budge on his insistence that Clay was wrong and he’d have no part of the scheme, the man had finally said, “Then prove she’s innocent.”

Those four words were why he’d called her and asked to see her, and why he now found himself in Becca’s driveway, fingers still clamped around the wheel of his pickup truck.

* * *

A hand slapped over her mouth and jerked her head back. Pain assaulted her and Becca let out a squeal as the pitchfork slid from her fingers to bounce on the dirt. Jack, her golden retriever, bounded into the barn, barking and lunging at the man behind her.

“Shut up!” He danced sideways to avoid Jack’s snapping jaws, keeping Becca between him and the dog.

Becca struggled, her back screaming in protest at the rough treatment. She finally managed to jam an elbow into his torso. He gave a low grunt and his hand slipped enough for her to open her mouth and bite down.

Yelling, he shoved her away from him. Becca kept her feet beneath her and stumbled for the door while her back spasmed and her head spun. Then the pain overwhelmed her and sent her to her knees. She cried out, unable to do anything except pray her attacker was done.

“Hey! What’s going on in here?”

Jack continued his frantic barks, but she knew the voice that had come from behind her. She rolled, gasping at the arch of fire that burned up her back.

Her attacker had grabbed the pitchfork and was headed toward her friend. “Nathan, watch out!”

With the black ski mask covering his features, she had no way of knowing who he was, just that he was getting ready to stab Nathan.

Nathan waited until the man almost reached him, then spun and kicked out, giving a grunt of satisfaction when his foot connected. The pitchfork flew from the attacker’s hands.

The masked man lunged for the door. Nathan let him go and raced to Becca’s side. He dropped to his knees. “Becca, are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” she gasped. “Don’t let him get away.” Jack ran after the escaping intruder. “No! Jack, come!” The dog stopped and returned to Becca. He paced in front of her, his concerned brown eyes never leaving her face.

Nathan’s blue eyes snapped to the barn’s exit, then back to her. “I’m more concerned about getting you to a doctor, but stay put. I’m going to check on him and call 911.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, nausea sweeping over her. Residue from the pain and fear, she was sure.

“I’ll be right back, I promise. Just going to try and get him.”

Nathan raced away from her and she tried to roll to her side. The lightning flash of pain that swept through her stopped that idea. She lay still, swallowing, doing her best not to be sick. Desperation and fury washed through her. She’d reinjured her back. All the therapy and exercises and taking it easy had been undone in the blink of an eye. If she got her hands on the person responsible—

“He’s gone,” Nathan said, coming back into the barn. “He had a car stashed out of sight, backed into the woodsy part near the top of your drive. I would have chased him but didn’t want to leave you here alone and hurt.” He held out a hand. “Can I help you up or would you rather wait for the ambulance to get here?”

She stared up at him, considering her options. “I think as long as I don’t move, I might manage to keep from hurling.”

He squatted, his jeans pulling tight against the muscles in his legs. His boots had seen better days and the cowboy hat hid his eyes. She reached up and flicked it off. His blue eyes set in his permanently tanned face stared down at her. He blinked and then smiled. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you.” She took a deep breath and moved slowly. Her back muscles twinged but didn’t lock up on her. She held up a hand. “I’ll take a little help if you can pull nice and easy so I don’t have to use my back.”

He did. Pretending she had a metal rod in place of her spine, she got to her feet. No bending, no moving fast, no twisting. Her head beat a fast rhythm of pain along with the throbbing in her back. “Thanks.”

Jack whined and nudged the side of her leg. She absently gave his ears a scratch, and that seemed to pacify him.

Sirens filled the air around them. She took a deep breath and a step forward. It hurt, but at least it didn’t feel like she had a knife wedged in her back anymore.

“You need to get to a doctor and have that checked out.”

She didn’t bother telling him she was a doctor. He knew that. Not a back doctor, true, but... “I know what’s wrong and I know how to fix it. Rest and physical therapy.” She grimaced. “Neither of which I like very much.”

“I’m thinking a pain pill wouldn’t hurt.”

She tightened her jaw. “I don’t do drugs—in spite of what everyone in Wrangler’s Corner thinks.”

He lifted an eyebrow and studied her. “I wasn’t suggesting you did. I saw Clay earlier and he told me you had a serious back injury.”

“I do. Did. It’s in the healing process. Or it was before just now.” She’d done the narcotics in the beginning, just to get through the day, but fearing addiction, she’d weaned herself off, and before the attack, had been at the point where she could just take something over the counter when she needed it. Like when she overdid it. Although she had to admit, the pain now was bad enough to have her thinking twice about finding her prescription bottle.

Nathan hovered at her side. “I’m glad you showed up when you did,” she said to him.

“I’m glad I did, too.”

She tilted her head. “Why do you need a job? I thought you were some big bad DEA agent in Nashville.”

His eyes shuttered and his jaw tightened. “I am. Was. Am. Not the big and bad part. Just the agent part.”

“So which is it? Am or was?”

“Was. I quit.” He pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, it’s more like an extended leave of absence, but I have an open invitation to return anytime.” He sighed. “I got shot and decided to come home to recover. I have more time off than I need, I’m just not ready to—” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m healing nicely and boredom has set in.” He gave a small shrug. “I heard you needed help, I’ve got some medical bills to pay, so I’m here to apply.”

He’d been shot? How had she missed hearing about that one? No doubt because she lived like a hermit most of the time. She looked him over carefully. “You don’t look hurt.”

“It wasn’t a bad wound, and like I said, I’m healing. Actually, the shoulder is pretty much healed. I’ve done the physical therapy and I’m cleared to go back to work. I just don’t want to yet.” His eyes darkened and he glanced away. “Besides, hurt comes in many different forms,” he murmured.

Two Wrangler’s Corner police vehicles pulled to a stop in her drive, and she walked toward them, keeping her pace even, careful with each step. She recognized Trent Haywood and Parker Little. A third car pulled in behind them. Clay.

Clay stepped out of the third car and Becca kept her gaze on the man. Hurt comes in many different forms. Well, that was true enough.

Sheriff Clay Starke was her cousin. The one she’d chased around his parents’ ranch when they were kids, and the one who’d beat up the bully for her when she was in second grade. He was also the one who’d questioned her about a man who’d died of an overdose with her number in his cell phone and who’d gotten a warrant to search her place. Thankfully, as she’d expected, he’d come up empty-handed.

But still.

The anger and hurt were fresh and she didn’t know when she’d get over it. She glanced back at Nathan. “You’re hired.”

He blinked. “That was easy.”

“I need help and you want to work. I know you and I trust you. I was going to have to put an ad in the paper and start interviewing.” She grimaced. “I want to do that about as much as I want another fall. I’d be a fool to turn you down.”

* * *

I know you and I trust you.

Nathan stared at the bottom of the bunk above him, his mind spinning, guilt eating at him. Becca thought she knew him. She thought she could trust him. Little did she know she’d just let a spy into her midst. She knew he worked for the DEA and yet hadn’t thought twice about letting him onto her property or hiring him. That spoke volumes to him.

He grunted and rolled to his side, winced at the pressure on his shoulder and decided he was most comfortable on his back. God, I think I’ve managed to get myself into a mess. Please don’t let me do anything that’s going to hurt Becca. I wouldn’t hurt her for the world, but Clay’s asked me to do this. And while I don’t think Becca’s guilty, if Clay says the drugs are coming from this area, then I need to find out. And find out if Becca’s gotten mixed up in the middle and doesn’t know it. He sighed. “Although, I’m guessing she might know it after today,” he muttered aloud. It had been a bold move for the masked man to attack her in the barn in the middle of the day. That very fact scared him. For her.

Which made him wonder if the failure to get what he wanted would result in the attacker’s return.

Nathan slapped the pillow in frustration. Sleep wasn’t going to happen. His nerves still jumped from his showdown with the man in the barn, his worry over Becca, and his desire to tell her exactly what he was doing sleeping in her bunkhouse and working at her barn.

He swung his feet to the floor and grabbed his jeans from the foot of the bed. So he’d tell her. Right now. Nathan glanced at the clock and winced. It was shortly before midnight. He’d have to wait until morning. She’d had a long day and needed her sleep. “And so do you, Williams,” he muttered. “Lights out.”

Nathan wasn’t sure how long he laid there, thinking, running different versions of a confession to Becca about his presence through his mind, but when the floorboard creaked, his eyes popped open. He lay still, barely breathing, not moving.

Another soft creak, the thud of a footfall. Someone was in the bunkhouse. But who? And why? It wouldn’t be Becca, she would have texted or called to let him know she was coming down.

Had her attacker returned after all?

Nathan sat up and reached for his gun.