Читать книгу The Cowboy Target - Terri Reed - Страница 12

THREE

“Once we get to the house and everyone is inside and buttoned down tight, I’ll come back and have a look-see,” Jackie stated.

“Not in this weather,” Wyatt countered. A greenhorn like her would get herself lost in a whiteout like this. He wouldn’t even chance it without careful preparation.

When they arrived at the house, the whole place was lit up. Carl, Penny and Gabby rushed outside onto the porch to greet them as they climbed out of the vehicle.

Relieved to know his family was okay, Wyatt let out the breath lodged beneath his ribs.

“Daddy!” his daughter squealed, barreling into his legs in a blur of fuzzy pink footsie jammies the second he stepped onto the porch.

“Hey, sweetie.” Swamped with love for his little girl, he lifted her up so she could wrap her little arms around his neck. He tugged the corners of his jacket around her tiny body. His daughter loved him unconditionally. It should be enough. But Dina’s words taunted him. Left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Carl and Penny hugged their niece.

Gabby pointed a finger at Jackie. “Who’s that?”

With her arm around Jackie’s waist, Penny said, “This is Jackie. Remember I told you we had a guest coming?”

Jackie smiled at Gabby. Wyatt liked the way Jackie’s eyes softened when she looked at his daughter.

“Hi, there,” Jackie said. Snowflakes balanced on her blond curls glistened in the glow of the porch light. “I love your freckles.”

“Hi.” Gabby returned the smile and ducked her head into Wyatt’s neck. Her cold little nose pressed against his skin.

“You want to see something neat?” Jackie asked.

Gabby lifted her head and nodded.

Jackie hurried back to the vehicle. Carl followed. While he went to the back of the SUV, Jackie opened the passenger door. She lifted Spencer off the floor and carried him to the house.

Gabby nearly jumped out of Wyatt’s arms. “Doggy.”

He let her down so she could pet the canine.

Jackie’s blue eyes twinkled as she squatted with the dog in her arms. “His name’s Spencer. He’s an English bulldog.”

Gabby squealed with delight.

Carl hefted a big black duffel bag out of the back of the SUV and carried it to the smaller house across the driveway.

“You’re both invited over for some meat loaf. It’s Jackie’s favorite,” Penny said.

“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go wash up.” Wyatt took Gabby by the hand and watched Penny lead her niece to the small house across the drive from the main house. Spencer trotted along behind them, leaving paw prints in the powdered snow.

As Wyatt led Gabby inside, she said, “I want a Spencer.”

He wasn’t surprised. He had a feeling there were many changes coming thanks to a certain blond guest.

And he wasn’t sure they were all going to be good.

He took one last glance out at the snowy night before closing the door and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day. With no dead bodies.

* * *

The next morning Jackie was up and out for a recon run by 6:00 am. The blizzard had calmed, and the morning sun gleamed on a fresh layer of snow. Thankfully, she’d heard enough about Wyoming winters from her aunt and uncle that she’d packed appropriate clothing for a winter run.

Unfamiliar with the terrain, she’d opted to stay on the dirt road she’d driven last night. Though a good two inches of new powder covered the road, she didn’t have any trouble discerning the path.

The magnificent landscape reminded her of a painting. The dark had hidden the blanket of white stretching out as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional copse of trees or outcropping of rocks. Off in the distance, majestic mountains rose like fingers pointing skyward, as if to remind her to look toward heaven.

Her breath puffed out in a small cloud in the frigid air. “Lord, thank You for the beauty all around me. Thank You for Your protection every day. Lord, I ask for Your guidance.”

Because she didn’t know what to make of Wyatt or the situation. Someone tried to frame him for murder, but they’d done a sloppy job, which led her to believe it wasn’t a very thought-out plan. Whoever was behind this wasn’t organized and didn’t really know what they were doing.

Was this some sort of personal vendetta against Wyatt? Or more of a spur-of-the-moment attempt by the killer to camouflage his identity? Was it someone on the ranch? Or could Wyatt have killed George and tried to make it look like a setup?

So many questions, but she had two weeks to figure it out. And she would. For her aunt and uncle. For that cute little freckled girl. And for the brooding, albeit handsome, rancher who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his wide shoulders.

When she’d left the house, she’d seen a couple of men already up and working in the barn and a few more in the big equipment shed. She’d taken a cursory look around. Asked a few questions of the hands. None had anything of use to tell her. None owned a motorcycle or knew of anyone who’d have been out the night before.

She’d asked Uncle Carl last night if he knew of anyone who owned a motorbike, but he didn’t. She hadn’t told them about the bike following them. She didn’t want them to worry any more than they already were. She doubted anyone had slept well. She hadn’t, which was another reason she’d needed the run. To clear the cobwebs from her brain.

At the four-mile mark on her pedometer, she turned around, heading back toward the ranch house. A shadow overhead grabbed her attention. She slowed her pace to watch a low-flying prop plane. She kept her eyes on the plane, noting that the aircraft flew in a grid pattern over the land. Back and forth, back and forth. She’d heard of cattle ranchers surveying their herds via the air. Maybe Wyatt had someone keeping watch over his cattle and horses from above.

She returned to the house to find Aunt Penny up and dressed. Spencer was waiting at the door. He sniffed her feet before losing interest and disappearing around the corner of the living room.

“You’re up early,” Penny said. “Would you like coffee?”

“Please.”

“Do you run every day?”

“Most days.” She sipped from the blue-and-white ceramic mug of steaming coffee Penny handed to her. “So what’s the story with Wyatt and the sheriff? Uncle Carl said there’s bad blood between them.”

Penny pressed her lips together to form a tight line. “Sheriff Landers is Wyatt’s stepfather.”

“Ah.” That explained why the sheriff had been both antagonistic yet reasonable. He could have easily pushed to keep Wyatt locked up until morning at least—or longer if he’d wanted to be a real pain. But he hadn’t. Because of their family connection, no doubt. Though she’d sensed tension between them.

“Where is Wyatt’s dad?”

“He passed on a decade ago.”

A knock sounded at the kitchen door. Penny set her coffee in the sink before moving to answer the knock. Gabby and Wyatt stood on the threshold, bundled up for the walk across the driveway.

Gabby entered with an abundance of exuberance to see Spencer. “Here, doggy, doggy. Spencer.” She disappeared into the living room with Penny hot on her heels.

Wyatt gave Jackie an apologetic smile. “Hope you don’t mind. She was dying to come see your dog.”

“Not at all. Spencer will love the attention.” She set her mug on the counter. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, I’ve already had two cups.” He eyed her running gear. “Exercising?”

“Running helps get me going in the morning.”

“You came prepared.”

“I did.” She remembered what she’d seen on her run. “Do you have a plane surveying your cattle and horses?”

A scowl darkened his gaze. “No. But I know the one you’re talking about. The white plane with the blue stripe. I’ve seen it occasionally. More so lately. Flies pretty low.”

“That’s it. If he’s not flying on your behalf, I wonder what he’s doing.”

“Beats me. I can’t control the airspace over the ranch.”

“Worth checking on. There’s gotta be some federal regulations about low-flying aircraft,” she commented.

He shrugged. “Could be. I’ll check into it. I’ve got work to do. Ranch won’t run itself.” With that, he tipped his hat and then headed toward the kitchen door.

“Wyatt.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Be careful. Make sure you’re always with someone. Or two or three someones.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “I can take care of myself.”

Her mouth quirked. His ego was a bit touchy. She’d have to remember that. “I’m sure you can. But you don’t want to leave yourself open to another frame job. Or, worst-case scenario, leave Gabby on her own.”

Her meaning dawned in his dark eyes. “Right.” He tipped his hat and walked out.

Every instinct told her to get up and follow him. As a bodyguard, her first priority was always to keep the protectee within reach. But he wasn’t her protectee. He wasn’t her client.

She’d come here with the promise to her aunt and uncle that she’d keep an eye on the investigation into who killed George Herman. Though thinking about who they were and why they’d tried to frame Wyatt for the murder burned in her veins like molten lava.

Her dormant investigative skills clamored to be put to work. They were skills she hadn’t had to use often since leaving the Atkins County sheriff’s department and going to work for Trent Associates as a protection specialist. Guarding people rarely required investigating murder.

She made her way to the living room and stopped in the arched doorway. Gabby sat on the floor with Spencer’s head on her lap while Aunt Penny read her a story from a thick volume of children’s classics. Seeing the child and dog so cozy made Jackie’s heart twist in her chest. Her gaze moved to her aunt, to the contented expression on her lined face.

Jackie was glad God had brought this little girl into her aunt and uncle’s life. Yearning gnawed at her as strong as hunger. Maybe someday God would give Jackie a little girl, too.

But first she would need a husband.

After her debacle with Jarrod, she wasn’t sure she was up to the task of looking for one. Finding a husband meant putting her heart on the line again. It would take a special man to coax her to venture toward marriage. As of yet, God hadn’t brought such a man into her life. Maybe He never would.

Quietly she turned away from the touching sight and headed upstairs to shower and dress for the day.

An hour later, she headed outside dressed in thick wool cargo pants, a Dri-FIT T-shirt beneath a fleece pullover, a parka and insulated boots. She walked to the barn in search of Wyatt.

She came across her uncle in one of the stalls with a huge, beautiful black stallion. He pawed at the ground as Uncle Carl brushed his coat.

Leaning on the stall door, Jackie said, “He’s gorgeous. What’s his name?”

Carl smiled. “Alexander. He’s a studhorse. We’re getting him ready for a live cover in a few weeks.”

“Do I want to know what that is?” she asked.

He laughed. “Making baby horses.”

“Ah. Enough said.” She glanced around. “Have you seen Wyatt?”

“May not be back from feeding the cattle.”

The scuff of a boot on dirt alerted Jackie just as Wyatt said, “I’m right here.”

Jackie turned around to find herself nose to chest with Wyatt. The scent of him, spicy and masculine, sent a shiver sliding over her. She tilted her head back. “Careful, cowboy. Sneaking up on me could get you hurt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a slight twitch to his lips.

She planted her hand on his chest and applied pressure. She was more annoyed by her reaction to him than his closeness. “A little space, buckaroo, if you don’t mind.”

He grinned outright but stepped back. “You were looking for me?”

Trying to ignore how his devastating grin played havoc with her pulse, she strived for an authoritative tone. “I want you to take me to see where George Herman lived.”

His grin evaporated. He gave her a curt nod. “What do you hope to find?”

“Something—anything—to indicate why he was killed.”

“I’m sure the police have gone over the place with a fine-tooth comb.”

“True, but they didn’t have you along.”

“I’ve already told you, we weren’t close.”

“No, but you knew the man for twenty years. Maybe you’ll see something that seems normal to anyone else, but you know it is out of place for him.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Okay. Let’s go. While we’re out, we’ll also check the feed shed.”

Pleased by his proactiveness, she smiled. “Good idea.”

“But I’m driving.”

“Knock yourself out, cowboy.” She followed him out of the barn to a dark blue 4x4 truck on steroids. Huge treaded tires, like ones on a tractor, dwarfed the body of the vehicle.

“You drive a monster truck?”

“When I need to get out on the land.” He shrugged. “Besides, my regular rig is in police custody.”

Right. The truck they’d found the incriminating knife in.

He came around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Need a lift?”

In her younger days, a remark such as that would have earned him a right jab or a stomp to his insole. Maturity had cooled her temper and allowed her to see the offer for what it was—politeness. “I can manage, thank you.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender and took a half step back.

Thankfully, a bar jutted out of the side of the cab near the door. She reached up, barely managed to grab the bar, then swung one foot up to the running board, nearly doing the splits, and pulled herself up. Standing on the running board, she glanced back at Wyatt.

His lips twitched. “I’m duly impressed.”

“You should be,” she shot back and slid into the passenger seat. Good thing she stretched every day. That stunt could have seriously hurt.

He shut the door, came around to the driver’s side and hefted himself up into the seat. The truck’s engine rumbled like a pride of hungry lions.

“Do you enter this bad boy in monster-truck rallies or something?”

He scoffed. “No. Not my thing.”

Somehow she didn’t think so. Wyatt struck her as the homebody type. A man who liked his castle and didn’t need to show off his testosterone to feel like a man. Not that she thought he was a wimp. There was strength in his hands, his arms. After her shower this morning, from her bedroom window, she’d watched him hefting hay bales from the back of a truck. The man was strong. Probably knew how to throw a punch, too.

But was he good with knives?

She’d give him the benefit of the doubt because she trusted her aunt and uncle implicitly. However, she would still need evidence. Her training wouldn’t let her get away with less.

And so far that evidence pointed toward a setup.

But the question was, who was the mastermind? Someone out to get Wyatt? Or Wyatt trying to make it seem as if someone else was setting him up?

They drove to what looked like a small subdivision about ten minutes from the main house. “Are we still on your property?”

“Yes. These homes are leased to the ranch hands.”

“You provide your hands with their own homes on your land?”

“I do. Keeps them close, and they have a place to call their own for as long as they work on the Monroe ranch.”

“I’m impressed,” she admitted.

He slid her a glance. “Thanks.”

She popped open the door.

Putting a hand on her arm, he said, “Let me help you down, okay? Wouldn’t want you to twist an ankle or something.”

Heat from his touch penetrated the layers of clothes and seared her skin. “Uh, sure.”

He climbed out, leaving behind a cold spot where his hand had been. Disconcerted by her reaction, she undid her seat belt, slid out onto the running board and waited for him to join her. He placed his hand on her waist. She settled her hands on his shoulders. Awareness shimmered over her, and attraction arced like a neon streak. She was surprised they weren’t glowing.

He easily lifted her off the running board and slowly lowered her down to the ground. Her hands slid from his shoulders, down his arms, over the hard muscle of his biceps. When she had her balance, she nearly jumped away. Taking a steadying breath, she forced herself to tamp down the attraction.

The last thing she needed was to find herself with some sort of crush on this cowboy.

Better to concentrate on what they’d come to do so she could get back to her life without any damage to her heart or her pride.

At the front door, Wyatt removed a set of keys from his pocket and slid one into the lock. But the pressure of his hand pushed the unlatched door open.

Alarm bells went off in Jackie’s head. She reached for her SIG hidden beneath her coat.

“The sheriff’s people must not have closed the door all the way,” Wyatt commented with a scowl.

Just as he moved to cross the threshold, she yanked him back. “Wait.”

She inspected the door frame and the hinges.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Explosives.”

“Excuse me?”

“Welcome to my world.”

He eyed her warily. “Seriously?”

Satisfied there weren’t any trip wires, she said, “Never enter a questionable door without checking for a bomb. Too many targeted people have walked into a deadly blast.”

Wyatt blinked and stared, his gaze bouncing between her face and the gun in her hand. “You really do this stuff for a living?”

She grinned. “Yep.” She toed the door open and then entered, leading with her weapon.

“What in the world?” Wyatt said as he stepped in behind her.

The placed looked like a twister had recently touched down.