The Cowboy's Deadly Reunion

by Cindy Dees

  Why in the hell was someone shooting at her?

  Surely whoever had been threatening her hadn’t found her out here in the middle of nowhere!

  Another shot zinged off a rock behind her. She huddled against the side of the car and searched the hillside rising above her for a hiding place with decent cover. Nothing. It was bare dirt and rock. She was going to die out here.

  She fished in her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She started to dial 911, and thought better of it. The police were in Sunny Creek, a good half hour away. Wincing, she hit the speed dial number for Wes. He was going to blow his stack at getting called again to rescue her.

  The line connected and Wes growled without greeting or preamble, “What the hell do you want now?”

  “Someone’s shooting at me. I’m on the Westlake Road. I left Runaway Ranch and was heading toward Hillsdale—” She broke off and ducked as another shot pinged off rock just above her head. The shooter was zeroing in on her position. She had to get out of there.

  “That was a gunshot!” Wes said urgently.

  “I know. Like I said. Someone’s shooting at me. Took out one of my tires. It’s shredded. Undrivable.” Weird. She’d dropped into some strange state of calm, detached from her emotions and focused on dealing with the crisis. She ought to be scared out of her mind. Instead, she was thinking at hyperspeed and feeling nothing.

  “Do you have a gun?” Wes asked tersely.

  “No. You know I hate the things.”

  “Damn.” She thought she heard gravel crunching from his end of the call.

  “Look. I don’t expect you to come rushing to my rescue again. But could you call your father and have him send some of his men out this way? I figure they’ll get here faster than the sheriff could, coming from Sunny Creek. I don’t have John’s cell phone number or I’d have called him myself.”

  “I’m on my way.” She heard an engine roar in the background.

  She ducked as a gunshot took out the passenger side rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, Wes—”

  “Save it.”

  This was the last time she was likely to speak with him, and by God he was going to hear her out. She talked right over his objection. “There’s no cover at all out here. I’ll likely be dead before you get here, so shut up and listen. I truly am sorry for what I did to your career. But I genuinely believed you would be killed if I didn’t lie. And I cared—care—far too much for you to sit around and let you die. If that pisses you off, so be it. I forgive you for being mad at me. I know you, Wes, and I don’t want you to beat yourself up with guilt after I’m gone. I chose to come out here and warn you. This is on me. Whoever kills me will undoubtedly have done it because of mistakes I made in my past. There was nothing you could have done to protect me.”

  Wes’s voice was ragged when he said, “Get in the car. Drive it away from there. If your shooter’s zeroing in on you, he’s in a stationary position, maybe in a sniper’s nest. Get away from there.”

  “The car’s not drivable—”

  “Sure it is. You’ll wreck a rim, but that’s replaceable. Move!”

  He made an excellent point. She reached up over her head and opened the passenger door. Immediately, a gunshot ripped into the white leather door lining. She dived across the seats, and awkwardly jackknifed her body. It was nearly impossible to stay low, turn around and get into a position to drive. Who knew it would turn out to be a lifesaver to have fooled around in this car a few times? She knew how to maneuver around the tight interior.

  A gunshot shattered the rear window as she started the engine and released the brakes. The car was difficult to turn back onto the road and it took all her strength to horse the steering wheel left against the pull of the ruined tire.

  A flurry of gunshots announced the shooter’s frustration that she was getting away from him.

  A voice came out of her phone, which she’d laid on the passenger seat beside her. “Jessica? Talk to me!”

  “I’m here. Your suggestion worked. I’m moving away from the shooter. Not fast, but I’m getting away.”

  “Describe the spot in the road where you got shot at.”

  “Uh, mountain rising on both sides of the road. Sheer rock face on the left. Dirt and rock hill sloping up on the right. The road was rising approaching the spot. I went around a gradual left turn, and the road had just straightened out.”

  “Got it. I know the spot. I’m going to hang up and call my father right now. If I can’t get in touch with you again, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes. Keep driving forward until I come up behind you in my truck.”

  “Okay.” She hated the idea of not being in contact with him, but she understood the necessity to be brave right now and let him call in reinforcements.

  The line went dead. Her poor, ruined car limped along at about fifteen miles per hour, which was as fast as she could go and still force the car to stay on the road. It was closer to ten minutes than five and there was still no sign of Wes.

  Her adrenaline rush and crisis-induced state of calm drained away, leaving her hands shaking so bad she could hardly steer the car and her entire body trembling in terror. Someone had just shot at her! Narrowly avoided killing her.

  Who had she angered so violently in her past youth and stupidity that he or she wanted her dead?

  For that matter, how did the shooter know where she was?

  She hadn’t told anybody she was coming out here!

  Was that some random nutjob shooting at her as she drove past for crazy hillbilly grins and giggles? Or was it something more sinister? An attack aimed specifically at her? How could it not be aimed at her?

  Her heart was going to give out if she had to keep driving along this isolated road for much longer, waiting for the next shot to ring out, for hot lead to slam into her head and kill her. Her life might not be all that great right now, but she had no death wish and was definitely not suicidal. She was an optimist by nature and fully believed that things would get better eventually.

  Where was Wes?

  Her mind continued to churn on who was shooting at her. It had to be a specific attack aimed at her. Nothing else made sense. Which meant the sniper had known where she was and clearly had a grudge against her. How? Who? The obvious answer of who it was would be whoever was behind those damned emails, but who that was and why he or she had it in for her and Wes was a mystery.

  In the interest of thoroughness, she couldn’t discount other explanations out of hand. Had she infuriated anyone in Sunny Creek enough to make them want to kill her? Honestly, the only person who fit that bill was Wes. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he hadn’t tried to kill her. Not that she hadn’t given him plenty of reason to do so. But he was too honorable, too good, to ever harm her, no matter how enraged he might be at her.

  A truck rounded the curve behind her and she tensed. Had the shooter caught up with her, or was it Wes charging to the rescue? The vehicle drew closer, and she spied its silver-blue color—Wes.

  She slowed and guided her broken car over to the side of the road. Wes had barely pulled to a stop behind her before she spilled out her door and ran to him.

  He got out of his truck and his arms opened. She ran straight into them, plowing into him, tears already flowing down her cheeks. He wrapped her in an embrace that unquestionably bruised a few of her ribs. He buried his face in her hair, and they stood like that for an endless moment of pure relief.

  Then Wes broke the spell, saying tersely, “Get in the truck. I want you out of here in case that bastard’s following you. He undoubtedly had a vehicle hidden nearby and could be here any second.”

  “Oh, God. I hadn’t thought of that.” She ran around to the passenger side of Wes’s truck and jumped in as he gunned the engine. She was silent as he drove grimly, breaking all the speed limits. Thankfully, he seemed familiar with the road, a
nd he was a combat-trained driver. Which was good because he was driving like their lives depended on it. And, for all she knew, they did.

  They drove for about a half hour and came down out of the high mountains to a relatively flat plateau before she finally asked, “Where are we?”

  “We’re taking a circular route back to the west side of the McMinn Mountain Range.”

  Okay. That meant nothing to her. But she wasn’t about to bicker with Wes over it. He’d saved her life, and she was more grateful than she had words to express.

  The road finally started to look familiar, and she realized they were only a few minutes from Runaway Ranch.

  She was surprised, however, when Wes turned into Outlaw Ranch and didn’t take her on up the road to his parents’ place. But she held her silence. Did she dare hope he was actually concerned about her?

  She’d done it again. She’d called him and dragged him into the middle of her insane life. And he’d come running. Again. Did it mean he secretly—way down deep—had actual feelings for her? Or was he just acting out of human decency? Either way, he seemed to have declared a temporary truce with her and wasn’t being a gigantic jerk at the moment. Thank God.

  He parked in front of his house and she climbed out silently, following him up the front steps. As he fiddled with his key ring looking for the house key, she ventured to ask, “Who carved this door? It’s magnificent.”

  “Thanks. I did it.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You? Are you kidding?”

  He looked at her, frowning slightly. “No. If you want to see my workshop, I’ll show it to you later.”

  “I never knew you were such a talented artist!”

  “You never asked.” He pushed open the front door and she followed him inside.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dim interior and she commented reflectively, “When you and I were together, talking wasn’t exactly at the top of our activity agenda. Which is a shame. I would have liked to know more about you.”

  His gaze lifted to hers, and a combination of wry humor and heated memory swirled in his dark blue gaze. Oh, Lord, he looked edible when he had that particular expression on his face. She walked toward him slowly, never breaking eye contact, giving him plenty of time to run for cover if he chose.

  He didn’t choose, apparently. He stood there as if rooted in place, staring at her as she came toward him, his gaze burning down her soul. She stopped in front of him, less than an arm’s length away.

  “Thank you for saving my life, Wes. Again. I seem to keep going deeper and deeper in debt to you.”

  A frown twitched on his brow. “Helping other people isn’t a thing you keep track of in a ledger.”

  She took the last step toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of his neck, and she laid it there just like she used to. He stood there, unmoving and stiff as a board for a long time, but she persisted, holding her ground. Eventually his arms came up around her but felt reluctant. Her heart hurt at that, but it was no more and no less than she deserved.

  “I know you’re not the kind of man who keeps a tally of debts owed,” she murmured. “But you keep doing the right thing, and I keep putting you in danger. I have never meant to cause you any harm.” A shudder that was half sob and half self-hatred passed through her.

  “Look at me, Jess.”

  She lifted her head and stared into the depths of his beautiful eyes. Something moved deep in her belly that had less to do with lust and more to do with genuine feelings for this man. She confessed, “You have no idea how much I would love to go all the way back to a year ago and have a complete do-over with you.” His arms tightened a little more as she added, “I owe you so much. And not just for the rescues.”

  One dark, sardonic eyebrow rose.

  Her gaze did fall away from his then. But she forced herself to look back at this man upon whom she’d inflicted so much damage. “You changed me, Wes.”

  The eyebrow inched a bit higher.

  “When you broke up with me, you forced me to see myself through your eyes. As I really was. And I didn’t like the person I saw. I was angry that you made me examine myself. Honestly, it put me in a really bad headspace for a while. That was why I went to the pop-up club that night. I knew I was taking a big chance going there alone and accepting a drink from a stranger. But I was determined to act as shallow and stupid as you saw me to be.”

  “I never thought you were stupid. Shallow, maybe, but not stupid.”

  One corner of her mouth quirked up wryly. “Fair enough. I think we can both agree, though, that I was stupid to let myself get drugged.”

  “It’s not your job to assume that every guy is a criminal creep—”

  “And yet I knew better. It was my fault. Let me own that.”

  He shrugged. “All right. You did something stupid. We all do from time to time.”

  Yeah, like him barging in to rescue her and losing his temper and assaulting her assailant.

  “Getting drugged scared me. Really scared me.”

  “Good.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You needed a hard scare. Maybe it’ll help you make better decisions in the future.”

  “The best decision I’ve made since then was coming out here to see you.” She smiled sadly. “But I doubt you see it that way.”

  For an instant, humor glinted in his gaze. “I was pretty furious when you showed up at my door unannounced.”

  She got the impression he wasn’t just talking about the night she’d arrived. She sighed. “You have a right to feel that way. I’m impulsive and selfish and don’t stop to think about the consequences of my actions for other people.”

  “You don’t have to put yourself down all the time, you know,” he murmured. “You’re not a completely bad person.”

  “Gee. Thanks,” she responded drily.

  His chest shook with a silent chuckle.

  “Where does all of this leave us?” she asked.

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Do you still hate me?”

  “Sometimes.”

  That was progress. At least he hadn’t answered with an unqualified yes. And he was still holding her in his arms.

  “I am a horrible person sometimes,” she declared.

  “Agreed.”

  “But sometimes I’m not.” It felt strange admitting that after all this time of self-castigation and self-recrimination.

  Wes didn’t respond to that other than to stare down at her intently, as if he was waiting for something. Although she had no idea what, exactly.

  She always had leaped before she looked, and that would never change. Following her gut, she lifted her chin and murmured, “Sometimes, I go after what I want.”

  “What do you want, Jessica?”

  She leaned in the last few inches and kissed him.

  Chapter 9

  A thousand emotions exploded in Wes’s gut as Jessica kissed him. Disbelief. Caution. Anger. Relief.

  And foremost among them was desire, burning hot and bright and strong. He had never, not for a second, stopped wanting this woman. No matter how much he hated her. How much he wanted to hurt her. Not even when she destroyed everything he did and ripped away who he was.

  It was fair to say he’d passionately hated her after the debacle in Washington. But, as it turned out, hate was a passion not entirely in opposition to lust...or to other, deeper emotions.

  He shouldn’t kiss her back. He should walk away from this woman. She was Trouble. Capital T.

  And yet he slanted his mouth across hers hungrily, and she opened for him, her tongue tangling eagerly with his. Her entire body undulated hungrily against his, and he absorbed her desire into himself, reflecting it back tenfold.

  This was a mistake. She was nothing but bad for him.

 
; But cripes. Hearing that gunshot in the background as she’d called him—again—frantic and sure she was going to die, had scared ten years off his life. He couldn’t very well just listen to her die.

  If only he could find a way not to give a damn about her. To let her go completely. To walk away from her. Of course, that assumed she wouldn’t follow him and suck him back into her vortex of drama like she always did. But after her frantic call and the gunshots in the background, adrenaline was still surging through his veins, seeking an outlet—and insisting that hot, sweaty sex was a fantastic idea.

  Her hands tugged at his shirt, and then her soft palms splayed against his bare back, her nails digging into his skin just enough to be sexy as hell. She had always been bold in bed, and the reminder sent lust raging through him. He craved her pretty much every waking moment. And here she was, crawling all over him, hot and willing—

  What the hell was he supposed to do with her? His brain said to run screaming from her. His body...well, that was a different matter. And what about his heart? It was torn between strangling her and throwing her down on the couch and making wild love to her.

  They still didn’t know who’d been shooting at her. Did the shooter know where Outlaw Ranch was? Know she was here? Surely not, or bullets would already be flying in through the window. God. He would never forget the sound of those gunshots coming through the phone, getting closer and closer to her.

  In his residual terror, the desire raging through him won out over logic. He was too raw, too shaken to fight the feelings right now.

  He carried her down to his sofa, shoving aside her clothing and his with clumsy hands. It was awkward and cushions went flying, but then he was pumping into her tight, welcoming heat, with each thrust reassuring himself that she was alive. That she was here. Safe. With him.

  The lust that always flared in his gut with her was as bright and sharp as ever, as blinding as a blowtorch and every bit as dangerous. A torch could create things—build structures and form beautiful art. It could also destroy, incinerating everything in its path. Such was this thing between them.