When Petals Fall: A Cowboy, Second Chance Romantic Suspense (Chance Creek Book 1)

by A. L. Mercier

  Tea in hand, she headed back to the bedroom. Setting the tea on the bedside table, she settled into an oversized chair, her legs curled beneath her. She pulled down a throw blanket from the back of the chair, covered her lap, then reached for her cup and took the first sip of the warm, soothing tea. She sighed, relaxing back into the comfort of the chair.

  As Lizzie took another sip of the tea, she eyed the thoroughly mussed bed and recalled the new position she and Jake had tried. It was called backward facing something or other and brought incredible amounts of pleasure for both of them. It had been pretty difficult to move afterward. Her legs had been in that crouched position for so long the muscles had stiffened up. She'd looked and felt like a mannequin when he had lifted her into his embrace. Now, looking down to the scattered clothes on the floor, she recalled how exciting it had been stripping Jake nude, then tying him up.

  Wait. What was that? She frowned, absently setting the tea back down on the table and moving to where her lavender panties lay on the floor. She knelt down, and her heart stopped.

  "What…?" Lizzie backed up slowly. There was center and stem of a pink daisy. There weren't any pink daisies in the loft. There were petals strewn all over the floor, and upon closer inspection, she noted some were also lying on the bed, masked by the floral print of the comforter. Oh dear God. She clutched the lapels of her robe together. Her mind flashed to the open door. Someone had been in here. They might still be in here. Oh shit.

  As quickly and quietly as possible, Lizzie made her way to the kitchen where her purse sat on the counter. Pulling out her cell phone, she crouched down behind the kitchen table and dialed the main house. It was ringing. Her dad could come over with his shotgun and check things out. On the fourth ring, their voicemail picked up. Damn it. Her phone beeped. Great. The battery was about to die. Dialing Jake's number, she prayed for an answer, heart pounding, muscles tensed.

  "Please pick up," she mouthed. It rang once. "Please, please!" It rang a second time and Lizzie silently pleaded some more. "Come on, come on! Answer the phone." It rang a third time, and after what felt like an eternity, he finally answered.

  "Hello?"

  "Jake." She kept her voice low, scanning the room and all openings for an intruder. "Where are you right now?"

  "Lizzie? I can hardly hear you."

  "I know, I'm whispering. Where are you?"

  "I just pulled onto the Rocking K access road. What's the matter?"

  She closed her eyes. He had left no more than twenty minutes ago, and she had been up for a good ten minutes... "Look. I need you to come back here. The front door was open, Jake. I think someone might be in the loft."

  "Where's Brand?"

  Damn it. Her phone was beeping. "His truck's not here, and my phone is about to die."

  "I'm turning around right now. I can get there in about ten minutes." He'd have to fly to reach her that fast, but he'd done it more than once when they had lost track of time and she almost broke curfew. "Where are you?"

  "The kitchen." She whispered frantically as her eyes darted around the loft.

  "Grab a knife, a big one, and get in the bathroom and lock the door behind you. I'll be there before you know it. Now get in there and lock that damn door!"

  That meant having to cross the room to get to the bathroom. Oh God. Hands shaking, she grabbed a big butcher knife from the knife rack on the counter, then a chair from the kitchen table, before sneaking into the bathroom. She locked the door then wedged the chair under the knob. With the light off and only a small night light illuminating her way, she backed up slowly, keeping her eyes on the door. She got into the bathtub and sat down, pulling her legs to her chest, her eyes wide, her breathing frantic. She held the knife in one hand, brought the cell phone up to her ear with the other.

  "Okay. I'm in the bathroom."

  "I've still got a key, so I'll l…" He was cut off by another incessant beep.

  "What? I missed that."

  "I'll look around first when I get there. Then I'll come get you when I know it's safe."

  "How will I know it's you? He could disguise his voice to sound like you."

  "I'll knock three times. Now, I've got to call the sheriff and try to get a hold of Brand."

  "Okay. Hurry."

  "Stay calm. I'll be there…"

  "Jake?" Nothing. "Jake?" She didn't need to look to know the phone was dead. She was stuck in the bathroom and alone. If the intruder had a gun, she was so screwed. If he didn't, she might have a chance with the knife.

  She needed to get her own gun. She knew how to shoot. That made no difference now. Shit.

  She closed her eyes and sent out a silent plea. Please Jake, hurry. She was chanting the plea over and over when she heard a door open and then close. There was no way that was Jake. It hadn't been more than five minutes. Her heart beat so hard she thought it would burst right out of her chest. Then she heard faint footsteps and creaks of the floorboards. When the creaks got louder, she knew whoever it was had just crossed the threshold between the living room and the kitchen.

  Lizzie gripped the handle of the butcher knife tightly and tried to breathe as quietly as possible. She shifted, tucking her feet under her, poised and ready to strike. The footsteps were getting louder. The intruder was now in the kitchen, the footsteps on the linoleum gave him away.

  She tightened her grip on the knife.

  A shadow blocked the light under the door. Whoever it was, was now standing right on the other side. The doorknob jiggled, the hairs on the back of her neck to stood straight up as she heard a muffled laugh. The laugh was low and daunting, intimidating and sinister, and it scared the shit out of her. Sick bastard. One loud thud on the door, as if he had slapped his hand against the door, and the footsteps started again, getting softer this time. A door opened and then there was nothing but God-awful silence.

  Had he left? Or was he just waiting. What if Jake was walking into a trap? If he got hurt—no. He would be cautious, and he could take care of himself. Damn worthless cell phone!

  She sat in silence for what seemed like a lifetime before she heard a screech of tires and then the slam of a door. Another screech of tires and the slam of another door. Then there were thundering footsteps running up the steps.

  She needed to warn him. "Jake! There was someone in here! I'm not sure if they're gone or not!" He wasn't responding. Why wasn't he responding? Was he trying to be stealth like? Or had someone ambushed him? Please let it be the former. Please. Her hands were shaking so hard she dropped the knife and it clattered against the porcelain of the bathtub. She picked it back up. There were three single knocks on the door. She couldn't stand at first. Didn't believe it was him.

  "Jake?"

  "Lizzie. Open the door." She climbed out of the bathtub and moved the chair away from the door before unlocking it. The door opened and there stood Jake and her brother, guns in their hands.

  "It's about time."

  29

  Jake

  The minute the door opened, Jake set his gun on the bathroom counter.

  Lizzie stood there with the knife in her hands, her entire body shaking, her face so pale he wondered how she was standing.

  "Lizzie," he said quietly. "Give me the knife." She looked through him. "It's okay." He reached out with one hand and slowly took the knife from her shaking hand.

  Jake had never been so scared in his life, and there she'd stood in the bathroom doorway, wielding an eight-inch butcher knife like a knight wielded a sword. In his mind he had imagined so many ways he'd find Lizzie. Bloodied, battered, or worse, dead. But she was okay. Shaking, scared, and a little wild-eyed and pale, but unscathed.

  "Lizzie, baby."

  Her, "What took you so long?" was a shaky whisper. He went to her then, not caring if she wanted his touch or not, and pulled her into his arms. Her body trembled and shook as she wrapped her arms around him so tightly it bordered on pain. But he didn't care. Whatever she needed.

  He looked at Brand. "She'
s as cold as ice."

  "I'll grab a blanket." Brand headed for the bedroom.

  "Let's get you warm."

  "H-he was in my h-h-house."

  And he'd make the son of a bitch pay. Jake bent down, hooked one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her easily. Like an arrow to a bulls eye, his gaze targeted the blood stain on the bottom of her robe. He couldn't tell where it was coming from. If the fucker hurt her, he'd kill him.

  Sirens sounded in the distance signaling that the cavalry was on their way as he carried her to the sofa in the living area and sat down with her on his lap. He lifted the hem of her robe and studied a shallow cut near her left ankle. "Grab a towel," Jake called out to Brand.

  When Brand walked into the room, his expression was a mix of fear and anger.

  "She's bleeding, left leg," Jake told him. Brand took a quick look at the wound then draped the towel over it and tied it tightly around her ankle in an effort to stop the bleeding. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around Lizzie before perching on the coffee table in front of the couch.

  "How the hell did she get cut?"

  "I think I cut myself when I dr-dropped the kn-knife."

  Jake pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You're supposed to do that slicing and dicing on the bad guy."

  She shrugged, at least it felt like a shrug through the tremors. "It s-slipped."

  "That'd do it. It doesn't look like she'll need stitches," Brand muttered.

  "No," Jake replied.

  "She is sitting right h-here."

  The quiver in her voice and shudders racking her body worried him, but seeing the blood simply pissed him off.

  "Lizzie…" he started but didn't know what to say. So he focused on getting her warm. He stroked his hands up and down her arms and back while holding her close.

  He heard a noise, and Brand was up in a flash, drawing his gun from the waistband at his back. Jake pushed Lizzie behind him on the couch, shielding her with his body.

  Brand's, "Don't move," was deadly.

  Jake looked toward the door and he saw Sheriff Brooks standing in the doorway, his hands raised, palms out.

  "You won't be needing the weapon, Thomason."

  "Damn it, Sheriff. Coming in without knocking is a good way to get yourself shot."

  The sheriff knocked on the doorframe. "Happy now?"

  Brand lowered the gun with a, "Not really."

  Jake shifted, as Lizzie gave him a shove on the shoulder. He was only half on top of her now, shielding her with his body, and it wasn't enough. "I don't think any of us are going to be happy for a good bit."

  Lizzie piped up, "At least until you c-catch who b-broke into my h-house."

  "What makes you so sure someone broke in?"

  "Because someone scared the fucking shit out of her is why," Jake snarled.

  Lizzie looked at the sheriff.

  "He l-l-laughed."

  When Jake and Brand just looked at her, she clarified.

  "When I locked m-myself in the bathroom, he walked up to the door and just s-stood there. Then he let out this l-laugh." She visibly shuddered. "The only way to d-describe it is evil."

  "Jesus." It was all he could do to keep it together. Losing his shit in front of her wouldn't help.

  Brand tucked the weapon into the waistband at his back. "The sirens are a good mile or two down the road, how the hell did you get here so fast.

  Sheriff Brooks shrugged. "I was out on a call."

  Lizzie shoved at him again. "Are you going to get off me anytime soon, or are you going to smother me to death?"

  "I kind of like it here." At least here she was safe. Jake got up to stand next to her while she sat up on the couch. He watched as she warily pulled the lapels of her silk robe together in what he presumed to be an effort to maintain her modesty. She looked so small and fragile as she tucked herself as far back into the corner of the couch as possible. As much as he hated to leave her alone for even one single second, Jake went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He untwisted the cap and handed it to her before squatting down in front of her. She accepted it with a, "Thank you," and then took a small sip.

  "Are you okay, baby?" He reached and cupped her cheek in his hand.

  "Seriously pissed off, but other than that, f-fine." From the way her hand shook as she drank from the water bottle, he knew she was anything but fine. He sat back down on the couch and pulled her back into his lap.

  "I just told you I was fine," she said, struggling against his hold.

  "I heard what you said. But if you'd bother to ask me how I was, you'd indulge me a bit." He held onto her tightly and finally after a few more struggles, she hit him in the chest with her fist.

  "You're not going to let me go, are you?"

  "No." No, he wasn't letting her go. Not ever again.

  She sighed. "I didn't think so."

  The simple statement gave no indication how she felt about that.

  The sheriff stepped through the doorway and reached into the breast pocket of his shirt for a small pad of paper and a pen. "I take it the house is all clear?"

  Jake nodded. "We checked it out when we came in."

  "I'll just take a quick walk through if it's okay with you all."

  Lizzie waved a hand. "Be my guest."

  As the sheriff walked out of the room, Brand looked to Lizzie. "Why didn't you call the main house?"

  "I tried, but it kept ringing and I got voice mail. Then my phone was on its last leg so I knew I better make the next call count because it would be the last."

  Brand nodded. "Good choice. I better head up to the house and tell mom and dad what's going on. I'm surprised dad hasn't made it over here yet."

  "Good idea. Tell them I'm fine."

  "So you want me to lie?"

  "No, I don't want you to lie. I'm fine. Just seriously pissed off."

  "Right. I'll be back shortly."

  When Sheriff Brooks came back into the room, Brand turned to him. "I am getting really sick and tired of people fucking with my family and my ranch, Sheriff."

  "I hear what you're saying," the sheriff replied, "which is why I'd like to ask Miss Thomason some questions and see if we can get some answers to help us out here."

  Brand walked out the door, and the sheriff turned to Lizzie. "Before we get to the questions, I'd like to take a look at your wound, Miss Thomason."

  "Call me Lizzie," she told the sheriff. "What wound?"

  The sheriff knelt beside the couch and pulled the hem of her robe up, then untied the towel, exposing as little flesh as possible to get a look at the jagged cut. "This one. I don't think you'll need stitches."

  "That's not a wound, that's a scratch."

  "Either way we'll have the paramedics take a look when they get here."

  "Oh for the love of fuck."

  Sheriff Brooks avoided her exasperation and asked, "You ready for a few questions?"

  Lizzie nodded.

  The anger inside him started at a simmer as Jake listened to Lizzie recap what had happened, then erupted to a full boil when he heard her telling the sheriff about the flower and the faint laugh she'd heard through the bathroom door. The bastard wanted to scare her. Whenever he found who'd done this, they would pay.

  "Sir?"

  "Huh?" He looked up through the red haze of rage to see the paramedics enter.

  "We need to examine her."

  "Oh. Right." He kissed Lizzie on the forehead, and then with great reluctance, set her down next to him on the couch. So he wouldn't be in the way, he walked to the front door, noting the ambulance and the two official Chance Creek County police vehicles. One had Sheriff written across the side beneath the county emblem, and the other said Deputy. Derek Rivers, the deputy, and twin brother to one of the paramedics who was now examining Lizzie, walked in the distance with his flashlight and a few other officers.

  Jake took a deep breath to try to calm the bitter fury burning inside of him, but it was
a futile effort. He still found it surprising that the sheriff had arrived so quickly, mere minutes after he and Brand. Why hadn't he had his siren on? He didn't know the new sheriff all that well and right now there were just too many unanswered questions that involved him. He damn well was going to get the answers, right now and straight from the source.

  30

  Lizzie

  She'd been scared to death. She was still scared. When she told Sheriff Brooks about the doorknob jiggling and then the evil laugh that drifted through the closed door, she couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through her body. Now, as the paramedic was taping the gauze pad to her leg, she still couldn't get that laugh out of her head. It taunted her, and she was really sick and tired of hearing it. The bastard wasn't going to win. She wouldn't let him.

  Someone had been in her house. Someone had been in her bedroom while she was sleeping and possibly while she and Jake had been making love. And that someone scared the life out of her because whoever he was, was not dealing with a full deck.

  She looked toward the bedroom as the sheriff picked up her panties and the crushed pink flower and placed them into an evidence bag. She closed her eyes in anguish and humiliation. She opened them again as footsteps approached.

  Jake. Their eyes met briefly before Lizzie turned back to the sheriff. Jake sat down next to her, resting an arm across her shoulders, then followed her gaze. His muttered, "Son of a bitch," hadn't been exactly what she'd been thinking but it'd do.

  She leaned into Jake and warily eyed the sheriff as he approached with an angry expression on his face. Sheriff Gavin Brooks was a terrifying sight when he was angry. Then again, so was the man sitting next to her.

  "This yours?" The sheriff held up the gun.

  "Yeah, thanks." Sheriff Brooks handed it to Jake, butt end first, and Jake tucked it into the waistband of his jeans at his back.

  "Found it on the bathroom counter. You and Brand got permits for those weapons?"

  "Yeah. I've got it in the truck if you need to see it."

  "I figured as much but I had to ask." He looked at Lizzie then. "I think we've got all the evidence gathered. I'm sorry, Lizzie, but we had to take a few items of your clothing. There were dirty tread marks from either a shoe or a boot on them and we'd like to get them over to the lab and check for evidence."