Tall, Dark and Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  “No. He’s—he’s actually trying to protect me.”

  The man snorted.

  “Seriously. And he was doing a pretty good job. The guy who’s looking for me—he’s at the ranch, and I guess he’s watching, and we came out here and the horse got hurt and now he can’t come get me because they might see, and…”

  “Whoa, honey, whoa. I can’t follow all that. Who’s…”

  He paused and grabbed her arm as headlights swept across the far wall of the cabin. “Git down,” he hissed, pulling her to the ground. “If somebody’s huntin’ you, we’re rats in a hole.” He grabbed the gun and scuttled over to the window, jerking his head as an indication for her to follow. Lacey followed as he levered himself up and out of the window with surprising agility. The rough wooden sill scraped her already bruised body as she scrambled after him and fell to the ground.

  Galt stood to one side of the window, his back pressed against the cabin wall. He brought his finger to his lips to signal silence as a new set of headlights cast a fan of light on either side of the cabin. She was out in the open now, barely hidden by the shadow of the house, but she had Galt and he had a gun.

  A cloud of dust drifted into the darkness as the car skidded to a stop. A door slammed.

  “She’s here somewhere.”

  She knew that voice. It sent a shudder rippling up her spine and pooled dread in her belly. Wade Simpson.

  He’d found her.

  She’d known he was coming. Chase warned her in the note, and once Galt had found her, she knew the light in the cabin had doomed her to discovery.

  But still, the sound of his voice scraped up her spine like icy fingers, leaving her almost dizzy. When a low growl rumbled from the darkness, she felt the night get a little darker.

  “Look. It’s a fuckin’ dog.”

  Oh, God. What would she do if Wade hurt Sinclair? He was just a mutt she’d rescued from a service station on the highway, but he was Annie’s dog now, and she couldn’t let anything happen to him.

  “Come on, boy.” Wade’s voice slid up to a higher register, taking on a sweet, insipid tone that made Lacey’s flesh crawl even more than his usual rasp. “Where is she, buddy? Go get her. Go get her.”

  Sinclair growled again, then let out a high, questioning bark as if he was trying to determine if Wade was a new friend. Was he going to lead her stalker straight to her? She glanced over at Galt, who was still pressed against the side of the house, the shotgun across his chest. One hand was on the barrel, the other wrapped around the stock with his index finger just above the trigger. His thin lips were drawn into a tight line. If you replaced his John Deere cap with an army-green helmet, he’d look like an old Life photo from Vietnam.

  Sinclair growled again, louder and higher this time, and then yipped in pain. Wade must have kicked him. She heard the dog scrabble over the dirt and saw his shadow as he ran off into the night. At least he didn’t come straight to her. She felt a little disappointed that he would abandon her, but it was for the best.

  It wasn’t like she could help him survive.

  Wade flicked on the lantern and she winced as the bright light shafted across the plains. How could she have been so stupid? She might as well have put up a blinking neon arrow pointing to her location. She felt her heart speed up as her chest constricted. Closing her eyes, she chanted to herself. Calm, calm, calm. She sucked in a breath, then let it out. Calm.

  She was getting better at this. Her heartbeat was slowing, the ache in her chest easing. Maybe it helped to have a grumpy old man on your side. She stayed flat against the wall as a second pair of feet hit the cabin floor and clicked across the room. They sounded crisp, authoritative, feminine—like teacher shoes clicking down the hallways at school. Sure enough, the shadow that appeared was distinctly feminine. And it was growing—getting closer and closer to the window.

  “So help me, Wade, if you led me on a wild goose chase, I’ll sue you for new shocks.” The voice was high—definitely a woman—and it rose in volume as she neared the window. “That car’s no redneck four-wheeler. That’s my dad’s fifty-thousand-dollar Lincoln.”

  “Well, your dad’s not gonna have much use for it if he ends up in jail, is he?”

  Her dad. Who could her dad be?

  “And if we don’t find that bitch and use her to shut up Bradford, the only chamber your daddy’s gonna be looking at is the inside of a jail cell.”

  Chamber. Chamber of Commerce? Senate chamber?

  That was it. The woman had to be Senator Carrol’s daughter. She’d been a quiet girl all through school, but Lacey had seen her standing behind her daddy at press conferences. Evidently, Wade had talked her into some scheme to save her father’s reputation by keeping Trent from talking.

  Beckoning to Lacey, Galt dropped down and duck-walked sideways to squat under the opening. She followed his orders without thinking, and the two of them crouched together like soldiers in a foxhole. If the woman looked out, she wouldn’t see them, even if she looked both ways. Long as they didn’t look down, they were safe. But how likely was that?

  “Should have shot the dog,” Wade said in a casual, conversational tone. “It’ll probably run back to the house, and then he’ll know something’s wrong.”

  “Who, the cowboy? He’s not there.”

  “He’ll get back eventually.”

  Chase wasn’t there? He left her? She felt a rush of hopelessness, then anger at the thought that he’d abandoned her. Then she remembered Annie and prayed he’d taken her home. If Wade got anywhere near Annie, she’d shoot him. She longed to yank the shotgun from Galt’s grip, but judging from his determined expression, he’d probably shoot the first person who crossed him even if it was her.

  It was just as well. The man seemed a little crazy, and you probably had to be nuts to actually shoot another human being. She might want to in theory, but who knew if she’d be able to actually pull the trigger?

  She realized she was closing her eyes, as if that would keep them from seeing her. She forced herself to open them and saw Wade step around the corner of the house. The light streaming from the windows and doors illuminated the whole area, so she could see him clearly. He stood in a fighter’s stance, feet apart, hands hanging loose like a gunslinger’s, and surveyed the prairie. She felt totally exposed as his glare swung her way, but his eyes weren’t accustomed to the dark and they flicked right past her.

  “You idiot, she’s right there,” said a voice from behind her.

  The beam of the flashlight slashed across her face, and she sprang to her feet and bolted. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. She sprinted across the flat ground, but she wasn’t much of a runner.

  Shoot. She aimed her thoughts at Galt. Shoot.

  Apparently he got the message. A shot split the quiet night, but when she glanced back, the old man lay on the ground and Wade was gaining on her, a pistol in his hand. Putting on a sudden burst of speed, she pitched forward as he hit her legs in a flying tackle.

  When she struck the ground, Galt’s shotgun roared from somewhere behind her, but the shot scattered harmlessly out over the empty pasture. She pictured the pellets speeding across the open ground, heading for the quiet woods where the mountain lion lurked. There was a sickening thud like someone dropping a melon, a grunt from Galt, then silence. She looked back to see the woman standing over his prone body holding the shotgun like a baseball bat. The stock was shiny with blood.

  “Galt,” Lacey whispered. “Damn.”

  Chapter 42

  Chase gritted his teeth and clutched the wheel as the pickup bounced over the prairie, the trailer bouncing behind it like a heavy ball and chain. It swung first to one side, then the other, constantly foiling his efforts to keep clear of rocks and clumps of sagebrush. His eyes were fixed on the ground in front of the headlights, so he was startled when a movement to one side caught his attention, and he turned to see two horses galloping past.

  Sheba and Jimbo, headed home. Lacey must have spooked
them somehow. At least she’d managed to get the heavy blankets off their backs. He hoped she’d found the note. She must have. Otherwise surely he’d have passed her by now, because she wouldn’t realize she was walking into danger. He clutched the wheel and sped up.

  He hadn’t gone far when Galt’s old claim cabin appeared in the distance, lit up like a church on Christmas. Dang. The old man spent most nights sitting on his porch, that damn shotgun on his lap, guarding what was left of his land and his life from intrusion—even well-meaning intrusion. He was more crazy than mean, but crazy could kill.

  If it was Lacey that lit up the cabin, Galt would probably head out there and shoot her without even knowing who she was. Chase cursed himself for not taking the gun. Hopefully the old man would look before he pulled the trigger, and Lacey would have a chance to charm her way to survival. Even Fletcher Galt could probably be swayed by one of her luminous smiles and the glow of those green eyes.

  He wondered if she’d had one of her panic attacks. He was pretty sure she’d almost had one when she fell off the horse the other day, and again when Captain stumbled, but she’d managed to get herself under control. He shouldn’t have left her alone, though. Should have left the horse, taken her with him. But then they’d have walked right into Wade Simpson.

  He squinted as he neared the cabin. The light didn’t look right. The windows and doors were lit, as if someone had turned on a light inside. But the whole place was lit up, bright against the dark night sky. Lit from the outside.

  By headlights.

  They found her. He reflexively pressed the accelerator to the floor, then realized he needed to think and jammed on the brakes, shutting off his own headlights. Cruising in there with the horse trailer rattling and banging behind him was hardly a stealth strategy. He couldn’t rescue Lacey if Wade and Janice knew he was there. He’d have to drive down the narrow two-track into the ravine and get as close as he could, then walk the rest of the way.

  He peered through the windshield into the darkness, steering the truck down the narrow path through the tangle of brush that choked the ravine. He kept the pickup in low gear and moved slow, but between the hum of the engine and the snapping and cracking of sticks as he eased through the undergrowth, he felt like he was being about as subtle as a brontosaurus.

  When he hit the stream, he had to stop. He’d just end up stuck again if he tried to navigate the mud, sand, and boulders.

  Reaching under the seat, he pulled out a lockbox and keyed in a combination to reveal his emergency gun—a sleek black Wilson nine-millimeter. He shoved it into his waistband and slid out of the truck, flicking off the light in the cab. He stepped out and eased the door almost shut, knowing the click of the latch would sound like a shot in the quiet night.

  He thrashed through the brush in the dark, running upright when he could and scrambling on all fours in the rougher patches. He didn’t see the Jeep until he’d practically run into it. It was parked behind the rocks a short distance from the cabin, and it was empty.

  Cody was somewhere around.

  Chase remembered Annie’s words as she ran up the steps to the apartment. I think Lacey might be scared in the woods alone. Cody must have heard her. But how could he have gotten here so fast? He must have braved the wrath of Fletcher Galt and crossed the sacred ground of the old man’s ranch. Chase cursed himself and moved on. He should have done that himself. Why did he have to be so cautious? Why did he always follow the rules, even when so much was at stake?

  Cody would tell Wade’s lady friend everything: that Lacey was here, that Chase was on his way. A cold fist of fear squeezed Chase’s heart. Worry for Lacey, pain for his sister. Disappointment in Cody, and in himself.

  I’d trust that guy with my life. That’s what he’d told Lacey. He was an idiot—a stupid, trusting fool. Outside of family, Cody was the first person he’d trusted since the farm got taken away. He’d forgotten all the lessons he’d learned back in Conway: that everything you depended on could turn on you, that nothing in life was fair, and that people were predators just waiting for you to make a mistake. They lulled you into a state of Pollyanna positivity and then snatched everything you had right out from under your nose.

  He’d started to believe different in Grady. Started to make friends, to open up his life. Watching the way Cody took care of Pam, he’d actually begun to believe he could count on someone other than himself.

  He’d been wrong.

  ***

  Lacey twisted, flinging out an elbow as Wade’s heavy body fell on top of her. The scent of rage and sweat and hate filled her consciousness, giving way to the smell of gunpowder and metal as he jammed the cold muzzle of a gun against the angle of her jaw.

  “Get her into the car,” the woman said.

  Lacey felt the gun twitch against her neck as Wade cocked it. “Why bother?” he said between gritted teeth.

  “What do you mean, why bother? That’s the plan. I told you, I have a line to Bradford. He hears we have his wife, he’ll forget everything he ever knew about those deals. My dad’ll be in the clear, and you’ll keep your job.”

  Wade was breathing hard making the gun shake. It felt like every artificially pumped muscle in his body was tensed. “I already lost my job. I don’t give a shit if Trent talks.”

  “What? We had a plan, Simpson. And shutting up Bradford is all I care about. You want to kill her later, you can do it on your own.”

  “I just want Bradford to feel the pain.” Wade jabbed the gun harder into Lacey’s jaw. “I was never good enough to invite to his fancy parties, but I was good enough to do his dirty work. Good enough to use. I shut up Caldwell’s dad for him. It’s time I got paid.” He was straddling her, one hand holding the gun, the other working at his belt. She could feel him trembling—maybe with rage, maybe excitement. Maybe those were the same things to Wade.

  “Get over yourself, Simpson. Caldwell committed suicide. You didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

  “That’s what you think. That’s what everybody thinks.” He switched the gun to his left hand and Lacey bucked hard, thinking she might have a chance to get loose, but his right hand grabbed the back of her neck and slammed her head onto the ground. She felt his fingers snaking around to the front, pressing painfully hard on her throat. Her pulse throbbed against the pressure, then began to flutter and fade. Darkness welled up in her mind—not the dark of the night, but a darkness from deep inside her that flooded her mind and made the real world fade away. “Thirty seconds like this, and she’ll be real easy to handle. Put the gun in her hand, pull the trigger, and boom. Too bad, so sad. She just couldn’t live with what her husband did.”

  “Quit it.” The woman shoved at Wade and his grip loosened. Lacey struggled against the darkness, trying to see, trying to hear, trying to find a way to live. She opened her eyes and saw the woman’s feet inches away from her face. She must be brain damaged already, because the shoes were like something out of a nightmare.

  “You’re killing her,” the woman said.

  “You bet. But not yet.” Wade let go of her neck, but he was fumbling with his pants again. “First I’m gonna show her what it’s like to be used. What do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s not what I signed on for,” the woman said. “Get off her.”

  The cold metal left Lacey’s skin as Wade swung to point the gun at the other woman. “Shut up, or you’re next. Sad how you tried to prevent your father’s disgrace. You killed her, and then you killed yourself. That’s what everybody will think, and I’ll be long gone.”

  “You’re crazy. Crazy.” The woman backed away. “I’m clearing out. You do what you want.”

  Lacey heard the woman’s footsteps running away as Wade shoved the gun back under her chin. Even with the gun away from her neck, Lacey couldn’t move. She tried to twist against Wade’s weight, but he was too strong.

  Maybe the woman would come back with a gun, or club Wade with the shotgun like she had Galt. Maybe…


  An engine started on the other side of the house, and the beam from the sedan’s headlights swung sideways and disappeared. Lacey heard the tires crunching across the ground as the car drove away.

  Her only possible protector was gone.

  She closed her eyes tight. Calm, calm, she told herself. Calmcalmcalm. But the fear wouldn’t go away this time. She’d die afraid, but she wouldn’t die without a struggle. She drew in one more desperate breath and arched her back, twisting away from Wade. He slipped to one side and cursed, then grabbed her hair and pulled her toward him.

  “Too bad we don’t have some of those nice girlie drinks you liked so much back in high school,” he said. “That would make this better for you.”

  Lacey’s stomach turned over and she felt her lunch surging hot at the back of her throat. She was still dizzy, her throat hurt, and Wade was going to kill her once he got done with her—but at this point, she felt like she’d die anyway if he did as he planned.

  She turned her head away to avoid his sour breath on her face and came face-to-face with Galt, just a few feet away. His face was twisted with pain now, not anger. A gash on his forehead had streaked half his face with blood, but he blinked as she watched, then pointed his gaze downward.

  He had the shotgun. Janice must have dropped it after she hit him. He was trying to get a grip on it, but he couldn’t seem to close his hand properly. He blinked again, his eyes glassy and desperate.

  Dammit, Janice had almost killed him. An old man. Killed him to save her father’s golden reputation. Suddenly, what Trent had done didn’t seem so bad. He’d just wanted money. It was terrible, but it wasn’t murder.

  Wade was the root of all of it. He was the hate at the heart of her hometown, the festering sore that never healed. He’d hounded her, and hated her, and now he was going to kill her.

  She felt her chest constricting, her old enemy stealing her breath. She’d learned to fight her panic attacks by being rational—by taking in the reality of the situation, seeing a way out. But right now, reality was the last thing she wanted to face. There was no way out of this situation. The gun…