The Danger Within

by Valerie Hansen

  “Exactly.”

  Layla wasn’t sure she liked the analogy but she had to admit the man had a valid point. While they were working at the Double V, they were all a team. And Michael Vance was their team leader. Therefore, unlike his inappropriate advice to Colleen, he was entitled to proprietary concern in her regard no matter how much it grated.

  “Okay. Follow me if you want,” she said. “Just don’t try to tell me how to drive, okay?”

  His laugh was mocking. “Perish the thought.”

  Michael had little trouble following Layla’s unusual truck. He easily kept her in sight while they were on the main highway. When they turned off toward Cripple Creek on SR 67, he was second in line behind her. That was good enough. He didn’t figure anybody would try anything funny when there were witnesses.

  The winding, two-lane road had to climb from the six-thousand-foot altitude of Colorado Springs to nearly eight thousand feet before it reached the turnoff to the Double V. That was still fifteen hundred feet shy of Cripple Creek’s official 9,508 foot elevation.

  The dark sedan between Michael and Layla slowed and signaled to turn onto one of the many gravel side roads they were passing. Michael braked. Layla’s truck was rapidly pulling away but he wasn’t worried. Nobody was going to pass him. Not if he had anything to say about it.

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and muttered at the slow driver. “Come on. Turn it. You can do it. Atta boy. Good for you. Now goose it.”

  As soon as he knew his front bumper would clear the other car, Michael floored the gas pedal. The pickup’s engine roared. Gripping the wheel, he squinted into the darkness. Curves in the road ahead were keeping him from spotting the glow from Layla’s taillights but he knew she was still there. All he had to do was catch up.

  Rounding a particularly nasty corner, Michael saw a flicker of red. He was about to heave a sigh of relief when he noted that there were two sets of taillights. While he’d been delayed, another car had apparently pulled out from one of the myriad side roads and there was once again a third vehicle in their convoy.

  That shouldn’t have bothered him but it did. The toe of his boot pushed harder on the gas. The truck shuddered, slewed on the slick roadway, then straightened out. Michael’s heart was in his throat. He knew he was driving like a madman, yet something kept spurring him on, insisting he must stay close to Layla.

  “I’m a fool,” he told himself. “I won’t do anybody any good if I wreck, least of all, myself.”

  That logical conclusion should have been enough to convince him to slow down to a sensible speed. It wasn’t.

  Layla hadn’t been able to tell exactly who was behind her for miles. Michael’s truck was black, so that was no help at all. Except for the way pickup lights rode higher above the ground, especially on four-wheel-drive vehicles, they all looked the same in her rearview mirror.

  A few miles back she’d noticed that there were no headlights following and had considered pulling off the road to wait for Michael to catch up. Then, suddenly, there he was, bearing down on her again.

  She smiled in relief. She’d never admit it, of course, but it was a comfort to know he was looking out for her. This road could be a white-knuckler. She planned to avoid driving it at night in the future, particularly when there was snow and ice to contend with. Like now.

  They were probably less than halfway home and her fingers were already cramped from grasping the steering wheel too tightly. There were times, particularly in the summer when she could comfortably travel with the windows open, that she enjoyed driving. This was not one of those times.

  Layla yawned. Being too warm always made her sleepy. If her toes hadn’t been freezing in the silver strapped sandals she wouldn’t have turned the heater on in the first place. To give herself a jolt of fresh, cold air she rolled the driver’s side window partway down and took invigorating breaths. There. That was better.

  The headlights behind her flashed, moved slightly left. It looked as if the other vehicle was jockeying to pass! What was wrong with Michael? Had he lost his mind?

  Easing as far as she could to the right shoulder, Layla felt her tires bump over rocks and ice on the berm. She braked, started to slide, fishtailed when she straightened the wheel, fought to maintain control.

  The other truck pulled parallel. With a quick glance, Layla shouted, “Michael, you idiot!” before she realized that the driver was not her concerned boss.

  This man was wearing a ski mask! He whipped ahead of her. Cut her off. Clipped her bumper. Forced her farther off the road.

  Layla tried in vain to hold her place. Her truck was too lightweight in comparison to that of her assailant. Even four-wheel drive wasn’t enough to save her.

  Her right fender slid along a low metal railing edging the road. With a shower of sparks and a squealing grind, she bounced back against her attacker’s vehicle, then overcorrected.

  That was a critical mistake. In an instant she was through the rail and airborne, screaming and plummeting over the edge of the narrow mountain road!

  All she could think of on the way down was how mad Michael was going to be and how thankful she was that Smokey wasn’t with her this time.

  Watching the incident take place and the other truck speed away, Michael felt totally helpless.

  He raced to the scene, skidded to a stop and leaped from his truck shouting, “Layla!” There was no answer.

  With his headlights to guide him, he ran through the break in the railing and over the edge of the icy ravine. A copse of trees had caught Layla’s truck a short way down and stopped her death-defying plunge.

  It was impossible for Michael to tell what lay beyond her precarious perch. He didn’t hesitate. Slipping and sliding his way through the thick, broken vegetation, he yanked on the driver’s door till he got it open.

  “Layla?”

  Her moan of response tied his gut in knots. He reached across to turn off the ignition, then unfastened her taut seat belt. The truck was too old to have air bags but the belt had kept her from flying into the shattered windshield.

  Gently, tenderly, he brushed her hair off her forehead. She didn’t stir. He knew it was unwise to move her so now what? Like an idiot he’d left his cell phone in his truck. If he climbed back to the road to get it and call for help, Layla might come to, struggle out of the wreck by herself, and make matters worse. Groggy, she might even fall the rest of the way to the valley floor!

  Michael’s breath caught. Gasoline fumes! The old pickup was leaking fuel.

  “Lord, help me. I can’t leave her like this. Not now.” Taking as much care as he could under the challenging circumstances, he eased her out and into his arms, then turned and started to carry her back up to the highway.

  Chapter Seven

  Half off, half on the road, Michael’s empty, still-running truck had rapidly gathered a small crowd of bystanders.

  Layla’s head lay on his shoulder. She’d come to her senses enough to place a hand against his chest and had stopped moaning, although he still wasn’t sure how badly she might be hurt.

  “Somebody call 911,” Michael ordered as strong hands reached to help him climb the last few yards to the highway.

  “Already did,” a stranger answered. “What happened?”

  “Some idiot crowded her off the road.” Michael opened the passenger door of his truck and gently placed Layla on the seat, releasing her reluctantly.

  She blinked, looked up at him and winced, trembling. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think so. How’s my poor truck?”

  “It’s seen better days,” he said honestly. “What happened? I saw a crazy driver trying to pass on a curve. The next thing I knew, you were airborne.”

  Layla’s shivering increased. Michael slung his much larger leather coat around her shoulders and gently drew it together in the front like a blanket.

  She licked her lips. Tears misted her eyes. “He hit me on purpos
e. Twice. I tried to fight back, to keep my wheels on the road. But he got me to sliding and over I went.”

  Michael’s arm encircled her. He pulled her close, held her tenderly. When Layla buried her face against his shoulder and began to cry quietly he thought his heart would burst. Part of him wanted to speed off after the attacker and beat him to a pulp. A more rational side of him wanted nothing more than to stand there beside this weeping woman and comfort her as long as she’d let him.

  Rationality won out. So did tenderness. Without conscious thought, Michael bent and placed a kiss on Layla’s hair.

  She lifted her face to smile at him through her tears, as if she, too, wanted the moment to last.

  Red lights and sirens were approaching from below. One of the passersby flagged down the rescue truck and ambulance.

  Paramedics took over and gave Layla a cursory examination while Michael hovered nearby, talking to the police. He heard Layla say, “No. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I’m feeling fine. Really,” before he stepped forward to take charge.

  “I can drive her home,” Michael said. “She lives at the Double V ranch, closer to Cripple Creek. I’ll keep an eye on her. If she starts to feel worse, I’ll see she gets to a doctor up there right away.”

  Layla grimaced. “Can’t I drive my truck?”

  “I doubt that very much,” he answered. “Even if it’ll start after it’s pulled back onto the road, I think you have a ruptured fuel line. We can probably fix that at the ranch.” He smiled. “Besides, you’re in no shape to be driving.”

  “Who says?”

  “I do.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re doing a great imitation of an aspen.”

  Layla held out her hands and looked at them. “Quaking?”

  “Quaking. Now, what do you need out of your truck before we go? Did you have a purse or anything like that?”

  “Nope. Pockets,” she said, patting the sides of her vest. “I’m good to go as soon as I sign the release for the ambulance guys.” One of them thrust a clipboard at her and she scrawled her signature where he indicated.

  Michael hadn’t left her side. “Okay. Wait here. I’ll go tell the police to have your truck towed to the ranch.”

  “Won’t they need to take a report? Ask me questions?”

  “They said that can wait. You didn’t recognize the other driver, right?”

  “Right.” She made a face.

  “Then don’t worry about it. I’ll speak to my cousin Sam and have him handle the details for us.”

  “Sam Vance? The homicide detective I heard about tonight? Why him?”

  Michael’s nostrils flared in anger. “Because this was no accident, Layla.”

  She shivered from head to toe. “Maybe the guy left paint scrapes on my truck that can be traced. He hit me hard enough.”

  “The cops can check for that when they haul your truck out of the gulley.”

  After he’d explained to the officers, he thanked the rescuers and private citizens who had stopped to help, then returned to his truck and slid behind the wheel. “Ready?”

  Layla’s arms were folded tightly across her chest. “Ready.”

  “Fasten your seat belt. It saved your life once tonight.”

  “That was a close one, wasn’t it?”

  “Too close. Here. Lay my jacket over your legs like a blanket. It’ll keep you warmer. Don’t you have a regular coat? One with sleeves?”

  “This vest had detachable sleeves. Smokey chewed them up when I first got him.” She was straining to fasten the safety belt. Michael reached to help. She let him. “Thanks. I guess I am a little sore and shaky.”

  “I suspect you’ll be more than a little sore by tomorrow,” he said soberly. “Remember, if you start to feel sick or act strange, I’m taking you straight to a doctor.”

  “Oh, yeah? I’ve never been anything but strange. How in the world will you be able to tell if I’m acting funnier than usual?”

  He placed his hand over hers where it rested on the seat. “Believe it or not, I’m used to your ways. I’ll know.” He felt her tremble beneath his touch.

  “Thanks. For everything,” Layla said. “I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t been following me.”

  “So do I.”

  Michael’s mind raced as he drove the familiar road. Layla’s first so-called accident might have been overlooked. The second removed all doubt. Even if she hadn’t been certain that this driver was bent on forcing her off the precipitous road, he’d have suspected foul play. First his innocent cattle and now this.

  Michael’s jaw muscles clenched. Maybe the cattle weren’t the first victims. Ben was still unaccounted for. If his missing foreman wasn’t guilty of negligence or purposeful poisoning of the stock, maybe he, too, was a casualty of whoever or whatever was behind all these catastrophes. It was easier to believe that than it was to accept the idea that Ben had reverted to his old ways and was somehow taking it out on the Double V.

  Michael’s jaw clenched. Now, Layla Dixon was apparently involved right up to her pretty neck, too. Was it too late to send her away for her own good? Probably. Anyone who’d try to harm her when there was a good chance of being seen or even captured, like tonight, had to be desperate enough to track her no matter where she went.

  Given those facts, Michael decided the safest place for Layla was right where she was. Beside him. The closer the better.

  He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the situation once they reached the Double V but he wasn’t going to leave her alone until he was certain she hadn’t suffered a head injury. All he’d have to do was convince her his intentions were honorable, which they were, and decide how he was going to remain nearby without compromising her reputation.

  He glanced over at her, found she’d closed her eyes, and reacted immediately. “Hey, Doc. Wake up. You’re not supposed to sleep.”

  Layla yawned. “Oh, yeah? Tell that to my eyelids. They’re unbelievably heavy.”

  “Maybe you have a concussion.”

  She shook her head. “No way. Nothing hurts up there and my vision is fine. I’m a doctor, remember?”

  “An animal doctor. That doesn’t count.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, let me tell you something, Michael Vance, the schooling for MDs and vets is essentially the same. The only difference is, we can’t ask our patients what hurts or how they feel. The way I look at it, we have to be better doctors than the ones who treat humans.”

  He grimaced. “I suppose that means you don’t intend to take any advice from me.”

  “Of course not.” Layla yawned. “To tell you the truth, I think I’d be just as tired whether my truck had landed in a ditch or not. Being in that crowd at the hotel took a lot out of me. I’m not used to so much socializing.”

  “Neither am I.” He snorted derisively and shook his head. “Give me a horse and the open range any time.”

  “Speaking of horses, I’ve been meaning to ask if I could go riding sometime. When I was growing up at the commune, my best friends were horses. I missed them the most when my folks moved back to the city.”

  “Of course you can ride. You should have asked sooner.”

  “I didn’t want to be a pest.” Laying her head back against the seat she sighed and smiled slightly. “I did explore the barns and find where you keep the horses, though. They’re beautiful. Especially the Arab-looking gray mare. What’s she crossed with? Mustang?”

  “Yes,” Michael said. “You have quite an eye. What else did you notice?”

  “That your stock is well kept and healthy. The big Appaloosa gelding is magnificent, too. He’s in prime condition even though he’s got some years on him. What’s his name?”

  “You’re going to love it. I call him, the Appaloosa.”

  “How original.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask. What have you named him?”

  “How about Spot?” Layla stifled a giggle. “Just kidding. I hadn’t thought
about giving him a name until now. I was positive he’d already have one.”

  “Even if he did,” Michael countered, “you’d still have called him something else.”

  “Probably.” She yawned again, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. I really am beat.”

  Michael figured he wouldn’t have a better opportunity to address his concerns for her health so he plunged ahead. “I think I should keep an eye on you for a few more hours. Just to make sure you’re not going to conk out.”

  “I never conk,” Layla said. “I am looking forward to a sleep, though. Trust me. You don’t have to sit up with me. I’m fine.”

  “Still—”

  “No. It’s not open to discussion. Drop me at the cabin and go home.”

  “Just like that?”

  Layla gave him a determined look when she said, “Yes. Just like that.”

  Morning found Layla achy and stiff. She kneaded the back of her neck with one hand and rotated her head to try to relieve the kinks. One shoulder was striped with a two-inch-wide bruise caused by the upper portion of the seat belt. Other than that, she hadn’t found any visible injuries. Truth to tell, the whole incident seemed like a bad dream.

  Except for the part where Michael had kissed the top of her head and held her so lovingly, she countered, smiling. That was definitely no nightmare. Who’d have guessed that the crusty rancher had such a tender side?

  “I would have,” she answered. A person only had to watch him with livestock to see that he was a kind man. In spite of his uncompromising attitude, he cared. Deeply. He couldn’t help it that he’d been raised in such a stuffy, conventional family, any more than she could help her upbringing. It was simply a fact of life.

  Living at the commune, she’d felt a part of society. That had changed once her parents had moved to the city. Other children had laughed at her, taunted her for her unusual clothing and natural ways. Oh, she’d learned how to fit in, at least on the outside. In her heart, however, she’d remained an outcast. And she still was.

  Layla was dressed and almost ready to head for the ranch house. She stopped at the mirror in the bathroom to brush her hair. Smokey was at her heels. This time however, instead of tagging along behind as he usually did, he forged ahead. Using his body to nudge her toward the door, he bristled and began to growl.