SAFE IN HIS ARMS
Shelby Townsend and her orphaned five-year-old nephew have escaped to Hidden Springs, Colorado, leaving plenty of pain behind. New job, new home—a new start is just what they both need. Until a very delicious complication walks into her life. Sheriff Cullen Brannigan.
Cullen assumes he’ll miss the hustle and bustle of his big-city life when he’s forced to take a break from his job with the Denver police force. But he’s surprised how much two complete strangers, who just happen to be living on his ranch, make him want to stick around. Because behind Shelby’s protective shell is a tempting vulnerability that inspires a promise in him—to keep Shelby and her nephew safe at any cost.
She smiled and his heartbeat shot off.
Damn, he needed to stop reacting to her every time she smiled.
He touched her arm to stop her. “Shelby, about this morning. I need to apologize to you. I had no business kissing you.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I just thought you kissed all random women who come to your door.”
He shook his head, then caught her mouth twitch. “Not random women, only beautiful women with big blue eyes who appear at my back door at five in the morning.”
She cocked her head and desire shot through him again. “Cullen, I can’t have a relationship right now.” She glanced away. “My life has to be focused on Ryan.”
He held up a hand. “I feel the same way. I’m only here for a few months. My job isn’t even permanent.”
She laughed. “Well, with all those complications, I’d say we don’t have to worry.”
Her Colorado Sheriff
Patricia Thayer
www.millsandboon.co.uk
PATRICIA THAYER was born and raised in Muncie, Indiana, the second in a family of eight children. She attended Ball State University before heading west, where she has called Southern California home for many years. There she’s been a member of the Orange County Chapter of RWA. It’s a sisterhood like no other.
When not working on a story, she might be found traveling the United States and Europe, taking in the scenery and doing story research while enjoying time with her husband, Steve. Together, they have three grown sons and four grandsons and one granddaughter, whom Patricia calls her own true-life heroes.
As always, Steve.
And to the next 45 years together.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Extract
Copyright
Chapter One
With a gasp, Shelby Townsend sat up in bed, her room dark and foreboding. The tree blowing in the wind outside her window cast ominous shadows on her wall. She ignored her own fears when she heard the child’s cry again.
“Ryan.” She jumped up and hurried across the hall into the other bedroom. There she found the five-year-old boy thrashing around on the single bed.
She sat down on the mattress and grabbed his flaying arms. “Ryan, it’s okay. I’m here,” she whispered in what she hoped was a soothing voice. “Aunt Shelby is here.”
The child’s cries and fighting stopped as the blond-haired boy opened his eyes. He made an indistinguishable sound as he gripped her hands tightly. “Aunt Shellie. The bad man is going to get me. I’m scared.”
“I know, but I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
The boy sat up and hugged her. “I want Mama,” he cried.
“I know, Ryan. I know.”
Shelby’s heart tightened painfully, making it hard to breathe. How could she explain to this child that his mother wasn’t going to come back? Ever. Ryan wouldn’t understand the awful things that happened only two weeks ago. How could he? Even she didn’t understand why her big sister had been killed.
“I want...I want to go home.”
This was to be expected since it was the first night in their new home. Ryan didn’t handle change well.
She rubbed his back, hoping to calm him. They could never go back to Kentucky. Besides, there wasn’t anything left there to return for.
Tears filled her eyes as she remembered the events of the past few weeks. She was running late from picking Ryan up from school. If only she’d convinced Georgia to come with her instead of meeting them... Things might have turned out differently, and she’d still have a sister, and her nephew would have his mother.
“I’m sorry, Ryan, but we can’t go back there. This is our home now.” At least for the next few months, they’d be hidden out here in the country, until branding season was over.
Shelby almost laughed at the situation. The small town of Hidden Springs, Colorado, was a funny place for a sous-chef to end up.
The town was chosen not because of her culinary skills, but the best area for them to find a safe place to settle in, and create a new life. For now, the large Circle R Ranch was a good hideout.
Ryan raised his head. “Please, can I have the tablet?”
She knew that she shouldn’t give in, but the child needed something to calm him after the bad dream. She went to the desk and retrieved the device. After putting on a timer, she handed it to him. “You can look at your pictures for twenty minutes only.”
She was rewarded with a rare smile. She kissed the boy and left the room. Too keyed up to go back to sleep, she slipped on her robe over her flannel pajama bottoms and tank top, then headed down the stairs in the cozy farmhouse.
Once on the main floor, she glanced at the sheet-covered furniture in the living room, reminding her of the cleaning job she had tomorrow. She was a little curious as to why no one was here to meet them. She also had to search for the key, and found it over the door, then let herself inside. She was still wondering if Georgia had been confused about the living arrangements.
Shelby continued through the dining room, filled with a long table and hutch. Who would use this place for temporary employees? It had been Georgia who’d found the ad for a roundup cook online. Room and board was included, and the job was far enough away from Dawkins Meadow to hopefully keep Gil Bryant out of their lives.
A shiver ran through her body as she glanced out the big windows over the sink and into the moon-bright night. No streetlights out here on the ranch. She filled the kettle and took it to the stove, hoping some chamomile tea would help her sleep. But in her heart, she knew that it would take a long time before she could rid herself of the nightmare of the few past weeks. And the terrible death of her sister would never go away.
Now her goal was to move ahead with her life and keep Ryan safe.
* * *
HE BLAMED IT on the full moon.
Cullen Brannigan drove his patrol car off the highway onto the county road leading to the ranch. His sour mood had nothing to do with driving through the small community
of Hidden Springs, and the outlying areas.
He should have his head examined for taking this interim sheriff’s position. Thank you, Trent, for talking me into this.
After chasing down high school seniors who’d played pranks on unsuspecting residents, tearing a new pair of uniform pants, he was rethinking his decision to accept the job here.
He wasn’t a small-town sheriff. He was a Denver police detective. At least he had been before he was suspected of taking bribes while working white-collar crimes one year ago. While Internal Affairs investigated leads, he’d been suspended from the force. Even though he’d been cleared and reinstated, he wasn’t sure he could go back. As if his fellow officers would ever trust him again.
That went both ways. The brotherhood hadn’t exactly stood up for him during the investigation, either, but his father’s betrayal had been the worst. Captain Neal Brannigan couldn’t possibly have taken his son’s word of his innocence. Maybe his stepbrother, Trent, was right; a fresh start was what he needed to move on.
Cullen shook away the memories as he turned his vehicle onto the gravel road, the bright moonlight showing him the way. Damn, it was pitch-black out here in the sticks. And for now, thanks to his recently deceased stepmother, Leslie Landry Brannigan, he owned part of these sticks. Part of a ranch, to be exact.
Maybe it was time he had a look at his new home, especially since he’d gotten a radio call saying that a passing neighbor had seen an unfamiliar car in the driveway. For years, the property had been leased out, but with his stepmother’s death, the land transferred to her sons. So the renters were notified and had moved out of the guest cottage two weeks ago. The place should be deserted.
Cullen drove under the wrought iron sign that read Circle R Ranch. Leslie had told him many stories about her parents’ large cattle operation back in the day. Until her sudden death last month, he had no idea that she’d willed the place to him, his twin brother, Austin, and her biological son, Trent. The property was to be divided between them equally. He guessed Leslie wanted her boys to know she loved them equally.
Damn, he missed her.
He drove past the faded red barn and into the driveway at the front of her house. The Victorian structure needed a lot of work, but she was still grand to look at. He got out of the patrol car and walked around the side of the house where he spotted the small sedan parked in the driveway. He glanced at the dim light in the kitchen.
He walked back out front as he punched Trent’s number into his phone. He knew it was late, but he wanted to double-check if he’d been expecting anyone here.
He got a groggy greeting. “Hello, Cullen. What’s going on?”
“I’m over at your grandfather Robertson’s place. There’s a car parked here.” He rambled off the make and model and plates. “Do you know them?”
“They could be related to the Donaldsons, who just moved out.”
“Could they get into the main house?”
He heard a sigh. “To be honest, Cullen, I’m not sure. I haven’t been there in years. All the rent money went to Mom.”
“Okay, then I’ll see if I can stir someone.”
“Hey, give me a few minutes, and I’ll be there to help you.”
“I don’t need a big brother anymore,” he teased, recalling their intense days as teenagers. “I’ll knock on the door, and if there’s anything suspect, I’ll call for backup.”
Cullen hung up and climbed the steps to the front door. He rang the bell, then a minute later with no answer, he began to knock hard on the door and called out.
He unfastened the strap on his gun. “Sheriff’s department. Please, open the door.”
* * *
SHELBY FROZE. Oh, God, no. Gil had found them. She stood and hurried into the other room. What should she do? She rushed to the window and peeked out through the heavy curtains. She found a tall, well-built stranger standing under the porch light. She glanced toward the black-and-white car with the logo of County Sheriff on the side.
The knock sounded again. “Who’s ever inside, you need to answer the door. You are trespassing on private property.”
She heard Ryan’s loud cry from upstairs. She ran to the stairs and called to her nephew. “Go back to your room, Ryan. It’s okay.”
When the boy disappeared, Shelby took a shaky breath and released it. She stood by the door. “What do you want, Sheriff?”
“Would you please step out on the porch? I need to speak to you.”
With trembling hands, she unbolted the door, but left the chain on, then opened it a crack to see the dark-haired man in uniform. Well, if you could call dark jeans, boots and a light blue shirt a uniform. Around his waist he wore a gun, and several other weapons.
“May I see your identification, Sheriff?”
He looked irritated, but pulled out an official ID. She read the name Cullen Brannigan. He was six feet one inch tall, his weight one hundred ninety, eyes, hazel, and hair, brown.
“Thank you.” She handed it back to him. “I’m not trespassing, Sheriff. I was hired to come here and cook for spring roundup. The job came with room and board.”
He frowned. “Who hired you?”
“The Donaldson family.”
He nodded. “May I see your identification?”
“Of course.” Shelby went to the table next to the door and got her wallet. She didn’t want to bring attention to herself. If Gil got news of her being here with a computer search... “All you have to do is contact Mr. Donaldson. He’ll tell you that we’re supposed to be here. But he talked with my sister, Georgia Hughes.” That had been what her new ID stated. She was supposed to have a chance to start over. She handed over her Kentucky driver’s license. “If there is a mistake, we’ll leave.”
“Where is your sister?”
Miss Townsend glanced away. “She died unexpectedly... We just recently buried her before we came here.”
Before she could say any more, a truck pulled up into the yard. Shelby stiffened and pulled her robe closer to her body as another man climbed out and rushed up to the porch.
“Hey, bro.” He turned that smile toward Shelby. “Hello, I’m Trent Landry.”
“I’m Shelby Townsend. I was just explaining to the sheriff, my sister and I were hired to cook for the roundup for Mr. Donaldson.”
Trent nodded. “I’m sorry, but the Donaldsons no longer live here. Since my mother’s passing, this property has changed hands. I’m surprised you haven’t been contacted by Hank.”
Shelby tried to stay calm given this new situation. Oh, God. Now, what was she going to do? “We were probably on the road by then.” Had Georgia known the change of plans and never got the chance to tell her? “I apologize for the mistake.” She opened the door and allowed both men inside. “As you can see, nothing was disturbed. We only arrived a few hours ago.”
Cullen watched as the attractive brunette fidgeted with the belt on her robe. Something told him she wasn’t telling him the entire story. He glanced around at the large room filled with sheet-covered furniture. The place was huge.
The woman started to speak when a child’s voice rang out from upstairs. “It’s okay, Ryan,” she said. “You can come downstairs.”
A little boy about five hurried down the steps and ran to her side. He looked scared, and Cullen hated that he’d caused the boy any more stress.
Trent spoke first. “Hello, there. I’m Trent. What’s your name?”
The boy looked up at his aunt. “It’s Ryan,” she said for him. “He’s five.”
“Good to meet you, Ryan,” Trent said. “Sorry if we scared you.”
“Don’t hurt Aunt Shellie,” he said slowly.
The woman stepped in. “No one is going to hurt anyone, Ryan. This is Sheriff Cullen.”
The boy’s eyes widened before he buried his h
ead against his aunt’s waist.
“He’s very shy and a little frightened. I apologize for the mistake. If you give us about thirty minutes we can be packed up and out of here.”
Hell, he didn’t want to kick her out onto the street. Cullen spoke up. “Whoa, we aren’t kicking you out in the middle of the night.”
* * *
OUTSIDE THE HOUSE, Trent asked, “So you think it’s okay to let them stay?”
Cullen still wasn’t sure what came over him. He was usually the bad cop, the by-the-book guy. But the kid got to him with that look of fear on his face. “It’s nearly midnight. Do you really want her to drag the boy out at this hour? Besides, didn’t you do the same thing when Brooke came to town not too long ago? You offered her a place to stay, and look what happened.”
“Are you saying you’re attracted to Shelby Townsend?”
Cullen blinked. Where did that come from? “What? I met her two minutes before you did.”
A cocky grin appeared on Trent’s face. “That’s all it took for me when I first saw Brooke.”
“Well, I’m not you, soldier boy.” He called him by his old nickname. Trent had spent a dozen years in the military before coming back here. “Let’s get back to the problem at hand. Do you want to toss a woman and a child out at midnight? Besides, by the looks of her vehicle, she doesn’t have much extra money for a motel. Why don’t you see if you can get ahold of your last tenant, the Donaldsons, and see if they can check out her story?”
Trent shook his head. “I’ll call in the morning. Now I’m going home and climbing back into bed with my beautiful wife.” He grinned, and Cullen wanted to slug him. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Cullen pointed to the house. “What about the guests?”
“I’ll let you handle the pretty brunette. If they rob us blind, I’ll send the sheriff after them.” With a laugh his brother walked off to his truck.
Cullen just shook his head. When his father had first married Leslie, he and his twin brother, Austin, had been barely ten. And they hated Leslie’s thirteen-year-old son, Trent, on sight. It took a few years, but they all got over it, and with his stepmother’s love they’d all become somewhat of a family.
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