Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

  Maddy shrugged, affecting nonchalance. “Probably. And Faith kept me posted on all the old friends from this valley. So you’re giving up law enforcement?”

  She swayed rhythmically with the baby as Holt explained. “I spent the last year and a half in San Diego as part of a task force chasing a Mexican drug lord. We didn’t get him, so the DEA would either return me to that detail or send me somewhere else. Whichever, it’s not the life for a single parent. Rotten hours, dangerous, moving a lot.”

  She knew first hand what that life was like for kids. Her nomadic life was one reason she remained unattached.

  He spread his arms in demonstration. “Plus I have the ranch. Bronc’s a good hand, but he can’t run the place alone. I can’t pay anyone else, and I won’t sell.”

  The jangling of the telephone precluded her having to fabricate a response or more questions. Two long-legged strides took Holt across the kitchen to the wall phone.

  Holt in permanent residence at the Valley-D was a development she hadn’t counted on. She’d had no home anywhere in this high valley since her grandparents sold their ranch several years ago. The Rafferty family ran the Circle-S as a guest ranch.

  Between shoots—and paychecks—she’d been weighing her options. Her assignments haunted her dreams—swollen-bellied children, refugee families, bulldozed hovels, and teenaged suicide bombers. This valley had always called to her. If she limited her gigs, she could put down roots and find some stability and peace.

  Living even part time in Rangewood or anywhere in the valley might not’ve been awkward if Rob were alive. He’d have shrugged off her return like rainwater on his hat. He’d forgiven her. She was pretty sure.

  Maybe she would have made friends with his wife. And little Bobby.

  But Holt was not Rob. The man whose motto was Family Loyalty would resent her return like a personal assault. He nearly cut her legs off for this visit.

  Her admiration for his integrity and responsibility was mushrooming because of his leaving his career for his nephew and the ranch. She couldn’t stay here for long. She would sit by Rob’s grave awhile before phoning one of the Raffertys for a ride. She wouldn’t accept Holt’s offer of a ride, couldn’t let him see where she was staying. That was for sure.

  She snuggled the infant, whose eyelids were drooping, and laid her cheek on his soft, warm head. Inhaling his clean, powdery scent, she eased into the rocking chair by the hutch and tried not to let her attention wander to Holt.

  Chapter 3

  Holt leaned against the counter and tried to concentrate on the voice at his ear and not the woman across the room. “Yes, he’s fine.”

  “Now that little Bobby’s two months old, he’s going to need his immunizations,” said Phyllis Patterson.

  “Yes’m. I have an appointment this week.” He shifted on his tired feet. His eyes remained riveted on Maddy.

  She had short, breezy hair instead of the long silken mane he remembered. He wouldn’t let himself like it. Or her. He didn’t want to think about the softness of the breast he’d brushed against either. That flimsy shirt the color of spring aspen leaves provided little barrier.

  Shit. What was he, some pervert, to think about sex when all they were doing was transferring an innocent baby?

  Getting her out of here pronto would suit him just fine. He didn’t need her interference in his already disrupted life. Neither did Bobby. The woman was trouble. A pampered female like his mother. And like Rob’s wife. Seemed like that was true. Judging from the fancying of the house. Maddy drove a Range Rover, an overpriced foreign SUV. Served her right if it broke down.

  All looks and no substance. Like the woman.

  Phyllis chattered away, her advice the same old ride up the mountain, like the cog railway that chugged day in and day out up Pikes Peak. Except her voice held a nervous edge that had Holt wondering what else the woman wanted.

  He punctuated her monologue with an occasional “Yes’m.” He tried to keep on good terms with the Pattersons, but at a distance. They were the baby’s grandparents, but Bobby was a Donovan.

  Phyllis’s mention of Esperanza broke through the haze of his ruminations. “What are you getting at? What do you mean?”

  “Oh dear, this is so upsetting.” She cleared her throat before continuing. She’d learned at the hairdresser that Espie was returning to her regular customers. “How are you going to run the ranch and care for Bobby without full-time help?”

  He gritted his teeth. “We’ll manage.”

  Maddy regarded him with curiosity from across the room where she sat and rocked the sleeping infant. Something in his tone must have alarmed her.

  “You cannot take that dear little one with you into the barn or out on the range. Think of the dangers. Think of the dirt. Think of the germs.” Shrillness broadcast Phyllis’s emotion.

  He’d figured out how he could keep Bobby with him. He could carry the baby in the cloth sling-carrier or in the car seat. It ought to work. He would make it work. It had to work.

  “We’ll be just fine, Phyllis.” He slid his jaw sideways to loosen the muscles.

  “Without reliable child care, the judge may not consider you a fit guardian, let alone a parent. It’s bad enough you know so little about raising a baby.”

  “I’m learning fast. New mothers know nothing about babies either. Most do okay.” His patience with the interfering old biddy was sifting away fast.

  When he heard the words attorney and custody, it was all he could do not to slam down the phone.

  Maddy gaped at him, puzzlement on her delicate features. The baby drifted off. In the circle of her slender arms, he looked angelic and peaceful, not like a critter with the lung capacity of a full-grown steer. His head of blond fluff resembled hers too much for comfort.

  Seeing how at ease she was with his nephew sprouted an idea in Holt’s mind. An idea he didn’t relish. He’d sooner house a rattler. Madelyn McCoy had tempted him once. He wouldn’t allow her a second time.

  “After we’ve filed a challenge to your custody, Judge Gilbert will appoint an advocate to investigate your situation,” continued the voice in his ear. “When he sees your lack of responsibility toward my grandson, I don’t think Edgar and I will have any trouble.” She snapped a goodbye.

  If she hadn’t hung up at that moment, Holt would’ve barked out words he would’ve later regretted.

  The only way out of this box canyon meant more regret, but he had no choice. The Pattersons were challenging his custody. Espie could stay only two days a week, and most of the time involved cleaning and laundry. The only possible hires for nanny were teenage girls who’d dropped out of school. Not worth consideration. Not for Bobby. Holt’s only rescue was the last person he should trust.

  The last person he should trust himself with.

  Maddy was the impulsive one, but impulse was all he had. No time to find other options. He stared at the toes of his worn cowhide boots. He mentally kicked himself with them for what he was about to do. Temporary, only temporary.

  He shifted his jaw. “You thirsty? I got iced tea and coffee, maybe a beer or two.”

  “Why, Holt Donovan, I didn’t know you had it in you to play model host.” She grinned, the same impudent expression he’d seen many times when they were kids. Only now the expression didn’t strike him as childish.

  He scowled. “Just trying to be civilized. Or did all your foreign travels make you forget Western hospitality?”

  “Iced tea would be wonderful. Please.” She eyed him with skepticism, but kept rocking the sleeping infant.

  He used the tea preparation time to work out how to proceed. Edge around the subject. Or maybe just ask her flat out. He took his time finding a glass, dumping in ice cubes, and pouring the tea. “Already has sugar in it. Espie knows how I like it.”

  “You always had that woman wrapped around your finger.”

  Feeling like the awkward teen he used to be, he extended the glass. “I think Bobby’s asleep enough to go back i
n his crib. You want me to take him?”

  She looked as reluctant as he must at the idea they pass the baby again. “No, just show me where, and I’ll do it.” She scooted to the edge of the rocker and rose smoothly to her feet.

  “It’s Rob’s old room.” He stood in the doorway while she deposited Rob’s son in the crib and laid a light blanket over him. “Put him on his back. Doc said—”

  “Yes, I know. It cuts down on the danger of SIDS.” She rolled her eyes as she breezed past him back to the kitchen. A light flowery scent rose to muddle his senses. “Your nephew is fine, Donovan. I didn’t break him.”

  He wiped his clammy hands on the seat of his jeans. While she sipped her tea and wandered around the room, he yanked a beer from the fridge and pulled a long swallow. “Looking good, Maddy. The footloose life agrees with you.”

  She shrugged. “The way my family migrated around the damn world, it’s all I know.”

  “Your wheels going to need much work?”

  “I don’t know yet. Tomorrow’s Monday. The guy at the garage said he wouldn’t know much until late afternoon. He’ll probably have to order a part.”

  “So you’re sticking around for a few days. You’re in no hurry to get someplace like the Riviera or the Big Apple.” Damn, how lame did that sound?

  “I’m in no rush. I’m...between assignments. Thought I’d hang out in Rangewood. Take pictures. Enjoy the scenery.”

  Rangewood was no tourist town. No decent place to stay this side of Manitou Springs. “Staying at the Valley Motel with the cowboys and feed salesmen, are you?”

  Frowning, she put down her glass and folded her arms. “This small talk isn’t like you. What are you getting at, Holt?”

  He drew a breath. “How’d you like to stay here awhile?”

  Maddy’s pulse quickened. She stopped dead at the cherry table. Had she heard him correctly? A laugh bubbled from her throat. “I must be more tired than I thought, or maybe that beer dulled your brain. I could’ve sworn you just invited me to stay at the Valley-D.”

  “I did.”

  She cocked her head. “Now why would you do that? A few minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to see the last of me.”

  Crimson daubed his lean cheekbones. As if aware of the effect, he stalked to the door and gazed out at the lowering sun. Definitely not at her. He jammed his hands in his pockets, pulling the denim taut against his backside.

  Still a world-class butt too. Maddy joined him at the door.

  He nodded toward the hill behind the ranch house. “It’ll be dark soon, and you haven’t been to the cemetery yet. You would only have to come back tomorrow. You have no car. We can fetch your stuff.”

  He wanted her to stay, was making excuses for her to stay. But why? He hadn’t forgiven her for jilting his brother. Nor himself for his part in that fiasco. That was as obvious as a flash bulb.

  She didn’t get it. What was he after? No way could she stay at the Valley-D. She could sleep in the truck another night. Maybe her funds would be deposited tomorrow. Or the next day. Shit. “I’ll call Luke or Will for a ride. Tomorrow I’ll rent a car.”

  “Rent a car? In Rangewood? You have to be kidding.” He turned to face her, and his sandy eyebrows beetled. He retreated a step in apparent dismay that she stood within arm’s reach.

  Inordinately pleased that her proximity could disconcert the man, Maddy smiled sweetly and edged a pace nearer. If she crossed her arms in the same power stance, they’d bump. It would be like hitting a wall.

  A very hard, very masculine wall.

  A safe wall. Or a dangerous wall?

  She curbed her impulse. News flash—Maddy McCoy not acting on impulse. What was he up to? “Being nice to me for old time’s sake? Another dose of Western hospitality?”

  “Go ahead and bunk at the motel. The drunks probably don’t make too much noise.” He sidled away and leaned back against the cabinets, folded his arms.

  No kidding. Into the wee hours last night, shouting from the bar across the street from the garage had penetrated the walls of her Rover. “An early alarm.”

  “See? No five-star resort like you’re used to.”

  “Little do you know. Photography assignments pay a living, but not that much. Most of what I own is in one blue duffel and a couple of titanium cases like that one by the door. The rest is in storage. On the last trip to Kashmir, I slept in a tent. With bugs you wouldn’t believe.”

  He uttered a skeptical grunt. “I have a spare room you can stay in. With its own bath. No bunk beds.”

  “I don’t buy it, Holt.” The anxiety, the shiftiness in his eyes began while he was on the phone. “All this thoughtfulness has something to do with your phone call.”

  “Now why would you think that?”

  “Get real. You don’t want me here any more than I want to be here.” That was a lie. The Valley-D had once been her second home. Holt and Rob’s dad had welcomed her like his own. Their mother too, when she was still here.

  For now she had no home except her duffel bag. Her parents traveled so much that their Huntington Beach condo didn’t count. A pitiful state of affairs for a grown woman.

  She couldn’t stay, whatever his reason for asking. They wouldn’t get along. He’d needle her about her non-existent fancy lifestyle and about the past. Opening her heart to his Code-of-the-West integrity and protectiveness would bring the dulled ache of her feelings for him into floodlit exposure. Staying would prickle them both with guilt. Staying would confuse her choices. Staying would be too dangerous for her heart.

  Teetering on a figurative corral fence, Maddy stared through the window in the upper half of the kitchen door. Cirrus clouds tinted apricot by the setting sun arched a perfect background for the violet-shaded crags around them. Purple mountains’ majesty, in spades. Her fingers itched to capture the images.

  Why was he asking, was the question. She couldn’t quite adjust her mind’s lens to clarity. She grabbed the doorknob. “Thanks for the offer, but me staying here is a bad idea all around. I’ll just walk up to the family plot before the light goes.”

  The door half open, she paused. She didn’t understand why, but she didn’t want to go to Rob’s grave alone. Maybe she needed Holt’s stiff disapproval as a buffer against more painful emotions. “Do you want to come with me?”

  His cheek muscles tightened, and his jaw rotated the way it did when he chewed over a thought. “I don’t like to leave Bobby in the house alone.”

  Eyeing him with speculation, she buttoned her jacket. Images of the past minutes clicked in her head as the picture came into clear focus. Holt was in a tight spot. A rancher alone with an infant. Pressure of some kind in that phone call.

  Her eyes widened and she stared open mouthed at him. “You need help with the baby. That’s why you want me to stay.”

  Color again smeared Holt’s cheekbones. Like a small boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar, he looked appealing. Too appealing. She didn’t want this softening attraction that pounced on her when she least expected it.

  As if on cue, a pitiful howl erupted from the nursery.

  He lifted one shoulder in defeat. “It’s a long story. I’ll get him and walk outside with you.” He strode toward the siren wail like a dedicated fireman to a blaze.

  “Holt.” Her voice halted him at the door. “I can stay, but only for a few days. Until my Range Rover is ready.”

  He jerked a sharp nod before disappearing into the darkened nursery.

  Already she regretted her rash decision, made by simply opening her mouth and not by conscious deliberation. But Bobby needed her, and well, how could she resist that poor little tow-headed orphan? Helping Rob’s son was something she could do for her old friend—the only thing she could do.

  And what about Holt?

  Eight years ago, his rugged appeal and the chemistry sparking between them had cinched her decision not to marry Rob. Despite Holt’s need of her assistance, he distrusted her. How long could she tolerate her attraction
and his resentment?

  She’d remain only as long as she had to.

  Chapter 4

  Bobby’s siren wail penetrated Holt’s consciousness like a nail in his skull.

  He opened one eye. The lighted digital clock beside his bed read two o’clock. Right on time, little guy. “Coming,” he mumbled.

  One foot on the floor. The other. He raked fingers through his hair, then pushed to his feet. Starting for the door, he snapped alert as though slapped.

  Maddy McCoy.

  He’d finished some paperwork in the office, then slipped off to bed early. But escape didn’t work worth a damn. The image of Maddy’s sassy face and the memory of her scent kept him torturing his sheets for hours before he finally slept.

  Shit, she was in the master bedroom. He couldn’t troop through the house in his skivvies. Blinking in the darkened bedroom, he stumbled back and forth like a drugged steer as he searched for his jeans. Didn’t he leave them on the chair? Or on the floor? No. He put away the clean ones and tossed the manure-smeared ones into the washing machine. Where they remained.

  Bobby cranked it up a notch. He could rival that opera singer, Luciano something.

  Hell with it. Holt hit the door and burst into the hall.

  And collided with a slim figure in filmy white.

  He stumbled to a halt and braced himself as his arms went around her to stop her fall. She emitted a small yelp like a cartoon eek. Under his hands, her slender body in the silken covering was a miracle of curves and soft, toned female flesh. His body tightened and his pulse raced off to distant planets. The hallway suddenly didn’t have enough air.

  He immediately set her away a step. Then he stepped back another. “Sorry. Bobby.” The baby’s cry subsided to hiccups and whimpers. No emergency, to his relief.

  “Thought that was my job,” she said. “Two o’clock bottle. Diaper change. Like that.”

  “You’re here to spell me when I’m doing ranch work.”

  “A rancher needs sleep.” She returned his scowl, although humor tugged at the corner of her lips. “Why do you want me here if you won’t leave Bobby to me?”