Rachel had never confessed her affair with Vaughn to anyone, including Jenna and Amy, because she was a coward, through and through. To this day, her sisters had no idea Rachel was to blame for their mom’s purposeful overdose on vodka and pills the year before. No idea that four weeks into her grief over losing their dad, she’d left their bipolar mom—who’d tipped over the mental deep end when her husband died—alone at night in the house so she could run off and get laid by the sheriff investigating Dad’s death. Jenna and Amy, along with the rest of the town, had assumed she’d been home that night, and neither she nor Vaughn had corrected their thinking.
Not only was she too cowardly to face their wrath, but confessing the truth would’ve landed Vaughn in trouble with his job. He should never have been sleeping with a person connected to a possible murder investigation. She supposed he had his own reasons for going ahead with the affair, as she had hers, and the car crash that killed her dad was eventually deemed a freak accident, but it didn’t change the facts. They had each done something horribly wrong, and Rachel’s mom had paid the price.
“Rachel, I need to know who you told.”
The fear in his voice dragged her to the present. Whatever he made her feel, the agony and the bliss, none of it mattered at the moment. She shook her head. “No one. You know that. But . . . I don’t understand. Why am I in so much trouble? I was defending myself today.”
She could see the outline of his tongue pushing around the inside of his lips. He stared past her, to the wall behind her bed, and took a deep, slow breath. Then he lowered his forehead to hers. The hand that had been holding her head dipped lower to clutch her upper back beneath the open hospital gown. The feel of his hand spanning her shoulder blades was the most marvelous and painful sensation she’d experienced since the last time he held her.
Of its own volition, her good arm hooked around his neck, clinging to him like he was the anchor she’d always needed him to be but he never had been.
His breath was ragged, his eyes closed. “Rachel, you shot a man in the back with an unregistered .38. You had every right to defend yourself on your property, but this man’s name is Wallace Meyer Jr. He’s the Tucumcari police chief’s only child.”
She swallowed, speechless. The revolver had been her father’s, locked in a safe with a handful of hunting rifles, and she’d never given using the gun a second thought.
Wallace Meyer had been cop numero uno in Quay County since Rachel was young. She remembered seeing him on the local news, giving official statements on various crimes and drug busts. Tucumcari, the county seat, was thirty miles east of Catcher Creek, but the two towns were inextricably linked. Actually, every small town in Quay County depended on Tucumcari like a lifeline. Within its city limits were the county’s only community college, library, and jail. Of the county’s twelve thousand residents, over half lived there.
Vaughn and his deputies were responsible for policing the entire county, save for Tucumcari, which was the only town for a hundred miles that boasted a city-level police force. Meyer had spoken out against Vaughn during his campaign for sheriff three years ago. Apparently, Meyer and the old guard weren’t Vaughn’s biggest fans, though Rachel couldn’t remember why. Vaughn had eked out enough votes to win, but there was no denying Meyer’s sweeping influence.
And she’d shot his only child. Holy shit.
Vaughn’s other arm wrapped around her waist. His hold on her intensified, lifting her torso from the bed. His badge dug into the vulnerable flesh of her breast, but all she could do was breathe and blink.
Let this be a dream. Then Lincoln would be alive and Vaughn wouldn’t be holding her. She wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed on observation for wound infection, with her sisters worrying in the hallway. Acid, vicious and unrelenting, ate at her stomach, but she’d take the localized pain of an ulcer any day. She’d take the ranch problems. She’d bargain with the universe any way she could if she could wake up and realize the past five hours had been a nightmare.
His fingers stroked her back. “Whatever happens, whatever Meyer threatens to do to you, you stay calm. Don’t talk to anyone, got it? Especially not the Tucumcari police. Any of them come sniffing around, you call me right away. This is my case, my jurisdiction. Don’t let them bully you.”
She wouldn’t. As soon as she stopped freaking out, she’d locate her backbone. She was going to protect herself and her family, no matter who tried to push them around. “I need to see Amy and Jenna.”
He brushed his closed lips across her forehead, then eased her to the bed. “Kellan’s out there too.”
Kellan Reed was Amy’s fiancé. Rachel hadn’t been real crazy about him when he and Amy embarked on their whirlwind romance last December, but now she was on board with his place in her family. Best part about Kellan was he took a lot of pressure off Rachel on the ranch. Over the past several months they’d eased into a comfortable partnership, dividing chores and making plans as they prepared to merge their adjoining properties after his and Amy’s July wedding.
As good a guy as Kellan was, though, he did have one flaw that got Rachel’s dander up. He was Vaughn’s best friend.
“Do they know what happened?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Were my sisters crying, last you looked?”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling with tenderness. “You bet.”
“Good grief.” She matched his grin. It was a relief to suspend her fear and smile at a joke like her world hadn’t collapsed in on her. “This is the perfect opportunity for them to take their drama to a whole new level of annoying.”
Quirking his eyebrow, he swiped a box of tissues from the counter in the corner and set it on her stomach. “There. At least they won’t get snot and tears on your covers.”
She almost laughed, he knew her so well. Then his question returned to haunt her—Have you ever told anyone about us?—along with the pain it evoked. Her gaze slid away.
Clearing his throat, he shook out his arms, as if he were shaking the memory of her body off his limbs. He did that most every time and she hated it. He buttoned his collar, tightened his tie, and adjusted the utility belt strapped to his trim waist. With a flick of his fingers, his radio came to life in a flurry of static and garbled words. Last on was his black Stetson. He smoothed his fingers around the brim until he got the angle just so.
He placed a hand on the privacy curtain. “Ready for them?”
At her nod of assent, he pushed the curtain to the wall and opened the door.
Rachel’s sisters burst into the room as dramatically as she’d expected, but quieter. There were no shrieking hysterics, but plenty of wringing hands and hugs and tears. God, how those two women could weep. Rachel was eternally grateful that the drama gene her younger sisters inherited from their mother had skipped over her.
Hovering over Rachel’s bed, Amy drew a deep breath and hiccupped. “We’ve been so worried. Vaughn was in here interviewing you for hours and the nurses wouldn’t tell us anything except that you were shot and in stable condition.”
“That’s all they said? Geez. They might’ve mentioned I was only grazed by a stray bullet, not shot point-blank. I feel fine. You can stop worrying.”
Jenna perched on the edge of the bed and took Rachel’s hand in hers. “You’re not fine. You’re in a hospital.” She let out a particularly melodramatic sniffle.
“Calm down, Jenna. Amy, you too. I’m not on my deathbed. I would’ve been cleared to go home tonight if the doctor wasn’t so worried about infection.”
Vaughn cleared his throat to catch their attention. “I need to get to work on the investigation, but I wanted to fill you all in on a few points first.” He was all business now, hands clasped behind his back, his expression polite and distant.
Amy and Jenna wiped their eyes and made use of the tissue box on her stomach.
Kellan said, “Whoever shot Rachel, has he been arrested?”
Vaughn’s gaze touched on Jenna and Amy, but
skipped Rachel entirely. “Two of the four suspects are still at large. My deputies are running them down as we speak. As far as the two suspects Ms. Sorentino shot, their situation is complicated, being that one of them is police chief Wallace Meyer’s son.”
That got Kellan’s back up. “Hell, no. That no-count druggie, Junior, was on Sorentino Farm? I would’ve shot him too, only I wouldn’t have aimed to wound.”
Rachel huffed. “You think I was aiming to wound?”
Kellan sniffed. “Guess we got to work on your gun handling skills as soon as your arm is better.”
Vaughn held up a hand. “Whoa, there. I know you don’t really mean that, but—”
“Like hell I don’t,” Kellan said.
“—but you can’t spout off about wanting to kill people around me. This goes for all of you. Keep your mouths shut about this, and stay clear of the Meyer family and the Tucumcari police. Don’t even cross into the Tucumcari city limits until this is resolved. You need to let my department handle it. Charging the child of a law-enforcement officer with a violent felony is dicey.”
“You’re not going to let Junior walk, are you?” Kellan said.
“Trust me, K. Every last one of those men are going to pay for their crimes against Ms. Sorentino and her horse—including Junior. But there’s an order to things, and I’ve got to play it perfectly to make the charges stick.”
Kellan rubbed his temple. “I’m assuming, due to the personal nature of your relationship with the Sorentinos, you’re assigning the case to one of your deputies or your undersheriff?”
Vaughn turned and faced Kellan square-on. “No. I’m handling it.”
They exchanged a long, stony-faced look. For best friends, they sure didn’t look friendly.
“Wouldn’t that be a problem for making the charges stick?” Kellan asked in a quiet tone that was thick with meaning, like he knew all about Rachel and Vaughn’s history.
Could it be that Vaughn was talking out of both sides of his mouth, as insistent as he was that Rachel stay quiet about their affair? But whether Kellan knew or not, he made a valid point, one Rachel hadn’t considered.
Amy walked to Kellan and slid her arm around his waist. “I, for one, feel better knowing you’re taking charge of this, Vaughn. You and Rachel aren’t friendly, and you’re not on good terms with the Meyers, so there’s no conflict of interest, right?”
Rachel ground her teeth together and pushed a fist into her stomach. The ulcer was killing her. Literally eating a hole through her flesh. “Sheriff Cooper has a lot to do. We should let him get to work.”
Jenna patted Rachel’s forearm. “I think we’re missing the bigger picture here. All I want to know is, with two suspects on the loose, are we safe on our farm? We’ve got two families staying at the inn, paid up through the end of the week. Should we send them home early?”
Jenna’s question cracked the tension in the room. Rachel took a calming breath and chanced a look at Kellan and Vaughn. They’d pulled in their horns and directed their attention toward Jenna, but on further inspection, she noticed Vaughn’s shoulders had inched up another notch and Kellan’s neck had gone splotchy red.
“That valley is miles from our homestead,” Amy said. “How likely is it that Junior and his friends didn’t know whose property they were on?”
Bitch we warned you flashed through Rachel’s memory. Meyer Jr. and his friends knew exactly where they were.
“I’m not at liberty to divulge the details yet, but I have reason to believe they were targeting your farm specifically,” Vaughn said.
“Why?” Kellan, Amy, and Jenna said in unison.
Vaughn tightened his tie. “That’s what I aim to find out. For now, sit tight. I see no reason to send your guests home early.”
“I’ll stay at their place tonight, watch over everyone. But you keep us posted on any developments,” Kellan said.
“Will do. I’m going to get on with the investigation, but I’ll be close by.” He fished a business card from his shirt pocket and brushed past Kellan and Amy to set it near the hospital’s clunky phone at Rachel’s bedside without once meeting her eyes. The business card was pointless. She knew his every phone number by heart.
“One of my deputies will be on watch outside your door tonight,” he said on his way out.
She balked. “I can’t see how that’s necessary. Wouldn’t it be safer for everyone involved if your deputies were all out looking for the suspects instead of holding one back to babysit me?”
For the first time since Kellan, Amy, and Jenna entered the room, he looked directly at her. “We’re doing this my way, Ms. Sorentino. You’re getting the guard. I’ll be in touch.”
Turning on his heel, he pushed out the door.
“I think a guard’s a good idea,” Jenna said.
Rachel chortled. “If that quack of a doctor had cleared me to go home, we wouldn’t even be discussing it.”
Amy stood at the foot of her bed, her arms on her hips, grinning sagely at her. “Not all doctors are quacks.”
“Glorified mechanics, every last one of them,” she countered. “They listen to the rattle in your engine, make assumptions about the diagnosis, replace a screw or a belt, and overcharge you for the honor of their service.”
Jenna frowned and tightened her grip on Rachel’s forearm. “You’re not thinking of escaping while the guard’s looking the other way, are you?”
Right. Like Rachel was entertaining the notion of pulling her IV out and sneaking off in the dead of night in nothing but her hospital gown.
“Tempting as that idea is, I think I’ll concede the point to the sheriff.” She couldn’t bring herself to call him Vaughn in front of her family, afraid a hint of their intimacy would seep into her tone.
Jenna blew her nose. “What happened out there in the Parillas Valley? How did you end up in a shootout against four men?”
Rachel rubbed her face. What could she say to make her sisters understand? Vaughn hadn’t mentioned the graffiti, so Rachel wasn’t sure if she was at liberty to. To complicate it further, her sisters didn’t know about the other graffiti she found around the ranch, or the other vandals she’d successfully scared off with warning shots. They’d probably find out soon enough, and when they did, they’d probably give her hell for not telling them. But she was too bone-weary to get into a dust-up over it now.
“Vau—” She bit her lip and started again. “Sheriff Cooper told me not to talk to anyone about the details of the shootout. I don’t know if he suggested that for our protection or for the good of the investigation. Let’s just say, when I shot those men, they had it coming.”
“Why? What did they do? You’re scaring me,” Amy said.
Geez, Rachel needed to stop flapping her lips. All this talking in obscurities and half-truths was making her head spin. “Nothing to be scared about. I’m sure the sheriff deputies will find the other suspects soon. Everything’s going to be fine.”
A nurse bustled past Jenna and Amy, a pink tray balanced on her hand with three paper cups. Meds, Rachel hoped. She sat up as much as she could. Her sisters scooted out of the way. As if she were a waitress, the nurse held the tray out and described the pills in each cup like they were dessert options at a restaurant. Rachel downed the ulcer med first, followed by the horse-pill—sized antibiotic.
She tried to turn down the pain med—she’d had enough of feeling like an idiot for one afternoon—but Jenna and Amy’s protestations were loud and impassioned. When Amy threatened to hold vigil at her bedside until she took the pill, Rachel caved. She loved her sisters, but she was ready for some peace and quiet.
The nurse left after checking Rachel’s IV.
“What happened to Lincoln?” Jenna asked. “Did he bolt when the men shot you? Should we send the farmhands out looking for him tonight?”
She couldn’t shield her sisters from the painful truth of Lincoln’s fate forever, or herself for that matter. She picked at a corner of the tissue box. “He was hit
by a bullet.” Her throat tightened up. No way in hell was she going to cry in front of her sisters, but it hurt so badly, the knowledge that she’d lost her closest friend. “I had to . . .” Her eyes pricked with moisture. She shoved her tongue against her cheek and held her breath, fighting the grief.
“You had to put him down,” Amy finished quietly.
“Yeah.”
Jenna leaned over and gathered Rachel in a gentle hug. “I’m so sorry.”
Rachel patted her back and felt Amy on her other side, her arms around them both.
Rachel hugged them as much as her waning strength allowed. She wasn’t real good at expressing it in words, but her family meant more to her than anything in the world. More than the farm, more than her own happiness.
She’d dedicated her life to sheltering her sisters from one calamity after another, worked her fingers to the bone to keep the ranch running from the time she could get herself onto a horse, and filled the role of their parent when their mom and dad fell short. Even when all she wanted to do was retreat into herself, she stuck it out for them.
There was little she could do to shelter them from the mess she’d caused today.
A sudden pang of suffocation coursed through her. “I need time alone.”
Jenna and Amy pulled away, looking hurt. Shit. She never could seem to say the right thing to them. Sometimes their feelings were as fragile as tissue paper. “I’m sorry,” she amended. “I just—my arm hurts, and I’m tired.”
“Come on, Amy, Jenna. Let her get some rest,” Kellan said.
Jenna and Amy nodded. They flittered around the room, smoothing her blanket, refilling her water glass, and asking her a zillion questions about whether or not she wanted the television on or the blinds closed or extra pillows. Rachel worked hard to be patient, but the feeling of suffocation wouldn’t abate.
Kellan must’ve sensed her growing agitation because he spread his arms wide and herded her sisters toward the door.
“We’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Amy called over her shoulder as Kellan shuffled her into the hallway.
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