Colton Cowboy Protector

by Beth Cornelison

  “Maybe. But you took care of him, even at your own risk...” He tightened his mouth and held her gaze. “And I don’t take that lightly.”

  Jack moved to the coatrack and took down his Stetson. “When you’re ready, I’ll go back up to the main house with you and help you move your things.”

  “Jack, I’m not your responsibility.” Tracy shook her head, surprising him with the starch in her back and the defiance in her tone. “I really think the best thing would be for me to leave the Lucky C. I don’t want to put anyone in danger.”

  He glanced at Ryan, who lifted his eyebrows and gave him a mild this-is-your-fight-not-mine look. Jack’s returned glare said, Thanks for nothing, man.

  When Jack faced Tracy, he tried to maintain a calm, reasonable tone. “By leaving, you’d put yourself in danger. Is that what you want?” He shoved his hat on his head, then slid his fingers into his front jeans pockets. “Here on the ranch, you have a whole staff of ranch hands, not to mention Brett, Big J, Daniel and myself. There’s not a one of us Coltons that’s not a top-notch marksman.” Surely she couldn’t argue with that logic.

  Tracy looked from Jack to Ryan and back again. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, and I’ll do anything I can to help catch the shooter. But I couldn’t stand it if something happened to one of you because of me. Especially if something happened to Seth.”

  “It’s my job to protect my son, and that’s what I’m going to do.” Jack infused his tone with the finality that ended arguments with his son, but Tracy persisted.

  “We got lucky today, and he wasn’t hurt. But if that man comes after me again...” Instead of finishing the thought, she nibbled her bottom lip and creased her brow.

  Jack squared his shoulders, trying to ignore the heat that threaded through him as he watched her abuse her lip. He wanted to taste that mouth and knew he could distract her from her worries with a deep, lingering kiss. Clearing his throat, he growled, “If anyone comes after you again, I intend to be there. I’m making it my business to keep you safe until the shooter is caught.” He paused and narrowed his gaze. “If you’d done as I asked about not spending time alone with Seth, I’d have been with you when the shooting started.”

  He knew he sounded peevish, but he didn’t care. He’d been scared out of his wits earlier today when he’d thought about something happening to Seth. That same fear curled through him when he thought of the shooter gunning for Tracy, of the vicious ape returning to finish the job.

  Her shoulders drooped in defeat, and she lowered her gaze to her lap. “All right, I’ll stay.”

  Ryan opened the front door to leave.

  “But—”

  Ryan paused, and Jack groaned internally. He should have known she’d have conditions. He was in no mood to bargain, but he rested his hands on his hips and turned back to the couch. “But what?”

  “As you said, Brett and Big J are skilled marksmen, and at the main house, I’ll have them and the staff for protection. I’m settled there. There’s no need to move me.”

  Except that he wanted to oversee her protection. Jack felt an overwhelming personal link to her, a duty to keep her safe, and a strange premonition that if he didn’t take charge of her protection, something awful would happen to her. He didn’t want to delegate this to his aging father and womanizing younger brother. Jack gritted his back teeth.

  Ryan cleared his throat, and his eyebrow lifted as he moved out the door. “Jack, Tracy, I’ll leave you two to figure out the logistics of your lodging. Meantime, I’ll be down at the station making arrangements for a sketch artist and calling my Denver contacts.” His gaze focused on Jack. “Meet me at my office soon as you can. We have work to do, and if I can arrange it with Denver, I’m going to fly up to assist with interviewing the Baxters.”

  Jack stiffened. “Tell me when you get that arranged. I’ll go with you.”

  Ryan shook his head. “This is a police matter. You don’t need to go.”

  “Maybe I don’t need to, but I am going.”

  Ryan grunted. “If anyone should go with me, Tracy should. The Baxters are her in-laws.”

  Jack turned and narrowed a hard look on the fragile woman sitting on his couch. “You’re right. We’ll both go.”

  Tracy jerked her head up, her eyes wide with dismay, as his brother grated, “Hell, no. That wasn’t my point. I wasn’t inviting her to go.”

  “Maybe not, but she should be there. She may be able to give us valuable information during the interview, help us redirect our questioning or tell us when they are flat out lying.”

  Ryan poked Jack in the chest with his index finger. “What’s all this ‘us’ business? Did you not hear me say that this is a police matter? The last time I checked, you don’t carry a badge.”

  “Ryan, that sonofabitch took a shot at my son, on my property. I am going. And considering somebody seems to have a beef against Miss McCain, I intend to bring her with us. Not only will she be helpful during the interview, I can do a better job of protecting her if I keep her close.”

  “Excuse me,” Tracy said, rising to her feet and sounding more than a little miffed. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

  Jack shot her another hard look. “Of course you do. The question boils down to whether you want to be of assistance catching the shooter like you said...or not.”

  She raised her chin a notch and pressed her lips in a thin line. “You know I want him caught.”

  “Then I guess you are going with me to Denver.”

  “Jack—” Ryan began, his face dark.

  “Are you going to lock me in a cell down at the police station, Detective? Because that’s the only way you’re going to stop me. You have my word that I won’t interfere with the official investigation, but I need to be there.”

  Ryan held his glare for several taut seconds. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he shook his head and said, “Fine. Fly to Denver if you are so damn determined. But so help me, if you step one foot across the line during this investigation, I will lock you in a holding cell. Capisce?”

  Jack jerked a nod. “Yeah, I understand.”

  * * *

  After Ryan left for the police station, Tracy stayed at Jack’s house. Even though he had already treated the wound on her shoulder and she had no good reason to linger, the thought of returning to the main house with all its cold marble and numerous large empty rooms left her oddly out of sorts. Brett wouldn’t be back from the pastures yet and Greta was out of town, and she didn’t look forward to sitting alone in the vast mansion. She much preferred the warm decor and cozy feel of Jack’s ranch house. And if she were honest with herself, she felt safer being close to Jack. The crack of the shooter’s rifle still echoed in her mind, sending rippling chills to her core.

  Using the excuse that she felt a bit dizzy, she’d stayed to rest on the couch in Jack’s family room. She managed to take a short nap, though her rest was fitful and filled with dreams of wild animals chasing her through the woods, their large teeth flashing and snapping at her.

  When she woke, her forehead was damp with a cold sweat. She sat up and found that a lightweight afghan had been laid across her legs. The mantel clock read 6:30 p.m., and the scent of roasting beef told her Jack had already started dinner. Folding the crocheted blanket and draping it over the back of the sofa, she went in search of Seth and his father.

  The tinny music and beeps of a video game led her to the living room, where Seth was engrossed in a cartoon car race, his thumbs flying over his game controller like a teenager texting gossip to his best friend. On the couch next to him, the barn cat—Sleekie, Seth had called her—slept curled into in ball. As she watched, Seth reached over and gave Sleekie a pat, and the feline woke to roll on her back and stretch, showing her fuzzy belly.

  Tracy couldn’t resist rubbing the cat’s furry tummy, then ruffling Seth’s hair. Sleekie chirped a greeting, but the little boy didn’t even look up. Quirking a lopsided grin, she found her way down the short hall to Jac
k’s study. She knocked softly on the door frame, and he lifted his head from his perusal of his laptop screen.

  “Hi. Did you sleep okay?” Jack leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together as he rested his hands against his chest.

  “About as well as can be expected, I suppose, considering someone tried to kill me this afternoon.” She stepped into the office and let her gaze take in the wood paneling and wall of bookshelves. Jack’s desk sat in a corner of the room by a window, outside of which the early summer sun was sinking low on the horizon, casting the world in a golden glow. A highball glass with about an inch of amber liquid and ice sat on the corner of his desk near where he worked. The glass sweated, and condensation rolled down to puddle on a coaster.

  “Are you hungry? I put a meat loaf in the oven a little while ago, and you’re welcome to stay and eat with us.”

  Meat loaf was far from her favorite food, but sharing a meal with Jack and Seth sounded better to her than anything she might find to eat at the main house. She nodded and sent him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’d love to. Is there anything I can do to help get dinner ready?”

  “Now that you mention it, I was going to make a salad, but I got engrossed with what I was doing here.”

  “One salad coming up,” she said, glad to have something useful to occupy herself.

  “You should find all the vegetables you need in the refrigerator crisper.” He told her where to find a chopping board and the knives she would need, then checked his watch. “The meat should be done in about twenty minutes. Give me a shout if you need any help.”

  Tracy returned to the kitchen and had a salad full of fresh summer vegetables ready ten minutes later. She peeked in the oven, checking on their entrée, before she went back down the hall to Jack’s study.

  She paused in the doorway and watched Jack sip his liquor for a moment without calling attention to her presence. Even small details about this man mesmerized her, enchanted her. He was every inch a man’s man. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, drawing her attention to the muscled column of his neck and the small whorl of dark hair at the open V of his shirt. His long blunt-tipped fingers curled around his glass, and she imagined them stroking her. After he sipped his drink again, he licked a drop from the corner of his mouth. The sight of his moistened lips, his agile tongue, stirred more erotic images in her brain, and she caught a groan in her throat, stifling her lust.

  But Jack must have sensed her attention, because without preamble, he said, “I’ve been doing a little checking on your ex in-laws.”

  “Oh?”

  He waved her into the office and pointed to a chair, directing her to take a seat.

  Wiping her palms on the legs of her jeans, she stepped into the room and perched on the edge of the high-backed chair he indicated. She clasped her hands in her lap and angled her head to see the computer screen. “Anything interesting?”

  “I’ll say. Did you know that Cliff’s parents have business ties with Tony Rossetto?”

  Tracy crumpled her nose in confusion. “No. Is that significant?”

  “You don’t know the name?”

  “Should I?”

  Jack laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back, making springs in his chair creak. “Maybe not, if you’ve been living under a rock recently.”

  She pulled a face and sent him a you’re-not-funny glare. “Just tell me who he is. Why is it significant that Cliff’s parents have ties to him?”

  “Tony Rossetto stood trial in federal court last year for extortion, fraud, tax evasion, intimidation...and those are just the charges they could prove. I’m sure they wanted to try him for murder, money laundering and God knows what else. In short, he’s a real bad dude, and even a preliminary search of public records shows that Cliff’s parents were invested in a number of business operations that Rossetto also had his fingers in.”

  Tracy stared at Jack for a moment, trying to come to grips with what she was learning. “Th-that doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people have the misfortune of investing with partners who prove to be bad apples. It doesn’t make them criminals.”

  Jack snorted a humorless laugh. “Tony Rossetto is more than a bad apple. He’s organized crime.”

  Chapter 12

  Organized crime. Tracy’s mouth dried. “You mean, like, the Mafia?”

  He arched a dark eyebrow. “Not all organized crime is Mafia, but you get the gist.” When his cell phone buzzed, he unclipped it from his belt and checked the caller ID. “It’s Ryan. Hang on a minute, while I tell him what I’ve found, okay?”

  She nodded numbly, too stunned by Jack’s revelation to do more than gape. The Baxters had links to organized crime? She’d known they were wealthy and powerful in the business world, but she’d never imagined their sphere of influence came through illicit means. And while Cliff had been aggressive and cruel to her, she had a hard time imagining her ex-husband, who was so scrupulous about obeying traffic laws and abiding by neighborhood ordinances, being so bold as to flout the law in business matters.

  You really are naive, aren’t you? she could imagine Cliff saying with a sneer. A shiver ran through her, and she balled her hands into fists.

  While Jack conducted a conversation in low tones with his brother, Tracy gathered her composure and forced herself to face facts. Cliff had not been the man she’d thought he was when she married him, and clearly, his parents had been just as deceitful.

  Knowing how blind she’d been, a weighty sense of defeat pressed down on her. She slumped back in the chair and pressed her thumbs against her closed eyes. Was it possible that Cliff’s parents were behind the attack on her yesterday? A greasy ball of guilt churned in her gut. She could never forgive herself if something happened to one of the Coltons from a danger she’d brought to the Lucky C.

  “Tracy?” Jack’s voice seeped through her thoughts on some level, but it wasn’t until he grasped her wrist and shook her arm with a loud, “Tracy!” that she jolted from her fretting with a gasp.

  “What?” She lurched upright in the chair, her gaze flying to Jack’s worried frown.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I...yeah.”

  He leaned back, propping his elbows on his armrests and pressing his fingertips together. “Where did you go just then? I’ve been trying to get your attention for a full minute.”

  “Nowhere good,” she mumbled, letting her shoulders slouch. Tipping a side glance up at him, she braced herself for more bad news. “What did Ryan say?”

  “He’s looking into the connections I found and will do more digging into the Baxters’ business associates. For now, you and I need to work out some ground rules to keep you safe.”

  “I still say, if there’s a threat against me, I should leave the ranch. How can I stay on, knowing I could be putting the rest of you in danger?”

  He drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly through his lips, allowing his cheeks to puff out. He lifted his glass for a sip before saying, “Try to see things from my point of view. How can I let you leave the ranch knowing you’re in danger? That’d be like sending a lamb into a forest full of wolves. I’m not that callous.”

  “Jack, I appreciate your wanting to protect me, b—”

  “Good.” He set his drink on the coaster again, and the ice rattled as it settled. “Then we’ll consider the matter closed.” His level gaze brooked no resistance, and she was secretly relieved to acquiesce. Though she didn’t like Jack’s high-handedness—she’d had quite enough of that with Cliff—she hadn’t been looking forward to going it alone while there was a killer stalking her. A jittery sense of unrest danced through her. She’d thought she was free of Cliff. Hadn’t Laura paid the ultimate price in order to win Tracy freedom from this fear? The notion that her poor choice of husband could still be haunting her, putting other people at risk, was more than a little unsettling.

  Unable to remain still, she rose to pace Jack’s office. Distraction. She needed to think about something
other than Cliff’s disapproving parents, the crack of the shooter’s rifle and the heart-wrenching sound of Seth’s frightened sobs. Swallowing hard, she waved an unsteady finger at the room in general, asking, “Mind if I take a look around?”

  He shrugged and bent over the laptop. “Knock yourself out.”

  With an encompassing glance, she cataloged the decor, the items Jack chose to surround himself with as he worked. She wanted to build a better mental image of who he was. As expected, he had numerous pictures of Seth at various ages scattered around the room, and she lifted one of a laughing toddler. Touched, she grinned back at the cherubic face. “Seth was a cute baby.”

  Jack gave a quiet hum that she took as agreement. When she glanced his way, she found his attention locked on the computer screen. His intent focus on the device reminded her of Seth’s single-minded attention to his video game. Like father, like son.

  As she moved on around the room, she trailed her fingers lightly over dusty book covers with titles by John Jakes, agriculture manuals and basic reference books—a dictionary, a thesaurus and a Farmer’s Almanac—all with well-creased spines. She found the bottle of Kentucky bourbon, no doubt what he was drinking now, on a tray with an ice bucket and extra highball glasses.

  “Help yourself. I’m sure after the day you’ve had, a drink might help calm you.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but I took something for pain. I’d best not add alcohol to the mix.”

  She continued her tour and found that his bookcase held a few rodeo trophies. Also not surprising. She recalled him mentioning his early start in the rodeo when they’d watched Daniel teaching Seth to ride around barrels.

  She read the plaques at the base of the trophies. First Place, Bull Riding. First Place, Calf Roping. Second Place, Bull Riding. Her heart skipped as she imaged Jack in a rodeo arena, astride a bucking bull or charging after a calf on his horse, lariat raised. Dusty chaps and well-worn boots. Faded jeans and sweat...

  Her mouth dried, and she shook her head to clear it. Don’t go there, she warned herself. You came to get to know Seth, not to fall for his father.