Colton Cowboy Protector

by Beth Cornelison

  Chapter 18

  Jack finished saddling Mabel for Tracy, tidied up a corner of the stable where Sleekie or some other critter had knocked over the bottles and cans on a storage shelf, then checked his watch for the third time. What was taking Tracy so long to change clothes? He knew women took a while to dress when they were getting gussied up to go out, but how hard was it to put on jeans and a work shirt? He’d tried calling her cell phone, but it went to voice mail.

  “Dang it,” he grumbled, stashing his mobile phone back on the clip at his waist. A niggling fear twisted through him. Could something have happened to her? Should he have accompanied her back to the house? The distance to his house was short enough, with hands typically milling about the ranch yard, so he hadn’t deemed the precaution necessary. But...most of the ranch hands were helping with the vaccinations and branding of the calves.

  Disquiet needled him. Damn it, he should have gone with her! As unlikely as it was that the gunman could have gotten this far onto the property without being noticed, The Wolf had gotten onto the ranch before, even if just an isolated pasture.

  And something had delayed Tracy. With a huff of agitation and self-censure, he headed toward the house. He swept his gaze around the yard, looking for signs of trouble, a strange vehicle or tire tracks on the dusty ground. The afternoon sun glinted off something dark near the base of the front-porch steps. Heart pounding, Jack jogged over to the reflective item.

  Tracy’s phone.

  Acid gushed in his stomach, and panic spiked in his blood.

  He scooped up her cell phone and rushed into the house. “Tracy!” There was no answer. “Tracy!”

  His own phone beeped, and he whipped it out, checking the caller ID. Tom Vasquez. He pressed ignore. He’d have to get back to the ranch hand later.

  Replacing his mobile phone, he hurriedly searched every room in the house, calling for Tracy. His voice grew more desperate with every passing minute. She simply wasn’t there.

  Hands shaking, Jack pulled his phone back out and dialed Ryan’s number. Knowing time was of the essence, he flew down the steps and raced out to the front porch, while his brother’s line rang in his ear. And rang. “Come on, Ryan!”

  Finally his brother answered with, “Colton.”

  “It’s Jack. Tracy’s gone.” Speaking the words made it real, and viselike pressure clamped his heart. His voice was hoarse and strained when he added, “I think that Wolf bastard has her.”

  Jack heard shuffling sounds through the phone that told him Ryan was on his feet and leaving his office, even as they spoke. “Talk to me. Where are you? How long has she been gone?”

  “I’m at my house. She’s only been gone a few minutes. Maybe ten? Fifteen?” Too long. Anything could have happened in that amount of time. It only took a few seconds to slit someone’s throat and have them bleed out. His gut roiled at the possibility Tracy could have been hurt. But the more he considered it, the more likely it seemed. If she hadn’t been injured or incapacitated, she would have screamed or called out for help.

  Ryan fired more questions at Jack, and he answered as best he could.

  No, he saw no signs of a struggle.

  No blood to indicate violence.

  He’d heard nothing, seen nothing.

  He didn’t have any damn clues where she might be. They couldn’t even track her phone, since she’d dropped it.

  “I’m on my way, and I’m bringing backup. We’ll find her.”

  But reaching the ranch, even driving at top speeds with lights and sirens, would take Ryan twenty minutes or more. “What do I do in the meantime? I can’t just sit here!”

  “Nothing rash. Keep looking for anything to tell us which direction they went. There has to be something.”

  Jack gritted his teeth in frustration as he disconnected. He knew basic tracking. All of the Colton kids had learned how to read telltale clues to track lost cows. He circled the house slowly, his gaze trained on minute details. The incoming text signal sounded on his phone. Vasquez again. He swiped his thumb across his screen intending to close the message menu when the first word of the text caught his eye. Tracy.

  * * *

  Tracy woke to a splitting ache in her head. When she blinked her vision into focus, her view of the world was upside down, and her body was being roughly jostled. What the...?

  In an instant, fear charged through her. She was draped over the back of a horse. Her hands were bound in front of her with rope, and a foul-tasting rag had been shoved in her mouth.

  An angry-sounding voice barked at the mare. “Come on, you stupid animal! Move it!”

  Pounding fear flashed through her in a hot wave. Tracy twisted and flailed, trying to right herself. For her efforts, she earned a stinging slap on her buttocks.

  “Stop squirming! You ain’t going nowhere,” the man, whose lap she was across, growled.

  A whimper of fear swelled in her throat, but she determinedly muzzled the sound. Inhaling slowly, she fought to calm her jangling nerves and keep a level head. Her only chance of escape depended on thinking rationally, planning. Not panicking.

  The horse slowed again, taking a few side steps, then tossed his mane and snorted, clearly agitated.

  “Damn nag! Go!” The kidnapper kicked the horse in the ribs, but his brutality only upset the horse further. Grumbling under his breath, the man shoved her away from his legs so that he could dismount. Once on the ground, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head up. “Don’t try anything stupid, or you’ll be dead before you take two steps.”

  Pinpricks of pain shot through her scalp, and she recoiled when she met the chilling gray glare of the man’s feral eyes. The Wolf. His moniker suited him. Frighteningly so. His breath stank of cigarettes, and her stomach soured at the acrid stench.

  She tried to swallow, but the dirty rag in her mouth left her tongue dry, her throat arid. Despite her fear, she narrowed her eyes in a defiant stare. She was through with cowering for bullies. She’d let Cliff push her around, intimidate her and ruin her life far too long. But in the few days she’d spent with Jack, she’d seen how a real man treated a woman. He’d showed her respect, patience, tenderness. He’d encouraged her to find her inner strength and fight for what she wanted from life.

  And what she wanted was Jack. She wanted a chance to make a family with Jack and Seth. She wanted the happiness she’d found here at the Lucky C.

  Because she loved Seth...and Jack. The realization flowed through her like warm honey and filled her with the will to fight.

  “Come on, damn you!” The Wolf screamed at the horse.

  Despite angling her head, Tracy couldn’t see what had upset the horse and made it stall, but she knew enough from her few riding lessons that The Wolf’s abuse and harsh tone were upsetting the horse further. Good. Any delay had to work in her favor, didn’t it?

  How long would it take before Jack worried about her and came looking? And once he did realize she was missing how would he find her? She had to do something to help him find her. But what?

  * * *

  Tracy kidnapped. Horse stolen. In pursuit on foot. East.

  Jack read the text message twice, his heart in his throat. Though his worse fear was confirmed, at least he had a lead where Tracy had been taken. And someone was already following her. God bless Tom Vasquez. The ranch hand would definitely be getting a bonus in his next paycheck.

  Regrouping, Jack ran toward the garage where the utility vehicles were stored, praying the hands didn’t have all of the ranch’s transportation at the branding pen.

  East. Jack mentally pictured the terrain east of the ranch buildings. Mostly idle pastures and old, unused buildings from his grandfather’s time. An equipment shed in bad repair. A dilapidated barn where hay bales were stored. Fields where they grew the hay.

  He skidded to a stop at the garage and threw open the side door. The bay was empty except for an older SUV with two flat tires.

  Damn it!

  Wasting no t
ime, he raced toward the stable, remembering he had Buck and Mabel saddled and waiting. Not as good as a motorized vehicle, but faster than racing after the kidnapper on foot.

  As he ran across the ranch yard, he redialed Ryan’s number. He quickly relayed what Tom had reported. “I’m headed that way...on Buck.”

  “Jack, don’t do anyth—” Ryan started, but Jack disconnected and dialed Tom’s number.

  “Where are you now?” he asked without preamble when a breathless voice answered. “Any sign of her?”

  “I can see them...ahead of me...but they’re moving too fast...for me to...keep up.”

  “Where? Give me a landmark.” Jack grabbed the saddle horn with his free hand and swung up on Buck’s back.

  “Miller’s creek. They’re near...the old hay barn.”

  “Can you tell...” Jack’s lungs tightened, and dread speared his gut. “Is she hurt? Can you tell if she’s...” Dead. His throat closed, not allowing him to say the word.

  “I can see...her moving, struggling...to get free,” Vasquez wheezed.

  Relief flooded Jack so hard and fast that his head spun.

  “I can’t follow...anymore. I’m sorry. I—” Jack heard Vasquez retch.

  “On my way.” Pausing only long enough to tap out a quick text to Brett, alerting him to the kidnapping, he headed out. With a slap of his reins, he and Buck bolted toward the eastern fields. Silently he prayed he wouldn’t be too late. If The Wolf was headed toward the old barn, did Jack have time to get there before the assassin carried out his mission to kill Tracy? He didn’t like the odds.

  Fear twisting through him, he gave Buck a kick, urging his mount to run faster.

  * * *

  The Wolf reined the stolen horse to a stop and shoved Tracy off his lap so that she tumbled with a jarring thud to the ground. Hands bound as they were, she hadn’t been able to break her fall and ended up biting her tongue. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, adding to the nausea and anxiety that roiled inside her. After finally coaxing the horse to cooperate, The Wolf had set off at a gallop, unmindful of how the pace bounced Tracy in her awkward position. The only good thing she could say about the jolting ride was that she’d been able to work the rag out of her mouth and spit it out as they raced along. Her head reeled, and her ribs throbbed from the assault, but she shoved thoughts of her pain aside, focusing only on how she could escape.

  She glared up at the man who towered over her, his imposing brow and menacing eyes sending icy trepidation down her aching spine. “They know who you are, you know. You won’t get away with this. The Baxters confessed everything. The cops are looking for you even now.”

  Her news earned a brief hesitation, and the quirk of one dark eyebrow. “Oh, they did, did they? Well...” He scoffed. “I’ll take care of them when I finish here.”

  He stalked toward her, and she scuttled back on her bottom as best she could with her encumbered hands. “No! Get away from me!” She kicked her legs, aiming for his knees, his crotch, any vulnerable area she thought she could hit.

  Her captor managed to dodge all but a few cursory blows. “Stop it, bitch!”

  “Help!” she screamed as loud as she could from her bruised chest. “Help me! Someone!”

  A slinging slap found her cheek, and her head snapped back. Her ears buzzed from the force of the blow.

  “Shut the hell up!” he snarled in her face, his cigarette breath making her gag.

  For a moment, she flashed to the few times Cliff had let his temper turn violent, and her instinct was to curl inward, to protect herself and end the threat faster by becoming submissive. But a new stronger voice in her soul shouted down that first instinct.

  This man intended to kill her, and she refused to go meekly to her death. Not when she now had so much to live for. Jack, Seth, a fresh start in life.

  “Get up,” he barked and caught her under her armpits. As he dragged her to her feet, she scrambled mentally for some way, any way to call for help, to signal her location or free herself from his grasp. He was too strong to overpower him. Her hands were tied, limiting her ability to fight. But she hadn’t seen a weapon yet. If he was unarmed, then how...?

  Her brain shied away from finishing that question, but the sentiment remained. Where was his weapon? Was there any chance she could snag the weapon from him and use it to defend herself?

  She scanned his body with a frantic gaze, looking for a telltale lump that might be a hidden gun or knife. The only obvious bulge she saw was at his chest pocket, where he’d clearly stashed his cigarettes. Her spirits wilted. Small paper-wrapped sticks of tobacco would hardly be helpful in freeing herself.

  “Let’s go.” With a biting grip on her arms, he shoved her towards a dilapidated barn. He’d been so purposeful in bringing her here, she realized he must have planned it out. She knew he’d been on the ranch property before when he’d shot at her and Seth. The idea that he could have been lurking nearby all these weeks, learning the territory and plotting her murder sent a chill through her.

  There was a sick logic to bringing her to this old barn. By killing her here, away from the main ranch property, he could make his escape before anyone found her body. Did that mean he also had his weapons stashed here? Would he kill her outright or torture her first? The man seemed sadistic enough to want to watch her suffer.

  The hinges of the barn door screeched as he pushed her inside. Her heart thumped wildly, and she continued her frenzied search for a plan. She stumbled through the barn door and blinked as her eyes adjusted from bright sun to the dim light. Was there something close by she could use as a weapon?

  The ground was primarily hard-packed dirt except for an animal stall with a thick layer of rotting straw where rusting farm equipment had been abandoned in a back corner. Dust motes swirled in the thin beams of sunlight that seeped through cracks in the roof. Disturbed by their presence, a bat swooped low then fluttered near the rafters before resettling in the shadows. A bent saw, some baling wire and a pair of pliers were hung on a Peg-Board on one wall, but they were too far away for her to reach.

  He aimed a finger at the floor. “Sit down.”

  She didn’t budge. If she was going to have a chance, she needed to stay on her feet, stay mobile. “Didn’t you hear what I told you before? The Baxters gave you up. You won’t get paid for killing me, so why not let me go?”

  “Because I have my own reasons to want you dead.”

  His reply stunned her. “What reasons? I’ve never met you before. What could you possibly have against me?”

  “You cost me thousands of dollars.”

  She shook her head, baffled. “How?”

  He curled his lip in a sneer. “I had a business arrangement with your husband. Now that he’s dead, that source of income is gone. Word on the street is he was chasing his runaway wife down when he was the arrested.”

  “What kind of b-business arrangement?” she rasped.

  “We were selling Girl Scout Cookies,” The Wolf said, his curled lip matching his sarcastic tone. His expression soured further, and he glared darkly at her. “What difference does it make, seein’ as how he’s dead, and it ain’t going to pay off no more.”

  “Look, i-if it’s money you want, I’ll pay you.”

  “Only one form of payment I’d want from you.” He looked her up and down with a leer that made her skin crawl. “Don’t think I haven’t considered having a taste of what you’ve got before I off you.” He licked his lips like a hungry dog, and an oily revulsion rolled in her stomach.

  “No,” she rasped, her body trembling despite her efforts to be brave.

  “If only I had more time...” He dismissed the idea with a lifted shoulder, then stuck his nose in her face and bared his teeth. “Now, sit down.”

  With that, he grabbed her shoulder in a painful grip and shoved her toward the floor. Weak with fear, her knees buckled, and she crumpled. Without use of her hands, she again landed hard and toppled onto her side, her face pressed to the d
usty floor. The low rumble of a male laugh penetrated the swoosh of blood past her ears. She gritted her teeth as fury, humiliation and determination spiked in her, a triumvirate of rebellion and refusal to be subjugated again.

  You have a core of inner strength, Jack had told her, and feeling her choler rise, she believed him. Fight back, the long-buried warrior inside her whispered.

  Drawing a deep breath for courage, Tracy rolled to her back and sat up, working her legs under her.

  Eyeing her with dark purpose, The Wolf bent at the waist and tugged up the leg of his pants. She saw the grip of the handgun poking from the top of his boot, and cold terror slithered through her. She was out of time, out of options. She had to act now, do something! Or die like the submissive wimp Cliff had convinced her she was.

  She tensed, ready. And the instant The Wolf’s gaze shifted from her to the gun, the second he reached for his weapon, she lunged. With a primal roar that shocked even her own ears, she pounced on him. Her tied hands clawed at his face, her feet swinging for his shins. Like a rabid wildcat, she attacked, flailing, leaping on his back, biting...whatever outlet she found she used in a whirlwind of desperation and anger. She’d caught him off guard, which gave her the upper-hand for a few precious seconds, and she battled for all she was worth.

  But his superior strength and size soon turned the tide. His arms snaked around her thrashing body, and he pinned her arms down, her body facing his. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her head back. When she quit struggling, in deference to the painful grip he had on her hair, he jammed the handgun into her face, growling, “That’s going to cost you, sugar. Do you know how many nonlethal holes I can put in you before I finally end your suffering?”

  She moaned involuntarily, the lightning pain in her scalp making her eyes water.

  “Here’s a hint. This here PX4 Storm SubCompact holds ten rounds.” He jerked her closer, snarling, “That’s ten holes, sweetcakes.”

  Tracy seized what might be her last chance. She sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his gun hand, just below his thumb and bit down. Hard.