Colton Cowboy Protector

by Beth Cornelison

  The Wolf howled in pain, pushing her away and flinging his hand to shake her off. And losing his grip on his weapon.

  Seeing the gun spin across the dirt floor, she dove for it, her bound hands grappling in the straw until she held the gun between her shaking palms.

  Hand in his mouth, sucking on the bloody wound she’d inflicted, he glared at her. “You won’t shoot me. You don’t have the guts.”

  Her breath shuddered as she took aim. “You sure about that?”

  “You won’t be able to live with the guilt.” He inched toward her, and she scuttled back. “Have you ever seen a man die? It’s not pretty.”

  Her heart clenched. She’d seen Laura die. She’d watched the life ebb from her cousin after their car crashed. Laura hadn’t given her life, winning Tracy’s freedom, just to have her cousin die months later at the hand of a hired assassin.

  But Tracy’s mind recoiled from the notion of killing a man in cold blood. She swallowed the bitter taste of bile that rose in her throat and scrambled for her next move. The Wolf continued to close in on her. He crept steadily toward her as if knowing a sudden move might make her panic and pull the trigger. She met the feral, chaotic gleam in his eyes and shivered. His hair was disheveled from her attack. His shirt pocket was ripped and dangling by a few threads. His cheeks bore long red scratches, and blood from his hand had smeared on his lips and chin. He looked like his namesake animal after a vicious hunt. Wild, ferocious, predatory.

  Her back bumped the rusted old hay baler, preventing any further retreat. In a few more steps, he’d be on her, would overpower her and reclaim the gun. A cold sweat beaded on her lip. Either she shot him now, or...

  The flicker of light, as the bat stirred again in the hayloft, drew her attention upward. Tracy followed a gut instinct, a rash idea. Just keep the gun away from him.

  Swinging her tied arms between her legs for more heft, she flung the gun up and forward.

  “Hey!” he roared as the gun sailed toward the upper loft.

  The weapon discharged when it landed in the hayloft, startling the bat from its perch.

  The Wolf blinked once, clearly startled by her move, then his face contorted in an ugly snarl. “You bitch!” He rushed her, grabbing a fistful of her shirt and shaking her like a rag doll. “All you’ve done is delay me. And piss me off!”

  She gasped as he seized her wrists and dragged her to the end of the hay baler.

  Unknotting the rope binding her arms, he looped the ends through a large-toothed iron gear wheel and quickly retied the knots. He jerked the ends hard so that the rope cut into her flesh. “I’ll be back, bitch. And it won’t go well for you.”

  Her stomach filled with acid, the bitter taste rising to the back of her throat, but she held his glare, fighting the urge to cower. She was through being anyone’s punching bag or foot mat.

  He stalked away, climbed to the loft using a half-rotten wooden ladder and began searching the piles of hay for his weapon.

  Tracy knew she had precious little time to think, to plan, to come up with her next move. Frantically, she twisted her wrists, trying to angle her fingers so that she could loosen the knotted rope. But the binds were so tight, she was already losing feeling in her hands.

  Next she scanned the hay baler, looking for a sharp edge she could use to fray the rope, but saw nothing within her limited reach. Shifting her gaze to check The Wolf’s progress, a glint of metal on the dirt floor caught her eye. Next to the scattered pack of cigarettes that had fallen from his shirt pocket when she tore it, a sunbeam glimmered off a silver butane lighter. A throb of anticipation and hope skittered through her. If she couldn’t cut her wrists free of the rope, could she burn through them?

  Her mouth dried knowing she’d burn her wrists, but weren’t burns better than surrendering to him and inevitable death? And he’d all but sworn to torture her first.

  Sliding as far down to the floor as her tied wrists allowed, she stretched her leg toward the lighter. The toe of her sandal nudged the lighter closer, then a few more inches. Her awkward position strained her wrists, the binding knots gouging and pinching her skin, but she refused to give up. Every bit of pain was worth it if she could save herself. For the first time in many years, she had a future she looked forward to. A relationship with Seth, the opportunity to build a career of her own...and Jack. She’d only just realized that moments earlier, just before The Wolf grabbed her, and she hadn’t had the chance to tell him her feelings. How would he react to her feelings? Would he ever give marriage a second chance?

  She gave her head a brisk shake. That was a debate for another time. She had to focus on freeing herself, surviving her current ordeal.

  The lighter was only a few inches from her now, but with her hands tied to the baler, she couldn’t bend to get it. With a glance to check on her captor’s progress, she kicked off her sandals. The Wolf was grumbling bitterly in the loft, clearly not having any luck finding his gun in the mounds of molded hay. Using her toes to grip the lighter, she wiggled and lifted her foot as high as she could. She dropped it once and had to start over, but finally got the lighter close enough to her fingers to clasp it between her hands. Working slowly, her hands trembling, she tried to flick the igniter. After a couple attempts, a flame danced up, and she exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Careful not to let the flame go out, she wrenched her arms to an awkward angle hoping to touch the ropes to the small flicker.

  A few of the fibers glowed red as the rope struggled to catch fire. Tears of frustration and pain filled Tracy’s eyes as she continued to hold the flame against the rope with only marginal success. Singed fibers dropped from the smoldering rope onto her skin, and she fought the instinct to flinch, to jerk her hands back from the heat. Her progress was slow, but the rope was burning, bit by bit. Please, please, please! This had to work. She had no other ideas, no other options, and no more time.

  The Wolf’s footsteps thudded as he crossed the wooden floor of the hayloft, still searching for his gun. “I have other ways to kill you, ways that are less merciful than a bullet.” When he came to the edge of the loft and shouted down at her, she curled her fingers around the lighter to hide it from him. “You think you’ve won a victory, but this only means you’ll suffer more.”

  He drew his dark eyebrows into a frown and lifted his nose to sniff the air like a predator scenting his prey. “What’s that smell? Something’s burning. What—” His gaze narrowed on the ropes around her wrists.

  Tracy glanced down. The spot she’d been burning smoldered, trailing a thin wisp of smoke.

  “Like fire, do ya?” The Wolf cast his gaze around the old barn. “You’re right. This place would go up like a tinderbox, all this weathered wood and straw.” His grin was pure evil. “And you with time to think about burning up like a campfire marshmallow...”

  An anxious whimper escaped her throat, the sound loud to her own ears. Loud enough that she almost missed the shout from outside. The voice of her salvation. Jack!

  “Tracy!” He was clearly still a good distance away, but...he was coming after her!

  She stretched her body trying to see out the nearest window. Fresh tears of hope rushed to her eyes. “Jack! Help me!”

  The Wolf, too, moved to a spot in the hayloft where he could look out through one of the many gaps in the dilapidated walls. Growling a bitter curse, The Wolf headed back toward the ladder. Then, as if having second thoughts, he changed direction and disappeared into the shadows of the loft.

  Tracy’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch. Not knowing where The Wolf was and what he could be doing was somehow more frightening than his looming presence.

  “Tracy!” Jack’s voice was closer now, accompanied by the pounding of hooves. Though she still couldn’t see Jack, the jangle of reins drifted in from just beyond the barn door.

  “Jack!” Her heart almost burst with a surge of relief when the barn door crashed open.

  Rather than race into the barn, he hovered by the door, sweeping th
e interior with a keen gaze and leading with a gun clenched between his hands. Clearly he’d realized who’d kidnapped her, but he was walking into an unknown situation.

  “Jack, look out!” she called in warning as he zeroed in on her and hurried inside the barn. “He had a gun...in the lo—”

  Before she could finish, a large dark figure pounced from above. The Wolf landed on Jack’s back, knocking him to the ground and causing him to lose his grip on his gun.

  A startled scream slipped from Tracy’s throat, and her anxiety spiked as the Wolf lobbed a punch into Jack’s chin. Her cowboy’s head snapped back, and his attacker snaked an arm around Jack’s neck.

  Tracy held her breath, her heart in her throat, as she watched the two grapple. Jack grunted with effort, his face reddening from lack of air as The Wolf held his forearm tight across Jack’s windpipe.

  A sob welled inside her, seeing the abuse The Wolf unleashed on Jack. If anything happened to Jack, how could she forgive herself? He’d come to rescue her, and now his life hung in the balance.

  Chapter 19

  Despite the viselike grip of the arm that choked him, Jack managed to find his footing and renewed leverage. Bracing his feet, he threw his head back into The Wolf’s face. The assassin howled in pain as blood spurted from his broken nose, hitting Jack’s neck in a warm spray. Jack followed with repeated blows from his elbow to the man’s ribs.

  Under counterattack, The Wolf cringed in defense, and his hold on Jack’s throat loosened. With a twist of his body, Jack wrenched free of his opponent’s grip. He stumbled to his feet and gulped air into his burning chest.

  His gun. Where had his gun landed when he fell?

  While The Wolf clutched his broken nose and sucked shallow gasps into his bruised lungs, Jack cast a quick glance around the floor his feet. He spotted the pistol about two yards away at the same time his opponent lunged for it.

  Jack hefted his boot into the man’s jaw just as The Wolf’s hands closed around the barrel of the handgun. Determined to keep the weapon out of his assailant’s hands, Jack stomped with all his weight on The Wolf’s wrist.

  The assassin shouted in rage and grabbed Jack’s ankle with his free hand. Yanking hard, The Wolf managed to pull Jack off balance. Oxygen whooshed from him as he crashed to the hard-packed dirt, but he continued to kick, battering The Wolf with blows, striking him in the head and face with the heel of his boot. Though blinded by Jack’s barrage of kicks, the assassin fumbled the pistol into his fingers. The Wolf aimed in the general direction of his opponent and fired. The heat of the bullet streaked past Jack’s cheek. A sting on his ear told him he’d been knicked.

  “Jack!” Tracy screamed.

  When The Wolf rolled to his back and shifted the weapon toward her, Jack landed one last resounding kick to the assassin’s gun hand. The jolt knocked the pistol from his hand, and the gun skittered toward Tracy. Out of his reach, but also out of The Wolf’s reach. Good enough. That evened the odds.

  Gathering his focus and strength, Jack sprang to his feet, ready for The Wolf’s next attack.

  He didn’t have to wait long. The dark glare of the hired killer narrowed as he surged toward Jack. But the man’s hands weren’t empty. He’d found a piece of steel rebar and swung it at Jack’s head.

  Jack ducked, just in time, and flicked a fast look askance as he dodged the next arc of the swinging bar. Finding the stack of rebar, he grabbed one himself and met The Wolf’s attack with a practiced parry and riposte. A Prise de Fer and remise. Jack met The Wolf’s startled look with a smug grin. “Come on, bastard. Bring it.”

  * * *

  Tracy gasped as Jack’s gun landed a few feet from her. She might be tied to the baler, but she had to do something to try to keep the gun out of The Wolf’s hands. As she had in retrieving the lighter, Tracy scrunched low and extended her foot as far as she could. She toed the gun closer, closer...

  The clank of metal brought her head up, her attention back to Jack’s battle with The Wolf. Her gut roiled seeing the heavy bar the assassin swung toward Jack. A blow from the steel rod could do serious damage, could even be fatal if it struck him in the head. She bit her bottom lip, willing herself not to cry out and distract Jack. After a moment, she realized Jack had the upper hand in this battle. His moves and countermoves were skilled and effective in both tiring The Wolf and landing strikes that diminished his opponent’s ability to fight back.

  A strike to the arm, a jab in the gut, a blocked thrust.

  She flashed back to her recent visit to Jack’s home office and the small swords he kept in the display case. Of course. Fascinated, she followed his moves, his footwork.

  An optimistic buoyance lightened the pressure in her chest. Jack was in his element.

  Monitoring the fight with half her attention, she went back to her pursuit of the gun. Another couple inches. And again...

  Finally she was able to twist and pick up the weapon, but in doing so the lighter slipped from her hands. Didn’t matter. Jack was here. He’d free her once he handled The Wolf.

  A loud curse and groan yanked her focus to the men. The Wolf clutched his chest and crumpled on the dirt floor. Jack stepped back, panting, and eyed his quarry critically. The Wolf coughed, spitting out blood, and his eyes rolled back as he hugged his ribs.

  Jack pulled the rebar away from the downed man, then cut a glance to Tracy. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not much.” She showed him the gun she’d retrieved. “Here.”

  “Good girl,” he said, lifting a corner of his mouth as he strode toward her, the rebar swords still in his fist. When he reached her, he tossed the bars into a corner of the barn and pulled her head close for a kiss. “Thank God you’re all right. If anything had happened to you...” Rather than finish the sentence, he kissed her again.

  She closed her eyes, relief rushing through her and weakening her knees. “I was so scared.”

  He took the gun, slid it in the waist of his jeans at the small of his back, then took a small folding knife from his pocket. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she watched him saw on the ropes binding her hands. “How did you know—”

  A sudden movement, a scuffling drew her gaze and Jack’s across the barn. Too late.

  The Wolf had seized another steel bar from the original stack and lunged, staggering toward them. He swung the steel rod in a downward arc at Jack.

  His hands occupied with cutting her ropes, Jack’s reaction was a fraction of a second too slow. The rebar cracked a glancing blow to his head, but he fell backward and didn’t move.

  “Jack!” Tracy sobbed, her heart plummeting to her toes.

  Still swaying on his feet and holding his side, The Wolf cast his gaze around, clearly looking for the gun. When he spotted the lighter, he stooped and scrabbled it off the floor. “This was a gift...” he paused and wheezed a gurgling breath “...from my father.”

  Grabbing a handful of straw from the stall, he lit the stalks and let the flaming tinder land on the pile.

  Horror streaked through Tracy as the flames caught and the hay ignited in a bright, fast fire.

  This place would go up like a tinderbox, all this weathered wood and straw. And you with time to think about burning up like a campfire marshmallow... The Wolf’s taunt replayed in her mind, and her heart galloped. The smoke was already making her cough and gag.

  The Wolf backed toward the barn door, his steps weaving and his grin pure evil. “Time to go.”

  Tears prickled her eyes. From fear. From smoke. From guilt. Bad enough that her in-laws’ assassin would kill her today, but Jack...

  Her chest squeezed. Seth would be an orphan. Both of his parents’ deaths would be blood on her hands.

  “Jack?” she called, nudging him with her foot. Please, please wake up! She had to revive him before the smoke overwhelmed them both. Before the flames crept any closer or blocked their only exit.

  * * *

  When Ryan got the call about Tracy’
s kidnapping and Jack’s pursuit of the assassin, he’d had already been planning a trip to the ranch, bringing his latest intel on The Wolf. The killer had been identified as Wayne Parnell and a partial fingerprint of Parnell’s had been found at a service-station restroom where he’d been ID’d from security-camera footage. Now, minutes later, after driving at top speeds with lights and sirens, he’d commandeered a ranch four wheeler and was bouncing across the fields to the old hay barn. He had a rifle with a sniper scope strapped to his back in addition to his department-issued side arm.

  He’d just picked up Tom Vasquez, who’d abandoned the pursuit after Jack galloped passed him. An asthma attack had left Vasquez winded, but he was able to direct Ryan where they needed to go. Their destination became all too clear when a billow of smoke rose over the horizon, just past a large hill. Ryan’s gut pitched. If that was the old barn burning, as he feared, the aged building would be ashes in minutes. God help anyone trapped inside. And anyone could be Tracy. Or Jack.

  Fresh urgency whipped through him, and he squeezed the throttle.

  “Hang on!” Ryan told the ranch hand who rode behind him. He gunned the engine, and it whined with effort as they shot up the incline.

  * * *

  Thick smoke filled the barn quickly. Within minutes, Tracy’s skin stung from the heat of the flames, and her throat and lungs were raw and scorched. Her eyes watered as she tried again to revive Jack, rasping, “Please! Please, Jack, wake up!”

  Her head felt muzzy from lack of oxygen, but she fought the pull of unconscious oblivion, knowing she had to get Jack out. Even if she was going to die here. “Jack...please!”

  She poked him weakly with her toe again, the effort almost more energy than she had left to give. Finally he stirred, coughing and raising a hand to his head wound.

  Thank God!

  “Jack, you...” cough “...have to get out!”

  He blinked up at her, in confusion for a fraction of a second before clarity lit his gaze and alarm filled his eyes. “Not without you!”

  Groaning and choking on the thick smoke, he rolled to his hands and knees, scanned the floor until he found the pocketknife he’d dropped when he’d been attacked, and began sawing again at the ropes.