by Cora Seton
“Unless he’s found on the road, it’s the only other location he might have taken her.” Becket’s fists knotted. “He burned down this barn, he might try to destroy her house, as well.”
Moving a few feet to her right, Lily nodded. “And she’d have nowhere to call home.”
“Go,” Chance said. “We’re right behind you as soon as the fire trucks arrive.”
Becket ran for his truck.
“It’s faster by horse!” Lily cried out.
She was right. By road, the drive would take fifteen minutes. But with all the tack burning in the barn, Becket would have to ride bareback, without a bridle.
His black gelding, Soot, pranced along the fence, whinnying, his eyes wild as the smoke blew his way.
Veering away from his truck, Becket vaulted the fence, snagged Soot by his halter, and swung up over his back. Then, leaning over the horse’s neck, he twisted his hand in his mane and sank his heels into the animal’s flanks.
Thankfully, the horse responded and leaped into a gallop, headed across the open pasture toward the old Phillips’ place.
Becket prayed he’d get there in time. Already, he’d broken a promise to Kinsey. He’d said Dillon would never get his hands on her. When Becket caught up to the man, he would never do it again.
Chapter Eight
‡
When Kinsey woke, she lifted her head and stared around at her mother’s piano and the sofa her parents had recovered for their twenty-fifth anniversary. For a moment she didn’t understand why she was seeing these things, but then memories washed over her, and tears sprang to her eyes. She was in her parents’ house. Sunshine streamed through dirty windows and dust motes spun in the air, but this was her home. The place she’d grown up. Pain throbbed in her forehead, and she tried to raise her hands to touch the spot, but they wouldn’t move.
She sat in a dining room chair in the middle of the living room. Her wrists were secured to the arms of the chair with duct tape. A flash of movement drew her attention to the window overlooking the front yard.
Dillon stood outside, shaking a big red fuel can, slinging liquid across the front porch.
Then she smelled a pungent acrid scent, and her blood ran cold.
Kinsey strained and tugged at the bindings on her wrist. The tape held firm.
Dillon entered the house, reeking of gasoline and carrying the jug with him, splashing it across the floor.
“Dillon. Don’t do this.” She fought to keep a quaver from her voice. “I’ll come home with you.”
He snorted and slung more gasoline across the couch, some of it landing on his trouser legs. “I’ve tried to be reasonable.”
Kinsey bit hard on her tongue. Now wasn’t the time to tell him he was crazy and mean. “Take the tape off my wrists, Dillon. I’ll go with you.”
“I couldn’t keep you away from this damn place, even after your parents died.” He pulled a box of wooden matches from his pocket. “You had to come back, didn’t you?”
“I only came to visit. I’m ready to go home now,” she said, as calmly as she could, though her insides shook. With as much gasoline as he’d poured all over the room, it wouldn’t take long to burn. She had to stop him before he lit a match. “Please, Dillon. Take me home. I promise not to leave you again.”
“I could have forgiven you for leaving, but when I saw you kissing Grayson…” Dillon pulled a match from the box and stared at the red tip. “You always were a tease. I never trusted you around my teammates. I should have known you had something going on back here. Were you fucking the neighbor cowhand every time you came home to visit your parents?” He slid the match against the box and it ignited into a bright red-and-orange flame.
A gasp escaped. “Never, Dillon. I came home to see my parents. Only my parents.”
“Shut up!” he yelled. “You’re nothing but a lying bitch.” Scowling, he flung the match.
Kinsey’s breath caught as the match flew through the air and landed on the couch pushed up against the wall. The flame smoldered for a moment, then caught the gasoline and spread across the cushions.
Dillon’s gaze followed the spread of the flame, his mouth curling into a smile. “You love this place so much…you can stay and burn with it.”
“Don’t do this, Dillon. If you let me die in this house, you will have committed murder. Your football career will be over. You’ll go to jail.”
“And you will still be dead, and this house will be gone.” He headed for the door. “My career is over, anyway. Coach wasn’t playing me in the next game. Says I’m too much of a loose cannon.” He kicked an end table, sending it flying across the room. “What the fuck does he know, anyway? Fuck him! Fuck you. And fuck this place. I’m done with it all.”
Kinsey was so focused on the fire flaring in her old house, she almost didn’t hear the hooves thundering against the ground until a horse slid to a stop outside, and a rider dropped to the ground.
“Kinsey!” A voice called out.
“Great.” Dillon laughed. “I can take care of your lover at the same time.” He grabbed another chair and slammed it against the dining table, breaking it into pieces. With one of the legs in his hand, he squared off opposite Becket as he charged through the door.
“Becket! Watch out!” Kinsey cried.
Dillon swung the sharp piece of wood.
Becket ducked, and the chair leg cracked against the doorframe. He hit Dillon with a hard punch to the gut.
Dillon doubled over, but came at Becket with a powerhouse swing, catching him across the chin.
Grunting, Becket jerked backward and fell out the door onto the porch.
Dillon followed, kicking at the man sprawled on the wooden deck.
In a flash, Becket caught Dillon’s foot and twisted, sending him crashing against a wall, out of Kinsey’s line of view.
She had other problems. Everywhere Dillon had spread the gasoline was in full flame and burning through the couch, the carpet, and into the wooden floors beneath. She bit back a coughing fit. If she didn’t get out soon, she’d be engulfed by the flames.
Kinsey tried pounding the chair against the floor to break it, but the old chair held solid and refused to split. Flames spread across the floor, following the trail of gasoline to the door, blocking that exit. Now, the only direction clear of flames was toward the front picture window.
Outside the door, the men fought fiercely, grunting and banging against the outside walls. The front door slammed shut. Even if she made it through the flames, she couldn’t reach the knob.
Kinsey braced her feet on the floor, leaned forward, and lifted the chair legs. Smoke stung her eyes, making them tear, and burned her lungs with each breath, but she wasn’t ready to die.
She turned, aimed the legs of the chair at the window, and walked backward, picking up speed. If she didn’t hit it hard enough, she wouldn’t break the old glass. As she neared the window, she threw her entire body into the seat of the chair. The legs hit the window. Glass exploded outward, and she fell through, tucking her head to avoid the jagged edges.
The low windowsill caught the back of her legs, and she flipped over it, landing hard on the porch. The wooden chair back, taking the brunt of the landing, split into pieces.
Kinsey rolled across the shattered glass, the sharp edges cutting into her skin. She didn’t care. Cuts and bruises would heal—she had proof of that fact. If she didn’t get completely away from the house, her dive through the window wouldn’t have helped. Still attached to the arms and back of the chair, but with the legs broken off, she struggled to get her feet beneath her.
On the other end of the porch, Dillon had pinned down Becket and pummeled his face.
“Leave him alone!” Kinsey screamed.
Dillon’s head shot up, and he glared at her. He stopped hitting Becket and staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and where she’d stabbed him in the arm and thigh. One eye was swelling, and a jagged wound cut across his eyebrow. “No fucking way
!” Dillon shouted. “You can’t leave.”
The fire had spread inside the house, catching on the curtains around the broken window. A flaming ember wafted out onto the porch, igniting the gasoline Dillon had sluiced over the weathered boards.
A breeze fanned the flame, making it shoot up as Dillon plowed through. His trousers caught on fire, the flames rising up his leg.
Kinsey managed to get to her feet and braced herself for the pending impact.
Before Dillon reached Kinsey, Becket grabbed him from behind, his hands hard on the football player’s shoulders.
Dillon roared and fought to free his arms from Becket’s hold, the fire creeping up the front of his pants.
Unable to contain the bigger man for long, Becket shoved him sideways, away from Kinsey.
Dillon fell through the broken window into the burning house.
Flames spread across the porch toward Kinsey.
Becket ran for her, scooped her into his arms, chair parts and all, and leaped off the porch. When he landed, his legs buckled beneath him, and they rolled across the ground, away from the flaming house.
Becket pushed to a sitting position and helped her up to one as well. “Are you all right?” He rested his hands on her shoulders and searched her face, his brows pulled into a frown.
Cut, bruised, and bleeding, she found the energy to smile. “I’m alive.”
He captured her face in his hands and gave her a quick, hard kiss on the lips, then unwound the duct tape from one of her wrists and what was left of the arms and back of the chair. When the tape reached her bare skin, he eased the adhesive loose. Once one wrist was free, he kissed her red skin. “Can you manage the rest?”
Blood pounding in her ears, she nodded.
“I’m going after Dillon.” He got up and helped her to her feet.
Kinsey touched his arm. “Be careful.” If the fire didn’t hurt Becket, Dillon might still have enough energy to knock him out.
Without protective clothing, Becket risked his own life going into the burning house.
Heart lodged in her throat, she worked the tape loose with her fingers while tracking Becket’s progress.
She prayed he’d come out of it alive. Now that she’d found him again, she wanted him to stick around long enough to make him fall in love with her. She was well on her way to being head over heels for him.
As Kinsey shook free of the old chair, she saw Becket kick open the front door and run inside.
With his shirt pulled up over his nostrils, Becket entered the house, running through the line of fire, dodging the hot spots. Massey had used an accelerant, gasoline from the smell of it, to ignite the building. Though he’d gone through the window, landing inside the living room, the man was nowhere to be seen.
“Massey!” he yelled, and then coughed, smoke burning the lining of his lungs and the heat making breathing equally hard.
Besides the roar of the fire, no other sound came to him. Throwing an arm over his head and ducking low, he ran through the burning house into the kitchen. The door leading out the back of the house stood wide open.
Damn. He’d gone out the back. Which meant he could have rounded to the front by now.
Kinsey.
Becket spun, intending to take the shortest route through the house, but the fire had intensified in the living room, having spread to the ceiling. Timbers crashed down, shooting sparks into the air.
Going back the way he’d come was no longer an option. He had to get to Kinsey. Fast.
Bolting for the back door, he leaped off the porch. The sound of sirens rang out across the countryside as Becket ran around the side of the burning structure. When he reached the front yard, he ground to a halt and his heart stopped.
Massey had Kinsey from behind, his arm looped around her neck in a chokehold.
Her face was blue, turning bluer by the moment.
“Let her go, Massey.” Pulse pounding against his eardrums, Becket inched toward them. “It’s over.”
Kinsey scratched at Massey’s arms, fighting for breath. Fighting for her life.
“Back off, or I’ll kill her.”
“Yeah. You’ve already proved you’d kill her anyway.” Becket considered his options. He could charge the two. He’d hit Kinsey first, but if he could knock them both over, Massey might loosen his chokehold. If he did nothing, Massey would kill her anyway.
Bunching his muscles, Becket raced toward Kinsey. At the same time, he saw her hand rise to Massey’s face.
She jammed her thumb into his eye.
Massey screamed and loosened his hold.
Kinsey jammed her elbow into his gut.
Dillon let go, she dropped to the ground and rolled to the side as Becket plowed into Massey, slamming him up against a tree.
The man’s head hit with a loud crack, and he slumped to the ground.
A fire truck rolled down the driveway as Becket helped Kinsey to her feet and held her in the curve of his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” she asked, her voice gravelly. “If you hadn’t come around when you did, Dillon would have killed me.”
“If I had stayed put, I could have kept him from getting to you.”
“You’re a good man, Becket. You wouldn’t leave your worst enemy in that fire.” She faced him, lacing her hands in the hair at the nape of his neck. “That’s what I love about you.”
His arms circled her waist, and he pulled her to him. “There are a lot of things I love about you. But all those scratches and bruises need to be tended to first.”
Firefighters converged on the house, and paramedics surrounded Kinsey, Becket, and Massey.
Massey was loaded into an ambulance and taken away.
The paramedics treated Kinsey’s wounds and checked both her and Becket for signs of a concussion.
A second ambulance pulled up. The paramedic opened the door and started to pull out the gurney.
“We can walk,” Kinsey insisted.
“Though I didn’t seen signs of concussion, you both should be checked over by a doctor, just to be safe,” the paramedic said.
Kinsey looked to Becket. “I won’t go unless he comes with me in the ambulance.”
“You’re not going anywhere near Massey without me.” Becket stood with hands on his hips.
She lifted a shoulder and smiled. “Then I guess we’re both going to the hospital.”
Inside the ambulance, Kinsey and Becket sat beside each other on the gurney. The paramedic insisted they both wear oxygen masks during the drive, which precluded talking.
Kinsey slipped her hand in his and rode all the way to the trauma center in Hellfire.
The doctor checked them out and cleared them to go home.
“What about Dillon?” Kinsey asked.
The doctor’s brows dipped. “Are you a relative?”
Kinsey shook her head.
“I’m sorry, I can’t share that information.”
On the way out of the examination room, Becket could see into the next room. Nurses and a doctor worked over Massey.
Nash, dressed in his sheriff’s deputy uniform, met them in the reception area. “Are you two going to live?”
Becket hugged Kinsey to him, careful not to touch her bandages and bruises. “We will. As long as Massey isn’t let loose on the street.”
“We have so many charges compiled against him, he’s not going anywhere but the state penitentiary.”
Kinsey pressed into Becket’s side. “Good.”
“I’ll see you two back at the house. Chance and Rider are finishing up at the old Phillips’ place. There won’t be anything to salvage.” He touched Kinsey’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
Becket ran his hand up and down her arm, knowing what she must be feeling.
She nodded, her eyes awash with tears.
Nash turned to Becket. “Lily’s waiting outside.”
“What about the barn at our ranch?” Becket queried, although he wasn’t holding out much hope.
Nash shook his head. “Gone. Thankfully, all other buildings are intact. Even though the barn burned to the ground, keep in mind, buildings can be replaced. People can’t. I’m glad you and Kinsey are okay.”
Becket hugged his brother. “Me, too.”
Nash turned to Kinsey and hugged her.
“Thanks.” Kinsey hugged him back. “You’re right. I’d rather lose the house and barn than you, Becket, or any of your siblings.”
Nash nodded and stepped past them to speak with the doctor.
“Come on.” Becket turned with her in the circle of his arm and walked toward the exit. “Let’s go home.”
She snuggled against him, her arm around his middle. “I promise to get a place of my own as soon as I can get a job and save up the necessary deposits.”
“You have a place to live for as long as you like,” Becket said, his voice gruffer than he’d intended. “Forever, if things work out.”
She slowed to a stop and faced him. “How’s that?”
Maybe he was pushing things too fast, but he’d almost lost her that day. “None of us know how long we have on this earth.”
Her brows twisted. “I’m not following.”
“I’m just saying, I don’t want to waste time.” He held both of her hands and squeezed. “After you have a chance to recover, you and I are going out on a date. A real date.”
“I’d like that.”
“We could take it slow,” he continued, running a thumb over her knuckles. “Just dinner. Maybe a movie, and end it with a kiss, if you want.”
She eased from his grip, and a hand settled on his chest. “What if I don’t?”
His heart stuttered, and he captured her hand in his. God, if she walked away from him now, he didn’t know what he’d do. This woman had the potential to be the one to restore his faith in women. To remind him what love was all about, and the sacrifices he’d willingly make to keep her safe and happy.
Becket raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Kinsey, you’re free to choose who you want to be with. I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I know.” She cupped his cheek. “What I meant is: what if I don’t want just a kiss?” Leaning up on her toes, she brushed her lips across his, and then whispered in his ear, “What if I want more? What if I want to ride out in a pasture on a four-wheeler with you?”