by Dana Mentink
Falsely accused...
Can she escape the real killer?
In this Gold Country Cowboys story, farrier Ella Cahill is accused of murder—and only former marine Owen Thorn, her brother’s best friend, can help clear her name. Now with someone trying to kill Ella, Owen must protect her...despite his promise to her brother to stay away from her. But can they work together to find the true killer before she becomes the next to die?
“Don’t get in trouble for me.”
“Ella, I’ve risked my life for people I will never meet. You, I’ve known since you were in grade school.” As Owen looked at those lush green eyes, his heart beat to a faster tempo, the pulse thundering loud in his ears. He cleared his throat. “You’re my best friend’s sister, and my family loves you. Why wouldn’t I take a risk for you?”
“Because I don’t want you to,” she said firmly. “Because this isn’t your battle.”
“Well I’m making it my battle.”
“Why?”
“I just told you.”
“No. You could let the police handle it. Family friendship doesn’t go this far. Ray would understand.”
“No he wouldn’t.”
She blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. “You’ve nearly been run down. Isn’t that enough?”
He fought to keep his tone level. “Have we cleared your name yet? Have we gotten back everything you’ve lost? Your work? Your reputation? Your freedom?”
“No,” she said, voice breaking.
“Then I guess you have your answer.”
Dana Mentink is a national bestselling author. She has been honored to win two Carol Awards, a Holt Medallion Award and an RT Reviewer’s Choice Best Book Award. She’s authored more than thirty novels to date for Harlequin’s Love Inspired Suspense and Harlequin Heartwarming. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her at danamentink.com.
Books by Dana Mentink
Love Inspired Suspense
Gold Coast Cowboys
Cowboy Christmas Guardian
Treacherous Trails
Pacific Coast Private Eyes
Dangerous Tidings
Seaside Secrets
Abducted
Dangerous Testimony
Rookie K-9 Unit
Seek and Find
Wings of Danger
Hazardous Homecoming
Secret Refuge
Stormswept
Shock Wave
Force of Nature
Flood Zone
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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TREACHEROUS TRAILS
Dana Mentink
Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.
—Matthew 16:24
To Nancy and Phil, God loving, horse loving, Kingdom serving souls. Thank you.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DEAR READER
EXCERPT FROM TRACKING DANGER BY TERRI REED
ONE
Ella Cahill rubbed her eyes as she climbed behind the wheel of her old van and sipped tea out of her thermos to revive herself. The pounding behind her temples was growing more and more painful. Probably fatigue. Trying to squeeze just one more appointment into her farrier’s schedule meant another small step toward covering the monthly bills, but it took a toll. You can sleep tomorrow was her motto, but that luxurious day of rest never seemed to come. She rolled down the window halfway, hoping that since the tea hadn’t worked, the cold January temperatures would restore her. Sucking in a deep lungful of crisp air, she felt grateful once more for Gold Bar, her sleepy little hometown tucked deep in the heart of California’s gold country. Funny how her craving for travel and adventure had mellowed away, leaving quiet contentment behind.
“Done so soon?”
The sudden appearance of Bruce Reed, dark hair slicked down and smelling of cologne, made her jump. Her skin prickled as her friend Luke’s words from earlier in the day came back to her.
Reed’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s dangerous.
“Yes,” Ella said. “I tended to Bellweather. I can’t understand how the shoe came loose. I just shod him last week.”
Reed shrugged. “Horses are dumb animals. They don’t know enough to take care of themselves like we do. Nice of you to make an emergency call.”
Dumb animals? Though she knew Bruce Reed was in his fifties, he seemed ageless close up, his skin smooth and tight across his prominent cheekbones, no extra softness anywhere. He quirked a smile to reveal blinding white teeth, the canines pointed and slightly longer than the rest. Wolflike, she mused before she blinked herself back to reality. The fatigue was really getting to her.
She started the engine. “I’ve got to go, Mr. Reed.”
“Call me Bruce. What’s the rush?” He stroked her fingers that still clutched the window frame. “Come join Candy and me for a drink.”
“No, thank you,” she said while easing her hand away. “I don’t drink and my sister is waiting.” Ella had taken a moment to hurry home in between farrier appointments to be sure Betsy had dinner before they took a walk together. A stab of anxiety twisted through her. If she could just save enough to pay for a nurse to come and check on her sister, help her get the proper exercise for her atrophied muscles... “Work today, rest tomorrow,” Ella silently repeated to herself, but her body was screaming for sleep.
Ella blinked as her vision blurred. “I’ve really got to go,” she said, wondering when he would detach himself from her door.
“Take good care of yourself, Ella,” he said with one final smile.
She could feel his gaze on her as she drove along the lane away from Candy Silverton’s lavish stables on the outskirts of Gold Bar. Without warning, Ella began to shake, her grip loosening from the wheel.
Something was wrong, very wrong. Guiding the van to the shoulder, she patted her pockets for her cell phone but could not pull it free, so she unbuckled and stepped from the van. Fresh air would help. Her thermos fell out, rolling off into the leaves, but she was too unsteady to bend over and retrieve it. Her knees buckled and she fell, hands planted on the ground. All she could do was breathe against the dizziness. Vaguely, from the deepest part of her instincts, she heard someone approaching.
Help me, she tried to call out, but the words remained locked inside. Then she was sliding stomach-first onto the ground, rocks biting into her face, unable to move. From above she detected a presence.
Please, she tried to whisper.
Everything went black as a sack was shoved over her head, rough, smelling of oats, an old feed bag. A scream of terror lodged in her throat. Her arms were pulled behind her. Panic surged, and she tried to kick out, but her limbs were leaden. What was wrong with her? Something in her system, her brain thought. No, something in the tea, a drug.
Whoever it was seized her arms and yanked her up. It took her a long moment to realize she was being shoved back into her van, behind the wheel. Something cold made her gasp, a liquid, the sharp scent of alcohol, beer, pouring over her clothes, soaking her flannel jacket, her pants.
Whatever was happening, it was meant to destroy her, she was certain. Her only chance of survival was to get out of that van. She had to force her body to act before it was too late. With every grain of mental strength she readied herself, trying to tense her internal muscles without letting on that she was conscious. She could feel the cool air billowing in through the open van door against her. When he stepped away to close it, she would have one shot, one slender chance, one moment that would decide her fate.
Hands fumbled with her jacket, tugging, then her tormentor reached to straighten her shoulders, posing her as if she were a dime store mannequin. Her mind felt foggy and she was not sure if her eyes would work properly should she manage to get free of the bag. His fingers reached the bottom of the sack and he started to pull it off. She waited no longer.
Arms flailing like unwieldy tree limbs, she catapulted from the car, the burlap falling away. Fingers grasped the back of her jacket so she wriggled out of it and kept on, forcing her legs to carry her toward the trees, anywhere away from her abductor.
Half staggering, half running, like some zombie from a horror movie, she made it to the trees, the sound of pursuit ringing in her ears. Her numb feet caught in a twisted tree root and she tumbled down a shallow ravine in a helpless jumble of arms and legs.
She hit the bottom, the breath driven out her.
Move. Move or he’ll find you. All around were spindly pine trees and granite chunks protruding through a carpet of pine needles and fallen tree trunks. She saw a hollow underneath one of the downed trees. Dragging herself there, heart thundering, she crawled in, scooping handfuls of the dead leaves and needles over herself as a form of filthy camouflage. The sound of feet creeping through the needles caused the blood to freeze in her veins. He had to be no more than three yards from her hiding spot.
“Lord, God,” she prayed, but she could not finish as a wave of darkness overcame her.
* * *
Owen slammed his truck to a halt in the morning sunlight, shocked at the sight of Ella Cahill, the ranch farrier and his childhood friend, crawling out of the shrubs onto the road. In disbelief, he flung the door open and ran to her, ignoring the twang of pain in his damaged leg.
“Ella. What happened? How badly are you hurt?”
She reached out a hand and grabbed his arm, the cold of her fingers seeping right through his shirt sleeve. “Someone...someone abducted me.”
He was momentarily speechless. “Who?”
“I don’t know. There was...” She touched her face as if searching for something. “He put a bag on my head. I think he drugged the tea in my thermos.”
Something inside him went white-hot with anger. “Someone you know?”
“I’m not sure.” Her voice was high-pitched, tight. “Where’s my van?”
“I didn’t see it.”
Her eyes scanned the sunlit shoulder of the road before widening. “Owen, what time is it?”
“Six a.m.”
Her mouth fell open. “Thursday morning? Betsy’s been alone all night?” She struggled to her knees. “I have to get home.”
“We need to call the police and an ambulance.”
“I don’t need an ambulance. Call the police, but get me home first. They can talk to me there, okay? Please?”
Her face was scratched and bruised, red hair matted with burrs and leaves. What kind of person would harm Ella Cahill? He put his rage aside and prioritized the mission. Get her home. Get her help. Punishing her attacker would have to wait.
Easing a hand under her elbow, he helped her stand slowly, gratified that there were no outward signs of broken bones or blood. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her to his truck, but she was already moving in that direction under her own power.
She pushed tangled hair from her face. “How did you know to find me here?”
“I’ve been driving the area for an hour searching for you.” He hesitated. “The cops, Larraby I mean, called the ranch before sunrise looking for you.”
“Why me?”
He still could hardly believe it himself. “They got an anonymous call that you and Candy Silverton’s nephew, were in an altercation yesterday.”
“An altercation with Luke? Who said that?”
“I don’t know, but now Luke is apparently missing.”
“Missing?” she gasped.
“Yeah, Candy called it in early this morning when she discovered his bed hadn’t been slept in. She’s worried he’s been in an accident or something.”
“And they think I have something to do with that?”
He fisted hands on his hips. “I’m not sure what they think. I wanted to find you and you didn’t answer your cell. There was no answer at your home either.”
Ella caught her lip between her teeth. “Betsy can’t work the phone very well. Owen, please get me home. She will be frantic with worry or she might have fallen. She’s not safe getting in and out of her wheelchair by herself. Her ability to walk has really deteriorated.”
“We’ll be there in fifteen.”
She followed him to the driver’s-side door, preparing to slide in as he opened it for her until she pointed to a bit of flannel lying half-hidden under a scattering of pine needles.
“There’s my jacket,” she said, frowning. “It should be near my van.”
“I’ll get it.” He picked it up. Muscles knotted in his stomach as he examined it.
“Is my phone in the pocket?” Ella called.
“No phone.” He held the jacket closer for her to see. Using the edge of the sleeve, he pulled something from her breast pocket—a broken farrier’s rasp.
The edge was covered in blood.
His gaze caught hers and he knew her mind screamed with the same question.
Whose blood was it?
TWO
Ella tried to focus on Owen as he drove to her house. Strong face, wide cheekbones, the face of a model beneath the hat, not the cowboy he was or the marine he had been. She knew he was holding back a million questions, but she had no answers for any of them. Who had taken her? She remembered what Luke told her about Bruce Reed. He’s dangerous. Her gut told her the same thing but she had not seen her attacker’s face, heard his voice. Reed had no reason to harm her. Where was her van? How had her farrier’s rasp gotten bloody? And the question that kept stabbing at her insides...where was Luke Baker?
Instead of succumbing to hysteria, she focused on the details as she tried to piece together the story for Owen. His presence was comforting, the worn knees of his jeans, his free hand brushing her wrist, eyes like stonewashed denim that flicked over her face, crew cut hair grown out now into a crown of blond that scattered across his forehead. Owen Thorn, the man she’d known since she was seven, a fixture in her life until the day he’d deployed. Just three years older than her, but he’d assumed the role of big brother over the years until he gave himself to the marines. And now here they were again, Owen standing in for her brother Ray.
She gripped his offered fingers.
His mouth tightened. “Ella, I don’t think... I mean, I’m just asking because the police will. Were you...have you been drinking?”
Blinking hard, she raised her chin. “No,” she said in a voice
louder than she meant, snatching her hand away from his touch. “He poured it over me, whoever it was. If I can figure out where it happened, there will be proof. The burlap sack, the bottle he was holding. My thermos. I think it might have been Bruce Reed. He was the last one I saw before I left Candy’s ranch.”
“It’s not the time to work all that out. Let’s get you home.”
“As long as you know I wasn’t drinking,” she insisted.
Owen had no doubt heard from her brother Ray, his best friend, of her wild rebellion during their first deployment. But that was the past. Forgiven, forgiven, forgiven, she chanted silently, but her cheeks went hot with shame that Owen would even suspect such a thing.
“We’ll check on Betsy. I can ask my mom to come and stay with her while we go talk to the cops,” he said.
Anger still simmered in her belly at the doubt she imagined she’d heard in his voice. What right did he have to judge her? Especially when she hadn’t done anything wrong...this time. But where had the blood come from? Her mind was foggy from the time she’d left Reed at Candy Silverton’s stables to the moment she’d crawled out of the ravine. There had to be proof that she was telling the truth.
“I have to find my van.”
“After I get you settled, I’ll go look for it.”
“No.” Whatever it was, whatever she’d done, she would take care of it herself. Betsy counted on her. There would be no more painful moments with Owen Thorn, a man who didn’t believe her. “I’ll find it myself.”
“Not in that condition, you won’t,” he commanded, as if she was a new recruit.
“Owen...” She started to retort, but pain made her break off, clapping her hands to her temples.
He let out a long, slow breath and she could feel his gaze wandering her face. “Oh, Ella Jo,” he breathed in a voice so gentle it broke her heart.
“Don’t call me that,” she said. Tears pricked her closed eyes. “That was a lifetime ago and I’m not seven years old anymore.”
When he parked, she flung open the door and ran for the house, calling out for her sister.