The thought was followed by a rush of guilt, followed by the realization that she didn’t really know him.
He could be anyone—including someone who had heard of the bounty on her head. For all she knew, the convoluted tale that he had told her could be no more than a distraction, meant to engage her until the real killers could get here.
You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. Amanda said I could trust him, and her former roommate was a woman who didn’t trust lightly.
Hope’s instincts, too, were insisting he was honest, her heart telling her he was as lost, as hollowed out by grief, as she’d been feeling this past year. But her heart had been wrong before, so tragically wrong, it was unlikely she would survive it, much less reclaim the happiness she dreamed of.
Still, she couldn’t move as he drew her closer, couldn’t do a thing but gasp as he ducked his head and pressed his warm lips to that scrap of tender flesh. Her eyelids closed, the heat of twisting flame behind them, and her only protest was a whimper when his mouth found hers.
Chapter 4
Dylan knew insanity. He’d seen it in Nitro’s eyes this morning, when the bull had meant to kill him. He’d seen it dozens of times, in that mad moment when a wild stallion reached the intersection of testosterone and pain.
He was on the brink now, helpless to stop himself from claiming a kiss, from pouring every last bit of pent-up loneliness and longing into the connection. The stable light flickered and then died, but Dylan barely noticed, his attention on the murmur low in her throat and the way she tipped back her head.
Inflamed by her response, he pulled her even closer, his lips parting hers and the answering inferno burning through his stress, his grief and what was left of his self-control. Already rock hard, he leaned her back against the stacked straw, wanting nothing but her breasts cupped in his hands, her skin bare and sweating beneath his.
It wasn’t sweat, however, but the hot trickle of a tear from her face that restored him to his senses. That had him remembering how much fresher her loss was than his own.
Swamped with shame, he stammered, “Sorry, Hope—so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, didn’t mean to—” A lie, he knew. Kissing her had been no accident. But that didn’t make it right.
In the darkness, she turned from him, her voice muffled, perhaps with the bandanna. “I just wanted to forget,” she said. “Forget everything, except...my dad’s gone. Gone forever, Dylan, and here I am, in your arms, as if I could erase it.”
The pain in her words had him aching to reach out to touch her, but he didn’t dare for fear of the attraction still crackling between them. “What happened here tonight—this wasn’t your fault. It was all mine, but it stops now, and I swear, on my honor, it won’t happen again.”
When she sniffled in the darkness, it sickened him to think he was the cause of such regret.
“What happened to the lights?” she asked.
Before he could answer her, he heard the creak of the stable door, followed by soft footsteps.
Dylan straightened, senses on alert for trouble, until a familiar voice spoke.
“Hope Woods, are you out here?” called the ranch’s head housekeeper, Mathilda Perkins, who was even more of an institution around here than his own mother had been. “I brought a plate to your room, but you weren’t there, so I thought maybe...”
As he came to his feet, Hope stood up beside him. A moment later, she was stripping off his jacket and shoving it back into his hands.
“She’s warned me about fraternizing,” she whispered, “told me I’d be sure to blow my cover.”
“Don’t let Mathilda fool you,” he said, keeping his own voice low. “She’s always warning the maids about us wild and woolly cowboys.”
“After tonight, I see her point,” Hope said, but Dylan heard the fear behind the attempt at humor and mentally kicked himself again.
When Mathilda called her name once more, Hope answered, “I’m sorry, ma’am—I must’ve fallen asleep. I came out here to be alone, and—”
He stepped behind a stack of bales, hiding himself an instant before the beam of Mathilda’s flashlight found Hope. Above it, he could just make out the head housekeeper’s short, silvery-blond hair and worried face, floating in a sea of darkness.
“The power’s gone out,” she said. “I was worried. Didn’t want you stumbling around or getting yourself hurt trying to find your way back inside.”
“That was very kind of you, ma’am,” Hope said, “but how did you know to look for me out here?”
“Someone mentioned seeing you head this way.”
“Who mentioned it?” Hope answered, her voice strained.
“I believe it must have been— What’s that in your hand, dear?”
A cloth fluttered behind Hope’s back, so quickly that it took Dylan a moment to register the navy-and-white pattern of his bandanna.
He bit back a curse when Mathilda held out her hand expectantly.
“Show me,” she said, in the voice of a woman used to having her orders heeded.
“You mind lowering that flashlight?” Hope asked, in the voice of a woman little used to taking orders. “The light in my eyes is giving me a headache.”
The bright beam didn’t waver, but there was a long, tense pause before Mathilda said, “Your face is flushed. And damp, too.”
“That’ll happen when a girl cries.” Hope pulled the crumpled cotton square out from behind her back. “It’s just somebody’s old bandanna. I found it lying here, and it looked clean enough, so I used it to wipe my face.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Compassion thawing her chill, Mathilda lowered her light and stepped forward to touch Hope’s hand. “You’re cold to the bone, dear, and after everything you’ve been through, I should’ve guessed you’d be upset. I just thought for a moment—”
“What did you think?” Hope asked.
“I imagined that you might’ve come out here to meet someone. I’m sorry. I know you’re not— I know a woman of your background could hardly be interested in the likes of ranch hands. But you’re such a pretty thing, and these young men can be quite charming when there’s something they’re after.”
Her tone left no doubt what that something was, not that the head housekeeper’s starched decorum would ever allow her to say the word.
“Believe me,” Hope said with a bitterness that sliced straight through Dylan, “the last thing I want in my life right now is another charmer. At least not until I’m certain I’ll live through the last one.”
Gently ushering her toward the stable door, Mathilda said, “You heard what Miss Amanda told you. You’re perfectly safe here on the ranch.”
“Like Faye Frick and the last maid?” Hope challenged. “There was a young kitchen worker, too. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
“Their deaths have nothing to do with you, I’m certain,” Mathilda reassured her. “There’s no need to worry.”
“You really think so, ma’am?”
“I know so,” the older woman said firmly, but kindly. “Now come back inside and have some hot tea in the kitchen. Surely, someone will start up the gas stove, and you’ll feel so much better once you’ve warmed up.”
“Thank you,” Hope said, risking a final glance in his direction....
Before robbing both the stable and Dylan of all light and warmth when she left him there alone.
* * *
Her lips still tingling with Dylan’s kiss, Hope followed Mathilda Perkins toward the house in silence. Her thoughts careened wildly from the death of her father to her lapse in the barn—how right she’d felt, encircled by the wrangler’s strong arms, and how very wrong she felt now, how sick with guilt and worry.
Your father’s murdered, and the first thing you do is lock lips with some cowboy you met just this morning? But in that dim stall, cocooned in the intimacy of their conversation, Dylan Frick had felt less like a stranger than a refuge...a refuge she had known for years.
Her mind a thousand
miles away, she nearly ran into Mathilda when she stopped abruptly to stare at the dark bulk of the mansion. An instant later, the kitchen door flew open, and members of the staff came pouring out. In pairs and small groups, they chattered among themselves. Hope couldn’t make out their words from this distance, but she heard the undercurrent of anxiety crackling through their conversations. And cold as the night was, none of them had taken time to grab a jacket.
Heart thumping, she hurried after Mathilda, who made a beeline for another of the senior staff members, a short, plump redhead Hope recognized as the head cook, Agnes Barlow. During the past few days, Hope had heard her underlings refer to the woman as The Dragon Lady...but only after checking over their shoulders to be certain she was out of earshot.
Casting a look at the younger kitchen helper with her, Agnes snapped her fleshy fingers. “Over there, and quickly now. It’s no safety drill this time.” She gestured with her flashlight toward the paddock area, where a couple of the hands and another maid were heading.
As the young woman scurried off, Agnes called after her, “And be sure you don’t go wandering off where I can’t find you.”
Ignoring Hope, who lingered just behind Mathilda, Agnes said, “Mr. Lowden came upstairs from the basement to tell us it’s full of smoke down there—a burned, electrical smell you could make out from the kitchen. He said everyone in our wing should exit, nice and orderly, until we’re given the all clear.”
“The family, as well?” Mathilda asked. “Have they all been told? And what about poor Mr. Colton? This cold could make him sicker.”
“Miss Amanda’s seeing to it that everyone’s informed, and she’s sent one of the hands to help Dr. Colton move his father if it comes to it.”
Concerned as she was about Amanda, Hope couldn’t stop wondering what Trip Lowden might have been doing in the basement. Certainly, he wouldn’t have gone to visit with the laundress, who barely tolerated intruders in her domain. Not even Coltons and their near relations, from what Hope had heard.
Her stomach crawled toward her throat as she wondered if Trip might have sneaked down on the chance of catching her there, or at the very least, finding out where his new “pet project” had gone.
“Has the fire department been called?” Mathilda asked, turning back toward the door. Neither smoke nor flames were visible, but a few fat snowflakes spun like dancers through her flashlight’s beam.
Agnes sniffed. “The whole place could go up before they get a fire truck out here, but Mr. Black grabbed an extinguisher from the kitchen and ran straight down to see what he could do about it.”
At the mention of the ranch’s maintenance man, Hope sucked in a sharp breath, remembering his wife’s unsettling stare. “Is Mrs. Black still down there? The last I saw of her, she was lighting into me for being late with the laundry. Told me she’d be working half the night because of me.”
Agnes blinked in surprise, as if a fence post had suddenly begun to speak. “You don’t think she could’ve started the fire with an iron or a dryer, do you?”
Intimidating as the laundress was, Hope was more concerned about her safety than whether she might be to blame. “What if she’s been burned or overcome by the smoke? Someone has to check.”
Before Hope even realized she was on the move, Mathilda grasped her arm to stop her from charging toward the house. “Surely, her own husband will look for her down there. Now, you’d best get over by the paddock with the others. It’s our designated staff meeting spot in case of an evacuation.”
Hope turned her head to look. “But Mrs. Black’s not there. And it’ll be my fault if she’s—” She cut herself off, unable to bear the thought. With the weight of grief and guilt already haunting her, she couldn’t imagine having one more death on her conscience.
“You leave it to Mr. Black and Mr. Lowden, and just do as you’re told,” Agnes insisted, fisting one hand on an ample hip and scowling when Hope didn’t move fast enough to suit her. “Have your ears frozen off, girl, or is it your brain that’s iced over? Don’t just stand there staring. Come along with me now, and leave Mrs. Perkins to her duties.”
Hope shot a pleading look toward Mathilda, but the housekeeper was already turning and ordering two of the hands to gather some scrap lumber for a small fire, to warm the coatless group.
Out by the paddock, someone had set up and lit several lanterns, which cast an eerie flickering light over the small knots of employees, many of whom paced and stamped their feet against the cold. Hope wondered, would the family soon join them? Or would they meet in one of the barns, where they’d stay dry and warmer, too?
The moment she could, she slipped away to join another of the maids, the younger woman she had nearly run over on her way out to the stable.
“Sorry about before,” Hope offered. Though the prim-and-proper Misty Mayhew—who had made several disparaging remarks about the quality of Hope’s work—was hardly her favorite person, she needed to keep the peace. Especially if she wanted her help.
Misty tucked an escaping black curl back into the bun she wore and narrowed her blue eyes. “What were you doing earlier, bursting out of the basement like a bat out of you-know-where?”
Normally, Hope would have laughed at Misty’s euphemism. But it was hard to find anything amusing tonight, particularly the suspicion she heard in the maid’s voice.
“To tell you the truth,” Hope said, “I was half-afraid Mrs. Black was right behind me, coming to tear my head off. You should’ve heard her down there.”
Misty winced. “Late bringing down the laundry, were you? That old troll’s such a horror!”
“I won’t argue with you there, but I’m still worried. Have you seen her? If the smoke was really as bad as I’ve heard, she surely would’ve had to come out.”
Misty shrugged her shoulders. “For all we know, she has a secret bunker down there—or she’s set the fire herself to smoke out any visitors.”
Seeing she would be no help, Hope turned to scan the small group, spotted Dylan trotting their way and ran over to tell him about the smoke coming up out of the basement.
“I’ve heard as much,” he told her, nodding toward the two hands returning with armloads of dry wood. “I’m heading in to see what I can do to help Amanda.”
“But we’re supposed to stay out here.”
“Not me, this time. Head of ranch security asked me to keep an eye on things while he’s away for a few weeks— Hope?” he studied her face, his forehead creasing. “What is it?”
After once more explaining her worry over Mrs. Black, she added, “I can’t let anyone else die because of me.”
He laid his warm hand over hers. “You can’t blame yourself for everything that happens, either. Here, you take this back now.” Stripping off his jacket, he draped it over her shoulders. “I’ll check on her and let you know as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, but be careful. I don’t—I don’t trust Lowden.”
“Trip?” The look that crossed Dylan’s face spoke volumes. Dislike and suspicion, even a hint of resentment. “He went down there with Mr. Black, right? Though it’s hardly like Lowden to make himself useful.”
“He was the one who came up to report the smoke and tell everyone they needed to evacuate the servants’ wing.”
Dylan hesitated. “That is strange. I’ve never seen or heard of him going down there for any reason. Thanks for the heads-up.”
Before she could say another word, he left her, heading toward the mansion.
As the snowflakes settled gently, Hope wrapped Dylan’s jacket tightly around her, and a trace of his masculine scent enveloped her, reassuring on some level.
But when she looked up, she noticed Misty in her maid’s dress, rubbing at the gooseflesh along her bare arms. And staring straight at her with eyes so angry that Hope couldn’t help but wonder: Did the gorgeous wrangler have a history of meeting other women inside dark stalls and haylofts?
* * *
Inside the house, Dylan walked
through the dark kitchen, his borrowed flashlight cutting through faint layers of smoky haze. He smelled it as well, a sharply acrid odor that reminded him that the mansion’s electrical panel was in a tiny utility room at one end of the basement.
The idea that the fire had started there made sense, considering the power outage that had preceded the evacuation. He only hoped that Mr. Black would be able to stop the smoldering before it ignited the whole mansion. As for Trip, well, maybe the walking parasite could at last make himself useful by holding a flashlight or something...unless his purpose in being down there was as sinister as Dylan couldn’t help suspecting.
The real question was, could Trip be in league with the female mastermind seen running from the scene of an assault last month? It certainly made sense, if the culprit was his sister, Tawny, or their stepmother, Darla Colton. With Jethro Colton dying, all three must know their years of living large on the ranch were about to come to an abrupt end.
Then again, thought Dylan, there was always the chance that he was looking for any excuse to lean on Trip, who seemed bent on being as obnoxious as possible to every employee he encountered. As if he’d done a damned thing to earn his position.
A few steps from the basement door, Dylan found Amanda Colton holding a folded kerchief to her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” he asked her, wishing he had another bandanna of his own. “I thought everyone was heading outside.”
“I sent the baby outside to the barn with Tom Brooks,” she said, referring to the bodyguard she’d hired to look after Cheyenne in the wake of the kidnapping attempt. A former marine and cop, the grandfatherly but still-robust man had fallen for Amanda’s daughter the moment he had met her. “But most of the others are holding off since there’s no visible fire, and this is the only area besides the basement where there’s smoke.”
“So you’re standing guard?”
She nodded. “Waiting to hear what Mr. Black says before I give the word to people in the other two wings.”
He nodded, seeing the sense in that and not in the least surprised that the eldest Colton sister would take charge. “If it comes to that, I’ll help you round up everybody. With the intercoms all out, that’ll take some legwork.”
The Colton Heir Page 5