by Gail Barrett
Cole wiped his eyes, then straightened and hauled air to his searing lungs. Men now shouted and ran around him, using shovels and hoses to fight the fire. He glimpsed Rusty through the smoke, balancing on his crutches, hosing down the cabin to keep the sparks from igniting the roof. Others leaped aboard tractors and balers, rushing to get the machinery out of harm’s way.
Earl Runningcrane dashed over, his face covered with soot. “Boss! I opened the gates and let the cattle out. They were starting to stampede.”
“Good.” Cole was grateful he’d thought to check. “Take charge of the men. I’ll get the rest of the horses out.”
Bethany darted past him, then ran back into the barn, and his belly went rigid with fear. The fire was mounting, pushing sparks over the yard, threatening to explode. He had to get her back out!
Swearing, he ducked into the barn behind her, choking in the roiling smoke. The air had become a furnace, and sweat streamed down his face and back. Horses whinnied above the roar. His heart banged against his chest. Bethany came from a stall with a thrashing horse, determination etched on her face.
“Wait outside,” he shouted, hoping she listened this time. “I’ll get the final two.”
He hurried into Gunner’s stall, then circled behind him, trying to force the horse to move. But Gunner balked and kicked, narrowly missing Cole’s chest.
“Come on, come on!” he urged. Knowing every second counted, he grabbed the halter and flung it over Gunner’s head. Then he hauled the panicked horse from the stall and got him moving toward the open door.
But a section of roof crashed nearby, flinging up ashes and sparks. Gunner reared up, threatening to strike him with his flailing hooves. Cole gritted his teeth, using all his strength to pull him from the burning barn.
He let go of the horse and turned back, heaving air to his fiery lungs. He coughed, gagging on the pungent smoke, but couldn’t take time to rest. He had one more horse to get out.
But the fire was growing stronger, more volatile, fanned by the gusting wind. Embers shot from the roof, torching spot fires. Flames roared with deadly menace, the barn on the verge of collapse.
Bethany dashed back inside. Cole’s heart halted, stark fear strangling his throat. She’d never make it. The rest of the roof was about to collapse!
Terrified, he went in pursuit. Flames crackled around him. The tack room had become a raging wall of fire. Dodging falling timbers, he sprinted toward the remaining stall.
The air vibrated as the fire gained fury. Black smoke streamed from the flames.
And a wild feeling of panic churned inside him. No horse was worth Bethany’s life.
“Bethany!” he hollered, but he couldn’t see her through the stinging smoke. His urgency at a flash point, he vaulted a burning log, then plowed through the wall of heat. Flames hissed and crackled on every side.
Then Bethany appeared with Bill’s horse, Blaze, her eyes wild in her blackened face. She’d thrown a halter on the horse, and had a towel draped over his head.
The flames grew more erratic. The fire boiled up behind them, roaring like a freight train in the trembling air.
They only had seconds left.
He grabbed the lead from her hands. “Go!” he shouted, relieved when she listened and ran toward the door.
Another beam broke free and fell. Blaze reared, and Cole battled to hang on to the lead. His pulse rocketing, his muscles straining, he pulled the frenzied horse outside.
A deafening boom came from behind him. Men shouted and sprang away. Cole released the horse, then whipped around as the roof of the barn collapsed.
Sparks shot over the yard. Coughing and wheezing badly, Cole hauled air into his scorched lungs. They’d made it. They’d gotten out safely.
But Bethany had nearly died.
Desperate to find her, he searched through the chaos in the yard. He spotted her off to the side, bent over double, her hands braced on her knees. Swamped with relief, he closed his eyes and struggled to control his rioting nerves. But he couldn’t calm down, couldn’t contain the emotions careening inside. He could have lost her inside that barn.
Urgently needing to touch her, he strode across the yard. She straightened, and their eyes connected through the drifting smoke. He caught the telltale wobble of her mouth, the vulnerable sheen in her eyes and suddenly lost control.
He reached her and grabbed her arms. “What the hell were you thinking? How could you risk your life like that?”
Her full lips parted. Her eyes turned huge in her face. “I had to save the horses. I couldn’t let them die.”
So she’d risked her life instead.
Men sprinted around them. His lungs heaving, Cole grappled to regain control. He didn’t want to care about her. He didn’t want to feel these emotions bulging inside. He tightened his hold on her slender arms, the fragile feel of her making him angrier yet.
She bit her lip, her eyes uncertain in her sooty face. Shudders wracked her slender body—shock from the near-death experience setting in.
Swearing, he pulled her close and enveloped her in his arms. Then he closed his eyes, absorbing the tremors running through her, inhaling the smoky smell of her hair. And despite his fury, despite his terror that she could have died, he couldn’t help but admire her courage in entering that barn.
Firebrands dropped around them. Embers sailed past in the wind. A hot spot took off beside them as the fire made a run across the dried grass.
“Watch out, boss!” someone shouted.
Jolted back to reality, Cole pulled Bethany to safety farther away from the barn. Then, not trusting himself around her, he forced himself to let her go and step back. But his gaze continued to devour her, sweeping the delicate line of her jaw, the ashes clinging to her unbound hair, the vulnerable curve of her lips.
“I…I’d better go help my dad,” she whispered, her voice raspy from breathing smoke.
Too overcome to speak, he didn’t answer. She turned, and he watched her go, shaken to the core by the feelings she’d evoked. Like ripping a bandage from a wound, she’d bared feelings he’d kept buried for years, leaving him vulnerable, raw, exposed.
And no way could he let that happen. He couldn’t care. He couldn’t let himself like her again. Because caring would lead to heartbreak when she left.
And he refused to give her the power to destroy him again.
Gathering his scattered defenses, he turned to face his barn. All that remained was a heap of burning rubble—a bonfire blazing in the night. His men stood motionless beside it, knowing nothing would save it now.
Suddenly depleted, he watched the bright flames twirl against the sky. Everything he’d worked for—the safe, reliable world he’d built—had just gone up in smoke.
And he feared that nothing would ever be the same.
Several hours later, as dawn broke against the eastern sky, Cole once again stood by his barn. Exhaustion hammered his skull. The acrid stench of burnt wood stung his sinuses, filling the air with a murky haze. He took a pull from a bottle of water, the extent of the destruction making him numb.
The barn was toast. The pumper truck from Maple Cove’s volunteer fire department continued to douse the water on smoldering logs, but there was nothing left to save.
He rubbed his stinging eyes and exhaled, struggling to make sense of the fire. He doubted an electrical problem had caused it; he’d upgraded the wiring when he’d renovated the barn. He’d also installed a state-of-the-art sprinkler system—which had failed to come on.
He hardened his jaw, unable to avoid the conclusion that had been dancing on the periphery of his mind all night. The fire had to be arson. Anything else was too coincidental, given the recent attacks on his ranch.
One of the volunteer firefighters walked over, drawing Cole’s gaze. “The fire inspector is on his way,” he said. “I’m sending the trucks back now. We’ll keep one here in case there are any flare-ups.”
Cole nodded. “Thanks, Bob. I appreciate the help.�
� Although it wouldn’t do any good.
Grimacing, he returned his gaze to the rubble. His cows were scattered across the fields, his horses traumatized from the ordeal. He could only thank God that none of his ranch hands had been hurt.
His thoughts veered back to Bethany and that nerve shattering moment when she’d entered the collapsing barn. He shuddered, not wanting to remember the terrifying ordeal. Because the thought of her risking her life…
He quickly blocked off the thought. She’d survived. She was fine.
But he knew one thing. He had to keep his distance. He couldn’t let down his guard. There’d be no more intimate talks. No more moonlit walks. And he definitely wouldn’t kiss her again. He would stay far away from Bethany until her vacation was up and she returned to Chicago where she belonged.
Earl Runningcrane jogged up, his hair wet from a recent shower. “Hey, boss. Just to let you know, we’ve rounded up the horses. They’re in the pasture behind the house.”
Cole ran his hand through his filthy hair, dislodging ashes and soot. “Any injuries?”
“Not that I could tell. We’ll check them better once the trucks leave and the commotion dies down. They’re too nervous to let us close.” He paused. “How are the cows?”
Cole exhaled. “Several got injured in the stampede. The vet’s on his way.” He hoped they didn’t have to put them down. It would be his own damned fault if they did. If he’d left them to graze in the fields, if he hadn’t insisted on saving a few hours of work by penning them close to the barn….
“The fire inspector’s on his way, too,” he added.
“I’ll wait for them if you want to get some breakfast,” Earl offered. “I already ate.”
Cole nodded, suddenly aware of his gnawing hunger. “I won’t be long. I’ll grab a shower and something to eat. Call me as soon as they show up.”
His steps weary, he trudged toward the house. He skirted the porch, then veered toward the mudroom around the back, knowing Hannah would skin him alive if he went traipsing through the great room covered in soot.
He inhaled, his chest still fiery from breathing smoke. He didn’t need the inspector to tell him the fire was arson. He had no doubts about that. What he didn’t know was whether one of his ranch hands was to blame.
A sick feeling broke loose inside him at the thought. He knew his men. He’d worked beside them for years. He’d even attended high school with some and played on the same sports teams. And they’d never given him a reason to doubt their loyalty.
But he couldn’t ignore the facts. Whoever had torched his barn had known that he was shorthanded. He’d known that Cole had sent men off last night to get those cattle trucks. And he’d managed to set the fire, disabling the security system and sprinklers, without anyone noticing him hanging around—or tipping off the dogs.
Cole tightened his jaw, the idea that he had a traitor in his midst was a kick to the throat. He didn’t tolerate betrayal.
And anyone who abused his trust would pay the price.
He neared the mudroom door and glanced up, then spotted a mound of clothes on the stoop. No, not clothes, something covered by a blanket. He slowed to a stop and frowned. That hadn’t been there when he’d left the house.
Sudden trepidation gripped him. He scanned the bumpy mound, his heart beginning to thud. Then he spotted something peeking out from beneath the blanket.
A human hand.
His lungs closed up. His blood coursed hard in his skull. He skirted the pile and made out a pair of boots. Military boots, he realized with a jolt, belonging to a man wearing camouflage clothes.
His heart slamming against his rib cage, he whipped back around and scanned the yard. The horses still stood in the field beyond the windbreak. The branches of the cottonwoods swayed, their leaves fluttering in the morning breeze. The muted roar of the pumper truck droned from near the barn.
Nothing else moved. Nothing seemed out of place.
But someone had dumped a corpse.
Dread trickling through him, Cole turned back to the man. He made himself approach him, then tugged off the blanket and nudged him over with his foot.
He was definitely dead—executed, judging by the bullet hole between his eyes.
Swallowing a spurt of bile, Cole forced himself to study the bloodless face. He had dark, military-style hair, a neatly trimmed goatee. He appeared to be in his thirties, medium height with a muscular build.
Cole knew one thing. He’d never seen him before.
So what was a dead soldier doing here?
Cole pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number.
“Prescott,” his father’s bodyguard answered.
“We’ve got a problem. There’s a dead body at the mudroom door.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Cole clicked off the phone and slid it into the pocket of his jeans. He continued circling the man, then spotted an envelope tucked into his belt.
He stepped closer. The envelope was addressed to him.
His pulse accelerating, he crouched down, tugged a bandana from his pocket so he wouldn’t erase any fingerprints, then carefully extracted the envelope from the soldier’s belt.
Still using the bandana, he opened it, pulled out a type-written note, and read the words:
Turn the senator over now—or the Indian woman will die.
Chapter 7
Cole stood beside his father’s bodyguards and stared at the murdered man, feeling as though he’d crash-landed in an alien world. The kidnappers had done far worse than burn his barn or shoot his livestock. They’d executed this unknown man.
Stark fear trickled through him. A terrible sense of foreboding whispered up his spine. These same murderers were holding his sister hostage. They’d invaded his property and dropped off a corpse on his doorstep—proving how close they could get.
And they’d threatened to kill Bethany next.
The muscles of his belly tightened. He shifted his gaze to the wide-open fields surrounding his ranch, feeling like a lab rat trapped in a maze. Exactly who was he fighting? Where were they watching him from? And why had they killed this man?
His thoughts swerved to his father, and he curled his hands into fists. His father had to know more than he’d let on.
And it was time he revealed the truth.
His anger stirring, Cole turned toward the mudroom. But the door swung open, and his father stepped outside. “What’s going on here?” he boomed with his usual bluster.
His gaze dropped to the man lying motionless on the stoop, and the blood drained from his face. “Oh, God. He…he’s dead.” He swayed, then clutched the porch post for support.
Cole lunged forward and grabbed his arm. “Are you all right?”
The senator’s dazed eyes met his, the fading bruises standing out on his ashen face. “No, of course I’m not all right. He’s dead!”
Cole went still. “You know this man?”
“Yes.” The senator turned even grayer, then flicked an uneasy glance at the corpse. “He’s Rick Garrison. I hired him to rescue Lana.”
“Oh, hell,” Gage Prescott said, his voice thick with disgust.
“He is—was—a mercenary. Former Special Forces. He was supposed to be one of the best.”
And the kidnappers had managed to kill him. Cole’s veins filled with ice.
“I hired him two weeks ago,” his father continued. “I had to do something. I was desperate. I was afraid they were going to hurt Lana. But we lost contact. He didn’t call or check in with me like we’d arranged.” More color leached from his face. “Now I know why.”
Cole dragged his gaze back to the dead man. The hair stirred on the nape of his neck. His father’s enemies had taken out a professional sniper.
Who the hell were they up against?
“Who killed him?” he asked.
His father didn’t answer, and Cole’s hold on his patience slipped. “Damn it, I need to know! These people have kidnapped Lana. They’ve
shot my cows, burned my barn and now they’ve murdered this man. I need to know what’s going on before anyone else gets killed.”
He thrust the note at his father, fury vibrating his voice. “No. More. Lies.”
“He’s right,” Gage said. “You need to come clean. And it’s time we involved the police.”
His father unfolded the note and read it. Then he sagged against the support beam, his face so ashen Cole leaped forward again to help.
His father waved him off. “You’re right. I…I’ll tell you. All of you. Everything.” He dragged in a reedy breath. “You’d better call the sheriff and get him out here. Call Donald and Bonnie Gene. And Dylan…put him on the speaker phone.”
His face bloodless, he shuddered hard. “I…I’ll be waiting inside.” He handed the note to his bodyguard, then stumbled into the house.
Still furious, Cole swung his gaze back to the murdered man. He intended to get answers, all right. His father wasn’t evading his questions this time. Because more than his cattle ranch was now at stake.
They were fighting for their lives.
Hank Kelley slumped on the sofa in the great room an hour later, staring at the whiskey in his highball glass. Liquid courage. He needed it today. The moment he’d dreaded for weeks had arrived. He had to reveal what a fool he’d been.
He lifted his gaze to his half brother, Donald, sitting across from him in a chair, his wife, Bonnie Gene, at his side. Donald had barely spoken to him since he’d arrived, his disdain for him clear. And when he learned what else Hank had done…
He gulped down another swallow of whiskey as the rest of the group took their seats—the county sheriff, Wes Colton, was there, as well as the ranch foreman, Rusty, and his daughter, Bethany, who’d received the threat in the note. Cole stood between the two bodyguards, his arms crossed, his face as unyielding as the rocks on the fireplace along the wall.