He thought of the stunned amazement in her dark eyes when she had found him changing the flat tire on her truck—the tire he’d purposely punctured himself.
His plan was to quietly fix the tire and leave a note about it for her to discover in the morning, in another attempt to insinuate himself into her life. Instead, she’d awakened and come out armed with a cast-iron skillet and a flashlight, ready to take on a drunk cowboy.
His mouth twisted in a wry grin. The woman had grit, he’d give her that much. Another few seconds and she would have beaned him.
Instead, she had been pathetically grateful when she discovered he was repairing the flat tire. His scheme couldn’t have worked better. So why did he feel no satisfaction, just this guilt churning around in his gut for deceiving her?
Maybe because he was inexplicably drawn to the woman, in a way he hadn’t been to anyone since his wife walked out five years ago.
With another oath at the thought of his ex-wife, he dug through the briefcase carefully hidden in a cabinet under the bench where Maggie Rawlings had been sitting. He picked up his slim cellular phone and quickly punched one of the preprogrammed numbers.
Beckstead sounded tired when he answered—it was after midnight, California time—and wasted no time on pleasantries. “How is the assignment progressing? Are you any closer to Maggie Rawlings?”
“I want out.”
He could practically hear his boss’s frown over the phone. “What happened?”
Maggie Rawlings, and her big eyes, happened. He couldn’t very well voice the thought, though. “Nothing’s happened. I just don’t think I’m making any progress gaining the woman’s trust,” he lied.
“You’ve been on the job less than a week. Give it some time.”
“I don’t want to give it time. I just want out. I’m too damn old to rodeo.” That, at least, was the truth
His boss laughed. “You’re thirty-six, McKendrick. I think you have a few good rides left in you.”
“I’d rather be taking them on my ranch than in the arena against a bunch of twenty-year-olds ”
“Haven’t we had this conversation already? Look, the net is tightening on DeMarranville. I know you want to put him away every bit as much as I do, and all my instincts are telling me Dr. Rawlings is the one person who can help us do that.”
“Let me go at DeMarranville another way. Maybe I can work on a couple of his men who might be ready to cut a deal against him. Last I talked to Joey Perone, he sounded like he could be bought.”
“No dice. I need you there. Right where you are.” Beckstead paused. “You realize there’s more at stake here than just the disk, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“We both know it’s only a matter of time until DeMarranville tracks her down.”
“If he hasn’t already.”
“He hasn’t. Our sources inside his organization are quite clear on that. Not for lack of trying, though. His people are looking everywhere.”
“Damian is nothing if not efficient.”
“He doesn’t know she witnessed the hit on her husband—if he did, she never would have made it this far—but he wants the disk more than we do. He’s going to be very unhappy if she doesn’t give it up.”
“What if she doesn’t have it?”
“Do you think he’s going to play nice if he thinks she’s holding out on him? If she really doesn’t know what her husband was involved with, I’d hate to see her or the kid get caught in the crossfire.”
Son of a bitch. Colt stared out through the rain streaking down the window like tears. He hated to think of Maggie or her son in DeMarranville’s hands.
“I’d feel better knowing one of our agents was close to her, to offer some degree of protection,” Beckstead went on.
What would his boss say if he knew exactly how close Colt wanted to be to the accountant’s widow? “Okay,” he growled, pushing the thought away. “But the stakes just went up. I want three months away from the Bureau when I’m done here.”
“We bring down DeMarranville and you can have as much time as you want.”
But would it be enough to make him forget Maggie Rawlings, with her big eyes and her outlaw son?
Somehow he doubted it.
Chapter 4
Her kingdom for a decent shower.
With apologies to William Shakespeare, Maggie fought shivers as she turned off the trickling little spray that was all the Butte, Montana, campground facilities offered and reached for the thin towel she had hung over the stall door just a few moments before.
A month ago, if someone had told her the idea of a pounding hot shower would come to symbolize the height of luxury to her, she would have laughed hysterically.
Funny how she had taken so many things for granted before her life degenerated into chaos a month ago. A decent shower topped her list—with all the hot water she could dream of and complete, heavenly privacy instead of these flimsy shower stall doors between her and the rest of the world, this thin barrier that left her feeling entirely too vulnerable.
She could barely remember what it had been like to shower as long as she wanted, without this constant, nagging worry at leaving Nicky sleeping in their locked trailer for even these few stolen moments. What would she do if she had time to do more than just scrape her hair back into a wet braid and apply only the bare minimum of makeup?
Might as well wish for the moon while you’re dreaming, she scolded herself and slipped quickly into the clean clothing she had brought over from the trailer. This wasn’t so bad, anyway. It could be much, much worse. She and Nicky had clean, warm clothing to wear, food in their stomachs and a roof over their heads—even if it was a thin aluminum roof with a tendency to leak when it rained.
Besides, in a big city, what were the chances of your neighbor stopping to fix a flat tire in the middle of the night so you wouldn’t have to deal with an unpleasant surprise in the morning?
A picture of Colt McKendrick in the watery darkness back in Wyoming the week before crystallized in her mind and she smiled softly as she tugged a comb through her wet, tangled hair.
In the four days since she had found him fixing her flat, she couldn’t seem to shake the man from her thoughts. He sneaked in whenever she wasn’t looking, with that teasing grin, his strong shoulders and those shockingly blue eyes.
How long had it been since she had felt her pulse skitter and hop like that just by a heavy-lidded look from a man like Colt McKendrick? She laughed aloud at the absurdity of her question. When had she ever even had a heavy-lidded look from a gorgeous man before that night the weekend before in his camper?
Of all the times for her to develop an attraction for a man, when she was so strung out on nerves. Nothing could possibly come of it, after all. Even if she were the sort of woman who could interest a rough and rugged rodeo cowboy—which she most certainly was not, despite his flirtation the week before—she couldn’t spare the energy for this. She needed all her wits about her just to survive.
Besides, her emotional bank balance matched her real one—completely empty. She didn’t have anything left to give any man.
If he showed up and followed through on his invitation to dinner, she would simply have to turn it down. It was the safe, sensible thing to do, she knew it perfectly well. So why did the knowledge leave her with a little ache of regret in her chest?
She sighed. No sense worrying about it now. He’d probably forgotten all about them. On a whim, she decided to leave her hair loose, then gathered her clothing and walked out of the rest room into the early-morning air that smelled tart and fresh, of pine pitch and newly cut grass.
Maybe all this angst was for nothing. Maybe their paths wouldn’t cross again. He said he planned to compete in the Butte rodeo, but maybe he had changed his mind. Tonight was the opening round, and she had yet to see his fancy blue truck with the beat-up cab-over camper.
It probably would be for the best if he didn’t show up, although it would brea
k Nicky’s heart. He had his sights set on riding Colt’s horse, and when her stubborn little boy decided he wanted to do something, changing his mind could be a nightmare.
Wondering how she would possibly deter him, she rounded the corner of the little cinder block building housing the rest rooms, but any thought of Nicky was completely wrenched from her mind when she smashed headlong into a solid wall of flesh.
She swayed from the impact and her bag of toiletries tumbled to the ground. Her heart stuttered in sudden fear when hard hands clamped around her forearms, holding her immobile.
She couldn’t see who held her, could only focus on the wide male chest in front of her, but her survival instincts immediately kicked in, adrenaline gushing through her in hot, roiling waves.
Escape. She had to escape. Fighting and struggling against the taut grip, she tried fiercely to jerk away.
“Easy. Easy, now, Doc. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Gradually, like water through porous sandstone, reason seeped through her panic and she drew a ragged breath, stilling her frantic scramble to freedom.
She recognized that soft drawl—it belonged to the cowboy she had just been thinking about. Tilting her chin up, she found those startling blue eyes watching her carefully.
He gave her arms a reassuring squeeze then released her. “There now. That’s better. Sorry if I scared you, Doc. I was just trying to keep you from falling over after you came barrelin’ around the corner.”
Her fear ebbed, leaving embarrassment in its wake. Heat soaked her cheeks and she fought the urge to press her hands to them. Okay, so she had overreacted just a tad. What must he think of her, fighting and clawing at him like he was some kind of mad rapist on the loose?
“I...it’s not your fault,” she mumbled. “You just startled me. I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I guess I didn’t expect anybody else to be out this early in the morning.”
His mouth creased into a smile. “No harm done.”
She bent to pick up her scattered toiletries, and he immediately crouched to help. “Here. Let me get this.”
“I can do it. Really.”
“It’s no trouble.”
They worked in silence for the few moments it took to pick up her things. It was unnerving, having him help her collect her most intimate belongings: her razor, toothbrush, the scented peach soap she indulged in.
He must have just come from the men’s shower himself. His hair was damp, his cheeks and his chin freshly shaved. In the pale, thin hush of the morning she became acutely, painfully, aware of him: the blunt tips of his fingers clutching her delicate things. The scent of his aftershave, a subtle, erotic combination of leather and sagebrush. The layer of crisp dark hair on his arms, the little scar at the corner of his mouth that curved up like an extension of his smile, and those deep blue eyes that reminded her of a clear, pristine mountain lake.
She had no business noticing anything about Colt McKendnck, let alone the mountain-lake color of his eyes. She yanked in her thoughts sharply and cleared her throat. “When did you arrive?” she asked. “It must have been late—I didn’t see you come in before I went to sleep last night.”
Those eyes took on a teasing glint. “You weren’t watching for me, now, were you, Doc?”
Drat her fair complexion that showed every emotion. She felt her cheeks flood with color again. “Nicky was,” she mumbled.
It was the truth, if not the complete truth. Since the moment they arrived at the campground the day before, her son had watched every rig pull in with an eagerness usually reserved for Santa Claus or birthday parties. He had become increasingly dejected as the day wore on when none of the arrivals turned out to be his new pal.
What Maggie didn’t add—what she couldn’t possibly admit, even to herself, except in her most secret of hearts—was that she had watched each newcomer with the same eagerness as her son. And been just as disappointed when he didn’t show up.
Somehow Colt McKendrick had seeped into her subconscious, and she couldn’t seem to shake him loose. She would definitely have to do something about it.
When her things were finally collected and stored safely in her rattan bag, they both stood. Colt rested one of those blunt-fingered hands on the cinder block wall of the rest rooms, blocking her way as effectively as if he still held her in those muscled arms. “Now that we’ve got that settled, Doc, how about you tell me what’s got you so jumpy.”
Startled, she met his gaze. His eyes held curiosity and a concern she didn’t want to see there. She quickly looked down at the ground. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.
“Come on, Doc. You’re more skittish than a broomtail in a nest full of diamondbacks. Is it me?”
Just like that, her nervousness disappeared. She pursed her lips and gave him a quelling look at his arrogance. “Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you, McKendrick?”
He grinned, unrepentant. “Just thought I’d ask. Knowing your feelings about us saddle bums and all.”
The grin faded and he studied her for a moment, those blue eyes entirely too perceptive. “You know, if you need somebody to talk to, I’ve been told I can be a pretty good listener.”
If only she could talk about it. The desire to unload some of her burdens was so powerful she wanted to weep. Maybe if she could share it with someone, this constant fear would ease, would lose its hold over her every waking moment.
He would protect them.
The thought slipped into her mind, more seductive than any physical attraction she could ever feel for him. Somehow she knew Colt McKendrick would do everything in his power to keep them safe.
She opened her mouth, searching for the words to begin, then snapped it shut again. What was she doing? She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell anyone. Her troubles weren’t something she could just blurt out to a virtual stranger. I cowered in the bathroom while two men executed my husband in cold blood and now they’re after me and I jump out of my skin any time someone says “boo” to me and I’m ashamed of myself for it but I can’t seem to help it. Oh, and thank you for asking.
Besides, this was not his problem. She couldn’t drag him or anybody else into the mess she had made of things. She absolutely refused to put anyone else in harm’s way.
No, she wouldn’t tell Colt McKendrick anything. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said instead, fingers clutching her bag tightly. She couldn’t ease her grip any more than she could keep her voice from sounding distant and polite, as if she were refusing tea in the drawing room of one of the society mansions her mother used to drag her to. “I’m sorry, but...I have to go. I left Nicky sleeping back in our trailer, and I wouldn’t want him to wake up alone.”
He lifted his hand from the wall and straightened to give her room to pass. “I mean it, Doc. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”
She gave a quick nod and began to walk quickly away.
“Hey,” he called after her. “If you aren’t busy later this morning, I’d be happy to give your little desperado that ride I promised him on Scout. The exercise would be good for him after travelin’ all day yesterday.”
“For Nicholas or for Scout?”
He grinned again. Despite all her efforts to restrain it, her traitorous heart fluttered in her chest, and she returned his smile with a small one of her own.
“Both, probably,” he answered.
“I know you promised, but you really don’t have to do that.”
“Eleven o’clock work for you?”
She did a quick assessment of her schedule. She had to prepare the exam trailer for any injured riders from tonight’s competition, but that wouldn’t take her much time. An hour, tops.
And Nicky wanted to ride Colt’s horse so badly. How could she refuse her son this one small thing, after she had dragged him away from all that he loved, forced him to give up everything secure in his little life?
“Yes,” she finally answered. “I suppose eleven would be fine.”
“Mee
t us at the practice racetrack. You know where that is?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Good.” He smiled that teasing grin she was beginning to find entirely too addictive. “I’ll see you then.”
He didn’t think they’d show up.
Colt kept one eye on the pathway from the campground while he checked Scout’s tack and adjusted the stirrups to an appropriate length for an almost-six-year-old.
It wouldn’t surprise him if she stayed away. She had been so skittish this morning, avoiding his gaze and hanging on to that bag like it was filled with gold.
Even nearly four hours later, Maggie’s tantalizing peach scent still filled his senses. Fresh-scrubbed from the shower, with her skin as dewy as the morning grass and her hair still damp, she’d been damn near irresistible.
When she’d come barreling around the corner and landed in his arms, it had taken every last ounce of his self-control to keep from stealing a little taste.
He wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting a woman. The desire pulsed under his skin and left him itchy and uneasy. It had sure as hell complicated what was supposed to be an easy assignment.
He had to put a lid on it. Simple as that. He wanted DeMarranville too much to let something as insignificant as simple lust screw it up for him. He was bound to make mistakes if he let his hormones do the thinking for him, so the trick would be figuring out a way to keep his distance from the beautiful Dr. Rawlings at the same time try to coax her to open up emotionally.
A warm breeze puffed out of the mountains, ruffling the hair at the base of his neck. It made him think of home and the ranch and the simple joy of working out in the morning sunshine.
To his surprise he felt little more than a passing twinge. He ought to be feeling lousy right about now since he was missing out on his vacation. The idea of spending uninterrupted time at the ranch was all that had kept him going through those last miserable weeks on the Spider Militia case. So why wasn’t he feeling worse?
The Wrangler and the Runaway Mom Page 5