With One More Look At You

by Mary J. Williams

  "But I didn't." Knowing it was a lame response didn't stop Forbes. He had no reasonable explanation. Besides, it was all he could come up with.

  "What about missing Newt's funeral?" Sophie crossed the space that separated them, getting in Forbes' face. "I thought you put business before your father. Some pretty nasty thoughts floated through my head. All the while, you were fighting for your life."

  "By that time, the fight was over. I won. However, I was weak as a newborn kitten, so traveling was out of the question."

  Sophie's eyes narrowed. Forbes could see the storm brewing behind them. He remembered that she had a temper, though he had never experienced its full wrath.

  "Where exactly are you hurt?"

  Not liking the tone of her voice—all calm and reasonable—Forbes pointed toward his side."

  "Asshole!" Sophie jabbed his shoulder—the left one on the opposite side of the wound. "You should have let us know."

  "Well…"

  "Who knows?" Forbes opened his mouth to answer, but Sophie beat him to it. "Mike and Jerry," she said with a huff. "Not Maeve. She would have told me. Aaron? Of course."

  "What was the point of worrying you and Maeve?"

  "Me? You mean Maeve. Period. Don't include me. I've been off your radar for twelve years. Any information I learned about you was secondhand at best. Old news." Sophie frowned, shaking her head. "That discussion is for another time. I have to ride some fence, and you need to get to work. Show me."

  Automatically, Forbes' hand went to his side as if hiding his injury was still an option.

  "It isn't that bad, Sophie."

  "Sure. A mere scratch kept you in the hospital for how long?" Sophie swatted his hand away.

  "A month. Give or take."

  "Give, if my guess is right.

  Forbes watched as Sophie bent closer, carefully lifting the edge of his t-shirt. Her gasp told him what he already knew. It didn't look good. Though the doctors had done a stellar job saving his life and stitching him up, they weren't miracle workers. It looked red and puffy. Better than a week ago, but not as good as it would after a few more months of healing.

  The scar would be a doozy. About six inches long and just jagged enough to let anybody looking know that it hadn't been put there with the care of a surgeon.

  "Does it hurt?" Sophie's touch was light as a feather, her index finger tracing the line of stitches. When Forbes let out a groan, she would have moved away if he hadn't caught her hand, holding it where it was.

  "It hurts a little. More of a dull ache. There have been a few times when the itching has been so bad, I wanted to rip at it with all ten fingernails. But your touch is so cool and soft, it makes me forget everything else."

  The groan turned into a hiss, making Sophie chuckle.

  "You kissed me."

  "I kissed your injury." Sophie straightened. "I don't have any personal experience, but rumor has it a kiss will make it better."

  Interestingly, Forbes thought it worked. Or Sophie's lips distracted him. He was fairly certain it was the latter.

  "I thought you were mad at me."

  "I guess it goes to prove that anger doesn't preclude me hating the thought of your pain. Whatever I can do to help, I will."

  "I have a few suggestions."

  Shaking her head, Sophie had scurried away before Forbes was able to pull her back.

  That had been yesterday.

  With a sigh, he gave up and left his bed. It hadn't been the time—or the place—for him to kiss her the way he wanted. If it felt as good as he anticipated, they wouldn't stop with just a kiss.

  Naked, Forbes considered heading to the kitchen for a glass of juice. As he reached for a pair of sweats from the dresser, a flash of light outside the window caught his eye. Frowning, he moved quickly, standing to the side, out of sight so he could get a good look at the area two stories down.

  At first, he saw nothing but black. No moon, the night was filled with shadows and not much else. He knew a guard patrolled the area. One here, two at the barn. The cameras were operational. Plus, lights came on at the slightest movement, illuminating the grounds like a baseball field at game time.

  The guard never carried a flashlight. It made him a target. The men relied on their natural ability to see in the dark—and the best night-vision goggles available—when on their rounds. That meant whoever was out there—if Forbes hadn't imagined it—was probably up to no good.

  There it was. A burst of light, then darkness. Smart. Instead of a steady beam, the person used the flashlight only when needed. Forbes could pick out a figure dressed in head-to-toe black moving toward the side of the garage.

  Why the hell hadn't the motion-sensitive lights come on? He would ream out the guy who installed them, but that was for later. Right now, he had something more important to deal with.

  Slipping on the sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, Forbes took his gun from the end table drawer. Checking to make certain it was loaded, he hurried from the room, grabbing the com-unit as he went. He called to the guard. Twice. Nothing but silence. Shit. That wasn't good

  Quick and quiet. Forbes knew it was his best chance to catch the prowler. Hopefully before the person perpetrated whatever mischief was on his or her agenda.

  Halfway down the stairs, Forbes stopped when he saw he wasn't alone. Ahead of him by half the length of the living room was Sophie—fully dressed and carrying a baseball bat.

  Forbes took the remaining steps three at a time, catching up in a few strides.

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Son of a—" Sophie spun around. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop sneaking up on me? What if I'd smashed in your head? Or worse?"

  "Worse than a smashed head?" Forbes maneuvered himself in front of Sophie, taking the lead. He wouldn't waste his time by telling her to go back to her room. Nor would he ask what she was doing up and dressed at this time of the night when she had promised to curtail her nocturnal wanderings. He wasn't letting it go. But at the moment, they had more important issues at hand.

  "There is almost always something worse," Sophie informed him, trailing close behind.

  "I guess you're right." They were near the side exit. Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he looked over his shoulder. "Is there any chance I can convince you to stay in the house?" Sophie snorted, giving Forbes his answer. "Then, please. I beg of you. Keep behind me. Gun beats baseball bat every time. And if I say hit the ground? Do it. No argument. No hesitation."

  "You're the expert."

  It would have been nice if Sophie had thought of that sooner—before she left her room. But again, not the time.

  Cracking open the door, Forbes listened. A faint noise to his right. And the smell of…? The fumes from an aerosol can? Before he could decide, the faint noise turned into the sound of somebody running—away from the house. One of the floodlights finally engaged. It happened just in time for him to see a body slip from the light into the dark.

  Forbes took off at full speed, shouting, "Stay here, Sophie. I mean it. And lock the door."

  In his high school football days, Forbes had been known as a quick and agile quarterback. As an adult, he was just plain fast. However, in this case, fast wasn't good enough. Before he had the chance to catch up, he heard the slam of a door and the roar of a vehicle taking off. Skidding to a halt, he didn't have the chance to get a visual through the cloud of dust kicked up by the spinning tires. Coughing, Forbes squinted. Taillights. Nothing more.

  Diesel, by the sound of the engine. In all likelihood, that meant a truck. Mind working possibilities, Forbes started back. Raising the com unit, he hit the send button.

  "Moncrieff? Drysdale? Do you copy?"

  "Copy, boss," Drysdale answered immediately.

  "Copy, boss." Moncrieff gave his reply seconds later.

  "Any sign of trouble?" he asked the men patrolling the barn area.

  "Negative.
It's been quiet," Drysdale informed him.

  "Any word from Pike?" Forbes still couldn't reach the other guard.

  "Negative, boss." Moncrieff paused. "Do we have a man down?"

  "Too soon to tell. Give me ten. Over."

  Forbes scrolled through the numbers on his phone. The truck left tire tracks. Deep ones if the dust they left behind was any indication. Forbes' first instinct was to call his usual forensics team, then stopped. Pictures and casts of the tracks. It didn't take specialized equipment. As chief of police, he had to start trusting the Cloverdale officers under his command. His thumb pushed the button before he could change his mind.

  "Chief?" Ollie Wabash sounded surprisingly alert for this time of the night.

  "There's been more trouble at my place, Ollie."

  "Anybody hurt?"

  "No. A prowler. I'll write a report when I get to the office. For now, here's what I need you to do."

  Forbes hung up, checking the time. Three thirty. All things considered, it would be an hour, maybe more, before the Cloverdale P.D. arrived. By then, the sun would be up—or close to it. The adrenaline rush started to wear off, and that bed he hadn't been able to sleep in sounded pretty good about now.

  "Forbes?" Sophie met him by the garage.

  "Damn it, Sophie! I told you to stay in the house."

  "Since that was my plan, I'm going to let that tone of male arrogance in your voice slide—this time. Just as I was shutting the door, I heard a groan."

  "Naturally, you had to investigate."

  "Naturally. Do you want to stand here and argue? Or can I finish my story?"

  "Your story. By all means." In spite of himself, Forbes felt his lips twitch. "We'll pick up the argument later."

  "Jackass." Sophie turned away, but not before Forbes saw a smile. "I found your missing security guard. Come with me."

  Forbes followed Sophie into the house. Maeve, in her robe, slippers, and a head full of curlers, stood beside one of the bar stools, a bottle of peroxide and bandages on the counter. In the chair sat the guard, Kyle Pike. Dried blood ran from his hairline, down his cheek. On his temple was the beginning of a nasty bruise. Seeing Forbes, Kyle lost what little color remained on his face, his skin going from sickly gray to stark white.

  "I have no excuse, boss," Kyle said. Back rigid, it looked as if he would shoot to his feet, ready to stand at attention. Maeve kept him in place with a firm hand and a warning look any drill sergeant would covet.

  "I agree," Forbes said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "The man is injured, Forbes." Maeve shook her head as she cleaned the gash on Kyle's head. She had become an expert at fixing all kinds of nicks and scrapes that were an inevitable part of ranch life.

  "I messed up, ma'am. My patrol. My responsibility." Kyle raised his chin. "I officially tender my resignation, sir."

  "We'll talk about that later." Forbes believed in second chances—especially since Pike was the only one hurt. But he wasn't giving the ex-soldier a pass until he heard some details. "What happened out there?"

  Kyle shook his head. "I was making my rounds. Everything seemed normal. I was about to report in with Drysdale and Moncrieff when I heard what sounded like a wounded animal. I flipped down my goggles to get a better look and then…"

  "Go on," Forbes urged impatiently. Though it didn't take a genius to figure out what happened next.

  "Somebody hit me from behind." Pike raised a hand to his head. "Or the side, I guess. Next thing I remember, Ms. Lipton was kneeling next to me."

  Maeve applied the last piece of adhesive tape. Removing her disposable gloves, she tossed them into the garbage. "Get yourself to a doctor right away, young man. Head injuries are nothing to take lightly."

  "Thank you, Ms. Kincaid."

  "Maeve is right, Pike. I'll get Moncrieff to drive you to Spokane."

  "He's on duty. I can—"

  "You can't do anything but take orders. Understood? I have reinforcements on the way." Forbes gave Pike a pat on the back. "Don't worry. Your job is safe. It could have happened to anybody."

  Five minutes later, Pike and Moncrieff were on their way.

  "You don't believe that," Sophie said. She stood beside Forbes, watching the black SUV disappear from view.

  "What don't I believe?"

  "That it could have happened to anybody."

  "Sure I do." Forbes smiled when he saw the doubtful look Sophie shot him. "Anybody but me."

  "That's what I thought." Shaking her head, Sophie rubbed her arms.

  If Forbes had a jacket, he would have played the gallant card, draping it over Sophie's shoulders. Or he could have suggested he share some of his body heat with her. Holding her close, his hands rubbing slowly up and down her back sounded like a good idea. Until he remembered where they were and what was happening. Lately, another time seemed to be his mantra—at least when it came to Sophie.

  "It's chilly out here. Let's get inside."

  "I need to show you something first." Sophie let him back the way they had come walking past the door. "I smelled something in the air the first time we came outside."

  Forbes had forgotten. "I smelled it too."

  "It seems our prowler had a purpose." Sophie pointed to the side of the house.

  "Well, shit."

  "My thoughts exactly."

  The penmanship was sloppy. Obviously, the author hadn't been able to finish. However, sprayed in big, black letters, the message was clear.

  SOPHIE DIE

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SOPHIE WAS CONTENT to leave the maybe it was, maybe it wasn't a death threat to Forbes, his hired guns, and what looked like the entire Cloverdale police department. She was a busy woman. Too busy to dissolve in a fit of vapors or hide behind closed doors. Or whatever Forbes seemed to think was appropriate behavior. He tried to argue her out of business as usual. But she wouldn't hear of it.

  Running a working ranch meant no one had a day off. Animals needed tending. Not to mention the myriad of matters that couldn't be put off if she wanted to keep her well-oiled machine operational. In an emergency, Sophie would allow for some leeway. A few hastily spray-painted words didn't qualify. Was she a bit unnerved? Absolutely. She wasn't a fool. The secret wasn't to think about it. Most of all, she wanted Forbes to think the incident hadn't phased her in the least.

  Forbes had spent the past hour supervising his officers to make certain they knew what they were doing. He seemed satisfied that they could work on their own long enough for him to stop for something to eat. After washing his hands, he joined Sophie at the counter.

  "Maybe they were going to write Sophie Diet," she reasoned, smiling her thanks when Maeve set a plate in front of her that sported a hot, crispy waffle.

  His cup of coffee halfway to his mouth, Forbes hesitated. The look he gave her was a cross between incredulous and exacerbated. Sophie knew it was ridiculous. But she would rather laugh than cry any day.

  "You think somebody snuck onto the ranch with the purpose of letting you know you needed to lose weight? In what crazy world are you fat?"

  Sophie knew she was lucky. Her metabolism ate up the calories as fast as she could pour them in.

  "It isn't about losing pounds but eating better. Sometimes I don't make the healthiest food choices," Sophie explained, drowning her waffle in maple syrup.

  "It isn't about your eating habits, Sophie." Though his words belied his wince when she added another layer of butter. "For your safety—and my peace of mind—it would be better if you stayed inside. Until I can get you a permanent bodyguard."

  "That isn't happening." Sophie held up her fork. "I don't need a professional when the ranch is filled with willing and able cowboys. There is always somebody around, Forbes."

  "A professional would—"

  "Be a waste of manpower." Sophie found it easier to finish Forbes' sentence than present her case after the fact. "Wherever I go, I'll take a big, able-bodied ranch
hand with me."

  "I could assign somebody to you without your permission." Forbes seemed to like the sound of it.

  "Save him—or her the embarrassment. First sniff of a bodyguard and I'll saddle my horse and head for the hills. Think one of your tenderfoots can keep up?"

  Sophie could navigate every inch of the ranch with her eyes closed—and Forbes knew it.

  "Maeve?" Forbes turned to the housekeeper for backup.

  "Do you promise you'll be careful?" Maeve spoke to Sophie, ignoring Forbes.

  "Yes." Sophie jumped to her feet, giving Maeve a hug.

  "One sniff of trouble and I'll move my vote to Forbes' side of the ledger," Maeve warned.

  "Sounds fair to me."

  Sophie deposited her dishes in the sink. On her way by, Forbes laid a hand on her arm. "You have your phone with you?"

  Casual affection had never been Sophie's thing. She didn't object. More like it didn't occur to her for the simple reason that she hadn't been raised that way. Her mother didn't believe in wasting her hugs on Sophie. And if one of her gentlemen callers had tried such a thing, she would have kicked his balls so far up into his body, it would have taken a month of Sundays for them to fall back into place.

  However, with each passing day, wanting to touch Forbes had become a pressing need that was harder and harder to ignore. For the first time, Sophie acted without thinking. As she passed by, she laid her hand over his.

  "I'll be fine. If it will make you feel better, call me a couple of times during the day and check in."

  "Or, you could call me. Every hour." Forbes smiled to let Sophie know he was kidding. Mostly.

  Sophie chuckled, giving Forbes' hand a squeeze before grabbing the keys to her truck and heading out the door.

  Opening the cab door, Sophie waited until Dandi jumped in before grabbing the steering wheel. She pulled herself up. Sitting for a minute, she looked around the driveway thinking of the day she first saw it and the ranch. Love at first sight. Though she hadn't known it at the time because she had no frame of reference, the moment she set foot on Branson land, Sophie was home. It had taken her a while to understand what she felt, but the sense of belonging had never left. This was her little corner of the world. Nothing or no one would change that.