Which, at that moment, sounded a lot like running to Kelsey but…
“I talked to Dixie this morning, and she agrees,” Glo added.
Yes. Run back to her uncle’s house and hide in the attic. Perfect. But Kelsey had nothing else—
“No.”
The voice rumbled through her, found her bones, and like a hot wave of fire, seared through them. She turned, and her mouth opened as—what? Knox stood in the grand entryway, flanked by Tate and Chet.
She’d never seen such a look on his face. Deeply lined with worry, a four-day haze of dark beard on his chin, his blue-green eyes so thick with emotion it stripped away every other thought but…
Knox. Was. Here.
She hadn’t a clue how he knew she needed him, how he had figured out where they were, even, he’d found Ben King’s house and made it through the front door.
But yes. In all his rumpled, large-sized, solid glory, cowboy Marshall was here.
Her mouth opened to form some sort of reply. But he simply walked into the room, his eyes in hers, not wavering, almost daring her to argue with him as he said, “She’s not going anywhere but home with me. Where she’s safe.”
Oh.
But with his words, her chest began to slowly release, and for the first time in what seemed like years, she exhaled.
It was all Tate could do not to grab Glo, drag her away from the crowd in the great room of Benjamin King’s palatial home, and…and…
Shoot, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Strangle her, yes, for taking off from the ranch. And crush her to himself, breathing out with a hard gust of painful relief that she was okay. And then there was the other thing, the one action he kept flogging into submission…the nearly overpowering desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Taste and take captive those pretty lips, maybe see them curl into a smile, her eyes warming as she tucked herself into his embrace.
Tate could admit it wasn’t necessarily professional behavior, and it was that truth, along with trying to keep Knox from picking Kelsey up and throwing her over his shoulder in his insistence they hightail it back to the Marshall Triple M pronto, that kept him from pulling Glo aside.
From…well, yeah. All of it.
Instead he’d listened to the account of the events, again, filing the information away, then sided with Knox when he practically dragged the ladies from King’s ranch and into the rental car.
Tate didn’t love the idea of Russell following them back to the ranch before he could set up a security system, but Knox had it stuck in his craw that they’d be safer on home territory.
And maybe he was right—at least about feeling better with the ladies on familiar ground—because when they stopped by the charred bus with Sam, the local cop, on the way out of town, Tate wanted to hit something.
He stood in the parking lot, his legs soft as he stared at the crumpled shell. A couple arson investigators were gloved up and inspecting burn patterns, but all Tate could think was…What if?
What if Glo had been asleep inside?
What if Tate had been here—would he have seen the bomber? Or caught the fire?
What if they’d never left the ranch?
And the zinger—what if he hadn’t happened upon Glo that night outside the arena three weeks ago, landed this gig, and found his heart being slowly sucked out his chest?
How was it possible that he’d come back around to this helpless, frustrated ache of watching someone he cared about being threatened, without having the first clue where the danger might come from?
Please, God, he couldn’t watch someone he cared about die again. Not when he was supposed to be keeping them safe.
That thought dug claws into his chest and burned the entire drive back to the ranch. And through the late dinner, as Ma fussed over the girls. They’d received some clothing from the rescue team in Mercy Falls, but his mother had purchased some toiletries, pajamas, and socks, and seeing the supplies in bags on the counter made him realize just how much the fire had consumed.
Not unlike how he’d left Vegas, with just the clothes on his back, thankful to be alive.
Ma pampered them with more homemade cookies, her answer to the perils of life, and Glo had disappeared to take a bath or something.
She’d asked him, once, where he’d gone, and he’d looked at Knox for permission to spill the truth. But a quick shake of his head suggested that Knox wanted to keep that field trip report for later.
Much later, when they found Russell. When the girls didn’t have to panic about one missing criminal.
He’d offered to do the dishes, too much turmoil in his gut to do anything but prowl around the house. Darkness pressed inside, thick with night sounds—cicadas on the lawn—and a cool breeze filtered in through the open windows.
He finished the dishes, stood on the back porch for a while until the bugs began to gnaw at him. Finally came back to the kitchen, sitting in the darkness, listening to the sound of the dishwasher humming, his body still buzzing with the events of the past twenty-four hours. Their red-eye flight to Minneapolis, then Kalispell, then the drive to Mercy Falls, then back to the airport for the hop to Helena to pick up their truck. Thankfully, the ladies had had their identification with them backstage.
He buried his head on his arms. From the den, the television hummed, evidence that Knox and Kelsey might be resuming their nightly hockey game addiction.
Although, one look at Knox tonight said hockey was the last thing on his mind.
He’d been Thor, man of thunder, all day.
Probably he was doing battle with his impulses too.
Tate glanced up, to the darkness of the second story. Silent.
Put his head back in his arms. Blew out a breath. Okay, so he just needed to get a hand around his emotions, keep them from blowing up, destroying this gig he’d started to really like.
Footsteps on the stairs, and the third step groaned. He lifted his head.
He sat in the darkness, behind the table, nothing of moonlight on him, but made out pretty clearly Glo’s outline as she tiptoed into the kitchen. Fumbled at the cupboard for a glass. Filled it with water.
Then she set the glass on the counter and headed for the pantry. Stood in the darkness for a while, rummaging around, making funny sounds of frustration.
He got up, moved over to the door, and flicked on the light.
“Oh!” She jumped, turned, her eyes wide. Mouth open.
He raised an eyebrow and reached up to the second shelf, right above her arm’s length, and pulled down the cookie jar. “Looking for these?”
His mouth tightened, and she lifted a shoulder.
He clutched the jar to his chest.
She made a move for the cookies, and he turned a shoulder into her reach, deflecting it.
“What are you, the cookie police?” she whispered.
She wore a long T-shirt and leggings, her feet bare. And her freshly washed hair hung in free tousles around her makeup-free face. It only made her eyes that much bigger, sparkling with that hazel-green glow, threaded with hints of gold, and for a second, he simply couldn’t breathe.
Glo, you are so pretty.
The words nearly tipped his lips, but like the professional he was, he bit them back.
Instead, “Maybe. But for the right password, I might give you one.”
She set her hands on her hips, considered him.
“What? Are you trying to decide if you can take me?”
“Maybe, Rambo.”
He smirked. “Oh please. Please make a move.” Please.
She gave him a look. “Fine. What’s the password?”
“Why did you hire me if you weren’t going to listen to what I said?”
“What—”
“I told you to stay put.”
“You told me not to get my knickers in a knot. That is hardly stay put, Shakespeare.”
He raised his eyebrow.
“Mean what you say. Be clear. ‘Glo, don’t leave the ranch. I’l
l be back from my secret mission in three days.’”
“Fine, Glo. I’m the boss of you. Don’t go anywhere without me.”
Her mouth opened. “You’re hardly the boss of me.”
He took a breath, aware that his voice was shaking. “You could have died out there, Glo. Don’t you get that? And it’s my job to keep you alive. So, from now on, I’m absolutely the boss of you.”
Her mouth closed, and if she could shoot fire from her eyes, she probably would have.
Suddenly, “Fine.”
He stared at her. “Really?”
He had nothing when she closed the gap between them.
When she touched him. She put her hand softly on his chest, right in the center where she could probably feel his heart thundering.
She took another step closer, looked up at him, something soft in her eyes. “Yeah. I know you are bigger and stronger than me, Tator, so, please, please, rescue me.”
He knew there was something wrong with her words, but when she licked her lips, he simply…he couldn’t move.
Then she reached up and touched his face, her fingers whisper light, as if drawing him down to her.
He simply stopped breathing, lost the feeling in his body, just his heart hammering in his chest, the forbidden stirrings inside loosening—
She curled her hand around the cookie jar and grabbed it from his arm.
Danced back from him.
It took him too long to react, to realize she’d played him, to shout an indignant, Hey! because even in her play she was grinning at him, her eyes sparkling, practically an invitation to follow her deeper into the pantry.
“You gotta be faster than that, McDraw.” She opened the cookie jar and pulled out a fresh sugar cookie. Tilted the jar toward him. “Want one?”
Yes. Very much.
He shook his head.
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Your loss.” She put the cap on the jar. Set it on a nearby shelf.
Turned back, smiling, and took a bite. “See, not the boss of me.”
He stilled. And the game was gone. She was about to take another bite of the cookie when he caught her arm. She looked at his grip, then met his eyes.
Swallowed. “Sorry.”
He stepped closer to her, cut his voice low. “Don’t you get it, Glo? You are my responsibility. You and Kelsey and Dixie, and you nearly burned to death. And I wasn’t there.”
Her smile vanished, and she set the cookie aside. Caught her lip between her teeth. Met his eyes, and they glistened. “You’re right. And I am sorry. I…I’m sorry I scared you.”
He loomed over her, aware of how small she was when he got up close, and a painful surge of protectiveness swept through him. He cut his voice low. “Please, please don’t do that again. Don’t leave without…without telling me.”
She looked up at him, nodded.
“And while we’re at it, enough with the name-calling. My name is Tate. Not Tator, not Shakespeare, not McDraw—”
“Not Magnum? Because I like that one.” Her lips curled into a smile.
Oh. Shoot. Because now all he was thinking about was how he really, oh so very much, wanted to taste those pretty lips.
And as she looked up at him, her smile vanished, leaving just the rise and fall of her chest.
She reached out and splayed her hand over his chest.
“Tate,” she whispered.
He lowered his head.
His back pocket buzzed.
He jerked away, realized he’d been holding his breath, and blew it out as he turned, yanking the phone from his pocket.
A text from AJ Russell, four providential words.
My brother is dead.
He stared at the screen, blinking. Walked out of the pantry as he texted back. How?
The return text came almost immediately. Murdered. Found this morning in Bronx River. Dead three days.
Which meant he couldn’t have possibly been in Montana, firebombing the Yankee Belles’ trailer.
He pocketed the phone. Turned.
Glo—and the cookie jar—had vanished.
But she’d left him a sugar cookie on the counter.
We need to talk. Four easy words, but Knox couldn’t seem to get them to emerge from his mouth as he sat on the sofa, the remote control in his hand, eyes glued to the Blue Ox hockey game.
At least they were winning. And, on their last game of the regular season, which meant a few days off for Wyatt.
He just might make it home for the big day next week.
Knox glanced at Kelsey, curled up in the recliner, just as avidly staring at the game. He wanted her to meet his siblings, for them to see how talented and brave and amazing she was.
But of course, no one would know that, really, because she wore nothing of the past on her face. He couldn’t fathom how the battered face and body in the pictures had turned out to be the beautiful Kelsey Jones.
It was all he’d been able to think about for the past eight hours. No, more. How had she put herself back together again?
Except, maybe she hadn’t. Not to the naked eye, but if he were honest, he’d seen the cracks. A few quiet moments of sheer panic in between her stage presence.
But give the girl some grace—she’d nearly been crushed in an explosion. And it made perfect sense why she hadn’t wanted to face him after that.
But why had she left the ranch? Had she been planning on returning?
What about their kiss?
What if she didn’t want to remember that? Frankly, all the questions simply had his brain in a knot—
“Thank you for showing up at Ben’s place.”
Her voice was so quiet he nearly didn’t hear it over the game announcer, but he looked at her, and she met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. “I didn’t expect you, and there you were, showing up.”
He nodded, his chest thick.
“Where did you go for the last four days?”
Oh. Shoot.
But she deserved to know that he’d been hunting for Russell. And frankly, deserved to know that he knew about…well, more than even what Tate had told her.
He’d entered her pain, seen it up close, and admired the heck out of her that she’d overcome it. So he held on to that and turned to her.
“I was in New York City.”
Her smile fell, and she simply blinked at him, absorbing his words slowly.
He nodded. “I know about Russell and the fact he’s out of prison. And that you think he might be the one who bombed you, twice.”
She drew in a breath, and he could nearly see her closing up, so he delivered the rest quickly.
“Tate and I went to find him and shut him down. To tell him to leave you alone, forever.”
She stared at him so intently, with so much undisguised hope, that he hated the answer to her next question.
“Did you find him?”
He shook his head. “He’s missing.”
She swallowed hard and looked away, back at the game.
“But we’ll find him, Kelsey. And until we do…please…” And he didn’t care that it sounded like begging. “Stay here, with me. I know I’m not a bodyguard, but I promise I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep you safe.”
She drew her hands into the long sleeves of her shirt, her knees up to her chest. “But that’s the thing, Knox. You can’t.” She wiped her face with her sleeves, shook her head. “Oh! I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”
“Do what?” he asked softly.
“Fall apart. Be weak. I hate it!” She drew in a breath, and when she looked at him, her jaw was stiff. “Listen. I know you mean well, but…please, don’t make me a promise you can’t keep.”
Like, I’m going to get you out of this? And maybe she didn’t mean that at all, but it sat at the top of his mind like a dagger.
“I won’t—”
“But you’ll try, and that’s the problem.” She closed her eyes. “I suppose you…you pro
bably talked to Detective Rayburn.”
He said nothing, so she looked at him.
He nodded.
Her mouth tightened. “Read the police report? Saw the pictures?”
He nodded again.
Her breath shook, and she looked out the window. “You know the worst part about the entire thing?”
He had some guesses—like waking up naked in a tangle of weeds, nearly bled out, hypothermic? Or having to learn how to walk, talk, and dress yourself again? Or maybe the moment when, at fourteen, she realized she’d had her innocence stolen.
“When my brother Ham came to see me.”
He didn’t see that one coming.
“He was deployed at the time, and since he was my closest relative, they brought him home. He was sitting by my bedside one morning, a couple days after I woke up. Alone, mind you. Disoriented, in the ICU, beeping and hissing all around me. But then one day, he just appeared.”
She leaned her head back against the recliner. “He was my father’s son, from his first marriage, and Hamilton was…larger than life. Tall, like my father, and muscled—he played football in college before he dropped out to join the Navy. The SEALs, actually.”
Huh.
“He’d come to visit on the farm in the summers and was the only one who knew how to put the saddle on the dumb horse without it falling off. Then we’d ride her all over the farm, pretending we were settlers of the Old West. He’s ten years older than me—can you imagine, a sixteen-year-old playing Little House on the Prairie with a six-year-old?”
Maybe.
If she was as cute as Kelsey.
“I wept for weeks when he went off to boot camp. I was eleven. And when I opened my eyes that day and saw him, I just knew…I knew everything would be okay.”
She turned to Knox. “He stayed with me every day I was in the hospital, through rehab and even flew out with me to Wisconsin to settle me with Dixie’s family. Her dad was a cousin on Mom’s side that I’d never even met before.” She drew in a breath. “Silly me, I thought Ham was staying, too.”
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