Matt

by Lori Wilde

  And Matt would have a fit when he found out she’d disobeyed him.

  “He’s not my keeper,” Savannah mumbled to herself, walking to her compact car. They weren’t married. He wasn’t even her boyfriend anymore.

  He’s only been thinking about your safety, argued the logical side of her brain. Savannah pursed her lips. On the other hand, she was a grown woman with a child, perfectly capable of caring for herself. She didn’t need some macho lawman telling her what to do.

  Chin jutting stubbornly in the air, Savannah slid inside and started the engine. Cody napped peacefully in his car seat. It seemed an eternity passed before she arrived at the bus station in Sweetwater. Parked beside a curb meter, Savannah released Cody from his car seat and carried him inside, her gaze sweeping the small crowd gathered at the terminal.

  “Do you see Aunt Ginger?” she asked Cody.

  “Bye!”

  Savannah craned her neck, finally spotting her sister sitting on her suitcase in the middle of the room. Ginger, looking pale despite her tan, held a tissue to her red-rimmed eyes, her shoulders hunched in defeat.

  “Ginger.” Savannah waved a hand and pushed past the people.

  “Vannah.” Ginger bolted to her feet, wrapped her arms around her sister and her nephew.

  “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  “I made such a m-mistake.” Ginger hiccuped. “Just like you did with Gary.”

  “No,” Savannah said sharply. “Don’t say that.” Ginger’s words grated against her heart, rough as sandpaper. Ginger and Todd had been so in love. Whatever problems her sister faced in her marriage did not mirror Savannah’s own blunder. Her mistake had been in not marrying the man she loved.

  Savannah reached over and tucked a strand of sandy- colored hair behind Ginger’s ear. “Let’s get you home.”

  She grabbed Ginger’s carry-on bag, while her sister collected the bigger suitcase. They didn’t speak again until they were in the car, headed to the ranch.

  “So tell me, what did you and Todd fight about?” Savannah asked.

  “We didn’t fight, exactly.” Ginger blew her nose.

  “Oh?”

  “In fact, Todd doesn’t even know I flew home.”

  “What?” Savannah braked harder than was necessary. “You didn’t even tell him you were leaving?”

  How it hurt to see her sister suffering! Savannah had married Gary without telling Matt of her intentions. If only she’d communicated with him, they might have been able to work things out.

  “He probably hasn’t even noticed I’m gone,” Ginger wailed. “It was supposed to be our honeymoon, but all he did was work.’ ’

  “Huh?”

  “That’s right.” Ginger nodded. “He offered insurance advice to everyone we met. One guy was interested in a policy and the next thing I knew, they were playing golf together and Todd had forgotten all about me.”

  “Maybe you’re exaggerating.”

  “No. I’m so stupid. I didn’t want a cowboy or a man who worked with his hands. I wanted a white-collar kind of guy. While we were dating, Todd was so attentive. But the minute we said I do he turned into a deal-making machine. I had no idea he was so money hungry.”

  “Todd’s very serious about his career,” Savannah agreed, relaxing a little. So Todd hadn’t been cruel or abusive or anything terrible like that.

  “I married a workaholic,” Ginger wailed.

  “He wants to provide the best for you, Ginger. Do you think you overreacted? It does seem to be a trait among Prentiss women.”

  If she hadn’t overreacted to the natural despair following their mother’s death, and Matt getting shot, then accepting that job in Tarrant County, Savannah probably wouldn’t have taken Gary’s offer.

  Ginger glared. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m not taking sides, sweetie.” She reached over and patted her sister’s shoulder. “I just hate to see you end your marriage without thinking long and hard about the consequences. Have you given Todd the benefit of the doubt?” Ginger burst into a fresh round of tears. “Last night, I got all dressed up for dinner in a sexy new dress and Todd ended up falling asleep.”

  “Maybe he was tired.”

  “Or bored.” She sobbed. “I guess I’m not as interesting as business meetings and insurance deals.”

  Savannah shook her head. “Did you at least tell him how you were feeling? Give him a chance to explain?”

  Ginger’s chin quivered. “No. I packed my bags and I left. Let him figure out why.”

  “Did you leave him a note? Anything?” Savannah asked, appalled by Ginger’s erratic behavior. What had come over her sister?

  She shook her head.

  “Ginger!” Savannah gasped. “You will call Todd the minute we get home. I imagine he’s out of his mind with worry. Probably has the whole of Cancun out looking for you.”

  “I bet he hasn’t even noticed I’m gone,” she said petulantly.

  “You will call him, Ginger Renee Prentiss!”

  Ginger hunkered down in her seat. “He made me feel so insignificant.”

  “The same Todd who couldn’t keep his hands off you just a week ago? I can’t hardy believe that.”

  “Marriage changed him,” Ginger said gloomily.

  Fretting over her sister’s marital problems, Savannah pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. Cody had fallen asleep on the way home, his little head slumped sideways in the car seat. Savannah glanced at her watch. She’d been gone over an hour.

  Opening the car door, Savannah experienced an odd sensation, as if they were being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The ranch lay strangely silent. No mooing cattle, no singing birds. Perhaps she should go check on Joe and see if he’d returned to his car.

  “I’ll carry Cody,” Ginger volunteered, reaching over her seat to unbuckle the boy from his confines.

  “Let’s hurry and get into the house,” Savannah told her sister, quickly sneaking glances around the perimeter. Nothing looked out of place, and yet she couldn’t shake the creepy sensation trailing down her spine.

  “Why?”

  “I’ll explain later. Hurry.” Savannah draped an arm across Ginger’s shoulders, ushering her toward the house.

  For the first time since Matt left, fear snaked into her consciousness, lethal and insidious. He’d said Larkins and Thompson could be dangerous. Especially if they’d been drinking. Were the drunken thieves lying in wait for them at this very moment? The idea sent a shudder through her body. Both men had served time in Huntsville.

  Savannah gnawed her bottom lip. She was probably worrying needlessly, letting her imagination run away with her.

  But she couldn’t shake the disturbing feeling that someone was watching them. No wonder Matt had warned her to stay inside. Where was that ornery lawman when she really needed him?

  They reached the back door. Savannah fumbled in her purse for the keys, while Ginger stood to one side, holding Cody. A sense of urgency washed through her like rising floodwaters. As soon as they got inside, she’d beep Matt and tell him to get over here. She didn’t like this one bit.

  Her hands trembled. The key slipped, grated against the metal.

  Savannah muttered a curse.

  “Vannah,” Ginger said, the tone of her voice striking panic in Savannah’s heart. Instantly, she froze, key poised. Her gaze leaped to where Ginger pointed.

  Savannah’s breath evaporated. Her knees wobbled. Her mouth went dry. A stitch snagged her lower abdomen. The keys dropped from her hand and jangled unnoticed to the porch.

  She stared, blinking in horror.

  There, near the open bam door, facedown in the dirt, lay Clem, his frail body terrifyingly inert, blood caked at his temple, a shattered whiskey bottle near his head.

  “Vannah,” Ginger whispered, “is he dead?”

  Matt Forrester strolled into Kelly’s bar, whipped off his Stetson and perched on a bar stool.

  “How you doing, Jackie?” Matt
asked the curvaceous blonde behind the counter. He threaded fingers through his hair to tame it into place.

  “Hey, cowboy.” Jackie grinned. “Long time no see.”

  Matt nodded. “Been wrapped up with a case.”

  “Yeah. I know. Cattle rustling at the Circle B.”

  “Gossip sure gets around.”

  She shrugged. “It’s a fairly small town, Matt. You’ve been living in Fort Worth too long.”

  “I’m back home now.”

  The barmaid’s gaze traveled the length of him, a sexual gleam sparkling in her eye. ‘ ‘You sure are. So tell me, you and Savannah Markum been rekindling your relationship? Or are you a free man?”

  Matt was damned glad the bar was dark and almost vacant. He would hate for Jackie to know she could make him blush. “Savannah and I are old news.”

  Jackie fished an olive out of a jar with a green plastic cocktail sword. Placing her elbow on the bar, she slid her upper body forward until she and Matt were eye to eye. Languidly, she pushed the olive into her mouth, pulled the sword through her teeth, then laughed low and husky. “Glad to hear it.”

  “You’re a naughty one, Jackie Spencer.” He shook his head ruefully.

  “But I never could tempt you, could I, cowboy?”

  Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The direction of the conversation disconcerted him. Savannah had been so foolish for being jealous of Jackie. He’d never been attracted to the blonde’s breezy, take-things-as-they-come- including-men style. He might not have a future with Savannah, and as much as he liked Jackie, he couldn’t mislead her by flirting.

  “Sorry, Jackie.”

  She sighed, straightened. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “Actually, I came in to see if you’d seen hide or hair from Brent Larkins and Hootie Thompson the last few days. I got a bad feeling those two have been up to no good.”

  “Sure. They were in here this morning.” She swiped a towel across the bar.

  Matt frowned. “You didn’t happen to hear what they were discussing, did you?”

  Jackie flipped a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Yeah. That old ranch hand from the Circle B. What’s his name? Clyde. No, Clem.”

  “What’d they say?”

  “They were cussin’, raising a ruckus. Said the old man owed ’em more gambling money. Keep bragging about how they were going to collect.”

  “What time did they leave?”

  She leaned against the counter. “An hour and a half ago, when they ran out of money.”

  Matt tensed. He didn’t like the sound of this. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they were headed?”

  “Said they were going to the Circle B. Gonna get their money from Clem one way or the other.”

  Matt bounded off the stool so fast it spun. Grabbing his Stetson, he headed for the door, his hand automatically reaching to pat the side arm hidden beneath his jacket.

  “Matt? Is something up?”

  “Pray I’m wrong, Jackie. I think Savannah Markum may be in a heap of trouble.”

  The heavy wooden door slammed behind him. Matt stalked across the parking lot as fast as his legs would take him. He’d meant to set a fire under those two punks, but he hadn’t expected them to converge on the Circle B in broad daylight. Mentally cursing himself for his stupidity, he jumped into his Jeep and keyed the starter.

  Sweat dewed his brow in response to the cab’s hot, sticky confines. He bumped onto the road, rolled down the window, slapped the portable siren to the hood and punched the accelerator.

  The Circle B lay fifteen miles away. Matt felt as if it were fifteen hundred.

  “Calm down, Forrester,” he told himself. “You’re probably overreacting.”

  But why did his gut crunch up like coiled bedsprings? Something was wrong. He knew it. And it was all his fault. He shouldn’t have left Savannah alone. Should have insisted she stay at his apartment despite her protests. Never had he been so heartsick. A disheartening frostiness rose in his chest and his knees shook.

  He grasped the police band radio in one hand and tried to raise Joe Greely. Nothing but static. He tried again, waited. Still no reply. Damn. Where was Joe?

  “Please let her be okay,” Matt prayed. His plan had detonated in his face. If anything happened to Savannah, he knew he could never forgive himself.

  A lifetime passed before he turned onto the dirt road that led to the Circle B. At the same instant, the beeper at his waist buzzed to life, vibrating against his skin. The sensation startled him like an electrical jolt. He ripped the contraption from his belt, squinted at the number flashing there.

  Savannah’s number. She’d beeped him. It could only mean trouble.

  He jammed his boot to the floor. The Jeep hurtled forward, spewing dirt and gravel. Only another mile. The tires chewed the road as Matt raced up a hill.

  “Please,” he prayed again. “Please, let me be in time.”

  “Is he alive?” Ginger breathed, Cody clutched in her arms.

  Savannah squatted over Clem’s body, her fingers searching his wrist for a pulse. At first she felt nothing. Panic released adrenaline. Her own pulse skittered erratically. She kept trying.

  Wait. Was that a beat? Yes. Thready but definitely there.

  “He’s alive,” she confirmed, relief shooting through her body. Her shoulders sagged and she rocked back on her heels.

  “Ginger,” she instructed, “take Cody into the house. Matt’s beeper number is by the phone. Dial that first, then get an ambulance.”

  Ginger stood gawking, her eyes round as plates.

  “Move!”

  Jerked from her trance, Ginger sprinted across the yard, found the keys on the porch and let herself into the house. Savannah returned her attention to Clem. His color was bad, she acknowledged, the wasted shade of mottling clay. And his hands were so cold.

  Think. Savannah chewed her lip. She’d taken a first-aid class when her mother was sick. What did she remember?

  How bad was the laceration? Her fingers probed his hairline. Blood, viscous and dark, trickled from the gash on his scalp. Deep but not life-threatening.

  Savannah sucked in air. What kind of low-life scum would do this to a helpless old man? This was all Matt’s fault, using Clem as a pawn to lure those felons back to the Circle B. If it wasn’t for Matt Forrester and his dangerous job, the ranch hand wouldn’t be recumbent in barnyard dirt, clinging to life. In fact, it could as easily have been her or Ginger lying there. Obviously, nothing meant more to Forrester than catching the thieves, not even their safety.

  Savannah gritted her teeth. She wanted to throw back her head and scream out her rage, but she could not afford to give in to anger. She needed to keep calm.

  Clem was probably in shock, she surmised. He had to be kept warm. She needed blankets.

  There were horse blankets in the tack room, she remembered. And it was closer than the house. She’d still be able to keep Clem in view.

  Getting to her feet, she stumbled, feeling a bit dizzy as the blood rushed to her head. She put a hand on the side of the barn to steady herself.

  Thump.

  What was that? Savannah frowned. Had the noise come from inside the barn? She kicked the door open wider with the toe of her boot. Anxiety zipped through her system like a motorcycle in a cross-country race. Was Clem’s assailant still inside the building?

  “Who’s there?” she demanded, trying to sound brave. A sudden chill ran through her. What if the criminals were hiding in the barn? Or was it just some curious farm critter nosing around the feed?

  She stood, poised for flight, her thoughts racing. Should she go after a blanket? Try to drag Clem into the house? No. She remembered being warned against moving an accident victim.

  Squaring her shoulders, she made her decision. Clem needed her help, this was no time for cowardice. Resolutely, Savannah stepped into the barn’s dim interior.

  The odor of oats and hay clung in the air, heavy, overpowering. Narrowing her eyes,
Savannah darted a quick glance around the cluttered room. Straw lay strewn over the floor. Gardening equipment rested against one wall in haphazard order. Dust motes rode a shaft of sunlight sloping through the small grimy window overhead.

  She walked forward. Stopped. Waited. Listened.

  Silence.

  Don’t be such a scaredy-cat.

  Savannah drew in a deep breath and moved into the tack room. Keeping her legs stiff to bolster her courage, she grabbed for a horse blanket thrown over the rack.

  Creak.

  She froze, the coarse blanket clutched in her outstretched hands. Jerking her head toward the open door, she saw a shadow fall across the floor.

  Fear catapulted bile into her throat. Goose bumps spread over her skin like a rash. Her heart constricted.

  Before she could run, before she could scream, a sweaty hand was clamped over her mouth.

  Instinct begged her to bite, to fight, to get away. She opened her mouth, intending to chomp down on the pad of the stranger’s palm, when she heard the ominous click of a cocked gun, felt cold metal pressed to her temple.

  “Better not try it, sister, unless you want to leave a motherless child behind,” a gravelly voice lashed out.

  Terror iced her guts, slick as frozen cement. A wiry arm snaked around her waist, pulled her tight against the trespasser’s body.

  Savannah’s five senses stood at attention. Her nostrils quivered. She smelled the strong odor of dirt, mold, sweat. Fear branded her tongue—brackish, salty, bitter.

  Blood roared in her ears, loud as a tornado. A fly buzzed at the window, the sound amplified, expanded, until her head was filled with the strumming noise. Her heart hammered like a long-distance runner. She felt the intruder’s rude arm tighten around her waist.

  Her vision sharpened. She viewed every aspect of the barn in vivid detail—the jagged crack running along the wall, a coil of rope nestled in the corner beside one stall, a pair of old work gloves knotted on a shelf next to a jar of nails.

  Shifting her eyes, she could see Clem’s dormant form through the open door, stretched out on the ground.

  “Yeah,” the ugly voice behind her said, obviously following the path of her gaze. “Your handyman got in the way. That stupid deputy sheriff, too. Thought he could fool me by hiding out across the road. Maybe they’re both dead, maybe they ain’t. I don’t rightly care.”