"No. I think it will be some wonderful eggs and ham. Perhaps some gorgeous biscuits and gravy."
Ashley laughed. “Oh, no. I couldn't. Really."
"Nonsense, protein in the morning is not to be skipped."
Reese grinned at the byplay between the two women. How Josie could stay so thin and cook as she had for so many years, he didn't know. Maybe because she dedicated herself to force-feeding her food to all the other innocent people in a ten-mile radius.
Ashley had dodged her meal portions for days, finding gentle excuses.
"Really, Josie I don't need much,” Ashley protested again as Josie launched, full steam into the preparations.
"Yes, you do. You must have your strength so you'll be capable of protecting my beautiful house from Reese's precious little one today. Oh, I would've recognized her as his if she had been green with purple hair.” She looked pointedly at Reese. “Even if I had not already seen her in my true dreams."
Ashley blushed at Josie's frankness.
Reese shrugged. “I was in denial, Josie. That's my excuse anyway for not recognizing my own child sooner."
Josie fanned the air with a black handled spatula as she spoke. “Her daddy was a terror in the house, too. So insatiably curious about everything.” She laughed in delight at the memory. “Gabe was quiet like Clay. Content to play in peace and quiet."
Reese's thoughts darkened at Josie filing Ashley in on his childhood. He frowned at Josie, willing her to stop with the reminiscing. But it didn't hurt as bad to talk of Gabe now.
Just then the phone rang, pulling him back to the pressing problem of sabotage at Braxton.
"Caldwell, here,” he barked into the receiver before she could grab it.
"Right,” Reese replied after several moments of listening. “We'll be there."
"What is it?” Ashley asked. Her expression telling him she knew at last something was about to happen and they could return home to Ohio.
"They say they know who it is. Just have to get enough evidence to put them away."
"What do they want from us?"
"They need you back there. To draw them out into the open."
"Of course.” Ashley was so relieved to be able to do something, anything, that she was ready to agree to almost any suggestion.
"What do they have in mind?"
"We'll talk about it on the flight."
Reese had no interest in Ashley being used as a lure for the bad guys.
"Did they tell you who?"
"No. The idiots won't say."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Thirty
Four days later, Ashley and Reese were back at the old Ohio farmhouse, Limestone Hill.
So far, they'd kept themselves busy continuing the work that needed to be done to make the house and grounds livable. The odd jobs passed the time as they waited for the bad guys to take the bait and make a move.
Ashley could easily forget the threat as the days passed by with no sign of action from them.
Today, Reese worked on one of the antique tractors that came with the purchase of the place. Ashley sat and watched. The two of them were guarded from a discreet distance by seven bodyguards from Columbus Gold S.W.A.T. team.
The jeans and plaid flannel shirts the men wore might as well be their standard issue army cammo. They were clearly not men of the land. Something about the steely-eyed, sweeping alertness of their gaze gave them away. At least to Ashley. The fields they plowed with awkwardness had already been over once by the real farmer who share-leased the land.
Ashley looked over at Reese. She wondered if the wheezing old tractor he worked on with such serious dedication would ever run again.
They'd brought Kernel up from her parent's place in a trailer. He had his head over the wood fence rails and watched his humans with dozing curiosity.
The weather was perfect, the sky a lovely fall blue, the air a bit crisp, but pleasant, a time of year almost as nice as spring.
She shifted her position on the log she sat on and watched as Reese's large hands worked with the old machine with the same patience he employed with Mandy and the young horses he trained.
There was still a distance between them that bothered her. Most of the wall had shrunk away, but some foundation stones remained.
His touch in bed was never cold, far from it, but he withheld his complete trust. She felt it. She saw it in his guarded expression. At times, Reese seemed to have something to say to her and then stopped himself. She sensed an internal struggle raging inside him.
"How's it coming?” she asked casually.
"Fair,” he said, then gently put a use-worn, but now sparkling clean, carburetor back in place.
"Cleaned the carburetor. Should do the trick.” He straightened and rubbed grease down the legs of his jeans.
"I'm not cleaning those."
"Why not? Not part of your job description?"
The words had some snap to them, wiping the smile off Ashley's face.
"You want a slave woman?” she asked, daring him with her eyes, and then waited for his answer.
He swiped a hand over his face, and then rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaving a sexy black smudge on his jaw. “No, damn it, I don't want a slave."
She reached up and wiped away the black mark on his jaw line with her fingers.
He leaned against her hand a moment, then climbed to the metal seat of the tractor and turned the key. The old machine coughed, trying to fire, then gurgled back to sleep.
"Damn."
He got down and started work on another part.
"What's that?” she asked automatically as she had each time he removed another piece of the tractor's guts and started working on it.
"Starter switch."
"You may as well buy a tractor kit and start from scratch."
He pierced her with a steady gaze, then laughed. “I could. But that's not nearly as much of a challenge. This is a fine old machine. We'll need it to haul out the horse manure. No need to pay thirty thousand or so for a new one. They don't make them like this anymore.” He watched her a moment, thoughtful. “Damn it, lady, you can always make me laugh. I'm like a damned puppet. You pull the strings and I dance."
He sounded half angry.
She looked up at him. “A stubborn and independent puppet, I have to say."
He closed his strong arms around her. Heavens, he smelled clean and good and radiated masculine warmth and appeal.
"I don't want a submissive, cowed creature for a wife,” he breathed into her hair.
"I'm relieved to hear that. Since I can't do that."
"Just a partner, Ashley, an equal."
"That's okay, then,” she murmured.
"Do you regret the way our marriage started?"
"What do you mean?” she asked, then held her breath. This could be a breakthrough, a turning point, a final eroding of the wall between them.
"Just that it was sort of a shotgun deal.” He tightened his hold, bringing her closer into his core warmth.
"Yes, I suppose it was.” She hadn't thought of it as such. Her optimistic point of view hadn't allowed it. She had married the only man she ever loved. That was all there was to it.
"Would you have married me without Mandy to consider?"
The look in his eyes was bleak and uncertain.
"Yes, of course, I would've.” He had every reason to doubt her, she supposed, trying to see it from his perspective.
His smile was beautiful. Relief and hope blazed in his silver eyes.
"Let's get out of here for a while. With all the cops around, there's damned little privacy. What do you say to lunch at Gabby's with your husband, ma'am?"
She inclined her head. “I would love it, kind sir. But do you think it's wise?"
"Hell, no. We better stop on the way and take a couple of our guard dogs along, I guess.” He gestured toward the security force out in the field.
* * * *
Minutes later, they were cleaned
up and on their way back out of the house, headed to town for lunch. As he closed the front door behind them, Reese suddenly reached out to Ashley's elbow and held her back, pulling hard.
Michael Street, along with a middle-aged man Reese didn't recognize and the power hungry punk of a security chief from Braxton stood blocking their path. The three men stepped out of the shade of the magnificent old oak trees that stood guardians to the farmhouse.
Street had a pistol in his hand.
"Oh, Pat, not you?"
Ashley spoke to the man Reese didn't recognize. Her words indicated he was a friend but she'd guessed he was here to try to steal her work from her.
"This is Dr. Pat Homfield, Reese,” Ashley explained. “A lead engineer at Braxton. Why do this, Pat?"
"There comes a time when a man has to face his own failure, Ashley girl,” the man said. “The time came for me when you came up with the kind of idea I've worked for all my working life."
The middle aged man's frustration was evident in his words and etched in the look on his face.
"No, Pat,” she whispered.
"I need the money your innovation will bring me. Would've been so much easier if you'd allowed me to keep a complete set of the data on my computer."
Anger flashed in his world-weary eyes.
"But you left out too much crucial crap. I couldn't put together the key parts of the project. Very smart of you.” He sighed heavily. “Sorry it had to come to this, Ashley. We have a buyer interested in using your work. Worth top dollar on the black market."
"Why would it be valuable enough to threaten us with a gun?"
He looked disgusted. “You don't even know what you have, damn it.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and held it in Ashley's face. “Recognize this?"
"What is it, Ash?” Reese asked.
"That's just a new use for the IRT I worked on. Nothing yet."
Pat laughed cynically. “With these rough scribbling added to your new IRT setup, we just might use this to pinpoint a sniper's location."
Ashley gasped.
"This can revolutionize warfare, Ashley,” Homfield said.
"I don't work on weaponry. I thought of prevention. For law enforcement. Not defensive warfare. And never to sell to our enemies."
"We know, we know,” Street spat. “So self-righteous and honorable of you."
As the man she called Pat spoke to Ashley, attempting to justify his wrongs, Reese hadn't taken his eyes off Street. Street clutched the handgun in white-knuckled fingers. He looked uncomfortable and clumsy with the weapon. A modern pistol. A SIG P229, likely belonged to the incompetent security man who stood with them. Facing a green gunman scared him far worse than a man with skill and knowledge of the weapon. It was like the arrogant Street to hold the gun instead of letting the semi-trained security guy hold it.
Reese covertly glanced to the farm fields. The bodyguards out there gave little sign, but they were aware something had changed. They wouldn't be worth their pay if they weren't. He saw one of them speaking into something he'd taken from his pocket.
They were moving this way, but could they close the distance between the house and the field in good enough time? He hoped to hell they could.
"We need all the plans! Now,” Street snapped.
Ashley squeezed Reese's hand, which was still clasped in hers. “You won't find them here,” she said with a calm tone she didn't feel. She breathed carefully, struggling to keep her nerve, even as adrenaline surged through her blood like cold fire.
She sensed Reese's rigid posture and high level of readiness to do battle. She didn't want him shot by that wicked looking black gun. Her mind filled with thoughts that they could be killed and she'd never told Reese she loved him. She had been too cowardly, afraid of rejection.
In spite of the weapon in his own hand and false bravado he sought to portray, Mike feared Reese. She read anxiety in his jerky actions. The day was cold and crisp, but Street was sweating. She took another deep, steady breath. A fearful man could do stupid, stupid things.
Pat and the Braxton security chief weren't looking much more secure. Pat had a wild, irrational look in his eyes. And the third man avoided any eye contact with them. Bad sign.
Street's worried gaze darted across the isolated hill and locked onto the road leading to the main highway. He expected any interference with their plan to come from the road and not from the farm fields that lay behind him.
Street turned his angry gaze back to Ashley. “C'mon! C'mon! Enough talk."
"Easy, Mike,” Pat cautioned. “This could turn bad on us."
"If you don't have it here...” Street waved the gun, “...get a piece of paper and write down the details. Pat, here, knows enough about the technology to recognize a fake job,” he warned, still waving the gun about in careless sweeps.
Pat told her exactly the details he lacked.
Ashley looked to Reese.
"Go ahead. Do as he says, love.” Reese's voice was soft and coaxing. His eyes warned her not to fight them.
Tension clouded Reese's mind. He knew Ashley was a fighter and he feared she might not recognize the prudence of surrender.
God knew she never had with him. He strove for an outward calm, but his insides were knotted with apprehension.
Mandy's sweet, baby voice replayed in his mind. You will save her next time. He hoped their daughter's Peacewatcher second sight was accurate. He didn't want to let Ashley ... or Mandy down.
He watched as Ashley searched in her purse, bringing out a notepad she always carried. She said, “I can't find my pen."
Holding one hand up, signaling his intent, Reese carefully and slowly took a pen from his shirt pocket, intending to hand it to her.
Irrational and uneasy, Street misinterpreted his taking out the pen as an act of aggression. Street's movements were unsteady as he turned the gun to Reese, ready to fire.
"Goddamnit, Street! Don't be a fool!” Pat yelled.
Ashley saw the gun pointed toward him and acted from gut instinct. Before he could stop her, she kicked at the gun with an arching swing of her leg as hard as she could.
"No,” Reese whispered.
Ashley's foot connected hard with Street's forearm, deflecting the gun to the ground. The gun skittered across the porch boards.
With all his strength and fueled by anger, Reese lunged at Street and knocked him down, launching the smaller man as far from the loose weapon as he could.
At some level of consciousness, Ashley heard the roar of a helicopter approaching. Not more of these bastards.
But she had a more pressing problem—the security guard. After a moment of stunned inaction, the burly man lunged for Reese.
Ashley picked up a large landscaping stone from the porch border garden. She'd be damned if she let him hurt Reese. Raising it high, she hit the security man's head, hard. The thud of the blow sickened her. Her stomach lurched but she drew back to hit him again.
The man groaned and slumped to the ground unconscious. Thank God, she didn't have to hit him again.
Pat's gaze shot toward the now landing helicopter. “Shit, shit, shit,” he spat when he also saw the farmers now entering the yard, running toward them. “A bloody trap. Just my flocking luck.” He jumped on Reese's back, distracting him in his struggle with Street.
Sensing defeat and driven by self-preservation, Street managed to disentangle himself from the wrestling fight and took off at a run west to the river.
Ashley saw that Street and Pat didn't recognize the helicopter. It wasn't their people. Thank heavens for that.
At that moment, the chopper settled to the earth, the blades slowed with whomp, whomp, whomp sounds. Several figures with serious expressions exited and rushed toward them.
After a few more seconds of bruising conflict, Reese realized Pat had no fight left. He gave up, raising his hands in surrender. Thank God, because he needed to catch his breath.
But he scanned the area for Mike Street and saw him running, c
overing ground toward a distant wooded area. Hellfire and damnation.
"Damned if I'll let him get away with this,” he swore.
He handed the S.I.G. to Ashley.
"Hold these two here with this, Ash,” he said. At the look of revulsion she gave the gun, he captured her face for a quick, hard kiss. “You can do this, love. Hold it steady and straight. That's all you need to do. The Calvary is on its way. They don't see Street. Damn it all, I don't want to leave you, but I can't let him slip away in the excitement. He's the kind of asshole that will blame us for his failure and return."
She nodded. “Yes. Yes. Go. Be careful."
Reese ran and climbed the paddock fence, then dropped to the ground where the horse stood alert to the commotion around him. With a practiced move from years of bareback riding as a kid, Reese grabbed the mane and launched himself onto the horse's back.
After a puzzled look and flip of his ears, Kernel leapt to a pounding gallop from a standstill.
Jumping the four foot gate, they ate up the ground fast. In a few hundred yards, they caught up with Street. Reese steered Kernel across the man's path, positioning the horse between the other man and the nearby woods and river.
The cow horse lowered his head and flattened his ears in warning at Street as if he were an errant cow. With all the enthusiasm of his champion back home, Tellstar.
Street feinted to the left.
Kernel, more fit than he'd been in years thanks to the early morning rides with Reese, was right in front of Street as fast as the blink of an eye.
Reese's weight shifted with ease to follow the motion of the horse.
Street made a try in the other direction. Again the horse was in front of him, forelegs spread, ears pinned back and ready to block another attempt at escape.
Winded now, Street reluctantly threw up his hands, realizing the futility of resisting.
"Head back to the house,” Reese ordered.
Still holding the two men with the SIG, Ashley realized Reese had Street under control now. She saw the men from the helicopter as they approached where she stood with Pat and the unconscious security man.
To her surprise, she recognized her neighbor, Emma Carson, leading the men from the chopper, clearly the boss. What on earth? The older woman was dressed like the others, in military jumpsuits.
The Horseman's Heritage Page 25