Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe

by Cassie Miles

  He nodded back. “Morning, Jesse.”

  Abby bounced down from her chair, took his hand and led him toward the counter. “Come here. Right now. You need coffee.”

  He followed the bossy, little blonde pixie. “And why are you so sure of that?”

  She rolled her baby-blue eyes. “Everybody is sooo tired today.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” After a night of rotating shifts with the other men guarding her house, he’d gotten barely enough sleep. And his dreams had been troubled.

  “You have to pour it yourself,” Abby said as she went to the refrigerator. “I’m not allowed to touch hot stuff, but I can get the milk.”

  She held the nearly empty container up to him. Though he usually took his coffee black, he added a dollop of milk. “Thank you, Abby.”

  “I’m a very good hostess.”

  “You took good care of me.”

  “I know,” she said. “And I would take very good care of a pony.”

  “Would you give him coffee?”

  “Silly.” She laughed. “Ponies eat oatmeal.”

  As she flounced back to the table, he helped himself to a blueberry muffin. No fruit this morning. Food supplies were running low. Later today, somebody would need to make a run to the market.

  He gulped down the coffee and ate the muffin over the sink. If he moved fast, he could make his escape without running into Fiona. To MacKenzie, he said, “I’m heading out. Tell Wentworth that I’ll be back by noon.”

  He was unlocking the back door when he heard Fiona’s voice behind his shoulder. “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

  He turned. Caught. “Goodbye.”

  She looked rested and alert with a touch of makeup on her wide gray eyes and a glossy pink lipstick. Her shiny brown hair hung in a neat braid down her back.

  “Not so fast,” she said. “I’d like your opinion on one of the pieces I fired in the kiln last night.”

  “Can’t help you.” He gazed longingly at the door. “I don’t know much about art.”

  Much like Abby, she took his hand and pulled him down the hallway to her studio. The females in this family had a definite bossy streak. “My inspiration for this piece was the Navajo wedding vase.”

  The interior of her studio was transformed. The last time he was in here, sketch pads and tools were piled on the worktable. Now that space held a neat display of finished artworks—small sculptures of bright-colored houses, exotic plants, strange-looking creatures and a variety of pots and vases.

  “I liked the idea of the wedding vase,” she said. “With two spouts rising from the same vessel. Separate but joined together.”

  A pearly glaze shimmered on a pot that seemed to be made of leaves. Wintery but not cold. Her talent impressed him, but her words sank deep. Separate but joined together. A marriage didn’t have to be all-consuming. He touched the pearly ceramic. “It’s like living ice.”

  She beamed. “You like it.”

  “I like all of it.” Some of the odd little animals made him smile. The shapes on the pots were fascinating. “You’re good.”

  “Andrea—Carolyn and Dylan’s mother—is coming over this morning. She owns a gallery in Manhattan. If I can convince her to show my work, I gain instant credibility.”

  With the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, he should have expected this creative side to her personality. She was one of the most expressive people he’d ever known. Every minute he spent in her company fascinated him and drew him closer. “Andrea would be a fool not to show your work.”

  She went up on tiptoe and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “That’s what I needed to hear. Now you can go.”

  Now he wanted to stay. He picked up one of the pots—a simple, functional shape with a geometric design of orange and deep blue. “This reminds me of some of the Navajo artists. My grandfather would have liked it.”

  “That’s a terrific compliment. I know how important he was to you.”

  Jesse remembered. “I dreamed about him last night. I saw him walking across a high mesa. There was a woman with him. A blonde woman.”

  “Nicole,” she said.

  “I called her name, and I raced toward them, leaping from one rock to another. But I didn’t get any closer. You know how that is? Running in a dream?”

  “I know.”

  “My grandfather came to the edge of the cliff and raised both arms to a glaring sun. The light flared. Nicole was gone.”

  He feared for her, feared that Richter had killed her and left her body in a shallow grave. Searching these mountains would take months, even years. They might never find her body.

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  He wouldn’t voice that fear, wouldn’t give it substance by saying it aloud. “When my grandfather turned around, I was next to him. Close enough to touch the leather medicine pouch that hung from his neck, but I didn’t reach toward him.”

  Though he didn’t believe the lore about ghost-walkers and shape-shifters, he respected the dead. “He spoke to me in Navajo. I don’t understand the language very well, but I knew what he was saying. ‘Follow your path.’”

  “Like the trail you followed into town,” she said. “Maybe he was telling you that you’re on the right track.”

  Jesse frowned. He didn’t know what the hell his dream meant. He was tired of riddles and pieces of clues. He wanted to know exactly what to do next. “I should go.”

  “I’ll be here waiting.”

  Whether he liked it or not, he knew that his path would always lead back to Fiona.

  AT THE CARLISLE RANCH, Jesse didn’t bother going inside. He went directly to the stables. The bay horse he’d been riding yesterday nickered when he came close to his stall. He was a good mount, even-tempered and sensitive to direction. Within a few minutes, Jesse was saddled up and ready to go.

  Outside the stable, another rider was waiting. “Need some help?”

  It was Dylan. A mantle of anger and grief still draped around him, but there was a different energy as well—a sense of determination.

  “How are you at tracking?” Jesse asked.

  “Pretty good. I’m a hunter.” He nodded back toward the house. “Burke won’t be joining us. He got a lead on the whereabouts of Zeke O’Toole.”

  Jesse flicked his reins. “Let’s see what we can find.”

  Together, they set out across the south pasture. Jesse didn’t need directions to the creek where Nicole had met with her husband. It was near the same place Jesse had witnessed the actual kidnapping—the place where he’d been shot.

  To their east, a panorama of ranch land, valley and rolling hills stretched toward distant snowcapped peaks. Wispy clouds streaked the blue skies, and sunlight brightened the khaki winter fields. Though he couldn’t help but marvel at the vast beauty of this land bordering the edge of the forest, Jesse had a sense of foreboding. Dylan must have been feeling much the same way. At this quiet glen in the forest, his wife had told him their marriage was over.

  He glanced toward the man riding beside him. In his shearling jacket and fawn-colored Stetson, Dylan Carlisle was one-hundred-percent cowboy. He’d lived on this land all his life; the acreage and cattle belonged to his family. A heavy responsibility.

  When Dylan first hired Longbridge Security—only hours before the kidnapping—he’d been tense. His ranch was under assault from vandals who had burned down an old stable. Though he didn’t like the idea that he needed bodyguards for protection, he wasn’t rude or arrogant.

  The last time they met, Dylan had lashed out at him. Justifiably, Jesse thought. Still, it hadn’t been Dylan’s finest hour.

  They slowed as they reached the winding path that led to a stream. In springtime, this trail would have been green and beautiful. Now the white branches of aspens were skeletal and bare. The shrubs were brown, spiky clumps.

  Jesse ignored his memory of being shot. They were here to find out what had happened after Dylan met Nicole. Earlier, the cowboy
accepted her at her word; he had refused to search for his wife.

  “What changed your mind?” Jesse asked.

  “Burke told me about what you’d found yesterday. The trail that went into Riverton. Buying a car from Zeke.” He shook his head. “This kidnapping plot is more complicated than I thought. Butch is dead. And why is Richter still hanging around?”

  “Got to be the money,” Jesse said. “Are you thinking we might be able to get the ransom back?”

  “I don’t give a damn about the ransom.” He reined his horse beside the trickling stream. “Here’s where she met me.”

  He stared hard at an empty space in front of a tall spruce. His jaw tightened. Though Jesse could tell that Dylan wasn’t a man given to emotional display, he saw a tear spill down his cheek.

  He continued. “It wasn’t the first time Nicole told me off. We’re going through a rough patch in our marriage. Trying to get pregnant. When she said she wanted a divorce, I believed her. And now…” He cleared his throat. “Now I’m thinking I might have been wrong. That she’s still out there being held prisoner.”

  Or worse. Not a thought Jesse wanted to dwell on. “Let’s see what we can find.”

  “A couple of my men were already out here,” Dylan said. “They picked up a trail that led toward Fiona’s house.”

  “One rider?”

  Dylan nodded.

  Jesse was pretty sure that wasn’t right. There should have been two sets of tracks. His assumption was that Nicole had been accompanied by one of the kidnappers. Why else would they split up?

  One of them grabbed the ransom and rode into town. The other stayed with Nicole. He sat up in his saddle and scanned the surrounding forest. “I’m guessing that she didn’t come to this meeting alone. One of the kidnappers was with her, maybe holding a gun on her.”

  “You think she was coerced? That they threatened to shoot her if she didn’t say what they wanted?”

  Dylan drew that conclusion quickly. He must have already been considering the possibility that Nicole was acting under duress.

  “You’re a hunter,” Jesse said. “If you wanted a clear shot at this spot, where would you hide?”

  “Uphill. It was just after dark when I met her. There are plenty of places he could have been hiding in the trees.”

  “Leave the horses here.” Jesse dismounted. “I’ll go left. You go right.”

  He climbed slowly, taking note of every broken twig, every mark on the ground. The stream attracted more than kidnappers and victims. There were hoofprints from elk. At the base of a pine tree, he found a squirrel’s cache stuffed with pinecones.

  “Found a boot print,” Dylan called out.

  The vantage point where Dylan stood was uphill. A sniper in that position would have had a clear shot at Nicole, unless she made a sudden break and raced toward the ranch. She was a good rider, experienced enough to know that she could have escaped, especially since the kidnapper wasn’t on horseback.

  The beginning of an idea began to take shape in his mind. “Be there in a minute.”

  He found what he was looking for. A neat set of boot prints behind a tree. His horse had been only a couple of yards away, hidden behind a boulder.

  There were two kidnappers watching Nicole, holding a gun on her. Two at this spot. Another at La Rana to pick up the ransom.

  Butch and Richter had help.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Fiona welcomed Andrea into her house, she was fully aware that this meeting could change her career.

  The sophisticated Manhattanite greeted her and Abby with warm hugs. Gazing around the front room, Andrea said, “I haven’t been in this house for years. Over twenty years, in fact. Sterling and I used to play cards with the Grants.”

  “Wyatt’s parents,” Fiona said. She found it hard to believe that Andrea was part of a prior generation. She didn’t look older than forty. And a fabulous forty, at that.

  “We used to laugh all night. Drink gallons of wine and ride home singing at the top of our lungs.” Her voice was tinged with nostalgia. “Not many people knew that side of Sterling Carlisle. Everyone saw him as the patriarch, the founder of Carlisle Certified Organic Beef.”

  “And now your children are carrying on his legacy. You must be proud of them.”

  “Proud? Yes. Also worried.”

  How could she not be worried? She’d returned to a ranch in the midst of trauma. Fiona placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  The only coffee Fiona had left was instant. Her food supplies were running low after feeding all the bodyguards and search teams that had descended upon her house.

  “Nothing for me,” Andrea said. “With the way Polly has been feeding me, I’ll never fit into my clothes when I get back to New York.”

  “She’s an amazing cook,” Fiona agreed.

  Abby piped up, “Polly gives me cookies.”

  There had been a time when Fiona would have been gushing with apologies and embarrassed about the lack of fresh ground coffee and the less than pristine condition of her home. During her marriage, she’d taken her duties as a hostess seriously, knowing that Wyatt would be judged on her performance. If Fiona’s hemline had been too short or if she’d served the wrong wine with dinner or if she laughed too loudly, people would talk.

  Now she was free to be herself, and she liked the feeling. A fresh start. Jesse had mentioned walking together on a new path, discovering new adventures. That was the route she wanted to take.

  Abby rushed to the dining room and climbed onto a chair. She pointed to the colorfully painted Santa Claus ceramic centerpiece. “I made this.”

  “It’s lovely,” Andrea said.

  “Mommy says we’re going to get a Christmas tree pretty soon and decorate.”

  “And what do you want from Santa?”

  “A pony,” Abby said quickly.

  Fiona lifted her daughter off her perch and settled the child onto her hip. Though Abby was almost too heavy to carried, she couldn’t be allowed to run free in the studio—not while there were so many pieces on display, tempting Abby to touch.

  Fiona unlocked the studio door, ushered Andrea inside and got out of the way. Her artwork needed to speak for itself. There was nothing Fiona could say to convince an experienced dealer like Andrea to give her a chance.

  Abby, on the other hand, was bursting with comments about the fairy houses and animals and big pots.

  While Andrea viewed the many objects on display, her eyes were hard and analytical. “You have talent, Fiona. And imagination. I’ve seldom seen such a wide range of pottery and sculpture.”

  Fiona listened for the “but.” Talented, but…Skillful, but…

  Andrea continued. “You’re an emotional artist. I can see your happiness. Your anger. And your fear.”

  But…

  “I’d like to show your work. In late spring, I’ve arranged for a couple of other sculptors.” She mentioned an impressive list of artists. “Your pottery would fit in quite well.”

  She gave Abby a squeeze. Their financial situation was about to take a turn for the better. She couldn’t wait to tell Jesse. “Thanks so much.”

  “We’ll work out the details,” Andrea said. “Why don’t you and Abby come home with me? I’m sure it’ll be easier for all of us to be guarded at the same time. We have plenty of food. And coffee.”

  “And horses,” Abby said.

  Fiona whipped out her cell phone. “I need to check with Jesse first, but I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

  She wanted to believe that everything would turn out well. It felt as though the tide had turned, and luck was on her side.

  AT THE CARLISLE RANCH house, Fiona and Abby were well protected. All the ranch hands who weren’t actually working the cattle were armed and assigned to guard duty.

  After lunch, she and Abby took a walk toward the stable with Carolyn. Fiona said, “It looks like the Old West around here. All these cowboys with rifles.”

&n
bsp; “The amazing thing,” Carolyn said, “is that most of these guys are even less enlightened than their 1800s counterparts.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know you love this ranch.”

  “But my home is in Denver.” She tipped her cowboy hat back on her forehead. “I can’t wait to get back to my high-rise condo with the Jacuzzi bathtub and the walk-in closet. I have a pair of designer stilettos in acrylic and silver that I’ve never worn.”

  “Not to mention the extra benefit,” Fiona said. “Burke lives in the city. Is he more enlightened than a cowboy?”

  “I have tickets for The Nutcracker next week, and he agreed to go with me.”

  “To the ballet?” Fiona had a hard time imagining the big, rugged FBI agent sitting still for an evening of Tchaikovsky and tutus.

  “He promised. And the ballet is where I’m going to wear those stilettos for the first time.”

  Fiona appreciated the irony of discussing ballet and designer shoes on her way to the stable with a woman who was dressed like the archetypal cowgirl in jeans and dusty boots.

  They reached the corral where Carolyn’s horse, Elvis, greeted them with a toss of his head. She lifted Abby onto the second from the top rail on the fence so she could reach across and pet the horse.

  “I love Elvis,” Abby said. “What are stilettos?”

  “Shoes with pointy heels. You’ve seen the ones I have.”

  “You don’t wear them anymore.”

  And she didn’t miss them. The realization hit her that she was happy living here, running around in sneakers, climbing the hills and breathing the mountain air. Even if she became a successful potter with a display in Manhattan, she’d choose to live here.

  Looking out across the south pasture, she saw two men riding toward them. Jesse was in front, leaning forward in a gallop. The unexpected sight of him took her breath away. On horseback, he looked powerful and incredibly masculine. No matter what Carolyn said, cowboys were sexy.

  Carolyn nudged her shoulder. “Is there something going on with you and Jesse?”