Her Guardian Rancher

by Brenda Minton

  For those few minutes in his arms, she was more. As his lips grazed her cheek and hovered near her temple, she wanted to be more than the solitary person she’d become. She wanted to trust her heart. Because this man was good and kind. He cared deeply.

  He kept cards from schoolchildren he’d never met.

  But trust was such a fragile thing and hers had been broken, shattered by Andy’s infidelity, his willingness to walk away when he realized she didn’t fit in his world or his plans for the future.

  The heart was a funny thing. Once broken, it tried to avoid being broken again.

  She slipped from his arms, the invisible string untethering so that she could back away. She touched her lips, still feeling the aftereffects of the kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” he said calmly. Hadn’t he felt what she felt? Maybe that was the part of her heart she shouldn’t trust, the part that felt so much when others seemed to feel nothing in return.

  “Don’t.” Her hand slid from his shoulder. “It was a kiss, nothing more.”

  “Sure, nothing more,” he said, the words sounding unsure. Maybe he wasn’t as strong as she gave him credit for.

  It was time to change the subject, to let the moment go.

  “The tree looks beautiful. And I do love the homemade ornaments. Do you use them every year?”

  He glanced at the tree, as if he’d forgotten its existence. She hid her amusement, then chastised herself for being so pleased that he seemed a little off-kilter.

  “We’re going to discuss the tree right now?” he asked, brushing a hand across his mouth.

  “It seemed safe.”

  “Okay. Yes, I do. I put the tree up and water it and then I go to the Wilders’.”

  “Why?”

  He let out a sigh. “This is the problem with women. Kiss them and they want to know all your secrets.”

  She heard the humor in his tone and a little bit of frustration. She decided to go with humor. “Kiss and tell, McKay.”

  “I don’t sleep at night. Thus my stalkerish behavior, driving past your house, making sure you’re all safe and sound. I pace a lot.”

  “Nightmares?”

  He put the lid back on one of the tubs that had held decorations. “Yeah. Nightmares.”

  “You were injured, too.”

  He nodded at the observation. “Yes. I was hit with shrapnel.”

  “We’ve never discussed this.” She picked up a card that had been left on the coffee table.

  “We weren’t friends,” he said with a grin.

  “No. And now we are. So tell me about the injuries.”

  “Oh, you’re one of those friends. The type that believes she has a right to know everything.”

  “Something like that. After all, you know everything about my life.”

  He picked up their coffee cups and headed to the kitchen. Her phone rang as he was pouring more coffee.

  * * *

  Daron listened to Emma’s phone conversation. Even hearing only one side, he knew there was a problem. And it sounded serious, meaning she’d have to head home. He poured out the coffee and hit the power button on the coffeemaker. She ended the call.

  “The tiller is gone. I don’t know why Granddad was out in the shed, but he said it’s practically empty. We don’t go out there much in the winter.” She slipped the phone into her pocket. “I can’t afford this. I know it’s Pete, although I don’t know why he targets my family. I don’t want to press charges. But I can’t support his drug habit.”

  “He’s going to have to get help. And if that means you pressing charges, then you have to do that. Let’s head on back to your place. Did Art call the police?”

  “Yeah, the nonemergency number for the county. They’ll be out tomorrow to take a statement and a list of missing items.”

  He watched as she woke Jamie, holding her daughter close and trying to maneuver her arms into her jacket.

  “Take the blanket. Then you won’t have to stuff her into the jacket.”

  She nodded and wrapped the blanket tightly around Jamie. “Thank you. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be gone on a job.”

  Her eyes darted his direction. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”

  The strangest thing happened; he realized he’d miss her. He guessed it wasn’t the first time he’d had that thought. How did you miss a person when she wasn’t a real part of your life? He guessed that after today, he’d miss her more.

  He could call that kiss a mistake. Or just a moment. But what it did was change things. It changed a lot when a man kissed a woman, and when she stepped away, his first thought was how to get her back. And keep her.

  The job would give him time to get away and put things in perspective.

  “We should go. Before your granddad starts a search on his own.” He laughed it off, but he wasn’t sure it was really a joke.

  “He did mention tire tracks at the side of the road. He said it looks like they went north.”

  “Maybe I should hire him?” He took Jamie from her. The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Only if you switch your business from security to private investigator.”

  He shifted Jamie to his left hip and pulled the keys out of his pocket. He winced as a spasm tightened in his lower back. Emma caught the look.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “Of course you are. I didn’t say anything.”

  When they got back to her place, he parked next to Art’s old truck. Jamie was still sleeping. He got her out of the backseat. As they headed for the house, Art stepped out on the front porch.

  “I wasn’t expecting the two of you to head back here. I can hold down the fort.” Art showed them his .22.

  “Art, you have to put that away.” Emma stepped up on the porch and took the weapon from her granddad. “That isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “If it’s Pete, he’s hopped up on meth. You don’t know what he might try next.”

  “He won’t hurt us,” she insisted.

  Daron wanted to argue Art’s side. Pete might hurt them. Instead he handed Jamie over to Emma and took the gun from her. “We’ll put this away. And, Art, let’s have a quick look in the shed. But we aren’t going to touch anything. Let’s make a list of everything you thought was in the shed and things you think might be missing. If you have paperwork on the tiller, that would be helpful.”

  “I have it filed,” Emma said as she walked through the door Art had opened for her.

  Daron followed Art to the shed at the back of the yard. “Art, I’m going to be out of town a few days.”

  “I’ll keep them safe for you.”

  Daron opened the door to the shed. Did he argue that it wasn’t for him? That they weren’t his to keep safe? They were Art’s family. But he didn’t argue. Emma needed to focus on Jamie, on the upcoming surgery. She didn’t need to worry about Pete and what he might do next.

  Sometimes a man made a decision that would change everything. He guessed he’d been making decisions like that since he got back. Including the one he was about to make.

  “If something happens, call me. And I’ll make sure that either Boone or Lucy drives by here, just to check on things.”

  Art peered into the inside of the shed. “That’s a lot more than a guilty conscience talking.”

  “I’d kind of like to think it’s a thing friends would do for friends.”

  Art stepped out of the shed and he looked Daron head-on. He might be getting older, but Art Lewis was still a tough old man and the look on his face wiped away any humor Daron felt.

  “Sure, okay. But let me give you some advice, Daron. Back in my day, if a man liked a woman, he just came out and said something. Usually he started out with ‘I
sure like that perfume.’ And then he might ask if she’d like to catch a movie or get some ice cream.”

  “Ice cream, Art?” Daron couldn’t help laughing.

  Art gave him a sheepish look, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “Well, I guess young people these days don’t get ice cream.”

  “Maybe if they’re fifteen.”

  “You’re wearing my granddaughter’s lipstick on your cheek. I guess ice cream would be a mite silly at this point.”

  Daron wiped at his face while pretending serious interest in the contents of the shed. “What was hanging on the hooks?”

  “Some halters and a couple of bridles. Emma won’t be happy about that. One was her show bridle. Not that she’s had much chance to show. She had to sell her good mare. Shame, really. She’s quite the trainer.”

  “When did she sell the mare?” Daron didn’t know why it mattered. He didn’t want to think about why he was asking.

  “Six months ago. She decided college and a way to support Jamie were more important than raising horses.” Art said it over his shoulder as he looked around the shed.

  “Who bought her?”

  “Duke Martin. Probably hoping she’d be able to buy the horse back someday.”

  “We’ll find her stuff, Art.”

  “Don’t break her heart in the process. Andy did a number on her. She’s not gone out with anyone since he left her. She says Jamie is her life and she doesn’t have the time or energy for a relationship. But she’s young. Too young to give up.”

  “I don’t think she’s giving up,” Daron said. He closed the door of the shed. “The tiller, bridles and halters. You’ll have to tell Emma because the police will need descriptions.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just hate it. It’s like Andy took a big chunk out of her heart and his family has been chipping away at the rest ever since.”

  “We won’t let them,” Daron assured the older man. “We’ll keep her safe.”

  “I’m guessing you are part of the ‘we’?”

  Daron didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t feel like the person Emma should count on. Not when he was the person who had put her in this situation in the first place. One moment. One decision. Lives changed forever.

  Because of his decision to ask Andy to help them out, Daron was now in Emma’s life. In Jamie’s life. In Art’s life. When he’d started on this journey he thought it would be a short one. He’d get home, make sure they were okay and taken care of. But here he was, three years later, and he was still in their lives.

  No escape route. He guessed he’d planned the mission without a clear way out.

  Chapter Eight

  The weather had warmed by Friday. Emma left the grocery store and headed for her truck, a bag under each arm. She’d worked the breakfast shift at Duke’s, and as soon as she picked up Jamie from Breezy Martin’s house, she was heading home to fix soup for Art. He’d caught a cold and wasn’t doing well.

  It didn’t help that the house was drafty and damp. She’d build a big fire tonight and they’d have something warm to eat. She stored her worry for a later day. She didn’t have time for it right now.

  She definitely didn’t have time to get sick. She could feel the virus tickling her throat and lurking in her head. She refused to give in to it. She didn’t have time for that, either.

  As she got in her truck, she waved at Boone Wilder. He was getting out of his truck and heading into Duke’s. If she had more time she’d talk to him, tell him he didn’t have to take over where his friend left off. She didn’t need their bodyguard services. If Boone wanted to help, he should convince his friend Daron to move on with his life.

  Three years was too long for one man to be stuck in the past. Stuck worrying about her. Stuck in his own nightmares. And because she knew that about him, she now worried about him.

  She liked him.

  Purely as a friend, of course.

  It was easy to let him be a friend. No strings attached. No complications. No worries that she wouldn’t meet his parents’ standards. No fear that she wouldn’t fit into his world. No heartache when he realized he’d married a woman who would never feel comfortable in his world.

  He would never hurt her because she wouldn’t give him the chance.

  She started her truck and backed out of the parking space, waving to Oregon Martin when she appeared at the front door of her shop. Oregon’s All Things was just that, a shop with a bit of everything. All handmade by Oregon.

  The truck shuddered a bit as she shifted gears. Like everything else on the farm, the truck needed repairs. Actually, if she was completely honest with herself, it needed to be replaced. She started it every day with a prayer that it would keep running. One more day. Her prayer for so many things.

  She cranked the radio up. If she listened to music, if she sang along, it distracted her. It also meant she couldn’t hear the death knock in the engine, telling her it wouldn’t last much longer. Her worrying wasn’t going to change things, so she might as well be happy where she was in life.

  Where she was wasn’t so bad. She rolled down the windows because it was damp and chilly but it felt good. The air smelled clean, like farmland and winter. The song playing on the radio was a favorite of hers.

  She was going home to fix soup and the yeast rolls she’d put in the fridge the previous evening. She had a half dozen steers she planned to take to the auction. The money would get them through the next few months. It would help while she was in Austin for Jamie’s surgery.

  The surgery. Thinking of it caused a tight knot to develop in her stomach. Sing, she reminded herself. About peace. “It Is Well” came on the radio. One of her favorite versions of the song. A song about a man who continued to think it was well with his soul, even after the loss of family and fortune.

  “Whatever my lot, thou has taught me to sing. It is well...”

  Suddenly the engine popped and sizzled, and the truck rolled to a stop.

  She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and laughed. Crying would have taken too much energy and she doubted it would get her home. Besides, it was just another stupid thing to get her down, to steal her joy, to rob her of peace.

  No, she wasn’t going to let it get to her. She leaned back and thought about her tired feet and the two-mile walk back to town because her phone was dead. She gathered up her purse, her tips for the day stashed safely inside, buttoned her jacket and stepped out of the truck. Back to town was definitely closer than Jake Martin’s house, where Breezy had Jamie.

  The wind whipped at her hair. She pulled up the hood of her jacket and started walking. She didn’t make it fifty feet when a truck eased in behind her. She turned as the gray Dodge moved to the shoulder. And then she started back toward her truck, picking up the pace when she heard the door of the other truck creaking open and slamming shut.

  “Emma. Wait.”

  She didn’t wait. Instead she ran to her truck and climbed in, locking the doors. She watched in her rearview mirror as Pete hurried to her truck. He was thinner than the last time she’d seen him. His light-colored hair was thin and greasy. There were sores on his face.

  “Emma, I just want to talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk. Pete, just go. I don’t have anything. If I had money would I be driving this truck?”

  He braced his hands on the top and peered in at her. His eyes were watery and rimmed with dark shadows. She felt for him. He hadn’t always been this person. But he’d made the wrong choices.

  “I need help. I need money.” He closed his eyes but continued to rest against her truck. “I’m tired, Emma. I can’t keep doing this.”

  “Then get help. Go to your parents and tell them you need help.”

  “I haven’t seen them in months. I can’t see them because I don’t want the
m to know. You have to help me.” He looked up at the overcast sky. “I need five thousand dollars.”

  “Oh, come on, Pete, even I know that meth isn’t that expensive.”

  “I owe some people. Some really bad people.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “No, you have no idea.” He shook his head. “I’m warning you. I’m in with some bad people. I’ve been dealing and I owe them.”

  “Did you take their money, Pete? Or use up the merchandise?”

  “I don’t have time for this, Emma. I just need money. If you could loan me some money. You were Andy’s wife. I’m your brother.”

  “Andy divorced me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He looked about to cry.

  She rolled down the window, unafraid. “Pete. You’re strung out and you need to sleep. Get some help. Go to your parents. It isn’t as if they don’t know.”

  “I can’t.” He breathed in, his lungs raspy, his hands on the truck shaking. “I can’t. But you have to understand. These people are bad.”

  “What are you saying, Pete?”

  “These aren’t the type of people who forgive.”

  “Okay, fine. They don’t forgive. You should go. You’re starting to scare me and I need to get home to my family.”

  “How’s Jamie?”

  “None of your business.”

  He brushed a hand over his face. “Let me help you with your truck. I should help you. Andy would want me to do that.”

  “Pete, you don’t have to help me.”

  This guy, who had been stealing from her a week ago, now wanted to help?

  “Yeah, I can help. Let me look at the engine. Or I can call for a wrecker.”

  “You could do that for me. But then you have to leave. And, Pete, you have to get help.”

  “I wish that was possible.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, then shoved it back in. “Never mind. Your watchdog is here. I’ll leave.”

  He took off at a run back to his truck. She watched in the rearview mirror and then she got out of her truck as Boone Wilder approached, looking menacing with his hat pulled low and a glower directed at the other man, now in his own vehicle.