Jackson spun around to hide the grin that cracked his face. “Come on in. The horses don’t bite. Well, most of them don’t.”
He got his snicker under control and turned around. The reporter still stood at the barn door, looking scared half to death. Her gaze darted from stall to stall then up to the hayloft as she took in everything.
She was probably a good reporter. Nothing seemed to get past her, and she asked a wheelbarrow full of questions. But...
“I’m not getting on one of those.” The whites of her eyes showed, and she wouldn’t cross the barn’s threshold.
Jackson shook his head. How did she ever manage to get assigned to do a ranch story?
“I can help you mount,” he said. “That’s no big deal.”
“Th-they’re too big.” She retreated several steps.
“Here, put this on.”
She stared at him, and her pretty mouth dropped open. “Y-you mean your horses are so wild we have to wear helmets?” She took another step backward, shaking her head.
He grinned at her naïveté. Yep, city girl through and through. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Old Dynamite over there likes to explode and throw off every rider that gets on him. He’s the one you’ll be ridin’.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Mariah reached out, grabbing hold of the barn door as if she needed support. She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. “Sure you can. Dynamite only bucks a few times then settles down to a bumpy trot. Course, you gotta watch out for snakes. If he sees one, he goes into a crazy bucking frenzy.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, ha-ha. Like he was bucking when that rattler was in here?”
Feeling God’s hand of conviction on his shoulder, Jackson set the helmets on a table near the barn door and faced her. “I was just jokin’. Most of those horses are gentle as babies. Still, there are a few that are green—not broken in yet—so you should stay away from those and not handle them.”
She nodded slowly, looking relieved. “I don’t plan on handling any of them.”
Jackson’s breath caught at being so close to her. With her looking up at him with those big eyes, he had a fleeting thought that he should wrap his arms around her and kiss away her concerns. Then he stepped away and regained control of his senses. “Are you ready to go?”
“Um...yeah, but I am not riding a horse,” she said with renewed determination.
He pulled open the door leading into his attached garage and held out his hand, motioning at his motorcycle. He tossed her a saucy grin. “Maybe you’d feel safer on this.”
FOUR
Mariah’s gaze zipped toward a sleek, black motorcycle with chrome fenders that gleamed in the garage light. For a moment, she didn’t respond, but then her lips tilted up. “Now you’re talking.”
“Here’s your helmet.” He handed her the purple one Kelly wore when biking, and she put it on. “Have you ridden before?”
She nodded. “I had a boyfriend in high school who had a bike. Of course, it wasn’t as nice as this one. I’m surprised we’re riding since it’s December. I figured we’d take your truck.”
“Can’t. Justin took Baron and went to town for supplies.” He pushed against the handlebars and booted up the kickstand. “If you’d rather, we can ride four-wheelers, but you’d have to drive one yourself. I don’t like going double on them, except with Hailey.”
She glanced at the back of the garage, where the three four-wheelers were parked. “No, this is fine. Who’s Justin?”
“A college student who works for me part-time.” Jackson tugged on his helmet and snapped the chin strap. “So, City Girl, you ready for a tour of my ranch?”
Mariah’s eyebrows dipped for a moment at the moniker, but then she shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.”
“All right. Hold on to me and lean the way I do when we make a turn.”
Mariah blinked, and then her eyes widened. “Hey! I can hear you inside the helmet. Speakers—cool.”
“Yep.” Jackson hopped on then motioned for her to do the same. He pushed a button, opening the garage door, then gave her a quick tour of the ranch area around the house. Turning onto County Line Road, he revved up the bike, now that Mariah had gotten used to it. Dried grass and oak trees with dead leaves still clinging to their limbs blurred as Jackson sped down the road. He felt free, just like when he raced a horse across the rolling hills of his ranch. Like an eagle soaring high in a brilliant blue sky.
He loved the feel of the wind whipping at his jacket. Even though it was December, the warm weather felt more like early October, and his lightweight jacket kept him plenty warm. That was one thing he loved about winter in Northeastern Oklahoma; there were bound to be some warm days tucked in between the cold ones.
Mariah had sat stiffly when they first got on the motorcycle. She must not have wanted to hold on to him because she had kept her hands on her thighs. Jackson grinned. At least she had until he’d revved the bike forward a few feet, almost knocking her off. She grabbed his waist then and hung on.
He liked that she wasn’t using her female wiles to charm him into allowing her to do the story. He wasn’t used to women not flirting. Even most of the single women in town and at church had tried to catch his attention at one time or another. Maybe he wasn’t Mariah’s type—or she wasn’t attracted to him because he had a child. He might not be a famous football player anymore, but he liked to think women still found him good-looking. What does she think about me?
Pursing his lips, he slowed for a stop sign. Mariah Reyes was the last woman he should be interested in. She was a reporter who had the power to destroy the peaceful life he enjoyed. If she made public where he lived or wrote what was happening at the ranch, his life could change drastically—and not in a good way. He clenched his jaw. He had no business being attracted to her. Just stick to the facts, Durant, and send her on her way ASAP.
“That white house on the right is where Lance lives.” He glanced over to admire the changes his friend had made to the old structure that had lain in disrepair for years after its owner died. “That place used to be a dump, but Lance installed new siding and put a roof on it.” Jackson’s land encircled Lance’s on three sides, and though his friend had asked if he’d be willing to sell him fifty acres, he hadn’t yet decided.
He’d hoped Lance’s moving to Oklahoma would satisfy his need for friendship, but it hadn’t completely. Too often lately, he’d been remembering the one good year he’d had with Misty and wishing things had never gone south. He actually missed being married—not that he’d been married all that long. But it had been nice for a while.
Irritated at his train of thought, he twisted the handgrip, and when the bike lurched forward, Mariah’s arms tightened around his waist. He blew out a deep breath. Maybe he was lonely.
Sure, he had Hailey and his family and friends. But deep inside, if he was honest with himself, he longed for the love of a woman—one who would love him for himself, not because he’d been famous or because he had some money, but for the man he was. In truth, he had to admit he enjoyed the feel of Mariah’s arms locked around his waist and her legs knocking against his when he changed gears. He’d spent a long time avoiding women, and to have one here on the ranch was more troublesome—and pleasant—than he’d imagined.
Spying the broken section of fence, he slowed the motorcycle to a quick stop, causing Mariah to bump against his back and cling tighter. He turned off the engine and stared at the damage. The fence had obviously been cut. Nothing could have broken all three strands of barbed wire in the same place like that without damaging the wooden fence posts.
Had it just been some kids looking for fun?
He removed his helmet. Doubtful. Any teens who lived around here would know how dangerous a cut fence could be, not only to cattle and
horses but also to drivers. Besides, most of the local kids were big fans of his and would never damage his property.
Who else, then? He didn’t have any enemies—at least not anymore. The only people to even get angry with him lately had been Howard Stunkard and Evan. But neither of them was destructive, although you’d never believe Howard wasn’t if you listened to him rant.
None of this made any sense. After Hailey’s birth and Misty’s death, he’d hightailed it out of Texas to the rolling hills of Northeastern Oklahoma and the ranch he’d inherited from Uncle Dan. He’d earned a place in the community of farmers and ranchers, and even the businessmen in the small town of Westin respected his privacy. He’d made many friends and settled in a church, once he gave his heart to God.
A scissor-tailed flycatcher landed on a nearby fence post, drawing his attention. The gray-and-white bird pecked at something then flew over to a juniper shrub. Jackson peered over his shoulder at Mariah. “Did you see that? It’s our state bird.”
Mariah removed her helmet. “No, I was studying the landscape. It’s hillier here than the Dallas area.”
“That’s true.” Jackson glanced back at the curled barbed wire. Why would someone do this? Even his brother no longer resented that their uncle had left the biggest share of the ranch to him and that Evan had gotten their grandmother’s house in town. Uncle Dan had made the right decision. His sister, Kelly, had been able to live in town with Evan and graduate from Westin High, while Jackson had traveled with the Tornados. Evan had set up his computer business in the downstairs of Granny’s old house, and thanks to the internet, he owned a booming computer consulting company, even though he lived in a small country town.
Jackson ran his hand through his hair, remembering the sorry state of neglect the ranch had been in when he finally decided to relocate here. Thankfully, by then, Kelly had graduated and moved in to help with baby Hailey. He’d been blessed with a small core group of family and good friends and had no enemies that he could name.
But now, for several weeks, there had been incidences. It made him uneasy. But how did one fight against so many random events?
Mariah’s hand tightening on his shoulder jarred him out of his reverie as she eased off the back of the bike. He stood, hauling up the backpack of supplies that he’d secured in front of him, and bit back a grin. Her hair looked as if she’d just crawled out of bed. All messed up and cute.
A faint blush rose to her cheeks when he continued to stare. Breaking the connection, he hung his helmet on the handlebar, rolled his bike onto the road’s tarred shoulder and lowered the kickstand, and then he tromped through the tall weeds toward the fence.
He should probably be a gentleman and offer Mariah a hand, but his gaze locked on the clean cut of the wire again. Frustration spiraled through him. He surveyed the area, but the grass was too thick to leave footprints. He didn’t fear any of his horses getting loose again, as yesterday, Justin and Lance had helped him round them up and put them in a secure pasture. All but one. After he finished here, he needed to find Princess, the missing mare. She was due to foal any day.
He turned to Mariah as he unzipped the backpack, not surprised to see that she still stood on the edge of the blacktopped road, looking uncertain.
“This might take a while,” he said. “Why don’t you take a walk around and check things out? There’s a pretty little creek that runs along the bottom of the valley, just over that hill.”
She glanced in the direction he pointed then looked at the ground. “What about snakes?”
“I doubt there’s any snakes out here. Too cold for ’em this time of year.”
“There was one in your barn.”
Jackson scowled at the reminder. “Like you said, I don’t believe it got there by accident.”
“I could help you—I mean, if you need it.”
He looked at her soft hands, not wanting to think what a mess the barbed wire could make of them. “Thanks for the offer, but I only brought one pair of gloves.” He pulled them from his backpack and waved them at her.
“All right. I’d like to see that creek. Sounds pretty.” A heartwarming smile drove away the apprehension in her expression, and then she hopped across the ditch, stepped past him and went through the opening in the fence. She paused and turned back. “How will I get out if you patch this?”
“I’ll hold it open so you can climb through.”
She nodded and turned, cautiously picking her way across the uneven ground.
He watched her dark hair swish back and forth as she walked. She must have combed it when he wasn’t looking, because it looked close to perfect now. Mariah was slim, but definitely not cheerleader thin. He’d never been attracted to a brunette before. Blondes were more his style.
He screeched on the brakes at that thought, jerked his gloves on, then reached into his supply bag for his tools. Get to work, Durant. Don’t think about that greenhorn reporter.
She’d be leaving in a few days anyway. Jackson shook his head. This was why he didn’t want women on the ranch. They were a distraction. Nothing but trouble.
Glad that Justin had dropped off a roll of wire and some equipment on his way to town, Jackson started unrolling a section. While he removed the barbs from one end of the wire, he listened to the repetitive tap of a woodpecker on the telephone pole off to his right. The bright sun warmed him, and the comfortable temperature beckoned him to hop back on his bike and ride off toward the horizon. He loved the quiet of the Oklahoma hills, where he felt closer to God than anywhere else he’d been. He loved living close to nature, where things were so peaceful.
A loud crack echoed across the hills. Jackson jumped, nicking his finger on a barb. Gunfire?
He scanned the nearby hills. Two more shots rang out, disrupting the quiet. Deer season ran for another week, but no one had permission to be hunting on his land.
Another blast ripped the quiet, followed by a scream.
Mariah!
Jackson threw down the wire cutters, bolted through the opening in the fence and ran to the nearest oak. The next tree was a good twenty feet away, but he dashed toward it as if he were chasing a goal line. Confusion warred in his mind. He wanted to charge over the hill, but he couldn’t help Mariah if he got shot. He hoped she’d taken cover somewhere and stayed put.
He scanned the highest hill to the west, looking for the glint of sunlight off the barrel of a rifle, but saw nothing. One minute passed. Then two. No more shots came.
Had someone been illegally hunting on his land? He didn’t want to believe that it could be something more nefarious.
Hunkering down, he raced for the hilltop, running fast, boots thudding on the hard ground. He hurdled several small bushes and lunged to the ground as he reached the crest. He crept forward in the tall grass, hoping it sheltered him from the shooter. He could see the pond but not Mariah. Blood pounded in his ears.
Was she hurt? Lying on the ground, shot?
“Please, God. No.”
Five minutes since the last shot. Dare he believe the gunman was gone? Or was the shooter waiting for him to run over the hill?
He couldn’t just lie there when Mariah might be hurt. Jackson scanned the area for cover between the hill and pond—but there was precious little. Nothing but a few saplings.
About two hundred yards to his right, a grove of cottonwoods and bald cypress trees followed the creek. He backed down the hill and took off running toward them, hoping the sniper couldn’t see him. The dried grass crunched under his feet. He reached the tree line and paused.
Interspersed with the trees, huge limestone boulders jutted up from the ground. At least he had cover here. He dashed to the first giant stone and looked around it. The creek was still a good fifty yards away.
There had been no more gunfire. Had the shooter left? Or was he simply biding his time un
til he had the right prey in his sights?
“Help us out, Lord.”
An instant peace washed through him, and he felt certain the gunman had gone.
“Mariah!” Jackson called out.
“Over here.”
His heart lurched at the sound of her voice—and then he saw her peer around a boulder on the far side of the creek. Good girl. She’d taken cover.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. Do you think the shooter is gone?”
“I don’t know. Stay there. I’ll come to you.”
He searched the far hills again and then pushed off the boulder and raced through the trees. The trunks weren’t large enough to hide behind, but there were enough of them to deflect a shot, unless the gunman was an expert. He reached the creek, leaped across, then ran to the boulder where Mariah had taken cover and skidded to a halt.
She stood, and his gaze traveled her body, looking for any sign of injury. Her pants were muddy where she’d been kneeling, as were her shoes, but there was no sign of blood. “You’re really okay?”
She nodded then sagged toward him, and against his better judgment, he pulled her to his chest. She trembled but didn’t cry. He could feel her heart beating fast—she must be terrified. After a few moments of holding him, she swallowed hard and stepped away, her gaze serious. “Someone tried to shoot me.”
“How do you know they were shooting at you?”
“Because he nearly got me. I heard something and had gone to investigate. I was standing by the creek when the first shot rang out, and a rock not ten feet from me exploded in pieces.” She grabbed his sleeve. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
He followed her along the creek bank for a short while then stooped down to examine the flat slab of limestone Mariah pointed at. He wasn’t sure he believed her theory that the shooter was aiming for her, but the rock said otherwise. The center of the two-foot-long stone had been hit by something, making a deep groove and shattering part of it. He stood and looked across the hills, trying to determine where the shot had come from. He blew out a sigh. Time to call the sheriff.
Rancher Under Fire Page 6