Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Jennifer August

  “Hey,” she said lightly. “I just got a dismembered finger in the mail. Isn’t that enough?”

  He grinned even as he shook his head. “I know all about hiding secrets, Rebecca. I can tell that package is not what’s got you so rattled.”

  “Are you hiding something dark and deep, Wade?” she teased.

  Wade’s face tensed and he half turned to look out the door then back at her. “Not me,” he said lightly. Then he kissed her forehead. “I’ll send Deputy Carson in to sit with you.”

  Rebecca’s curiosity was roused. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I’m just making coffee. I’ll come back out in five minutes.”

  He hesitated then nodded. “Stay alert.”

  She waved him away then carefully measured out the grounds and started the pot brewing. She headed for the hallway and entered the main area just in time to see Deputy Carson picking up her car keys. Wade was tight at her heels.

  She looked at Mrs. Jenkins, who had an expression on her face so filled with hope that it hurt Rebecca’s heart.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Tag strode to her side. He cupped her elbow and turned his back on the mother. “Wade thinks he has a lead on Melissa. He and Carson are going to run it down.” He grimaced and ran a hand over his neck. He looked tired and tense.

  “I hope they find her,” she whispered.

  Tag nodded. “Me, too.” His glance flicked to the hallway then back at her. “That coffee smells heavenly. Would you sit with her while I grab a cup?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured. His chest brushed along her shoulder as he passed by. She had a feeling he’d done it on purpose. She didn’t mind since his mere touch inflamed her.

  Rebecca hurried to the woman’s side and sat next to her. “Mrs. Jenkins?”

  She looked up with tired eyes. In the milky-brown depths Rebecca saw hope. She couldn’t help but reach out and grasp the mother’s chilled hands.

  “You’re that Boston lawyer, aren’t you?”

  Her voice was as thin as she was.

  Rebecca nodded.

  “Sheriff Cain is innocent.”

  She blinked at the bulldogged assertion. Then she smiled. “Yes, I know.”

  Mrs. Jenkins offered a watery one in return. Her lips lifted then fell then lifted again as if smiling was something she wasn’t used to doing. “They’re going to find my girl,” she whispered.

  Rebecca nodded. “They will.”

  “You have kids?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Rebecca hesitated. Back home no one would have dared ask such a personal question of a stranger, but she’d been in Freedom long enough to figure out boundaries didn’t mean squat. “I don’t know. Too busy sounds trite. Ditto for not being married.”

  The woman shook her head. “No, those are good reasons. Being too young is a good one, too. You should never have children unless you can absolutely provide for them by yourself.” Tears filled the brown eyes again but Mrs. Jenkins dashed them away with a firm swipe. “My husband died when Missy—Melissa—was so little. Just eight. I fell apart. Couldn’t handle life without him. I didn’t have no education. Didn’t have no job skills. I waited tables for Bosco a while until he sold the Tin Star to Maljib. I quit soon as I heard. Didn’t want to work for no foreigner.” She snorted angrily. “Just one more way of proving I’m an idiot. Maljib is one of the nicest guys I know. He offers me my job back every time I see him on the street.”

  Rebecca cocked her head. “You haven’t taken him up on the offer?”

  Embarrassed red mottled the woman’s sallow skin. “I’m too ashamed. I treated him badly and myself even worse.” Without warning she shoved back the sleeves of her flannel shirt.

  Track marks littered the insides of her arms.

  “I’m an addict,” she whispered. “I’m no good to anyone.”

  Rebecca stared at the ugly bruises and black needle marks.

  Mrs. Jenkins folded her arms upward and dropped her head into splayed palms. A keening sob erupted from her. “I’m no damn good. Missy would be better off if I died.”

  “Bullshit,” Rebecca blurted out.

  The woman sniffled and dragged her sleeve across her nose. She looked startled and confused. “’Scuse me?”

  Rebecca cleared her throat. “I grew up without a mother. I would have given everything to have her with me.” Tears clogged her vision. She blinked a few times. The words were as true as anything she’d ever said.

  “But she wasn’t like me,” Mrs. Jenkins whispered.

  Rebecca smiled sadly. “My mother preferred prescription pills over needles but she was still an addict. She left when I was four.”

  “You poor little thing,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

  Rebecca patted the woman’s hands. “Thank you. But even though I’m fine, I still miss my mom. There are just some things you can’t share with your dad. Things men don’t understand. I didn’t have a lot of close female friends or role models.” She leaned forward. “You have the opportunity to make this right when they find her.”

  “How?” The heartbroken question seemed to come from the depth of the small woman’s soul.

  “Get clean,” Rebecca said firmly. “Stay sober and take that job at the Tin Star. Gather good friends around you.” She lifted a finger. “Not users. You have to cut all ties with that world.”

  Fear dotted the woman’s face. “I don’t know,” she whispered and bit at her lip.

  “If you want to really be there for your daughter and take care of her, you have to take care of yourself first. I can get you into a thirty-day rehab program. They’ll help you with everything from ridding yourself of the drugs to teaching you how to stay away from them. They’ll help you break your addiction but it’s not up to them. They can only teach. You have to be willing.”

  “I can’t afford anything like that.”

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Rebecca said.

  A noise from the hallway made her look up. Tag stood in the corridor with two steaming mugs in his hands and a shocked expression on his face. Rebecca looked back at Mrs. Jenkins. “Swear it right now in front of me and the sheriff. When they bring your daughter back safely, you’ll hug her and tell her you’re going away to get clean and sober.”

  “But where will she go? She doesn’t have anyone to take care of her.”

  “That’s not true, Mrs. Jenkins. Your husband’s family is still in Hoppston. Thirty minutes away. You know they will help you out,” Tag said.

  The tears finally escaped Mrs. Jenkins and trickled down her face. “I’ve been so horrible to them, too.” She looked pleadingly at Rebecca. “Don’t think poorly of me, but seeing them hurt so bad. I couldn’t stand being around them and hearing all their stories of his youth. Seeing the pictures.” Her voice trailed into nothingness.

  “That’s all in the past,” Rebecca said. “We’ll contact them in the morning and make arrangements.”

  The woman nodded. She looked as stunned and elated as Rebecca felt. The surge of having done something good and right blasted through her. It was an emotion much different than when she won an acquittal or innocent verdict for her clients. This was a high borne from just doing.

  She liked it.

  Headlights swept the office and car tires crunched along gravel that seemed to be on every road.

  Mrs. Jenkins surged to her feet. Rebecca stood and cupped her shoulders as they stared at the door.

  The bell jangled as Wade pushed through. His jubilant expression gave away their success just as a young girl peeked out from behind him.

  “Missy!” Mrs. Jenkins gasped. She lurched forward as her daughter ran toward her. They embraced and cried and laughed.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry.”

  “Shh, my little one. It’s all right. It’s all right. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

  Rebecca drifted away toward Tag and Wade, who’d joined h
im in the back of the room.

  Deputy Carson skirted the pair as she headed for her desk.

  “Where was she?” Tag asked.

  The blonde deputy gave him an incredulous expression. “In one of the line cabins on Miles Cochran’s property. It’s a pretty deserted area up there. A nice place to hide out. The only reason we went was because of Wade. He insisted. I gotta tell you, Sheriff, without him she wouldn’t have been found.”

  Pride burned through Rebecca and she patted his shoulder. “How did you know?” she asked.

  He wore a goofy grin as he shrugged. “I’m surrounded by teenagers on a daily basis.”

  “He’s saying he knows how to think like a kid,” Tag said with a smile. Then he looked at her and tipped his head. “Are you really going to get her into a rehab program?”

  “Absolutely.” She looked at the reunited pair again. “Do you think Melissa will have any problems with it?”

  Wade’s arm encircled her waist. “If you’re talking about getting her mom clean, then she’ll do whatever it takes.” He looked at Tag. His jaw went taut. “I made a deal with her, Tag. One that you have to abide by.”

  “Oh?” One blond brow lifted. “What if I don’t like it?”

  “Tough crap,” Wade muttered.

  “What’s the deal?” Rebecca asked.

  “She ran away because her mom has been in a drug-fueled haze for three days. She was incoherent and destructive to their house.”

  Tag stiffened. “Did she hurt Melissa?”

  “No,” Wade said. “She swore it never got physical. I promised her I’d take care of her if she needed someplace to stay.”

  “You know you can’t do that,” Tag said softly.

  “Why not?” Rebecca asked.

  “Goes against school policy,” Wade said. “Teachers can only coach, counsel, and guide. We can’t harbor. Not to mention I’m not related, so having her in my house would get sticky.” He looked at the young girl again. “She’s got folks over in Hoppston. She’s talked to her grandmother a few times but her mom doesn’t know.”

  “That’s perfect,” Rebecca said. “I’ll call my dad and we’ll get Mrs. Jenkins on a plane to Boston. Tag will call her grandmother and we’ll get her settled there. In thirty days, they’ll be reunited. Hopefully for a better future.”

  She nodded her head sharply and grinned at the way everything worked out so well. Then she noticed Tag and Wade staring at her in amusement.

  “What?” she asked.

  Tag shook his head. “Boone was right.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “About what?”

  “You are a bossy pants,” Wade said with a chuckle.

  “Bossy is an understatement,” Tag said. He wrapped his arm around her other shoulder, effectively sandwiching her between them. “Even Colonel Reed wouldn’t survive if he went up against our Rebecca here.”

  Rebecca stood squished between the two big men and tried to decide if she was offended or not.

  Our Rebecca.

  She liked the sound of that.

  A lot.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day, the early afternoon sun streamed into the quiet office as Tag tried to read the two applications Samantha Carson had culled from the stack. His mind wasn’t on them. Instead, he thought about Rebecca. It seemed like thinking about her was all he did these days. He smiled. He didn’t mind so much. He liked having her around. Her laugh charmed him and made him want more. Just a smile or sweet word from her lifted his mood. And the way she felt beneath him and surrounding him was something he’d never experienced. He had a feeling they’d just started to plumb the depths of what could be a great passion. His mind shied away from the next logical thought. He was not going to think about loving her.

  One step at a time.

  His phone rang. “Sheriff Cain.”

  “Congratulations, Sheriff.”

  “Antoine? Thanks. What’s all that ruckus?”

  Tag squinted as if it would help him hear any better. Antoine Bayez was the owner of Freedom’s one and only motorcycle bar. The place was well run by Antoine, along with his two employees, Clayton Rogers and Beauregard Stephens. The two giant oaks of men kept the regulars and visitors in line with a minimum of fuss.

  “That’s why I’m calling, Sheriff. I’ve got a couple of women scrapping it out down here. They’re tussling over the best man in the wedding party. Clayton and Beau won’t touch ’em.”

  Tag clenched is jaw. “Damn it,” he swore. “I’ve warned the people in that damn wedding party a dozen times already.” His gaze flicked to the door leading to the jail cells. Fischer’s crime scene was officially cleaned up and released but he didn’t really want to stick anyone in there yet.

  A loud screech pierced his eardrum and he jerked the phone away for a moment.

  “How soon can you come?” Antoine asked. His tone wavered between begging and crying. “They’re busting up my chairs.”

  “On my way,” Tag replied.

  He snatched his hat from the rack and sprinted from the office. Despite the haste, he made damn sure the door locked behind him.

  He wished Doreen would return. The office wasn’t the same without her and he couldn’t seem to get a thing done. He never knew just how much paperwork she dealt with. She might need a raise.

  Once Carson put in her paperwork to leave Kerr County, Cranshaw turned into an ass and refused to let any office staff come help him out. At least he couldn’t do a damn thing about dispatch.

  His siren blared as he sped to the edge of town toward the Chrome Barrel. He radioed Kerr County’s dispatch to let them know he was on a call.

  “10-4, Sheriff. Need any back up?”

  “Negative,” he replied. The day he needed assistance breaking up a cat fight was the day he hung up his badge.

  He pulled up at the Chrome Barrel’s parking lot. It was surprisingly full for one o’clock in the afternoon. He counted six cars and twelve bikes.

  He pushed his way into the bar and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Even in the middle of the day, the sun barely penetrated the dark wood paneling and mostly shuttered windows.

  Within seconds he spotted the two women.

  They rolled around on the peanut-shell littered floor beside a tipped-over chair. A crowd formed a semicircle around them and he was pretty sure he saw the men exchanging dollar bills. The crowd collectively gasped and he looked down again. The brunette had the redhead in a half nelson and was trying to shove her face into the ground.

  “Eat shells, bitch,” the brunette yelled.

  “Get the hell off me, Patty,” the redhead yelled back.

  “Knock it off,” Tag roared.

  The silence was immediate.

  The women looked up in surprise. He stormed forward and stood over them. “Let her go and both of you get up.”

  The brunette’s face set in mulish lines. “Not until she apologizes.”

  “Kiss my ass,” the redhead replied.

  Patty’s eyes flared and she yanked back on her opponent’s head so hard the other woman’s neck bulged.

  Tag reached down and grabbed Patty’s wrists. He offered just enough pressure to hold her still. She was tiny in his grip and he was careful not to exert too much force. He sure as hell didn’t want to break her. “Ma’am. Let her go. Now.”

  Patty shook her head then blinked rapidly and uncurled her fingers. The redhead’s face slammed toward the ground but she stopped just before hitting a pile of shells.

  “That’s good. Now stand up. Slowly. Take your foot off her butt,” he chided.

  The crowd of men chuckled and Tag spared them an irritated glare. They dissipated to various parts of the bar.

  At last both women were on their feet.

  “What’s going on here?”

  They started yelling at the same time and he held up his palms until they quieted. He pointed a finger at the redhead. “You. Name.”

  She licked her lips. “Tanya Kale.”


  “All right, Tanya. Since it appears you were on the wrong end of that half nelson, how about you explain?”

  She gave Patty a triumphant sneer then launched into a tirade about the wedding, a dress, some guy named Jason, and a dog. Patty lunged for her but Tag caught her arm and held her back.

  “Simmer down,” he ordered. “Simmer the hell down.” He looked around the bar. “Where is Antoine?”

  “I’m tending the bar, Sheriff,” he called out.

  “Well, get over here.”

  Antoine wiped his big meaty hands on a white bar towel as he ambled over. The short, black man had a bowlegged gait and a wide, friendly smile. Sweat gleamed on the top of his bald pate. “Thanks for coming so quick,” he said when he reached them.

  “How much damage do you have?” he asked.

  Antoine looked around. “They flat-out destroyed two chairs and about a dozen glasses and mugs. The rest just needs to be set back up. Probably two hundred bucks or so.”

  “She did it,” Patty said and pointed at Tanya.

  Tag glared her into silence. “Want to press charges? I’ve got room in the jail right now. I can let ’em cool their heels in there for a couple of days as restitution.”

  Tanya echoed Patty’s gasp. She shook her head. “We can’t go to jail, Sheriff. Patty’s the maid of honor. Even though it should have been me. I’m a bridesmaid. The wedding is tomorrow. We can’t go to jail,” she wailed again.

  Patty squirmed past him and clung to Tanya. “We’re sorry, Sheriff. We’ll clean it all up and pay Mr. Bayez whatever we owe. Honest.”

  He shared a look with Antoine. “You okay with that?”

  The black man rubbed his palm over his bald head. “I guess so, Sheriff. Long as they promise to behave from here on out.”

  “We will,” the women said together.

  Tag hid a grin. If only all my calls were this easy.

  He waggled a finger at them. “I hear one word about you stepping out of line and I’ll haul you both in. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir!” Patty said.

  Tanya nodded so fiercely that a peanut shell flew from her hair and dinked him on the chest. Tag let the shell fall to the floor and spared them both a stern look.