There was power here, in the eagle and the land.
The savage strength of the ocean had often called to her as she’d watched storm driven seas and seen the fury of waves that pounded surf and rock. But this power had a different feel. Older, dignified like inner peace. The backbone of the world forged by molten heat, time and patience. For some reason, that conjured an image of Nat Sullivan. He was big and beautiful with an underlying core of strength.
When she’d first seen him in the stable last night she’d barely recognized him. Fiercely intent, there’d been no twinkle in his eyes, no good humor teasing his mouth. He’d been sharp-edged with desperation.
Watching the mare die, and seeing the foal born, had been one of the saddest and most poignant moments of her life—an emotional whirlwind of sorrow and joy. It had taken courage to cut the foal out of its still warm mother. Decisiveness and action.
A bird twittered in a nearby tree, jumping excitedly from naked twig to naked twig with dexterous hops. Shaking her attention back to her objective, Elizabeth looked across at her targets. Latex bubbles lined up in the snow, waiting to party. She braced her feet one behind the other, a stride apart, her weight balanced evenly on the balls of her feet. Taking a calming breath, she raised the rifle to her right eye and closed her left, took in the slack of the trigger and slowed her breathing. She exhaled and squeezed smoothly. The rifle recoiled and the balloon vaporized as the shot echoed around the hills, shattering the silence.
****
Nat swore under his breath as he tightened the cinches on Winter’s saddle before mounting up. Goddamned poachers on his land. Poachers who sneaked up into the mountains and killed whatever they wanted, regardless of the law. Regardless of nature’s rhythm.
There was nothing in season this time of year.
Nat’s mind raged as he thought of the lowlifes who left piles of trash blowing in the wilderness as a sign of their contempt. Well, after the week he’d had, he was more than ready to deal with them.
Shots rang off in the distance again.
He checked his Remington .308 and ammunition. Looked up into the woods—his woods, his land, his mountain.
For now...
These guys were too close for comfort.
Normally, he would have waited for Ryan or Cal to join him, but they were busy moving cattle in from the lower pasture near the river and he couldn’t afford to wait. Clouds were gathering against the northern horizon, moving fast. More snow was on its way.
He kicked-on Winter and they headed out at a ground-eating canter. Nat narrowed his gaze as if he could see past the trees with sheer willpower. His wolves were up in these hills. They used this part of the mountain to den-up and raise pups each spring.
People in these parts held wolves in about as much regard as serial killers and maybe a pack would take out the occasional sick steer, but most cattle were too big and strong to be tackled by the elusive creatures. His father had been a nature lover—recognized early the threat people were to the natural predators that lived in the parks nearby. Nat had only ever hunted them with his camera and had spent years photographing the pack.
Goddamn
Urging Winter on with his heels, he rode faster, up the gentle rise of the meadow with the reins wrapped loosely around the saddle horn, the horse moving with little instruction from him.
Winter was a Morgan, the oldest American breed, and standing at just under sixteen hands, he was bigger than average. His short, pricked ears faced towards the gunshots, his fine intelligent head held high on alert. The straight, clean legs and deeply muscled shoulders worked tirelessly to plow through the deep snow.
They were close to the shooter now. Nat could smell the gunpowder tainting the pristine mountain air. He approached carefully from well behind the direction of the shots, frowning as he looked down at the ground and noticed a single set of tracks of someone on foot. Unless someone else had flanked the area, there was only one hunter to deal with.
Nat smiled, nudged Winter forward. One wouldn’t be a problem.
The horse picked his way through the thick snow with barely a sound. Nat judged the shooter to be about a hundred yards away behind a stand of trees. He slid off Winter’s back and left the horse loose in the clearing.
Cautiously, Nat inched forward, careful not to step on any buried branches that would trip him up or snap and give his presence away.
He hunkered down and kept the thick trunk of a Douglas fir between himself and the shooter. He didn’t want to end up stuffed on somebody’s mantel.
Leaning against the trunk, he peered cautiously around the tree and jerked back with surprise as he spotted Miss Eliza Reed, computer specialist from New York, shooting targets.
She wasn’t exactly camouflaged in her red and black lumberjack coat, standing out in plain view, and Nat figured by the steadiness of her stance and confidence of her bearing that she knew what she was doing.
Sonovabitch.
At least she wasn’t a poacher.
Using the old 3-9 Redfield scope on his rifle, he checked out her progress. She hit each balloon dead on, over and over. Despite himself, Nat was impressed. She was a good shot—for a computer nerd.
Nat lowered his rifle, stood silently in the protection of the trees as he watched her put the Marlin through its paces. There was a mechanical fluidity to her movements, a rhythm in how she took the shots and reloaded. She looked like she’d done it a million times before. The action wasn’t rushed, and nothing was forced.
He didn’t trust her. Knew she was hiding something beneath that porcelain-fine exterior. He looked down the scope, admired the curve of her cheek, the slight pull of her lips to one side as she concentrated on a shot.
Not that he wouldn’t mind tasting those lips...
Christ.
Just because he’d found the woman he’d loved in bed with a bartender only hours after he’d left to visit his dying father, didn’t mean he’d sworn off sex. Hell no. Just because he’d been a fool once didn’t mean he didn’t occasionally enjoy what women had to offer.
Not that Mizz Elizabeth Reed was offering. Unlike Troy Strange’s wife.
Hell, hadn’t that been fun. He rested his forehead against the tree trunk, pulled his lips back in a grimace.
Marlena. That damned woman had to be the reason Troy Strange was putting the squeeze on them. What the hell had she told her husband about him?
A woman scorned.
A couple of weeks ago he’d gone into town for supplies and stopped by the Screw Loose for a drink on the way back home. He’d bumped into Marlena in the parking lot. She’d asked him for a ride home as her Porsche wouldn’t start. It wasn’t out of his way and even if it had of been there wasn’t a person in the world he’d have hesitated giving a ride to. Except this one. She was model thin and exotically beautiful, but he didn’t care for her. Didn’t trust her, didn’t like her. But ingrained manners had had him saying ‘sure’ before he could get the word ‘no’ past his stupid lips.
She’d gone for his zipper five miles from the ornate security gates of Strange’s ranch. Nat had damned near crashed the truck into a Douglas fir. By the time he’d pulled over she’d had him in her mouth and he’d damn near come on the spot. The tiny portion of brain that hadn’t been in her mouth had wondered what the hell her angle was.
Not that his body had given a damn. Turned on just thinking about it, he shifted uncomfortably from the memory. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman and a hell of a long time since he’d had a blowjob. And for the first thirty seconds his body had been praising the Lord and doing Hallelujah cartwheels, but even his steam-fogged brain had realized he couldn’t do it. Even though his body screamed for release, he couldn’t do it. She was a married woman and he didn’t like her.
Removing her hot mouth and manicured claws from his dick had been a dangerous procedure, and he’d been damned proud of himself for doing it.
But she’d been pissed.
He’d f
orced her out of the truck while she’d screamed and spluttered and then he’d got the hell out of there, abandoning her on the side of the road. Should have known she’d cause trouble. Maybe he should have just fucked her, like every other guy in town. He blinked as the sound of another shot rebounded off the granite peaks.
An idea sprang into his head. It was crazy and she’d probably shoot him, but right now he didn’t give a damn. Slowly he crept out of his hiding place and moved silently through the thick snow. He counted off the shots. Figured the rifle should be empty. Got about three feet behind her and waited for her to lower the weapon to reload.
“Howdy ma’am.” He tipped his hat and grinned as she jumped a mile into the air, swinging her rifle around and pointing it straight at his heart.
“Holy Mother of God!” she shrieked, her green eyes glittering. “You scared the hell out of me, you crazy—”
Nat kept a wary eye on the rifle. Should be empty, but you never knew for sure.
“Didn’t ya hear me walking on over here?” He scratched his chin and stretched his accent, added a little cowboy color.
Looking thoroughly pissed, Elizabeth Reed narrowed her eyes, obviously seeing through his ploy. The woman sure was pretty, even when she was spitting nails.
“I could have shot you, you idiot.”
Nat raised the brim of his hat off his head and ran his hand through his hair before settling the hat firmly back in place.
“Way things are going,” he nodded towards the rifle that was still pointed at his heart, “figure you still might.”
****
Elizabeth lowered the rifle with a snort. Damned cowboy could have been shot. That would be all she needed. And he’d nearly given her a heart attack, creeping up on her like that. Like she wasn’t spooked enough by the wildlife and the price tag attached to her head.
Damn.
She wrapped her fingers around the stock and the barrel, held the rifle loosely in front of her. She wasn’t scared of him, not that way, and that freaked her out. But she was determined she wasn’t going to look at every man from a victim’s viewpoint. As if nightmares and insomnia didn’t already make her one.
“Don’t tell me...” Nat squinted down at her, those midnight blue eyes almost black in the shadow of his ash-colored cowboy hat, “...it’s that bear thing again, right?”
She found herself smiling, could feel bubbles of laughter spill from her mouth. She’d kept her emotions locked down tight for so long she didn’t know how to deal with simple things like laughter or joy anymore.
Her heart rate began to return to normal and the adrenaline rush was receding. She hadn’t heard a thing before he’d announced himself. Even in the thick snow. Now that was scary.
“How’s the foal?” she asked, noting the lines of strain that etched Nat’s face. His bruises were fading, but he still looked tired.
Nat tipped his hat to the back of his head, rested his hands on his hips. “Got a young morab mare feeding him. Little devil went straight in there and tucked into dinner. Never really gave her the option to say no.”
He shrugged, smiled, looked up at the sky. Eliza followed his gaze and noticed for the first time that it had clouded over a tin metal gray.
“Shame about the mare though,” she added and Nat nodded, looking away.
Something rustled in the bushes and she instinctively reloaded her weapon. A snowshoe hare hopped out, unconcerned by their presence, burrowing away at the snow looking for something to eat. Elizabeth turned back to Nat and found him watching her.
She shivered, but not from cold. There was something about Nat Sullivan, with his long rangy legs and broad shoulders that made her nerves quiver. Not to mention those sapphire-blue eyes that twinkled with hooded amusement blended with something else she couldn’t quite decipher.
“Where’d you learn to shoot like that, if you don’t mind me asking?” Nat looked past her to the balloons that dotted the pine tree.
She did mind, but she answered anyway. “Gun club.”
Despite the easy smile and charming manner, Nat Sullivan wasn’t as country as he wanted her to think. Those laser blues missed nothing, even if he was too polite to comment.
“Why?” Nat asked.
Maybe he wasn’t so polite.
Elizabeth glared at him, irritated by the questions that forced her to lie—if he’d just mind his own damned business. “Because I wanted to.”
She was being rude again, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He just curved his lips into an amused smile and changed the subject.
“How ‘bout a wager?” he asked.
Elizabeth rested the gun over her shoulder and looked up at him suspiciously. “What sort of wager?”
“A dollar,” Nat said, his smile grew wider, “we take it back another fifty-yards and give it the best of three.”
She really hated that smile of his. It dazzled her like the morning sun.
Another fifty yards would be about the limits of the range of the Marlin. She eyed his rifle and knew if he were any good, he’d wipe the floor with her. But the balloons made for big targets. She might be able to take him.
Elizabeth was doomed and she knew it. If she had a weakness, and God knew she had many, it was the inability to back down from a challenge. That was how she had gotten into this mess in the first place.
She nodded and watched satisfaction light up his face. Stuck out a hand. Nat spat in his palm and shook hers before she could stop him.
Yuck!
“That’s how we do it in the mountains,” he said. The sparkle in his eyes suggested he meant to rattle her any way he could.
Elizabeth handed him her rifle while she went to set up more balloons. Her Glock was hidden under her jacket. Walking back to him, she smiled and felt the skin stretch tightly over her cheeks in the cold air, but she was in top form and she intended to whip his ass.
“How you wanna play it, ma’am?” Nat asked. He tipped his hat to the back of his head.
The ‘ma’am’ thing was beginning to irritate her. Like she was his granny or something.
“You take your three shots, then I’ll take mine,” Elizabeth offered.
Nat shook his head and waved his hand. “Ladies first.”
“Alternate shots then,” Elizabeth suggested, watching Nat handle his rifle—like he’d been born with it.
Oh shit.
Nat nodded.
Elizabeth offered him a warm up, but he declined. She swore under her breath. He was getting to her all right.
Elizabeth stood for a good minute, settling herself down and getting used to the new distance. She recalculated the trajectory in her head, took control of her breathing and balanced her body. Then she took the first shot. The balloon burst with a crack and she stood back waiting to reload.
Nat’s eyes followed her. Revealed nothing as she moved away to stand behind him.
At the mark, she watched him cycle the bolt, raise his gun to his cheek and settle his breathing. He let his breath stop, body still and then took the shot. The bullet went straight through the center of the balloon, smashed into the slope behind the targets.
Nat moved away and didn’t say anything. The competition was on.
Elizabeth walked back to the mark, loaded and cycled a fresh round into the chamber. Her next shot bounced the edge of the balloon, effective enough to make it burst. She turned around, disconcerted to find Nat standing right next to her, like a second shadow. Startled, she jerked back, dropping her rifle into the snow as she stumbled.
Shit.
Nat caught her with his free arm before she hit the ground.
“I’ve got you,” Nat said, steadying her on her feet.
His arm wrapped around her waist and held her firmly against him. She could feel his heat and hated herself for craving that warmth. Shivers ran all the way down to her toes. She found herself staring into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, deep aquamarine like the ocean, framed by pale lashes and heavy brows.
“S
-sorry,” Elizabeth said, unnerved. She stepped out of his embrace, frustrated that she’d let him unsettle her. If she wasn’t annoyed at him, she was apologizing. Or falling over or tripping up or tumbling off things. She’d turned into a goddamned klutz, her cool self-possession a thing of the distant past.
He nailed his second shot through the middle of the balloon with less effort than it took to raise his head.
Elizabeth was acutely aware of him, but he didn’t seem even vaguely disturbed by her. She didn’t want this sexual awareness, not with him and not with any man.
Damn.
Despite the frigid air, she unbuttoned her jacket.
The bottom line was that Nat Sullivan bothered her, put her on edge. She didn’t fear him physically; it was her mental health that worried her. She tried to settle her breathing, but her concentration was shot. She snatched the trigger and the bullet pulled low and right. The balloon bobbed about with cheerful mockery.
Swearing under her breath she moved away and let him take his final shot. This time he clipped the balloon, but it burst nevertheless. Elizabeth was sure he did it just to make her feel better.
She huffed out a big sigh, and though she hated losing, she had to admit he was one hell of a marksman. She checked to make sure her gun was unloaded and turned towards him.
He was watching her. Intelligence lit up his eyes—shining with questions, and the answers he’d found.
The wager had been some kind of test and Elizabeth realized she’d just failed it. She’d been worried about being attracted to the man while he’d been sizing up Elizabeth Reed, IT specialist.
Her low self-esteem and lack of confidence had her measuring her worth in terms of physical abilities and old skills. She was a damned good shot, but he was better. This wasn’t just some hick cowboy from way out west and she’d do well to remember that.
“You’re a hell of a shot, Mr. Sullivan.”
****
“So are you Mizz Reed, so are you.” Nat had thought she’d go off in an angry snit. Hell, he’d wanted her to go off in a snit. Elizabeth Reed had been outgunned six ways to Sunday and she knew it, but she’d still taken him on.
Her Sanctuary Page 7