But somehow she would make it through. Although her stalker hadn’t found her gun, she couldn’t reach it with her hands tied behind her. Already her wrists ached. Her mouth was dry and sore from the gag. She had no way to estimate the time, but sensed too much had passed for any immediate rescue.
By the time Rafe noticed she was missing, she’d be long gone. She thought she was heading south, if her blindfold hadn’t altered her sense of direction. She tried to focus on details to push back the terror. She’d never seen her kidnapper’s face and held on to the fact that if he didn’t want her to see him, then maybe he intended to eventually let her go free. She didn’t try to remove the blindfold, had long ago given up on freeing her wrists.
Instead, she told herself she need only wait, stay calm. Keep her head.
Rafe would do everything he could to find her. She took comfort that he wouldn’t give up, that no matter the danger or personal cost to himself, he would come after his child. And she held on to that fact to steady her nerves.
Whoever had taken her had handled her gently. She hadn’t been shoved or pushed. She guessed she was lying on a mattress. Surely no one would go to such trouble only to kill her?
A twinge in her stomach caused Rhianna to shift slightly. She lay on her side and wished she could rub the aching spot. But the twinge stopped by itself and she let her thoughts drift. To Rafe. She would never forget the look on his face when he’d felt the baby kick, the wonder in his eyes, the pride and love in his expression.
Her stomach jerked, contracted.
God, no. Not now.
She breathed deeply, willing herself to relax.
She waited, willing her stomach not to tense up again. But all the will in the world couldn’t hold back nature.
Suddenly Rhianna had another problem. Her contractions had begun.
Chapter Six
The Sutton family gathered at the senator’s house in the library, and Rafe appreciated the concern he read in his brothers’ faces. The Sutton sons resembled one another with their dark hair and gray eyes, but none of them would ever be mistaken for twins. Tyler, his eldest brother, who ran the vast Sutton ranch, walked with a cane and a slight limp. Dr. Cameron Sutton, the gentlest and the most kind-hearted, was the size of a mountain man, while Chase had the weathered skin and crinkled eyes of a rancher. Unlike his brothers, Rafe was whipcord lean. He matched Cameron in height, but gave up a good fifty pounds to him. But more important than physical characteristics was the mental toughness and support the family lent to Rafe. Even his sisters-in-law, Laura and Alexa, were solid, strong women who had survived trouble while maintaining loving natures.
Laura rocked a sleeping baby in her arms, while her eldest son, Keith, and Cameron’s three-year-old genius twins, Flynn and Jason, quietly played video games in a corner. If the twins stayed out of trouble for more than ten minutes, they might set a new good-behavior record. Luckily, they were as good at getting out of trouble as they were at finding it.
The senator finished pouring drinks and settled by the huge fireplace. “Rafe, I don’t have that kind of cash—”
“We do.” Jason, wise beyond his three years, put down his video game.
When Jason moved to the center of the room, Flynn was right beside him. The two boys often disagreed, but this time they’d come to an understanding. And the offer was genuine. The boys had a vast inheritance waiting for them when they turned eighteen—a gift from a great-grandfather.
Flynn nodded solemnly. “You can have our trust fund, Uncle Rafe.”
“I can’t take your money, boys, but I appreciate the offer.” Rafe hugged each of them while a lump formed in his throat at the twins’ generosity. They might be sixty pounds of pure trouble, but their hearts were solid gold.
Cameron looked at his boys with pride. “I’m proud of you boys for making the offer.”
“We want to help,” Flynn said simply.
“You just did,” Rafe told them.
Flynn frowned. “How?”
“By making me feel better. By reminding me I’m not alone with my trouble.”
“We can’t use the boys’ trust, not even for collateral,” Alexa Sutton, Cameron’s wife, added. “I checked with the trustees, and they won’t let us risk it.”
The senator pulled the twins onto his lap, and Keith settled at his feet. “As I was saying, we may not have cash, but the land is free and clear. I’ve already spoken to the bank. If we all sign the note, we should be able to borrow the money.”
Rafe paced, unable to hold still. Since he’d read the kidnapper’s note, he’d been unable to eat or to sleep or to keep his pulse from racing like a runaway bull. And his father’s news didn’t set his mind at ease. In the past few years, the senator had divided the vast ranch, giving equal shares to each brother. Rafe supposed Chase and Laura would manage, since they would eventually inherit her family’s ranch. Cameron would be okay, as he made his living as a doctor. Rafe could practice law if necessary, but this place was all Tyler knew. Although his brother could work as a foreman on any ranch, it wouldn’t be the same as owning his own place, a place that had been passed from father to son. A place where Suttons came to rebuild their lives, lick their wounds; a place that was safe from outsiders; a place where the family stuck together, loved and prospered.
Their father may have divided up the acreage, but the Suttons still ran the operation as one unit. Rafe didn’t want his brothers and their families to forfeit their heritage. Once they mortgaged the land, the bank payments would be astronomical. They’d be lucky not to lose everything. And yet he couldn’t see another option.
“I’ll never be able to pay you all back.”
Chase took Laura’s hand, and she nodded in agreement as Chase spoke for both of them. “You would do the same for any of us.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Tyler set aside his cane and raised his glass to Rafe. “Rhianna and your child’s life are at risk and worth more than cattle and land.”
Chase lifted Keith into his arms. “Besides, Dad paid off the land once. We can do it again.”
“Beef prices are at an all-time high. People are eating meat again thanks to those high-protein diet books.” Tyler crossed one ankle over the other and stared out the window. “I’ll start making arrangements for auction. We’ll do an early roundup.”
The phone rang and the senator checked his caller ID. “The number is blocked.” Raising his eyebrows he answered the phone. “Yes?”
Rafe noted the tension in his father’s tone. So did his brothers, and the room stilled until they could have heard a penny drop. Not much shook his father, and as his face paled, Rafe’s pulse raced. “Rhianna?”
His father set down the phone. “That was her kidnapper. Rhianna’s in labor.”
“Holy s—” Rafe remembered the presence of children in the room barely in time. “Rhianna’s not due for another two weeks. What else did they say? Is she all right? When will they release her?”
“As soon as we have the money, we’re supposed to announce it over the ranch’s radio.”
Every hand carried a radio tuned to the ranch’s frequency. The radios didn’t always work, but they usually helped keep the hands in touch. That meant the kidnapper was close by. Perhaps they could find him before…No, Rafe wouldn’t risk two lives trying to play hero.
The senator picked up the phone and dialed his banker. Several minutes later, he put the phone back in the cradle, his face grave. “The bank wants an up-to-date appraisal—”
Rafe gritted his teeth. “That’ll take weeks!” “—and a profit and loss statement from a certified public accountant. Then the board has to vote….”
Cameron rubbed his forehead. “First babies are notoriously slow to arrive, but Rhianna doesn’t have that long.”
RHIANNA CONCENTRATED ON breathing during the painful contraction as a man freed her ankles and took her, still blindfolded, from the vehicle. At least she assumed
it was a man, since he never spoke, just pressed a gun into her back.
She didn’t hear any cars going by, and breathed in the scent of pine. Then she was placed in a musty-smelling room and someone untied her hands, but her wrists were too numb for her to go for the gun in her pocket. The door slammed shut and she heard hammering. Then silence. By the time she could feel her hands again and had removed the gag and hood, she was alone, in darkness. She explored her new surroundings by touch after the latest contraction had passed. The building’s windows were boarded up from the outside. She did find a small bathroom and made use of it. After she performed the necessities, she washed her hands and rinsed her mouth, then left to explore her prison.
The door she’d come in through was locked. She debated trying to shoot the lock or hinges, but feared a ricochet could hurt her or the baby. And she had no clue if anyone guarded the door from the other side.
No way could she dig through the concrete floor. And there was no way to signal for help.
She bumped into a cot with a small refrigerator beside it. Groping inside the fridge, she found several sandwiches, but just drinking a sip from one of the water bottles made her nauseous. She felt along the walls, but never found a light switch.
A contraction cut short her explorations, and she sat down hard on the cot. She panted and rubbed her back until the contraction ceased, then she stood again.
She explored her ten-by-ten-foot cell and quickly realized that even if she escaped, she was in no condition to run. Not with contractions coming every ten to fifteen minutes and lasting about thirty seconds.
The thought of delivering the baby alone sent shivers down her spine. How could she be clammy and hot and yet cold at the same time?
To conserve her strength, she lay back on the cot. For courage, she removed the gun and kept it next to her side, but hidden beneath the blanket. She had no idea if someone came back during one of her contractions whether she’d have the strength to steady the gun and shoot.
But she vowed to try. And then another pain took over, this contraction stronger, harder and so painful she doubled over on the bed.
Sweet Jesus! She’d expected pain, but not the agony of back labor. The small of her back felt as if an ice pick stabbed her. The contraction seemed to take forever. She wanted her mother, her doctor. She wanted Rafe.
She didn’t want to deliver his baby alone, in this godforsaken spot. She didn’t want to have to be brave. She wanted to be surrounded by modern medicine and people who cared about her. She wanted to feel safe.
As the contraction eased, the pain disappeared completely. But she knew it would return. And she didn’t know how much more she could take. Rhianna rolled to her side and saved her strength, unaware of the tears sliding down her cheeks.
RHIANNA WAS IN LABOR. And held hostage by a kidnapper. Fury surged through Rafe, raw, scalding fury that made him want to strike out at whoever would do this to her, slam him into a wall. It took all his restraint to keep his voice even. “We don’t have time for the bank to lend us the ransom.”
The senator nodded, his face grave. “Then we go to plan B.”
“We call in law enforcement?” Tyler asked.
Rafe shook his head and paced. “Surely you don’t want to bluff and pretend we have the money? I won’t risk their lives.”
The senator put his pipe in his mouth, but he didn’t light it. “We’ll go to Judge Stuart.”
“Where would he come by that kind of money?” Rafe asked with a frown.
“He’s involved in real estate transactions throughout the state.”
“But will he lend it to us?” Rafe asked.
The senator’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Several years back, meat prices were down and we were strapped. He offered to buy half the ranch or float us a loan. Let me see what I can do.”
The family exited the room while the senator made his phone call. Meanwhile, Rafe phoned the detective he’d hired and filled him in on the latest developments. “Try and make the exchange for Rhianna at the same time you turn over the money.”
“I may not have a choice,” Rafe told him.
“Put the money in the two reinforced army duffel bags I’ll send you,” the detective suggested. “The senator should have the bank show him how to mark the bills. We’ll place a bug inside the bags’ lining so that after the exchange we can track the kidnapper.”
“How fast can you deliver the duffel bags?” Rafe asked.
“Faster than you’ll get and mark the cash,” the detective promised.
Rafe hung up the phone as his father joined him and signaled a thumbs-up. “Stuart agreed. His attorney will have the papers drawn up within the hour.”
“How long before we have the cash?” Rafe asked, knowing every minute counted.
“We had to draw on a Denver bank. It’ll take two, maybe three hours before we’re set.”
While he paced and looked out the window, Rafe asked his father to have the bank mark the bills. But his main concern was Rhianna. “Dad, what if the kidnappers don’t call back? What if she has that baby all by herself?”
The senator shook his head. Clearly he couldn’t answer Rafe’s questions. “Whoever took Rhianna is slick. Judge Stuart arranged for guards to accompany him with the cash.”
The next three hours seemed to take years. Judge Stuart arrived with the cash, and Rafe had word put out over the radio to the kidnappers as instructed. He stashed the money into the duffel bags while everyone signed papers. Their attorney had sent over a notary, so the loan would be legal and the mortgage and note would be recorded in the courthouse.
Tense from all the waiting, Rafe tucked his fully charged cell phone into his pocket and waited some more. While the judge and his father shook hands, Rafe’s cell phone rang.
He heard a mechanical voice say, “Take the money and drive into Highview. Go alone.”
Rafe picked up the duffel bags and headed toward the front door, where his father and the judge waited. “I’m supposed to go into Highview.”
“Are you armed?” Judge Stuart asked.
Rafe shook his head.
“Good.”
His father agreed. “Just follow the instructions and don’t try to be a hero.”
“That’s the plan.” Rafe only hoped he would arrive to find Rhianna well.
Cameron met him at his car. He placed a black backpack on the seat next to Rafe. “Rhianna is probably still in labor. She’ll be scared, which will make the pain seem worse. Many women turn irrational when they reach transition—the last stage before they deliver. Don’t worry if she’s a little out of her head. Just get her to the hospital.”
“So what’s in the backpack?” Rafe asked.
“Some stuff you might need.” Cameron clapped him on the back. “Remember, I’m just a phone call away.”
Rafe drove toward Highview, and just before he hit town, his phone rang again. The mechanical voice instructed, “Get on the next train heading south.”
Before he could ask to speak to Rhianna, before he could say a word, the phone went dead. Rafe drove straight to the train station and bought a ticket. He slung Cameron’s backpack over his shoulder and then picked up the two heavy duffels.
As the train chugged out of Highview, Rafe worried. The next stop wouldn’t be for half an hour. Rhianna had been in labor almost all day. How much longer could she wait?
RHIANNA WIPED THE SWEAT off her brow with the back of her hand. The last contraction had been the worst. She’d given up praying for help, given up wondering how long the pains could last. Her body had taken over, the contractions coming stronger, faster.
She tried to pant through the pain. Her lips grew dry and her feet felt like blocks of ice. But her body broke into a light sweat.
At least she knew the baby had turned. During her last checkup, her obstetrician had told her the baby’s head was down, already aligned to come out.
Rhianna had long since passed the point of hoping the labor would stop. The ba
by wanted out. Rhianna wanted the baby out. And yet she felt absolutely no urge to push. So she didn’t. She’d seen enough horses born to know her body would tell her when the time was right.
Light-headed, she sipped the water she’d placed beside the cot, kicked off her panties, groaned as another contraction clenched her stomach.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Rhianna told herself the contraction was just like the last. She’d gotten through that one and she’d get through this one.
RAFE FOLLOWED HIS LATEST instructions with sweat beading his forehead and dripping into his eyes. He carried the heavy duffel bags to the last car of the train, opening the car door and stepping onto the windy platform of the caboose as he’d been ordered.
A truck with no license plate and a masked driver drove along a dirt road next to the train. Rafe’s instructions were to throw the duffel bags into the truck. Then he’d be told where to find Rhianna.
Rafe didn’t like it. After he paid the ransom, the kidnapper had no reason to let Rhianna go. But Rafe didn’t think about backing out.
With two heaves, he tossed the bags into the pickup’s open bed. The driver immediately shot away from the road, and Rafe wondered if the kidnapper would uphold his end of the bargain.
Was Rhianna still alive? Rafe didn’t know, and the uncertainty had him clawing leather. Only once before in his life had he been this scared—when he’d been a child and his mother had died. His mother hadn’t been much older than Rhianna—too young to collapse on the kitchen floor, too young to leave her sons to grow up without her.
Rafe’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow. He stared at the phone in his hand and willed it to ring. Ten minutes later, he got a call and, with shaking hands, stepped back into the car, out of the wind, to answer.
The mechanical voice he hated said, “Rhianna is locked in Hal and Janet Stone’s old guest cabin.”
A measure of relief that the stalker had kept his end of the bargain mixed with worry about how Rafe could help Rhianna. Hal and Janet were still in Denver, so he couldn’t call them. It’d take the senator and Cameron or the cops an hour to reach the Stones’ ranch due to switchbacks in the mountain roads.
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