Best of Cowboys Bundle

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Barbara White Daille, Judy Christenberry, Christine Wenger, Shirley Rogers, Crystal Green, Nina Bruhns, Candance Schuler, Carole Mortimer

  She’d survived the past and she’d survive this, too. After all, what else could go wrong?

  Looking up, she saw Burton Grant stroll through the clinic door.

  She couldn’t help it. She had to laugh. It was either that or cry.

  Okay, so it could get worse.

  “Hello, Rhiannon,” he said, walking up to her. “I hear Jackson got himself shot.”

  She kept her grim smile firmly in place. “Doing your job, deputy. The rustlers hit us again.”

  He took a seat next to her. “On Christmas? That’s cold.”

  “They tried to kill Hawk. You really need to catch them, Burt.” She glared at him. “That’s murder, in case you need it spelled out.”

  “We’re doing our best, Rhiannon. The sheriff has three men on this case. Now, what’s all this about murder? Surely it was an accident?”

  She shook her head adamantly. “No.” She related what Hawk had told her.

  Burt frowned. “Those are serious allegations. Does he have any proof of this?”

  “I imagine a forensics team could confirm it.”

  He slashed a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe they’re resorting to murder. He must have surprised them or something.”

  “Are you making excuses for these wankers?” she asked incredulously.

  He got to his feet and stood for a moment, hands on hips, staring at the door leading to the surgery. Finally he said, “Have Jackson call me. I’ll need a description of the vehicle, and the location of the incident so we can send a team.” And then he walked off without even saying goodbye.

  That was odd.

  “Miss O’Brannoch?” It was the nurse who had taken care of Fitz.

  “Yes? How is my uncle?” Rhiannon asked.

  The nurse sat beside her in the chair vacated by Burton. “I’m afraid it’s not good. For some reason the trauma of seeing Mr. Jackson’s injury seems to have caused a turn for the worse in your uncle’s condition. He should see his regular doctor as soon as possible. Sometimes shocks like this can lead to a permanent decline.”

  Rhiannon’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, that would be too cruel.”

  “Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done now. Just be sure not to leave him alone until you see how this is going to affect him. You should take careful note of any new symptoms, especially changes in his personality or long-term memory.”

  “Long-term? I thought it was just the short-term memory that’s affected.”

  “In the beginning. But by the end, the old memories are lost, too, and even language itself.”

  Rhiannon felt her hand tremble. She didn’t know which was worse, seeing her mother’s body waste away while her mind remained sharp and conscious of every horrible detail, or now Fitz, whose body was hale and healthy but whose mind was slowly shutting down.

  She buried her face in her hands.

  She didn’t think she could take this.

  How could she go through all of it again? The fear, the suffering, the helplessness? It was too much to ask. And on top of everything else having to deal with the ranch and the rustlers—and Redhawk Jackson’s stubborn pride.

  For the first time in her life she considered giving up.

  She should just swallow her own pride and write her aunt and uncle for a ticket home. She wasn’t cut out for a life in this savage country.

  “Baby?” Hawk was standing in front of her, pale as a ghost, worry creasing his brow as he gazed down at her.

  “Hawk!” She sprang to her feet and threw her arms about him, mindful of his bandaged arm.

  “Darlin’, are you all right?”

  She hugged him tighter, refusing to let the tears fall that she felt threaten. “I’m fine. Are you?”

  “I’ll live. Let’s get Fitz and go home.”

  She managed to keep it together on the way home. And while she tucked each of them into bed. And as she ate her solitary Christmas dinner. But when she pulled out stationery and pen and started writing a letter to her aunt and uncle, it all poured out of her. By the time she wrote “Love, Rhiannon,” her cheeks were streaked with moisture, and small, round droplets stained the paper.

  With a deep sigh she folded the letter and slipped it in the envelope she’d already addressed, setting it behind a vase on the mantel.

  Mailing it would mean admitting defeat. But she honestly didn’t know what else to do.

  They’d have to sell the ranch now. Hawk had clearly said if any more of the cattle were stolen they’d be unable to survive next year. They’d have no choice but to sell.

  And with the ranch gone, there’d be no reason for her to stay.

  Even if she might want to.

  Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, dawned cold and gray, but at least the snow had stopped for good.

  Rhiannon trudged out to the barn to take care of the animals, opening the big double doors and the stall Dutch doors to let in some fresh air and sunshine. After feeding the chickens, she put the bull Lucky Charm in his outdoor pen, then threw blankets over the three horses and led them out into the corral. Except for the past few days, Hawk had kept it snowplowed so he had a clear place for training Crimson and so the other horses could run around a bit.

  She was sitting on the rail watching them play when she heard Hawk come up behind her. She smiled as he slid his arm around her waist and stood so her back was resting against his chest.

  Closing her eyes, she painted a mental picture, trying to memorize it all so she’d never forget what this one moment in time felt like. The crisp, snow-scented air, the dazzlingly beautiful red cliffs and tall green trees, the warmth of Hawk’s body pressed into hers, the smell of his soap-scrubbed skin, the taste of his mouth kissing her good morning.

  “You should be in bed,” she whispered.

  “Got lonely,” he whispered back, and kissed her again.

  “How’s your arm?”

  “Lonely.”

  “What about your knee?”

  “Lonelier.”

  Her smile widened. “Hawk, be serious.”

  “I am.”

  She turned to give him a fierce hug. “Don’t ever do that again. You scared me to death.”

  “You weren’t the only one,” he murmured, pulling her close with his uninjured arm.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Go on. There’s nothing else we can do.”

  “But how? The herd…”

  He shrugged. “We’ll find a way.”

  She looked up into his dark, confident eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because,” he said with a kiss on her nose, “we have to.”

  She heard a car, and they turned to see Burton’s sheriff’s cruiser drive up.

  “Sorry, I forgot. He wanted you to call,” she told Hawk.

  His eyes narrowed. “He was at the clinic? News travels fast.”

  “I’m pretty sure gunshot wounds have to be reported.”

  She hopped off the rail and they walked over to the cruiser as Burt was getting out.

  He flipped open his notebook. “I’ll need your statement, Jackson.”

  “Let’s go inside. I’ll make coffee,” she suggested.

  As Hawk described for Burt exactly what had happened, Rhiannon kept in the background. But she couldn’t help being horrified once again at what she heard. At how close she’d come to losing him.

  “How many did they get this time?” Burt asked.

  Redhawk shook his head. “Don’t know yet. Six or eight if they filled the truck.”

  Burt pursed his lips. “Sounds like you’re pretty much wiped out.”

  Hawk rose and slowly limped over to the counter to refill his cup. “We’ll see about that.”

  “What did you mean?” Rhiannon asked later, after Burton had left. “Is there some option I don’t know about?”

  “No.” He rubbed the back of his neck with deliberate fingers. “But now they’ve made me mad. No way I’m letting them win.”

  Sh
e shivered. There was something cold and formidable in his voice when he said it, and a very hard gleam in his eyes. “Hawk, please tell me you’re not thinking of going back out there.”

  “Thinking? No,” he said, and she knew with dead certainty that he’d already made up his mind. Dead being the operative word, with a greater possibility than she wanted to contemplate.

  “You can’t,” she told him. “What will happen to Fitz if you’re hurt? If you’re not here to take care of him?”

  Hawk turned away. “He’ll have you.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him…tell him what? That she’d decided it would be best for all of them if she went back to Ireland? One less mouth to feed, one less contender for the ranch, one less love affair to end….

  But for some reason the words got stuck in her throat.

  No. Best to wait. Just a while. Until they knew about Fitz. Until spring, maybe, when the calves were born and the final count made on the herd and they knew where they stood financially. They, meaning the ranch. Fitz and Hawk. Because she wasn’t part of that “they.”

  She looked up and he was standing in the laundry room door, holding his duster and staring at her. “You did it again. You mended my duster.”

  She bit her lip, recalling the horror of seeing the water turn to crimson when she’d rinsed out the sleeve, and the way her fingers had shaken so badly she’d pricked herself a hundred times with the needle before the gaping hole had been patched.

  “I, um, I got bored last night,” she managed. “Nothing but Christmas carols and It’s a Wonderful Life on the telly. I’ve seen it,” she added. “About a hundred times.”

  She saw his Adam’s apple bob, then his gaze fell to the duster. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That I’m so useless. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

  “Oh, Hawk.” She went to him and wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t say that. You do more than any man I’ve ever known. I’m the one who’s useless.”

  He kissed her hair. “You’re so wrong. When this is over—” He shook his head. “Baby, you know I have to keep going out there until I catch these bastards. You know that, right? It’s the only way.”

  “But they tried to kill you!”

  “Don’t you see, they’re killing us either way. Six feet under or being forced to sell the ranch, the effect’s the same.”

  “Not quite,” she murmured, feeling his warm, muscular shoulder beneath her cheek, so vibrant and alive she could feel the power radiate from it, leashed but ready to strike at anything attempting to hurt those he loved.

  He might be wounded, but he was so far from useless it made her knees weak just being close to him.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, clutching him bleakly.

  “You won’t,” he said, and tipped her chin up. He ran the rough pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, gazing deep into her eyes. “I’ll be here for you, as long as you need me.”

  She had to close her eyes for fear he’d read in them just how desperately she did need him. Would always need him. His lips came down on hers, softly, quietly, and her mouth quavered beneath them. His fingers slid up her nape and into her hair, and he held her there for the most exquisitely tender, achingly gentle kiss she’d ever received.

  She wanted to break down. To tell him she loved him, that she would need him forever. That the hunger in her soul to be his, to stay in his embrace, would never go away.

  But she stopped herself just short of blurting it all out. That wasn’t what he needed from her. He needed her to be strong. Independent. So he could do what he had to do to save the ranch without worrying about her getting wrong ideas about him and their relationship. It was all about the ranch. She had to remember that.

  “Rhiannon,” he whispered, and kissed her again. “Rhiannon, I—”

  Suddenly, the doorbell rang, startling them apart.

  “Who could that be?” she said with a nervous laugh, pressing her damp palms onto her skirt.

  “Whoever it is I’m going to kill them,” he muttered, heading for the front door. “Can’t a man be left in peace to—” He flung open the door. “You lost or what?” he asked gruffly of whoever was standing there.

  She went back to the kitchen. She was in no shape to see anyone right now. Her knees were still shaking.

  When Redhawk walked back into the room, he was carrying one of those cardboard, overnight-type envelopes.

  Rhiannon looked up from the table. “What’s that?”

  “Registered letter. Special delivery.”

  “Strange. What does it say?”

  He zipped open the top of the cardboard, took out an official-looking document and quickly scanned the top page.

  “Well?” she asked anxiously.

  His gaze lifted with a curse. “It’s a purchase offer.”

  “Purchase? For what?”

  His mouth thinned. “The ranch. It’s an offer to buy Irish Heaven.”

  Chapter 13

  F urious, Redhawk flung the papers on the table. “Now, that’s what I call impeccable timing,” he growled.

  “You think they know about yesterday?” Rhiannon asked. “Who’s it from?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care,” he spat out. “There is no way I’m going to be pressured into selling Irish Heaven just because—” Suddenly it hit him. “My God!” He grabbed up the papers from the table again. “That’s it! That’s why this is happening!”

  She looked puzzled. “Why?”

  “Someone wants Irish Heaven bad enough to put us out of business to get it. Maybe even—”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Murder? By the saints, Redhawk, that can’t be true. Can it?” Her expression filled with horror.

  At the moment he would bet his life on it. But she looked so scared he backed off. “Well, maybe not murder. It’s possible Grant’s right and I just caught them by surprise. But I’d be willing to bet whoever sent this—” he waved the papers in his hand “—is behind the rustling.”

  “So who did send it?”

  He flipped through the pages to find the signature. Just as he suspected, the name of an attorney proxy was scrawled on the line for the buyer. “The lawyer is acting on their behalf. My guess is it’ll be impossible to find out who the real client is.”

  “Because of attorney-client privilege.”

  He nodded grimly. “But they can’t hide forever. If they want the ranch it’s for a reason. They’ll have to show themselves eventually.”

  “But by then it’ll be too late. Especially…”

  She didn’t have to complete the sentence. He knew exactly what she meant. “Yeah. Especially if I’m dead and Fitz is declared incompetent.”

  The next day the attorney called for Fitz’s answer, and Hawk barely resisted the urge to hang up on the man. Instead he minded his manners, and pumped him for all the information he could. Which amounted to exactly nothing. If the guy knew who he was working for, he was a world-champion liar. He insisted the offer had all been presented through another lawyer on behalf of a shadow company. Hawk knew the more filters in place, the more impossible it would be to break through to the real people behind it.

  “I’d like to speak with Mr. O’Brannoch himself, if you don’t mind,” the attorney said when Hawk told him to take his offer and stuff it.

  “I’m afraid he’s indisposed,” Hawk replied. “Indefinitely.” And hung up.

  After which, he called to report everything to the sheriff, making sure to bypass Burton Grant while doing so. He didn’t care if the deputy was in charge of the case. He didn’t like the man, didn’t want him coming out to the ranch asking stupid questions and making moon eyes at Rhiannon.

  Rhiannon was his.

  “Can I come with you this afternoon?” she asked, interrupting his inner tirade.

  He was taking Fitz to the doctor, as the nurse at the emergency-care clinic had advised.

  “I’d like that,” he said, his anger swiftly turning to sadness at the prospect of
what they might find out. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

  Bad things were happening too quickly on all fronts. But the one that tore his guts out more than anything was the change in Fitz.

  When they got to the doctor’s, the news was not what they wanted to hear.

  “I’m sorry to say Fitz has entered the advanced stages of the disease,” the doctor told them after completing his tests and examination. “I very much doubt he’ll bounce back from this recent setback.”

  Depressed, Hawk tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Fitz was not getting better. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s always possible he’ll have some days that are more lucid than others.”

  “But he won’t get even worse, will he?” he asked, taking Rhiannon’s hand. He needed something to hang on to.

  “Right away, you mean?” The doctor pursed his lips. “Hard to say. My guess is you’ll start seeing more compulsive behaviors, like the muttering he’s already started exhibiting, and maybe some personality changes, as well. Sometimes it all happens quickly, sometimes it takes years to run the full course.”

  “He can stay home, can’t he?” Rhiannon asked worriedly.

  “If someone is there with him at all times. As his long-term memory goes, he’ll need more and more help with orientation and everyday tasks. He can easily get lost or hurt himself. Tell me. Have you thought about taking him back to Ireland?”

  Hawk was stunned by the suggestion. “Why?”

  The doctor steepled his fingers. “He seems to be living there in his mind now, more and more, would you agree?”

  Rhiannon nodded. “He’s forgotten nearly everything about his life in Arizona, except his close friends. He talks almost solely about his younger days in Ireland.”

  “Sometimes it can be a comfort for a patient to return to live in a familiar place from childhood, if it’s possible. It won’t slow the disease, but can ease the panic over memory loss.”

  They were both subdued as they walked out of the office with Fitz, who didn’t seem to understand exactly what was going on.