by Joanna Wayne
Two big men against one petite woman. Dirty cowards any way you looked at it. Now all he had to do was find the scum who were responsible and make sure they paid their full dues. That, and keep Miss Heather Lombardi safe.
The woman would be nothing but trouble. He’d suspected it from the moment he’d watched her sashay into the café. Now he was sure of it. He could kiss his peaceful vacation goodbye.
A BRIEF STRUGGLE with the key and the back door squeaked open. “It’s not much, but it’s home,” Matt said, ushering his guest inside, “at least when I’m lucky enough to get back here.”
Heather leaned against the door frame and gave the place a cursory once-over. She’d seen worse. They’d entered the back door, passing through the laundry area and into a small kitchen. Nothing fancy, but cozy, with a wooden table and several chairs. Not all of them matched, but they were sturdy and seemed to fit the ranch house’s sparse but functional decor.
There were clean dishes in a drainer at the side of the sink, and some glass canning jars filled with preserves on the counter. Somehow she doubted Ranger Matt had put up the preserves himself. She didn’t have him figured out yet, but he was a far cry from the Martha Stewart image.
Manhandling criminals probably fit his persona better. She hoped to get a chance to find out by watching him arrest the hoodlums who had worked her over.
“We’ll get you fixed up in no time,” he said, guiding her through the kitchen and into a den that reeked of masculinity. Dark leather covered the well-worn chairs and couch, and heads of animals glared at her from their positions on the walls. A pair of boots rested on the hearth, and one lamp and a supply of newspapers and magazines covered the end table.
“Sit here,” he said, motioning toward the couch. “I’ll get the ice and then tend that cut on your forehead.”
She eased to a sitting position, tugging her skirt down as best she could and pulling her blouse together. The top two buttons were missing, and a jagged tear revealed more than a scrap of her bra.
“Do you live alone?” she called over the serenade of cracking ice in the kitchen.
“What gave me away, the dust or the curtainless windows?”
“Neither, but I don’t see a wife appearing to check out the injured stray you brought home.”
“There’s no wife.”
He returned a second later with a contraption that resembled a sling, a couple of tubes of antiseptic and a brown bottle of something that probably burned like the jalapeños she’d eaten in her enchiladas at lunch.
He eased to the couch beside her and tilted her face upwards. His hands were big, strong and weathered by the sun, but he surprised her with the gentleness of his touch.
“You must have taken a couple of power punches to this cheek.”
“I did. The man who drove my car slapped me across the face. I tried to fight back. I poked a finger in the other man’s eyes, and that’s when he landed the first blow with his fist.”
“What about the rest of your body? Did they hit you in the stomach or chest? If there are internal injuries...” His eyes fell to the tear in her blouse. “They didn’t...”
She read the new fury, hot and dark in his eyes. “No, they didn’t rape me. My blouse must have gotten torn in the skirmish.” She bent down and rubbed her legs. “I did get kicked in the shins, but I think I got in a pretty good kick myself. You must have shown up about then. One guy was dragging me out of the car. I glimpsed lights in the distance, and they took off running.”
“Don’t worry. They won’t be able to run fast enough or far enough to get away permanently.”
“Sure of yourself, aren’t you. Do you always get your man?”
“Sooner or later.” Matt took the sling and tied it around her head as if she had a toothache. “I made a pouch for the ice. It should slow the swelling in the jaw. I have another one for the eye, but you’ll have to hold it in place. Before you do, I need to doctor the ct.” He propped a pillow behind her head. “Lean back and try to relax. This will probably burn a little.”
“I knew you’d say that. And men use the term a little so loosely when the pain doesn’t apply to them.”
“Okay, it will probably burn a lot.” He dabbed the spot with liquid from the bottle.
She flinched, but didn’t complain. “Does it need stitches?”
“No, it’s not deep, just jagged. I don’t know what caused the cut, so we have to make sure it’s sterilized.”
“A belt buckle, I think. I caught the edge of it against my head when I was clawing and trying to get away.”
“I’d say you’re a pretty spunky woman to keep fighting when the odds were two to one.”
“I didn’t know the cavalry was on the way.”
“You should have. This is Texas, after all.”
“Yeah, right.” She grimaced as he smoothed some salve across the cut. Her whole face was a mass of tender, painful flesh, but the burning had stopped. “I’ll owe you one for this, cowboy.”
“No, you don’t owe me anything, except enough answers to help us find and arrest the guilty. I called Gabby from the kitchen. He should be here any minute, so I’ll hold my questions until then rather than make you do double duty.”
“Gabby?”
“The sheriff, and you’ll find out soon enough that his nickname is well-earned.”
His gaze fell to the torn blouse again, and her hand flew up to hide the exposed cleavage.
“I can get you one of my shirts,” he offered.
“I’d appreciate that. And then you can point me to the bathroom.”
“Sure.”
He disappeared down the hall and returned a few minutes later with a blue broadcloth shirt, Western-style, with snaps instead of buttons.
“The bathroom is the second door on the left. If you need anything, let me know. There are washcloths in the cabinet under the sink.”
Heather stood up. Her legs wobbled, and she grabbed the wooden arm of the couch for support. Matt was beside her in an instant, steadying her with a strong arm. She let herself lean against him for a few seconds, absorbing his strength.
“We can still go to the hospital,” he said, his gaze scrutinizing her closely, no doubt searching for clues she was in worse shape than she’d admitted.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m in no mood to be jabbed, poked and prodded by an emergency room intern, not after what I’ve been through tonight.” She straightened and took a step that was less wobbly. Feeling more secure, she started down the hall, aware of the concern in Matt’s eyes as he watched her every move.
He puzzled her. At the restaurant, he’d been distant and cool, but here at his house, he was warm and nurturing. Maybe he performed best in the role of hero. Or maybe, she thought wryly, it was her charm that was winning him over.
She stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light. Leaning across the sink, she glimpsed her image in the mirror and then recoiled in misery. No wonder the Ranger thought she needed a doctor. She might have suggested an undertaker herself. Gingerly, she guided her fingers to the purple-rimmed eye and the pulpy flesh around it.
It had to be that Matt was at home in the hero role, she decided. She had about as much sexual appeal as the Bride of Frankenstein. She readjusted her icy sling so that she could check out the bruises to her jaw. The sight was equally grotesque.
And all of this just because she’d asked a few questions about Kathy Warren, a woman who’d passed through town twenty-five years ago.
Forget Kathy Warren and get out of town.
She’d been ordered to do that twice now. The second warning had been brutal. But Kathy Warren must have been a very hardheaded woman, because Heather had definitely inherited that trait from someone. She didn’t like threats, and she didn’t scare easily. Left alone, she might have eventually given up and left town when no one remembered her mother. Now, she’d be staying.
She didn’t understand it, but the longing she had lived with for as long as she could remember
, the need to know who she really was and where she’d come from, had never been stronger than it was tonight.
HEATHER SAT AT THE kitchen table and focused her one open eye on Gabby as he studied the note she’d handed him. “It was delivered to me at the motel, stuffed under my door while I was sleeping,” she explained. “The manager said he hadn’t seen anyone around there, but security at that place is nonexistent.”
The sheriff refolded the note. “We don’t usually have trouble down at the motel. Old Rube don’t even have paying guests too often anymore.”
“No trouble at the motel. No attacks on women. This town was a regular haven before I came along.” She didn’t try to hide the sarcasm. She was tired, physically and emotionally, from the events of the night and the last half hour of redundant interrogation.
Besides, she didn’t like the way the sheriff had been phrasing his questions. She was the victim, not the criminal, but she wasn’t at all sure he saw it that way.
“Now don’t get all riled, Miss Lombardi. I plan to check everything out. It’s just that we don’t go fixing fences down here till we know what broke ’em in the first place.”
He stood, grabbing his hat from the chair beside him as he did and setting it on his head. “You’re a nice woman, and all the talk I’ve heard around here since you drove into town is how everyone wishes they could help you out. Now all of a sudden, you got someone gunning for you, so to speak. It just don’t add up.”
“So it must be my fault?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Matt leaned into the table. “We’re not suggesting it’s your fault, Heather. We’re just trying to make sense of this.” He spread his hands as if making a point. “You’ve come to town looking for a woman who you said passed through here twenty-five years ago. It appears that no one in the area’s ever heard of her, and yet you received a note mentioning her by name and warning you to leave town. Now you’ve been attacked, apparently to put teeth in the warning.”
She shook her head in frustration, and pain shot up her neck, settling in under her swollen eye. “I know it sounds bizarre, but I’m telling the truth.”
“And you’re sure this Kathy Warren you’re asking about is dead?”
“It was reported to the authorities at the orphanage, my birth mother died a few months after I was abandoned. Shortly after that, I was adopted.” Frustration was threatening to push her over the edge. She’d said all this before.
Matt scribbled more notes in a small black notebook. “Who reported the death?” he asked, turning his face toward her.
“I’m not sure. The woman I talked to thought he might have been my mother’s brother.”
“Seems like your uncle would’ve just taken you with him,” the sheriff said, his eyebrows raised. “Him being family and all.”
“I don’t know any of the circumstances. The woman who left me at the orphanage said I was her child but that she couldn’t take care of me. She signed away all rights of parenthood.”
Gabby stopped at the door. “Looks like you shoulda left well, alone, little lady. I’d think seriously about just clearing out of Dry Creek and letting this die down if I were you.”
“All I’m trying to do is track down my family, discover my roots. That’s not unusual.”
“I suppose not. I saw a TV show about that one time,” Gabby admitted. “Some girl looked for years and then found her mother living two blocks away. But just looking for your mom’s family shouldn’t cause you to get beat up.”
“Thank you,” she said. “When you find the men who did it, I suggest you ask them their reasons.”
He squared his shoulders. “Oh, I plan to find out exactly what’s going on. And if this Kathy Warren was around here, I’ll find that out, too.”
“I think we’ve questioned Heather enough for tonight,” Matt broke in, moving over to stand behind her chair. “Why don’t you call me as soon as you get a fingerprint report off the car?”
Gabby stood and ambled toward the door. “Yeah, I’ll do that, though I doubt we find anything, them wearing gloves and all.”
“Check it anyway. One of the gloves might have slipped off in the fray.”
Gabby scratched his whiskered chin. “I can give you a ride back into town, Miss Lombardi. I’m going that way.”
“Miss Lombardi’s staying here tonight.”
Heather spun around to face Matt. “That won’t be necessary. I’m fine now.”
“It’s necessary. I wouldn’t have said it if it weren’t.”
She stared at him. He was neither smiling nor frowning. He just made the statement and expected her to go along with it. The man was clearly far too used to having the final say, but she wasn’t under his control.
She stood and faced him. “What makes it necessary? The attack is over and done with. Surely the men wouldn’t dare show up again. Besides, they said they were only supposed to rough me up, and they’ve already done that.”
“Criminals have been known to lie.”
As far as Matt was concerned, that was the end of the discussion. She could read the finality in his tone and his eyes. She was tempted to insist that she was capable of making her own decisions about where she spent the night, but the truth of Matt’s statement held her back.
She had been no match for the two men, especially the older one. It was as if she could feel the evil inside him when he’d slapped her, and it had been his hand that had ripped her blouse. She trembled, remembering the fear, a black cloud of sickening smoke that had rolled in her stomach and filled her lungs as she tried to fight them off.
She struggled for a calming breath and forced the fear to subside. She needed a clear head. Besides, she was safe here with Matt McQuaid. The Ranger was handsome, strong, and apparently as hardheaded as she was. What more could a woman want?
“How’s that jaw?” he asked, closing the door behind the sheriff.
“Sore, like the rest of me. You should have asked me about spending the night before you announced that I would.”
“I don’t like to offer choices when none exist. You need watching over tonight. I’m available, though it wasn’t the way I’d planned to spend my first night home.”
And that was it. Matter-of-fact. Cut and dried. No “I’m glad to be of service.” No wonderful, witty, heroic phrases. Just “I’m available.” Matt McQuaid was the epitome of a Texas lawman. All action, few words.
For some reason, she didn’t find his manner as offensive as she should have. It was almost comforting on one hand, and more than a little seductive on the other. Oh, well, when in Rome...
“Since I’m here for the night, I think I’ll turn in. Which bedroom do you want me to use?”
“That’s easy,” he said, finally smiling. “There’s only one.”
Chapter Three
Matt hesitated and then knocked on the door. In spite of claiming she was too tired to talk, Heather hadn’t turned off the bedroom light
“Come in.”
He did and then stared at the waif of a woman propped up on his pillows. His T-shirt, bleached to a snowy white, fell loosely off one slender shoulder, revealing silky, ivory-colored flesh. He fought the surprising twinges of arousal that crept through his muddled mind and weary body.
Just fatigue, he told himself, from weeks spent working night and day, falling into bed only after he’d become so tired he could no longer function intelligently. Weeks of doing what he did best, digging through a cavern of lies and cover-up to discover the ugly truths hidden there.
Now, he would be at it again. The sheriff had just called, and what he’d had to say added more fuel to Matt’s suspicions. Heather Lombardi, if that was in fact her name, was beautiful and intriguing, but his hunch was she was only skirting the truth with her story about looking for her mother.
“That was the sheriff on the phone,” he said, crossing the room and standing over her bed.
“Does he have my car?”
“Yeah. And a little surprise.
”
“What kind of surprise?” Her eyebrows rose questioningly, pulling the swollen face into a shape that resembled lumpy oatmeal. Even that didn’t diminish her appeal. It was her eyes, Matt decided, that pulled so determinedly at his resolve.
“There was an explosive device attached to the engine of your car.”
She jerked to a sitting position. “What are you saying, Matt?”
“When the sheriff and his deputy were checking out your car, they found a device that was set to explode when you keyed the ignition. Fortunately, the bomb didn’t detonate. If it had, you would have missed the pleasure of being kidnapped and beaten.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. Someone tried to blow up your car with you in it.”
“I understand that part.” Her gray eyes were clouded, her voice shaky. “It’s the who and why I can’t comprehend. When was the bomb planted? Surely not at the restaurant. There were people around. And the men that kidnapped me didn’t mess with the engine.”
“Where else did you go today?”
She ran her fingers through her tousled hair. “I was at the motel, at the bank, the library.” A sigh escaped her lips. “And I drove out to St. Michael’s this afternoon.”
“What were you doing out there?”
“I wanted to talk to the priest about Kathy Warren, but he wasn’t there.”
“How long was the car unattended?”
“About half an hour. I left the car and walked to the cemetery behind the chapel. Maybe that was long enough, though I didn’t see or hear anyone.” Heather squeezed her eyes shut, but not so tight that a lone tear didn’t escape and slide down her cheek.
Matt dabbed at it with a tissue from the box on the bedside table. She opened her eyes and stared at him, shock and fear stripping away the air of independence she usually wore so well.
The room seemed to grow warm, and Matt backed away, suddenly aware of her nearness. Aware of the need to take her in his arms and comfort her. His muscles tightened in response to the unfamiliar urges, and he shoved clenched fists deep into his pockets. “I’m sorry, Heather.”