Cowboy Doms Collection

by BJ Wane

  It was too early for Cathy’s monthly check-in, which meant something had happened. Leslie’s throat closed as she gripped the phone, a sense of foreboding overshadowing her excitement for spending the day at Kurt’s ranch.

  “Cathy. What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry, Leslie. Word has just come down our system has been hacked. We’re not sure when, but best guess from our IT department is at least forty-eight hours. There’s no way to know if your identity has been compromised but we can get you moved within hours.”

  Moved? Start over again with yet another name in yet another city where I know no one? Where I’ll be alone again? No, she couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it. She remembered how the girls from the club reached out to her a few weeks ago despite the way she’d held back from getting too friendly and her eyes went damp; the faces of her second graders who were catching on to reading and learning addition and subtraction, of the ones who still needed extra help and the spontaneous hugs from others popped up, and her stomach cramped.

  She thought of Kurt and her chest constricted. This was what she got for letting herself hope she could have a life here, for dropping her guard and getting involved, for losing the battle of caring too much.

  “What are the odds Glascott is still holding a grudge or that whoever hacked your data bases would pass on the information?” She was grasping at straws, but didn’t care.

  “This isn’t a Reno casino game were playing, Leslie. I didn’t want to add to your burden by saying anything sooner, but we’ve kept feelers out on Edwin Glascott and rumor has it he took those boys’ deaths hard and has been in a volatile state of mind ever since. Do you honestly want to take the risk of staying where you’re at, because I can’t force you to leave?” Cathy’s exasperation and empathy rang in Leslie’s ear.

  She didn’t want to cause her grief. She also couldn’t bear it if, by staying, she put someone else in the crosshairs of whoever Glascott might send after her. God help her, if it was just herself she had to worry about, she would honestly consider saying to hell with the risk. But the last attempt on her life proved how easy someone else could get caught in the crosshairs and end up hurt, or worse, for no other reason than they were with her.

  “I can’t be ready in a few hours. I have to contact the school principal. I won’t disappear on them without a word.” And she longed to see Kurt one more time, owed it to him to tell him good-bye in person. The tears swimming in her eyes dripped down her face and she swiped them off with the back of a hand. Lamenting her circumstances wouldn’t help, only delay the inevitable.

  “I’ll get everything set up. Call me when you’re ready. We’ll take care of the apartment. We can also take care of contacting your boss, if you’d rather,” Cathy offered in understanding.

  “No, but thank you. It’s Sunday, but he won’t mind if I call him. I’ll make up a family emergency and be in touch this evening.”

  Leslie hung up before she changed her mind. Those fleeting thoughts of staying and taking her chances were dismissed as soon as the memory of her neighbor jerking and falling against her from a drive by gunshot wound popped up unbidden. Her fingers shook as she started the car and pulled out, her mind racing with what she would say to Kurt. He was astute at reading her expressions and seeing through her lies. The truth might be her best bet, after all, what could he say or argue about? He’d likely escort her off his ranch as soon as she told him everything he’d been pestering her to reveal about herself, and she wouldn’t blame him.

  As she left Billings and got onto the highway, following Kurt’s detailed instructions, she railed against being thrust into another situation where doing the right thing required such heartache. With despair clogging her throat and cramping her abdomen and her thoughts centered on what she would tell him, Leslie didn’t notice the car on her tail, or see it swerve around until it sped by her so fast she jumped.

  “Moron,” she muttered, glaring at the taillights disappearing over the rise ahead. There was little traffic on this outstretch, with nothing but miles of prairie on either side of the road with an occasional turnoff here and there. The isolation made it easy to let her mind wander until a loud report, sounding like a car backfiring, came out of nowhere, disturbing the peaceful quietness of the countryside. Startled, Leslie gripped the steering wheel tighter, her rear tire blowing in the next instant, shaking her even more.

  With a panicked cry, she hit the brakes as the car lurched to the side, icy fear twisting around her heart and stealing her breath as another shot pinged against the back side. Leslie barely had time to acknowledge someone was shooting at her before she hit a rut and went airborne for one horrifying second. A terrified scream ripped from her throat as the car came crashing down on the passenger side, tossing her against the door with a jarring, painful impact, her head cracking on the window before leaving her dangling sideways in the seatbelt. Her vision swam, bile rising into her throat. Pain engulfed her whole body, dread cramped her muscles and then agonizing despair pulled her under.

  Chapter 9

  “I talked to your therapist last night.” Kurt glared at his father and then glanced at the time again. Leslie was late, which put him in no mood for another sparring match with Leland. But, after speaking with Tamara last night at the club and hearing how much more he was capable of doing with a little effort, Kurt felt this couldn’t wait. “Give me one good reason why you can’t put yourself out to go to physical therapy more than once a week.”

  Leland’s jaw went taut and he shifted his stormy eyes out the window again. “It’s my life. Quit nagging me about it.”

  Frustrated, Kurt strode across the bedroom to stand in front of Leland’s chair and bent down to grip the armrests, getting in his face. This attitude of his was so unlike the strong-willed parent who never let anything hold him back. As he’d often told Kurt, ranching was in his blood and there was nothing he would rather do, regardless of the wealth that afforded him a much easier life.

  “Tamara said you should be strong enough by now to move from the parallel bars to a walker, and eventually a cane, but you refuse to try. Damn it, Dad, you’re the one who should be running this place, not me, not yet.”

  Leland’s shoulders went rigid. “I’m seventy-two and ready to take it easy. You just want to continue shirking your responsibilities Get out of my face.”

  Tires crunched on the gravel drive out front, drawing Kurt’s expectant gaze out the window. Disappointment swamped him as he saw it wasn’t Leslie but one of the hands. He thought they’d been getting along great the past few weeks, and he had no complaints. He enjoyed taking her out as much as he’d relished her willing submission to anything he proposed afterward, and she appeared equally pleased with their budding relationship. If she didn’t show up soon, he would go after her. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet, not without a fight. But, first things first.

  “I returned to help you as soon as I could, so I don’t know how you can accuse me of shirking my duties.” It was time to lay what was really standing between them out on the table. “You’re the one who drove me away when you refused to admit Brittany’s death was no one’s fault but her own.” Leland’s face paled, a bleak expression entering his eyes, but he still stared out the window. Kurt sighed, wishing he could get through to him. “I came home because I only want what’s best for you, and I know damn good and well you don’t want to sit around inside this house feeling sorry for yourself. Even after Mom and Brittany’s deaths, you refused to turn over the running of things to either me or Roy. Be very careful you don’t let your stubbornness drive me away again.”

  Turning his back on him with that idle threat, Kurt missed the spasm of fright crossing Leland’s face and the sheen of sorrow in his father’s dark eyes. Stomping down the hall, he shoved Leland’s uncharacteristic, annoying behavior to the back burner and engaged fully on one stubborn submissive. Detouring into the kitchen, he put the fried chicken he picked up from Dale’s Diner into the refrigerator. He’d been look
ing forward to taking Leslie for her first ride today, nestled in front of him on Atlas, snacking on chicken as he showed her his ranch. Since she was over an hour late, they might not have time to ride as far as he’d planned, and if he couldn’t get her out here, there wouldn’t be time to ride at all.

  Snatching his hat off the hook by the front door, he stepped outside, the brisk October air cooling his temper as he walked to his truck. Maybe she had a good excuse, he considered, driving down the long lane toward the highway. Or maybe her sense of direction was as piss-poor as Sydney’s. That possibility worried him. He hated to think of Leslie this far out of the city, surrounded by the endless miles of wide-open spaces and worrying about finding her way to his place.

  Once on the highway, he drove toward Billings, hoping to see her on the way. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles forcing him to slow down after a few miles filled him with sudden dread. Sweat pooled at the base of his spine as an icy knot of foreboding gripped his abdomen. Idling down to a stop, he saw the under carriage of a car lying on its side out in the field to his right, several cars and trucks pulled over along the side of the road, Grayson’s official sheriff’s cruiser and the county ambulance. It wasn’t until he hopped out that he got a clear view of who was sitting up on the gurney, her face white as a sheet, a bandage on her forehead and eyes glazed with shock and pain.

  A fear-induced adrenaline rush propelled Kurt forward, his pulse skyrocketing into his throat with anxious apprehension. He caught sight of Grayson walking around Leslie’s upended vehicle with a deputy, the scowl on his face sending another wave of uneasiness through him. Balling his hands into fists, he paused to suck in a deep, fortifying breath before taking the last few strides to reach Leslie’s side.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll need to stay back…”

  Kurt whipped his cold-eyed stare on the hapless EMT, shutting him up. “She’s with me,” was all he said. Nodding, the medic stepped back to give him room to stand by Leslie’s side. Leaning over, he brushed his lips around the bandage covering her bruised, swollen forehead. “Jesus, sweetheart, tell me you’re all right.”

  Kurt’s dark face swam in front of Leslie’s vision, the deep, concerned rumble of his voice reaching inside her to dispel the last remnants of fog clouding her head, keeping her insulated from the pain and terror of what just happened. She’d roused to voices calling to her, careful hands freeing her from the seatbelt, more hands catching her as she tumbled down and then gently extricating her from the wrecked car. A cold chill snaked down her spine as she recalled the report of gunfire and the loss of control, and shuddered in lingering fear of realizing someone had come after her on purpose.

  Glascott, if it was him behind this attack, had wasted no time following the breach of sealed, government files. She doubted he would execute his own dirty work. No, he’d likely hired it out, and that person could very well still be aiming at her from the trees. The field where her car had gone careening off the road might be a vast expanse of prairie grasses, but a mile or two off the highway on the other side lay tree-shrouded woods that made for excellent cover.

  She didn’t realize she’d turned her head toward those woods until Kurt placed two fingers under her chin and nudged her to face him again. “Leslie, baby, talk to me. Are you okay?” When she nodded, her throat too dry with fear to talk, he looked at the EMT who had shifted to her other side. “Can you tell me her condition?”

  “Concussion, bruised ribs from the seatbelt, left arm is swelling and should be x-rayed but she’s refusing to go to the hospital. She kept mumbling something about it not being safe, but that was likely from being disoriented.”

  “Or, it could be because she knows something we don’t,” Grayson stated, joining them with his sharp, assessing gray/green eyes zeroing in on Leslie.

  Shit. Hiding her emotions from one narrow-eyed, astute Dom was difficult enough. Now she had two of them regarding her with intense concern.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Kurt demanded to know.

  “It means your girl didn’t just have an accident. There’s a bullet lodged in her front tire and one embedded too damn close to the gas tank to make this anything except a deliberate attempt on her life.” The fury in Grayson’s tone matched Kurt’s darkening, thundercloud expression.

  Now what do I say? With her head and arm throbbing and the three faces staring at her turning blurry, Leslie closed her eyes and leaned her head back, unable to cope with anything right now except to reiterate no hospital. “I thought those sounded like gunshots, which is only one reason why I’m not going to the hospital.” Her voice emerged from her constricted throat as a reedy whisper but she opened her eyes to see they heard her just fine.

  “You’re in no condition to make that decision,” Kurt snapped.

  Grayson took charge by asking the medic, “Do you know where the Willow Springs clinic is, one street over from the town square?”

  The young man nodded. “Yep. We can take her there as long as there is a doctor waiting.”

  Catching on, Kurt whipped out his cell. “There will be. I’ll follow you.”

  Leslie watched Kurt and Grayson turn away and heard Mitchell’s name before Kurt started conversing with the new doctor. If she weren’t so scared, and didn’t hurt so much, she might have gotten excited about the prospect of the hot doctor putting his hands on her. But as the EMT slid the gurney into the ambulance and then hopped in to join her with a rap on the side to get them going, all she could think about was the jeopardy she was putting everyone in.

  The next two hours were the longest of Kurt’s life. Mitchell hadn’t hesitated to open the clinic on a Sunday afternoon, but friendship came second to his patient as soon as Leslie was wheeled into the exam room where the weekend nurse waited with him. After his friend shut the door in his face, he’d turned to find Grayson leaning against the wall, arms crossed, toothpick returned to his mouth, regarding him with a solemn expression.

  “I need to know what you know,” he said.

  “Yeah, well I need to know a hell of a lot more than that.” Unable to stand still, Kurt paced the hall, the quietness of the clinic grating on his nerves as much as the sheriff’s silent, watchful gaze. Frustrated, worried and scared to the bone, he finally whirled to face his friend and ground out, “She has a sister, haven’t a clue where or even what her name is. Her apartment is devoid of any personal articles and her life was lacking in personal involvement until I pressed her into an affair. Oh, and she likes animals but hasn’t owned a pet since she was a kid. There, does that help?”

  “Now that you’ve got that out, why don’t we put our heads together and figure out who would want to harm her, or worse,” Grayson drawled.

  Kurt went rigid with rage imagining someone deliberately setting out to kill Leslie, vowing right then and there not to let her out of his sight until the fucker went down. “Jesus, Monroe, I haven’t a fucking clue.” He sliced a hand through the air between them, swearing. “She’s a second-grade teacher, for God’s sake.”

  “With a secret past no one knows anything about, an aloof manner when it comes to forming relationships or friendships and, according to you, she doesn’t even have a photo of her sister in her apartment. Want to know what I deduce from all of that?”

  Put all together like that, Kurt could come up with only one possible answer, one that sent a frisson of unease slithering under his skin. “Witness protection?”

  Grayson shrugged. “I could be wrong.”

  “But you, we could be right, and it does explain a lot.” And added layers to his worry. “If they hear of this…”

  “They’ll move her.”

  “No one’s moving her anywhere for a while,” Mitchell said, stepping out of the exam room. “I caught the last bit of your conversation, and from Leslie’s expression, so did she. She has a concussion, which we knew. Her arm isn’t broken but badly banged up, as is her left hip and thigh. All in all, she’s damn lucky that’s it, but she needs rest.” />
  “Then I suggest the two of you help me convince her to come to my place while the Feds get this figured out. She’ll be safe there. I’ve got over fifty cowhands who are excellent shots and between the sensors along the fencing and hidden cameras everywhere, Grayson, you know how secure our property is.”

  “Decision’s hers, but I’m willing to go to bat for you. Hell, we didn’t like partying anywhere on your land as teens because your security was too fucking good. I imagine it’s even better now.”

  “Damn straight.” Kurt turned to Mitchell. “Can I go in now?”

  “Be my guest. I don’t envy you the battle you’re in for.”

  Now I have three stern-faced, determined Doms to contend with. Leslie shivered as she looked at the men entering the small room, their chiseled faces etched with stone-cold determination, their eyes showing varying shades of warm concern mingling with banked fury on her behalf. She could have staved off Kurt’s pushy insistence for answers if need be, but all three of them? She was doomed to reveal everything, and she knew it before a word was said. Grateful the nurse had already stepped out after helping her dress, her wobbly legs forced her to sit back down on the exam table.

  “What?” she asked, stalling. Sheriff Grayson was as good at his job as sheriff as he was as a Master at The Barn. The pain shot Dr. Hoffstetter administered had already kicked in, but the woozy numbness it wrought wasn’t enough to deflect the forceful impact of those looks.