Книга - Riding Shotgun

Riding Shotgun
Joanna Wayne


A cowboy returns home a war hero to protect his family in the exciting new Kavanaughs series from Joanna Wayne Pierce Lawrence returns home a war hero after two tours as a SEAL ready to finally bond with his five-year-old daughter. There he meets mysterious Grace Cotton, on the run from her ex in witness protection, but maybe Pierce and his daughter are the homecoming she's been hoping for.







A cowboy returns home a war hero to protect his family in the exciting new Kavanaughs series from Joanna Wayne

With his life in shambles and desperate to bond with the five-year-old daughter he barely knows, ex-SEAL Pierce Lawrence returns to his Texas childhood home, the Double K Ranch. There he meets the intriguing Grace Addison, a mystery woman on the run…who is loath to get involved with the ruggedly handsome cowboy.

Pierce, instantly attracted to Grace, would do anything to help her escape her living nightmare…if only she’d let him. But how can she allow him to get close, when she fears the killer targeting her could also endanger Pierce—and his innocent daughter?

The Kavanaughs


“If you’re in trouble, I can help,” Pierce said.

Grace took a deep breath and pulled one of her rehearsed stories from her repertoire. “If you must know, I didn’t lose my job. I had a bad breakup with an ex. I took all of his possessions he’d left at my place and dumped them. I decided to take a short vacation while he cools down.”

“Remind me not to make you mad.”

He reached over and took both her hands in his. The touch sent her emotions on a dangerous spiral. She couldn’t give in to the desire that sparked inside her. A relationship with Pierce had nowhere to go. It would cause her to make bad decisions.

Pierce placed a thumb under her chin and tilted her face until his lips were only a hairbreadth away. “I want you to stay, Grace, because I really like having you here.”

His lips touched hers. A longing struck full force, a need so intense she had to struggle to breathe.


Riding Shotgun

Joanna Wayne






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JOANNA WAYNE began her professional writing career in 1994. Now, more than fifty published books later, Joanna has gained a worldwide following with her cutting-edge romantic suspense and Texas family series, such as Sons of Troy Ledger and Big “D” Dads. Joanna currently resides in a small community north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. You may write to Joanna at PO Box 852, Montgomery, TX 77356, USA or connect with her at www.joannawayne.com (http://www.joannawayne.com).


To all my readers who love a good family story

with a fairy-tale ending. A special thanks to my own

wonderful family, who make my life so special,

and to my fantastic editor, who has made

my last twenty years of writing a joy.


Contents

Cover (#uc0d5dd10-e48d-5ff0-b0d6-655ecc50bf73)

Back Cover Text (#u743909cc-41a9-52c8-b753-35c54926de14)

Introduction (#u6ffcb522-ef1b-5fa2-8099-dd7e1a6aef36)

Title Page (#u02285bae-1c72-5cf3-bfee-b1e8c390d9f2)

About the Author (#ud81627e3-c76e-5ffb-8488-9094244eb00a)

Dedication (#uc037a515-fa86-591d-8c81-aa7d15a26cd2)

Prologue (#u65aea286-0741-5d8d-ab97-dd04f9e4dc7a)

Chapter One (#u94cd606f-c76f-5218-885f-b19efd6f41dd)

Chapter Two (#ude58a6bc-27ad-5794-81ba-38eff5cb5cf9)

Chapter Three (#ubf1796b0-e747-5bbc-860a-adfc7dd570ec)

Chapter Four (#uf3493629-e6ca-5b1c-bae1-84130cf15a1a)

Chapter Five (#u437c2210-43c4-5c44-9133-e60d3309d6dc)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u2d46545e-1be5-55c3-a057-ffcbd0a8f324)

Esther Kavanaugh lifted the lid and sniffed the aroma of pinto beans, spices and the hunk of pork she’d added for flavor. Probably too much salt and fat for their health, but it was just the way Charlie liked it. Fifty-three years of eating her cooking and he still bragged that she was the best cook in Texas.

She grabbed her oversize metal spoon and gave the beans a final stir before cutting off the gas. Beans were ready. So were the turnip greens and corn bread. Fresh onion was sliced. She didn’t need the clock to tell her it was lunchtime. Her stomach was doing that for her.

Still, she glanced up and checked the hands on the loud ticking metal clock hanging on the opposite wall. Ten after twelve, which meant it was pushing twelve thirty. Old clock always ran slow, but it was close enough for Esther. At seventy-two, she was starting to run a bit slow herself these days.

Charlie had never worried much with punctuality, though he was up with the sun each morning. Claimed his cows didn’t watch the clock, so why should he.

He was seldom late for lunch, though. Must be trying to finish up some chore, probably working on that old tractor of his. She tried to get him to replace it, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Never throw away what can be fixed, he insisted.

She filled two glasses with ice and poured one to the top with fresh brewed sweet tea. She took her drink to the back porch to wait for Charlie. Mid-September but the sun was blazing down like August, making the humid air practically steamy.

Settling in the wooden rocker, she let her thoughts drift to the past. That was another thing about getting older, not that seventy-two was all that old, but she did find herself thinking backward more and more these days.

Like the first time she’d seen Charlie come hurtling through the gate at their small-town rodeo on the back of a snorting, kicking giant of a bull. He hadn’t lasted the required eight seconds. Hadn’t even lasted two.

But when he’d gotten up, dusted off his jeans, looked right at her and tipped his hat, she was a goner. She’d loved that man every day since.

She sipped her tea and rocked.

Thirty minutes later, her glass was empty except for small chunks of melting ice. Where in the world was that old man of hers? It wasn’t like Charlie to be this late when he knew food was waiting. She went back inside, picked up the house phone and called his cell number.

No answer. She called again. And again.

Finally, she left a message urging him to call her back. No use to panic, she reminded herself as her nerves grew edgier. His hearing wasn’t that great anymore and he was too damned stubborn to admit he needed hearing aids. He probably couldn’t hear the phone over the equipment he was operating.

No doubt he’d be calling her back any moment. After all, the only reason he’d agreed to carry what he called the most annoying invention of all time was in case she had an emergency and needed him.

Ten minutes later, he hadn’t called back. Her stomach churned, though she’d lost her appetite.

She’d best go check on Charlie. She took off down the worn path, past the chicken coop and to the barn. The tractor was in plain sight. Charlie wasn’t. She was almost running by the time she neared the open barn door.

She stopped stock-still. A stream of crimson snaked out of the barn and spread over the dirt. She went numb, struck with sudden, paralyzing fear.

Then, heart pounding, she grabbed her chest and stumbled inside.

A pool of blood. A head split wide-open. A gun.

The images ripped through her. Icy fingers wrapped around her heart, squeezing so hard that her chest seemed to explode. The last thing she remembered was the metallic taste on her tongue as she collapsed face-first into the river of Charlie’s blood.


Chapter One (#u2d46545e-1be5-55c3-a057-ffcbd0a8f324)

Three months later

Grace Cotton looked up and into a pair of twinkling gray-blue eyes encircled by deep wrinkles and saggy skin. Elizabeth Howe was just one of the many reasons she loved working in the small-town Tennessee library.

“You’re all set,” Grace said. “As soon as the book is available, I’ll give you a call.”

“Tell them not to dally too long. At ninety-two, I don’t have time to wait around on a novel. I don’t even buy green bananas.”

Grace smiled at the joke even though Mrs. Howe repeated it every time she visited the library. Still, the feisty woman was amazing for her age. Got around just fine with the help of a jeweled, engraved cane, a gift to her from an English duke she’d met on a cruise aboard the Queen Mary a few years back. She’d obviously enchanted him the way she did everyone who knew her.

“Buy all the green bananas you want,” Grace teased. “I expect you’ll still be devouring romance novels long after I’ve retired.”

“No chance of that, but I’ll be reading them as long as I can. Even old worn-out bodies like mine need a little fantasy.”

Young bodies, too, though Grace steered clear of it. Longing bred temptation, and she didn’t dare so much as flirt with temptation.

“Bundle up before you go outside,” Grace reminded her. “That north wind cuts to the bone.”

“Don’t I know it,” Elizabeth said, pulling her parka tight over her slender body. She zipped it and tugged the hood over short silver wisps of her hair until she was just a wrinkled face peeking out of a furry frame.

She reached for the books she’d chosen from the shelves, several Grace knew she’d read before.

“Let me help you get those to the car,” Grace offered.

Elizabeth waved her off. “I don’t need help. I’m parked under the overhang in the book drop-off lane. Right by the no-parking sign.” She winked. “I figure having a great-grandson who’s a deputy ought to get me a perk on a day like this.”

“I’d say you’re right.” Not that anyone in town would question where Elizabeth parked her fifteen-year-old blue Honda. She was a living legend in this mountain town where she’d been born and lived all her life.

Grace envied her that. Having so many close friends, living in one place so long she was part of the town’s fabric.

Elizabeth picked up her books with her left hand and took her cane in her right. Grace would at least open the heavy front door for her. As Grace stepped from behind the counter, the door swung open, ushering in an icy blast.

Grace turned to see who else had ventured out on this cold December afternoon. The library was practically deserted today.

The young man was in jeans, an unzipped black leather jacket and no hat, clearly paying little heed to the area’s first real taste of winter.

He held the door for Elizabeth and then stepped inside. His earth-colored eyes fastened on Grace, his gaze searing into hers. The intensity rattled her. She stared back.

She’d looked into those eyes before. Three days ago in the cereal aisle of Tatum’s grocery. She’d looked up as she dropped a package of granola into her cart and spotted the man a few feet away, his stare as penetrating as it was now.

She’d seen him again yesterday, practically running into him on the sidewalk when she’d walked out of the town’s pharmacy. Again he had stared before disappearing into the shop himself.

Panic knotted her stomach. Her fingers tightened around the corner of the counter. She took a deep breath and struggled to separate her fears from reality.

This was a small town. Running into him didn’t mean the stranger was following her. But it didn’t guarantee that he wasn’t, either.

He let his gaze drop from hers and glanced around the library.

“May I help you?” she asked as he approached the counter.

“I’m new in town. What do I do to get a library card?”

“You’ll need a photo ID and a local address.”

“No problem.” He pulled out his wallet and flashed a Louisiana driver’s license. A new wave of panic hit. She forced her hands not to shake as she pulled a printed form from the niche below the counter.

“Just fill this out, read the requirements for checking out books and sign your consent,” she said.

“How long before I get the card?”

“I can give you a number that will allow you to check out books today. The permanent card will be mailed to your local home address.”

“That’ll work.”

“What brings you to our area?” she asked.

“A job.”

He didn’t offer more. She tensed again. The small town of Mountain Edge was not a mecca for employment opportunities.

He looked over the form and then took a pen from the black plastic cup. Before making a mark, he shook his head and returned the pen to its holder. “Sorry. My phone always interrupts at the most inconvenient times.”

She hadn’t heard it ring. Either he had it on vibrate as the note on the counter requested or he was stalling.

He pulled his phone from his pocket as he stepped away from the counter and then walked back to the deserted reference section.

“This is it for today.”

Grace startled, then turned as John Everly, a local retired attorney, set a stack of books on the counter.

She glanced at the books he’d chosen, a mix of thrillers, political intrigue and history. “Nice choices.”

“Hope so. Looks like we’re going to have a few more days of arctic blasts, so figured I better stock up on reading material.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, “nothing better than getting lost in an engrossing novel while cuddled in front of a roaring fire in this type of weather.”

“And it’s only mid-December,” he said. “I hate to think what January’s going to bring.”

She checked out the books and pushed them back to him. “Stay warm.”

“You, too.”

As he walked away, she scanned the room until she spotted the suspicious stranger near the end of one of the stacks, phone in hand, but not held to his ear. He was taking her picture.

When he saw her looking back, he quickly shoved the phone in his jacket pocket.

He knew who she was. Why else would he be taking her picture?

She fought the urge to jump across the counter and bolt for the door. But panic could lead to bad decisions. Forcing herself to stay in control, she considered her options.

But there was really only one. She’d run again, blindly, like a fox fleeing a team of vicious hunting dogs. She’d have to change her appearance, might even try out that horrible wig she’d purchased online from a costume website. She looked at least forty in that. She’d swap her contact lens for some big-rimmed glasses.

She’d find a new identity, a new job, a new town. She’d start over once again, always living on the precipice of fear and ready to run on a minute’s notice.


Chapter Two (#u2d46545e-1be5-55c3-a057-ffcbd0a8f324)

The wheels hit the runway with a thump and then bumped along a few yards before steadying. Back in the United States. Home again. For the first time in over a year.

But home to what?

A divorce from a wife who’d grown so emotionally distant that they’d stopped communicating altogether except for things concerning their daughter, Jaci.

No job prospects. No plans. And no more ties to the navy SEALs and the sense of purpose and comradery that had been his life for the past eight years.

The plane pulled up to the Jetway and jerked to a stop.

“Please remain seated until the captain turns off the seat-belt sign.”

No one did, including Pierce Lawrence. He opened the overhead storage compartment and retrieved his duffel and the one of the middle-aged woman who’d had the seat next to him. They’d barely exchanged a hello on the long flight. She’d slept. He’d struggled through silent rehearsals for what he was about to face.

As wary as if he were preparing for enemy fire, he followed the crowd of passengers to baggage claim.

He spotted Leslie before she saw him. Her long blond hair fell into curls that cascaded about her narrow shoulders. Her body was as spectacular as it had been when they’d met six years ago. She wore knee-high boots, a pale blue sweater and a short fitted skirt.

He slowed and stared, half expecting a jolt of desire to take his breath away. All he felt was a foreboding sense of loss for what they’d never really had.

His gaze fell to the five-year-old girl holding tight to her hand. Jaci shifted from foot to foot expectantly, or perhaps just impatiently. Her hair was red like his mother’s had been, curly like Leslie’s.

His daughter looked his way but made no sign that she recognized him. The jolt hit him then. Hard, as if someone had sucker punched him in the gut.

His daughter. The reason he was back in Chicago. The reason he’d turned his back on the lifestyle he’d loved. Yet he didn’t really know her and she certainly didn’t know him.

It was too late to save his marriage, but he was a dad and smart enough to know that if he didn’t bond with Jaci now, he might lose her forever. She’d be swallowed up by the new life Leslie would make for the two of them.

He hurried to where Leslie and Jaci were waiting. He dropped his duffel to the floor by his feet. Leslie managed a smile and slipped into his arms. Her hug lacked warmth. When he tried to kiss her, she dodged it, offering her cheek in place of her lips.

What did he expect? Their divorce would be final tomorrow.

“How was the flight?” Leslie asked.

“Long.” He bent to pick up his daughter.

Jaci scooted away from him, trying to hide behind her mother’s shapely legs.

“Say hello to your father, Jaci. He’s come a long way to see you.”

Jaci shook her head.

“That’s okay,” he said, though it hurt like hell. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted.”

“Yes,” Leslie said. “If all goes well, the two of you will be spending a lot of time together.”

Not exactly sure what that meant, he decided to let it ride. “I’ll grab the rest of my luggage from baggage claim, and then let’s get out of here. Maybe grab something to eat. I’m starved for some real food.”

“We can have lunch at the apartment,” Leslie said. “We need to talk.”

They needed to talk and get this divorce and the child custody situation over and done with. Couldn’t say it much plainer than that. This was definitely not the homecoming any serviceman dreamed about.

Talk during the drive to her apartment was all about Jaci, who sat in the backseat playing on an iPad. She shrugged or totally ignored his attempts to make conversation with her.

The apartment was in a luxury complex, gated, with gardens at the entrance and a man-made brook meandering through the three-story, balconied structures. Leslie hadn’t mentioned a raise or a promotion, but she’d upgraded significantly from the apartment they’d rented together when he’d last been home on leave. She clearly wasn’t living like this on his military salary.

She parked next to the curb. He followed her and Jaci up the path to the front door. Jaci’s hand was securely encased in her mother’s as if she needed protection from the stranger referred to as her father.

He was a stranger. That was the problem. A stranger to Leslie, too. A stranger to this life that seemed positively foreign to the secret mission he’d been on in the Middle East for the past nine months.

“Nice digs,” he said as he followed Leslie through the door.

“We needed more space,” she said as if that explained it all. “Jaci, why don’t you show your father your room and some of your favorite toys while I put lunch on the table.”

Jaci looked as if she’d been asked to pick up a slimy fish with her bare hands. Pierce had a handful of medals that claimed he was brave and tough, yet facing Jaci alone daunted him.

“I can help you in the kitchen first if you’d like,” he offered.

“No help needed. All I have to do is toss a salad. Everything else I picked up at the deli earlier. I thought it would be easier to talk here than at a noisy restaurant.”

“No doubt.”

Jaci left the kitchen and he followed her to her room. It was even more daunting than Jaci. Pink satin and lace everywhere from the curtains to the bed with its multitude of throw pillows. Looked like it had come straight from a designer’s showroom. He wouldn’t have dared sit on the bed and put a wrinkle in the frilly coverlet.

He wondered if Jaci did.

Not a toy out of place. Books in perfect order along a low bookshelf. Dolls on display.

“It’s a very pretty room,” Pierce offered.

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I wanted a cowboy coverlet like my friend Joey has, but Mommy said no.”

“So, you like cowboys?” Maybe they did have some common ground. He’d loved the cowboy lifestyle himself once, had been sure he’d own his own ranch one day.

“I like horses,” Jaci said.

“Have you ever ridden one?”

“Once. At Joey’s birthday party, but they just walked around real slow in a circle. And they were all tied together. I don’t think they liked it.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t,” Pierce agreed. “I’ll take you riding on a real horse.”

Jaci tilted her head and cut her eyes at him. “Mommy says they’re dangerous.”

“For Mommy, maybe. But I’ve ridden lots of horses. I can keep you safe.”

Here he was, back in her life less than an hour and already usurping Leslie’s authority. That might not be the best of ideas. “We’ll get your mommy’s approval before we ride.”

“She’ll say no.”

“But she must let you do lots of fun things.” He wasn’t about to fall into the trap of competing with Leslie. “So show me those favorite toys your mother was talking about.”

“It’s just kid stuff. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I was a kid once.”

Jaci didn’t look convinced. She went to the shelf and pulled out a basket of Lego. “I like to build things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Towers. As tall as I can. And bridges. They’re the hardest.”

“I bet.”

“How come you went away for so long? Joey’s daddy comes home every night and they go to the park and play. Sometimes they take me with them.”

“I had an important job to do that was too far away to come home every night, but I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. How about you show me that park after lunch?”

For a half second he thought she was going to smile, but the curve to her lip turned downward as quickly as it had appeared.

“Lunch is ready.”

Pierce looked up. Leslie was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression troubled.

Leslie crossed the room and put a hand on Jaci’s shoulder. “Go wash up, sweetie. Your dad and I will meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

Jaci marched off. The tension in the room soared. Pierce figured the moment of truth had come, but he stayed silent. Always better to know the enemy’s position before you sprang into action.

“I thought this could wait until after lunch,” Leslie said, “but I’m not good at these games.”

“I’m not too keen on them myself.” Especially when he didn’t know the rules of engagement. “Don’t spare my feelings. I’m a big boy. Hit me with it.”

“I’m planning to remarry in the spring. I felt you should know.”

“Is the groom anyone I know?”

“Does it matter?”

“Probably not.”

He waited for the sting of betrayal. Or rejection. Or whatever a guy was supposed to feel when his wife of six years told him she’d replaced him with someone new. It didn’t come.

He’d known it was over for months, would have been even if there wasn’t another man in the picture.

They’d tried the last couple of times they were together—at least he’d given it a halfhearted shot. Things had gone fine in bed from his standpoint. Leslie was a beautiful, sexy woman.

The problem was there was just no connection anywhere else. He’d actually been glad when his leave was over.

Except for leaving Jaci. It always hurt like hell to say goodbye to Jaci.

She was three months old when he saw her for the first time. He’d been anxious, afraid he wouldn’t bond, nervous that he’d be expected to hold her or even tend her alone.

And then he’d peeked into the crib and she’d kicked her tiny feet, waved her pudgy arms and smiled up at him. His heart had melted like a slab of butter in a hot skillet.

The sting he’d expected a few seconds earlier finally hit. Struck everywhere at once, pain scalding his skin and burning his insides, the way it had on that pitch-black night when he and his team members had crawled through the mud into a bed of huge fire ants.

Leslie was welcome to a new life with anyone she chose, but he would not just turn over his parental rights like Jaci was a prize in a competition. Might as well get that straight right now.

“I’m good with you remarrying, but I left the navy SEALs to come home and be a father to Jaci. I am going to be in her life, and not just as a bystander who gets to show up a couple times a year at your convenience.”

“I didn’t expect that you would, though you missed the first five years by choice.”

“That’s not fair. I served my country. I was with you and Jaci every opportunity I had.”

“That’s a moot point now, but you should know that Dan and I will be moving to Cuba next week.”

“Cuba? You’re moving to Cuba?”

“Temporarily. Dan works for a wealthy developer and is researching possible business opportunities now that the two countries have reopened ties.”

The impact of her words hit with dizzying force. His muscles tensed.

“You can’t take Jaci to Cuba without my permission. I’m her father. I have rights.”

“I haven’t threatened your rights, at least not yet.”

“If you try to leave the country with her, you better be ready for the fight of your life.”

“Keep your voice down. You’ll upset Jaci.” Leslie closed the bedroom door. “If all goes as planned, Dan will finish the assignment and we’ll be back in the States within six months.”

“So you worked out all the details before you even ran this by me?”

“It’s come up suddenly. I haven’t even mentioned this to Jaci yet.”

Pierce stabbed his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans. He was angry, frustrated. And now he was confused. “When do you plan to spring it on her, when you’re boarding the plane?”

Leslie sighed and shook her head. “If you’d just let me explain.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Of course, I had planned to take her with me. I had no other choice, since you were never around.”

“I’m here now.”

“Yes, and Dan and I have talked about that at length. If you’re willing to care for Jaci until I’m back in the States, we can work out a temporary custody arrangement that puts you in charge of Jaci’s care.”

He couldn’t have heard that right. “You’ll give me custody of Jaci?”

“Shared custody, actually. But she can live with you, that is, if you think you can be a reliable full-time parent. It is time she gets to know her father.”

Jaci would live with him. Full-time for the next six months. He’d be responsible for her. When she was sick. When she cried. When she had nightmares. When she was hungry.

She was only five. She probably still needed help with even the little things like her bath and getting dressed. And with brushing her hair. He’d never brushed anyone’s hair in his life. He wouldn’t know how to start.

“If you don’t want her—”

“No,” he interrupted quickly. “It’s not that.” His head was spinning. “Jaci barely knows me. She clearly doesn’t like or trust me. How will it affect her if she thinks I took her away from you?”

“She won’t think that. We’ll tell her of the decision together, convince her this will be a great adventure for the two of you to share. I need this, Pierce. Dan wants me with him. I want to be with him.”

Her voice had taken on a desperate edge. Obviously, new man Dan wielded a powerful influence over her.

“I’ve raised Jaci practically by myself, Pierce. It’s your turn to take some of the responsibility for our child.”

He couldn’t argue with that and deep inside he didn’t want to. He’d come home to bond with his daughter, to be a real father like his father had been before death had claimed him years before his time.

Jaci would live with him. He would be solely responsible for her care, her health, her happiness. It was the scariest challenge he’d ever faced in his life, and that was saying a lot.

He might no longer technically be a SEAL, but he was in his heart. Now it was time to put that same energy and commitment into being a full-time father.

Failure was not an option.

Bring it on.


Chapter Three (#u2d46545e-1be5-55c3-a057-ffcbd0a8f324)

“You have got to be kidding. Your wife, who barely let you speak to your daughter on Skype, much less on the phone for the past six months, is suddenly going to toss her to you like a deflated football?”

“Poor analogy, but that’s about the size of it,” Pierce said as his brother Riley questioned the current scenario. He changed his phone to his left hand, picked up his half-finished beer with his right and took a swig.

“But I can’t say much against Leslie. I know she loves Jaci and I think she really wants our daughter not to be traumatized by the divorce.”

“I hope that works out for all of you. When did this custody offer come down?” Riley asked.

“Two days ago when I arrived in Chicago.”

“You’ve been back in the good old USA two days and you’re just now getting in touch with me?”

“No. I texted you two days ago and again yesterday. Do you ever check your messages?”

“Every now and then.”

“Where are you anyway?” Pierce asked. “Tucker said last he heard you were in Colorado.”

“That was four or five months ago. I’m in Montana now. Too long in one place and people start thinking you’re permanent.”

“By ‘people’ you mean women?”

“And the occasional employee. Actually, I’ve been on a cattle drive up into the mountains. Wide-open spaces and the biggest, bluest sky you can imagine.”

“Tucker said you’d be somewhere hanging out with cows and horses.”

“It’s in my blood. And his, I might add. How is our younger brother anyway?”

“Still chasing the next rodeo, but having a pretty good year according to him.”

“If he admitted that, he’s probably headed to a world championship. But back to the issue at hand. What’s Jaci’s reaction to being deserted by her mother?”

“She seems okay, though Leslie says Jaci is being excessively clingy since we told her about the arrangement. She sees this as more my fault than her mother’s. None of this would be happening if I hadn’t come home.”

“I hope Leslie isn’t feeding into that.”

“Not to my knowledge. Leslie keeps assuring her that this is only temporary and that I am going to take her on a grand adventure.”

“So what’s the adventure?”

“I wish the hell I knew.”

“Better come up with something fast. I can’t quite picture you playing with her Barbie dolls and going shopping for frilly dresses.”

“Neither can I.”

“Here’s a thought. Forget the little-girl stuff. Get her some jeans and cowboy boots. Take her to a dude ranch.”

“She does like cowboys.”

“I like the kid better already. You could probably use some new boots and a winter Stetson yourself. Pick up a couple of Western shirts and you’ll be good to go. You’ve always had the swagger.”

“And the looks in the family.”

“You’re delusional. Wait a minute. I’m getting a brain jolt here. Forget the dude ranch. I know exactly where you and Jaci should go on your adventure.”

“Hit me with it.”

“Texas. Go spend some time with the Kavanaughs. God knows Esther and Charlie were lifesavers when we lost our parents. Not that Jaci has literally lost her mother the way we did, but it must feel almost that way to a five-year-old.”

“You know, that’s not a half-bad idea. I’d love to see Esther and Charlie. Haven’t heard from either of them in almost a year, maybe longer.”

“Me, either, but Tucker spent a few days with them last summer when the circuit took him to San Antonio. Said they were still holding the Double K Ranch together and doing fine. Claimed it was just like old times. Except for getting a little older, they hadn’t changed a bit.”

Pierce considered the option. Spending a few days with Esther and Charlie might be the best place to start his six months of bonding with Jaci. He’d truly love to see them and there was no one’s advice on child care he’d trust more than Esther’s. She was love itself.

And Charlie. Well, there was no one else like Charlie, either. Contrary as a mule, said what he was thinking and thought everyone should carry their share of the load.

But when your world had come to an end, as Tucker, Riley and Pierce’s had when their parents had died instantly in a car crash, Charlie and Esther were the ones who’d stepped in. They’d taken them into their home so they wouldn’t be separated, helped them through the grief and given them the courage to go on.

“Don’t go getting the big head, but I think you just landed on a capital idea,” Pierce said.

“Glad I could help and it’s about damn time you get back to your Texas roots, bro.”

“You could be right about that, too.”

“Keep me posted and good luck with full-time fatherhood.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

Boy, was he going to need it. But at least he had a plan and Texas on his mind.

* * *

GRACE TOOK HER right hand from the wheel and massaged her aching neck. It was her third day on the run, keeping to back roads, avoiding towns, stopping only at service stations where she could fill the fuel tank, use the facilities and grab a bite to eat.

She was lonely, frightened, discouraged, sometimes downright angry that life wouldn’t give her a break. She’d done the right thing. Persevered on the side of justice. Cooperated with the authorities.

Didn’t she deserve a chance at happiness or at least not to live in constant fear that her ex-husband would find a way to exact revenge?

A weariness settled in her bones and her eyelids grew heavy. It was too early to stop for the night, still a good hour left before sundown.

She lowered the window so that the cool air could slap her in the face and hopefully ward off the fatigue. The air had an unfamiliar fragrance. Perhaps hay, she thought, as she spotted rolls of it in the fenced pasture to her left. Cows grazed in one section, several horses roamed another.

A strand of towering pines was to the right of the car, interspersed with oaks, junipers, sycamores and a few trees she didn’t recognize. Scattered leaves clung to the nearly bare branches. Blackbirds gathered on telephone wires. A dog barked in the distance.

She’d never intended to drive south when she’d fled Tennessee. She’d started driving northwest, but winter storms had altered her travel plans. Desperate to put distance between herself and the man who’d snapped her picture in the library, she’d loaded her car and escaped in the middle of the night. Texas had never been in her plans, but here she was, deep in the heart of the Lone Star State, traversing countryside that seemed miles from civilization. But that was only an illusion.

She’d seen the sign and bypassed the small, rural town of Winding Creek less than ten minutes ago. San Antonio was somewhere to the southeast of her. Mexico was due south.

She planned to meander west, get her head on straight and settle her nerves before she made any permanent decision.

Her foot eased on the accelerator and she faded into her thoughts and into a time back before she’d known fear. A time when she’d had friends and her grandparents were still alive. A time when she’d had dreams. A time when she’d slept without nightmares.

Her car began to shake, the jolts yanking her back to attention. Her right tires had left the shoulder. Her grip on the wheel tightened as she fought to get the car back on the road. Once steadied, she realized how close she’d come to veering off the side of a narrow bridge.

She could have killed herself. Crazy when she was pushing so hard because she wanted to stay alive.

She had to stop, take a walk, or maybe a brief nap. Spotting a dirt road up ahead, she slowed to see if it was a driveway or some type of ranch road. It looked more like a road to nowhere.

Only one way to find out. She turned right. The road was half-washed-out with deep holes and ruts so numerous they were impossible to avoid completely. The land on both sides of the road was fenced and heavily wooded.

After about five minutes, she reached a point where she didn’t dare go farther for fear of getting stuck. She opened the door and stepped out. She felt totally isolated, as if she’d driven off the end of civilization.

The quietness was broken only by squawking crows and the inharmonious cadence of what must be hundreds of katydids and tree frogs. A huge blue lizard rested lazily atop a weathered fence post.

Perhaps a walk would do more to get her blood pumping than a nap. Grabbing her bright yellow cardigan, she tossed it over her shoulder.

The weather forecast was for rain and a cold front moving in tonight, but apparently the words cold front had a different meaning here than they did in Tennessee. It was supposed to dip into the low forties tonight.

Locking the nondescript compact car she’d traded down for from a used car dealer in Nashville, she made her way down the bumpy road, careful to avoid tripping.

The scenery changed gradually, the woods thinning and then giving way to wide-open pastures. Clusters of cattle dotted the pastoral landscape, most grazing. At one point there were several near the fence line, much larger than they’d seemed from a distance.

Grace loved horseback riding, but had never been on a real ranch before. She didn’t favor the idea of being up close and personal with a cow, especially one of those Texas longhorns she’d spotted over the past two days.

The path, or what was left of it, veered right and began to climb. Grace topped a low hill and then stopped to breathe in a few gulps of the clean-smelling air. She could hear the rush of water in the distance, perhaps the river that flowed beneath the bridge she’d almost crashed into.

She used her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the late-afternoon sun as she scanned for sight of the river. She didn’t see it, but surprisingly she spotted a white clapboard house right there in the middle of nowhere.

It sprawled out in all directions, its dark green shutters and front door making it appear almost like an extension of the land. The place looked so homey, so welcoming, Grace felt a twinge in her heart.

She imagined a family inside, the mother at the range preparing dinner or perhaps helping the kids with homework around a wide kitchen table. The man, tired from a day in the fields, watching the evening news. The setting cozy. Loving.

A life Grace would never have.

She turned to leave. A wailing noise stopped her. An animal? The screech of a bird? Surely cows didn’t make that sound.

She heard it again. What if it wasn’t an animal? What if someone needed help? There was no way Grace could leave without checking.

Her concern for herself taking a backseat, Grace carefully maneuvered herself through the barbwire and into the pasture, praying she wouldn’t confront a cow or, worse, a bull. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins as she raced toward the sound.

As she got closer, the sound became more distinct. Definitely human. A child or a woman. And it was coming from the vicinity of the house.

* * *

ESTHER BIT BACK tears and whispered a prayer for help. She tried to stand again, pushing herself up from the hard dry earth. Pain shot through her leg, even worse than before. She fell back to a sitting position.

The right ankle was beet red and already swelling.

It was her own fault. Trying to save herself a trip, she’d tried to fetch too much firewood at once. She would have made it, though, if she hadn’t stepped in a hole some darn critter had dug right there by the woodpile.

Her ankle had twisted, the heavy load had thrown her off balance and she’d toppled like a tower of kids’ blocks.

Her fault, but how was she to know that hauling firewood was so tricky? Charlie had done all the hauling for their entire married life.

Salty tears began to roll down her cheeks—not all from the pain in her ankle. She missed Charlie. The house was too quiet without him, her life too lonely.

Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to solve anything. Staying outside with the forecast of rain and a cold front coming in was unthinkable. Not to mention that the gnats and mosquitoes would eat her alive.

She’d just have to suck up the pain and drag herself to the back door and into the house. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

But just in case her hired wrangler, Buck Stalling, hadn’t already left for the day, she’d yell one last time.

“Help! Helllp!”

“I’m coming. Hold on. I’m coming.”

Esther almost jumped out of her skin. That was a woman’s voice, unfamiliar. She wasn’t expecting company and she hadn’t heard a car drive up.

Maybe she was just imagining things. A sad state of affairs that would be.

“Where are you?”

Definitely a voice. “I’m around back,” she called.

A young woman she’d never seen before appeared from around the side of the house. When she spotted Esther, she hurried over.

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

The fierce panic she’d been feeling melted away like a snowball in a sweaty hand.

“I was fetching a heavy load of firewood. Couldn’t see where I was walking and stepped in a hole.”

The stranger kneeled beside Esther and lightly touched the spot that radiated pain. “Looks like you sprained your ankle. Is that where it hurts?”

“It is. Smarts right bad,” Esther said.

“I’m sure. How long have you been out here?”

“Seems like hours but probably only twenty minutes or so.”

“We need to get you inside and get some ice on the ankle to slow down the swelling.”

“I’m for that.” Esther studied the woman, still puzzled by her just showing up out of nowhere. “I’m mighty glad to see you, but who are you and where did you come from? I didn’t hear a car drive up.”

“I was on the dirt road that borders your ranch and I heard your calls for help.”

“That old logging road. Nobody uses that anymore except teenagers riding those racket-making ATVs or else looking for a place to make out. What were you doing there?”

“I was just passing through the area and got too sleepy to keep going. I got out of the car before the road got too bad and took a walk to get the kinks out of my neck and shoulders.”

“And you heard me from the logging road? That’s ’bout nigh a miracle.”

“I barely heard you. At first I thought it was an animal in distress. Luckily, I decided to check it out.”

“Luckier for me, and that’s a fact. I s’pect those prayers I was saying did some good.”

“Couldn’t have hurt.”

“What’s your name?” Esther asked.

“Grace...” She bit her bottom lip as if she’d just uttered a curse word she wished she could take back. She hesitated. “Grace Addison.”

“That fits,” Esther said. “I needed me some grace today and you showed up.”

“Timing is everything,” Grace agreed.

“I’m Esther. Esther Kavanaugh. Been living here on the Double K Ranch for years and don’t remember ever just tripping, falling and not being able to get up.”

“It can happen to anyone. Let’s get you inside, and then we can chat.”

“I don’t know how a little thing like you is gonna help me inside. I’m twice your size.”

“That’s a major exaggeration, but an additional person for support might make it less painful for you. Were you calling for your husband? If he’s around, perhaps I can find him.”

Esther shook her head. “Charlie’s dead. If he was alive, I wouldn’t have been out here in the first place. He took care of me and I took care of him. That’s how it always was.”

“I’m sorry.”

Esther struggled to steady the grief that had snuck into her voice. “Not your fault. It’s somebody’s, just not yours.”

“Who were you calling for?” Grace asked.

“My hired help, but if he were still at the ranch, he’d have heard me yelling before now.”

“Then looks like you’ll have to trust me to get you inside. Believe me, I’m stronger than I look. But if it hurts too much even with my help, I’ll call 9-1-1.”

“Don’t want no part of that. All those medical people know to do with people my age is take us to the hospital. Then they want to charge us for nothing.”

“Then lean against me and try to keep your weight off the right foot while I help you up.” Grace took Esther’s arm and helped her to a standing position. “Nice and easy. Let me know if the pain seems unbearable.”

Esther did as she was told. Thankfully, her Good Samaritan had told the truth. She was a lot stronger than she looked. Esther hobbled along with Grace’s help.

“We need to take the steps slowly,” Grace said as they reached the back door to the house. “Hold on to the railing with your free hand to help you stay balanced.”

Following Grace’s advice, Esther took the three back steps with a lot less pain than she’d feared. Nothing seemed quite as scary since Grace had appeared. Of course, once they were inside, Grace would be on her way and Esther would be alone again.

Always alone without Charlie. Someday someone would pay for that. Esther wouldn’t rest until justice was done.

But right now she was just grateful for Grace.


Chapter Four (#u2d46545e-1be5-55c3-a057-ffcbd0a8f324)

By all rights, Grace should be a nervous wreck at this point. She’d made a major faux pas in the backyard. She hadn’t given anyone her real last name in the six years she’d been on the run. Thankfully, she’d caught herself in time to use the last name that was on her latest fake ID.

It was the unexpected nature of the encounter with Esther. Normally, she planned her life carefully, taking no chances with strangers.

In spite of that, Grace felt at ease. Esther was so sweet and unassuming, her house so cozy, it was impossible not to feel at home with her.

Esther was resting at least semicomfortably now, reclined on the sofa in the loose-fitting cotton robe Grace had helped her change into. Her leg was propped on multiple pillows, her ankle iced and a clean compression wrap from Esther’s first aid kit in place.

“Are you a nurse?” Esther asked.

“No, but I’ve had experience with sprained ankles, usually my own. But if this is not a lot better by morning, you should see a doctor and have it x-rayed.”

“It can’t help but be better the way you’re pampering me.”

“I’m just doing what anyone would do.” Grace tucked an available afghan around Esther’s legs. “Do you have some pain relievers in the house?”

“I have some ibuprofen I use when the arthritis starts acting up.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to take that. Where would I find it?”

“In the kitchen cabinet next to the sink and above the counter.”

“I’ll get it,” Grace offered. “Would you like anything else, perhaps a cup of tea?”

“Nothing yet, but you help yourself to anything you see in there that you want. There’s homemade chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar and sweet tea in the refrigerator.”

“Thanks, but I had a late lunch.” Chips and a soft drink, if you could call that lunch.

Alone in the kitchen, Grace took a few seconds to absorb her surroundings. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, had a cozy, lived-in feel. A red teakettle sat on the back burner of a freestanding gas range. An electric coffeepot was on the counter next to a chicken-shaped sugar bowl and a basket of unshelled pecans.

A breakfast nook with a view of a pumpkin patch held a round oak table and four captain’s chairs topped with blue-and-white-checked cushions.

A sky blue fruit bowl filled with apples, oranges and bananas rested in the middle of the table. The fruit was too tempting to resist. Since Esther had offered, Grace washed her hands at the kitchen sink and helped herself to a banana.

Everything was much as Grace had imagined it when she’d first seen the house from the logging road except that there were no children, no husband, no food simmering on the range. Yet Grace was almost certain the house had once known laughter and great love.

And now she was fantasizing, relying on her own needs to dictate the unknown.

She took a bite of the banana and checked the refrigerator to see if there was something a lousy cook like herself could prepare for Esther’s supper. Bacon, eggs and sandwich fixings were plentiful, but that was about it.

The freezer told a different tale. One shelf was filled with serving-size packages of food, all neatly labeled. Soups, meatloaf, chicken and dumplings, casseroles.

Another shelf held sealed plastic bags filled with frozen vegetables. Butter beans, several kinds of peas, corn, carrots and okra, to name a few. Definitely no shortage of food choices.

Satisfied Esther wouldn’t starve, Grace quickly went about the business at hand. She finished her banana and retrieved the bottle of pills. She shook out two into her hand and filled a glass with ice water before hurrying back to the large family room.

Esther raised up on her elbows, took the meds and almost finished the glass of water.

“You’ve done enough waiting on me for now,” Esther said. “I’d appreciate if you could stay awhile, but you’d best go get your car before it gets dark.”

“Good idea,” Grace agreed. “And then I’ll come back and warm up something for your dinner.”

“For my supper,” Esther said. “That’s what Charlie always called it. He liked his big meal at lunch and something light at night.”

“Then I’ll fix your supper,” Grace said. “Are you sure you’ll be all right while I’m gone?”

“I’m not getting off this sofa. But you can’t go traipsing across that pasture and climbing through barbwire again,” Esther announced. “You could get hurt.”

“I’ll be careful.” Though she wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of meeting a bull head-on.

“Fiddle-faddle. Hand me the phone. I’ll call Buck. Much as I have to pay that boy to do a few chores, won’t hurt him to do me a favor.”

Which bought up a more important subject. Grace handed her the phone. “Speaking of favors, is there someone you can call to stay with you tonight?”

“Don’t need ’em. I can hobble the few steps to the bathroom when the urge hits and to the kitchen to get fresh ice when I need it. Rest of the time, I may just sleep right here on the sofa.”

“You are a very independent woman, Esther Kavanaugh.”

“When you’re alone, you have to be.”

Grace knew that all too well. Still, she didn’t feel good about leaving Esther alone tonight.

Esther made the call to Buck and then turned back to Grace. “His mom says he’s in the shower, but she’ll send him over as soon as he’s dressed.”

“Perhaps either Buck or his mother could stay with you tonight,” Grace suggested.

“Buck’s fine with the livestock. I don’t want him trying to help me, though. He’s all legs and awkward as all get-out.”

“What about his mother?”

“Libby would just keep me awake blabbering all night. She’s the biggest gossip in Winding Creek, and that’s saying a lot.”

“Perhaps there’s someone else, then.”

“No one I’d like putting up with. You said you were just traveling through. Where are you heading?”

Time for the lies to commence. Fortunately, Grace had worked out most of the details of her new identity while driving. Of course, she’d already blown the fake name.

Being prepared didn’t make the lying any easier, especially to someone as open and trusting as Esther.

“I lost my job in Houston,” Grace said, “so I’m going to visit a friend in Albuquerque. She thinks she can get me a job there.”

“You’re kind of off track for Albuquerque, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but since I’m in no hurry, I thought I’d see more of Texas, take back roads, stop at towns I’d never been to.”

“Like Winding Creek?”

“Winding Creek wasn’t on my original itinerary,” Grace admitted, “but I like this part of Texas.”

“Most folks do love the Hill Country. So what’s your hurry? Stick around a day or two. Drive into Winding Creek. It’s a genuine Western town. Still has places on Main Street to hitch your horse—not that I recommend taking a horse into town.”

“Perhaps I’ll come back one day and check it out.”

“No time like the present. I’ve got plenty of room in this rambling old house and I’d love the company.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll blab too much?” Grace teased.

“Wouldn’t mind if you did. At least it wouldn’t be the same old stories and gossip I’ve been listening to for years.”

“I’m a stranger,” Grace said. “You know nothing about me. You really shouldn’t invite strangers into your home.”

“I know plenty about you. You climbed through a barbwire fence and ran to the aid of someone yelling their lungs out when you had no idea what you might be getting into.”

“Anyone would have done that.”

“No. Not these days. Well, they do in Winding Creek, but not everywhere. Don’t matter, you seem like a good person to me and I’m an excellent judge of character. Even Charlie used to admit that I can spot a liar the second they open their mouth. I can spot an honest person even quicker.”

Which didn’t bode well for Grace, since almost every word out of her mouth from here on out would be based on a lie. But she did hate the idea of leaving Esther alone tonight.

What harm could one night do? It wasn’t as if she was being followed. She’d been far too careful for that. There was no earthly reason for anyone to look for her here.

“I have four extra bedrooms,” Esther encouraged. “One ought to be to your liking. None of them are fancy, but the beds are comfortable—even have clean sheets on them. Beats driving an hour or more and then being stuck in some stuffy old motel room down the highway.”

“You are putting up a good argument.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll spend the night here. We’ll get to know each other better. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

Grace was certain the prediction they’d become friends would never come to fruition. Keeping her past and true identity locked away like bones in a crumbling crypt never allowed her to get too close to anyone.

“Okay,” Grace agreed. “One night, if you really want me to stay. But you have to promise to let me take care of you. I don’t want you trying to play hostess on that ankle.”

“I’m just going to lie right here except when I have to go to the bathroom.” Esther smiled and the lines in her face softened as she readjusted her leg on the pillow.

Grace had made the right decision—at least for Esther.

As long as Esther never discovered that the woman she knew as Grace Addison only existed as a character in a horror tale.

* * *

GRACE WOKE FROM a sound sleep to a blinding flash of lightning that seemed only inches from her window. An earsplitting crash of thunder followed. She shivered and pulled the quilt up to her chin, not that she expected to go back to sleep with a thunderstorm raging.

She reached for her phone to check the time. Ten past three. Lightning struck again and the accompanying thunder was so loud it rattled the windows.

Esther was at the other end of the long hall. The storm had surely woken her, too. Better go check on her, since that was why Grace was there. If nothing else, she could get her a fresh ice pack.

She flicked on the lamp, shoved her feet into her slippers and pulled on her pink fleece robe, glad she’d remembered to grab it when she’d packed so hurriedly.

Grace was already in the hallway when she remembered the horrid wig she’d been wearing when she’d arrived.

If she’d had any idea she’d be staying in someone else’s home even for a night, she would have made another choice. Perhaps a freaky dye job and a short, spiky haircut. She could have gone goth. She still might when she left the Double K Ranch.

Rain began to pelt the windowpanes. Grace grabbed the wig from the top of the antique dresser and pulled it low on her head. She adjusted and readjusted until she was certain none of her own brown locks escaped the wig.

Reminding herself she was Grace Addison, she tiptoed to Esther’s bedroom. Her door was ajar. Esther’s whistling snores overrode the sounds of the torrential rain. Perhaps that was why the storm hadn’t awoken her.

The temperature in the house was several degrees cooler than it had been when Grace had gone to bed and she could feel a chilly draft in the hallway. She’d made certain the front and back doors were closed and locked, but the draft had to be coming in somewhere.

She followed the chill to the family room and turned on the overhead light. It took only a few seconds to discover the problem. A window behind the sofa was open a crack and the wind and rain were blowing in.

Grace closed and locked the window, then went to the bathroom to get a towel to wipe up the water.

Another bolt of lightning hit, this one cutting a path straight downward as if the house itself were the target. Thunder roared. The light blinked twice and then went out.

A suffocating sensation sucked the air from Grace’s lungs as pitch-blackness closed in around her.

It had been storming like this the night this had all started. Almost six years ago. A night of terror that refused to let her go. The memories crawled from beneath the darkest recesses of her mind and she was back there again.

Lying alone in the king-size bed, silk sheets skimming her naked body. Surrounded by opulence. Drowning in suspicions she could no longer deny.

Her dreams died that night and the never-ending nightmare began.

Grace made her way back to the bedroom in the dark and climbed beneath the covers. The storm still raged on outside, but the real upheaval was inside her soul.

* * *

“LAND O’ GOSHEN, you’re just as busy as a buzz saw in a pine knot, Grace. I swear you haven’t stopped working since you woke up.”

“I haven’t actually accomplished that much.”

“Cooked my breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, ran the vacuum cleaner, washed and dried sheets and towels, straightened my little nest here on the sofa and waited on me like I was the Queen of England. I’d say that’s a powerful lot.”

“I like to stay busy, and I have to earn my keep. After all, you did provide me a port in the storm last night.”

“It was you who did me the favor. I’m not afraid to admit that ankle had me worried. I was afraid something was broken. I sure didn’t need that.”

“I’m glad it’s better this morning, but you shouldn’t overdo it. It would be helpful if you had a walker or at least a cane you could use for support.”

“You know, I think Charlie’s cane might still be in the closet of one of those spare bedrooms. He bought it after he had his right knee replaced a couple of years back.”

“I’ll take a look before I leave and see if I can find it. Right now, it’s time for you to have a fresh ice pack on the ankle again. Are you ready?”

“How long do we have to keep doing that?”

“At least another twenty-four hours. You want to avoid as much swelling as possible.”

“Good thing I like purple,” Esther said. “Looks like I might get about ten shades of it when those bruises burst into full bloom.”

“That you may.”

Grace went for the ice pack and adjusted it on Esther’s ankle.

“I hope you don’t think I’m taking advantage of you,” Esther said.

“I’d never think that. I’m going to check and see if I can find that cane, and then I need to get back on the road. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

“Well, there is one favor that would mean a lot to me. Not exactly a favor, ’cause I’ll pay you what I can.”

“What is it?”

Esther sucked in her bottom lip and put her palms to her cheeks as if she were afraid to say what was on her mind.

“Just ask me,” Grace encouraged. “I don’t promise I can say yes, but I won’t be upset with you for asking.”

“I was thinking maybe I could get you to stay with me a week or so—perhaps through Christmas. This whole holiday thing is about to get me down. Every time I think about it, I start crying.”

Esther’s eyes grew moist and a lone tear escaped and rolled down her right cheek.

Grace’s heart warmed, melting her good sense with it. “Is this your first Christmas without Charlie?”

Esther nodded “He’s been dead three months. I figured I could ignore the holiday, but Charlie loved Christmas. He’d hate to see me doing without a tree and decorations. I can’t really ignore Christmas anyway. People send cards, and every time I turn on the TV or the radio, they’re talking about the holidays.

“Can’t even go to the grocery market in Winding Creek without seeing the garlands and stars hanging from the streetlights. I always loved Christmas, but it won’t be the same without Charlie.”

“Don’t you have any family you could stay with?” Grace asked.

“No, Charlie and I never had kids. We wanted ’em. It just never worked out for us to have them. Closest thing to family we had were the Lawrence boys. They lived with us for ten months a few years back. My, did we love those boys. But they’re all grown up now, scattered around the world and busy with their own lives. Sure would be nice if you could stay through Christmas.”

Grace hated to turn down such a simple request when she had nowhere to go. But staying there meant continuously lying to a woman who trusted her. And there was always a chance it could put Esther in danger.

But if Grace didn’t leave the ranch, how could anyone know she was there? On the surface it seemed a great place to go unnoticed.

“If you can’t do it, I understand,” Esther said. “It was just a thought.”

“Not a bad thought,” Grace admitted.

Not that she was ever in the best of moods at Christmas herself. She usually spent the holiday in pajamas, watching old Christmas movies and crying.

“I can’t promise I can stay through Christmas,” Grace said. She could never make promises. “But I’ll stay another day. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“It’s gonna go good,” Esther said. “It’s gonna go real good. I can feel it in my bones.”

“But no talk of money,” Grace stressed. “I consider us friends now and I want to help.”

“You don’t know what this means to me.”

“Just don’t count on my being here for Christmas. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go search for the cane?”

“I hate to keep making you work,” Esther said, “but it would sure be nice if you’d gather the eggs from the henhouse.”

Gather eggs. Grace had done that many times as a kid—at Easter with no chickens directly involved. That was obviously not what Esther meant.

“I have some rubber boots you can wear so you don’t get your shoes all muddy after last night’s storm.”

“I’ll be glad to help, but I’ll need a bit more instruction.”

“Are you telling me you’ve never gathered fresh hen eggs?” Esther’s shock showed.

“Never.”

“Then you’re in for a real treat.” Esther smiled conspiratorially and motioned to Grace to come sit down on the sofa by her. “You’re not afraid of chickens, are you?”

“Should I be?”

“Not if you want eggs to eat. I have a large basket sitting on the work shelf in the mudroom. Just take it with you to the chicken coop. You can’t miss the henhouse. Step inside it and you’ll see two rows of straw-filled nests. Just reach in the nests and take the eggs.”

It sounded simple enough. “The chickens don’t mind?”

“They’re used to it. If there’s a chicken sitting in the nest, don’t disturb her. She’ll cackle and move on when she’s done. Then you can go back to that nest.”

“So I just reach in the nests and collect the eggs?”

“That’s it. I refilled their water containers yesterday, so you don’t have to worry with that. They’ll probably be drinking out of the mud puddles today anyway.”

“Is that safe?”

“It is if you’re a chicken.”

“What about feed?”

“There will still be some mush in the automatic feeder. But stop at the woodshed on your way to the chicken yard.”

“The woodshed?”

“Yes, it’s right behind where I fell last night. Be sure you latch the shed when you leave. Otherwise, the door will blow open and the deer will make short work of the corn and feed stored in there.”

“I can handle that.”

“You’ll see a metal container in the shed—on the shelf above a pail of whole kernel corn. Fill the container with the kernels or you can just drop a few handfuls into your jacket pockets.”

“What do I do with the corn?”

“Toss it around the chicken pen and the chickens will come running.”

Chickens running at her. Better than cows or bulls, but the image wasn’t comforting.

“Is it too late to change my mind about my offer of help?” Grace teased.

“Yes, but don’t worry. Gathering the eggs is fun. You’ll miss it when you do leave.”

Grace seriously doubted that.

“Okay, basket by the back door. Corn in the woodshed. Now, where are these chickens?”

“Take the path behind the woodshed and you’ll run right into the chicken pen. Can’t miss it. You’ll hear the clucking before you get there.”

“Is the pen locked?”

Esther laughed. “No need, neither the chickens nor the foxes can work the latch.”

“There are foxes out there?”

“Foxes, coyotes, hawks, an occasional bobcat. They love chicken. But they’re not fond of humans, so you won’t see any of them. Oh, and there’s a big red barn off to the left of the pen. If you see someone out there, don’t worry. It’ll be Buck. He’s supposed to haul some hay out to the north pasture today.”

A few minutes later, Grace was heading for the chicken pens, woven basket in hand, pockets full of corn. She was feeling more confident by the minute.

How difficult could gathering eggs be?

When she reached the coop, she unlatched and opened the wire gate. Several hens came running at her. She stood her ground. But she’d wait to scatter the corn until she’d gathered the eggs. Then she could toss the kernels and make a fast getaway before all of the hens were advancing on her.

The basket firmly in hand, Grace stepped inside the red-roofed coop. Sure enough there were two rows of nests, lined with hay.

Several hens were scratching around on the ground beneath the nests. One beautiful red hen sat on a nest like a queen on her throne.

“I’m not messing with you, sister,” Grace said calmly. “You just go about your business.”

The hen ignored her. Grace moved down the line and began to gather eggs, careful not to break them. For some reason she’d expected them all to be the same color even though the chickens weren’t. The eggs ranged from snowy white to a speckled brown.

By the time her basket was full, she was feeling pretty proud of herself. Gathering eggs. Nothing to it.

The hen on the nest cackled loudly. Then she left the nest and marched back into the yard. One more egg for the basket that was almost full.

Grace walked to the gate, the basket full of eggs hanging over her arm. She undid the latch and reached into her pocket for the corn. Maybe she wouldn’t run. The chickens seemed harmless enough.

She grabbed a handful of kernels and tossed them into the dirt. Chickens came running from every corner of their fenced pen. They quickly gobbled up the corn but didn’t bother her.

She took a few steps away from the gate and was about to scatter the rest when she noticed a giant rooster heading right for her.

His neck was bobbing. His spurs were twice as big as the hens’ and looked like they should be classified as deadly weapons. The bright red comb on his head and the loose skin at his neck seemed like he was waving a warning flag.

He stopped between her and the gate and made a tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck sound. Not good. Probably a call for attack. He jumped toward her.

Grace started to run. The rooster stayed right behind her. The eggs she’d so carefully gathered began to tumble from her basket.

Throw the corn. Quick. Toss it as far as you can and make a run for the gate.

She slowed to grab a handful of kernels. Her foot slipped and she went sliding, landing on her butt right in the middle of a mud puddle.

Finally, she threw the corn as far as she could. The rooster and all the hens followed the food. By now half of the eggs were on the ground, cracked. She was covered in mud. And the crazy wig had slid down so that it practically covered her eyes.

This couldn’t possibly get any worse.

She started to get up and slipped again. Muddy water splattered her face and the lens of her glasses.

And then she heard laughter. Hardy, deep, full-throated laughter. She looked up and into the face of one of the hunkiest, most gorgeous men she’d ever seen.

She’d been wrong. Things had just gotten a lot worse.


Chapter Five (#u2d46545e-1be5-55c3-a057-ffcbd0a8f324)

Pierce struggled to squelch his laughter as he hurried over to see if he could help. He wasn’t laughing at the fall, though thankfully she didn’t appear to be hurt.

It was the image of her sloshing through the mud with a rooster and half the chickens in the pen chasing after her for their corn. It was the eggs tumbling from her basket like jumping beans. And that ugly, lopsided wig.

As he opened the gate, the laughter escaped again.

“It wasn’t that funny,” she quipped as he approached her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed, but...”

Damn, he couldn’t help himself. He tried to swallow the chuckle that didn’t want to let go of him. “Actually, it was pretty funny from my viewpoint,” he admitted.

“If you videotaped it for YouTube, I’ll kill you.”

“No pictures, I swear.”

She was a lot younger than he’d thought from a distance. And the brown hair that had escaped the wig was shiny, nothing like the frizzy black wig.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Just my pride.” She wiped the mud from her right hand onto her jeans. Then she changed the basket to her right hand and did the same with her left hand. He thought she might be planning to shake hands with him, but she made no such move.

Couldn’t blame her. But the show had been hilarious.

He pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. “This might help.”

She took off the glasses and stuck them in her pocket, then used his handkerchief to wipe her face, though mostly it just smeared the mud around like black war paint.

He reached down, pushed her wig back up her forehead.

“What’s with the wig? Were you going incognito so the rooster wouldn’t recognize you?”

“How is that any of your business?”

“Point made.” Probably not a good time to talk about a woman’s appearance when she was splattered with mud.

Jaci finally joined them. She stuck her hands on her hips and stared up defiantly at the mud-encrusted woman.

“Why did you steal those chickens’ eggs? That’s not nice.”

“I didn’t steal them,” the woman protested. “I was just taking them into the house.”

“They belong to the chickens. That’s stealing.”

“You’re right and believe me I won’t do it again if I can help it.” The woman started retrieving the few unbroken eggs from the ground.

“It’s not stealing,” Pierce assured Jaci. “The chickens lay eggs for us to eat. The eggs we buy at the store come from chickens, too.”

Obviously dissatisfied with the explanation, Jaci tugged on the tail of the woman’s jacket until she stopped gathering the eggs and looked down at her.

“If you didn’t steal the eggs, why were all the chickens chasing you?”

“Good question. Ask the chickens.”

“Chickens can’t talk, can they, Daddy?”

“Not any language that I can speak.”

One by one, Pierce stepped on the broken eggs, grinding them under the toe of his boot until the shells were ground like sand and the liquid disappeared into the wet earth.

“Why are you smashing the eggs?” Jaci asked, already joining him in the task.

“So the chickens don’t realize they’re good to eat. Then they might eat all the eggs and not leave any for us.”

“So you’re an expert on chickens as well as women’s wigs,” the woman quipped.

“I’m a multitalented guy.”

“No doubt.”

“Truth is I learned about chickens the same way you just did—the hard way. And in this same pen.”

He picked up the last two good eggs and placed them in her basket. “I’m Pierce Lawrence and this is my curious daughter, Jaci.”

“I’m Grace Addison.” Her tone lost some of its sarcastic edge. “Are you a friend of Esther’s?”

“Practically family.”

“Really? Then you must be one of the famous Lawrence boys Esther mentioned.”

“More like the infamous Lawrence boys. And family might be a slight exaggeration, since I haven’t been around in quite a while.” They left the pen and Pierce latched it behind them. “Give me a minute to grab our luggage from the truck and we’ll walk back to the house with you.”

Grace glanced toward the black double-cab pickup truck he’d bought new in Chicago.

“Why are you parked way out here if you came to see Esther?”

“I wanted to test my new truck on a rough ranch road before I tried it on more rugged terrain.”

He opened the truck and pulled out a child’s backpack.

Jaci reached for it. “I can carry my own toys. I’m strong,” she said.

“Good thing. This backpack is really heavy,” Pierce said, playing along. He helped Jaci fit it on her back, then pulled two duffels from the backseat and slung one over each arm.

“That’s it?” Grace asked.

“Cowboys travel light. Right, Jaci?”

“I’m a cowgirl.”

“How could I forget?”

They started back to the house. “Esther didn’t mention that she was expecting you,” Grace said.

“I haven’t talked to Esther or Charlie in months,” Pierce admitted. “Actually, I haven’t been in this area in years. I thought I’d surprise them.”

“I’m so sorry. You must not have heard.”

She sounded genuinely upset. “What’s the problem?”

“Charlie’s dead.”

“Oh, no. Not Charlie.” The news hit hard, and he struggled to get his mind around it. “When did that happen?”

“Three months ago.”

“I hadn’t heard. Neither have my brothers. It’s hard to believe. I mean, he was in great health the last time I saw him. He wasn’t that old.” Pierce was rambling, talking as much to himself as to Grace. “How did he die?”

“I don’t know.”

That seemed a bit strange. “How long have you known Esther?”

“Not long,” Grace said. “She sprained her ankle yesterday. I’m staying with her a few days to help out. I’m sure she won’t trust me gathering eggs again.”

“Don’t count on that. Esther will just demand you do it until you get it right. She’ll drive you like a team of horses and make you love her for it.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“How’s Esther doing, I mean without Charlie? They were so close—still held hands and had every meal together. She was the only one who could talk him down when he got really riled about something.”

“What kind of things riled him that much?”

“Mistreating one of his animals. People lying to him or not doing what they’d promised. Politics.”





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