Читать книгу: «Rancher Under Fire»

To my agent, Chip MacGregor.

If not for Chip, this book would never have happened. Thanks for pushing me and opening doors that give life to Rancher Under Fire.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Mariah Reyes had to face the facts—she was lost. Hours of wandering on the desolate country roads of Northeastern Oklahoma had left her more confused than a chameleon in a bowl of Skittles.

She checked for oncoming cars—not that she’d seen more than one in the past half hour—then reached for the map on the passenger’s seat. She peeked down at the line she’d drawn before leaving home that showed the way to Angelfire Ranch, but it didn’t help. Glancing up, she jerked the steering wheel to the right to get her car back in her lane and willed her pulse to return to normal.

“This is crazy.” She slowed the car, pulled onto the gravel shoulder and searched her purse for her phone. Maybe she could find her way using the built-in GPS and maps. She turned it on and opened the map app. She’d already plugged in the address to Jackson Durant’s ranch, but she hadn’t wanted to risk driving while trying to follow the tiny GPS dot on her phone.

She studied the barren winter wilderness while she waited for the map to load. Tall, yellow grass fluttered in the wind, and the few leaves still clinging to the almost-bald trees waved at her. The land here wasn’t as flat as the Dallas area, and there were more trees, but the emptiness of the countryside after the busyness of the big city left her feeling isolated.

She checked her phone. With only one bar on her cell, the map wouldn’t load. “That’s great.” Mariah tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat and blew out a sigh. So much for modern technology.

Now what?

She’d passed a farm several miles back, but she hated asking for help. She shifted the car in gear and drove forward. Just a few more miles, and if she didn’t find Angelfire Ranch, she’d turn around or ask someone for directions.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into a parking lot containing half a dozen trucks and a single gray sedan. She looped her arm through her purse straps and read the name of the establishment made from cement blocks painted an icky avocado-green: Tank Up—Gas and Bar. She shook her head. “Only in Oklahoma.”

A Coke and some chocolate would do a lot to improve her mood. She grabbed her map, pressed the remote to lock the car and headed into the store. Loud music, smoke and the odor of burned pizza greeted her.

A slim clerk dressed in denim, boots and a cowboy hat nodded. “Howdy, ma’am.” His gaze dropped to the map in her hand. “Can I he’p you find somethin’?”

She smiled. “Just let me grab a Coke first.”

Mariah surveyed her surroundings—something she did as a habit. Probably the reporter in her wanting to know everything that was happening. The right side of the building housed a small convenience store while the left opened up to tables, chairs and a bar on the far wall. Neon signs shone through the cloud of smoke that hovered above a table where four men played cards and drank beer. The country music blaring from an old jukebox in the far corner whined a song she didn’t recognize. The buzz of conversation stopped, and the men at the table, along with another guy talking to the bartender, turned to gawk at her.

Mariah spun around, snatched a candy bar off the rack and made a beeline for the soda fountain. Thanks to her father, men made her nervous, especially ones who were indulging in liquor. She never knew what to expect from them. Three years as an investigative reporter had boosted her courage and made her much more outgoing, but being the only woman with seven men—some of whom were drinking—increased her anxiety.

She filled a disposable cup then hurried to the counter and paid for her items. She eyed a slice of cheese pizza in a warmer behind the clerk but decided she didn’t need the carbs. Glancing back at the clerk, she fished her wallet from her purse. “Could you please tell me how to find Angelfire Ranch?”

The young cowboy smiled. “Sure thang, ma’am. Just head north four miles or so until you see a broken-down hay baler in a field then turn right. You’ll see the big Angelfire sign after a few minutes. Cain’t miss it.”

She wanted to ask what a hay baler looked like, but several of the men from the table had risen and were ambling her way. Mariah gathered her things and rushed out the door. She didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she turned her Mustang onto the road again.

She made note of the mileage so she could tell when she’d traveled four miles. At least she was closer to Angelfire Ranch than she’d thought.

A motion in the rearview mirror snagged Mariah’s attention. A black truck—no two—spun out of the store’s parking lot and were approaching fast.

Mariah pressed down the gas pedal, keeping watch on the odometer, the road and the trucks. Did they just happen to leave at the same time? Or were they following her?

She glanced at the speedometer—seven miles per hour over the speed limit—and the nearest truck was still closing the space between them. Mariah grasped the wheel harder, and her pulse jumped into overdrive. Just when she thought the first truck would ram her, it whizzed into the other lane and passed her. She glanced in the passenger window of the second truck as it also zoomed by, but the tinting was too dark for her to see through.

She relaxed her grip on the wheel and blew out an irritated breath. “Show-offs!”

As the second black truck passed her, she looked for the tag number, but the lower half of the vehicle was covered in mud. Suddenly, the truck swerved back into her lane, and the taillights lit up. The gap between her car and the pickup narrowed. Mariah slammed on her brakes and swerved into the other lane, tires squealing. A quick glance revealed no oncoming traffic. Her left rear tire dropped off the tarred edge, and she struggled to get it back on the road. Gravel chunked against the underbelly of her car. She jerked the wheel to the right, bumped up onto the asphalt and slowed to a stop on the center line. The truck sped down the road and disappeared around the corner.

Mariah’s heart pounded.

What just happened?

Had that driver deliberately tried to run her off the road?

Blowing out a breath, Mariah checked for traffic then pulled onto the right side of the road again. She wasn’t easily scared, but the randomness of the attack left her trembling. Maybe the driver had drunk too much liquor—or maybe mistaken her for someone else. Or maybe he was hotdogging. That was the only thing that made sense.

She glanced at the odometer, glad to see she had only another mile until the turnoff to Jackson Durant’s ranch. She hoped he was ready for her, because she aimed to get the real story about why he quit football in the midst of an undefeated season, not the fluff Where Are They Now? piece her editor wanted.

In the field to her right, she spied a rusty heap of equipment, which must be the hay baler since it was the only farm apparatus around. The road to Angelfire stretched out past the end of the fence line. “Finally!”

A movement straight ahead caught her eye. A black truck crept over the next hill, which was several hundred yards past the turnoff. Mariah’s heart jolted. Was it the same truck that had nearly caused her to crash?

She wasn’t waiting around to find out. She pressed on the gas, but as the Mustang charged forward like a thoroughbred from a starting gate, so did the truck. Mariah eyed the distance to the turnoff, keeping a death grip on the steering wheel. Just a few more yards.

The truck veered into her lane, barreling toward her.

Mariah swung the wheel a bit early, hoping she didn’t land in the ditch. She had to make this turn. Her tires squealed as the rear end of her car swept around the corner then fishtailed. She righted it just as the truck reached the turn. Mariah stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The store clerk had said she’d see the sign to Angelfire Ranch in a few minutes, but she reached it in one. She slowed down to make the turn onto the ranch’s gravel road.

Would the truck follow her onto private property?

If it did, she’d be ready. This was one driver she’d take delight in using her Taser on.

* * *

Jackson Durant hugged his daughter, enjoying her laughter.

Hailey released her hold on his neck and pushed back to look him in the face. “Toss me up again, Daddy.”

“One more time. Then we need to get back to work.” He lowered her to the ground, and Hailey squatted down then jumped. Jackson lifted her and pitched her up a couple of feet into the air over his head. He wouldn’t be able to toss his six-year-old like this much longer. He lowered her back down, amid girlish giggles, and squeezed her shoulder. “Time to get busy.”

He retrieved the yearling he’d tied to the paddock fence and led her out into the yard. The black filly would make a good saddle horse one day, but she still needed some work.

“Can I lead her?”

Jackson peered down at his daughter’s pixie face, remembering again how close he had come to losing her the day she was born. A deep ache gutted his insides even worse than the pain he’d felt when he walked away from quarterbacking an undefeated team on its way to the Super Bowl. He couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine—what his life would be like without his daughter.

Every day her brown eyes and sweet smile looked more and more like her mother’s. Would he be reminded of his wife’s betrayal for the rest of his life, just by looking into his daughter’s face?

As if sensing his troubled thoughts, Baron licked Jackson’s hand. He reached down and patted the border collie’s black-and-white head. No, Hailey might look like Misty, but his daughter didn’t have her mother’s shallow character. Once again he slammed the lid on the anger bubbling up at the thought of Misty’s disloyalty. Though the familiar pain had numbed a bit over the years, whenever he thought of his deceased wife, it threatened to rise to the surface again, disturbing his peace with God.

“Hello...Da-addy?” Stretching onto the tiptoes of her tan cowboy boots, Hailey waved her hand back and forth in front of his face.

The black filly on the other end of the lead rope in Jackson’s hand shook her head and snorted, wary of his daughter’s flapping arm. “Hey, settle down,” he said to both females. Grasping the horse’s halter, he stared at his daughter. “Hailey, you know better than to make any sudden movements around these green broke horses.”

Nostrils flaring and the whites of her eyes showing, the filly attempted to jerk her head free of his hold.

Jackson held the small horse secure, rubbing her neck. “Shh. You’re okay.”

“Daddy?” Hailey patted Jackson’s stomach. “So...can I lead her around?”

“Just a minute.” Jackson observed the black filly for a few moments. When she quieted, he released her halter but hung on to the coiled lead rope. The horse ducked her head, nibbling the ankle-high winter grass at his feet.

He patted the filly’s shoulder. Had she calmed enough for Hailey to handle her? He breathed a deep sigh. Did every father wrestle with the issues he did, or was his daily struggle to find a balance with Hailey and duties at the ranch related to his being an overprotective single dad? He wanted to keep his daughter safe but not smother her. His gaze lifted across the ranch yard to the horses grazing peacefully in the pasture. His daughter loved horses as much as he, and she had never been afraid of them, not even as a toddler. Though he wanted to hold her back until she was older—and bigger—Hailey knew how to handle horses, even if her childishness sometimes overpowered her sensibilities. He patted his daughter’s back. “I guess you can lead the filly for a while, but don’t make any sudden movements, and don’t go too far in case you need me.”

“Yip—” Hailey slapped her palm to her mouth, halting her high-pitched cheer. Her gaze darted to the filly and back to him as she lowered her hand. “Sorry. I’ll be quieter.”

Chuckling, he handed the lead rope to his daughter. What was the point in trying to keep her away from the horses? She loved them and was a natural. Pride swelled in his chest as he watched Hailey curl up the nylon rope with the skill of one raised her whole life on a ranch. Holding the coil in one hand, she clutched the lead just below the snap and walked the yearling down the gravel drive.

“C’mon, girl. You and me’s gonna be buddies.” Baron trotted along behind them for a few feet, but then he turned and moseyed back to Jackson’s side.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jackson scanned the well-kept ranch. The gray single-story house provided a cozy escape from the hot Oklahoma summers and chilly winters. His new red barn, complete with modern amenities like a sprinkler system and a bathroom with a shower, had stalls for twelve horses and was the envy of his neighbors. Across the rolling hills, quarter horses grazed lazily in the unusually warm December weather. His chest swelled as gratitude filled his heart—but then he remembered the dark shadows of recent days, and his gaze lifted. Thank You, Lord, for allowing me to realize my dream of owning this ranch. Please help me figure out the root of the problems plaguing me lately. They can’t be coincidences.

Pursing his lips, he watched Hailey turn the filly and head toward him. So far his problems hadn’t caused her any harm, except for upsetting her. He considered all the things that had happened in the past few weeks—broken fences, missing equipment, sick horses. Was he simply having a run of bad luck?

“Don’t ya think she’ll make a good barrel racer? I’m gonna name her Sabrina.”

“That’s a fine name.” He smiled. Hailey had to name every horse that passed through their ranch, whether it stayed for a week or forever. While at Angelfire Ranch, the animals were treated like family. Sometimes the rodeo owners and other people he sold the horses to kept the names his daughter had given them and sometimes they changed them, but Hailey didn’t care as long as she gave them their first one.

The familiar ta-dump, ta-dump of tires crossing the cattle guard pulled his gaze down the long gravel drive. Though people frequented the ranch often, he wasn’t expecting anyone today. He studied the approaching vehicle—a sports car that was going far too fast.

He started toward his daughter. “Hailey, bring the filly back. Right now.”

Hailey stopped in the middle of the road and stared at the car, barreling toward her. Jackson increased his pace. His daughter tugged the prancing horse off the road and onto the dried winter grass. The filly pawed the ground. The closer the sports car came, the more agitated she grew.

Baron barked. Jackson broke into a run. A shrill whinny rent the air as the black filly reared, her front hooves pawing the air just inches above Hailey’s head. Jackson’s heart took a dive. He raced toward her, but his legs felt as if they were encased in cement.

“Let go! Hailey! Let go of the rope.” His words sounded hollow, as if shouted down a long, narrow tunnel.

Sabrina bolted, yanking his daughter to the ground and dragging her back toward the road as the car maneuvered a bend and headed straight for them. Baron raced for the front of the horse, as if to cut her off and turn her back. The driver blasted the horn. The car skidded and swerved, sending a dusty cloud of gravel and dirt over filly and dog. Tires spun, chunking pebbles against the car’s underbelly, and the Mustang veered to the right as the driver spun around trying to miss a large maple tree. Metal and fiberglass crunched against wood as the car lost the fight.

Heart pounding, Jackson slowed as he reached Hailey and lifted her to her feet, pressing her against him. That car had come so close to hitting her. “You okay, sweetie? Are you hurt?”

Hailey’s mumbled response warmed his blue denim shirt, but he couldn’t make out the words. His daughter pushed against his belly, and he reluctantly released her.

“I couldn’t breathe, Daddy.” She gulped in several gasps of air, then glanced at the rope burns on her palms. “I tried to hold on so Sabrina wouldn’t get away. I wasn’t scared, but I couldn’t hang on.”

He scanned his daughter’s face and body to make sure she wasn’t injured then released the breath he’d been holding. Her denim jacket was dust-covered but had probably saved her from scraping or bruising her arms. With his sleeve, he wiped dirt off her chin, relieved that she hadn’t cut it. A few minor rope burns reddened her palms, but otherwise she looked fine.

With his hands shaking and heart ricocheting around his chest like a racquetball on a court, he was in worse shape than his daughter. Not quite believing she was unharmed, he asked again, “You’re really not hurt anywhere besides your hands?”

“I’m fine, but that car’s not. And Sabrina’s gettin’ away.”

He glanced in the direction Hailey pointed. Still galloping and flipping chunks of dirt behind her, Sabrina had almost reached the ranch’s entrance. The blue lead rope flapped in the air like a pennant. Baron had given up the chase and trotted toward them, tongue hanging out.

With the danger past, Jackson looked skyward. Thank You, Lord, for protecting my little girl.

Ruffling his daughter’s hair, he said, “Don’t worry about Sabrina, pun’kin. We’ll catch her or one of our neighbors will.”

Draping his arm around Hailey’s shoulders, he turned toward the wrecked vehicle. Hissing steam seeped from the metallic blue Mustang now hugging his silver-maple tree.

He clenched his jaw, fighting his anger. Even his years of professional football training hadn’t prepared him for the rage coursing through him at the person who’d put his daughter’s life in danger with such reckless driving. If not for his Christian faith, he’d march forward and punch the driver’s nose. What kind of idiot raced up the drive of a horse ranch?

Jackson took a deep breath and unclenched his fist. He ought to be concerned about the driver, but at the moment, thoughts of his daughter’s near miss overpowered any compassion he might have.

“Cool car,” Hailey said. “Well, it was cool.”

With an eerie groan, the door creaked opened. Two small feet clad in navy pumps appeared below the door. A feminine, well-manicured hand grasped the top of the window frame, and a woman’s brunette head popped up above the dark tinted glass of the driver’s window. Wariness churned deep in Jackson’s belly. What was a woman doing here?

After a moment she stepped out from behind the car door and glared down the road. “That horse ran right in front of me. Look what it did to my car.”

“If you hadn’t been driving so fast, you wouldn’t have spooked her and caused her to bolt.” Jackson yanked his black Stetson off and smacked it against his leg, wishing he could follow Sabrina and be rid of this unwanted visitor.

“Uh-oh, there goes another hat,” Hailey mumbled. “That lady’s in trouble now.”

He cringed at her comment. He’d lost count of the number of Western hats he’d gone through as a result of trying to control his temper. He liked this particular one and aimed to keep it awhile. Slapping it back on his head, he marched forward.

“Listen, lady, your driving nearly got my daughter killed.” Hands clamped to his waist, he glared down into the woman’s startled black eyes.

She took only a second to recover from her surprised reaction. “Me? What are you talking about?” She swiped her hand toward the crumpled hood. “Look at my car!” Sobering suddenly, she turned toward the road again. “Did you see that truck?”

Jackson glanced down the road, wondering about her random change of topics. “What truck?”

The moment of vulnerability disappeared as the woman tossed her dark mane over her shoulders, then tilted up her face and glared back at him, ebony eyes flashing. “I never even saw your daughter, and that horse did run right at me.” She reached one hand to the car door and white-knuckled the window frame. Her expression softened. “Is your daughter okay?”

Jackson nodded, his heart still beating faster than normal at the close call.

Hailey skidded to a stop beside him. “Daddy, did the lady get hurt?”

He smiled at his daughter and brushed his hand across her head, and then Jackson studied the woman for a moment. At six foot two, he normally towered over most females, but this one appeared to be less than a half foot shorter than him. Her olive complexion and black eyes verified her Hispanic heritage. Wisps of dark brown hair curled around her oval face, giving her a softer appearance than Jackson expected from such a fireball.

“Look. I’m sorry. I really didn’t see your daughter—or the horse—until it ran in front of me. It’s just that...” She glanced toward the ranch’s entrance again then pursed her lips. “Never mind.”

The woman lifted a finger to her nose and a tiny sneeze squeaked past her pink lips.

Jackson blinked. He’d never heard such a feminine sound before.

“My, there’s a lot of dust out here.” She waved her hand in front of her face.

“Yeah.” Jackson straightened. “Especially when someone drives too fast and fishtails on the gravel.” Or when it didn’t rain for weeks, but he let that thought slide.

The woman hiked her chin; the fire in her eyes brightened. “Sorry if I was going too fast. You don’t exactly have a speed-limit sign posted. I’ve been driving up and down these country roads for hours, trying to find this place. Not to mention—” She jerked a tissue out of the pocket of her navy business suit and stuffed it under her pert nose just as another sneeze squeaked out.

“Why didn’t you stop and ask somebody? Everyone around these parts knows where Angelfire Ranch is.” Why did men always get blamed for not asking directions when women were just as bad?

Her chin lifted again. “I had a map. But obviously whoever faxed it to me didn’t know how to draw intelligent directions.” She ducked into her car, grabbed a piece of paper, then waved it in his face. “See?”

Jackson instantly recognized the map to his ranch printed on Angelfire letterhead. An ominous feeling, like overthrowing the final pass that would have won his team the play-off game, settled in his gut.

“Why don’t y’all quit fussin’?” Hailey held out her hand to the woman and smiled. “I’m Hailey Durant. This is my daddy. Did you know he was a famous football player?”

The woman blinked at him, and then the color left her cheeks, leaving it to resemble the milky coffee Hailey occasionally drank. “You’re J. D. Durant—ex–Texas Tornados quarterback?”

“Folks around here call me Jackson.” He gave Hailey a stern look. He should have scolded his daughter for her outspokenness, but his mind was too busy racing, trying to figure out what business this citified woman had with him. Today was Thursday, and nobody had an appointment scheduled to view his horses until the weekend. Besides, she didn’t exactly seem as though she was in the market to buy a horse.

“You sure don’t look much like your football pictures.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. Had the paparazzi tracked him down again? “People change after six years.” He pulled his hat lower on his forehead. His looks weren’t the only way he’d changed; his heart and lifestyle had both taken a one-eighty. “Just who are you, anyway?”

“Uh—” the woman licked her pink lips “—I’m Mariah Louisa Reyes.”

Mariah Reyes. The name didn’t ring any bells. Should he know her? A memory invaded his mind—of a phone call several weeks back. A memory of a reporter from the Dallas Observer visiting the ranch so he could write an article on Angelfire. Something Jackson had regretfully allowed his brother, Evan, to cajole him into.

“Are you the reporter?” Hailey asked. “Uncle Evan said you’d be coming.”

What was that reporter’s name? Rayburn—something. Raymond? Reyes? The uneasy feeling in Jackson’s belly swirled faster than an Oklahoma tornado.

No!

“Yes,” the woman said. “I work for the Dallas Observer. I’m supposed to stay here for a few days and observe how you gentle and train horses for rodeos for a story I’m writing.” She moved a step to the side, winced and met Jackson’s gaze, her black eyes shining like polished onyx. “People will be fascinated to learn how your life has changed since you quarterbacked the Tornados, Mr. Durant. The story will run in our Where Are They Now? series.”

“Oh, goodie,” Hailey squealed, bouncing up and down, clapping her hands together. “You’re gonna be in the paper, Daddy.”

Great. Where Are They Now? series? Caution crept up his spine. He’d worked hard to maintain his privacy the past years since moving to the ranch and didn’t want strangers knowing where he lived. Besides, that article didn’t sound like one that would promote the ranch—and that was his only reason for agreeing to it. Jackson cleared his throat. “You’re the same reporter who talked to my brother, Evan Durant, and made arrangements to come here?”

The woman nodded.

He yanked off his hat and smacked it against his leg. “But I thought you were a man.”

Ms. Reyes heaved a derisive snort. “Not hardly. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Where had he come up with it? Evidently he’d made a false assumption—or had his brother purposely led him in that direction, knowing he’d never allow a woman to stay at Angelfire? Evan was going to get a tongue-lashing. His brother knew he avoided women whenever possible, and he couldn’t believe that Evan would make arrangements for one to stay at the ranch. Jackson never would have agreed to an interview if he’d known he’d be stuck with this prissy female.

He’d left the football high life and all its painful memories behind when he inherited the ranch from his uncle. And he certainly didn’t want to spend even a few days in the company of a beautiful woman. The last time he did that, his life had turned upside down and inside out. He shut his eyes, refusing to think again of the woman he’d let into his life years earlier—the one who’d nearly destroyed him.