2
H
ands on the Jeep’s steering wheel and his right foot touching the brake pedal, Maco Durant scanned his surroundings. Because the Jeep’s cloth top was down, he had no doubt he’d heard two gunshots separated by maybe three seconds and furious barking. Telling himself someone was target shooting hadn’t eased his mind. For one thing, there was no gun range around. More to the point, given what the Homeland Security agent had told him about what he and his brother had gotten themselves into, no wonder he was moving slow and cautious. He understood deadlines, equipment breakdown, and the dangerous pit called price overrides. What Jason and he hadn’t counted on when they were bidding on the project was what they’d termed
the crazies.
There better by hell not be any of the breed out here today.
In the middle of asking himself what he’d do if a
crazy
jumped out at him, he spotted someone up ahead crouched over something.
Pressing on the brakes, he stared through the bug- and dust-encrusted windshield. The back of his neck prickling and his heart rate kicking up, he took inventory. The croucher was too far away for him to be sure of anything except that the form was smallish. As for what was on the ground, a dog? No, he hadn’t blundered into a battle. This wasn’t a shootout at the OK Corral. So what was it?
Hoping he wasn’t about to play the role of sitting duck, he inched forward. In deference to the wind, he’d placed his Stetson on the passenger’s seat instead of keeping it on his head where it would provide a measure of shade for his eyes and make seeing easier. Hunkering down behind the steering wheel while checking and re-checking the terrain wasn’t easy. Granted, the canvas Jeep top hardly qualified as an armored truck, but he wouldn’t be as much of a target, would he? So what was the best course of action? Maybe pulling a U-turn and getting out of Dodge. He’d actually started to pull the vehicle to the left when he remembered whom he’d come out here to see. If the croucher was Shari Afton of the arousing yet strong voice—
Like who else would it be?
Killing the distance between himself and his goal took half of forever, but slowly rolling forward gave him time to sort out a few things and get his pulse under control. Most important, the human on the ground, who was looking more and more like a woman, didn’t seem to be hurt. Did that mean the danger, if there’d been any, was over?
Yeah, he decided when maybe fifty feet separated them, he
was
looking at a woman, and she was staring back at him. Big eyes. Scared yet determined eyes. A
Do I dare trust you, and if I can, please help me
stare. At least that’s how he interpreted her expression. No way could he let a little self-directed tension get in the way of what she needed.
After putting an end to all but the last ten feet between them, he angled the Jeep so the driver’s side was closest to her and turned off the engine. She was hunkered down next to a big, motionless dog. Furious at who’d done this insane thing, he touched his holstered .45 Colt, opened the door, and slid out. Holding the Rodeo single-action in both hands, he dropped to a crouch of his own and pressed his back against the front fender. Not being able to look behind him didn’t do his nervous system much good, so he concentrated on listening. The wind rustled over summer-dry grasses, and a number of birds did what birds do best. Not seeing anything suspicious was good, right?
“Where’d the shots come from?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, making him wonder if she was in shock. As his knees let him know they objected to the position he’d put them in, he mulled something he’d never thought he’d have to. If whoever was out there intended to commit murder, he and the woman would already be dead.
He was about to repeat his question when the dog took a gasping breath. The woman sobbed and leaned over the inert body as if trying to blanket it.
“Where is he hurt?” he whispered.
“I don’t know.”
No doubt about it, this was Shari Afton. They’d only talked for a few minutes, but he’d remembered her voice. Hell, given the way his cock had responded during their short phone conversation, you’d think she’d told him to show up bearing condoms. Along with recognition came reality. He
had
been looking forward to meeting her. Only not like this.
One hundred percent not like this.
Lowering himself the rest of the way to the ground, he knee-walked closer. Thank goodness for sturdy denim. Aware that she was watching his every move, he shifted his revolver to his right hand and reached out to touch the dog’s chest.
“Don’t.” Grabbing his wrist with strong fingers, she stopped him. “Don’t hurt—”
“I’m not going to. I just wanted to see if he—”
“She. What are you doing with a gun?”
It’s part of me.
“Long story. Right now the only thing that matters is that my weapon could level the playing field.”
“Oh. I can’t believe this is happening.”
Neither could he, not that disbelief was going to change anything. Reality was that a bullet from an unknown source and position had wounded a large, goofy-looking dog. Danger remained a strong possibility. Shari’s slim yet strong fingers pressed against the veins along the inside of his wrist and made it tingle. Although he didn’t want to, he twisted free, then leaned back, hoping to demonstrate to her that he represented no threat. Strange. A few days ago when the Homeland Security man had spelled out the threat to his construction company on the table, it hadn’t felt real. In contrast, this did. So did his determination to protect both their hides, maybe hers more than his. Damn but her slender body was speaking to his and distracting him from the have-to’s. “We can’t stay out here.”
“I’m not going to leave her.” Shari’s chocolate-brown eyes held a determination he’d seldom seen.
“You won’t do her any good if you get shot.”
She glanced at his weapon, then again met his gaze. “Don’t say that! Just don’t.”
“Do you think I want to?”
She started nodding, a faint bobbing of her head that set her straight, shoulder-length dark brown hair moving. She was even smaller than he’d thought when he’d first seen her. Her oversized top hung on her and pretty much hid whatever female curves had to be beneath it. Still, he could imagine. What was a barely hundred-pound woman doing training guard dogs? She should be, what, spending her days in beauty parlors like his ex had done?
“Why are you armed?” she asked.
“I told you—”
“You didn’t tell me anything. If you’re the one—”
“Oh, that’s what you’re thinking. Believe me, I’m not. My gun hasn’t been fired.”
“I want to believe you.”
I want you to.
He extended the Colt toward her. “You can check if you want.”
She recoiled. “I don’t.”
The dog still hadn’t moved, rocks dug into his knees, and even though nothing bad had happened since he’d gotten here, the phrase
sitting duck
kept going through his head. “I mean it. We can’t stay out here.”
“Then leave.”
She might have put considerable force behind her words, but that wasn’t what she meant. He only had to note her shaking hands and the way she seemed to be trying to tunnel into her shirt to come to that conclusion. And although he’d believed he’d put the big protective male role behind him when he’d gotten divorced, he knew one thing. He wouldn’t abandon her.
Besides, if she was grateful enough maybe—
Hell! Tend to business.
About to insist they make a run for the house, he noted her cell phone on the ground. “Did you call nine one one?”
She nodded.
“And? When are they going to get here?”
“The operator didn’t know. I hung up before—”
“You what?”
She frowned. “I heard your vehicle.”
Damn it, the last thing she should have done was drop her connection with law enforcement. What kind of sane person did that? “You could have called back.”
“I didn’t, all right? I didn’t.”
Her mouth formed a straight line. He waited for her to speak, but all he got was the sight of her free hand stroking the dog’s oversized head. Clearly her pet’s welfare was her primary concern. She’d risked her own life to protect it.
“I’m Maco Durant,” he said, belatedly realizing she might not have a clue who he was. “We talked yesterday.”
Her lips parted, mouth softening. At least he chose to believe that was what was happening. “Yes, I know.”
“You do?”
“Your voice, it—I was expecting you.” A little of her tension seemed to slip out of her. Realizing she was making strides in trusting him weighed on him. At the same time, it was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
“Have you ever held a revolver?” he asked.
Looking as if he’d backed her into a corner, she shook her head. “No.”
Great.
“Too bad. Look, I need you to hold mine while I carry Ona inside.”
“You’d do that?”
By way of answer, he extended his weapon toward her, handle first. The way she looked at it as if it was a rattler had him hoping she knew what the hammer was for. He had to hand it to her, though; freaked out as she was by her new role, she was standing firm. After picking up and slipping her cell phone into a back pocket, she wrapped her fingers around the weapon. Without him having to tell her, she aimed the barrel toward the ground.
“If something happens,” he said, “give it to me.”
“I will. Ah, Maco, thank you.”
“Wait until we’re done.”
“You’re right.”
Ona was even heavier than she looked, forcing him to put effort into getting to his feet while not losing his balance. The oversized head hung down. Feeling Ona’s warmth, he vowed to do whatever it took to protect the animal—and her owner.
Taking his elbow, Shari aimed him in the direction of the house. Much as he wanted to keep a lookout for what he wasn’t quite sure, he had to concentrate on where he was walking. To her credit, her hold on his weapon remained firm. Going by the way she kept taking in their surroundings, she had his back.
Was a partner in whatever was going on.
She pointed to the east. “That’s where the shots came from. At least I think so.”
He stared over Ona’s body. “It’s pretty open, not many places for someone to hide.”
“No. I, ah, there was something. Maybe it was nothing, but for a second, the sunlight bounced off something metallic.”
“Shit.” A sitting duck didn’t have anything on them. “It didn’t last long?”
“No.” She continued to study the terrain. “And you arrived.”
“A rifle?” he whispered.
“Maybe.”
He thought she might come closer, but although she remained alert, she didn’t. Neither did she aim his revolver in that direction.
Reaching the house seemed to take forever. Once, prompted by something he couldn’t explain, he stopped. His senses went even more on the alert. Unless he was 100 percent mistaken, so were hers. He could be mistaken, but he thought he heard a distant motorcycle but couldn’t pinpoint where the sound was coming from, if it was anything. Looking at her, he frowned and cocked his head. She nodded.
“Something,” she whispered. “Someone.”
“Yeah.”
“Maco, we need to get inside.”
“Yeah, we do.”
Wishing to hell he could tell where the motorcycle—if he was right about the sound—was located, he started walking again. Just as he was trying to figure out how to plant his boot on a step he couldn’t see, her grip on his elbow tightened, and she guided him up. Joining him, she hurried to open the door. That done, she stepped back and let him enter first. The door slammed behind them, and he heard a lock click into place. He got a quick, vague impression of comfortable furnishings and earth tones. Relaxed a little.
“On the couch. Put her down there.”
A woman who put her animals’ welfare before furnishings; he liked that. And with her guiding him again, he reached the couch without running into anything. He started to set Ona down only to turn her so the side that had been against the ground was up.
With a cry, Shari sank to her knees, placed his Colt on the carpet, and stroked one limp ear. Even with her in the way, he could see the bloody furrow along the dog’s temple. “What do you have to clean that off with?” he asked. Good thing whoever had done that monstrous thing wasn’t around. It would have been fists to nose and gut if he had been. Let the bastard get what he had coming to him.
“Washcloth. Towels.” She jerked her head toward the back of the house. “In the bathroom.”
Although he didn’t want to, he left her with the unresponsive dog. Finding a damp washcloth—maybe the one she’d showered with—he soaped and brought it and a large towel into what he figured was the living room. There were too many windows, none with drapes or blinds in place. Stopping, he studied her again. Damn the practical, sex-neutral clothes! He wanted—needed to see the woman beneath the layers, to smell and touch her.