Lone Star Rancher (14 page)

Clyde stopped and waited, but Balter didn't move. His hand opened and the knife dropped from his grasp. Clyde grabbed it and stuck it in the waistband of his jeans.

Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, he tied the stalker's hands behind his back, then yanked him to his feet when he opened his eyes.

Clyde noted there were lights on at Clinton's house. Jessica had made it there, he hoped. Using the knife tip, he prodded Balter into heading that way, then scooped Smoky into his arms, keeping the knife ready just in case his prisoner tried anything. Part of him wished he would.

Blood lust, once aroused, was slow to fade, he found.

Just before they reached the porch, sirens and flashing lights appeared from two directions on the highway. Help was on its way. He became aware of the pounding in his head and pressed a hand to the back. He recognized the warm ooze of blood from his scalp.

“Clinton!” he called at the door.

When Clinton and his son came out, Clyde smiled at them. “Got a skunk for you,” he said, pushing Balter forward. “Smoky needs some help.”

The world swirled dangerously. There was one more thing he had to know. “Did Jessica make it here?”

“Yes,” Clinton said in an oddly choked voice. “Son, take the dog. Here, lean on me. Give me the knife.”

Clyde laid an arm over Clinton's shoulders, handed over the bloody blade and passed right out.

 

Jessica woke as light streamed into the room. For a second, she didn't know where she was. A glance reminded her she was in Clyde's hospital room in San Antonio.

He still slept, but it was a peaceful sleep now. He'd been restless until she'd been allowed to see him. He'd held her hand, gazed at her in a solemn way, then had quit fighting the injury and fatigue and gone to sleep.

She, too, had slept, settling in the recliner in his room with a pillow and blanket. She'd rested calmly, knowing the man she hated was behind bars and the one she loved was safe and okay…well, nearly okay. He would need a few days of rest due to the concussion.

She clenched her teeth in a silent snarl. Roy had opened the pasture gate, then waited for Clyde. He'd sneaked up behind and hit the rancher with a hammer when Clyde closed the gate. She mentally called the villain all the names her parents had forbidden her to use.

A slight groan escaped her when she tried to stretch. With cautious fingers she examined the bandage on her shoulder. The knife had gone deep enough to slice into the muscle, but not so bad that she'd needed to be hospitalized.

Internal stitches had repaired the muscle while staples—she had to grin at the idea of being held together with staples—secured the flesh wound.

“What time is it?” Clyde asked, his voice raspy.

“Nearly seven.” She rose and went to the side of his bed. “Breakfast will be served soon. Are you hungry?”

“I don't know. Where am I?”

She told him. “You have a concussion and a hairline fracture in your skull.”

“Balter hit me,” he concluded.

“Yes. Luckily you were wearing a hat. The doctors concluded the blow landed on the leather band, which absorbed a lot of the force.”

Dark eyes searched over her whole body then returned to her face. “Are you all right?”

“Pretty much. I have a cut on the shoulder, but it wasn't serious.” She smiled at him. “It was rather bloody, though. Scared the heck out of Clinton and his family when I stumbled into the house. When you arrived with a prisoner, looking even worse and wielding a bloody knife, they were speechless.”

“Smoky—”

“—is fine,” she quickly assured him. “Clinton said the vet patched him up, gave him an IV and antibiotics and declared him ‘a survivor.'” Her voice faltered. “He saved my
life,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “He distracted Roy long enough for me to get away.”

A cold, fierce anger flicked through Clyde's narrowed gaze, reminding her of ancient warrior kings.

“I knew he was a good dog,” he said in a husky tone after a strained moment. His chest rose and fell in a deep breath. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“Until this afternoon. It's for observation. The nurse said it was standard procedure for concussions.”

He nodded. “Is there any coffee?”

“I'll get it.” She smiled and left the room.

 

During the day, a steady stream of visitors came by to check on the injured twosome. When Miles said the incident had made national news that morning, Clyde called his parents to assure them he and Jessica were fine. He told them as much as he remembered, then let Jessica tell her side of the story.

“There was a lovely rose on my pillow,” she told them, indignant about that fact. “I thought—” She stopped upon realizing she couldn't voice exactly what she'd thought. “I should have known he'd left it,” she continued. She told them of the roses left in her New York condo and how that had been the final straw that had driven her from the city to rural Texas.

When she hung up, both Clyde and Miles were staring at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. “What?” she asked.

“You didn't tell us about the roses,” Miles scolded. “You didn't tell us about the petals being cut in half. That definitely indicated a psychotic mind.”

“Just who did you think the rose was from?” Clyde demanded, then winced as pain lanced through his head.

Jessica's expression closed as if a veil had been drawn
across her features. “I really couldn't imagine,” she said in a bland tone.

He knew she was lying. He also knew he had to learn the truth. It was vitally important.

“Well,” Miles said casually, “I'd better get back to the ranch and, uh, take care of things there. Jessica, you have the keys to the station wagon?”

“Yes. Thanks for arranging to bring it here. The doctor said there was no reason I couldn't drive us home this afternoon if Clyde had no problems from the concussion.”

“He has a hard head,” Miles stated, giving his brother a sardonic glance. “A very hard head. Dense, in fact.”

“I think we get the idea,” Clyde said, threatening his triplet with a narrowed glance. He really wanted to be alone with Jessica.

Laughing, Miles left, only to be replaced by Steven and Amy. They were followed by Jessica's sister and mother.

More visitors came after lunch. Clyde relaxed and let Jessica retell the story to each group. With each telling, he relived the fear that drove him up the hill toward the struggling couple. The protective anger rose, making his head pound. He forced himself to stop thinking about it.

However, when they were alone and free of interruption, he had several questions that needed answers. He never got to ask them.

“Hello, is this the room of the great hero, Clyde Fortune?” a feminine voice inquired sweetly.

“Violet!” Jessica said, shock on her face. “How did you get here? You're supposed to be on a ship somewhere.”

“One can leave the ship via helicopter,” Violet explained, “and a credit card with a high limit.”

His sister gave each of them a careful hug. Although her manner was bright and teasing, he could detect worry in the depths of her eyes, which were light blue like Jessica's.

He didn't recall noticing that fact in the past. But then, he hadn't been involved with his sister's best friend, either. He listened as Jessica went over the story yet again. They discussed the adventure the way women usually did, with both talking at once, backtracking to add salient details, asking questions and becoming incredulous or indignant or whatever the moment called for.

It made him smile just to listen to them.

Violet informed them she would act as their driver on the trip back to the ranch. She'd already cleared it with the doctor, who would dismiss him around two that afternoon.

Shortly before that time, Ryan Fortune appeared. He looked each of the patients over in his usual affectionate way. Both Clyde and Jessica assured him that they had suffered no long-lasting injuries.

“I'm relieved to hear it. Have you called your parents to tell them?” he asked them both.

Once they assured him of that, they chatted about Balter and the mind-set of a stalker and why he acted as he did.

“Death is the ultimate possession,” Ryan told them. He pressed his fingers to one temple as if the thought gave him pain, then he smiled at Violet and asked, “Did you enjoy your cruise?”

“Very much.” She told them amusing stories of the voyage and of the souvenirs she'd bought. “I'm going to look very exotic in a sarong and seashell earrings. I thought I might wear the outfit to Steven's wedding, but I'm not sure about shoes. The islanders were all barefoot.”

That brought a laugh and several suggestions for proper footwear for the wedding. They deemed that flowers stuck between her toes would be highly appropriate.

“I'll think about it,” she told them.

“When do you return to New York?” Ryan asked.

A quietness entered her expression. “I'm not sure. I've taken an extended leave to…think about things.”

“Hmm,” the Fortune patriarch said. He checked his watch. “It's time for me to go. Will you walk me out?” he asked Violet.

“Of course.”

Violet waited while Ryan said his farewells to her brother and friend, then she fell into step with him as they walked down the corridor of the busy hospital.

“I have some questions to ask,” he said in a low voice. “There's a garden through here that's usually quiet. Let's go there and talk.”

She nodded and went with him to a bench under a shady arbor. After they sat down, Ryan was silent for a minute.

“This is a professional question,” he began. “I don't want to alarm Lily or the rest of the family.”

She nodded again. Most men didn't want their wives to know they were ill, especially if it might be serious. The women, sensing something was wrong, worried anyway.

“I'm having headaches,” he said.

“Severe?” she asked, at once checking him for symptoms.

He hesitated. “Yes, I'm afraid so. They're becoming more frequent and getting worse. Is there any way you could check it out without, uh, a lot of fuss?”

“Without your family knowing,” she concluded.

“There's no need to worry them.”

“I'd be glad to do it,” she assured him. “When would be a good time?”

“I thought perhaps after the wedding. You could come out to the Double Crown to visit for a few days.”

She mentally consulted the events of the week. “After the wedding I want to stay with Clyde and Jessica for a couple of days. They'll need some TLC while they heal.
How about early next week? I could come over on Monday and stay a few days.”

“That would be great. I appreciate it.”

Her sense of responsibility as a physician made her ask, “Is the pain general or localized on one side?”

He rubbed one temple. “Mostly on this side, but not always.”

“I see. Can you follow my finger with just your eyes? Don't rotate your head.” She raised a finger and slowly moved it to the far right side, then to the far left.

After a couple of simple tests, she said they could do a more extensive medical workup the following week. “Then we can decide where to go from there.”

He thanked her and left to return to his home, while Violet returned to Clyde's room. The doctor was there when she arrived. “Take them home,” he told her. “They're both as tough as nails.”

Thirty minutes later, on the way to the Flying Aces, Violet informed them she would be on hand to take care of them until Monday, then she was going to Ryan's home to visit for a few days.

“I wondered what he wanted to talk to you about,” Jessica murmured from the backseat.

Jessica had good instincts about people, and Violet realized it was going to be hard to keep secrets from her best friend if Ryan was indeed ill.

Headaches could indicate a lot of things, some serious, some not so serious. Until she did a complete physical checkup, she wouldn't know if the elder and much-loved family patriarch had a problem.

Glancing at her brother, sitting silently in the passenger seat, she was grateful his injury wasn't worse.

Maybe, she thought wryly, the hammer blow had knocked some sense into him. He was quieter than ever,
she noticed on the trip home, as if lost in deep, dark thoughts.

At any rate, a good doctor knew when to keep her mouth shut, particularly when she couldn't decide on her own future. The haunting sadness of late settled on her shoulders like an unwelcome blanket.

Meeting Jessica's eyes in the rearview mirror, she managed a smile. Her friend returned it, but her mood was obviously solemn as she gazed out the side window and watched the countryside flow past.

C
lyde waited, as patient as a saint, for dinner to be served and done with. He and Jessica sat in lounge chairs under the patio arbor while Violet and Miles prepared the food on the grill. Steven and Amy brought plates, silverware and napkins from the house and set the table. All were determined to lavish TLC on the invalids, it seemed.

“Is your head hurting?” Jessica asked.

“Not much. Why?”

“You looked…”

He smiled as she obviously sought a kind word. “Like an ogre?” he suggested.

“Uh, sort of.”

Her answering smile caused his heart to jump up and down and generally make a fool of itself.

“Dinner,” Violet called.

Clyde rose, careful not to jar his head with any sudden moves, and held out a hand to Jessica. He led her to the
patio table and placed her beside him. He brushed the hair off her injured shoulder and subdued the impulsive urge to kiss her there.

When they'd left the hospital, Jessica had handled the horde of reporters with an aplomb that spoke of long experience in dealing with the media. She truthfully answered the questions shouted at them, but kept her replies short.

Somehow he and Smoky became the heroes of her tale. It had been damned embarrassing to admit the truth—that he'd only mopped up the operation. Jessica and Smoky had already weakened the stalker by the time he arrived on the scene.

While he found the reporters annoying, the microphones thrust beneath Jessica's nose and the TV lights shining in her eyes didn't faze her at all. Her smiling face and bright blue eyes had been beamed into every household in America on prime-time newscasts, along with his scowl and Violet's calm manner. Some of the newsmen had even managed to get a shot of Smoky lying bandaged and unconscious at the vet's office.

Violet gave Miles some instructions at the grill, then added some spices to the food. His sister hadn't examined him, but Clyde had been aware of her thoughtful gaze checking him out during the afternoon and evening.

He knew there was no brain damage, but heart damage? That was another story.

If Jessica had been hurt…

The thought was so painful, he had to divert his attention elsewhere. “That looks delicious,” he told the cooks when he and Jessica were served helpings of grilled trout with seasoned rice.

He ate and joined in the conversation about the recent excitement. “What happens in the mind of someone like
Balter to make him think he owns another person?” he asked. He glanced at his sister.

She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I wish we knew. Are sociopaths born or made? Are their brains miswired, or is the lack of nurturing the problem?”

“Some of both, I think,” Steven suggested.

Violet nodded. “There are no simple answers.”

Clyde studied Jessica surreptitiously. She ate with her right hand, but moved her shoulder as little as possible due to the knife wound.

He knew he had to stop thinking about her getting killed, but the images of her fighting for her life buzzed around his restless mind like angry bees. When the meal was finally over and the bridal couple left with assurances that he and Jessica would be able to make the wedding, Violet shooed him and Jessica into the house and told them to go to bed.

“I'll bring you some warm milk and cookies later,” she promised with a droll smile.

Upstairs, he pulled on a pair of sweats, then waited until he thought Jessica had had enough time to change.

When he knocked at her door and entered at her invitation, he found he'd timed it right. She was in bed.

She closed the thick biography and laid it on the bedside table before modestly covering her night attire with the sheet. Her questioning glance was friendly but remote.

He sat on the side of the bed and immediately felt the warmth of her body through the layers of material that separated them. She moved over so they didn't touch.

“I have a question,” he began.

She nodded, her lovely face composed and serious.

“When you saw the rose on your pillow, you didn't think of Balter putting it there, did you?”

That she was surprised at the question was obvious.
She hesitated, shook her head and immediately winced as the movement sent pain through her shoulder. He could identify with the feeling.

“I could kill him for that,” he said, fierceness rising in him.

“He's behind bars,” she said softly. “That's where he belongs.”

“And you? Where do you belong?”

Her blue eyes flicked to him, then away. She laughed. “Have I outlasted my welcome? I'm very aware I've brought nothing but trouble with me on this visit. I'll leave tomorrow—”

“No,” he said, taking her left hand and holding it between both of his. “That wasn't what I meant at all. Let's backtrack. What did you think when you saw the rose?”

“The one on my pillow?” Jessica asked, not at all ready to answer the question.

“Yes,” he said with great patience, “the one on your pillow.”

Sensing that he wasn't going to accept an evasive or flippant answer, she admitted, “I thought it could be from you, that it was your way of convincing me we should marry even though—”

She broke off, realizing she hadn't told him the rest of her news.

“What?” he said, sensing her hesitation.

“I haven't had a chance to tell you…” The words were harder to say than she'd thought they would be. She took a deep breath. “There isn't going to be a child.”

“You aren't pregnant?”

She shook her head and felt an echo of sorrow inside, as if she'd lost something precious. “I never was.”

“When did you know?”

“This morning, soon after I woke up. I discussed it with the doctor. He thought I was late due to the stress of Roy
and fleeing the city and having to hide from him. It was probably the relief that the danger was over that triggered everything back to normal, physically.”

“And mentally? Are you okay after the trauma?”

“Yes.” She considered, then nodded firmly. “I really am, although it may take a while for my heart not to pound when I see roses.”

She smiled at Clyde, then stopped when he gazed at her solemnly. His eyes went darker, and she wondered what he was thinking as he simply stared at her.

When he leaned forward slightly, her heart really did start pounding. Uncertainty and increasing tension caused it to skip a couple of beats.

They heard footsteps on the stairs. Clyde sighed and drew back. He smiled at his sister when she entered the room, but Jessica knew there was more he wanted to discuss.

“Here's your bedtime snack, as promised,” she told them, a surprising gentleness in her voice and manner.

Jessica fought the sudden sting of tears. Everyone was being so kind. It rattled her composure. Maybe she wasn't as mentally calm, cool and collected as she thought.

After she and Clyde shared the snack, he left the room with his sister. Glad of a reprieve, Jessica brushed her teeth and went to bed.

She turned out the light, but found the dark disturbing. Flicking the lamp on to its lowest setting, she closed her eyes, sighed as a great weariness descended, and fell into a fretful sleep.

 

Even before Jessica opened her eyes, she knew something was different. Every nerve in her body jerked as she sat up and surveyed the room.

Flowers were everywhere. Roses. Dozens of them. In
vases on all the surfaces. Lying on the bed. In a trail of arrows leading out the door and into the gallery.

One perfect bud, just opening to disclose its pure red heart, was in a vase on the bedside table next to a glass of orange juice. Gingerly, due to her sore and very stiff shoulder, she sipped from the glass and studied the bud, then lifted it from the crystal container.

Not physically afraid, but filled with a wariness she couldn't ignore, she got out of bed and followed the trail of roses. It led to Clyde's door, which was partially open.

Slowly she pushed it back. No one was there, but rose petals covered the bed. She blinked in surprise.

Holding the single bud clutched to her bosom, she inhaled its delicate fragrance as if it were a form of courage and slowly stepped into the room. The door swung closed behind her.

“Oh,” she said on a quickly drawn breath. A thorn pricked her finger. She stared at the drop of blood.

Clyde appeared and lifted her hand to his mouth to gently suck the tiny droplet away. “Sorry. I didn't have time to remove the thorns.”

“You must have picked every rose in the garden.”

He smiled. “Almost. I've been up since dawn.”

“W-why?” She hoped he didn't hear the catch in her voice.

“Because I don't want you to be afraid when you see a rose on your pillow. I want you to think of me. As you did when you saw the other one.”

Her mind was a total blank. She nodded, but she didn't understand anything about what was going on.

He led her to an easy chair. Once she was seated, he sat on the ottoman, their knees touching as he leaned close and took her hands. “I have something to say to you.”

She wasn't sure she would be able to hear, her heart was beating that loud.

After a second of silence, he let out an audible breath. “Man, this is hard. I should have asked Steven for advice.”

“Steven?” she said.

“Forget it. Flowers are supposed to have messages. Do you understand what I'm telling you?” He peered intently at her as he gestured at the flower she held.

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“You're not going to cut me any slack here, are you?”

“Uh, I don't think so.” She needed words and vows, then maybe a lot of kisses and hugs before she accepted what his eyes were saying.

“I want the marriage,” he said. “I want the kids. Most of all, I want you…for my wife, for my life's companion.” He paused, then added, “For my love.”

Her mind went hazy. She could only stare at him.

He cupped her face between his hands and delved into her eyes with his intense stare. “When I realized you were in danger…when you were running for your life and that madman was coming after you, and I could hardly get my legs to carry me, I realized how hollow my life would be without you in it. If you were killed…I never want to live through that again. I don't want to live without you.”

She heard the individual words, but it took a moment for their meaning to come clear.

“I love you,” he said. “I need the words from you. If you feel the same,” he ended, sounding almost humble.

A brilliant light flooded her soul, illuminating all the longings of her wildly beating heart. When she opened her mouth, the words came out effortlessly, as if they'd been there all the time, waiting for their chance. “I love you,” she whispered. “So much, so very, very much.”

He lifted her onto his lap and folded her ever so carefully against his chest. “I wish I'd realized all this before you were nearly killed.”

Happiness bubbled up in her. “But think what an exciting story we'll have to tell our children.” She narrowed her eyes as if peering into some strange nether world. “It was a dark and stormy night—”

“There was a sliver of moonlight,” he said in his serious way, “and we didn't have a storm.”

“Who's telling this story?” she demanded, struggling to hold in laughter.

He gave her a sexy perusal. “Cut to the ending—the part where they kiss and live happily ever after. Like this.”

When his lips touched hers, she was ready for him. She gave back passion for passion, caress for caress, kiss for kiss. Until they were breathless. Until they didn't need air, but only each other.

Finally he groaned and pulled back. “I can't make love to you,” he complained. “My head is pounding like someone took a sledgehammer to it.”

“Actually, it was a ballpeen hammer,” she corrected in the sweetest tones. “I fell over it at the bottom of the stairs. I should have picked it up and whacked Roy on the head. Only I didn't think of it at the time.”

Clyde pulled her to her feet. “Let's go tell Miles and Violet. We'll surprise them. Well, maybe not.” He chuckled and tucked her against his side as they went down the steps to tell the world they were getting married.

 

Friday dawned with a crispness in the air that hinted at cooler months to come.

Jessica yawned, then lifted the one tiny rosebud on the pillow next to her and sniffed its dewy aroma. She was alone in the bed in the guest suite of the Flying Aces Ranch.

It was the last time she would be there as a guest.

Today was Steven and Amy's wedding day. It was also hers and Clyde's. When the other couple learned of their
plans to marry as soon as possible, they had insisted on sharing the ceremony. Yesterday had been spent in planning the big surprise for their collective parents, family members and friends, arranging the marriage license and asking the pastor of the church in Red Rock to perform the second ceremony for her and Clyde.

Her soon-to-be husband.

She pressed a hand to her chest. So much happiness coming on the heels of so much terror might prove too much for her overactive heart.

Hearing voices downstairs, she hurriedly rose and dressed and went to join her beloved and her best friend for breakfast.

Later, Violet and Leslie helped her dress in her mother's wedding gown. Since Jessica was taller than anyone in her family, the dress was ballerina length on her and a little loose up top. Leslie, used to dealing with bridal problems, produced two bra inserts.

Jessica commented on Clyde's likely surprise at her sudden endowment. “He once said that along with my Texas twang, I was skinny enough to be a guitar string.”

“No, no,” Violet declared. “That was one of the cowboys from the Double Crown. I had a terrible crush on him until then. His comment made me so mad, I wouldn't speak to him after that. Poor guy, he never knew what he did wrong.”