Authors: Stacey Coverstone
“What’s wrong with you?” Joe hissed, shooting him a confounded look.
“Bad nerves. I have to take a piss.”
“Tough shit. Hold it. She’s getting out now. Get ready to run.” The two rose from their squatting positions, careful not to make any noise.
“Wait a minute. She’s getting out of the passenger side,” Joe whispered. “Who the hell’s driving the truck?” When Wyatt stepped out of the driver’s side, Joe let loose some swear words that would have made a sailor blush. “What the hell is that old dog doing with her? She was supposed to come alone.”
“Mr. Stillwell said Wyatt Brannigan’s sticking his nose into her business,” Cimarron replied, his leg jumping.
“Dammit! We can’t take both of them.”
“Mr. Stillwell’s not going to be happy if we come back empty handed,” Cimarron said.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Joe jerked off his hat and scratched his head. “Looks like we move to Plan B.”
“Does that mean I can take a whiz now?” Cimarron whined. Joe gave him a baleful glower.
Jordan and Wyatt walked through the tall meadow grass with their hands shading their eyes from the blistering sun.
“I don’t see a horse anywhere,” she said, glancing around. “I’m confused. The caller said the gelding was so weak he couldn’t walk. He said the horse was near the road. Do you think we’re in the right place?”
“We’re in the right place,” Wyatt said evenly. He had a bad feeling.
Jordan chattered on. “Maybe the horse died already. Let’s go deeper into the field to see if he’s lying hidden in the grass.” She took one step forward and he grabbed her arm.
“Don’t move,” he whispered.
“What’s wrong? What do you hear?” She followed his gaze into the thicket of trees. “Brannigan? Do you see the horse?”
“Shhhh.” His voice dropped even lower. “I don’t think there’s a horse, Jordan.” He tugged at her arm gently. “I believe you’ve been duped. Go back to the truck.”
“What?” She stared at him, obviously perplexed.
“Get in the truck,” he commanded urgently. “This is a trick.” He shoved her to get her moving. She swung her gaze around again, this time with wide eyes, but she obeyed his order. Together they sprinted through the grass back to the road. By the time they jumped into the pickup, they were both out of breath. Wyatt stuck the key in the ignition and turned. It whined. This was the first time his truck had not started.
“Dammit,” he mumbled, as he cranked it again. Normally he didn’t curse in front of women, but this time it slipped out without him thinking. Sensing Jordan was in danger, it was either fight or flee. Seeing how he didn’t want her to get hurt, fleeing seemed the best option, even though he wasn’t sure who the enemy was. He turned the key again. Just then he heard a pop. Something hard smashed into the passenger door. Jordan screamed and slid down in the seat. Wyatt wrenched his head toward the stand of trees. Another crack exploded. He saw a silver flash in the trees. The slug hit the truck bed with a sickening thud. Jordan screamed again.
“What’s happening?”
“Those are bullets. Get down!” He pushed her to the floor bed and cranked the key once more. This time the ignition caught and he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. Jordan stayed huddled on the floor. He could see her shaking like a leaf as he gunned the truck. It lurched forward, and they sped down the road as bullets ricocheted off the back bumper.
~ * ~
Some time later, Campbell and Cruz stood in the grand foyer of Addison Stillwell’s mansion. They had just given him the bad news about the botched kidnapping attempt. They didn’t even have the good grace to appear concerned. Didn’t they realize what this meant? If they’d been identified… Stillwell slammed a fist into his pudgy open palm. At the moment, he wasn’t certain what infuriated him more—ineptitude or stupidity.
“We scared ‘em, anyway, boss,” Cimarron boasted. “We shot at ‘em. You should have seen them peel out of there!” The imbecile laughed like an idiot child. Addison backhanded Cruz before he knew what had hit him.
Cimarron touched his cheek and winced. “Ow. What’d you do that for?” His face immediately began to swell. A trickle of blood dripped from a slice on his cheek caused by Addison’s large gold ring.
“Because you’re an idiot,” Stillwell spat. “You have no idea what kind of trouble you’ve caused if Wyatt Brannigan can identify you. And you…” He turned his fury toward Campbell.
“You’re the lead man in this operation. What’s your excuse for not bringing her to me the way we planned?” Addison knew Joe Campbell’s heart was as hard and cold as the Wyoming prairie in winter. He didn’t even flinch when barked at. “Answer me! Why did you utterly and totally fail today?”
“We’ll take care of the situation tonight,” Joe finally answered, unblinking.
Stillwell snarled. “You’d better, or you two will find yourselves at the reckoning end of a horse whip.”
He turned on his heel and waddled up the marble staircase, but hadn’t gotten far when he heard Joe grumble, “We’ll see who’s doing the reckoning.”
Addison jerked his head around. His steely gaze locked on the two men standing at the bottom of the stairs. His voice was full of grit when he said, “I heard that.”
Chapter Sixteen
Wyatt hauled ass all the way from Bent, straight back to the Circle B, while keeping a steady eye in his rearview the whole time. To his relief, no one followed them. When the shots had started and he’d pushed Jordan to the floorboard, he’d reached under the seat and placed his hand on his .45. Before leaving the house that morning, he’d stashed it in the truck at the last minute, just in case. For some unexplainable reason, he’d woken with a bad feeling. Something about the call to Jordan hadn’t set right with him. Most people who’d contacted Lydia about a horse needing rescued had no qualms with giving their names. There was no reason to remain anonymous. His intuition had never let him down before, and it hadn’t this time either.
Jordan’s body visibly shook as he led her into the house. Tag greeted them in the kitchen with a wagging tail, begging for attention. She bent and hugged his neck, breathing in his doggie scent.
“Hey Tag, how are you boy? You haven’t been over to see me lately.”
Wyatt figured she was trying to calm herself down by making small talk with the canine.
“Sit,” he commanded the dog. Tag sat and Wyatt fished a small biscuit out of a canister on the counter and tossed it into the air. Tag caught it in his mouth with expertise. Wyatt smiled and took a pitcher of tea out of the fridge and poured two glasses. Then he escorted Jordan into the living room.
“You’re sure it was Stillwell’s men, aren’t you?” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
She sunk down on one end of the sofa. He settled into the other end. Distractedly, she sipped at the drink and seemed on the verge of tears. Who could blame her? She’d had nothing but trouble since the day she’d arrived in Tulie.
“I don’t understand why that man is so determined to take my ranch from me. Could there be more to it than him simply acting on the advice of an Indian psychic?”
“It’s hard to figure that man out,” Wyatt replied. “When he wants something, he won’t back down until he gets it. He has to control everything and everyone around him. I guess you could say he has some issues. I’ll bet he got picked on when he was a little kid.”
A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “Yeah. He was probably chosen last every time a game of kickball started up in school.”
Wyatt’s face sobered again. “Jordan, we both know Lydia was a master at keeping secrets. Do you think the Lucky Seven is sitting on a hidden treasure, like oil or gold?” Her eyes widened and he could hardly keep from chuckling.
“I never thought of that! Do you think?”
He was only teasing to help her to relax. When she realized he was kidding, she scooted closer and slapped his hand playfully. Rubbing his chin in thought, he said, “I was hoping my visit would stop, or at least curtail the threats against you.”
Her jaw dropped. “What was that?”
“Uh-oh. Did I just say that out loud?”
“Yes. You did. Would you care to explain that comment?”
“Well… you see… I went to Stillwell and told him to lay off. That was it. I was just trying to help.”
She shook her head. “Is that how you got the split lip?”
“Sort of.” He sure hated admitting that to her. He’d been in plenty of fights as a younger man and hadn’t minded the battle scars. But getting beat this time had been humiliating.
“I guess you weren’t too convincing,” she said.
His answer was honest. “Guess not. I got my butt kicked, if you want to know the truth.”
She tenderly stroked his clean-shaven cheek. Her touch was soft and warm. Gazing at him through passion-clouded eyes, she whispered, “No man has ever taken a butt-kicking for me.” Her finger drifted over his chin and down his neck. Behind her eyes smoldered a woman who awakened the hunger inside him. Her touch was like a trigger. In a heartbeat, he pulled her into his lap and slid his hand under her bottom. They were so close he could hear her heart pounding beneath her tank top. She held her breath as he traced the outline of her face with his finger. Looking deeply into her eyes, he could see his reflection in her sparkling pools.
“Jordan?”
“Yes?”
“I’m a patient man by nature, but I’ve waited long enough.” He covered her lips with his, gentle at first, and then more demanding as she met his passion. The sweet taste of her tongue and the insistent press of her soft breasts ignited a firestorm that incinerated everything but his need.
His fingers tangled themselves in her long hair. When their mouths finally parted and she took a breath, he planted tiny kisses all over her neck. As he brushed his lips across her bare shoulder, she moaned and shuddered. His lips returned to hers, and he slid his hand under her tank top. Jordan gasped softly, arched her back, and plowed her fingers through his hair. His hand moved over her body like a blind man reading Braille. Blood afire, he wanted to burn his brand into her skin. She was his woman, and it was time she knew it.
Wyatt’s body thundered with the biological urge to be one with her. With deft fingers, he unbuckled her belt and fumbled with the clasp on her jeans. When he finally got it unsnapped, he grasped the hem of her tank top. It was over her head and off in a second. With the expertise of a man who’d done it far more than he actually had, Wyatt unhooked her bra from the back.
Her breathing was raspy, as was his. She looked directly into his eyes when he tossed the bra onto the floor. Then he gazed upon her naked upper body and smiled. She fell back against a sofa cushion and pulled him close. When she began unbuttoning his shirt, he moaned with pleasure. Never had he felt so potent; so stimulated with desire. Never had he wanted a woman more than he wanted this woman.
Wyatt was fumbling to remove his own belt when a loud rap sounded on the door. Tag, who apparently had been quietly watching them, scampered to the front of the house and barked. Wyatt groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Who the hell could that be?”
The urgent knocking sounded again, this time louder. He was an inch from Jordan’s face. Her tongue moved over her bottom lip in a gesture so innocent but so sensual, so exquisitely erotic that he could barely contain himself. Trying to ignore the intrusion, he claimed her lips again. When the pounding came a third time, she broke the kiss and wiggled from beneath him.
“I guess you’d better get that. I don’t think they’re going away.”
His temper sparked. Grumbling, he rolled off her, zipped up his jeans and buckled up. Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss-to-go and then exited the room to answer the door. When he returned to the living room a few minutes later, he noticed her tank top and belt were back on and she was pulling her hair into a ponytail. Sighing, he looked at the overnight shipping container in his hand.
“What’s that?” she asked, nonchalantly.
“Semen.” The expression on her face would have been enough to make him laugh if he’d had a sense of humor right then. As it was, he hurt from the ache in his groin and was annoyed at being interrupted from a lovemaking session that was sure to have been more incredible than fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“You’re kidding, right?” She stood up and followed his heavy footfalls to the kitchen.
“Unfortunately, no. I don’t know how I could have forgotten this was coming today.” He removed the specimen from the insulated container and shoved it into the fridge. “I haven’t been thinking straight since we met,” he admitted. He cupped her face in his hands and touched his lips to hers once more. “It’s stallion semen. I have to inseminate my mare.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, I’m not.”
“When do you have to…to…?” Seemed she couldn’t say the word.
“Soon. Within the next hour. There’s a short window of opportunity.” He took her into his arms and felt her lungs expand and deflate. “I’m sorry, honey. I totally forgot.” He placed his hand on her bottom. “We still have an hour or so…” His voice trailed off, hopeful there might still be a chance, but not wanting to push it.
She eased out of his embrace and shook her head. Color flooded her face. Seemed she was embarrassed all of a sudden. He didn’t want to make her any more uncomfortable.
“I understand,” he said. Damn horse semen had sucked the romance right out of their moment. Wyatt was disappointed, but resigned to the way it was. “Do you want to watch me do the insemination?” he asked. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.
Jordan waved him off with a chuckle. “No. I think I’ll pass on that one. But thanks for asking.”
His heart ricocheted in his chest like a pinball. The last thing he wanted was for her to go, but she gazed around the room looking like a deer ready to sprint.
“Should I take you home then?”
“Yeah, I think it would be best.”
Wyatt drove her home with awkward silence lodged between them. Behind the barn, he unhitched the trailer and then walked her to the house. Cole’s truck was gone and the sidewalk had been poured.