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Wild Stallion
Delores Fossen
About the Author
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain DELORES FOSSEN feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
Wild Stallion
Delores Fossen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Prologue
San Antonio Maternity Hospital
“Shhh,” Bailey Hodges heard someone say. “If they find you, they’ll kill you.”
Bailey tried to open her eyes to see who had just spoken that warning, but her eyes didn’t cooperate. Neither did the rest of her. Everything felt thick and sludgy.
“Who are you?” Bailey managed to mumble. But someone quickly clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t let them hear you,” the person whispered. It was a woman. But why had she said that? “If they find you, they’ll kill you.”
Bailey heard someone else call out her name. Not a woman this time, and the person sounded angry. Or something.
What was going on?
She was in the San Antonio Maternity Hospital. There shouldn’t be anyone shouting for her. She shouldn’t be in danger.
Bailey forced herself to think. It wasn’t easy. She’d just come from surgery where she’d had a C-section because her baby had been breech. The doctor had tried to give her an epidural, but when it hadn’t taken effect, she’d been given a general anesthetic instead. It had knocked her out completely.
“My baby!” Bailey tried to say, but the hand stayed clamped over her mouth.
Bailey struggled as much as she could, but her arms and legs wouldn’t cooperate.
“Your son is safe,” the woman said.
“Son,” Bailey mumbled. She had a boy.
“Stay quiet,” the woman warned. “They’re close to us now.”
Bailey didn’t know who “they” were, but the man calling out her name was indeed nearby. He sounded right outside the door. Oh, God. Was he really going to try to kill her? If so, she couldn’t fight back. But she had to do something to protect her baby.
“I have to leave,” the woman said. “It’s the only way I can keep your baby safe. Do you understand?”
“No.” Bailey didn’t understand. “What’s happening?”
“Gunmen have taken the entire ward hostage. If I don’t get out now, they’ll find the baby. They might hurt him to get to you. Hush, or you’ll get us all killed.”
Bailey shook her head and managed to force her eyes open. She still couldn’t see clearly. Everything was swimming in and out of focus, and she could barely make out the woman, or rather, her outline. But Bailey couldn’t see her face.
She heard the sound then. Not the man yelling for her. Not the woman. It was a kitten-like cry, and she instinctively knew it belonged to her baby.
“My son,” Bailey mumbled.
The woman slid her hand away from Bailey’s mouth and hurried toward the door. She didn’t tell Bailey where she was going, but Bailey could see that the woman had something in her arms.
A baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
The woman ducked into the hall and disappeared.
Bailey tried to scream, to tell her to bring back her son. But she remembered the warning.
“Hush, or you’ll get us all killed.”
That robbed her of what little breath she had, and she felt the tears burn as they slid down her cheeks. She was helpless. Too weak to move. Too drugged to do anything to stop this nightmare.
Bailey had no choice. Her eyelids drifted down, and the darkness took over.
Chapter One
Four Months Later:
The Malone Estate, Copper Creek, Texas
Jackson Malone watched the woman from the surveillance monitor on his desk. She was either the most inept Christmas tree decorator in the state, or else …
Jackson didn’t want to go there yet.
By nature, he wasn’t a trusting man, and now that he had become a father his distrust was stronger than ever. That probably had something to do with the threat he’d received just that morning.
He glanced at the letter, the warning spelled out in letters cut from magazines.
“Jackson Malone, I won’t forgive and forget. Watch your back.”
It was the third one he’d received in the past month. No name. No postmark. The others had been placed on his car windshield, but not this one. This particular letter had been left on the sidewalk outside his downtown San Antonio office building. It’d been a blind spot for security cameras, so there was no footage of the person who had left it for the night watchman to find, but Jackson had some ideas. After Christmas, he’d deal with it.
Or maybe sooner.
His attention went back to the surveillance monitor and the inept tree decorator. The leggy brunette was still trying to untangle some Christmas lights, a task she’d been at for the better part of an hour. She was perched on the lower rung of a ladder next to the ten-foot-tall blue spruce. She had a wad of lights in her hands, but her attention was everywhere but on the task she’d been hired to do. Unlike the others who had accompanied her.
On the split screen, Jackson could see there was a crew on the grounds, decorating the trees and shrubs of his country estate. Another woman was in the great room arranging greenery and crystal angels around the massive stone fireplace. Another pair was on the porch dealing with the door and white marble columns.
So who was this woman on the ladder?
And was she doing surveillance for a robbery, or God knows what else?
He looked through the names of the work crew that his groundskeeper had provided. Her name was either Marita Hernandez or Ann Reeves. Since she wasn’t Hispanic, he was betting she was the latter.
Jackson grabbed the phone from his desk and called Evan Young, his business manager. It was three days before Christmas, and Malone Investments was closed for a two-week holiday break, but as Jackson expected, Evan was in his office because he gave new meaning to the word workaholic.
Jackson had once given Evan a run for his money in the hours-at-work department, but since his son, Caden, had come into his life, Jackson had cut way back, not just on the hours, but on his commitment to the job. These days no one could accuse him of being married to his company.
“Evan,” Jackson greeted, and even though he was eager to get down to business, he paused and waited for Evan, just in case the man wanted to mention the significance of this particular date.
“No need to call and check up on me,” Evan stated. His voice was void of any emotion. “I’m doing fine.”
Jackson doubted that was anywhere near the truth. It was the six-month anniversary of Sybil Barnwell’s death. She was Evan’s fiancée. Evan might be cold-blooded in business, but Jackson knew that the couple had been in love, and even though Evan had refused to take much time off, he’d been devastated by Sybil’s death.
And Jackson suspected that, deep down, Evan blamed him for what had happened. Hell, Jackson blamed himself.
“I have a possible problem,” Jackson explained. Best to get right onto the business at hand, rather than dive back into those memories of Sybil’s death. “Tap into the security feed here at the estate and zoom in on the Christmas tree decorator in the foyer. That’s camera eight. Have security run the facial recognition program. I want to know who she really is.”
“You think she’s connected to the threatening letter left for you this morning?” Evan asked.
“Could be.” And that’s what he intended to find out.
Jackson ended the call, got up from his desk and headed to the foyer. It was nearly two p.m., which meant Caden would be up from his nap in a half hour or so. Waking time was Jackson’s favorite part of the day, and he wanted this possible situation with the decorator resolved by then.
He went through the maze of corridors and smiled when he thought of Caden again. In another two years or so, his little boy would no doubt be riding a kiddy tricycle around the mansion on these now pristine hardwood floors. He’d be laughing, making noise, and Jackson couldn’t wait.
There’d been a dark cloud over this place for too long.
Jackson kept his footsteps light, and paused at the top of the stairs so he could look down at the decorator and observe her in the flesh. She had finally made it to the point where she was actually stringing lights, but her gaze was still firing all around.
She wore jeans and a gray turtleneck sweater. Both nondescript. She definitely wouldn’t stand out in those clothes. He could say the same for her short, light-brown hair and her lack of makeup.
“Looking for something?” he asked, his voice echoing through the foyer.
She gasped, obviously startled, and nearly fell off the ladder. Jackson started down the stairs in case he had to pick her up off the floor, but she managed to keep her balance, even though she dropped the lights. Some of the bulbs shattered when they smacked against the glossy marble, and bits of colored glass scattered everywhere.
“I’m, uh, decorating, of course,” she said, sparing him a glance. She got off the ladder and onto her hands and knees to gather up the glass bits. “You scared me. I thought you’d be at work.”
“I’m working at home today,” he volunteered. In fact, he’d been in a business meeting with a client when the decorating crew arrived. It was the reason he was still wearing a suit.
Jackson walked across the foyer toward her, and glanced up at the security camera tucked in the corner behind a sconce. Evan was no doubt watching them, and probably trying to get a good shot of the woman’s face so he could process it through the facial recognition program.
“Leave the glass,” Jackson instructed, so she would stand. It’d give Evan a better angle of her face. “The housekeeper will take care of it.”
But the woman shook her head and stayed down, and she didn’t look at him when she spoke. “My boss would fire me if I didn’t clean up after myself. Besides, we wouldn’t want to have the floor messy when you bring your baby boy in to see the tree for the first time.”
Everything inside Jackson went still.
Maybe it was the latest threatening letter, or maybe this was just his paternal instincts yelling out for him to keep Caden safe. Either way, he wanted to know who the hell this woman was.
“Who said I’d be bringing down my son to see the tree?” he challenged.
Her hand froze over a bit of broken glass, and Jackson saw her fingers trembling. That was his cue to reach down, catch onto her arm and haul her to her feet. Her expression froze, caught somewhere between shock and fear.
“I asked you a question,” he reminded her.
He put his fingers beneath her chin and lifted it to force eye contact. Finally, here was something that wasn’t nondescript. Her eyes were a cool ocean blue. Definitely memorable.
And disturbing.
Jackson didn’t exactly step back, but he didn’t approve of the way she or her eyes made him feel. There was that hit of attraction, something he didn’t intend to feel when it came to her or any other woman he distrusted.
She tried to shrug. “It’s in all the newspapers that you’re in the final stages of adopting a baby.”
“I am.” And he left it at that.
“He’s four months old, I heard. The right age for really noticing the lights and decorations. Since this is his first Christmas, I just figured you’d bring him down to see the tree as soon as we were done.”
That was the plan. But it wouldn’t happen with this woman around.
She stepped out of his grip, turned away from him and discarded the bits of glass into a trash bag hung alongside a box of ornaments. “I hope this doesn’t sound too personal, but what made you choose adoption?”
Oh, this conversation seemed well beyond personal. “Let’s just say I recently had a life-altering experience, and it put things in perspective.”
“Yes,” she agreed, as if she knew exactly what he meant. “You survived a plane crash about six months ago. I read about that, too.”
“You read a lot about me.” Though he knew his survival had been a front page story in all the state’s newspapers.
He’d been the only survivor among the eight people who’d been on his private jet when it had to make a crash landing. Evan’s own fiancée, Sybil, who was one of Jackson’s attorneys, had been killed. So had two of his department CEOs and other employees. They were all on that plane because he had insisted they accompany him to a hostile takeover meeting in Dallas. Jackson, on the other hand, had literally walked away, but he’d walked away a changed man.
A lot of lives had changed that day.
“I need to get something out of the work van,” the woman mumbled.
Jackson didn’t intend to let her get away that easily. He caught onto her arm again. “Who are you?”
“Ann Reeves,” she quickly supplied. Again, she broke his grip.
He stepped in front of her and blocked her path. “Ann Reeves?” he repeated. “Why were you looking around the place as if you planned to steal something?”
Her eyes widened. She shook her head. A thin breath left her mouth. “I would never take anything that wasn’t mine. Never.”
Jackson expected her to break the eye contact, to try to move away from him again, but she didn’t. She held her ground and stared at him. “Can you say the same?” she asked.
Now that was a question he hadn’t expected. “Would I take something that wasn’t mine?” he clarified. “It depends.”
She blinked, her memorable blue eyes narrowing. “You know what I’m talking about.”
No. He didn’t. Nor was he sure why he’d given her that “it depends” answer. The old Jackson would have said that. And in the past he would have meant it. There’d been a time in his life when he would have acquired property, or whatever he wanted, not through illegal means exactly, but he hadn’t been above stooping to down-and-dirty business tactics.
That was before Caden.
Before he’d held his son and had his world and his heart turned upside down.
