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Well, when he put it like that she could admit the initial pull was becoming a stronger magnet. Walk away and she might never know what Mike Butler wanted to tell her before he died. Curiosity was growing the more she thought about it and a big exclusive could be huge for her career right now. She could prove to her boss that he’d made a good move in promoting her.
“Fine. I’ll talk to my boss,” she finally said, knowing full well she could get the time off.
“I’ll email the details of your stay.” The lawyer sounded pleased and a little bit relieved.
“I’ll make my own arrangements.” She’d learned a long time ago not to put herself in the hands of a source. And that was just how she’d treat this out-of-the-blue request, like any other news story she was covering.
“Be advised that you’ll need to take off several days. I’d suggest a minimum of three,” he said.
Wasn’t that cryptic? She thanked him and ended the call, figuring she would take it one day at a time. Pretty much her new mantra, she thought.
For the rest of the workday, her thoughts kept circling back to Owen. Not even a hot cup of coffee could thaw the icy chill that crept into her bones when thinking about him. Nor could she shake the feeling of being watched as she walked to her vehicle after work—a feeling that was becoming a little too familiar. Madelyn had always been able to trust her instincts. Until recently. Until Owen. He’d knocked her off balance and she was still trying to regain her footing.
This, too, shall pass. The saying that had gotten her through so many sad or frightened nights as a child provided no comfort.
By six thirty the next morning, Madelyn had eaten breakfast, picked up her convertible from the shop and was on the road. She wanted to get out of Houston before traffic was too bad. The call still had her scratching her head and her imagination running wild. Dozens of scenarios had zinged through her mind when she should’ve been sleeping. But then, sleep had been as realistic as a unicorn sighting since Owen had made those threats. He’d been stalking her, too, and that had her scanning faces wherever she went, expecting him to pop up at the grocery store, gas station and every other place she visited.
Her thoughts returned to the call from Ed Staples. The lawyer had said this was personal but that wasn’t exactly a new tactic to get a reporter’s attention. It ensured she’d agree to the meeting without asking too many questions. Her mind ran around the same hamster wheel.
Even though she was a reporter, she didn’t work the crime beat. Furthermore, she worked in Houston, not Cattle Barge, although Mike Butler’s money seemed to reach all parts of Texas.
Did the lawyer want to leak information to her? Or was this truly personal as he’d suggested? She searched her thoughts and couldn’t think of one logical reason she’d plan to stay on for a few days. What could be so important? Why her? Those and other questions that had kept her awake when she should’ve been sleeping had her yawning as she maneuvered onto the highway. Possibilities churned through her mind.
She tapped her fingers on her steering wheel, keeping time with the music on the radio. There was another good reason to get out of Houston. His name was Owen Lockwood. Dating him had been a mistake. He came from Houston oil money, family money, which she had promised herself she wouldn’t hold against him when they first met. He’d been charming and polite on those first couple of dates. And then work had gotten even busier leading up to her promotion. Before she really processed their relationship, he was bringing her six-month anniversary flowers.
When he wanted to celebrate their milestone, all she could think about was how she’d lost six months of her life to nonstop work.
Owen had planned out an elaborate date and said he wanted to talk about their future. A future? She’d almost laughed at him until she realized he was serious. Working fourteen-hour days, she barely had time to shower. The last thing she needed was the complication of a real relationship. And, face it, her time with Owen had been winding down anyway. He’d started to become possessive when they were out to dinner and another man smiled at her or looked her way.
When she’d asked why they needed to do more than enjoy each other’s company, he’d blown up. His reaction seemed over-the-top. She’d told him as much. That was when everything started heading south.
Madelyn gripped the wheel tighter with her left hand and brought her right to her mother’s dragonfly necklace. A migraine threatened and that reminded her even more of those last few weeks with her ex. He’d been the one to point out that she’d been getting them more and more frequently as their relationship had progressed. He’d insisted that she’d been spending too much time at work and insinuated she wanted to be with her coworker Aiden Creed. Owen had demanded that she spend all of her time off with him. And then he’d dropped the bomb that he’d been following her.
They’d fought. She’d told him it was over and he’d come unhinged. A man like Owen was used to getting what he wanted. He didn’t take the breakup news well.
She’d filed a report when he broke her bedroom window. Another when he’d spray-painted the word skank across the hood of her new convertible. She’d saved an entire year for the down payment on her blue two-door sedan. Nothing had been handed to Madelyn and that was okay by her. She’d learned how to do things for herself at an early age.
It wasn’t until she’d filed the police report against Owen last week that she found out about his past. The officer who’d taken the report looked her in the eye and asked if she was wasting his time. It turned out that similar charges had been filed and then dropped before anyone set foot in court.
Madelyn had been indignant and the implication that she’d cave under pressure fueled her determination even more. Owen wasn’t getting away with his antics this time. She had every intention of standing up for herself and the other women who couldn’t do it for themselves, for future women who would encounter the man.
Anger burned through her as she flexed her fingers around the wheel. Her grip intensified. When she really thought about it, spending a couple of days several hundred miles away sounded like enough time to let Owen cool off and get a grip. His bad deeds had been intensifying lately.
Besides, she really was curious about why she’d be summoned to the home of Maverick Mike. Maybe he’d read one of her pieces and wanted to set the record straight about his personal life. Stranger things had happened.
Madelyn kept her eyes on the stretch of road in front of her, ignoring the tingles of excitement that always came with working on something big—and this had to be huge. Everything involving that man was immense. Traffic had slowed to a crawl and she couldn’t see what was up ahead holding everyone up.
On this expanse of highway, she was beginning to see why everyone believed the whole state was nothing but oil derricks and tumbleweeds. The only oil derricks she’d ever seen in the city were on cocktail napkins. And, to be fair, she’d only seen a handful of tumbleweeds on the road so far. The closer she came to her destination the landscape began to change and she noticed there were more cows than she’d ever seen in one place. But then, Madelyn rarely left the city willingly. And she was going to a cattle ranch, she reminded herself. There’d be livestock.
Traffic had finally opened up on the 248-mile stretch southwest on a drive that had crawled out of Houston despite leaving early.
Her job had netted more than a few interesting assignments over the years but this request topped the list, literally coming out of left field. For one, she hadn’t been working on a story that involved cattle, ranching or dead maverick billionaires. In fact, she’d had no association with the senior Butler although she might be one of the few women in Texas who hadn’t, she thought as she rolled her eyes. What could she say? The man had a reputation.
Speaking of which, Butler’s lawyer hadn’t given her anything to work with, either. The man who’d identified himself as Ed Staples had kept the call short and sweet, promising her the message he needed to deliver would be worth the trip to Cattle Barge. Not even her editor, Harlan Jasper, could get answers. He’d made a few phone calls to see if he could dig anything up and had gotten zero. He’d thrown his hands in the air, pulled her off her current assignment, a piece on the real story behind the new districtwide alcohol-free campaign being implemented at local high schools, and had told her to make a story out of whatever information came out of the meeting. Even in death Maverick Mike Butler was news. Or maybe she should say especially in death. His demise had already created a media circus.
Leave it to a man with a big reputation to go out with fireworks, she thought. And even though her relationship with her own father was strained—well, that was probably a generous way to put it since she hadn’t spoken to him in three weeks—she appreciated the fact that she knew what she was getting into with him. He lived in the same bungalow-style house she’d grown up in on the outskirts of Houston. He mowed the lawn at eight thirty every Sunday morning—no matter how many times the neighbors had begged him to push back the time even a half hour later. And he’d never remarried after losing her mother shortly after childbirth to negligent hospital practices, although he had dated the same woman for twenty-six years since. He was as reliable as fall football in Texas. And just to prove it, he still hadn’t called her back. Her father phoned on the first day of every month, and any news—no matter how important to her—could wait until their monthly phone call, in his opinion.
Even though she desperately wanted to share her good news, her father didn’t operate on the same excitement scale as her. There’d been more than work news. A few days before her promotion, her former high school swimming coach had called to say that she was being inducted into the school’s hall of fame. Thanks to generous alumni donations, the school was getting a new wing. They wanted her to bring her family to the celebration. She’d almost choked on her mouthful of coffee. Even though she’d called her father right away, she was still waiting for a response. She seriously doubted he would change his schedule. He didn’t like to upset his routine.
Madelyn wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to ask him to go with her to the high school event. Maybe it was because he was getting older and she saw less and less time to repair their relationship. And she could never exactly pinpoint how it became broken in the first place. Her father loved her in his own way. She’d never doubted that. Her friend Aiden thought it was because Madelyn resembled her mother a little too much. She glanced into the rearview for a quick second. Did she remind him of what he’d lost?
Exiting the highway, she decided to table the thought. She pulled into the parking lot of a small motel. She was roughly two towns over from Cattle Barge.
Madelyn desperately needed a place to cool off and regroup before the meeting with Ed Staples. It was hot. A drive that should’ve taken four hours had spread to a hard six and she still hadn’t reached her final destination yet. She could already tell that the media circus surrounding the death of Maverick Mike had brought in news outlets from around the country. Traffic had thickened the closer she got to the small town.
Even though it was a very real possibility that Madelyn might be turning around and going right back home tonight, she’d learned a long time ago it was best to grab a room when she had the feeling a big story was about to break, and this one, two towns over, was the only one available.
All these reporters swarming couldn’t be wrong.
Where there was smoke, there usually was fire. And she was curious just how big this blaze was going to get.
Chapter Two (#u1f4930c9-76d0-5877-b243-c81d3d9dd81d)
The motel room was sparse but had everything Madelyn needed—clean sheets, a decent Wi-Fi connection and a soft bed. She set her overnight bag down, walked into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. There were eight missed calls on her cell with no indication of a return call from her father. She shouldn’t be surprised but it was impossible not to be disappointed.
There were, however, repeated messages from her ex-boyfriend’s lawyer. What was it all of a sudden with her and lawyers? As for Owen’s attorney, no amount of calling or pleas would stop her. She had every intention of following through on the charges she’d filed. The next time she saw Owen Lockwood he’d better be explaining himself to a judge. And apologizing to her and every other woman he’d tried to manipulate and bully. She looked at her hands and realized that she’d been clenching her fists thinking about him.
Madelyn dried her face on the white hand towel before heading back outside and into gnarled traffic.
According to her GPS, she’d be arriving at her destination in thirty-seven minutes. A glance at the line of slow-moving vehicles in front of her said she needed a new system that could adjust arrival times based on traffic jams. In this mess she’d be lucky to get a quarter of a mile in half an hour.
To make matters worse, cars slowed down, stopped and then sped up with no clear reason. It went like this for forty-five minutes as she tapped her finger on the steering wheel. Her patience was wearing thin and especially since an oversize black pickup had been practically glued to her back bumper. She changed lanes. He whipped behind her. She shifted back and glanced in her rearview. There he was again. Was he afraid he was going to miss something? Because she could promise him there wasn’t anything going on in front of them. Ten minutes later, they were still doing the same dance and the song was getting tired.
Madelyn pressed her brake, leaving a large gap between her and the car in front. The pickup wheeled around her, pumped his fist as he passed and then cut her off. She steered her blue two-door convertible into the right-hand lane to avoid a collision. Wasn’t this turning out to be a red-letter day?
GPS said she still had twelve minutes before she reached her destination, which meant another twenty-five at a minimum. Fantastic, she thought sarcastically, looking at the four-lane highway. Before she could celebrate ditching the truck, a sedan came bearing down on her. Rather than tango with another frustrated driver, she put her blinker on to let him know she planned to get out of his way.
As she tried to change lanes, he whipped beside her. She turned to see what his problem was and caught the glint of metal. Shock gripped her. He had a gun. Pointed directly at her. Panic roared through her. Madelyn hit the brake. The white sedan mimicked her.
What on earth? The driver was going to shoot.
She slammed the wheel right and sped onto the shoulder. Horns blared and she didn’t need to look in her rearview to know the sedan was following her. Gravel spewed from underneath her tires as she gunned the engine, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. Adrenaline kicked in and her hands shook. A gun being pointed at her had to be the equivalent of half a dozen shots of espresso.
Eyes focused on the patch of shoulder she navigated, she searched around for her cell with her right hand. She needed to call 9-1-1. The other driver was nuts.
At least this area of road was straight even though scores of angry drivers were going crazy on their horns. A truck popped in front of her, blocking her, and she had to slam on her brakes to avoid a collision. Her tires struggled for purchase on the concrete, spewing rocks.
The white sedan was closing in from behind. With the line of bumper-to-bumper cars to her left at almost a complete stop and the damn pickup in front of her, she had nowhere to go. Except right but that was a field. She spun the wheel, unsure of what to expect once she left concrete. Her vehicle wasn’t exactly built for off-roading. Panic seized her lungs as she struggled to calm herself enough to take a couple of deep breaths.
She checked her rearview mirror. The sedan was tracking her. And she was running out of field.
* * *
HUDSON DALE WAS on his horse, Bullseye, when he noticed something he hadn’t seen in the year since moving to the outskirts of his hometown of Cattle Barge—action.
A pale blue two-door convertible tore across his neighbor’s land, kicking up all kinds of dust. Not far behind was a bigger sedan, white. Normally, he’d butt out of other people’s business but this looked urgent, like trouble, and was headed his way. Besides, he could admit that his life felt a lot like watching paint dry lately. He was restless.
His experience in law enforcement had his instincts riled up as he watched the scene unfold. The convertible was being chased down and needed an out. As the vehicle passed by, he caught sight of the driver. He couldn’t get a good look at her face, not with all that wheat-colored hair whipping around since her windows were open, but he could see that a female was at the wheel. She was getting bounced around pretty well in her small sedan.
Hudson strained to get a good look at the driver of the vehicle pursuing hers. He immediately pulled his shotgun from his saddlebag when he realized the male figure had a gun. Hudson loaded a shell.
“Come on, boy,” Hudson said to Bullseye. He’d been named for the brown markings surrounding his left eye, making it look like the center of a target.
The convertible driver had nowhere to go and she seemed to realize it as she spun the wheel and hesitated, facing down the other driver.
Hudson whistled one of his loud, call-the-cows-home signals and motioned for her to head toward his gate. He aimed his shotgun, pumped once and fired a shot at the back tire of the white vehicle bearing down on her. Hudson’s chest puffed out a little as he scored a direct hit. He’d been keeping up with target practice, maintaining sharp skills even though he’d never planned to need them again for work.
The convertible driver navigated wide as the other vehicle spun out.
Hudson managed to open the gate while seated on his horse. The pale blue two-door blazed inside the gate and he sealed off the entrance as he hopped off Bullseye, pausing only long enough to tie the horse off. His law-enforcement training had him putting plenty of mass between him and the drivers of both cars in the form of an oak tree.
Red brake lights stared at him from the back of the white sedan. The driver was making a choice.
“Put your hands where I can see them and get out of your vehicle,” he shouted with authority, shotgun at the ready and trained on the white sedan.
The numbers on the buyer’s tags were impossible to make out at this distance. The vehicle sped off. Hudson muttered a curse as he watched a suspect disappear. He angled toward the blue convertible that was still idling in his driveway.
“Hands where I can see them,” he shouted with that same authority to the driver.
She complied.
“Can I move them to open the door so I can come out?” she asked, and there was something about her voice that sent an unwelcome sexual current rippling through him. Damn. It hadn’t been that long since he’d had female company. Not really. Sure, it had been too long since he’d had interesting companionship. Everyone he’d dated since returning to Cattle Barge had left him bored and indifferent. What was so special about her?
“Yes,” he said as he neared the vehicle.
The door to the driver’s side opened and she kept her hands in full view. The woman who stepped out was stunning. Her wheat-colored hair fell around her shoulders in shiny waves. Her body was just as curvy, and, hell...sexy. She had long legs attached to what he could only guess was a sweet round bottom from this angle. Her full breasts rose and fell rapidly, no doubt from adrenaline and fear. She had cornflower blue eyes that were clear and bright. A couple of freckles dotted her nose on otherwise flawless skin. And speaking of skin, her jeans fit like a second layer and were tucked inside red roper boots.
Her hands were in the surrender position and she didn’t bother to close her vehicle’s door. Good moves. He also noticed that there wasn’t a gold band on her ring finger. Didn’t always mean someone wasn’t married, but was a pretty good indicator. He lied to himself when he said the only reason he’d noticed was habit.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, ignoring his other thoughts—thoughts that had no business creeping in while he investigated a possible crime. Speaking of which, this whole scene had angry boyfriend written all over it.
“Thank you for helping me,” she said and her voice shook. She also had an almost imperceptible drawl. She was from Texas. “I have no idea what’s going on. This guy came out of nowhere aiming a gun at me.”
She looked completely rattled. Her eyes—eyes that were almost a perfect match to her convertible—were wild, and she had that desperate look he’d seen one too many times on victims and especially on Misty when...
Hudson refused to go over that again. Not even in his mind.
He could clearly see that this woman’s hands shook. And her eyes had that bewildered quality that victims often had when they didn’t see a crime coming.
Hudson believed her. “Do you have a weapon?”
“No.” She glanced around and his gaze dropped to her jean pockets for confirmation. A serious mistake in his opinion because stray voltage zapped him and a thunderclap of need followed, sizzling through him.
“Where are you headed?” He blew out a sharp breath. Those emotions had no business in this conversation. He’d call the sheriff, turn her over and get back to his day.
“I’m Madelyn Kensington, by the way,” she said, offering a handshake.
He took it, and did his level best not to notice the fact that her skin was as silky as it looked. “Hudson Dale.”
“What branch of law enforcement do you work in?” she asked, dropping her hands to her sides. He didn’t mind the move. There was no way she was carrying a weapon anywhere in those jeans.
Her question caught him off guard. “What makes you think I’m anything more than a rancher?”
She glanced at his legs. “Your posture. The way you hold that shotgun. You walk with your arms out a little, like you’re still wearing a holster, and your aim with that shotgun is pretty dead accurate.”
He put a hand up to stop her. “I’m no such thing. What kind of work do you do that makes you notice the way a man carries himself?”
“Me? I’m a reporter from Houston headed to the Butlers,” she said, and he was close enough to see her erratic heartbeat pound at the base of her neck.
The last thing Hudson needed was someone who knew how to do research nosing around in his business and especially his past. And there’d been plenty of journalists in the area following the death of Maverick Mike.
“Well, right now, Mrs. Kensington—”
“It’s Miss,” she corrected.
He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment even though an inappropriate reaction stirred in his chest.
“Is there any chance that white sedan belongs to your boyfriend?” he asked.
“I don’t have one, but I do have a persistent ex,” she admitted.
Why did relief wash over him when he heard those words? He’d noticed her ring finger a minute ago and tried not to care one way or the other when he didn’t see a gold band.
“The guy who just ran you off the road is getting away.” Hudson fished his cell out of his back pocket, keeping an eye on the reporter. “So, if you don’t mind, I need to make a call to the sheriff’s office and see if we can stop him before someone else gets hurt.”
“Yes, by all means,” she said, taking a step back and leaning a hip against the side of her trunk. She folded her arms and he noticed how the move pushed her breasts against the spring-green cotton shirt she wore. Calmer, her voice was as creamy and smooth as her skin.
Hudson forced his gaze away from the wheat-haired beauty. Getting involved with a woman like her was dangerous. Emotions had no place in an investigation. And he had no intention of repeating past mistakes.
Chapter Three (#u1f4930c9-76d0-5877-b243-c81d3d9dd81d)
Madelyn’s pulse hammered her ribs. Hudson Dale might look like a cowboy in those low-slung jeans, dark navy T-shirt with rolled-up sleeves and white Stetson, but something—call it reporter instincts and keen observation skills—told Madelyn that he was hiding something. Would that something put her in more danger?
The man had that law-enforcement swagger when he walked but hadn’t identified himself as such. He even sounded law enforcement when he’d instructed her to get out of the car with that commanding voice of his—a voice that traveled over her with an inappropriate sensual shiver that ran down her back.
When she’d outright asked, he denied ever working the job. She’d spent enough time around cops when she worked the crime beat early on in her career to recognize the voice of authority they used when they spoke to someone. This guy looked far too young to be retired. The man couldn’t be a day older than thirty-two, which was only two years older than Madelyn.
He was either undercover, or...
