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Cowboy Sanctuary
“So, how’s Jennie?” Molly might as well have been reading his mind.
Her question jolted him back to the present and his purpose for being there. “She’s good.” Beautiful as ever and just as stubborn as he remembered. If not for the dark smudges beneath her eyes, he’d say she hadn’t changed a bit.
Molly hooked her thumbs in her belt loops as she walked. “She’s had a tough time of it.”
“How so?”
“Stuck out on that ranch, not dating. I hope she wises up and gets a life before she’s too old to enjoy it.”
“It’s her choice.”
“Maybe so.” Molly ambled toward the barn, kicking at the gravel with her dingo boots. “From what I understand, she’s pretty bitter about marriage and men in general.”
Despite his resolve to stay out of Jennie’s business, he couldn’t help asking, “Why?”
Molly glanced up at him, her eyes wide. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Gosh, that’s such old news I thought for sure you’d have heard it long before I did. I was only eleven at the time.”
Cameron stopped outside the barn door and grasped Molly’s arms, his patience for guessing at an end. “What are you talking about? Why is Jennie down on men and marriage?”
“Her ex-husband. I thought you knew.”
Cameron knew Jennie had married shortly after he left. Hurt by how quickly she’d got over him, he’d cut ties and moved on with his life in the military.
Molly shook off her brother’s hands. “He abused her. Slapped her around mentally and physically. That’s why she filed for divorce.” Molly’s lips twisted. “The bastard really messed her up. He deserved to die.”
“What do you mean?”
“Vance Franklin died in a car wreck after Jennie filed for divorce.”
Cameron withheld comment, holding back the string of curses he wanted to let loose. How could any man be cruel enough to hit a woman? And to hit Jennie, that was unconscionable. If Vance were still alive, he’d take the man out. He agreed with his sister, the man deserved to die.
Had he only known Jennie was in trouble back then…
He knew she was in trouble now and he’d do everything in his power to keep her safe.
MEN DIDN’T MAKE good patients—especially hardworking ranch owners who didn’t know the meaning of downtime. For most of the afternoon, Jennie helped Ms. Blainey fetch and carry for her cranky father. Unused to being trapped indoors, Hank groused and hollered over every little thing.
By dusk, Jennie was fit to be tied. If she didn’t get out of the house soon, she’d go nuts. The horses needed feed and Lady needed her dressing changed.
Cameron had told her to stay inside until he returned, but the sun tipped toward the horizon and he still wasn’t back. Unwilling to stay indoors a moment longer, she took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. A quick glance around had her laughing at herself. What did she expect? The bogeyman?
Shaking her shoulders loose of the tension building there all day, Jennie strode toward the barn, a trip she’d made a million times since the day she was born. Why should today be any different?
Because someone had taken a potshot at her father? Or because Cameron Morgan might show up at any time? What was she more frightened of? The unknown threat or the known?
Ten years had passed since she’d seen Cameron. The years had hardened him into a man, not the teenager she’d fallen in love with. Had she made a mistake taking him on as a bodyguard? Did she still harbor feelings toward this man?
Jennie jerked open the barn door and entered its dark interior. Stan, Doug and Rudy were out working the fences. They would be back at dark, hungry and tired—too tired to deal with the stabled horses. All the more reason for her to feed, water and apply first aid where needed. When Jennie flipped the light switch, nothing happened.
At first, Jennie thought nothing of it. The wiring was old and occasionally a breaker tripped. The near dark didn’t bother her. She knew the barn like the back of her hand and her eyes were beginning to adjust to the dim interior.
Lady whinnied from her corner stall, the sound high-pitched and accompanied by a hoof slammed against the wooden sides of her stall.
“What’s wrong, girl? Didn’t I get out here soon enough for your liking?” As Jennie made her way through the shadowy barn, she talked to the horse in a soft, reassuring voice. When she reached out to open the large trash can housing the grain she fed the horses, she waited a moment before sticking her hand inside, remembering the surprise snake her father had found a few days prior. Just as she reached for the feed bucket, something moved at the corner of her peripheral vision, and it wasn’t a horse.
Before she could shout or even turn, something hard hit the back of her head.
Pain knifed through her, she crumpled to her knees, and her world went fuzzy around the edges.
Jennie fell to the ground, her brain working, albeit not well. If the attacker thought she was unconscious, perhaps he’d leave her alone. She lay still, her head pounding, fighting back the inky blackness threatening to engulf her.
Footsteps sounded on the hard-packed earth, headed for the front entrance to the barn.
Crawling low behind the feed bin, Jennie pulled herself to her knees and waited for her attacker’s return. She heard the sound of the large wooden door closing with a click. Had he gone? Was it safe to come out?
Then footsteps ran across the floor in front of the feed barrel. Jennie hunkered low, ready to jump out and face the menace. She strained to see in the near dark, only managing to catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure racing for the back door. Something flashed in the dark. A spark?
The scent of sulfur and smoke filled the air as if a whole book of matches had been lit.
Jennie jumped up and ran after the man, her head swimming, making her progress wobbly at best. She had to stop him from dropping the fire inside the barn. The place would burn so fast there wouldn’t be time for the Dry Wash’s Volunteer Fire Department to respond.
The burning bundle flew toward the corner where stacked hay bales sat. The man hustled through the door and out of the barn so fast Jennie didn’t have a chance to catch up to him. As she reached for the back door, the sound of a horse’s hooves pounding against the dirt let her know he’d gotten away, but maybe she could see who it was.
She tried the door. It didn’t budge.
Flames rose behind her, dancing dangerously close to her back. Jennie leaped out of the way and grabbed for a horse blanket. Using the blanket, she beat at the flames, trying to put out the fire now firmly entrenched in the straw bales. As smoke filled the interior, Jennie realized she couldn’t put the fire out on her own. She had to get Lady out and go for help.
As she ran for Lady’s stall, dry, scorching heat flared behind her, smoke rose choking off her air.
Inside the horse’s stall, Lady screamed and reared, slamming against the wooden walls.
Jennie slid open the gate and grabbed for the horse’s halter. Smoke filled her lungs and she gave in to a bout of coughing. Then, pulling her shirt over her mouth, she ran for the front door, dragging the frantic horse behind her. She had to get her out, quickly, before the smoke overcame them both.
With her arm stretched out in front of her, she felt her way through the smoke. Once she located the door, she pushed the latch and leaned her weight into the heavy wood. It still wouldn’t budge. She pushed again, putting all her strength into the effort.
The front and back doors didn’t move. It had been locked with her inside.
The stack of hay became a towering inferno shooting flames up the beams into the dry wooden flooring of the loft, also full of dry hay bales.
With heat scorching her skin and lungs, Jennie sank to her knees, trying to get as low as possible. She pulled hard on Lady’s head to move the horse’s nostrils closer to the ground and away from the rising smoke.
With the back entrance blocked by flame, all Jennie could do was beat against the door, screaming until her voice cracked and her lungs were raw and scratchy from smoke.
Cowboy Sanctuary
Elle James
MILLS & BOON
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This book is dedicated to my fellow authors in the
BODYGUARDS UNLIMITED, DENVER, CO series who helped provide inspiration and the glue to stick this project together. And to the amazing editors, Sean Mackiewicz and Allison Lyons, who dreamed up the story line and who invited me to be a part of the project, thank you.
Special thanks and acknowledgment
are given to Elle James for her contribution to the
BODYGUARDS UNLIMITED, DENVER, CO miniseries.
Contents
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Cameron Morgan—The black sheep of the Morgan family and bodyguard for Prescott Personal Securities returns to his home to convince his family and their feuding neighbors they are in danger.
Jennie Ward—Once in love with Cameron despite their two families’ differences, she refused to leave her father and the ranch when Cameron left ten years ago. How can she protect her heart from the danger of falling in love again?
Evangeline Prescott—The owner of Prescott Personal Securities who assigns Cameron to help the ranch owners.
Tom Morgan—Owner of the Bar M Ranch and Cameron’s stubborn father. Will he ever forgive his son for loving the enemy’s daughter?
Logan Morgan—Cameron’s moody brother. Why is he still so angry at Cameron?
Brad Carter—Hired hand on the Morgan ranch. Is he there to only help himself?
Hank Ward—Owner of the Flying W and Jennie’s father. Will the attempts on his life leave Jennie to run the ranch on her own?
Vance Franklin—Jennie’s husband who died eight years ago.
Doug Sweeney—Hank Ward’s longtime ranch hand.
Stan Keller—The Flying W ranch foreman and Hank Ward’s old friend.
Rudy Toler—The youngest ranch hand on the Flying W.
Prologue
Jennie Ward fought to stay in the saddle as Lady bucked beneath her like a green filly on her first ride. What was wrong with her? The eight-year-old mare hadn’t behaved like this since she saw that six-foot diamond-back rattlesnake two years ago.
No matter how accomplished a rider, Jennie knew she wouldn’t last long at the rate Lady was jerking her around. She had to get off or be thrown off.
Clutching the saddle horn for balance, she decided that on the count of three, she’d jump. One…two…Jennie kicked her feet free of the stirrups…three! As Lady hit the ground in a bone-jarring, stiff-legged bounce, Jennie shoved against the saddle, launching herself into the air and as far away from the frantic horse as she could manage.
She landed on her hands and knees, rocks gouging her kneecaps, tearing through her denim jeans. Her head banged against the ground, and her vision blurred for a split second. She couldn’t pass out. Not here. Not with a thousand-pound quarter horse thrashing around her. She tucked her arms and legs close to her body and rolled to the side to avoid the horse’s hooves. As soon as she was clear, she scrambled to her feet and scurried behind a tree.
Lady tossed around for another minute before she halted in the middle of the field, flanks lathered and quivering.
When Jennie approached, the horse’s eyes rolled and she backed away, whinnying a warning.
Jennie cast a quick glance around at the ground. She couldn’t see a snake, varmint or anything resembling one. “What’s wrong with you, girl?” She eased forward, speaking in a soft crooning voice, holding her hand out for the mare to sniff. When she stood close enough, she snagged the reins and patted the mare’s neck. “It’s okay. Shhhhh. I won’t hurt you, baby.”
The dusky black mare danced in a semicircle straining against the hold Jennie had on the reins. After the horse quieted, Jennie eased alongside her and ran her hand down the horse’s legs, searching for signs of injury.
The horse’s legs appeared to be fine. When Jennie bent to lift the back left leg to examine Lady’s hoof, something warm and wet dripped across her temple. Reaching up, she brushed the moisture from her face with her hand. She glanced down at her fingers where bright red liquid stood out against the light gray of her work gloves.
Blood? Had she cut her head when she fell? She yanked the gloves from her hands, reached up to where she’d hit her head and found a small lump the size of a quarter against her hairline. When she brought her hand down, there was no blood.
Then she looked at the horse. Blood soaked the multicolored saddle blanket and dripped to the ground below. “Holy smokes, Lady. What the hell happened?”
Jennie led the horse to the nearest tree, tied her up, giving her very little slack from her head to the tree. Skimming her fingers along the horse’s neck, she worked her hands over to the saddle, the source of the horse’s obvious pain.
What was causing the bleeding? Lady had been fine when she’d saddled up less than fifteen minutes earlier.
She laid the stirrup gently over the top of the saddle, talking to the horse the entire time. With one hand she loosened the cinch strap and pulled it free. Using as much care as she could muster, Jennie eased the saddle from the horse’s back, lifting it straight up and off. Lady leaned hard against the reins, swinging her backside away from Jennie and the saddle.
The sheepskin lining on the underside of the saddle was soaked in blood as was the blanket still on the horse’s back.
When Jennie lifted the blanket, Lady whimpered, her ears laid back and her withers twitched. Jutting out of the middle of a bloody patch was the metal corner of a razor blade.
“Oh my God.” No wonder Lady tried to throw her. The entire time she’d been riding, the razor dug deeper into the horse’s flesh. Lady’s back was clean when she’d tossed the blanket over her in the barn.
Jennie raised the blanket and found a cut in the middle where the razor had sliced through. An inspection of the saddle revealed another cut buried in the sheepskin underside.
They didn’t use razor blades in the barn and none of the ranch hands shaved anywhere near the horses.
Then how the hell did the blade end up in her saddle?
Leaving the saddle and blanket on the ground, Jennie untied Lady and led her back toward the barn. She’d return later for the saddle and blanket. First, she needed to tend to her horse’s injury, and then she’d find out what happened.
As she walked, she pondered the conundrum of the razor blade. They had no reason to store razor blades in the tack room. How could it have gotten in there and under her saddle? The saddle normally rested on a saddletree inside the tack room. A razor blade would have fallen off. Could someone have intentionally planted the razor in her saddle? The idea made her sick to her stomach. Who would be so cruel to a horse? Another thought followed close behind the first. Had someone intended to hurt her?
If so, why? There had to be a logical explanation. Who would want to hurt her? She didn’t have any enemies except the Morgans and they stayed on their ranch. For the past ten years, not a single Morgan dared cross the boundaries between the Flying W and the Bar M. The only person who’d ever wanted to hurt her was her ex-husband, and he was dead.
Chapter One
Cameron Morgan pulled his cowboy hat from his head, leaned his eye against the scanner next to the door and waited for the green light to pan across his eyeball. When the lock clicked open, he straightened and stepped through the heavy glass doors into the spacious offices of Prescott Personal Securities. After being gone for the past month on assignment, he felt as if he was coming home. He inhaled, expecting the soothing scents of eucalyptus and furniture polish. Instead, an acrid aroma stung his nostrils.
“Hi, Angel,” he said to the receptionist behind the bleached pine countertop. Cameron wrinkled his nose. “Was there a chemical spill somewhere?”
Angel, the street punk adopted by the agency’s owner out of some attempt at being charitable, rolled her eyes. “’Sup?” She barely looked up as she smacked her gum between black lipstick-covered lips while she painted another coat of dead black polish on her clawlike fingernails.
Cameron wrinkled his nose. Ah, the source of the odor. “Do you have to do that here?”
She answered by raising her brows. No wonder memos from Angel were often misspelled and calls were misdirected. With nails like that, she couldn’t possibly hit the right keys on the computer keyboard or the telephone switchboard. Despite the everything-black, Goth look, she showed an occasional spark of intelligence that invariably took everyone by surprise and she was puppy-dog loyal to the boss.
“Any messages?” he asked.
“Give me a few, and I’ll check.” She capped the fingernail polish and shook her hands, blowing on the wet paint.
“A few” meant some time in the next hour or two—if she remembered after the paint fumes subsided and her brain activity reengaged.
Cameron shook his head and continued on to his office.
Before he’d gone five steps, Angel called out, “Hey, wait. I was supposed to tell you something.”
Perhaps the cloud of vapor had cleared and she was remembering. Cameron turned and smiled, encouraging the young woman.
Her pale forehead wrinkled and her thickly lined eyes squinted to slits. “Oh, yeah, the boss wants you in the conference room.”
“When?” Cameron tapped his Stetson against his thigh.
She stopped chewing her gum long enough to snort and say, “Like, now. I believe her words were ASAP.” She resumed blowing on her nails and smacking her gum.
Letters. A S A and P are letters. Cameron inhaled and blew out a calming stream of air before he smiled again. This wasn’t the first time Angel had delayed an urgent message or misdirected a memo. He couldn’t even count the number of times they’d had to call the repairman to fix the copier after she’d done whatever she did to break it. One of the machine mechanics had gone so far as to nickname her the Angel of Death. “Thanks, Angel. What would we all do without you?” Hire a real secretary?
“I don’t know, but you better hurry,” she said without looking up.
When Cameron entered the conference room, every gaze turned toward him. Four other agents sat around the table and an elegant blonde stood at the head. He nodded toward his friend, Jack Sanders, seated to his left and then fixed his attention on the woman standing, Evangeline Prescott, head of Prescott Personal Securities. “You wanted to see me?”
With her long blond hair pulled back in a French twist and wearing a medium gray skirt suit, Evangeline was a cool professional with a warm smile. She looked much better than she had when she’d first lost her husband in a plane crash two years ago. Perhaps she was finally moving on.
Evangeline stood with a laser pointer resting in her palm and her back turned to a projected view of a map depicting the state of Colorado. With a brief smile she nodded toward a seat. “Good. You got my message. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll explain why you’re here.” She nodded, the few curls that had managed to escape bobbed with the motion. “Remember the disk that arrived at the office during the Nick Warner case?”
The head of Prescott Personal Securities made it a point to keep all bodyguards abreast of the caseload. Cameron nodded.
“Cassie deciphered the codes and she’s been working with Lenny to figure out what exactly we have and what it means.”
“How’s that going?” Cameron glanced from Cassie, who hadn’t looked up yet, to William Lennard, affectionately nicknamed Lenny, the group’s incredibly adept techno geek.
“Good, Cam, real good.” The red-haired young man’s gaze remained affixed to the computer screen. He clicked the keys and the image on the big screen zoomed closer.
Cameron was used to Lenny being less than communicative at times. When he got wrapped up in solving a computer puzzle, he lost track of everything else, including time and polite conversation. Which made the hairs on the back of Cameron’s neck rise. What was Lenny working on now?
Cameron’s gaze panned to Mike Lawson and Cassie Allen sitting close together, peering at a printout on the table between them. Mike glanced up and nodded. “We’ve made a little progress.” He nudged Cassie, who looked to Mike first. Deaf since college, she hadn’t heard Cameron enter. When she turned toward him, her face lit with a smile. “Hi, Cameron.”
He nodded and remained standing. “So what did you find on the disk?” And what does it have to do with me?
“Actually, we think the disk is full of land coordinates. Lenny was just showing us where one of those coordinates is in the state of Colorado. Would you do us the honors?” Evangeline glanced at their techno geek.
Lenny clicked a single key. The projected view zoomed in until Cameron could read the town names—one in particular.
“Are you familiar with a small town northwest of Denver called Dry Wash?” Evangeline used the laser pointer to indicate the position on the map.
Was he familiar? Did spending the first eighteen years of your life count toward familiarity? Cameron molded the brim of the light brown Stetson in his hands. “Yes. It’s my hometown.” He directed his stare to Evangeline, his eyes narrowing. “But you know that.”
Evangeline nodded. “The coordinates pinpoint a location near there. I had Lenny pull up the online county plats and overlay it with the exact coordinates.”
Cameron stepped closer to the screen, recognition igniting the nerves in his gut. Lines drawn over an aerial photograph delineated the Bar M Ranch from the Flying W Ranch to the south. The point on the map indicated an area on the border between the two ranches. “The Bar M is my father’s ranch and the Flying W belongs to Hank Ward.” He glanced at Evangeline. “What’s the significance of the location?”
“We don’t know exactly, but we know a little more about some of the other coordinates.” Evangeline nodded to Lenny. “Show him the other view, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lenny clicked several keys and a broader view of Colorado appeared on the screen with red dots sprinkled across the map.
