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“Please do,” Nicole said. “A suit of body armor would be great.”
If anything happened to Dylan, she didn’t think she could stand it. He was stubborn, inattentive and arrogant. But he was still her husband.
DYLAN RODE with Burke across the field behind the horse barn toward the south pasture—a fenced area that had been the site of prior sabotage before Nicole was kidnapped. His schedule of rotating the two thousand head of Carlisle cattle on land they owned and land they leased had gotten out of whack. Now that Nicole was home, he could get back to the serious business of ranching. It wasn’t going to be easy. His foreman, Lucas Mann, had been killed when the ransom was delivered.
Thinking of that death, he cringed inside, still unable to believe that Lucas—a trusted employee of many years—had betrayed the family by helping the Sons of Freedom. Nicole would be heartbroken when he told her. She’d probably insist on handling the funeral in spite of Lucas’s treachery.
Dylan scanned the familiar terrain. The night had gotten cold. A brisk wind chased clouds across the moon in a portent of the snowfall that was predicted for tomorrow. He slowed his horse to a walk. From here, they could cut through the forest where—as Nicole had suggested—Nate Miller could be hiding with his rifle. That was the route Dylan wanted to take; he wanted a confrontation.
“This way,” he said to Burke.
“We should stick to the road.”
“I like the trees.” He tugged at the uncomfortable bulletproof vest Burke insisted he wear.
“You like the idea of finding Nate and getting into a shoot-out,” Burke said. “Can’t say that I blame you. But if you get yourself shot, Carolyn will kick my butt. That’s why we need to take the safer route.”
After a longing glance toward the dark forest, Dylan conceded and turned toward the road. “Let’s suppose that Nate cut the fence to draw me out here, and he’s planning an ambush.”
“Damn likely scenario,” Burke muttered.
“What’s the best way to handle it?”
“Do the opposite of what seems natural.”
“The opposite?” If Dylan hadn’t respected Burke’s talent for strategy, he would have laughed out loud. “You’re going to have to explain.”
“An ambush is a lure,” Burke said. “You’re Nate’s target. He wants to make you come to him.”
“So if I see the flash of gunfire or hear a shot, I shouldn’t respond by riding toward it.”
“Right,” Burke said. “Because that’s what he expects you to do.”
“I should back down.” He hated the idea, but it made sense. “Our advantage is in numbers. There are a lot of us and only one of him. We should go after him carefully. Make sure we cut off his escape.”
“You got it,” Burke said.
They approached the far edge of the field, close to Fiona Grant’s property. Not only had the barbed wire been cut, but the fencing was peeled back between two posts, allowing the cattle an easy exit.
Tomorrow morning, a portion of this herd was destined to be removed to the slaughterhouse in Delta, and these Black Angus cattle seemed to anticipate their fate. There was a lot of bawling, as if the animals were encouraging each other to make a break. More than fifty had already ambled through the gap in the fence and were moving down the road.
Dylan was surprised to see Jesse Longbridge helping his cowboys round up the cattle. Jesse was staying at Fiona’s house to protect her and her five-year-old daughter. He rode toward them and reined his horse. “What the hell are you doing out here, Dylan?”
“Ranching. This is my business.”
“My business is keeping you safe,” he said. “Don’t make my job harder. I’ll escort you back to the house.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Never in his life had Dylan run from a fight. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on Fiona and her little girl?”
“One of my men is at her house, making sure that Nate doesn’t get close.”
Nate Miller had good reason to hate Jesse. It had been his skill at tracking and his insight that had led them to find Nicole and recover most of the ransom money.
“I’m not going home,” Dylan said.
“Fine.” Jesse exchanged a glance with Burke, then maneuvered his horse around.
Dylan was flanked by a federal agent on one side and a professional bodyguard on the other. Plus, he was wearing a bulletproof vest. “Good thing I’m not claustrophobic,” he said.
“This is how it’s going to be until we get you to safety.” Jesse drew his rifle and held it at the ready.
Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Are you any good with that?”
“I’m a former marine, a sharpshooter. Is that good enough for you?”
One of the escaped steers plodded toward them. A big, broad Angus—fifteen hundred pounds of premium, grass-fed beef on the hoof—stood in the middle of the road and glared at the men on horseback. He lifted his head and mooed.
“I think he wants us to move,” Burke said. “Moo-oooove.”
“You’ve been hanging around my sister too much,” Dylan said. “Cattle don’t talk.”
In the distance, he saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle. Whoever it was would have to be patient or take a different route.
When a second steer joined the first, Dylan’s horse, Orbison, shifted his weight. In his younger days, Orbison had competed in rodeos as a cutting horse. When he saw cattle running free, the horse’s instinct was to get them organized.
But there wasn’t much herding Dylan could do with these two men protecting him as though he was made of glass. And, to tell the truth, the other four ranch hands seemed to be doing a good job of moving the herd back into the field. “Might as well head back,” he grumbled.
As he wheeled around on Orbison, he heard the sharp crack of a rifle.
Chapter Five (#ulink_5b9d3508-21c8-5425-b5e4-b6abcf582a4b)
In the kitchen, Nicole sat at the table with Carolyn and Andrea. They’d convinced her to eat a piece of toast, and they all had mugs of steaming chamomile tea before them.
“How did Dylan take it?” Nicole asked. “While I was kidnapped “He was a complete wreck,” Carolyn said. “That first night, he and his men went riding all over the countryside looking for you, riling up the neighbors. When he got back here, he refused to go to bed even though he was asleep on his feet.”
“Stubborn,” Nicole said. “That’s my husband.”
“It was more than that.” Carolyn looked down into her tea. “I haven’t seen my brother cry since he was ten years old, and we had to put down one of his best horses. During the past few days, I’ve seen tears.”
At least he loved her as much as a favorite horse. She thought of their five years together. A tear had slipped down his cheek when he’d spoken his wedding vows. As it had the first time she’d told him that she loved him. Touching moments.
But he never showed emotion when he was hurt. That was when he clamped his jaw tight and turned as hard as granite. “I knew this would be rough on him.”
Carolyn reached over and touched her arm. “It’s good for my brother to express his emotions for a change. Most of the time, he’s so bottled up that I think his head is going to explode.”
Andrea sighed. “His father was the same way.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Carolyn said. “Daddy used to tell me that only babies cried. And I distinctly recall something about how I shouldn’t act like a girl. If he could see my totally feminine condo in Denver, if he knew how much I pay for manicures and pedicures, he’d go through the roof.”
“To be fair,” Andrea said, “your father and I were part of a different generation. Men are more sensitive now.”
Nicole shook her head. “Not Dylan.”
Though her son was routinely dismissive toward her, Andrea leapt to his defense. “For the past few days, he’s worn his heart on his sleeve.”
“His heart?” Carolyn scoffed. “He’s been snarling and snapping at everyone.”
“Anger is how he covers his emotions,” Andrea said. “His fear, his sadness and pain.”
Nicole was extremely familiar with Dylan in his cranky mood. She thought back to their argument before she’d gone racing out of the house and into the arms of the kidnappers. She’d been angry, too. Maybe even more than her husband. “Did he mention what we were fighting about before I left the house?”
“He told Burke,” Carolyn said.
Why on earth would Dylan confide such a personal matter to someone he barely knew? “Was Burke interrogating him?”
“Nope. Dylan just blurted it out. He must have felt guilty.”
As well he should. He‘d been horrible to her. “It felt like he was choosing the ranch instead of me and the family we might have someday.”
“You’re trying to get pregnant,” Andrea said.
“For almost eight months. I expected to have problems. Being a vet, I’ve been kicked in the belly a couple of times. But the fertility doc said those injuries weren’t entirely the issue. We had a lot of little problems. Low sperm motility. A blocked Fallopian tube. Anyway, it just wasn’t happening.”
“Did you get Dylan to wear boxer shorts?” Andrea asked.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Black, silky boxer shorts. They had turned out to be as much of a treat for her as for Dylan. “They looked real cute.”
Carolyn snorted. “Did he take off his cowboy boots?”
“Sometimes.”
Nicole and Dylan had always been sexually compatible, even adventurous. She’d never forget the time he strode into their bedroom wearing his leather chaps and nothing else. Though she was tempted to dwell on that outrageous, sexy image, the conversation drew her back to the subject of children.
“I’d like to be a grandma,” Andrea said.
Carolyn beamed. “And I could be the baby’s cool aunt in the city. Like Auntie Mame.”
Nicole sipped her tea. She still wasn’t sure that Dylan really, truly wanted a baby. Though he claimed to be ready for children, there was a definite lack of enthusiasm. It seemed as though he was agreeing because it was easier than fighting with her. And he hated sharing their intimate issues with the doctors at the fertility clinic.
“When the baby is born,” Andrea said, “you’ll bring him or her to Manhattan, won’t you?”
“Only if you arrange for your daughter to visit us at the ranch.”
“She’ll love it here.” Andrea smiled warmly. “Any preteen girl from New York would go crazy for all these handsome cowboys. When I came out west, I certainly did.”
And she’d married Sterling Carlisle. “I never knew Dylan’s father. Dylan’s a lot like him, isn’t he?”
“In many ways. They’re both strong-willed. Responsible. Deeply loyal.”
“Pig-headed,” Carolyn said. “And demanding.”
Nicole didn’t want to see history repeating itself. Andrea and Sterling got divorced; what if her marriage was doomed?
“There is a difference,” Andrea said. “Sterling and I never really stood a chance. In spite of how much we loved each other, we didn’t want the same things from life. It’s not that way with you and Dylan. From the moment I saw you together on your wedding day, I knew you’d make it.”
“Why?”
“You have something special. You’re both westerners right down to your roots. You’re a vet, Nicole. You love animals. And Dylan is a rancher.”
“She’s right,” Carolyn said. “You two have everything in common.”
Except for a desire to have children?
She needed to go back to the beginning of their relationship, to remember all those things that had attracted her to Dylan in the first place. To find the man she’d fallen in love with five years ago.
AT THE SOUND of gunfire, Dylan ducked and leaned forward in the saddle—a gut reaction to threat. His next instinct was to search. He squinted through the moonlight. On the side of the road to his left were rocks and shrubs that could be used for cover. The shot had sounded like it had come from farther away, however.
On the horse beside him, Burke dug into his saddlebag and pulled out a pair of night-vision goggles that he fastened onto his head.
“What do you see?” Dylan asked.
“Cows. That truck that was coming down the road turned around.”
Even Jesse—a professional bodyguard who had successfully thwarted a number of assassination attempts—was puzzled by the gunshot. He swung his horse around, facing north on the road.
The cattle bawled and stomped their hooves.
The ranch hands on horseback yelled to each other. Every man had a gun in hand.
There was a second shot. And a third.
“That way,” Jesse yelled. “He’s in that truck.”
Jesse quickly dismounted, planted his boots on the pavement near the shoulder of the road and aimed his rifle. Rapid-fire, he got off four shots.
Dylan saw the red flash of brake lights. He couldn’t hear the truck’s engine with all the noise surrounding him, but he knew the vehicle was driving away. Nate Miller was getting away.
It wasn’t prudent to chase after that truck; Burke had warned him about being lured into danger. But there was no way in hell that Dylan could sit back and allow that son of a bitch to escape. He dug his heels into Orbison’s flanks and took off like a horse-powered rocket.
The dim moonlight reflected off the roof of the truck. He was driving without headlights on the two-lane road.
Dylan raced behind him, riding hard and fast. His horse’s hooves pounded the pavement. He wanted to believe that he was closing the gap with every stride, but the fastest horse on the planet couldn’t outrun a truck.
Half a mile ahead was the turn leading toward the ranch. With several men standing guard, the people in the house were safe. Nicole was safe. But Dylan hated to think of Nate getting within a mile of her.
If the road had been straight, he would have continued at a gallop. But the truck took a sharp turn and disappeared behind a stand of pine trees.
The perfect spot for an ambush. And Dylan was no fool. He directed his horse onto the shoulder of the road, slowing his pace to ride across the unfenced property.
