Endangered Heiress

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

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

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...

He could’ve been fired. Hiding. Why else would he move to the outskirts of a small town? Then again, maybe he just wanted peace and quiet.

Madelyn tried not to let her imagination run away with her. Either way, she was grateful that he’d been there to help when she needed it. Noticing the fact that the man was gorgeous couldn’t be helped. He was standing right in front of her. They were barely five feet apart, so it was easy to take note that he had the darkest brown eyes she’d ever seen highlighted by sandy-blond hair and a dimpled chin. Her nerves were heightened and that was why her body was having an out-of-place reaction. She also tried to convince herself that the only reason she considered his rippled chest and muscled arms was basic survival instinct. On a primal level she needed to know that this man was strong enough to defend her should the white sedan come back for another round. The fact that he seemed more than capable kept her nerves a couple of notches below panic.

“The sheriff is on his way and you look like you could use a cup of coffee.” Hudson motioned toward the ranch-style house. “Since I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave you alone on my property, you’d better come inside with me.”

She nodded. The man was unnervingly cool considering he’d just had to shoot out someone’s tire to get them to leave his land.

“Your car should be fine where it is,” he said, his horse still tied up near the gate in the shade.

“Thank you.” She followed the handsome cowboy inside his house. The decor looked comfortable, simple. A couch and matching love seat surrounded a tumbled stone fireplace with a large rustic star over the mantel. There was a bronze statue of a bull rider on the sofa table and twin lamps that looked good for reading light.

The kitchen was simple—white cabinets, stainless-steel appliances and marbled granite. She leaned against the bullnose edging, trying to absorb everything that had just happened.

“Care to fill me in on what’s going on?” Hudson asked, offering her a fresh cup of coffee.

Madelyn took the mug and gripped it with both hands, noticing that she was still shaking. She chalked it up to adrenaline. Owen had nearly run her off the road recently, trying to get her attention. He’d seemed more desperate to speak to her than deadly at the time. But he drove an Escalade, not a white sedan. Of course, logic said he could’ve rented one.

“I had a bad breakup and he might be following me.” She had to consider that possibility, especially since she hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver. Of course, with Owen’s money he could’ve hired someone to scare her.

The cowboy’s jaw muscle clenched and released. He blinked the thickest lashes. “Is the law aware?”

“A judge in Houston issued a restraining order.” She reached for her necklace and found comfort in holding her mother’s dragonfly. “I couldn’t get a good enough look at the driver to know if that was him. That’s not his car.”

“Is he dumb enough to drive his own if he pulled a stunt like this?” Hudson asked.

“No.” Owen wasn’t stupid. “He has a lot of money. Enough to hire someone to be discreet.”

“Does he have a record?” Hudson’s eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” she hated to admit. She sipped the fresh coffee, welcoming the burn on her tongue. “I didn’t find out about it until it was too late. I’m sure that he was only trying to scare me before. This is something totally different. I hope it’s not him.”

The cowboy’s steady gaze seemed locked onto an idea.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, realizing that she was gripping her mug so tight that her knuckles were sheet-white.

“That it’s him and he’s escalating,” he said, shooting her a look.

“He’s a jerk, I’ll give you that, but he’s not... I mean, that guy seemed like he was trying to kill me. Owen threatened me but he was trying to intimidate me to get back together with him. I wouldn’t be able to do that dead.”

The cowboy didn’t respond and the quiet rang in her ears.

And then it dawned on her that he was probably thinking Owen had decided that if he couldn’t have her no one would.

The doorbell rang before she could rationalize that idea. The cowboy set down his mug before picking up his shotgun. He loaded a slug in the shotgun’s chamber and readied it on his shoulder. “Whoever it is won’t get to you on my watch.”

Madelyn was momentarily too shocked to move as another shot of adrenaline coursed through her. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Could Owen hate her that much? Could he be that selfish? Yes, he’d crossed a few lines and had gotten away with it until now. But would he go so far as to want her dead? She’d covered stories that still made her shudder to think about them in the same context as her relationship with Owen.

The sheriff walked in and introduced himself as Clarence Sawmill. He was middle-aged, and his eyes had the white outline of sunglasses on otherwise tanned skin. Deep grooves in his forehead, hard brackets around his mouth and his tight grip on a coffee mug outlined the man’s stress level. He was on high alert and, from the looks of him, had been since news broke of Maverick Mike’s murder.

“Wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Sheriff Sawmill,” Madelyn conceded, taking the hand being offered in a vigorous shake.

“I’d like to hear what happened,” he said with a polite nod. The sheriff was considerably shorter than the cowboy, who had to be at least six foot three, and he wasn’t nearly as in shape. Sawmill squared his shoulders. His forehead creased with concern as Madelyn recalled the events, horrified at the thought Owen could be behind the attack. She wouldn’t deny the possibility. And she tried not to notice how intent the cowboy seemed at picking up every last detail of her statement. One look at him said he had to have been on the job. And it might not be her business but she wanted to know more about the quiet cowboy.

Sawmill listened. “Did the driver fire at you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“We’ve had a few similar incidents on the highway lately. Cases of road rage have doubled with the August sun and the town is still in a frenzy over the death of one of our residents.” Sawmill’s shoulders seemed in a permanent slump and his posture gave away his weariness. No doubt this was the first time he’d dealt with a high-profile murder on what he’d see as “his watch.” The intensity of his expression said he cared about doing a good job.

Road rage? She prayed it was that simple because the other was unthinkable.

“Is there a number where I can reach you if I have more questions?” Sawmill asked.

Madelyn relayed her cell number. “I’m staying at the Red Rope Inn for a couple of days if you need to find me.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’ll make a note on your file.”

“Thank you for your time,” Madelyn said as she followed him out the door. She scanned the horizon as a cold prickly feeling came over her, like eyes watching her. But there was no one around.

Before the sheriff disappeared she’d handed her empty mug to the cowboy. “Thanks for your help. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He tipped his hat but didn’t respond as he followed her onto the lawn. “Keep watch in case he returns.”

“You think he’ll come back?” Her heart drummed her rib cage.

“Probably not. He’ll have to fix his tire and regroup,” he said. “Doesn’t hurt to be extra careful.”

Madelyn thanked the cowboy again before sliding into the driver’s seat. Her palms were sweaty and her heart still galloped but she’d been threatened in her job before. It would take more than a stressful brush with road rage—if the sheriff had accurately assessed the situation—to detour her from finding out what Maverick Mike wanted with her.

Now that she’d almost made it to the ranch, her curiosity was at an all-time high. And she couldn’t think of one reason the man would summon her.

* * *

THERE HAD TO be two dozen news trucks lining the street in front of the Hereford Ranch due to Maverick Mike’s murder. Again, Madelyn questioned what she was doing here. If there was a story, wouldn’t one of these reporters have already sniffed it out?

A beefy security guy stood at the gate attached to a white log fence. He was wearing navy shorts and a matching button-down short-sleeved shirt, and had a gun strapped to his hip.

She rolled her window down and gave her name along with the name of the paper where she worked.

Beefy’s dark brow arched.