Cowboy Christmas Guardian

Their eyes locked, like two wild animals sizing each other up.

“Barrett,” came a shout from above, making her jump.

“I got her,” he hollered back. “Gonna need to pull us up.”

There was some response that she could not decipher.

He puffed out a breath and straightened, rising to something over six feet she guessed, plenty strong enough to have clobbered her and shoved her into the trunk. Then again, if his goal was to hurt her, why would he have kept her from falling into the ravine? Doubt clouded her thinking along with the cold that seemed to be freezing her one layer at a time.

“All right,” he said. “My brothers are going to pull us up on the rope, so you have to hang on to me for a minute, okay?”

Not okay. The furthest thing from okay. To deliver herself into the hands of this stranger and now his brothers? Needing more time to think, she shook her head.

His expression went a little softer, or so she imagined. “I know you’ve been through a fright and you’re scared, but I’m a good guy, mostly.” He offered a wry smile. “At least, some folks might say so. I’m not here to hurt you, but there’s really no way I can prove that to you under the present circumstances.”

He could be telling the truth but her fear still ran rampant. She pressed herself to the cliff wall, staying far out of reach.

He tucked his hands onto his hips. “All right. If that’s your choice, we’ll honor it. I’ve never in my life forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to, but I for one am tired of being out here in the rain, and I’ve got a horse to find, so if you really want to stay down here by yourself, it’s a long wait until sunrise.”

She saw now there was a rope knotted around his waist. He looped an extra length around himself, grabbed hold above his head and shouted to his brothers to start pulling.

Below, the river water rushed wildly on past the rocky ground. The wind teased her wet skin, her body shivering uncontrollably. She recalled her mother’s admonition, always gentle, too gentle. So stubborn, Shell. It’s not always you against the world.

“Wait,” she said.

Water ran down his crew-cut hair and wide chin. Slowly he held out a hand to her.

Just get out of the ravine, she told herself. Then you can figure if this guy is the genial cowboy or the man who locked you up. She reached out shaking fingers. His palms were rough and calloused, the hands of a working man, and he scooped her to his side in one strong movement.

His shoulders were solid, wide under the sodden jacket, his waist tapered and trim as she clung to him, gripping his leather belt.

“Keep holding on tight,” he advised.

She did as the rope was pulled up from above. The journey threatened to spin them in circles, but the man she’d heard called Barrett kept them relatively steady by bracing his long legs against the canyon walls.

Foot by slippery foot, they gradually reached the top where she found herself surrounded by three more men and their horses. Their physical similarities marked them as brothers, except for the one who was more slender and lanky than the other three.

“I’ll call for an ambulance when I can get a signal,” said the brother who was still astride his horse. He peered down at her curiously.

Another handed her a blanket. Barrett helped wrap it around her shoulders.

“Mama’s waiting at the house,” one of the brothers said.

Barrett nodded, taking the reins to a big horse from one and retrieving his wet hat from the saddlebag. “You can ride with me—” he hesitated “—unless you’d rather not.”

She was miserable and shivering badly as she surveyed the men who stared at her. Something in their appearance took the edge off her suspicion, or maybe it was the reference to Mama. She’d always called her mother that, a sweet endearment that bridged the gap between angry daughter and desperate mother. Mama. Two syllables packed to the brim with feelings, and she would give anything to say it one more time and see understanding in her mother’s eyes.

We’re oil and water sometimes, Shelby, but I’ll always be your Mama.

Oil and water. More like fire and ice.

Mama, I miss you.

Expelling a breath and straightening her shoulders, she nodded. Barrett got onto his horse in one fluid motion and offered her an arm.

After a moment of paralyzing doubt, she took it and he swung her up behind him.

“Where are we going?” she said into his ear.

“Home,” he said, urging the horse through the pounding rain.

THREE

Barrett was not too cold to feel uncomfortable at having a woman’s arms wrapped around his waist. It had been four long years since any woman had touched him except his mother and assorted relatives. The lady was strong and soft at the same time, holding on to him tentatively, it seemed to him. Fortunately, Titan was eager to get back to the barn so his pace was brisk as they returned to the house.

The string of Christmas lights twined around the porch railing twinkled in the gloom. His father met them, taking the reins from Barrett as he helped the woman off the horse. Barrett tied the horses under the wide porch as a temporary measure until he could unsaddle them, dry them down and see to their feed.

His father tipped his wet hat to her and introduced himself. “Tom Thorn. Very sorry for your trouble, miss. Come inside and my wife, Evie, will help you feel comfortable.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Got Swanny,” he said to Barrett. “She’s in the barn, looking plenty sorry.”

“I’m sure.” Barrett chuckled. More likely, she was pleased as could be now that she was back in a warm stable with a bucket of oats. It eased his mind to know that his wife’s dotty horse was unhurt after her mad escape.

Barrett’s mother stood in the doorway, gesturing. “Enough chatting, Barrett. Bring that poor girl in the house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He followed her in where Evie looked the woman up and down. His mother was all of four feet eleven inches, hair graying but green eyes sparkling as brightly as they ever had.

“What’s your name, honey?” she asked.

“Shelby,” the woman replied, teeth chattering.

“Well, Miss Shelby, I am eager to hear how in the world you got halfway down a ravine on Joe Hatcher’s property, but first things first. Everybody needs some dry clothes. I’ve got a pot of coffee on, so go change, boys, and we’ll have a talk.”

She put an arm around Shelby’s shoulders. “Come with me. We’ll get you a change of clothes and check out your bruises.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I was an RN before I traded it in for ranch life, so I’m not just a nosy mom to those four gorillas.”

Barrett marched to his room, stripped off his wet clothes and pulled on a dry pair of jeans and a T-shirt, along with his less favored pair of boots. He tried not to rush, but he was dying to hear Shelby’s story. It was an odd sensation. Since Bree died, he had been interested in nothing and no one, only his family and the workings of the Gold Bar Ranch where his life was 100 percent about the horses.

Forcing a slow pace, he ambled into the kitchen to find twins, Jack and Owen, sitting at the table sipping coffee while their youngest brother, Keegan, leaned against the refrigerator, munching a cheese sandwich.

Keegan had a bottomless appetite and a head for mischief. He shook his dark hair from his face and grinned. “So, Barrett. For once it’s not me that broke the rules. What’s it feel like to be a trespasser?”

Owen laughed as their father joined them. “Good thing you didn’t run across any of Joe Hatcher’s booby traps.”

“Those are rumors,” their father said with a frown. He scrubbed a hand over a scalp of stubbly gray hair that had not thinned in spite of his seventy-three years. “Joe is a good man, or used to be. Top-notch saddler until his life took a turn.”

“If you say so,” Owen said.

“I do say so, son,” he said quietly. “Everyone’s life takes a turn now and then, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” Owen looked at the table, probably feeling again the enemy bullets that had carved a trail into his leg and left him scarred and limping. Keegan understood, too. He was adopted into the Thorn family at age sixteen when there was no one to care for him but Evie and Tom Thorn. In Barrett’s case, one careless turn of a drunk driver’s wheel had brought his life to a full stop.

Yes, he agreed. Life could take a sudden turn.

Owen and Jack stood as their mother ushered Shelby in and seated her in one of their vacated chairs.

At last he could get a good look at her. Trying not to stare, he drank in the details. She was slender and fine boned, probably somewhere close to five feet seven inches. Now he could see that her eyes were the green of forest moss, her hair brown. She’d pulled it into a wet ponytail that swept the flannel shirt his mom had loaned her. A navy blue pair of sweatpants, which his mother must have dug up from somewhere, engulfed her legs.

“I think she’s going to be okay,” Evie said. “But I would lobby for a hospital visit to be sure there isn’t a concussion from where she was struck on the head.”

Struck on the head? What kind of person would hit a woman? That notion made his stomach flip. And the fact that she thought he’d done it? He cleared his throat and introduced everyone properly.

Shelby nodded solemnly at each brother and his parents.

“Thank you,” she said, her gaze finally landing on him. “Especially you, Barrett. I...I thought...” She twisted a finger in the hem of her borrowed shirt. “Well, anyway, thank you.”

He nodded. “What were you doing on Hatcher’s property?”

His mother shot him a scolding look. “Can you offer her a cup of coffee before you start the interrogation? Even cowboys should have good manners.”

Ignoring the smiles from his brothers, he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Shelby.

“Thank you,” she said, the slight quirk of her lips indicating she was enjoying seeing him chastised. “I thought I was still on my uncle’s property. I got caught up in my work and I didn’t realize I’d strayed. Lost track of the time, too.” She looked thoroughly embarrassed.

Her uncle? Which of their neighbors was her relation? He was about to ask when a loud pounding on the front door made her jump, spilling some of the coffee.

“Don’t think that’s the cops yet,” Owen said. “I called them, but they’re working an overturned lumber truck on the main road that has traffic stopped in and out of town.” He opened the door.

Joe Hatcher stepped in, white hair plastered over his skull. His angry gaze swept the kitchen until it fastened on Shelby. “I was out checking my property. Saw Barrett pulling you out of the ravine. You got no business on my land, like I told you last week. You trespass again and you’re gonna get hurt,” he snarled.

All the brothers stepped a pace forward.

“You’ll be civil,” their father said, “or you’ll leave.”

“Civil?” Hatcher’s eyes narrowed. “I gotta be civil when she can trespass on my land? Go poking around in my mine?”

“I wasn’t anywhere near your mine and I didn’t mean to stray onto your property. That was my mistake. I was taking some samples along the road and I got disoriented.”

Samples? For what purpose? Barrett wondered.

“Fool thing to do. You deserve what you got,” Hatcher said.

Shelby stood and lifted her chin. “So was it you who hit me from behind and locked me in the trunk of my car?”

“’Course not,” he said. “If I’d known you were on my land, I’d have shot you.”

Evie gasped and Barrett started to speak, but Shelby faced Hatcher, a glint of fire in her expression. “There is no need for threats. I apologize for trespassing. I was taking some surface samples and I didn’t realize I was no longer on my uncle’s property.”

“But let’s be clear,” she continued. “That isn’t your mine. I have every right to enter and collect samples and I will do that in the near future.”

“You gonna tell me I don’t own the property that’s been in my family for a hundred years?” he snapped.

“Of course you own the land. That’s why I came to see you last week, but you wouldn’t talk to me. As I would have explained if you’d answered your phone or read your mail, you don’t own the mineral rights. My uncle does, and he wants an assay of the ore. That’s my job and you don’t have the legal right to interfere.”

Hatcher’s mouth worked, brows drawn into a ferocious scowl. “I don’t care what the law says. If you step on my property again, I’ll kill you.”

Barrett’s pulse hammered as he grabbed Hatcher by the arm. “That’s enough. You’re leaving.”

Hatcher shook away Barrett’s grip but stalked to the front door with Barrett following. “Get your car off my property,” he called to Shelby. Before he stepped outside, he poked Barrett in the chest. “You won’t be so eager to help when you know who her kin is,” he hissed.

Barrett stared him down. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to come into this home and threaten a woman’s life.”

Muttering, Hatcher stomped down the porch steps.

Barrett shut the door, Hatcher’s words replaying in his mind. As he returned to the kitchen, a trickle of suspicion slithered through his belly. It couldn’t be. “Shelby, who is your uncle?”

“Ken Arroyo,” she said. “Do you know him?”

Barrett could feel the weight of his family staring at him. Time seemed to slow as if the hands of the old carriage clock were being held by some invisible force, his breaths ticking along in rhythm.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I know him.”

“You’re neighbors,” she said uncertainly, “even though he’s not here for part of the year. You must be friends, then?”

“No, not friends.” The furthest thing from friends.

She cocked her head slightly, long tendrils that had escaped the ponytail curling around her face, her glance taking in the stricken looks around the table. “I can see that my uncle has no fans here. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

No, he thought. No, I don’t.

* * *

She watched Barrett exhale long and slow. He couldn’t be older than his early thirties but there was a deep storehouse of grief and fatigue in his electric-blue eyes that made her wonder. He rubbed a hand over his chin as if to smooth away some painful thought.

“Not the time. If you’re feeling better, I’ll drive you to the hospital, or you’re welcome to wait here for the police.”

“I don’t need a hospital. I need to get back. The police can talk to me at Uncle Ken’s house.” She stood. “I’m okay and I can find my own way to my car.”

“Begging your pardon, but I’ll escort you.”

“Not necessary.”

Barrett didn’t answer.

Evie appeared to have recovered her composure. “We will bring you your clothes when they’re dry.”

“Thank you very much, but I can pick them up. You have all been extremely kind. I can’t thank you enough.”

Evie took her by the hand. There was something forced in her smile and it made Shelby sad. For a few minutes, it had been nice to feel like someone’s daughter again. It pained her that somehow things had changed, though she didn’t know why.

“That’s what neighbors do,” Evie said. “Barrett will see you back.”

Barrett stood stiffly by the door.

“Hey,” Owen said, moving close to his brother. Shelby noted he had a pronounced limp. “I can take her,” he said quietly, but Shelby heard him anyway.

Barrett shook his head. “I got this.”

What was it about her relationship with Uncle Ken that had instantaneously set up a wall between her and the Thorn family?

It’s not your problem. You’re here for Uncle Ken. The Thorns could put up walls for whatever reason and it was of no consequence to her. At the moment, her entire life goal was to get back to her uncle’s place and enjoy the hottest shower she could stand.

Barrett led her outside. As she passed the foyer, she caught the scent of pine from a Christmas tree. It was standing in the corner of the room, festooned with ornaments. On the fireplace mantel, green branches were trimmed with tiny red glass balls. A framed photo graced the mantel, a grinning Barrett without the cowboy hat, his arm around a young woman, radiant in a wedding dress, her long hair pinned back with white roses. She was lovely. Barrett flicked her a glance, catching Shelby looking at the picture. She looked away and followed him outside.

The rain had slackened off to a weak sprinkle. The events of the day overwhelmed her as her mind spooled through the memories. A sudden blow to the head, the sensation of being hauled into her trunk, the awful sound of the lid slamming shut.

The attack had been from Joe Hatcher, she was sure of it, but why? Just to keep her away from the mine? Out of greed? Anger at her perceived trespassing? Or perhaps he had some deep-seated resentment about her uncle, too?

“You ride?” Barrett said, pulling her back to the present.

“Since I was a kid,” she said. That was probably overstating. She’d slacked off on her riding since her youth when she would visit her uncle in the summertime, but she found herself wanting to prove her worth to Barrett Thorn. Bad enough that he’d had to rescue her from a locked trunk and lug her out of a ravine. She couldn’t leave him thinking she was some flimsy damsel-in-distress type.

He untied the horse that Jack had been riding. “Lady is a gentle ride.”

She was right. He did think she was clueless. Ignoring his offered hand, she put her foot in the stirrup and climbed onto the saddle.

Barrett mounted his horse and clicked his tongue at the big animal.

Shelby was grateful that the rain had tapered off. Moonlight cast a weak glow over the landscape as they trailed back to where she’d parked her car. Her own stupid mistake made her groan inwardly. Some assayer. Hadn’t even realized she’d strayed onto Hatcher’s property.

Determined not to incur any more embarrassment for one evening, she slipped off Lady and handed the reins to Barrett. He was a giant astride the big horse, and as immovable as a cliff.

“Thank you again,” she said. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Don’t owe me anything. I’ll help you find your keys or maybe I can hot-wire it.”

“No need for you to stay. I’ll find them.”

He ignored her, dismounting and beginning a search of the wet ground.

She hesitated, curiosity burning inside. “Barrett, what do you have against my uncle?”

He looked away. “Don’t need to talk about that now.”

“It’s not likely we’re going to do much chatting in the future.” That got no reaction. “So tell me. If you have a beef against Uncle Ken, then I have a right to know. He’s my only family.”

Barrett’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “No disrespect intended, ma’am, but you don’t have a right to know.”

She folded her arms, her pulse kicking up. “If Uncle Ken has an enemy right next door, then it is my business.”

Barrett looked down at her, considering, shoulders a broad, tense wall against the night sky. He blew out a breath. “All right. You want to know so bad, I’ll tell you.”

She waited quietly.

“Ken’s son killed my wife.”

The words dropped like stones. Killed my wife. She found herself unable to speak. An endless moment passed between them but she could not think of a single response.

“Let’s find those keys,” he finally said.

Her thoughts ran rampant as they searched. Glass littered the ground from where Barrett had broken the window.

Her cousin Devon had killed Barrett Thorn’s wife? She flashed back to the photo she’d seen, a radiant bride and her handsome groom. With a surge of guilt, she realized she hadn’t been back to her uncle’s ranch in so long that she had only known the barest hint about what was going on in the lives of Uncle Ken and Devon.

She’d known Devon had gone to prison for causing an accident that had killed a woman, but she did not know the particulars. The times she’d called, Uncle Ken had steadfastly refused to discuss it.

Still lost in thought, she found her pack under a nearby shrub. There was no sign of her samples, but everything else was there.

Barrett held the reins of the two horses in his hands. He looked somewhere over her head, anywhere but in her eyes.

“I’ll wait until you get your car started,” he said. “Good night, Miss Arroyo.”

In his tone, she heard the bitterness. Ken’s son killed my wife. She was anxious to get away, to sort it all out in her mind.

A noise behind her made her turn.

Barrett was staring at something in the distance. His attention was riveted to a spot under the trees, pitch-black except for a soft orange glow.

Her mind was slow to put it together. The orange glow was not an electric or battery light. It sparkled and fizzed like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.

No, not a firecracker.

A fuse.

“No,” Barrett shouted.

Shelby could not see who was standing there under the trees. With a blur of movement, the stranger launched the dynamite through the air. It arced a golden trail through the night, speeding straight toward her.

FOUR

Barrett dropped the reins, grabbed Shelby’s hand and yanked her after him. There wasn’t time to do anything but dive behind a pile of boulders and put his bulk between her and whatever shrapnel was about to come their way.

The explosion was deafening. Shards of glass flew through the air, smashing on the rocks and cutting into his back as he tried to block Shelby from the falling debris. His eardrums rang with the percussive burst. The ground shuddered under them. He looked up in time to see Lady and Titan bolt, fleeing to the safety of the trees.

Shelby stirred in his arms but he caged her there with his body.

“Stay still until we know there’s nothing else coming.”

She probably wasn’t thrilled about his command, but she acquiesced.

It was silent save for the wind in the branches and his own harsh breathing. Through the thin jacket his mother had insisted she wear, he felt her sides rising and falling in rapid rhythm. After a few moments, he poked his head up above the pile of rocks, watching for signs of movement. He saw nothing but a flicker of white as Titan led Lady away from the danger.

Barrett eased up and crawled from the hiding place, offering Shelby a hand. She took it, and together they surveyed the damage. He still kept a cautious eye on the trees.

The front of her car was blackened and twisted, smoke pouring out through the broken windshield. Her expression was hard to read in the scant moonlight. Fear? Outrage? Confusion? All of them would apply.

“What just happened?” she demanded, hands on hips.

“Dynamite.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “So somebody actually ignited a stick of dynamite and lobbed it at me?”

He nodded. “Plenty left around here from the mining days. Easy to lay hands on it.”

“I don’t care where it came from. The bigger point here is why would someone light up a stick and toss it at me? It has to be Joe Hatcher.”

“Maybe, unless you’ve angered somebody else.”

She folded her arms and skewered him with such a look of disdain it almost made him smile.

“I haven’t done anything to anyone in this town.”

He didn’t answer. Whatever she had or hadn’t done wasn’t his business. Yet once again, he found himself trying to extricate her from a pile of trouble.

“What makes you think it’s not Joe Hatcher?” she said.

“Doesn’t seem like a rational thing for him to do.”

“He threatened to kill me recently, if you remember.”

“And that was completely out of line, but he might have been shooting his mouth off. My father believes him to be an honorable man, deep down.”

“And you believe that, too?”

He cocked his head. “I don’t know, but I trust my father. So for now, I’ll reserve judgment.”

She met his eyes, her own glimmering with unreadable emotion. “I admire that kind of familial respect.”