Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel (27 page)

He glanced at his watch. “Why don’t we give it another . . . fifteen minutes?”

She nodded, her gaze inexplicably flooding with relief that her waiting finally had a deadline.

“After that, we hike,” she reaffirmed.

“Yeah.”

He drew her back into his arms, holding her close, absorbing the way she clung to him as if he were the only anchor in a tempestuous sea. And he realized that she wasn’t
the only person needing the reassurance of another person’s arms. Bronte soothed his raw nerves, her hope giving him hope. Her strength giving him the will to be stronger. He needed this in his life. He needed
her.

Jace knew that some people might argue that he was merely in the throes of a new romance and the excitement would soon pass. But Jace had never felt this way with any other woman. Sure, he desired her—and he couldn’t wait to see what new sexual experience would come out of her infinite curiosity. But it was more than that. He was content holding her in his arms, or talking to her on the phone, or receiving one of her texts. He found himself longing to experience even more—a date at a fancy restaurant, their first dance together, waking to her head next to his on the pillow. He wanted long, lazy nights in front of the television, and having her sit next to him on the tractor’s jump seat while he worked. He wanted . . .

Her.

Passionately.

Permanently.

Jace remembered when Elam had returned from four days spent in P.D.’s company during the Wild West Games last year. Somehow, in a little more than a week, P.D. had transformed his brother from a grieving widower to a man with his eyes on the future. Jace had worried that his brother was rushing into a commitment without really exploring his options. But when Jace had suggested that Elam should “play the field,” Elam had laughed and slapped him on the back, saying, “Sometimes a person doesn’t need a whole lot of choices to know he’s already found the best one.”

At the time, Jace had thought his brother was ignoring the fact that, after falling so quickly under P.D.’s spell, he could fall out of love just as quickly.

But Elam had proven to be right. He and P.D. were as passionate and devoted to each other now as they’d been in those first heady days of their romance. Jace wasn’t surprised that they’d decided to make their engagement a short
one and marry in October. He was only surprised it had taken so long for Elam to pop the question.

For the first time in his own life, Jace felt a longing for that kind of permanence, that ultimate sense of belonging. He felt a tug in his heart at the mere thought, and he held Bronte even tighter. True, he wasn’t quite ready to pull the trigger on marriage. He didn’t think there was a man alive who jumped headlong into something like that without a few qualms. But he did find himself thinking about someday. Maybe even someday soon.

He smiled at the thought. If someone had told him mere months ago that he might be thinking of hooking up with a single mother with two children, he would have laughed. He had enough on his plate with Barry.

But even though he knew it would be a challenge adding two more kids to the mix, Jace couldn’t deny that he’d grown fond of the girls. Lily was sweet and sensitive and loyal. And after his talk with Kari, Jace was beginning to believe her teenage bluster was more show than actual sentiment. He sensed that the two of them missed their father more than they would ever want to admit to Bronte. But they wanted the man they’d known when he was clean and sober, not the bastard Phillip was now. Maybe they wouldn’t mind having someone around the house who would give them some attention, support, and a healthy dose of protective testosterone. Just like he and Barry could use a feminine perspective every now and then.

But first . . .

His phone rang in his pocket and Jace hurried to answer it. “Yeah.”

There was a crackle on the other line, then a stuttering voice.

“Who is it?” Bronte whispered.

Grimacing, Jace shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. “Hold it, you’re breaking up.”

As he moved closer toward the entrance, he was surprised anyone had been able to call. Phone service up here was spotty at best.

“Okay, try again.”

“Jace?”

He was barely able to make out Elam’s voice.

“Yeah. Did the kids show up at home?”

“No . . .” Jace lost several words and shifted in an attempt to improve the sound quality. “. . . finished with the police . . . bad news . . .”

No. God, no.

“Did the police find them?”

“No.” Jace heard Elam swear, then he began again, pronouncing each word slowly and distinctly. “New sheriff . . . prick.”

Jace grimaced. Bliss’s longtime sheriff had recently retired and Jace had to agree that his replacement was overly concerned with throwing his weight around. He was a by-the-book cop from back east who seemed determined to write up as many tickets as he could to prove that his services were invaluable. That thought alone was enough to cause Jace’s stomach to twist in foreboding.

“. . . claims Barry . . . abduction . . .”

“What the hell?”

“. . . tried to reason . . . without . . . success . . .” The phone crackled ominously. “. . . you . . . get . . . cabin first . . .”

Jace didn’t need all the words to understand the warning. The new sheriff was hot on their trail and Jace needed to be the first to find the children.

“Jace?”

“I heard you, Elam.”

“I—”

Jace waited, shifting slightly to see if he could improve the signal. But he’d lost the call altogether.

Shit, shit, shit.

Jace didn’t even bother to check the weather outside. He reached for his water bottle, poured what remained over the fire, then started kicking dirt over the embers.

“That was Elam. We’ve got to go now.”

Bronte didn’t need to be told twice. But as soon as she tried to stand, she hissed in pain.

“Sore, huh?” Jace asked ruefully as he kicked the remains of their fire apart, looking for any stray embers, then doused the last of the sparks with dirt.

“I’ll be fine,” Bronte said as airily as she could.

Jace pulled her into his arms and placed a quick kiss on the top of her head. “I know you will. I never doubted it. So you don’t have to act all tough with me. I’m not going to leave you behind.”

“Then my butt hurts like hell,” she grumbled. “But let’s go find our kids.”

Our
kids.

Jace liked the way the phrase slipped off her tongue.

*   *   *

THEY
both shrugged into their jackets and hurried outside. Bronte noticed that it was still raining, but not as hard as it had been before. Jace gestured to the horizon. Beyond the wall of storm clouds, just as he’d predicted, Bronte could see a patch of blue sky.

By the time both of them had mounted their horses and headed back down the slope, the rain had eased and the sky was beginning to lighten, the heavy clouds scudding quickly away beneath a brisk breeze.

Their pace was slow at first, allowing the animals to pick their way over the uneven ground. Bronte concentrated on keeping her seat and searching the trail ahead of them. But soon she noticed that Jace seemed to be checking over his shoulder every few minutes.

“What’s wrong?”

She could see the lines of worry etched on his face.

“That call I got from Elam has me worried.” He grimaced. “More like half a call. The reception was so bad that he kept cutting out. But he managed to let me know that the new sheriff in town . . .”

He paused, and she felt her stomach tighten.

“He’s bound and determined to find the children himself. When he does, it sounds like he wants to charge Barry with abduction.”

“What?” Bronte stared at him, sure that she’d misheard. “Can he do that?”

“Hell if I know.” The words were bitter. “The man’s been in charge for only a few months—ever since George Hamblin retired. I’ve heard folks around the valley muttering that he’s heavy-handed in his enforcement techniques. Frankly, I think he’s young and trying to prove he’s up to the job.”

“But . . . kidnapping? How could he even think such a thing? At the most, he could call both of them runaways.”

Jace shrugged. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. I don’t know how much Elam was able to convey to the man about Barry’s disability—or if he was willing to believe anything that he was told. I’m sure that he’s only considering the facts—that a sixteen-year-old boy has taken off with an eight-year-old girl—and he’s jumping to a worst-case scenario. The whole thing can probably be settled as soon as he has a chance to talk to the kids. But we’ve got to get to them first. Can you imagine how frightening it will be for both of them if a policeman appears and slaps cuffs on Barry?”

Bronte’s stomach roiled at the thought.

“If we can push a little faster—” He broke off, bringing his mount to a halt. Snowflake obediently followed suit.

Bronte opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but then she caught a hint of the same sound that must have captured his attention.

“What is that?”

But before Jace could even open his mouth, the familiar
thwup, thwup, thwup
of a helicopter’s rotors beat against her ears.

“Hell,” Jace muttered. “Hold on, Bronte. We’re only a few miles away and we’ve got to get there fast.”

Bronte nodded, automatically clutching the pommel as Jace spurred the horses into a gallop. She didn’t allow herself to wonder what would happen if she fell—or if, God forbid, the children weren’t at the cabin as they’d hoped. Instead, she huddled low over the saddle, her eyes trained on Jace as he leaned into the wind.

The sight would have been awe-inspiring if it weren’t so
terrifying. Jace represented the quintessential cowboy, at one with the horse he rode. His hat was pulled low, his Carhartt jacket adding bulk to his shoulders and arms, his leanly muscled legs gripping the saddle. The entire picture radiated power and confidence—and Bronte clung to that thought, knowing that the next few moments were critical.

Suddenly, they crested a rise, and there, less than a hundred yards away, Bronte could see a large meadow dotted with wild poppies. On the far side, a squat structure made of logs and split timber had been built in the midst of towering pine trees. The building was so weathered, so crude, that it seemed to be rooted to the ground rather than constructed by human hands.

The sight was enough to send a jolt of hope through her system. The sunlight was growing now, and somehow, in the last few minutes, the last of the rain had blown away and the wind was whipping the clouds apart. Overhead, the sky became a robin’s-egg blue.

Like some futuristic bird of prey, a helicopter swooped into view. Looking back and forth from the cabin to the aircraft, Bronte tried to determine who would reach the structure first. She began silently praying, “Oh please, oh please, oh please.” Then, as the helicopter began its decent, Bronte caught sight of movement from under the trees.

“Over there! It’s Barry’s horse, Snuffles!”

Unbelievably, Jace was able to coax more speed out of their mounts. As the helicopter landed in the clearing below, Jace rode pell-mell through the field of scarlet wildflowers. Around them, clouds of butterflies that had been attracted by the moist blossoms swirled and whirled, then settled back down again to bask in the growing light.

Jace brought the horses to a skidding halt next to the front door. He didn’t even bother to tie them up as he jumped from the saddle, then rounded to help Bronte down.

Glancing behind them, she saw two men stepping from the aircraft. “They’re coming,” she gasped as Jace took her hand.

“I know.”

Jace pulled her toward the door, grabbed the old knob and gently pushed his way inside, drawing Bronte with him.

It took a few seconds for Bronte’s eyes to adjust, but when they did, a cry lodged in her throat. On an old bedstead that was only slightly larger than a cot, Lily lay napping, her butterfly quilt pulled tightly under her chin. On the opposite side of the room, Barry slept in a battered rocking chair, his
Star Wars
blanket draped over his lap. In the fireplace, red coals still glowed from a fire, and the air inside was warm, despite the draft seeping in from the open door. On the table were empty tin cans with labels proclaiming that they’d once held peaches and fruit cocktail. There were also more applesauce pouches and even a half-eaten box of granola bars.

Jace began to chuckle softly—a sound that was part relief, part pent-up fear, and part disbelief.

“They’re fine,” he said, his voice shaky. “They’re—”

They were pushed aside as two men burst in behind them. Before Bronte could react, she and Jace were shoved aside and figures dressed in sheriff’s parkas and uniforms stormed past them.

“Hands in the air!”

In an instant, all hell broke loose. Barry jolted awake, automatically standing, his eyes still bleary with sleep. On the other end of the room, Lily woke, took one look at the two unfamiliar men, and began to scream.

When one of the men pushed Barry toward the wall and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt, Jace was immediately on him, trying to yank the officer away from his brother, while the second lawman pulled his gun and shouted, “Freeze! Now!”

Jace was slammed back against the wall. He immediately lifted his hands to show he wasn’t a threat, but the deputy still kept him in the sights of his pistol. The sheriff, freed from Jace’s grip, stepped toward Barry and began to put the terrified boy in handcuffs.

“No! Leave him alone!”

Tearing across the room, Lily inserted herself between the lawman and Barry. Frightened for her daughter’s safety,
Bronte tried to pull her out of harm’s way, but Lily became hysterical, screaming unintelligible words while she kicked at the lawman with her bare feet and clawed at Barry’s hands in an effort to free them from the metal constraints.

Wrenching free from the deputies’ grip, Bronte grabbed Lily and hauled her into her arms. Her daughter was trembling uncontrollably, tears streaking her face. Bronte tried to comfort her, offering cooing sounds, wrapping the girl tightly in her arms to absorb the tremors. But Lily continued to weep, until finally, Bronte began to understand what her daughter was saying.