Secluded With the Cowboy (2 page)

In retrospect, Dylan realized that he should have guessed that she’d been forced to say what she did. But Nicole had been damn convincing. Looked him straight in the eye and told him that their marriage was over.

For the past several weeks they’d been arguing. She’d accused him of not listening to her, and that he paid too much attention to running the ranch and not enough to their relationship. She’d been angry at him. That was for damn sure.

But she’d never once said she didn’t love him or that she wanted a divorce. Those were Nate Miller’s words. And when Nicole spoke them, they were bullets to Dylan’s heart.

In that moment he’d wanted to die. Losing her to a kidnapper was hell. Losing her because she didn’t want to be with him was even worse.

Determinedly, he said, “We’re going to be okay.”

“Know what I’ve been dreaming about? What I really want?”

“Tell me.”

“An energy bar with peanuts and raisins.”

Dylan stroked dank strands of hair off her forehead. “You always liked those granola bars.”

Her predictability pleased him.
Back to normal. Everything is going to be all right
.

When her husband escorted her across the threshold of their upstairs bedroom at the ranch house, a strong sense of familiarity overwhelmed Nicole. Surrounded by memories, she truly felt that she was home. And safe.

Every detail—from the green-sprigged wallpaper to the sandy wall-to-wall carpet—matched her personal taste. She’d selected the dark oak furniture. The cream-colored duvet and the pillows plumped up against the headboard promised a comfortable sleep.

Her gaze caught on the framed family photos displayed above the dresser, and she reached toward their wedding picture. In his tuxedo with his black hair combed, Dylan was tall, dashing and gallant. Standing beside him, she looked tiny in her lacy white gown. Though she’d been wearing three-inch heels to enhance her five-foot-two inch height, the top of her head still didn’t reach higher than his chin. “Our wedding. I was so happy.”

Dylan smiled. “Best day of my life.”

Her hand touching the photo was filthy. So much had changed. The bumps and bruises she’d been trying to ignore ached. Her whole body felt sore.

She staggered into the adjoining bathroom and turned
on the faucet in the sink. The grime and stench of captivity disgusted her. She needed to be clean again.

After she’d washed her hands and face, she confronted her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She leaned close. “I look awful.”

“Not to me.” Dylan handed her a towel and gently rested his hand on her shoulder. “It’s like I always said. No matter where you are, no matter what you do, you’re always the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I’m the only woman in this bathroom,” she pointed out.

“So I’m not lying.”

It was good to see him smile. He had obviously suffered in her absence. The strain showed in the deepening of the lines at the corners of his pale green eyes. His usually ruddy complexion had paled. “This was hard on you.”

“I kept thinking I’d never see you again, never hear your voice, never…” He choked off his words before getting emotional. Dylan wasn’t the sort of man who put his feelings on display. “I’ll be glad when things get back to normal.”

There was a knock at their bedroom door, and he went to answer. She heard Carolyn’s voice and Dylan’s response as he said they wanted to be alone.

Nicole appreciated his concern for her privacy. Though she didn’t feel completely wiped out, she needed some time to pull herself together and to heal. She heard Carolyn mention Dylan’s mother, Andrea. Was she here? Had Andrea come to the ranch? If so, Nicole would be surprised. Dylan and his mother had been estranged for years.

He closed the bedroom door and carried a tray laden with three energy bars, a ham-and-cheese sandwich and
a mug of milk. To her eye, the simple repast looked like a feast. As soon as he set the tray down on the table by the window, she pounced on an energy bar, tore off the wrapper and took a bite. Never had anything tasted so fabulous. She chased the granola with a sip of milk. “Omigod. Omigod.”

Dylan laughed. “Hungry?”

“I guess so.” She lowered herself into the padded rocking chair beside the table, glad that the cushion was forest-green and wouldn’t show the dirt from her jeans. “My bath is going to wait until I have some food.”

Another bite of granola. Another swig of milk. She picked up the sandwich. The homemade bread felt heavy and healthy. The ham, the yellow American cheese and the crisp lettuce had her taste buds exploding in ecstasy. Though she fully intended to devour the whole thing, she was full after only three or four bites.

Leaning back in the rocking chair, she sipped the milk. “Did Carolyn say something about your mom?”

“Andrea’s here,” he said coldly. His mother had divorced Dylan’s father and moved to Manhattan when Dylan was only five years old. “I didn’t invite her.”

No surprise. He’d never forgiven his mother for leaving, despite the obvious fact that Andrea was a city woman. And she was happy in New York. Years ago she’d remarried and had another child—a half sister that Dylan had never met. “Why is she here?”

“Carolyn called and told her you’d been kidnapped. Andrea took it upon herself to come out here. A waste of time.”

“Don’t be hard on her. She wanted to offer support.”

“Too late for that.”

Nicole recognized certain unfortunate parallels be
tween Dylan’s mother and herself. They both had married strong-willed ranchers. Dylan’s father, Sterling Carlisle, had a reputation for being tough, demanding and ambitious. In the late 1980s he’d changed his ranching methods to organic before that became the thing to do. Sterling had established a family empire that had grown into a multimillion-dollar business. But there had been a personal cost. He’d made a lot of enemies. And his intense focus on the ranch might have left Andrea feeling isolated and abandoned. Nicole knew how it felt to be ignored while Dylan tended to business.

“I’m glad your mother is here,” she said. “The only other time I’ve seen her was at our wedding, but I’ve kept in touch. You know, with Christmas cards and e-mails. Family is important, Dylan.”

“I know.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and she guessed that he was holding back a hostile comment about his mother.

“I still miss my parents.” She’d been an only child, adopted by parents who were older, both in their late forties when she was an infant. Both had passed away before her twenty-first birthday. “I never had any other relatives.”

“You’ve got me.” He stood by the rocking chair and took her hand. “You’re everything to me. My family. My partner. My friend. My lover.”

In spite of her aches and pains, she wanted to be in his arms, to replace her memories of captivity with sweet intimacy. She wanted his kisses, wanted to feel…wanted. Yet, when he leaned closer, she pushed him away. “Not yet. I’m too gross. I need to take my bath.”

“I can wait.”

She rose from the rocking chair, grabbed another
energy bar and moved toward the bathroom. “This might take a long time.”

“Need any help?”

His offer was tempting, but she refused. Her plan was to shower first and wash her hair, four or five times. Then she’d soak until every pore of her body was clean.

He stood in the bathroom doorway. “I’ll be waiting out here until you’re done.”

She started the shower. After she stripped off the clothes she’d worn for so many days, she opened the door and tossed them out. “I never want to see these again.”

“They’re gone,” Dylan said.

She closed the door again, grateful to be home and in control of her life. Naked, she stepped into the shower. The hot water sluiced down her body, washing away the top layer of grime. With a washcloth she scrubbed hard, hoping to erase the horror and humiliation.
Will I ever be clean again?

Nate had forced her to do things she never wanted to do—to look at her husband in the eye and tell him she wanted a divorce.
She’d had no choice
. If she’d disobeyed, they would both be dead.

Dylan understood. He didn’t blame her for what she’d done. Her tears mingled with the pelting water of the shower. She needed more time to forgive herself.

A
FEW HOURS LATER
, Dylan woke from the best sleep he’d had in seven days with Nicole snuggled up beside him on the bed. After her soak in the tub, her skin smelled like spring flowers. Her blond hair was still damp. When he nestled her small body against him, his heart swelled. She’d come back to him, back to where she belonged.

He hadn’t planned to fall asleep on their bed while she was in the bathroom, but once he’d stretched out on top of the covers, he faded fast. During the whole time she’d been kidnapped, he hadn’t once slept in their bed. He couldn’t. Not until she was beside him.

“Nicole,” he whispered. “Darlin’, are you awake?”

Her breathing was slow and steady, indicating the kind of deep sleep that came from sheer exhaustion.

He noticed that she’d left the bedside lamp burning, which was odd. Usually she blocked out every glimmer of light before going to bed. Being held in that dank root cellar must have made her think differently about the darkness.

Her fingers curled loosely below her chin. He noticed the bruises at her wrists where the handcuffs had been. Seeing those marks infuriated him. He eased the sleeve of her nightgown higher up her arm, revealing more black and blue skin.
Damn Nate Miller
. The son of a bitch had escaped.

Dylan glanced at the bedside clock. It was only a few minutes past eleven o’clock. While Nicole was sleeping, he could slip downstairs and find out what was happening with the ongoing investigation into Nate’s whereabouts.

Leaving the bed, he tucked the covers up to her chin. She didn’t stir. Not a bit. Not even when he kissed the tip of her nose. His wife was an angel from heaven. And Nate deserved the tortures of hell for what he’d done to her.

Downstairs, he found his sister and FBI agent J. D. Burke sitting side by side at the dining-room table, staring at a computer screen. Burke had been the first federal agent on the scene when Carolyn called in the FBI to investigate the kidnapping. The rest of the FBI team had
left after the ransom was paid, but he’d stayed—mostly because of his unexpected relationship with Carolyn. Burke wanted to marry her, God help him.

Carolyn stood. “How’s Nicole?”

“Sleeping. She doesn’t seem to be in bad shape, but it’s hard to tell.” He thought of the bruises and winced. “She’s never been a whiner.”

“I’m telling you,” Carolyn said. “She needs to be checked out by a doctor.”

“And if that’s what Nicole wants, I’ll drive her to the hospital.” He looked toward Burke. “What happened with Nate?”

“He’s gone.” Burke stood and stretched. He was a big man—a bit taller than Dylan and a lot heavier, all of it solid muscle. “When I’m done with this case, I will never again undertake another investigation in the mountains. People disappear around here like thistles on the wind.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Carolyn said. “People can hide in the city, too.”

“But cities have surveillance cameras. And other people who can give information.” He glowered. “The only eyewitnesses around here are the nighthawks and the cattle.”

“I want him found,” Dylan said. “I won’t rest easy until Nate Miller is either dead or behind bars.”

Burke turned the computer toward him. On the screen was a map of the area. “We’ve been trying to figure out where to look. Sheriff Trainer and his men are keeping an eye on Nate’s little house in Riverton. And a couple of other deputies are posted at the Circle M in case he returns there.”

“We should get the FBI back here,” Dylan said. “With surveillance choppers and sniffer dogs.”

“We tried that when we were first looking for Nicole,” Burke pointed out. “Not a real successful tactic.”

Though Dylan had grown up at the ranch and was familiar with this land, they were dealing with thousands of acres—much of it heavily forested. “Seems like the only person who’s had any luck with tracking is Jesse Longbridge.”

“Luck is what we need,” Carolyn said. “The forecast for tomorrow is snow.”

Snowfall and freezing temperatures would drive Nate out of hiding. “Do you think he’ll stay in this area?”

“It’s not logical for him to stick around,” Burke said. “Jesse and Fiona recovered most of the million-dollar ransom when they finally tracked down Pete Richter at Nate’s house, but there’s still over a hundred thousand missing. That’s enough money for Nate to start a new life somewhere else.”

But he had strong ties to this area. He’d lived here all his life, and his four-year-old son was here. Surely he’d never see the boy again. Nate’s ex-wife wouldn’t allow him to be get within a hundred yards of their child.

“If he goes somewhere else,” Dylan said, “how will we find him?”

“Nate’s in the law enforcement system now. There’s a warrant out for his arrest. And an APB. Any cop who sees him will pick him up.”

“And if he isn’t picked up?”

Burke lifted his coffee mug to his mouth and took a sip. “A lot of lawbreakers are never apprehended.”

Too easily, Dylan imagined Nate changing his name and hiring on as a handyman or cowboy at a ranch somewhere far away. Most ranchers weren’t particular about job history when they hired a new hand, and Nate
had skills. In addition to ranching, he’d been working as a handyman for years. “He might get away with this.”

“It’s too bad Nicole’s asleep,” Carolyn said. “If Nate’s around here, she might have some idea where he’s hiding.”

“Nobody is going to question her.” Dylan was firm on this point. “She’s suffered enough. It’s best for her to just forget about what happened.”

“
If
she can forget,” Burke said. “That’s a big if.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not a profiler, but I know a thing or two about victims of violent crimes. It’s important for people who’ve gone through trauma to tell their stories.”

“I agree,” his sister said.

“Of course you do,” Dylan muttered.

Carolyn always complained about how cowboys kept their feelings bottled up. She’d rather have them sit around the campfire and have group therapy. “Nicole needs to talk about what happened.”

She reached up and tightened her ponytail. Her coloring, with black hair and green eyes, was the same as his. She was tall and lean, like him. The two of them looked like the male and female version of the same DNA pattern. They were both stubborn and competitive, constantly butting heads.

“I don’t want you interrogating her,” Dylan said. “Either of you.”

“Even if it’s for the best?” Carolyn asked.

“I’ll decide what’s best for my wife.”

He heard a soft footstep behind him and turned. Nicole, wearing a navy blue velour robe, stood behind him. “Actually,” she said, “I’ll make that decision.”

He wrapped an arm around her and escorted her to a
chair. “I don’t want you to be pressured. Your only job is to get well.”

When she looked up at him, her gaze was sharp and determined. “Here’s what I want,” she said. “Nate Miller in jail.”

“We’re on the same page,” he said.

“If there’s any way I can help put him there, I’m ready.” She looked at Burke. “Ask your questions.”