Secluded With the Cowboy (5 page)

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 shar
ing 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 at
tracted her to Dylan in the first place. To find the man she’d fallen in love with five years ago.

A
T 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.

Burke came up beside him. He wasted no time with discussion. With hand signals, he indicated that he’d ride around to the other side of the trees.

If Nate had parked in the cover of those trees, they’d have him surrounded.

Rifle in hand, Jesse rode up beside Dylan. “When we’re close,” he said, “we approach on foot.”

Dylan understood his thinking. He wanted both feet planted on the ground before taking aim. There might only be time for one shot, and he didn’t want to miss. Beside a shrub, barren of leaves, he and Jesse dismounted. Dylan drew his handgun.

Together, they picked their way through trees and
shrubs. The dry soil, littered with pinecones and dead leaves, crunched underfoot.

They could see the road. The truck sat there, idling. The old engine rattled. The stink of exhaust tainted the air.

He couldn’t see anyone inside. Nate might have left his vehicle, might be on foot, hiding behind a tree trunk or crouched in the shadow of a rock. He didn’t expect Nate to play fair.

“Split up,” he whispered to Jesse. “I’ll go left.”

“I’m sticking with you.”

They’d have a better chance of finding Nate if they spread out, but there wasn’t time for a discussion of strategy. He moved forward.

The truck lights flashed on.

Jesse dropped to one knee and pulled Dylan down beside him. Before either of them could take aim, the truck raced away.

Dylan started toward the pavement, but Jesse held him back. “Stay down.”

“He’s getting away.”

“That’s what we should do. Get the hell out of here.”

On the opposite side of the road, Burke waved. He was also on foot. “Stay down. I called Jesse’s men at the ranch house for back-up.”

Dylan crouched beside a waist-high boulder. He had to agree that this set-up didn’t feel right. The truck had waited for them to get close. They’d been drawn into this area. It was a trap.

“Damn, Jesse. I want to go after him.”

“There could be somebody else driving that truck,” Jesse said.

“What? Who?”

“Nate pulled over a hundred thousand bucks off the top of the ransom. He’s got money to pay an accomplice.”

If Nate was working with someone else, he could have gotten out of the truck. He could be right close by. And they’d be easy targets if they ran to their horses and mounted up.

The brake lights on the truck flashed. The driver stopped and started, driving slowly. Teasing them.

Dylan’s handgun wasn’t accurate enough for distance shooting. “Take the shot, Jesse. Put holes in his tires.”

“Patience.”

All this restraint was driving him crazy. Every muscle in his body tensed. He wanted to go after the bastard.

At a bend in the road, the truck stopped. A harsh voice yelled, “Dylan. I know it’s you.”

He recognized the voice. “That’s Nate.”

“Are you scared, Dylan? Afraid of me?”

“Come back here,” Dylan roared. “Face me like a man.”

“You’re the coward. You and all your hired bodyguards. Hell, your wife is tougher than you are. She didn’t cry. Not much, anyway.”

The thought of Nicole in the bastard’s grasp was too damn much for Dylan to take. He bolted to his feet. He had to go after Nate.

“Wait,” Jesse said. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s trying to draw you out.”

Caution be damned. Dylan refused to hide. He had to take action. He strode through the trees with his right arm extended, firing his weapon.

Jesse tackled him, knocked him to the ground.

“Get off me.” Dylan’s fury gave him strength. He shoved the bodyguard away from him.

Before he could stand up, the night exploded. The air
split in a thunderous roar. A ball of fire burst at the edge of the road.

Dynamite. TNT on a long fuse.

Red and orange flames licked at the surrounding forest. A shower of rocks and dirt rained down upon them.

From far away, Dylan heard Nate Miller laughing.

As Nicole sat at the kitchen table, chatting with Carolyn and her mother, a warm sense of drowsiness wrapped around her like a down comforter. They gossiped and talked about homey topics: baking Christmas cookies, shopping for presents, getting started on the decorations for the ranch house.

Christmas had always been Nicole’s favorite time of year. She loved making wreaths and tromping through the forest to find the perfect-shaped tree. She hoped there would be a blanket of pure-white snow for Christmas morning.

Eyelids drooping, she gazed down at her hands folded in her lap. The black-and-blue marks circling her wrists reminded her of the kidnapping, and she tugged down her sleeves to cover the bruises. It was better to focus on how good it was to be home, to put those terrible memories out of her mind.

Tomorrow would be a brand-new day. She’d wake up in her warm bed beside her husband—a man with whom she had a great deal in common. For breakfast, there would be bacon and eggs and coffee and…

The hint of a distant explosion shook her out of her
reverie. She bounded to her feet. Her chair fell backward and hit the kitchen floor. “What was that?”

“Trouble,” Carolyn said as she whipped out her cell phone. “I’ll call Burke.”

A shiver shuddered down Nicole’s spine. Dylan was out there. Even though she’d begged him to stay with her, to leave the rounding-up of cattle to the others, he’d insisted on riding into danger.

Andrea came up beside her. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

How quickly her sense of well-being had disappeared! Would she ever feel safe again? Nervously, she picked up her chair and pushed it under the table. Her fingers trembled as she carried her cup to the sink and rinsed the dregs of chamomile tea. If anything had happened to Dylan, she couldn’t bear it.

“It’s okay,” Carolyn announced, waving her cell phone. “Nobody was hurt.”

“Thank God,” Andrea said. “What made the noise?”

Carolyn pursed her lips. She seemed reluctant to speak. “I don’t want either of you to freak out.”

“Too late,” Nicole said. “What was it?”

“According to Burke, it was…dynamite.”

Nicole’s knees went weak. Dynamite? She braced herself against the counter.

Carolyn continued, “Nate lured them into an ambush and set off a couple of sticks. But nobody was injured.”

“You’re sure?” Nicole asked.

“Dylan’s fine. He and Jesse and Burke are on their way back. They should be here in a couple of minutes.”

In spite of Carolyn’s reassurances, images of blood and gore raced through her mind. Dylan never should have gone out there. Why hadn’t he listened to her?

The wall phone beside the cupboards rang, and she automatically reached for it. She heard breathing, then a thin, cruel whisper. “I should have left you to die.”

The sound of Nate’s voice stunned her. She gasped.

“Is anyone with you?” he demanded.

“Y-yes.”

“Don’t let them know it’s me,” he whispered. “Give them a smile. Do it, Nicole.”

She forced a smile for Carolyn and Andrea, then turned away so they wouldn’t see the panic in her eyes.

“I’m still in charge, Nicole. Don’t doubt it. Not for a minute.”

She wasn’t his hostage, anymore. He couldn’t force her to do his bidding. “I’m not going to—”

“Silence,” he hissed. “I almost killed Dylan tonight. He’s a hothead, isn’t he? Isn’t he?”

“Yes.” She had to admit the truth. Dylan knew better than to leave the house, but he’d put himself directly in the line of fire.

“Your big, brave husband doesn’t take very good care of himself. He takes risks.”

Oh, God. Nate was right. Dylan didn’t know how to be a coward, didn’t know when to back down.

“Doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a patient man, Nicole. I’ve waited this long for my revenge. I can wait a little longer. Until I see Dylan riding by himself within the range of my rifle. Or maybe I’ll use a car bomb. I’m handy with a knife.”

“What do you want?”

“Do exactly as I say, or Dylan dies.”

“I understand.”

“Write down my phone number.”

There was a message pad attached to the wall and a pencil on a string. She didn’t want to follow his orders. But if she didn’t do as he said, if she failed to make him happy, the consequences would be terrible. She scribbled down the number as he recited it, then she repeated it back to him.

“Very good,” he said. “Get yourself a cell phone, Nicole. Call me at that number.”

“Of course.”

“If you tell anyone you’ve spoken to me, you know what will happen.” There was no inflection in his whispering. The lack of emotion terrified her as he continued, “I’ll destroy everything and everyone you care about. I won’t stop.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know.”

“Good night, Nicole. Dream of me.”

When she replaced the receiver on the hook, her hand was surprisingly steady. After seven days in captivity, she was more accustomed to prisoner behavior than to the uncertainty of real life. She tucked the scrap of paper with his phone number into the pocket of her robe. She had to appease Nate Miller. To keep her family safe.

“Who was that?” Carolyn asked.

“One of the neighbors. The explosion woke her.” The falsehood slid easily through her lips. She had to lie. There was no choice. “What else did Burke tell you?”

“Nate got away.”

“Of course he did.”

Nate was clever and cruel—more dangerous than any of them knew. They underestimated him, didn’t comprehend the depth of his hatred for the Carlisle family.

“Something’s wrong,” Carolyn said as she came closer. “What is it?”

“I’m tired. I should lie down.”

“Of course,” Andrea said. “Come with me, dear. I’ll help you up to bed.”

Dylan’s mother meant to be kind, but Nicole felt like snapping at her. She bit her lip to keep from saying something she’d regret.
No one can know. I have to stay in control
. Stiffly, she climbed the staircase with Andrea at her side. At the door to her room, Nicole turned to the sophisticated woman from New York. “I’m fine now.”

“If there’s anything I can do—”

“Thank you,” she said curtly. “Good night, Andrea.”

Nicole closed the door, shutting out further offers of help and kindness. No one could understand what she’d been through. Not Andrea. Not Carolyn. And especially not Dylan.

He’d never get it. He was too busy being tough and macho to pay attention to her needs.

She took off her robe and hung it on a peg in the closet, leaving the note with Nate Miller’s phone number in the pocket. There was no way to escape him. She’d tried. For seven days she’d tried, but he was obsessed. Just as Burke said. Obsessive. All he wanted was to destroy her family.

She slipped between the covers on her bed and leaned her back against the pillows. If she had to sacrifice herself to save Dylan, she’d do it. No matter how much he ticked her off, she still cared about him. At her core, at the center of her being, she couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without him. But could she still love him if he denied her the family she wanted so desperately?

From downstairs, she heard the men arrive. They were loud and boisterous, and their boots clomped in the entryway. She heard laughter and imagined Carolyn throwing her arms around her big, handsome FBI agent.

Without knocking, Dylan opened the bedroom door. His face was smudged with dirt. His green eyes blazed as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You were right,” he said.

She gasped with relief. Those were the best words he could have spoken. “Say it again.”

“You. Were. Right.”

She scooted across the bed and wrapped her arms tightly around him. “Thank God, you understand now. If anything had happened to you, I…”

“Nothing happened.” He lifted her onto his lap and held her close against his chest. “We’re safe. Both of us.”

She hardly dared to believe it was true, but he was here, safely in her arms. She tilted her head up and kissed him. Familiar sensations swirled through her. In the five years they’d been together, there had been thousands of kisses. Maybe even millions. But the firm pressure of his mouth against hers never failed to arouse her. His teeth tugged at her lower lip, and she kissed him harder. His taste was sweet nectar.

Nestling into his embrace, she marveled at how perfectly they fitted together. He knew the secrets of her body, knew how she liked to be held, knew that she would shiver with pleasure when he caressed her back with feathery strokes.

He was her man. Her lover. Her husband.

His lips brushed the line of her cheekbone. He nipped at her earlobe. “I’ll always take care of you,” he said. “I won’t let Nate come near you. Not ever again.”

“He wants to kill you, Dylan.”

“I’m not afraid.”

She pulled away from him. “You should be.”

“He won’t hurt me. Nate’s a coward and a fool.”

She shoved at her husband’s chest. “Nate wasn’t so foolish when he was holding me captive. He outsmarted you, the sheriff and the FBI. I’d call that pretty damned clever.”

“Forget about him.”

Dylan leaned closer for another kiss, but she wasn’t about to be seduced into complacency. Her vigilance would keep them alive. She climbed off his lap and stood before him. “I can’t forget.”

He held out a hand toward her. “I didn’t mean to—”

She slapped his hand away. “He almost killed you tonight because you didn’t listen to me. I warned you not to go out there.”

“I already said you were right.”

She wanted more than an apology. She needed his full assurance that he wouldn’t take any more risks. “When you heard that the fence had been cut, you should have known it was a trap. And it wasn’t necessary for you to respond. We have over thirty employees.”

“Not all of them are at the ranch,” he said. “There are a couple of guys out in the far grazing pastures. And some had to stay here, guarding the house.”

“You know what I mean.” She refused to be sidetracked by numbers. “Lucas could handle the situation. You should have left the wrangling to him and his men.”

A shadow darkened the pale green of his eyes. He was hiding something.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“Lucas is dead.” He looked down at his boots.

Shocked, she stepped backward. The back of her legs hit the chair by the window, and she abruptly sat. Lucas Mann had been the foreman at the Carlisle ranch for as long as she’d been here. The bowlegged old cow
boy with a plug of tobacco in his cheek was an integral part of this place. “What happened?”

“He betrayed us,” Dylan said. “Lucas was working with the Sons of Freedom when they first started their sabotage. He took payoffs. And he stood in the way of our investigation.”

She didn’t care. Lucas had been part of their family. At Thanksgiving, he’d sat across the table from her, wearing a freshly ironed shirt, with his thinning hair neatly combed. She couldn’t believe he was dead. “How was he killed?”

“When Carolyn was delivering the ransom, he tried to help her. He was shot.”

Nate killed him.

Her worst fears were coming true. Nate had promised to destroy the people she loved, and he’d already started with Lucas. “Have you spoken to his family?”

“He had no one,” Dylan said.

“Except for us. We need to make the funeral arrangements,” she said. “I’m assuming there was an autopsy. Has his body been released?”

“Didn’t you hear me? Lucas turned against us.”

“So what? He made a mistake.”

“He lied to me. He willfully destroyed our property.”

“He was part of our family.” Lucas had given years of his life to the Carlisle ranch, and his contribution should be recognized. He died trying to protect Carolyn. “You have to forgive him.”

“The hell I do.”

She shook her head in disbelief. What had happened to the kind, sensitive man she’d married five years ago? When had he turned so judgmental? All that mattered to Dylan was his precious ranch. Lucas had destroyed
his property and couldn’t be forgiven for that sin. “You’d carry a grudge beyond the grave?”

“Some treachery can’t be forgiven.” He stood before her—tall and undeniably strong. “I thought I’d lost you, that I’d never see you again. And Lucas was working against me. Against us.”

“You used to be forgiving. Remember that time when you caught that teenager poaching on our land? You could have turned him in to the sheriff, but you didn’t. His family was going through a hard time, and you gave him a job.”

Dylan frowned at the memory. “That was a long time ago.”

“I don’t know you anymore. All you think about is business. You used to take days off, and we’d go for a long rides. You used to bring me wildflower bouquets.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want the man I married. A kind man. A good man.” She sank into the chair, too tired to fight. “Please leave, Dylan.”

D
YLAN WINCED
. Her words were a knife in his heart. His wife was ordering him to leave, telling him to get the hell out of their bedroom. It wasn’t the first time that one of their arguments had ended with him sleeping on the sofa in his office.

But that wasn’t going to happen tonight. He couldn’t be angry at her. Not after what she’d been through.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said.

“I’ll be fine.”

She rose from the chair. Her long cotton nightgown reached almost to the floor. Though her shoulders were back and her posture erect, she seemed wobbly. Her feet were bare, and her pink toes looked tiny and vulnerable.

He wanted to go to her, to support her. But he held back.

“You’ve been through an ordeal,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you sleeping alone before, and I won’t make that mistake again.”

She moved toward the bed, sat on the edge. Her blue eyes appeared huge in her thin face. “I’m tired.”

“You can lie down.” He settled in the overstuffed chair she had vacated. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

He reached toward the bedside lamp to turn it off, but she stopped him. “I’d rather leave the light on.”

“Whatever you want.”

She looked toward him. For a moment, he thought she might invite him into the bed with her. Instead, she slipped under the covers and closed her eyes.