Chapter One
Ribs screaming in agony, blood dripping from her nose and lip, and her right eye swollen almost shut, Amy Tarcher stumbled through the Cattenach Ranch iron gate onto her best friend’s property. Her legs cramped, barely holding her up, and the vertigo was screwing with her balance. Loose gravel over the brick-laid driveway grated under her shuffling flip-flops, but they were all she’d been able to manage when she’d fled home.
Amy’s own postage stamp of a house was in an older subdivision on the other side of Olivia’s sprawling ranch. Which meant, somehow, she’d walked three miles to get here. Her car hadn’t been an option. Before her husband had gone mental and put her in this current black and blue state, he’d slashed her tires, smashed her cell phone, and had taken a hammer to her photography equipment. That hurt almost worse than the beating he’d inflicted.
An end in sight, she forced her feet to keep moving and headed up the driveway at a drunken snail’s pace. Squinting through the sun’s glare, she eyed the three-story log cabin straight ahead, then the property. Since it was midday, no one but possibly Olivia’s Aunt Mae would be at the main house. As Amy got closer, she veered right and focused on the barns. Three of them, side by side.
Salvation.
Damp grass shushed under her soles and cottonwood trees swayed with a slight breeze. The scent of hay and soil wafted in the air, so familiar she wanted to weep. Early spring had brought comfortable temperatures, but she couldn’t get warm. Probably would never again.
Through the pain, she told herself over and over that this was it. She was done. As soon as she was able, she was filing for divorce from Chris and changing her last name back to Woods. Dejection and shame flowed through her veins and mingled with red blood cells. But that wasn’t anything new. She would do something about it, though.
Finally. She’d made it.
On the brink of collapse, muscles contracting, she leaned against the entryway of the first barn, relief a tiny bud in her aching chest. The front and rear carriage doors were open, sunlight filtering down a long narrow path between horse stalls lining both sides. Her best friend Olivia stood on the far end of the aisle, checking a clipboard. Her auburn hair was up in a ponytail, jeans and flannel form-fitting to her slender frame. Amy had never seen anything so beautiful in her pathetic life.
“Liv?” She cleared the croak from her throat and tried again. “Liv, I need help.” Her face must’ve been more swollen than she thought because her words were slurred.
Olivia’s head jerked around. “Oh my God. Amy? What happened?” The clipboard clattered to the ground.
Amy stumbled forward and they met in the middle as she slid to the dirt floor in a painful heap. Her ribs let out a wail in protest. “Chris...”
Olivia sat beside her and gingerly set Amy’s head in her lap, gently stroking the tangled hair from her face.
Amy closed her eyes at the comforting touch. “Little...banged up.”
“Chris did this to you?”
She nodded, unable to do much else.
Olivia unclipped a walkie-talkie from her belt and spoke into it. “Nakos?” Her frantic wail demanding the foreman pierced the otherwise quiet space. “I need you up here. Now.” She glanced down at Amy. “He’s with Nate in the southern pasture repairing fence sections. It’ll be about twenty minutes before they can get back. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Couldn’t. He...killed the...phone. And my car.”
“Crap, Amy. You walked here?” Since she was too sore and exhausted to nod again, Olivia must’ve gotten the hint because she lifted the radio a second time. “I’ll get Aunt Mae to call Doc Hank. And Rip, too.”
The sheriff. Yes, good idea.
But before Olivia could utter a sound, a resounding click echoed and Amy’s heart stopped at the telltale cocking of a gun. From behind Olivia, a flash of metal appeared and pressed against her temple.
All Amy could make out from her prone position was a pant leg, but the sour stench of beer told her that her husband had decided to follow her here.
Chris staggered on his feet and came into full view beside them. “Give me the walkie-talkie, bitch.”
Olivia’s round blue eyes grew wider as she passed the radio over her shoulder to Chris with a trembling hand. Her gaze never left Amy’s as oh-shit registered in her expression.
He tossed the device to the ground, stomped it to pieces, and kicked the fragments away. The horses whinnied and snorted, causing the scent of hay and fur to rise with dust motes.
God, this wasn’t happening. It just...wasn’t. Not even her luck could be this awful. She should’ve tried to keep going down the state highway to the police station instead of coming to the ranch. Now she’d brought her white-hot mess with her.
In her peripheral, she caught a flash of Aunt Mae’s white hair as she emerged in the doorway behind Chris. A quick survey of the situation, and the elder woman ducked back out before Chris had a chance to turn and see her.
Thank you, Baby Jesus. Aunt Mae could get help.
Amy closed her eyes a brief beat, and the drugging pull of unconsciousness nearly consumed her. But she had to get her husband away from her friend. He was obviously drunk off his ass, more so than a couple hours before, and there was no telling what he might do.
When she lifted her lids, Chris had taken off his dirty cowboy hat and was scratching his head with the butt of the gun.
“Let Liv go. She didn’t do anything. You’re...” Dang, talking hurt. “You want me, not her.”
He shoved his hat back on and aimed the 9mm at the ground. “You got us into this fucking mess, you selfish slut. Look at you. A waste of oxygen. Useless.”
Nothing she hadn’t heard before. A thousand times over. Still, the barb lanced.
His jogging pants were soiled and his sweatshirt didn’t fare much better. She wondered where the hell he’d gone after he’d left her in a broken pile on the floor at home. He had a thin body, more wiry than anything, and a gaunt-like face that rarely saw a razor. When they’d first met three years ago, she’d considered him rugged in a backdoor way. Taking in his brown greasy strands and bloodshot eyes now, she hadn’t a clue what had ever attracted her.
He sneered and spit on the ground. “I should punish you some more in a way you’ll never forget. But the thought of gettin’ between your legs shrivels my balls. You deserved the back of my hand and worse. Had it comin’ a long time, fat ass.”
She didn’t think it was possible to have more shame piled on this mortification heap, yet embarrassment stung her cheeks just the same. Olivia trembled against her and Amy wouldn’t survive it if anything happened to her. She had to diffuse him, and attempted to summon the energy to try reasoning again.
Someone stepped into the entryway, gun aimed at Chris’s back. Jeans and a black t-shirt molded to a...massive giant of a man. Tattoo sleeves rippled with thick muscle as he held the gun like it was an extension of him. Under his black baseball hat, he seemed to be bald, but light brown scruff darkened his jaw. Golden eyes dipped to Olivia, past Amy, and right back to Chris.
Mary Mother. This must be Nate. The soldier who’d shown up on Olivia’s doorstep a couple weeks ago. He’d brought Justin’s if-you’re-reading-this letter to Olivia so she could read her brother’s final words. Amy hadn’t met the guy, but he’d served with Justin and had been there when he’d died. Olivia hadn’t lied in her account to Amy, either. The man was a fortress of testosterone and bulge.
Silently, he stalked closer until only a few feet separated them.
Footsteps scraped behind her. “Drop it, Chris.”
Nakos Hunt. Thank God. Amy would’ve known that low timbre anywhere.
Chris flinched and pressed the barrel to Olivia’s forehead again. She closed her eyes on a whimper, a tear trickling down her too-pale cheek.
No! Not Liv. Panic clutched Amy’s airway.
Nate lifted his revolver a fraction higher, bracing the bottom with his other hand, calculation in his eyes. “He said drop it.”
Chris turned his head and stumbled to the side. “Who’re you?”
“Lower the weapon or you’ll never find out.”
Nakos’s boots shushed against dirt until he stopped by Amy’s head and both men had Chris trapped. Nakos held a rifle, but he seemed to be taking Nate’s lead.
“This is a private matter.” Chris shoved the 9mm at Olivia so hard, her head snapped back.
Her friend sucked in a harsh breath, trembling. Her frantic gaze met Amy’s.
Cold sweat broke out over her skin as her pulse skittered past stroke level.
Though he didn’t so much as twitch, Nate looked ready to snap. “Private is what your jail cell will look like. Drop. It. Now.”
If Olivia hadn’t spoken so highly of the former soldier, his tone alone would’ve had Amy cowering in fear. Controlled. Deadly. Brooking no argument.
Nakos and Nate exchanged some kind of back-and-forth Amy didn’t understand. After a pause, Nate said, “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“What in the hell?” Chris spun, jerking the barrel away from Olivia.
Nate nodded once like he’d been waiting for just that opening. “Olivia, baby. Don’t move.”
A crack of a gunshot rang out, sending Amy’s heart racing in her throat and causing Olivia to violently recoil.
Neighs rent the air. Hooves stomped dirt inside the stalls.
Terror took on a new name as Amy whipped her head around, ignoring the pain, seeking Nakos. Like Olivia, he’d been Amy’s best friend since third grade. Thankfully, he appeared unhurt. Olivia, though? Another crane of Amy’s neck to check. She let out a shallow sigh. No injury, either.
And then Amy realized what had happened. Nate had fired the shot, hitting the brim of Chris’s tan cowboy hat and spinning it off his head.
Chris reeled and dropped the weapon.
Quick as lightning, Nate strode forward, shoved his revolver in his waistband, and planted Chris face-first in the dirt. With a knee between his shoulders and a firm hand on the back of his neck, Nate toed the gun farther from them.
He whipped his attention to Olivia. “Did he hurt you?” He scanned her for wounds as if he might expire on the spot if she had any.
She shook her head repeatedly, tears leaving tracks on her cheeks. Her gaze dropped to Amy. “She’s pretty bad, though.”
Amy opened her mouth to reassure her friend, but Nakos set his rifle behind him and squatted next to her. Familiar midnight eyes traced her face with frenetic concern in their depths. The dark skin of his Native American heritage grew ashen the longer he stared. Eyebrows wrenched in a frown and jaw tight, he reached for her with a shaking hand, but swiftly drew back.
“You’ve looked better, Ames.” The tension cracking his voice nearly felled her.
She tried to smile, but it reopened her lip and sent blood trickling down her chin.
Panic and horror shoved the worry in his expression aside. He glanced over his shoulder. “Mae!” Nakos ran his hands down Amy’s arms, her legs. “Do you think anything’s broken?”
She did her best not to wince, shook her head, and closed her eyes. Every inhale was like a sharp poker to her lungs and the side of her face throbbed. With her adrenaline crashing now that she was safe, that her friends were okay, tears welled and her body trembled. Bone-jarring convulsions wracked her limbs.
“Doc Hank’s here.” Aunt Mae ran into the barn, quickly eyed her surroundings, and knelt beside Nakos. “Rip is just pulling in, too. We’ll get you all fixed up, sweetheart.”
Amy doubted it. Her life had been on a shit spiral long before today. There was no fixing the damage. She appreciated the warm sentiment in the elder woman’s blue eyes, though. She’d always been so nice to Amy.
“Let me up!” Chris squirmed, but got nowhere for the effort.
Nate dug his knee deeper into his spine. “You ever want use of your legs again, you’ll shut up and stay still.”
Hank walked in carrying a doctor’s bag circa the 1900s, one hand on her hip. She was a two-hundred pound, fifty-year-old woman with black hair down to her rearend. “Well, give the girl some room.” She set the bag down, opened it, and settled on Amy’s other side, shining a penlight in her eyes. “I’m guessing your sad sack of a husband did this to you? Where’d he hit you and with what?”
“His fists.” Amy struggled to draw a breath and hissed at the needling lick of pain. “Kicked...my side. Punched my face.”
Beside her, Nakos growled low in his throat and went rigid.
“Nothing on the spine or neck? Did you fall at any time?”
“No.” Amy closed her eyes, too tired to keep them open. Dizziness threatened to swallow her whole, her stomach somersaulting.
“She needs an ambulance.” Nate’s voice lacked the emotion of Nakos’s, but the sharp order relayed his concern. Poor guy didn’t know the isolation of these parts. One only went to the ER if a limb had been severed or there was no pulse.
“Closest hospital is in Casper. We’ve got it handled.” Hank sighed. “Olivia, you got a room for her at the main house? I need to better examine her.”
“Yes. We can put her in the extra guestroom.”
“All right.” Hank’s feet shuffled as if she’d stood. “Nakos?”
Amy reopened her eyes, their voices no longer a faraway lull.
“Yeah. I’ve got her.” Nakos offered a ghosted smile as if she were the one needing reassurance. With a tentative arm under her knees and behind her back, he gently lifted her and cradled her to his chest like she was made of glass.
Despite the caution, agony clawed at her from every angle and she yelped. Whimpered.
He froze, his eyes desperate and beseeching. “I’m sorry. I’ll go slow.”
God, he was such a good guy. Emotion clogged her airway, and she rested her head on his hard pec. His flannel was warm and smelled like him, earthy and sun-kissed.
Rip waddled into the barn, favoring the leg he’d injured in Desert Storm. His FuManchu and brown officer’s uniform were out of place together, and he ran a hand over his thinning brown hair. “I apologize for the delay. The Hendersons decided it was a good idea to plow their minivan into the Garrison’s ditch and take out a mailbox in the process.” He glanced from Nate to Chris to Amy in Nakos’s arms, then finally, Olivia. “Looks like you got it covered.”
“I’m taking Ames up to the house.” Nakos strode out, her limp in his arms, Aunt Mae and Hank on his heels.
She had a vague conception of floating through the yard, the house, and him climbing stairs before soft blankets cushioned her back and the safe, drifting sensation eased. The solid, warm, comforting arms that had been holding her slid away from her in retreat.
All of a sudden, and without any control of her own, the day’s events slammed into her head and coagulated in her belly. A fist to her cheek and the popping which followed. Another to her mouth and the copper taste of blood coating her tongue. A boot to the ribs, stealing the wind from her lungs. The yelling. The stench of yeasty, sour alcohol.
Anxiety and dread shredded a path up her windpipe, seized her breath. Trembling, she threw her eyes open and latched onto Nakos’s sleeve. “Don’t let go... Please, Nakos. Just don’t let go.”
“Hey, it’s all right.” He eased a hip down to sit next to her on the bed.
A sob tore from her chest, and she would’ve hated herself for it if she were in her right mind. She just...needed him. For whatever reason, she needed only him. The stoic, sometimes brooding guy who would step in front of a moving train if it meant keeping Olivia and her safe. The shy boy who’d grown into a man and who was familiar to her as air.
He jerked a chin over his shoulder. “Give us a moment alone.” When the door closed behind Aunt Mae and Doc Hank, he reset his focus on Amy. “Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He leaned over her, no part of him touching her but the warm press of his lips to her forehead. “Shh,” he cooed again over her skin.
She sobbed harder, her ribs really angry now and tears burning the cuts on her face.
He threaded his shaking hands through the hair at her temples. “Let it out. Go ahead, we’re alone. Let it out.”
And that was enough to settle the terror. His soothing voice, his tender touch, the scent of him filling her nose and surrounding her.
Blowing out a careful breath, she got a grip. “I’m sorry.”
“Hihcebe, Ames. Don’t apologize.” He lifted his head and, though dry, his eyes were red-rimmed as if he’d been battling emotion himself. He took off his customary black Stetson, revealing shoulder-length raven strands tied back in a low ponytail. Setting the hat aside, he dug his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets. “Scared ten years off my life.”
“I’m okay,” she whispered, trying to reassure him as guilt morphed to consuming levels.
He shook his head like he didn’t believe her and drilled her with a look of carnal fear bordering on desperation. “Did he...” He barked a sound of distress and clutched his stomach. “Did he do...anything else to you? Hurt you...in other ways?”
Oh God. “No. He just used his fists.” As if that were okay. But she wanted to erase the image of possible sexual assault from Nakos’s head right now. “Honest. Nothing else.”
He nodded so adamantly she thought his noggin might roll off his shoulders. Then, he gingerly dropped his forehead to hers and slammed his eyes shut. “What happened? Please, tell me.”
Knowing him, the only way to wind down was to have the details so his mind wouldn’t fill in the blanks. That, at least, she could give him. “We argued over finances. He wanted to sell my camera equipment to pay off bills, but I said no. He...went ballistic. I walked here and I’m good now. All is well.”
Lord, what a convincing liar she turned out to be.
He straightened and ran his slightly calmer gaze over her body. He ducked a glance behind him and returned it to her. “Is that the truth?”
“Yes.” All but the being okay part.
“How long’s he been doing this to you?” His wide, strong jaw ticked. “I don’t recall seeing any bruises before today.”
“First time.” She may be a has-been with a future so dull it was black and white, but she wouldn’t tolerate abuse. “Honest. First time.”
Another nod, and he looked at the door again.
And it hit her. Painfully. He’d been in love with Olivia since they were teenagers. Amy wasn’t the only one who’d had a gun aimed at her. Nakos must be going out of his mind with concern for Olivia, every instinct yelling for him to get back to her.
Though her shoulders sank and an all too familiar hollowness filled her chest cavity, Amy did what she always had—she accepted reality and ignored the loneliness. “Go ahead. I’m okay. Thank you for helping.”
She would not cry again. She absolutely would not.
“You sure?” He studied her a moment. “Doc really should get a look at you.”
“I’m positive. Go.”
Of course, without further argument, he did.