CHAPTER 10

Natalie stared at the gleaming floor and counters, the furniture, equipment, and supplies. Was her head injury causing her to hallucinate? She’d left the place in ruins.

Only when a tall figure rose from the couch did everything fall into place.

“Welcome home, Natalie,” Beau said.

She gripped the door frame, blasted by a tempest of emotions—gratitude, yes, but surprisingly, the most overpowering of all was outrage. Why hadn’t anyone understood that she needed to do this job herself, to work through the wreckage Slade had left behind, to prove that she could manage on her own?

Beau had taken that healing task away from her. Tori must have had a hand in it, too. He couldn’t have done it without her cooperation.

Beau was watching her with a concerned expression. She realized she was shaking.

“How . . . could . . . you?” Each word was forced from her tight throat.

A wounded look flashed across his face. Then, as if the truth had dawned, he strode across the room and caught her close.

Natalie went rigid, her fists balling against his hard chest. She fought his strength, but his arms only tightened around her, confining her, confining the storm as he’d learned to do years ago when she was upset. Slowly the resistance ebbed. Still reluctant, she sagged against him, breathing in little broken gasps. She didn’t want to take refuge in his arms. She didn’t want to need him. But, heaven help her, she did.

His embrace had gentled. “Would you like me to wreck the place again so you can clean it up yourself?” he murmured against her hair.

“You could have asked me first,” she said.

“You would have said no.”

“I’ll pay you back every cent this cost you.”

“It wasn’t that much. By the time we picked everything up off the floor, there were only a few odds and ends that needed to be replaced.”

“Rimrock will get free vet care for the rest of my life.”

He moved his hands to her shoulders, shifting her away from him so he could look into her bruised face. “Let it go, Natalie. You’ve been through a hell of a time. Let the people who love you have the pleasure of helping.”

Had Beau just said he loved her?

But no, he hadn’t meant it—not that way. And even if he had, how could she welcome his love when he would only break her heart again?

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“And you shouldn’t be here alone,” he countered. “Do you have any idea how many women have been hurt or killed by men with restraining orders against them? I’m staying here tonight. And tomorrow I’m giving you a shooting lesson.”

She shook her head. “You’re a target, too. If Slade comes snooping around and sees us together, it could push him over the edge. Go home. I’ll be fine.”

His jaw tightened. “The only way I’m going home is if you come with me. Otherwise I’m staying. Your choice.”

“You don’t own me, Beau. You have no right to just step in and take over my life.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders, almost hurting.

“Damn it, woman, can’t you get this through your stubborn little head? I’m not trying to take over your life! I’m trying to save it!”

He stood like a hickory tree, rooted to the ground.

Natalie had seen this side of him in the past. Beau had made up his mind. He wasn’t going to budge.

She sighed in defeat. “All right. There’s a spare bed in the guest room. Where’s your vehicle?”

“Locked in the garage with yours.” He released her and stepped away. Only then did she notice the heavy revolver holstered at his hip. “But I’ll pass on the guest room,” he said. “It’s too far out of the way. The living room sofa will work better. And I’ll most likely stay awake. If Slade comes snooping around, I’ll want him to know that I’m here and that I have a gun. Believe me, I’d rather scare him away than have him break in and be forced to shoot him.”

Natalie shivered at his words. Slade had done some awful things, but she didn’t want him shot. She didn’t want anybody shot, especially Beau. Why hadn’t Beau stayed out of this mess? Why couldn’t he have just walked away and left her to face her problems on her own?

Sighing in resignation, she turned back toward the hallway. “As long as you’re staying, we might as well have some dinner,” she said. “I’ll warm up Tori’s lasagna and make a salad. There might even be a bottle of Pinot Noir in the cupboard. How does that sound to you?”

 

Beau sat on the sofa, leafing through the newspaper and listening to Natalie rummaging in the kitchen. He’d offered to help her, but she’d shooed him into the living room. She probably needed some time to herself.

He could get used to this—the sharing of intimate space with a beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman who dazzled him every time he looked at her. Even with the bruises shadowing the side of her face, she took his breath away, triggering the kind of domestic fantasies he’d never had with any other woman. If this were an ordinary evening, they might enjoy a pleasant dinner, clear away the meal, and maybe curl up on the sofa to snuggle and watch the news. When it was time, he would scoop her into his arms, carry her into the bedroom, and make tender, passionate love to her until they drifted off in each other’s arms.

But this was no ordinary evening. Natalie had been brutalized, and she was still in danger. He was here to keep her safe. The last thing on her mind tonight would be romance.

Was there any chance of a future for them?

At the very least, she would need time to heal. And he would need a wellspring of patience. Rushing her into the kind of intense relationship he wanted could worsen the damage she’d already suffered.

 

Natalie raised her head to see the digital clock on the nightstand. Two-nineteen, and she’d been tossing most of the night. Maybe she’d gotten too much rest in the hospital. Or maybe she was just too tired to fall asleep.

Beau had insisted she go to bed early. At the last minute she’d decided to sleep in the guest room. The king-sized bed she’d shared with Slade held too many ghosts. Tomorrow she’d call some local charity to have the monstrosity picked up and hauled away.

So many changes. So many plans to make. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the darkened ceiling. It wasn’t the idea of being on her own that troubled her. It was the ugliness of it all that gnawed at the pit of her stomach. And that ugliness was far from over.

The dark fog of sleep began to close around her. Her limbs grew heavy. Like an exhausted swimmer, Natalie sank into slumber.

What had she heard? The crunch of gravel? The shifting of a window screen? Instantly alert, she raised her head, catching a faint movement through the blinds. A hand sliding over the sill. A too-familiar face . . .

She screamed.

“Natalie! What is it?” Beau was there in an instant, his pistol drawn. Natalie blinked herself fully awake. Had it been real?

“The window. Someone was coming in. I saw his hand . . .” She was beginning to feel foolish.

Beau checked the window. “It’s locked tight,” he said. “No one could’ve opened it without breaking the glass. I’ll go outside and look around, just to be sure.”

“Please don’t.” The last thing she wanted was for him to go out and expose himself to an ambush. “I’m sorry. I must’ve had a bad dream. Did I wake you?”

“No way. I learned to stay awake on watch and on drug stakeouts.” Turning on the bedside lamp, he scowled at her. “You’re as pale as a ghost. Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine. But I don’t know if I can go back to sleep.”

“Then come and keep me company.” Without asking permission, he bundled her in the quilt, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the living room sofa. “How about some hot cocoa? I saw some packets of the instant stuff in your kitchen—the kind with marshmallows.”

“Actually that sounds wonderful.” She snuggled into the quilt. “There’s a kettle on the stove. Clean cups in the dishwasher.”

“Coming up.” She heard him running water and rattling dishes. Minutes later he walked into the living room with two steaming mugs. “Remember how Bernice used to fix this for us when we were kids?”

“I remember. But I believe Bernice made it from scratch. And the marshmallows were the big puffy kind that would fill your whole mouth.”

She took one of the mugs, cradling it to warm her hands. The cocoa was hot, but not too hot to sip. They sat in comfortable silence, savoring the shared memory. The light from the kitchen filtered into the room, softening its darkness.

“How long before you have to go back to D.C.?” As soon as she asked, Natalie wished she hadn’t.

“When I asked for an extended leave, I made it open-ended, so however long it takes for Will to get back to where he can run things.”

“You must be missing life in the city,” she guessed, remembering it was all he’d known for the last several years.

“Not really.” His mouth crooked in a lazy smile. “D.C. is all about appearances. As long as you shine on the surface, it doesn’t matter how rotten you are underneath. That gets old after a while.”

“And Texas?” Natalie smiled back.

“It’s the real deal here. If you’re a badass in Texas, everybody knows it.”

Natalie laughed, reacting as much to the twinkle in his eyes as to his words. This was the old Beau, the one she remembered.

His smile faded as something serious entered his gaze. “Will has asked me to stay. Actually, it was more like an order than a request,” Beau corrected himself in a seeming attempt to make light of his statement. But the attempt couldn’t disguise how closely he was watching for her reaction. “He thinks we should run the ranch together.”

“And?” She held her breath, hardly daring to hope that Beau might be here for good.

“Up till now, my answer has always been a flat no. Mostly because I knew I couldn’t stand seeing you with . . . him.” A wealth of loathing was shoved into that single word. “Then Tori told me that you’d filed for divorce.”

“I have,” Natalie admitted. “But not because of you. You just turned out to be the catalyst that brought a lot of other issues to a head.”

Privately she wondered whether two such strong personalities as Beau and Will could get along. They were bound to have disagreements. Would Beau walk away in anger again? More importantly, could she handle it if he did?

Almost as if he read her thoughts, Beau said, “I know I haven’t given you reason to trust me, but I’d like to find out if there can be an ‘us’ again. I’ve lived for too many years with the regret of walking out of your life. Meeting women, measuring them against you, and finding them lacking—”

There was clearly more he intended to say, but she stopped him, placing her fingertips against his lips, moved by the humbleness in his voice. “I’m not a coward, Beau.” That was one thing she knew about herself; she had the strength to face tomorrow, whether he stayed or left. “If there’s a chance for us—”

This time it was Natalie who was stopped from completing her sentence as he brushed her fingers away and cupped a hand behind her neck to pull her into his arm, his mouth claiming her lips in a devouring kiss.

His mouth tasted deliciously of chocolate and marshmallow. With a yearning whimper, she slid her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to her as the kiss deepened. Her tongue flicked along his lower lip, gliding in and out of his mouth in a teasing pantomime of what she needed. One hand fumbled his shirt buttons. He groaned but didn’t try to stop her. She’d been through hell these past few days, and she was tired of holding everything back. She needed to break the dam. She needed Beau to make love to her.

Wiggling free of the quilt, she pushed it aside. She was naked beneath her short, loose-fitting nightshirt—something she made sure he was quick to discover.

“Dammit, Natalie, this isn’t the time,” he muttered, but his hands had already found their way beneath the thin fabric. His work-roughened palms ranged over her bare skin, awakening a rush of the well-loved sensations she’d all but forgotten. Beau had been the first boy to stroke her breasts, the first to touch between her legs. Now the sweetness of it came back as if time had fallen away. There’d been no shame then. There was no shame now.

All eagerness, she reached down and tugged at his belt buckle. He caught her hand and gently lifted it to his lips. Only then did she remember the loaded revolver holstered at his belt and the real or imagined danger that lurked outside. Beau would not lower his guard. Not even to make love to her.

A murmur of disappointment rose from her throat. Lifting her chin with his thumb, he kissed her. “Take it easy, girl,” he whispered. “I’ve got this.”

Easing her back into the support of one arm, he slid his free hand between her thighs to her moisture-slicked folds. His fingertips separated the dripping petals to find the swollen, sensitive nub at their center.

“Oh . . . ,” she gasped.

He feathered her with a light stroke that sent heat whorls surging through her body. She arched to meet the delicious pressure, thrusting against his hand as his finger slid into her. He knew her so well, knew exactly how and where to touch her . . . it was as if time had disappeared. It was as if she were young and naive again, as if she loved him with all her soul and nothing could ever, ever happen to keep them apart.

As the wild sensations spiraled through her body, she felt herself spinning, soaring out of control to a shattering climax that left her limp and breathless.

With exquisite tenderness, he bent and kissed her. “To be continued,” he whispered.

Without another word, he scooped her up with the quilt, rose, and carried her back to the guest room. Lowering her to the bed, he tucked her in and bent to brush a kiss across her mouth. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll wake you early.”

Natalie settled in with a little purring sound. She was already drifting into peaceful slumber.

At first light, Beau stood, stretched his cramped limbs, and wandered into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker. The night had been quiet, with no sign that Slade had come around. But he wanted to make sure.

While the coffee was brewing, he went out the front door, locked it behind him, and walked the perimeter of the house and clinic. He saw no fresh boot prints, no unfamiliar tire tracks or any other sign that someone had been here in the night.

Satisfied, he went back inside and poured himself a cup of coffee. He would need to wake Natalie soon. He wanted to help her choose a gun and show her how to load and fire it. A 20-gauge double-barrel shotgun would be light enough for her to shoot without too much recoil, simple to aim, and deadly enough at close range to blast any intruder to kingdom come. There was bound to be one in Slade’s gun safe.

But would Natalie have the guts to pull the trigger, especially if the target was her estranged husband?

Beau could only hope it wouldn’t come to that. If Slade did show up, the sight of the gun and the awareness of what it could do would hopefully be enough to keep him at a distance.

Once he got her set up with the gun, it would be time to leave. He was needed at the ranch, and for appearance’s sake, he wanted to be gone before some passing busybody saw him backing out of Natalie’s garage.

Setting the coffee cup on the counter, he walked into the guest room to wake her. She lay on her side, so beautiful that she almost stopped his heart.

Last night he’d given her a needed release. But he knew better than to read too much into that. This morning she could wake up and see him in a different light, and the chasm of time and hurt that had separated them would open again.

Either way, what happened next would be up to her.

One bare foot peeked out from under the quilt. Beau reached down and gave her toe a playful tug. She stirred, rolled onto her back, and opened her eyes. “Hello, you,” she murmured dreamily.

“Time to get moving, sleepyhead,” he said, giving her a grin.

“Not quite yet.” She held up her arms, fingers beckoning. “Come here.”

Laughing, he bent down to give her a light kiss. As their lips brushed, her arms locked around his neck.

“You said something about ‘to be continued.’ ” Her voice was a kittenish growl. “So continue.”

Heart pounding, he deepened the kiss, then pulled away. “You’re sure this is what you—”

“Shut up and get undressed, Beau Tyler.”

His erection sprang free as he unzipped his jeans. Peeling off his clothes and boots, he lowered himself to the bed and into her waiting arms. She was all sweetness, all warmth and eagerness, pulling him close, offering him her mouth, her perfect little breasts, and the hungry heat between legs, urging him with little whimpers to take her and ease the throbbing need that drove them both.

As he found the familiar sweet spot and eased his shaft into her moist, welcoming silk, Beau felt a sense of completion, as if he’d come full circle. After a long, dark, and painful journey, he was, at last, home.

 

Natalie stood at the living room window, watching Beau back the battered ranch pickup out of the driveway. Every inch of her body tingled in the afterglow of his lovemaking. It was as if they’d never been apart, but even more poignant this time because they were both older and wiser, both scarred with their own personal wounds and in desperate need of healing.

Her eyes followed the tailgate as the vehicle grew smaller with distance and disappeared around the corner. Making love with Beau had been as natural as breathing.

Just like that, it was like spinning backward through a time warp. A life with Beau was all she’d ever desired. But could she trust him this time? Could she trust fate not to snatch him away from her again?

If she wanted a life with Beau, she would have no choice except to gamble with her heart a second time. Right now the way looked clear. Given Slade’s history of infidelity and abuse, the court was likely to grant her a speedy divorce. Then, after a decent interval, she and Beau would be free to marry.

So why was this dark premonition hanging over her? Why couldn’t she shake this irrational fear that, once again, some unforeseen force was lurking in the shadows, waiting to tear them apart?

She glanced back at the double-barreled 20-gauge shotgun that was propped against the end of the couch. Before leaving, she’d opened the gun safe with the new combination Tori had left her. The safe was crammed full of Slade’s guns, which he’d collected avidly for years—everything from antique muzzle-loaders to modern military assault rifles, many of them loaded. Beau had been forced to remove most of the guns from the safe before he found a weapon she could use.

After he’d replaced the guns and she’d locked the safe, he’d given her a brief lesson on how to load and fire the lightweight shotgun. Just touching the trigger had made Natalie’s skin crawl, but she’d promised Beau she’d keep it with her at all times, in the house and in her vehicle.

She could only pray she would never have to use it.

 

Sky parked his dusty pickup outside the front office of Haskell Trucking, climbed out of the cab, and closed the door with a barely audible click. A middle-aged driver, outside for a smoke, took one look at him and disappeared around the corner of the prefab building. Sky Fletcher was known to be a quiet man. He was even quieter when he was angry.

Walking in the front door, he saw Slade Haskell sitting behind the counter. The man looked like hell, his clothes rumpled, his eyes bloodshot and rheumy, his jaw sporting a scruffy beard. Looking up, he eyed Sky with a surly glare. Sky had heard his story from Beau. But even he was surprised at Haskell’s condition.

“What d’ you want, Fletcher?” he grunted.

“I heard Lute was working here.”

“Out back. You’ll see him.”

“Thanks.” Sky turned toward the door.

“Fletcher.”

Sky paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

Haskell’s expression had turned savage. “The next time you see that bastard Beau Tyler, you tell him I’m not done with him. I’m comin’ to get him, and when I’m through, he’ll never mess with another man’s wife again!”

With a curt nod, Sky walked out the door. He would warn Beau, of course, but Haskell’s threat hadn’t surprised him. The man was all bluff and bluster, and today he didn’t look fit to battle a prairie dog.

Walking around the building, he spotted Lute across the gravel parking lot. He was standing next to an empty cattle truck, a clipboard in his hand, evidently going over some shipping instructions with the driver. A rush of cold anger tightened the grim line of Sky’s mouth. The boy appeared to be doing well for himself, but his near-fatal mishandling of the Tylers’ prize mare topped Sky’s short list of unforgivable sins.

Lute had seen him. Sky remained where he was, watching as the boy wavered between running away and coming over to account for himself. In the end he seemed to decide that running would only make things worse.

“Hullo, Sky.” Lute looked down at the clipboard, unable to meet his cousin’s accusing eyes.

“When I brought you to the Tylers’, I told you your behavior would reflect on me and on our family. It seems you didn’t care.”

Lute’s lower lip jutted out as his anger welled up. “You said I could be a cowboy! But you gave me a job shoveling shit!”

“That wasn’t just a job. It was your first lesson. I’d planned on training you to help me work with the new colts.”

“Yeah? Well, too bad. I got sick of it. Now I’ve got a job where people respect me! I don’t stink at the end of the day, and I’m even making decent money! See that blue truck over there? It’s mine, bought and paid for!”

Sky glanced across the lot to where the employee cars were parked. The light blue truck had some rust spots and a sagging rear bumper, but he knew it was the first vehicle Lute had ever owned. Sky remembered the beat-up Ford Bronco he’d bought himself and driven with such pride. For a young man barely out of his teens, it was power and status. Heady stuff.

“Is owning your own truck worth working for a drunken wreck like Slade Haskell?” he asked Lute.

Lute thrust out his chin. “I won’t be workin’ for Slade much longer. He’s goin’ to jail soon. And when he’s gone, Stella says—” He broke off as if he’d revealed too much. “I’ve almost got my trucker’s license. Once I get that, I’ll have everything I want, and I won’t have to lick anybody’s stinkin’ boots!”

Sky’s cold anger still blazed. But it was tempered with a twinge of pity. Lute was in for some hard lessons. But the young fool had blown his chances on the ranch. It was time to cut the strings.

“It sounds like you’ve made your decision,” he said. “I wish you the best, Lute. But you’re finished on the ranch. You’re never to set foot on Tyler land again, and if I catch you anywhere near my horses, I’ll whip you within an inch of your life.”

 

Lute watched his cousin stride back around the building. A moment later the engine of Sky’s pickup roared to life and faded down the street. Sky was a fool, he told himself. He’d spent most of his life working for the almighty Tylers, and what did he have to show for it? A lot of big, fat nothing. He’d made their horses prized all over Texas, but the family still treated him like the fatherless half-breed Comanche bastard he was.

Not that Sky was his concern. Right now he had weightier issues on his mind. Slade’s trial date was getting closer. Lute had spent the cash from Stella to buy the truck. But he still needed to do what she’d paid him for.

Slade’s fight with Beau Tyler had left Lute with the makings of a perfect plan—a way to eliminate not just one man he hated but two. The only trouble was, the plan wasn’t coming together fast enough. First he’d needed a weapon—no way was Stella going to give him anything that could be traced back to her, and Slade’s guns were locked away. He’d solved that problem a few nights ago by making a night raid on the Tyler place. Jasper kept a loaded Remington 30.30 deer rifle strapped under the seat of the ATV he drove around the ranch. It had been an easy matter to sneak into the shed, unbuckle the gun from its place, and hike back to the truck he’d left down the road.

Stealing a rifle that could be traced to the Tylers had been a stroke of brilliance. But he still needed to get Slade somewhere isolated where he could use it. Lute had never killed a man before, never even come close. But there was a first time for everything. And when he imagined Slade shooting pretty little Jess and dumping her body like so much trash, he knew he was capable of pulling the trigger.

Stella was getting impatient. She hadn’t said so in words, but he could tell by the looks she gave him when he came into the bar. Time was running short. If he didn’t act soon, he could lose everything he’d worked for.

The idea struck him like a thunderbolt. It was so perfect he had to restrain himself from laughing out loud.

Sky’s visit had played right into his hands. The copy machine in the front office was stocked with plain white paper. Lute, thanks in part to his mother’s training, was an accomplished forger. Beau Tyler had been the one to sign his payroll checks at the ranch, and Lute, out of long habit, had memorized his signature.

All he had to do was wait for Slade to visit the restroom. Then he could take a few sheets of paper and set his plan in motion. Lute smiled a secret smile. This was going to be freakin’ fun.

 

Lute waited till after lunch before he sidled into the front office, where Slade sat hunched at the desk nursing a Corona. Slade glanced up with a scowl.

“Sorry I was too busy to catch you sooner,” Lute apologized. “Sky came by to deliver a message. He wanted me to give this to you.” He fished a tightly folded sheet of paper out of his pocket.

Slade’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who’s it from?”

Lute shrugged and passed the note across the desk. He’d written three different versions before deciding this one would have the most impact. Watching Slade’s expression as he unfolded and read it, Lute knew he’d made the right choice:

Slade, you bastard, Natalie is my woman now. I want to make sure you never bother her again. Let’s me and you fight it out man to man. Meet me tonight at 10 by the bog where you dumped that dead girl. Come alone. I’ll be waiting. If you don’t show, I’ll know you’re nothing but a filthy, stinking coward.

Beau Tyler

Most of the note was hand printed, but it was signed in Beau’s unmistakable scrawl. Lute, who’d dropped out of school in his junior year, had never been much of a writer. But, as he’d expected, Slade was too mad to notice any minor grammatical mistakes or crude language. And the hint that Beau knew what he’d done to Jess would give Slade one more reason to want to kill him.

True, Slade had lost his truck and his driver’s license. But he had access to vehicles at work. At night on back roads, who was going to catch him? He wasn’t supposed to carry a gun, either, but he’d have no trouble getting his hands on one.

Lute watched Slade crush the note and stuff it into his shirt pocket. There was no way Slade would miss tonight’s rendezvous. But the man waiting for him wouldn’t be Beau Tyler. Lute would see to that.