Chapter Five
The look over her shoulder almost made him relent. From fifty feet, he spotted the hurt and confusion caused by his lack of self-control. But once he’d driven them to the safety of the barn, he’d been unable to hold back his need to be sure Caitlyn was all right. If only he could blame his reaction solely on adrenaline. A near-death experience needed a contrasting one that affirmed life. He’d heard the theory in training lectures, but his tours in the Middle East hadn’t afforded similar conditions.
Frustration still had him wound up. Enough so that his body screamed for a brutal workout or a five-mile run. But he had chores to finish so he could get back to his surveillance duties. At the moment the undercover ruse got in the way of his real purpose—to protect Caitlyn. He removed the horses’ saddles and replaced their bridles with halters and lead ropes before guiding them to the corral where he could hose them off. Because of the time of year, he left them in the sunshine to dry and collected a currycomb from the tack room. As he combed, he looked for any place where the tack chafed or rubbed the hide. He brushed out Stormy first and released her to graze.
Then he brought Big Red to the tie ring and secured the lead rope. Before he started brushing, he inspected the gelding’s body. Sure enough, he discovered the cause for Big Red’s reaction. Fighting his rising anger, he laid his thumb and forefinger against the gelding’s hide and felt the horse flinch. The roan had been hit in the left rear flank with a pellet from an air rifle. A steel shaft about a quarter inch long extended outward from the hide. The pfft sound of the rifle firing must have been hidden beneath his or Caitlyn’s conversation or the sounds from the horses.
While moving on the trail, they’d had partial cover from the trees and bushes, making their positions somewhat protected. But once they reached the escarpment, the riders were exposed. The shot could have been a stray. A thought that didn’t sit easy on his mind. Usual range for an air rifle was a distance of four hundred yards. Say he went with the supposition the hit was an accident. What in the riders’ direction could have been the target? Any shot coming from behind them would have gone over the rocky edge.
In order for the pellet to pierce the horse’s hide, the shooter must have been closer—maybe half the normal distance. And the horse was targeted so the rider would be bucked off. His blood chilled. Or flung over the edge.
Too damn close. Especially for a man who spent a decade being the expert in charge of monitoring bad-guy tangos so his team could root out the exact ones to be punished. With extreme prejudice. His fingers tightened on the currycomb, but he kept his strokes light. Then he went into the tack room for a bottle of water, salve, and a pair of needle-nose pliers to extract the pellet and give Big Red some relief. No need to alarm Tilda yet. At least, not until he alerted the sheriff in Eagle Rock to the potential threat, faceless as it was at the moment.
During their ride, Rhys hadn’t pinpointed anything specific, but he’d registered a presence in the forest that had him on alert. He’d passed off the sensation as an awareness of a bobcat or puma watching from a tree branch, so he hadn’t mentioned anything to scare Caitlyn. That he hadn’t considered the two-legged variety of predator was on him, and an assumption he would not make again.
By the time he’d finished tending the wound, snapped several photos, and put the horses into their stalls, he was laser focused. Details from the last two hours had been reviewed, analyzed, and either tossed or shifted into his plan for how to strengthen his surveillance. He tapped his password into his phone to check the GPS tracker he’d slipped onto Caitlyn’s bra strap. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice it when she undressed later. Of course, the best solution was him being up close and personal at the disrobing so he could recover the tracker.
Right. He bit back a groan. Like she’d allow him inside a ten-foot radius following his cold rejection after the smoldering kiss in the barn. Hours later, Rhys sat in his bedroom, his gaze scanning the monitors. As he switched between the different microphones, he sipped a cold soda to wet his parched throat. He’d been on the phone non-stop with Sheriff Joe Barron filing a report about the pellet shot. Joe assured him he’d send a mounted deputy to the spot in the morning to check for any evidence. Although he couldn’t offer much hope.
That call was followed by one to Hank arranging for a drop off of another weapon, infrared sensors, and a backup laptop. Rhys volunteered to drive out to the highway to pick up the mail and collected the items then. As soon as dusk fell, Rhys would place the specialized sensors along the property’s boundary edging the national forest. The additional sensors extended the field of vision from the ones he’d already placed under the lodge’s eaves. After reviewing the ranch’s rules, he’d set them to activate five minutes after the hot tub closed at ten o’clock. If any living breathing object moved toward the ranch, he’d know about it.
A few minutes after eleven, a beep sounded from the passive infrared detector, rousing him from a half-drowsy state with a novel rested open on his stomach. He scrubbed a hand over his face, set aside the book, and stood to walk closer to the laptops, resting his hands on the back of a chair. The PID tripped the screen for that sector to move to the center of the monitor. The hot tub, where four bulky-figured individuals moved through the gate and distributed themselves among the lounge chairs. His body tensed, and he squinted at the images. What covered their frames? Bomb vests? Turnout gear?
Familiar moves of shoulder shrugging following by the bulky garments pooling at the fluorescent figure’s feet clued him to the activity. His grip tightened on the chair. The four cousins were hot-tubbing. Apparently, closing time didn’t apply to owners. Although technically he wasn’t spying, he could see relief and contours in the images—enough to distinguish basic body type, shape, and, most obvious to him, boob size.
Once he determined the image that verified Caitlyn’s presence, he skimmed his T-shirt over his head and, after a last glimpse as she lowered her body into the water, covered the screen. This depth of privacy invasion didn’t sit well. He’d need to speak to Tilda about future similar outings.
He pushed aside that laptop and moved the new one into the center desk location. Low-pitched voices in the living room. Sporadic laughter mixed with the sharp slap of billiard balls in the game room. Muted whispers in the library. Even a late-night snacker rummaged in the kitchen. Normal activity sounds for this time of night in a place with a dozen and a half occupants.
Maybe he had time to sneak into Caitlyn’s room and recover the GPS tracker without her being any the wiser. A quick jog to the modular home and back would take only five or six minutes. He punched up the program on his phone. Huh? He stood, holding the phone away from his body then up by his head. Something must be wrong with the signal. He moved his fingers apart to enlarge the image, shook his head, and pulled his fingers close to shrink the screen. Then he even rebooted the program. But the reading stayed the same. His gut clenched. The circle flashed from right outside his bedroom door.
Standing with his back against the wall, he unlocked the door and eased it open two inches. An envelope rested on the hallway. Square in the middle of the doormat in front of his door so he wouldn’t miss it. After retrieving a pen, he laid flat on his stomach and lifted the outside edges of the three corners he could see, checking for attached wires. Dread nailing the pit of his stomach, he picked up the envelope and retreated behind a closed door. Inside were the GPS tracker and a note stating, Who the hell are you?
Busted big-time.
###
Going to bed without setting an alarm was a luxury Caitlyn rarely indulged in. But after imbibing her share of merlot and soaking in the hot tub watching the stars last night, she stumbled on rubbery legs to the bed shared with Tilda. Rolling to her back, she rested an arm over her eyes and listened for any sounds from the living room. A foggy memory surfaced of Tilda crawling out of bed a while ago, and she probably rousted her sisters. Scheduled for tonight was a barbecue buffet with a great variety of side dishes. At some point last night, Caitlyn volunteered her meager sous-chef skills.
Tilda, foolish and desperate as she was, gladly accepted, but didn’t require her help until the middle of the day.
As she lay, relishing the ability to awaken slowly, she remembered the previous night’s conversation. The same stars probably could be seen from her hometown, but she never had time for such pursuits. What fun to learn about the myths behind some of the constellations. Malin was the expert and happily shared how Cassiopeia had been cast into the sky by Poseidon as punishment because she claimed to be more beautiful than the gods.
Caitlyn pulled herself out of bed and showered, still thinking about the story of Orion and how he was reputed to be killed by a scorpion which explained why when Orion disappeared below the horizon, Scorpio rose in the opposite side of the sky. Maybe when she survived the Senate sub-committee meeting, she’d become more literate about myths and stars. Como Planetarium sat only a few miles from her apartment, but she hadn’t visited since a grade school field trip. She definitely needed to broaden her horizons.
When she picked up the white bra she wore yesterday, she remembered her surprise at discovering a button-like device. Her fingers tightened until the underwire bit into her palm. Hopefully, today Rhys would be assigned to repair fences on the far side of the ranch, and she wouldn’t have to spend time in his company. The devious rat.
On the porch of the modular, she sat in an Adirondack chair and sipped a cup of coffee. Chilly air bit at her forearms, and she ducked inside for a sweater to slip atop the pink short-sleeved tee over a denim tiered skirt. From this perch, she viewed the back deck of the main house and the opened doorway of the barn. Neither spot showed much activity, so she focused on a chipmunk stuffing its cheeks and a yellow-breasted meadowlark chirping from a nearby tree branch.
Her phone chimed with an incoming text.
**911. Come to main house. T**
Frowning at the message, she dumped the remains of her coffee over the railing, rushed inside to set the mug in the sink, and then headed across the yard. At her movement, both the chipmunk and the meadowlark skittered away. Only the gentle sounds of nature surrounded her, which were probably what contributed to her mellow mood. With a hand on the door knob, she took a deep breath and braced herself for whatever constituted a guest ranch emergency.
She moved through the dining room, smiling and nodding at groupings of guests around several tables. Nudging open the swinging door, she breathed deeply of fresh coffee, buttery cinnamon, and smoky bacon.
“Oh, Caitlyn, thank heavens you’re here.” Tilda looked up from the far counter where she stood shuffling papers. Her green eyes shot wide.
“What do you need?” She stepped to where several cinnamon rolls sat on a plate dripping with white icing glaze. Because she hadn’t memorized the meal schedule, she didn’t know if these pastries were headed out to be served or whether they were extras.
A black gadget on a stand on the counter squawked. “Morgan to base, come in.”
The sound of Rhys’ voice, even garbled through the instrument, stiffened Caitlyn’s body. But curiosity overrode her discontent with the man, and she stepped closer.
After rolling her shoulders, Tilda lifted the walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Tilda here. Rhys, I need you at the main house.”
“See you in five. Morgan out.”
“Base out.” Tilda set the instrument back in the charging base.
Caitlyn cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Don’t remember those from before.”
“I thought all the years our family spent providing guest ranch services had prepared me for the expansion into hosting destination weddings.” She let out a sigh that resounded in the otherwise-quiet room. “If this wedding is a normal example, we might have made a huge mistake.”
Caitlyn leaned a hip against the granite counter. “Sorry to hear that.” Her stomach rumbled, and she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Can I eat one of those decadent rolls?”
“Oh sure, brunch is winding down. Scrambled eggs and bacon are still in the warmers in the dining room.” Her gaze strayed to the papers, and she shifted the order of the line.
Caitlyn grabbed a small plate for the roll and then ducked into the other room for a scoop of eggs and a rasher of bacon. In no time at all, she stared at an empty plate and wondered if she’d even tasted what she put into her mouth. Rather than risk serving herself seconds, she grabbed a pottery mug with a dreamcatcher painted on the side and filled it half-full of coffee. Her stomach was warm, and she felt sated. This food was more filling that her normal single slice of wheat toast with almond butter. As she sipped her coffee, she stared at the peaks of the Crazy Mountains through the kitchen window. How lucky her cousins were to enjoy this view every day.
Steady boot steps moved closer through the dining room.
Could she really recognize the man’s stride after less than twenty-four hours? She shifted positions so she faced the door that now swung open. Today, he wore jeans topped with a skin-tight black T-shirt. Damn, the man was muscled. Even after knowing he probably wasn’t who he acted like he was, she couldn’t stop from staring—especially at his lower lip that pouted a fraction. She remembered the way it dragged across the tender spot behind her ear. Her pulse kicked up, pushing a flush into her cheeks. A zing heated her lady parts. She squeezed her thighs together and hoped her action remained hidden under her clothes.
“Morning, ladies.” His gaze flitted toward Caitlyn but didn’t connect. He cleared his throat. “What do you need, Tilda?”
“Another entire day, only twenty-four additional hours, is what I need.” She held her hands upward then dropped them to scoop up the papers and carried them to the kitchen island counter. “I’ve sent Jude on a run to pick up the wedding cake in Butte. The baker’s van broke down this morning.” As she talked, she made check marks after existing check marks. “Two of the ranch hands had to go along to stabilize the container in the back of the truck. Malin drove to Billings to pick up guests who could only book flights to that city.”
Caitlyn frowned. Both cities were at least ninety miles away and in opposite directions. Hosting weddings involved a lot of customer service. She sipped her coffee and waited to hear something that involved her.
“Bet you’re wondering why the preamble.” She shoved the pen over her ear then yanked it out again. “So, you’ve heard how my resources are stretched thin.” Tilda glanced between them, eyebrow arched. “The bride called thirty minutes ago in a screaming panic, because the dressmaker missed her flight out of Los Angeles.”
Boots shuffled on the tile. “Aren’t other flights available?”
Caitlyn watched his frowning expression and saw that he wasn’t looking at either of them. She shared Rhys’ skepticism but didn’t want to be seen agreeing. Besides, Tilda was too stressed and needed to get out the information in whatever manner worked.
“Of course, and that’s being arranged.” Frowning, she waved a dismissive hand in the cowboy’s direction. “But the dress arrived via a freight carrier, and the dressmaker was supposed to be waiting to claim it when the plane arrived. So, the box, um, boxes, have been...” She grabbed a piece of paper with a huge red arrow at the top and skimmed it. “And I’m quoting here “orphaned and are probably cast aside with forklifts running back and forth over them with black greasy wheels as I speak.” That was verbatim.”
Oo, the bride sounds a bit high-strung. “Do you need me to drive to the airport and pick up the delivery?”
“Yes and no.” Her lips pursed.
“Huh?” Caitlyn wondered at this point if Tilda was losing control.
Using her pen, she pointed as she talked. “I need Rhys to drive and claim it, and you, Caitlyn, to inventory it.”
Stuck in the car with a man who kissed her senseless and then shoved her away? Never. “Why can’t I drive alone? Seems silly to send two people.” Especially if the two people were her and Rhys.
“Yeah, I’m sure she can handle this task.” He leaned back against the counter then crossed his arms and ankles.
Caitlyn wondered if he realized the pose he’d adopted was one-hundred-percent defensive.
Tilda’s eyes widened. “Insurance purposes. Caitlyn, you’re not authorized to drive ranch vehicles. Or to sign for the actual package. That person has to be a ranch employee. You heard the quote I just read. The bride is going ballistic. Please do this. I can’t spare the time to redirect Malin or Jude—we have so much to do here once they return.”
And I’m totally expendable. Caitlyn frowned. “So send Rhys by himself.” This time, she flipped a dismissive hand toward him, enjoying how good that gesture felt. “Let me stay here and help you with another task.”
Tilda started shaking her head before Caitlyn finished her offer. “The bride specifically stated a female needed to inventory the items at the freight counter. To be sure they were all delivered as promised.” She rifled through the papers on the counter and pulled up one. “Here’s her list. Sorry, Rhys, but how many guys would know the difference between a waltz length or fingertip veil or if the detachable train is present? Not all of the pieces were packed together.”
“No apologies needed. I’ll serve as chauffeur.”
Caitlyn glanced at the items, her eyes widening as she skimmed all the pieces included in this bridal ensemble—veils in two lengths and duplicate designs with different layers, four garters, six sets of heels in two colors, six bras of various styles, a beaded capelet, and a faux fur stole. She looked up and held out her hands. “What am I supposed to do if a piece is missing?”
“Bite your tongue. Quick, knock wood.” Tilda tapped on a wooden trivet. “A lost item report would have to be filled out, but make sure Rhys signs it.”
He shook his head and stared at his boots.
“I need a couple minutes to grab my purse and briefcase. I can use the drive time to check on missed emails.” Without waiting for an answer, she marched across the floor and strong-armed the swinging door. That felt really good. She needed to practice being tough.
Ten minutes later, she stood at the edge of the curb of the circular driveway. Although she acted against her habit of presenting a professional image, she hadn’t applied any makeup, not even lip gloss. Maybe if she looked plain and ordinary, he wouldn’t gaze at her with heat in his dark blue eyes. Denying the attraction that exploded between them in the barn was the only way she’d survive this trip.