Chapter 5 Stormy Detour #3
Man, but he enjoyed bossing her around! She swallowed hard. “About the Silvas…” He’d been right about them. As much as she hadn’t wanted to believe his suspicions, he’d been horrifically on point. Not just about them. About everything. Just like he’d warned her when she’d hired him.
His words were still ringing in her head about how he always pursued justice without caring whose feelings he stepped on…
and how she wouldn’t like the results of his investigation.
At the time, she’d assumed he was just being a jerk, but not anymore.
He’d correctly assessed the way the Silvas were taking advantage of her, and he hadn’t wanted to be the one to disenchant her.
He was a good man—a far better man than she’d given him credit for.
His next words were yet more proof of that. “For what it’s worth, I wanted to be wrong about the Silvas. Not sure what you ever saw in them, but I know they’re like family to you.”
“Is that the reason you’ve been refusing to tell me stuff?” So many emotions were zinging through her—regret, betrayal, anger, and no small amount of fear.
“It’s not the only reason.” He shrugged. “I usually reach out to clients only when I have an update about the case.”
Client . Right. Not friends. Not partners in an undercover crime-solving adventure. Not anything personal whatsoever. His words were a reminder that she was nothing more to him than a client. It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.
As she wrenched her gaze away from him, the barn doors flew open again, and policemen flooded into the room.
Lots of them. A dozen. No, more like two dozen.
Mallory blinked in consternation, wondering where they’d come from.
There was no way a town this size employed that big of a law enforcement team.
The policemen were masked, too, which was odd.
To her deepening alarm, Tucker leaped over the steer the two of them had been tending to and shoved her behind one of the water troughs. “Don’t move,” he snarled, throwing himself half on top of her.
Now what? The weight of one long leg settled over her legs, pinning them to the floor. Then he hooked an arm protectively around her head.
She and Tucker fit together better than they should have. The two of them were barely civil to each other, yet he hadn’t hesitated to use his body to shield her. His heart thumped out a steady rhythm between her shoulder blades. Fierce, dependable, and unafraid.
Unlike her own heart, which was galloping a thousand miles per minute like a runaway horse…
She watched one of the police officers wave a pistol in the air. “Everybody on the ground! You’re under arrest!”
Other than Tucker, none of the other Lonestar Security guys were in sight.
Conrad Cavender seemed to be missing as well.
So were the veterinarians. Mallory’s heart thudded with dread.
Had they already been arrested and removed from the barn?
She’d been so busy tending to her herd that she hadn’t been paying much attention to what was going on around them .
The police officers scattered around the room, kicking over feed buckets, bales of hay, and wheelbarrows. It was clear they were looking for something.
“Check the loft,” the man with the pistol commanded. He was the only one doing any talking and seemed to be in charge of the others.
Men scurried up the steps and stomped around overhead.
“Nothing up here,” one of them hollered, kicking some hay over the railing.
They’re not real policemen. The truth sank home, chilling Mallory. She was betting they were the narco rustlers, here to collect the rest of their drugs. None of them seemed to realize that the packages they were looking for were hiding in plain sight.
Somebody must have tipped them off to bring them running en masse like this to Mr. Cavender’s town. Whoever it was, however, must have failed to mention the smelly trough in the middle of the room that the packages were resting inside.
Her thoughts circled back to Chip and Cruz.
As much as she didn’t want to believe such young guys were capable of something so unconscionable, one or both of them were likely involved.
It was the only thing that made sense. She glanced at the metal fence they’d been perched on earlier, but it was empty. Where were they?
“If we stay here, we’re dead,” Tucker grated in her ear. “But I have an idea. When I say run, you run, okay?” He pointed to a door located roughly twenty feet to her right.
She didn’t know what was behind the door, or if it would be unlocked when she got there. Regardless, she squeezed his hand to let him know she understood.
He squeezed back. Then he low-crawled away from her .
Anxious to know what he was up to, she watched him inch closer to the gate of the nearest cattle pen. Her lips moved in a silent prayer that his movements wouldn’t be noticed before he accomplished whatever he was attempting to do.
Doors slammed and men shouted, yanking her attention once again to the other side of the barn. A scuffling match ensued on the floor.
“Well, well, well!” The thug in charge strode across the barn to point his pistol at their writhing prisoner. Two of his accomplices were kicking the ribs of the man on the floor, making him pant and groan. “Tell us where you stashed the packages, old man, and this will all be over.”
Old man? That was when Mallory noticed the white hair of the man they were kicking. Her heart sank at the realization that they were taking their anger out on the aging Dr. Ridley. All for the sin of treating her injured cattle. He didn’t deserve this.
He wheezed out a few words, but she couldn’t make out what he said above the mooing of the frightened cattle and shouts of the gangsters. However, there was no mistaking the deadly intent of his captor as he raised his pistol higher and took aim.
Mallory winced and lowered her head to the floor, unable to watch. Instead of a gunshot, the clang of metal filled her ears. A mighty bovine roar followed.
“Run!” The urgency in Tucker’s voice ricocheted off the rafters.
She yanked her head up in time to watch steers erupt from the nearest pen. Four Lonestar Security team members were swinging lassos and riding crops to drive them forward. She watched them, riveted with fascination.
Her delay in leaping to her feet proved to be a mistake.
Pounding hooves thundered her way, cutting off her escape route.
In the end, all she had time to do was vault over the edge of the water trough she’d been crouched behind.
She cannon-balled into its chilly depths, splashing water everywhere.
She threw her hands over her head, certain she was about to get trampled, but the trumpeting cattle surged around the water trough on both sides of her.
The floor beneath her vibrated hard enough to rattle her teeth.
Another loud clang of metal alerted her that a second gate had been flung open. More steers surged out to join the stampede.
Mallory clutched her head tighter and hunkered down in the tub as one of the narco rustlers aimed his pistol at a charging steer. It was impossible to hear whether he got off a shot before he was trampled beneath the creature’s hooves.
Men shouted, and a few shrieked in pain, as they sprinted for the open barn doors. It was complete chaos—loud, frenzied, and deadly. When it was over, Tucker’s rough voice warned, “Don’t look!”
His hands gripped her shoulders and lifted her from the trough. She watched dazedly as his hard, chiseled features took shape. She tried to ask him about Skip’s condition, but her teeth were chattering too hard to get the words out.
He must’ve understood the gist of what she was saying, because he covered her eyes with a hand. “I meant what I said. Don’t look.”
“Skip!” She gasped out the poor steer’s name, struggling to disengage herself from the clasp of Tucker’s steely arms.
“He didn’t make it.” He wrapped a heavy saddle blanket around her, trapping her flailing limbs and stilling her movements. Then he carried her toward the door he’d instructed her to run toward earlier.
“Quit trying to escape,” he grumbled against her temple. However, there was no malice in his voice. Only concern.
She clung to him, shivering too hard to respond. They entered a rustic office on the other side of the door and were met with a blast of warmth. A roaring fire in the hearth filled the room with toasty heat.
Tucker set her down on a rug in front of the fireplace and rustled up some more saddle blankets to wrap around her. “Get those wet things off. I’ll be back with your duffel bag in two snaps.”
Her eyes widened at the request, but she was still too numb and cold to do anything but nod.
When he returned with her duffel bag, it felt like heaven to peel out of her sodden jeans and shirt and don the change of clothing she’d brought on the trip.
She’d packed the first things she’d pulled out of her dresser—black running pants and an oversized green sweatshirt.
She was fortunate she’d had the wherewithal to include a pair of sneakers, because her boots were going to take a while to dry out.
Tucker rejoined her while she was still toweling off her hair. “You never listen to me.” He shook his head at her.
“What law did I break now?” She moved across the room and plopped into an upholstered chair in front of Mr. Cavender’s rustic desk, beyond grateful to be warm again. Tucking her feet beneath her, she sent Tucker a belligerent look.
“It’s what you didn’t do!” He parked himself in front of her, hitching a leg on the edge of Mr. Cavender’s desk. “You agreed to run when I said run. Why didn’t you?” His voice was gritty with anger.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” She replayed the sequence of events inside her head. “It all happened so fast.”
“You could’ve died out there!”
“I know.” Believe me, I know. Apparently, the good Lord still had a plan for her life.
“You could’ve died in that trailer, too, if I hadn’t discovered you stowing away.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m like a cat with nine lives.”
His shoulders slumped. “You wouldn’t have been in any less danger if you’d stayed behind at the ranch.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.” She blinked back tears at what he’d left unsaid.
While worming their way into her heart and pretending to be like family, Martina and Dex had been running a narco rustling operation right under her nose.
They’d been doing it alongside her normal cattle sales, using the poor creatures as drug mules.
Skip had been accidentally poisoned by a leaking package of the drugs, then trampled during the ensuing showdown between the drug lords and the Lonestar Security guys. Goodness only knew where Chip and Cruz had disappeared to. Did their absence mean they were part of this mess?
“I should’ve sold the ranch after my parents died.
” She let the damp towel fall to her lap, feeling defeated.
“What was I thinking? It’s too much for one person to run.
” Maybe she’d finally call the attorney of the nut job who’d bought the other hundred acres from her.
If they still wanted the rest of the place, it was theirs.
“Baloney!” Tucker’s harsh voice cut through her self-recrimination .
She gawked at him. “For once, I thought you might actually agree with me.”
“I do.” His dark gaze narrowed on her. “I agree it’s too much for one person.”
“There you are,” she sighed, pressing a hand to her aching heart. “I knew I could count on you to kick me while I’m down.”
He gritted his teeth. “Would you let me finish?”
She gestured for him to continue. “Kick away, Private Investigator Pratt.”
“I’ll pass.” He folded his arms, eyeing her stubbornly. “Negotiating a partnership is more my style.”
“Come again?” Her lips parted in astonishment.
“A partnership, Brat.” His hard mouth twitched with humor. “As in you and me doing business together.”
“You mean ranching?” She wasn’t sure she was following him.
He gave her an incredulous look. “Is there any other business you’d like to go into?”
“Um…no.”
“Then ranching it is.” His dark eyes twinkled at her. “In case you’re wondering what I’ll bring to the table, I happen to own a hundred acres of prime grazing land.”
No! It can’t be! Her heart pounded with disbelief. “That’s an oddly specific number, Mr. Maybe Partner. Exactly where is this prime grazing land located?” Maybe it was just a coincidence he owned the same amount of acreage she’d been forced to sell.
He lowered his head a fraction to gaze more fully into her eyes. “Where do you think?”
She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “So, you’re the anonymous nut job who’s been pestering me about selling the rest of my land?” That figures! He had a corner on the market for annoyingness.
“I think future partner sounds better than nut job .”
“Tucker!” She scanned his face. Was he serious about going into business together, or was it simply his latest attempt at strong-arming her into selling?
“Why?” she demanded.
Why me?
Why us?
Why now?
He curled his upper lip at her. “As much as it pains me to admit it, we make a good team.”