Chapter Three
After the note’s typed text, there was that same image of a knife blade. Rust-colored spots had been dripped, staining the paper. Blood? The note must have come from the same person sending the emails. The Weirdo. And now he was here. In her hometown.
Wildly, Sarah had glanced around, dropped one of her grocery bags.
A can of black olives spilled from the bag, rolled until it came to a stop against her front tire.
Bending to collect the can, she sent furtive glances at the store patrons.
Her fingers trembled. In the parking lot, people moved calmly to and from their cars.
Near panic, she didn’t see anything suspicious.
In that instant she felt hostile eyes on her, but could not identify the source. Every hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. The note really rattled her. The word super was underlined, a reference, she was certain, to her old nickname, the one she’d left behind: Super Sarah.
It spooked her enough to finally call Rio. After all, he was in the security business. Tossing the grocery bags into the truck, she fumbled for her phone.
“Make a police report,” her brother said in clipped, concerned tones. “Right now. Go over and tell Ted King about this. Give him the note.” Ted King was the Mountain Wood Chief of Police.
“All right,” she said reluctantly, and locked herself in the cab. “I’m in town at the moment so I can stop by the department. But what can the police do about this?”
“Not much,” he said. “You’re describing typical stalker behavior and I don’t like it. Something needs to be done. But I can’t come now, Sis.”
She was aware that down in Texas where he lived, his wife was due to give birth. “I’m sending someone else,” he said. “Someone who’ll resolve your problem. He’ll be there later today.”
“No, Rio,” she said firmly. Her brother could be hard headed, but so could she.
The last thing she needed was her privacy invaded.
In the last six months, she’d learned to prize her time alone.
Turning the ignition key, she pulled out of the parking lot and her earlier impression of being watched faded.
“I don’t want anybody coming to the ranch—”
“Still have your pistol and rifle?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m watching out for myself. The Smith & Wesson is here in my handbag. Rifle is kept in the house, next to the door. Loaded.”
“Good. Keep the handgun close. And stay with Big Jim.”
“Don’t send anyone,” she insisted. Already she was sorry she’d phoned him. She should have thought it through. Naturally he’d overreact. Why hadn’t she realized that?
“Gotta run. Just got a text from Becca. Maybe it’s time.” And the line went dead.
That had been early in the morning. She’d done the right thing by making a police report, and now law enforcement was aware of her situation.
They’d be vigilant. Big Jim was concerned, and he was pleased she’d called Rio.
He wanted her to keep close by the house, and he hadn’t left the ranch all day, although she hadn’t told him she was going to town.
She’d be extra watchful for unfamiliar faces. Nothing would escape her.
She didn’t need any of Rio’s friends arriving to get under her feet, order her around, cramp her life. When she’d panicked and called him, hers had been a knee-jerk reaction. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Naturally he’d be compelled to act, to do something.
She sighed. Oh well. If anyone from Rio’s security company showed up, she’d send him packing.
Bending again to scoop more dirt from the hole, she inspected its depth. Leaning in, she placed both gloved hands on either side of the indentation and peered deeply into the bottom, saw that it still wasn’t deep enough, and muttered, “Well, crap. Gotta go farther.”
“Need help with that?” A male voice from above startled her so much she jerked up.
Standing over her was a man she’d never seen before. Dark hair. Tall. Like her, he wore boots, jeans, and a cowboy hat.
A stranger.
She clawed at her holster for her gun.
****
“Whoa,” Ben said, holding up both hands. Geeze, he hadn’t meant to startle her. “Don’t shoot me. Just offering a little help, is all.”
Leaping to her feet, Sarah Lang took quick steps backward.
He watched as she drew her weapon but didn’t raise it. As would someone trained in the proper use of firearms, she held it with both hands aimed at the ground. Thankfully, her finger was still straight and outside the trigger guard. So she wasn’t a novice around weapons. That was excellent.
Just as he knew she would be, she was of good height, and her close-fitting jeans covered long legs and slim hips as though they’d been smeared on her.
She’d gained weight, maybe ten pounds, and he instantly approved.
When she was modeling, she’d been too thin.
She wore boots and a button-down blue chambray shirt, rolled at the sleeves to reveal elegant wrists.
Her straw hat had been pushed back off her forehead and her long blonde braid swung over her shoulder.
A streak of dirt made a dark swath across one perfect cheekbone.
The large, curiously tilted green eyes he’d looked into so many times through his computer and television screens now narrowed in suspicion.
He knew her beauty would transcend the ads and magazine photos, and he was right.
She was spectacular. He tried not to stare.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Spit it out quick or you’re getting a lead sandwich.” He saw her tighten her hold on her pistol.
“No, thanks, already had supper.” Carefully, he kept his hands in the air. Rio had told him she was ornery. He hadn’t been kidding. “Ben Paxton, at your service.”
She cocked her head. “Paxton?”
“Yep.”
She relaxed a little. “Oh. Rio’s business partner.”
“You could say we work together, but we’re not partners. I own the company.”
“Whatever. I told him not to send anyone. I made a police report. And I’m armed.” She cut her gaze toward her pistol, and then holstered it.
“No offense, Sarah, but I walked right up and you didn’t notice.” Deliberately, he emphasized his Texas drawl. “You were bent right over that hole, your butt up in the air, mutterin’ curses like it owed you money.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” Her eyes shot sparks.
“I’m not being funny. Anybody could have grabbed you, disarmed you, and done whatever else they’d wanted. Your little peashooter there won’t do you any good if you can’t keep control of it. Again, no offense, however you’re not all that observant.”
He watched as her lips firmed. “I can take care of myself.”
“Nope. You can’t. Not right now.” Suddenly he was glad Rio had advised him to be tough with her. “Right now, you need a keeper and his name is Ben Paxton.”
Instantly her chin went up. “Sorry Rio’s friend, or boss, or whoever you are—”
“Told you. I’m Ben.”
“—but you’re not welcome. I don’t want you here and I don’t need you. You have to go.”
He snorted and put his hands on his hips. “You think I’m leaving?”
“Get out.” She pointed a finger at the long driveway, which led to the county road.
Ben noticed her fingernail was unpolished and broken.
Dirt had collected beneath the nail. Somehow instead of turning him off, it served to make her human.
An honest-to-God woman. No longer an image on a screen, to him Sarah was now a living, breathing individual.
She was real. His blood raced through his veins.
He wanted very badly to touch her, to see if her skin was as silky as he’d dreamed.
As she spat another order, she practically vibrated. “Get. Off. My. Land.”
“Negative,” Ben said. Dynamite couldn’t have blasted him out of there. Not when Sarah needed him. He folded his arms. “You and I are gonna get to know one another real well.”
“If you don’t go on your own, I’ll have Jim show you the way, and I promise you won’t like that.” She didn’t give an inch.
Not only was she ornery, she was feisty. Already smitten by her pretty face, he liked her spirit. Her energy and fire were invigorating.
“Big Jim? Met him half an hour ago, down at the barn.” He pointed with his chin at the large structure past the corral. “Spent some time talking about what needs to be done around here to beef up security. He’s on board.”
She made a sound in her throat like she was strangling. Her face turned pink and she mumbled something beneath her breath. It sounded like you bastard. “Fine,” she spat. “But you’re not staying here at the house. Forget that. Get a motel in town.”
“Figure I can hole up in your bunkhouse.” He glanced around the property as though looking for such a structure.
“We don’t have one.”
“Sure you do. A spread this size will always have a bunkhouse. You’ve got to bring in men for spring roundup and fall gather.
” He figured she’d pegged him for a city slicker.
However, he’d grown up on a beef cattle ranch in Texas.
Raising cattle in cow-calf operations in the two states meant there were differences in the way things were done, yet also many commonalities.
Oh, yeah. There was a bunkhouse.
“Wrong,” she said. “No place for you to stay here, sorry.” She flipped her braid from her shoulder to her back.
“Big Jim already showed me. I stowed my gear in there on a bunk,” he lied. “You can stop fighting. Rio wants me here.” He was unashamed about busting out the brother card. “And you need me.”
“I need a new John Deere tractor, hopefully one with a disc mower for hay making.” She turned away to collect her tools. “I’m not in the market for a babysitter.”
This had gone on long enough. He had to protect Sarah and figure out who was threatening her. Before anything bad happened, the stalker needed to be stopped. As beautiful as Sarah was in real, Technicolor life, as infatuated as he was with her, nothing had changed. He must complete his mission.
“Sarah?” He said her name softly.
When his sudden change in tone brought her twisting around to face him, he met her glare with a level gaze of his own. “Get used to it because I’m not going anywhere.”
“We’ll see about that.” She picked up her posthole digger.
“It’s settled,” he told her in deep certainty. As tall as she was, he was taller. At six-foot-three, he very deliberately loomed over her. “You’re mine now.”