Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Zoe
B y the time the truck began the descent from the ranch, I heard thunder rumbling in the distance. That didn’t worry me much—what did bother me was how friendly I’d been with the guys at the ranch.
That stiletto remark made me cringe a little.
Keep your head down, don’t make waves, don’t make a lasting impression and no paper trail. We’ll find out who ratted you out, but until then, be invisible.
Could what I’d done at the ranch be classified as making waves?
“Are four men enough to wrangle all those bulls?” I asked
“We used to have more, but yes, with me on the turf with them, we can handle everything,” I added. “Remember that ranch I told you about in Texas? They have a seventeen-thousand-acre ranch and have a ten-man team beside them. My ranch had some financial troubles a few years ago, and I had to downsize. But we manage.”
The night was filled with static electricity, and I could feel the storm coming.
“The weatherman has promised it will hold off until the morning, and I hope he is right,” Warrick said. “We’re supposed to get a couple of fair days after this, and I hope it sticks because hundreds of people and mud do not go along.”
With the storm rolling in, the dusk had grown so dark I could barely see a foot in front of the high beams, and I could bet that if I stepped outside, I wouldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.
“Are storms like this normal?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “Just be glad we’re not on the tornado radar right now. Didn’t you have rainstorms in…New York, was it?”
“Snowstorms out the wazoo, yes, and a few heavy falls that made the city flood, but not…not this,” I rubbed my arms. “I can feel the charge in the air and god knows I am scared that I’d get hit by lightning.”
“You have a greater chance of getting famous overnight than getting hit by lightning.”
“I guess those guys who did get hit by lightning are real unlucky bastards,” I muttered.
He laughed, a dark, husky sound that sent shivers down my spine, “Tell me about it.”
We got to the outskirts of town just in time for the rain to start coming down, and as I looked over the fairgrounds, I saw— “Are those lightning rods?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “This high in the hills, it's only sensible to have those. They are scattered all around town, too, and hooked up to solar batteries.”
We passed the diner to see Sam pulling down storm shutters before darting to his vehicle and hopping in. A jagged fork of lightning carved the sky in two, and the snapping roll of thunder had me jumping hard enough that my head bumped on the cabin's roof.
“Ouch,” I groaned, pressing my hand to my aching head.
“Scared of thunder?” he asked.
“Who isn’t?”
“No one in this town.”
“Lucky them.”
The brief flashes of lightning kept me on edge, while the sound of thunder had long since been drowned out by the crash of the rain on the windshield. The lightning seemed to favor the mountain tops, and I was suddenly concerned.
“How do your bulls do with storms like this?” I asked, keeping an eye on the road, hoping we would get to the inn quickly.
“They don’t give a damn,” he replied as we drove past the gate of the inn. “But instinct makes them find shelter under trees, and they huddle to share warmth. They’re hardy animals, Miss Harrington. They don’t need to be coddled.”
“Zara, please,” I said, unsure I wanted to hear someone call me Miss Harrington multiple times a day.
“What?”
“Call me Zara, please,” I replied, “You can add a Miss in front if you want, but my full surname feels pretentious and unnecessary.”
He parked the truck and looked over at me, his eyes shadowed under the brim of his hat. “If you wish.”
The rain was driving hard, and I sucked in a breath, knowing I had to run for it. “Ready?”
A hat was plucked on top of my head just before he popped the inner handle and ran for it, opening the door in record time for me to follow. It was only seven feet, but I was drenched to the bone by the time I got inside and plucked the hat off my head—a fat lump of luck that was.
I was still touched by the gesture though.
Resting the hat on a hook, I paused to take my boots off, not wanting to track water into the floor, and then headed to the bathroom. I trusted Warrick to give me my privacy, and even if I had to dash to the bedroom naked, I think he would have the decency not to look.
Lightning and thunder crashed around us; the sound on the roof increased to deafening as I got the water running. Here inside our tiny hideaway, we were ensconced in a small bastion of peace.
The wet slap of my clothes on the tile sounded obscene as I stepped under the warm spray and sighed under the water. I knew I was toeing the line of keeping my head down and standing out, but I hardly thought the would-be killers would trace me to the middle of nowhere and question some random ranchers.
As the water coasted over me, I tried not to think of seeing Warrick half naked last night—but failed.
Thinking about the rugged rancher naked in the shower stirred feelings I thought long dormant until I saw the male body, so perfectly proportioned. The sight made my gut twist. I’d never felt that butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation before, but goddamn, the butterflies in my gut had razor wings.
I still felt miffed about how he had taken me for a ho, but he’d apologized, hadn’t he?
Stepping into the shower, my nipples hardened at the temperature change. Letting the warm water relax my pores, I reached for the soap and lathered up. As I slid the cloth across my breasts, my tender nipples made me hiss; the temptation to stop and pleasure myself was rife, but I could not—not here and certainly not to a fantasy about my boss.
I knew he wanted to get into the shower, too, and it would be a dick move to use up all the hot water. As I washed off, I heard the door open and then close; curious, I moved the curtain to see that Warrick had hung my robe on the hook on the back of the door.
A smile flitted on my lips.
Underneath all that scruff and gruff, he is a nice guy, isn’t he? What more is there about Warrick Donovan that I don’t know yet?
“When I get that phone, I’ll probably know more than I need to know.”
Stepping out of the shower, I dried off and donned my robe. Then went to dress in the room. Warrick had his papers out and was scribbling something down, but as I glanced to the window, I saw another jagged streak of pink lightning cut the sky in half. I reconsidered getting out the laptop. Most of the work was done anyway.
I still jumped at the thunder, though.
“I’m making some tea,” I said. “Do you want some too?”
“I’ll probably make a cup of joe,” he replied, eyes still down on the papers.
“Coffee?” I squawked, “At this time of night? Do you want to sleep?”
He looked up placidly. “I can mainline three cups of coffee and take a nap. Do not underestimate my power.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned back to the kitchen and grabbed the kettle. Filling it, I got it on the stove and searched for the chamomile packets. The silence grated on me. “Was it always your plan to get into ranching? I mean, even after your rodeo career?”
“No.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because it needed to be done.”
Getting answers from him is harder than pulling teeth without Novocaine.
“Are you always this talkative?” I dunked the tea bag into the cup and drowned it with boiling water. “I don’t feel like I can get a word in edgewise.”
He looked up. “Good.”
“Water’s ready,” I replied. “I’ll be in my room, praying this storm dies down.”
I didn’t hear his reply—if he had made one at all—and slipped into the bedroom. From the lightning dancing outside the window, shadows swayed over the modest furniture, creating pockets of darkness I would rather do without.
The wooden dresser opposite the bed was worn but well shined. A TV sat on top of it, with the remote I had not once touched. Two nightstands bookended the bed, and across from it, a closet.
Resting the cup on the table, I regretted not grabbing a coaster, but I was not going to go back there. Nope. Not happening.
As the lights flashed and the rain tumbled, I wondered what my old coworkers were doing. Half of them were insomniac workaholics who medicated with coffee and the occasional Xanax. It was after nine, but that newsroom would be bustling—keys tapping, and my editor screaming at his PA to get some judge or police chief on the phone.
I loved journalism.
It was too bad that I would never step foot in that room again. Not until the Feds corralled that could-be killer.
And who knew when that would be.
Could be a day, could be a year. Hell, the case could go cold and then what?
They cannot let this go cold, just as they cannot keep this quiet for much longer. Somebody has got to notice that medical clinic vanishing from Brooklyn. They scammed almost fifteen million from government funds. No one is gonna let that go.
“All this because I dug deep on a simple fluff piece I didn’t need to do,” I sighed.
Peeling the duvet and sheets down, I slid into bed and reached for the cup, sipping.
Guilt ate at me as I got ready to turn in. It didn’t seem right that I was in this comfortable bed, and Warrick was out there in the cold on that relic of a couch. It probably wasn’t good for his back, either. When he thought nobody was looking, he would often go through a series of stretches forward and back, then twist side to side, always with a grimace on his face.
It was painful to watch; secretly, I’d always cringe with him.
Sighing, I sunk to the pillows and tried to find a comfortable spot to sleep. Even with the storm raising hell and the unsettling booms outside, I managed to slip to sleep…
Only to find myself in my old bed, the room dark, the can of mace on the table.
Then…I was struggling and gasping for breath. Thumbs pressed into my windpipe as icy blue eyes stared death into mine. I tried to scream—but no sound came out.
Only my body bucking and coiling on the bed, struggling to get out of the choke hold, my feet flying around. My fingers were nearly white as I tried to pry the man’s fingers from my neck. This time, though, I felt the cold mouth of a gun at my temple.
I felt my body start to sink into the bed—and then I was underwater, sinking, sinking…surrounded by glee-filled eyes. Shaking in terror, I felt my heart beating wildly in my chest. I was drowning.
Frightened.
Dying.
“No!” I cried and awoke with a start, the small sound echoing about the small room.
For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. My scattered mind told me I was in this bed— and the one in New York. My lungs could suck in air— but I felt thumbs in my neck cutting the breath off.
Crash !
Something went splinter.
Another thing went shatter.
A thunderous boom!
“Help, Warrick. Help me!” I screamed. The sheets twisted and tangled around my legs, but I felt a giant snake trapping my legs, holding me down. The gun was still pressed on my temple. A nerve-shattering crash sounded around me but my nerves were already shattered,
I forced air through my nose, then through my teeth, when the sourness in my stomach wouldn’t go away.
I was about to get shot.
“Warrick!” I scrambled, clawing at the bed and flinging myself off it. I landed on my shoulder; my legs were still trapped. I was about to die! “I’m going to fucking die !