Steel Resolve

Silence, then a female voice. “Mary Cardwell Savage?” The voice was hard and crisp like a fall apple, the words bitten off.

“Yes?” she asked, disappointed. She’d gotten her hopes up that it was Chase, with whatever excuse he had for not calling sooner. It wouldn’t matter as long as he’d called to say that he felt the same way she did and always had. But she’d been right. It was just some telemarketer. “I’m sorry, but whatever you’re selling, I’m not inter—”

“I read your letter you sent Chase.”

Her breath caught as her heart missed a beat. She told herself that she’d heard wrong. “I beg your pardon?”

“Leave my fiancé alone. Don’t write him. Don’t call him. Just leave him the hell alone.”

She tried to swallow around the bitter taste in her mouth. “Who is this?” Her voice sounded breathy with fear.

“The woman who’s going to marry Chase Steele. If you ever contact him again—”

Mary disconnected, her fingers trembling as she dropped the phone into her jacket pocket as if it had scorched her skin. The woman’s harsh low voice was still in her ears, furious and threatening. Whoever she was, she’d read the letter. No wonder Chase hadn’t written or called. But why hadn’t he? Had he shown the letter to his fiancée? Torn it up? Kept it so she found it? Did it matter? His fiancée had read the letter and was furious, and Mary couldn’t blame her.

She buried her face in her hands. Chase had gone off to find himself. Apparently he’d succeeded in finding a fiancée as well. Tears burned her eyes. Chase was engaged and getting married. Could she be a bigger fool? Chase had moved on, and he hadn’t even had the guts to call and tell her.

Angrily, Mary wiped at her tears as she recalled the woman’s words and the anger she’d heard in them. She shuddered, regretting more than ever that stupid letter she’d written. The heat of humiliation and mortification burned her cheeks. If only she hadn’t poured her heart out to him. If only she had just written him about the package and left it at that. If only...

Unfortunately, she’d been feeling nostalgic the night she wrote that letter. Her mare was about to give birth so she was staying the night at the ranch in her old room. She’d come in from the barn late that night, and had seen the package she’d promised to let Chase know about. Not far into the letter, she’d become sad and regretful. Filled with memories of the two of them growing up together on the ranch from the age of fifteen, she’d decide to call him only to find that his number was no longer in service. Then she’d tried to find him on social media. No luck. It was as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth. Had something happened to him?

Worried, she’d gone online and found an address for him but no phone number. In retrospect, she should never have written the letter—not in the mood she’d been in. What she hated most since he hadn’t answered her letter or called, was that she had written how much she missed him and how she’d never gotten over him and how she regretted their breakup.

She’d stuffed the letter into the envelope addressed to him and, wiping her tears, had left it on her desk in her old room at the ranch as she climbed into bed. The next morning before daylight her mother had called up to her room to say that the mare had gone into labor. Forgetting all about the letter, she’d been so excited about the new foal that she’d put everything else out of her mind. By the time she remembered the letter, it was gone. Her aunt Stacy had seen it, put a stamp on the envelope and mailed it for her.

At first, Mary had been in a panic, expecting Chase to call as soon as he received the letter. She’d played the conversation in her head every way she thought possible, all but one of them humiliating. As days passed, she’d still held out hope. Now after more than two weeks and that horrible phone call, she knew it was really over and she had to accept it.

Still her heart ached. Chase had been her first love. Did anyone ever get over their first love? He had obviously moved on. Mary took another deep breath and tried to put it out of her mind. She loved summer here in the canyon. The temperature was perfect—never too cold or too hot. A warm breeze swayed the pine boughs and keeled over the tall grass in the pasture nearby. Closer a horse whinnied from the corral next to the barn as a hawk made a slow lazy circle in the clear blue overhead.

Days like this she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She took another deep breath. She needed to get back to her office. She had work to do. Along with doing the ranch books for Cardwell Ranch, she had taken on work from other ranches in the canyon and built a lucrative business.

She would get over Chase or die trying, she told herself. As she straightened her back, her tears dried, and she walked toward her SUV. She’d give Deputy Dillon Ramsey a call. It was time she moved on. Like falling off a horse, she was ready to saddle up again. Forgetting Chase wouldn’t be easy, but if anyone could help the process, she figured Dillon Ramsey was the man to do it.

Chapter Three (#u334c3399-2d31-5bc5-abd0-da2e5de306d5)

Chase was carrying the last of his things out to his pickup when he saw Fiona drive up. He swore under his breath. He’d hoped to leave without a scene. Actually, he’d been surprised that she hadn’t come by sooner. As she was friends with Rick’s wife, Patty, Chase was pretty sure she had intel into how the packing and leaving had been going.

He braced himself as he walked to his pickup and put the final box into the back. He heard Fiona get out of her car and walk toward him. He figured it could go several ways. She would try seduction or tears or raging fury, or a combination of all three.

Hands deep in the pockets of her jacket as she approached, she gave him a shy smile. It was that smile that had appealed to him that first night. He’d been vulnerable, and he suspected she’d known it. Did she think that smile would work again?

He felt guilty for even thinking that she was so calculating and yet he’d seen the way she’d worked him. “Fiona, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble?” She chuckled. “I heard you were moving out today. I only wanted to come say goodbye.”

Chase wished that was the extent of it, but he’d come to know her better than that. “I think we covered goodbye the last time we saw each other.”

She ignored that. “I know you’re still angry with me—”

“Fiona—”

Tears welled in her green eyes as if she could call them up at a moment’s notice. “Chase, at least give me a hug goodbye. Please.” Before he could move, she closed the distance between them. As she did, her hands came out of her jacket pockets. The blade of the knife in her right hand caught the light as she started to put her arms around his neck.

As he jerked back, he grabbed her wrist. “What the—” He cursed as he tightened his grip on her wrist holding the knife. She was stronger than she looked. She struggled to stab him as she screamed obscenities at him.

The look in her eyes was almost more frightening than the knife clutched in her fist. He twisted her wrist until she cried out and dropped the weapon. The moment it hit the ground, he let go of her, realizing he was hurting her.

She dived for the knife, but he kicked it away, chasing after it before she could pick it up again. She leaped at him, pounding on his back as she tried to drag him to the ground.

He threw her off. She stumbled and fell to the grass and began to cry hysterically. He stared down at her. Had she really tried to kill him?

“Don’t! Don’t kill me!” she screamed, raising her hands as if she thought he was going to stab her. He’d forgotten that he’d picked up the knife, but he wasn’t threatening her with it.

He didn’t understand what was going on until he realized they were no longer alone. Fiona had an audience. Some of the apartment tenants had come out. One of them, an elderly woman, was fumbling with her phone as if to call the cops.

“Everything is all right,” he quickly told the woman.

The older woman looked from Fiona to him and back. Her gaze caught on the knife he was holding at his side.

“There is no reason to call the police,” Chase said calmly as he walked to the trash cans lined up along the street, opened one and dropped the knife into the bottom.

“That’s my best knife!” Fiona yelled. “You owe me for that.”

He saw that the tenant was now staring at Fiona, who was brushing off her jeans as she got to her feet.

“What are you staring at, you old crone? Go back inside before I take that phone away from you and stick it up your—”

“Fiona,” Chase said as the woman hurriedly turned and rushed back inside. He shook his head as he gave Fiona a wide berth as he headed toward his apartment to lock up. “Go home before the police come.”

“She won’t call. She knows I’ll come back here if she does.”

He hoped Fiona was right about the woman not making the call. Otherwise, he’d be held up making a statement to the police—that’s if he didn’t end up behind bars. He didn’t doubt that Fiona would lie through her teeth about the incident.

“She won’t make you happy,” Fiona screamed after him as he opened the door to his apartment, keeping an eye on her the whole time. The last thing he wanted was her getting inside. If she didn’t have another weapon, he had no doubt she’d find one.

Stopping in the doorway, he looked back at her. Her makeup had run along with her nose. She hadn’t bothered to wipe either. She looked small, and for a moment his heart went out to her. What had happened to that professional, together woman he’d met at the party?

“You need to get help, Fi.”

She scoffed at that. “You’re the one who needs help, Chase.”

He stepped inside, closed and locked the door, before sliding the dead bolt. Who’s to say she didn’t have a half dozen spare keys made. She’d lied about the building manager opening the door for her. She’d lied about a lot of things. He had no idea who Fiona Barkley was. But soon she would be nothing more than a bad memory, he told himself as he finished checking to make sure he hadn’t left anything. When he looked out, he saw her drive away.

Only then did he pick up his duffel bag, lock the apartment door behind him and head for his truck, anxious to get on the road to Montana. But as he neared his pickup, he saw what Fiona had left him. On the driver’s-side window scrawled crudely in lipstick were the words You’ll regret it.

That was certainly true. He regretted it already. He wondered what would happen to her and feared for the next man who caught her eye. Maybe the next man would handle it better, he told himself.

Tossing his duffel bag onto the passenger seat, he pulled an old rag from under the seat and wiped off what he could of the lipstick. Then, climbing into this truck, he pointed it toward Montana and Mary, putting Fiona out of his mind.