Secluded with the Cowboy

“To be fair,” Andrea said, “your father and I were part of a different generation. Men are more sensitive now.”

Nicole shook her head. “Not Dylan.”

Though her son was routinely dismissive toward her, Andrea leapt to his defense. “For the past few days, he’s worn his heart on his sleeve.”

“His heart?” Carolyn scoffed. “He’s been snarling and snapping at everyone.”

“Anger is how he covers his emotions,” Andrea said. “His fear, his sadness and pain.”

Nicole was extremely familiar with Dylan in his cranky mood. She thought back to their argument before she’d gone racing out of the house and into the arms of the kidnappers. She’d been angry, too. Maybe even more than her husband. “Did he mention what we were fighting about before I left the house?”

“He told Burke,” Carolyn said.

Why on earth would Dylan confide such a personal matter to someone he barely knew? “Was Burke interrogating him?”

“Nope. Dylan just blurted it out. He must have felt guilty.”

As well he should. He‘d been horrible to her. “It felt like he was choosing the ranch instead of me and the family we might have someday.”

“You’re trying to get pregnant,” Andrea said.

“For almost eight months. I expected to have problems. Being a vet, I’ve been kicked in the belly a couple of times. But the fertility doc said those injuries weren’t entirely the issue. We had a lot of little problems. Low sperm motility. A blocked Fallopian tube. Anyway, it just wasn’t happening.”

“Did you get Dylan to wear boxer shorts?” Andrea asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Black, silky boxer shorts. They had turned out to be as much of a treat for her as for Dylan. “They looked real cute.”

Carolyn snorted. “Did he take off his cowboy boots?”

“Sometimes.”

Nicole and Dylan had always been sexually compatible, even adventurous. She’d never forget the time he strode into their bedroom wearing his leather chaps and nothing else. Though she was tempted to dwell on that outrageous, sexy image, the conversation drew her back to the subject of children.

“I’d like to be a grandma,” Andrea said.

Carolyn beamed. “And I could be the baby’s cool aunt in the city. Like Auntie Mame.”

Nicole sipped her tea. She still wasn’t sure that Dylan really, truly wanted a baby. Though he claimed to be ready for children, there was a definite lack of enthusiasm. It seemed as though he was agreeing because it was easier than fighting with her. And he hated sharing their intimate issues with the doctors at the fertility clinic.

“When the baby is born,” Andrea said, “you’ll bring him or her to Manhattan, won’t you?”

“Only if you arrange for your daughter to visit us at the ranch.”

“She’ll love it here.” Andrea smiled warmly. “Any preteen girl from New York would go crazy for all these handsome cowboys. When I came out west, I certainly did.”

And she’d married Sterling Carlisle. “I never knew Dylan’s father. Dylan’s a lot like him, isn’t he?”

“In many ways. They’re both strong-willed. Responsible. Deeply loyal.”

“Pig-headed,” Carolyn said. “And demanding.”

Nicole didn’t want to see history repeating itself. Andrea and Sterling got divorced; what if her marriage was doomed?

“There is a difference,” Andrea said. “Sterling and I never really stood a chance. In spite of how much we loved each other, we didn’t want the same things from life. It’s not that way with you and Dylan. From the moment I saw you together on your wedding day, I knew you’d make it.”

“Why?”

“You have something special. You’re both westerners right down to your roots. You’re a vet, Nicole. You love animals. And Dylan is a rancher.”

“She’s right,” Carolyn said. “You two have everything in common.”

Except for a desire to have children?

She needed to go back to the beginning of their relationship, to remember all those things that had attracted her to Dylan in the first place. To find the man she’d fallen in love with five years ago.

AT THE SOUND of gunfire, Dylan ducked and leaned forward in the saddle—a gut reaction to threat. His next instinct was to search. He squinted through the moonlight. On the side of the road to his left were rocks and shrubs that could be used for cover. The shot had sounded like it had come from farther away, however.

On the horse beside him, Burke dug into his saddlebag and pulled out a pair of night-vision goggles that he fastened onto his head.

“What do you see?” Dylan asked.

“Cows. That truck that was coming down the road turned around.”

Even Jesse—a professional bodyguard who had successfully thwarted a number of assassination attempts—was puzzled by the gunshot. He swung his horse around, facing north on the road.

The cattle bawled and stomped their hooves.

The ranch hands on horseback yelled to each other. Every man had a gun in hand.

There was a second shot. And a third.

“That way,” Jesse yelled. “He’s in that truck.”

Jesse quickly dismounted, planted his boots on the pavement near the shoulder of the road and aimed his rifle. Rapid-fire, he got off four shots.

Dylan saw the red flash of brake lights. He couldn’t hear the truck’s engine with all the noise surrounding him, but he knew the vehicle was driving away. Nate Miller was getting away.

It wasn’t prudent to chase after that truck; Burke had warned him about being lured into danger. But there was no way in hell that Dylan could sit back and allow that son of a bitch to escape. He dug his heels into Orbison’s flanks and took off like a horse-powered rocket.

The dim moonlight reflected off the roof of the truck. He was driving without headlights on the two-lane road.

Dylan raced behind him, riding hard and fast. His horse’s hooves pounded the pavement. He wanted to believe that he was closing the gap with every stride, but the fastest horse on the planet couldn’t outrun a truck.

Half a mile ahead was the turn leading toward the ranch. With several men standing guard, the people in the house were safe. Nicole was safe. But Dylan hated to think of Nate getting within a mile of her.

If the road had been straight, he would have continued at a gallop. But the truck took a sharp turn and disappeared behind a stand of pine trees.

The perfect spot for an ambush. And Dylan was no fool. He directed his horse onto the shoulder of the road, slowing his pace to ride across the unfenced property.