Lost Christmas Memories - читать онлайн бесплатно, автор Dana Mentink, ЛитПортал
bannerbanner
Lost Christmas Memories
Добавить В библиотеку
Оценить:

Рейтинг: 5

Поделиться
Купить и скачать

Lost Christmas Memories

Автор:
Год написания книги:
Тэги:
На страницу:
2 из 4
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля

The decision twisted her insides. She’d just witnessed a murder. Every nerve screamed for her to run as fast and as far as she could. But she might have killed the guy and maybe he was just what he seemed, a benevolent stranger.

Strangers are dangerous. She’d known that even before she’d seen a woman’s life snuffed out. She turned to go, until she heard him grappling for a better hold on the beam.

Something deep down made her blow out a breath, tuck the gun into her pocket, lie flat on her stomach and plunge a hand toward the guy. She managed to help all six-foot-plus of him out of the pit.

He crawled away to a solid section of floor where he got to his feet. After brushing the dust from his jacket, he fisted his hands on his narrow hips. “Well?”

“Well what?” Tracy said.

“Aren’t you going to apologize for almost killing me?”

His smile almost teased one from her until she squelched it. “I didn’t. The bullet didn’t go anywhere near you.”

“Good thing for me you’re a terrible shot.” He gestured at her coat with his chin. “What else you got in those pockets? A Winchester? Nunchucks?”

“Can I use your phone? Please?”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” He stepped between her and the door, and her pulse ricocheted up a notch. Maybe she’d been right in the first place. She fingered the gun in her pocket.

“Don’t come any closer.” She was dismayed that her voice came out more like a squeak than a command.

He held up his palms. “Listen, Pockets. I think you owe me more of an explanation, considering. Let’s start again. I’m Keegan Thorn. I live at the Gold Bar Ranch. You look like you need help.”

Tracy stared. “I have to go.”

He folded his arms now, biceps drawing the leather tight. “Uh-uh. Here’s what you’re supposed to say at this point. ‘Hello, my name is—fill in the blank—and I’m sorry for shooting at you when you were trying to help.’” A smile tweaked his full lips.

Model handsome, she couldn’t help but notice.

Stop noticing, she ordered herself. Get help. Get away. Now. She turned to go around him.

“Who’s after you?”

His question stopped her. “I...” Thinking about the hands choking, throttling the victim, made her dizzy.

“You’re scared. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to see that.”

“Look,” she said, turning. “I...I’m very sorry I shot at you, but I need to get going, Mr. Thorn.”

“Keegan.”

“Keegan,” she allowed. “I apologize for scaring you.”

“I wasn’t scared. Just startled.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Pockets.”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, nerves twinging. “My name is Tracy.”

“Excellent.” He wiggled his fingers. “Keep it coming.”

Maybe if she could convince him of the urgency, he’d let her use his phone. “All right.” She blew out a breath. “Short story is I...I witnessed a murder and I need to call the police. The killer is after me.” She hated the wobble that crept into her voice just then.

His eyes opened wide as saucers.

“Now can I use your phone?”

“I’d be happy to let you, but there’s no signal here.”

She groaned, fighting the urge to scream in frustration.

“But I’ll give you a ride to the nearest phone on my bike.”

“Your bike?”

“Motorcycle.”

She shook her head. “I just need to change the flat on my Jeep.”

Puzzlement played across his face. “Why won’t you let me help?”

“It’s nothing personal.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mr. Thorn—” She caught his raised eyebrow. “Keegan, I apologize for shooting at you, but I can’t explain anything else right now. I need to get away from here. Fast.”

“All right. Let’s make a deal.”

“What deal?”

“I’ll change your tire for you...”

“I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but my mama would have my ears for allowing a lady to change her own tire. Anyway, I’ll change the tire and ride in your Jeep to the Gold Bar. We can call the police from there and my brothers will bring me back for my bike. It’s raining too hard for me to ride safely anyway.”

“But...”

“You’re soaking wet and scared. You need somewhere to stay for a couple of hours and I want to be sure you get to a safe place. Deal?”

Take the help of a smooth-talking, gorgeous stranger? Trust him, when her life was on the line?

“No, thanks.” She ran out the door into the driving rain, strode over to her hidden vehicle and retrieved the lug wrench.

He somehow got in front of her and took the wrench from her hands.

She groaned. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because,” he said, the mischievous smile back in place. “You need my help, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

She stared.

He stared back.

“Is this some kind of cowboy standoff?”

“You got that right, and since I’m the cowboy—” he aimed a long, lazy smile at her “—I figure I win.”

Keegan hatched a plan as he pulled the lug nuts from the tire and wrestled the spare into place. Tracy was too scared and untrusting to tell him more regarding her situation, but she would, in time. Keegan would stick by Tracy’s side all the way back to the Gold Bar, where his mother would promptly feed her—after her call to the police—and offer her a place to sleep. Before she knew what hit her, Tracy would be spilling the details as if she were one of the family. Evie Thorn’s powers of persuasion were legendary.

And then Keegan would fix her problem. Simple. Whoever he was, this criminal would not be terrorizing her again. Keegan would fix it by force if necessary. Part of him relished the thought. Though he’d mostly left his troubled days behind, there was still plenty of untamed energy coursing through his veins. And if there was one thing Keegan could not abide, it was a bully. That sense of intolerance had gotten him beaten up in grade school, but by the time high school rolled around, Keegan had grown to just over six feet of solid muscle and the student body had gotten the message. He would not be pushed around. Period. Nor would anybody he held dear.

Maybe he was born to be a renegade, or maybe it was the adrenaline that came of a birth father who would not acknowledge Keegan or the affair he’d had with Keegan’s mother. Or perhaps it was the constant reminders from his half brother, John Larraby, Gold Bar’s police chief. Keegan’s gut twitched at the thought.

One time late in high school, John had let loose a sucker punch at Keegan’s brother Jack and taken him down. Keegan didn’t remember the moments that followed, but when his head cleared, he was in the principal’s office, nose bleeding, being suspended for roughing up John along with most of the offensive line. No one laid a finger on Jack ever again and that was all that mattered. John hadn’t forgotten the drubbing and neither had Keegan.

Tracy’s hair gleamed in the dim light, shoved behind her ears and glimmering with highlights that indicated she was a blonde. He liked blondes, but moreover, he liked women who stood right up to him and displayed a strong independent streak. Tracy had already proved herself to be that kind of woman, as she’d hurried to the Jeep and checked the pistol in her pocket.

“Where’d you get the gun?”

“It was my father’s. He was...he was teaching me to shoot.”

“You didn’t finish the lessons?”

“No.” He caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she swallowed and blinked hard, not about to give him access to her pain. Strong woman, but not strong enough to keep the anguish from peeping through when she’d mentioned her father.

He finished the tire and went to his bike.

“What are you doing?” Tracy called. “Get in. We have to go.”

“Gotta get the ribbon,” he said as he pulled the package from his saddlebags. “For the pomanders.”

She watched him, openmouthed, as he strolled back, package tucked under one arm.

“Pomanders?” she said. “What’s that?”

“I have no idea,” he said, smiling. “But two of my brothers are getting married at Christmas and Mama says this ribbon stuff is required, so I’m carrying out my duties.” He opened the door and tossed the package into her Jeep.

The quirk of a smile twisted her mouth. It was the first time he’d seen her relax even the tiniest amount, and he was happy about it. Anything to keep her mind off whatever nightmare she’d witnessed.

He held out a hand. “How about I drive?”

“Why? You think you’re a better driver than me?”

“Undoubtedly, if you drive as well as you shoot.”

Another whisper of a smile and maybe the hint of a giggle. Score another one for Keegan Thorn.

“I—” she said just as a rifle blast ripped the air.

Keegan had a split second to grab her wrist and pull her down before more bullets exploded through the night.

THREE

Tracy hardly recognized her own scream. The next shot shattered her rear window.

“Shooter’s up behind the water tower,” Keegan said. “We’ve got to—”

He didn’t get to finish before the third shot ricocheted off the side mirror and struck Keegan in the shoulder. He cried out, falling facedown onto the wet ground, writhing in pain.

She grabbed his belt and pulled him closer to the shelter of the Jeep. Frantic, she yanked open the passenger door and backed into the seat, hauling with all her strength to pull Keegan in behind her. Somehow he managed to help until they were both sprawled inside. Reaching over him, she slammed the door.

“I guess I’m driving after all,” she quipped, earning another groan from Keegan.

“Don’t gloat,” he said, and she was beyond relieved at his sassy reply.

Slamming the Jeep into Drive, she floored the gas and gunned it up the parking area away from the train station and onto the main road. It would take the killer a few minutes to make it back to his vehicle, and she intended to take full advantage of that time.

She risked a look at Keegan. He was upright, teeth gritted, eyes open, one hand clutching the door handle. “How bad is your wound?”

“No worse than the average gunshot.”

She reached for an extra jacket she kept in the car. “Press this to your shoulder.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Her pursuer had made it to the road. He was now approaching at a good clip, closing the gap between the two vehicles.

“Keegan?”

“Yeah?”

“Got your seat belt on?”

“Uh-uh. Why?”

“Don’t talk. Just strap yourself in.”

His eyes found the rearview. “Your killer?”

“Has to be, unless there’s an accomplice.”

“Name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know the killer’s name?”

“I’ve never been to this area before,” she snapped. “The room was dark and whoever it was didn’t exactly make an introduction.”

Keegan managed to fasten his seat belt. “The victim?”

“A woman. I couldn’t see her face well, either.”

She caught his surprise as she pushed the gas pedal hard. The approaching car kept pace.

Tracy’s body was tight with fear, foot rammed onto the gas pedal as the Jeep topped seventy miles an hour. Her fear ramped up along with their speed.

She shot a look at Keegan, who was dialing on his cell phone, but she was too focused on driving to pay much attention to the conversation. After a few minutes he disconnected. “Cops are dispatching someone, but I wouldn’t hold my breath that they’re going to make it a huge priority.”

“Why not?”

“First, I’m not sure they believed me, and second, I’m not the chief’s favorite guy.”

“Why not?”

“He’s my half brother, John Larraby. Long story. John’s not worth the time it would take to tell you about it.”

“Larraby? Is he related to Bryce Larraby?”

“Yeah. Bryce is...” Keegan huffed out a breath. “He’s the guy who fathered me, I guess you could say.”

She heard rivers of bitterness in his words. “You are kidding me.”

“No,” he said, craning his neck to check the progress of their pursuer. “You know him?”

Know him? He’s the guy I was going to meet. “Tell you later, after I shake him off.”

Keegan consulted the side mirror. “Don’t be too cocky. He’s closing in. You should have let me drive.”

She ignored his gibe, shoving down the fear as he repositioned the wadded-up jacket, now thoroughly stained with blood. She had to get help, quickly.

He stabbed a finger toward the darkness on her left. “Slow down. There’s a logging road in fifty yards. Turn there, but we can lose him in the foothills.”

“I can’t drive into the wilderness. That’s just what he’d want. He’s armed, remember?”

“So are we,” Keegan said. “You’ve got a handgun and I know you’re just itching to shoot someone.”

“This isn’t the time for joking.”

“I agree. It’s the time for action. Take the logging road. I just texted my brothers our location. They’ll find us. Help us.”

She floored the accelerator, fighting to keep the wheel steady as her lungs constricted. “We’ve got to get to town. Where people are. He won’t be able to do anything then.”

“Tracy, listen to me,” Keegan said. He let go of the jacket and reached his good hand toward her arm, stopping before he touched her. His long fingers were tensed, the nails square and blunt, knuckles threaded with scars as if he’d gotten on the wrong side of a knife a time or two. “I know you’re scared, but I’ve lived here all my life. I know every inch of this valley. We can lose him. Trust me.”

His face was carved marble in the moonlight, all angles and strong planes. Trust him? A man she’d known for less than an hour?

There were precisely two men she’d trusted, and her father was dead. Now there was only her grandfather and her determination to carry out the project they’d all three dreamed about. Though she was still anguished that her father was gone not long after she’d gotten him back, she believed 100 percent that God would give her the strength to save herself. And this well-meaning, pushy cowboy was in no way a part of her rescue plan.

Sorry, Keegan,” she said as the car flew past the narrow turnoff. “I have to do this my way.”

“Tracy,” Keegan said, voice urgent now. “Car’s dropping back.”

She felt like crowing in triumph. “Good. We’re going to make it.”

Keegan’s tone was ominous. “I don’t think so. You’d...”

The blast echoed behind them as their pursuer fired the rifle out the window. The Jeep’s rear wheel exploded and the car began to spin.

All Keegan could do was hold on as the Jeep barreled toward the shoulder with a monstrous screech of tires. Tracy fought valiantly for control, but it was useless. The front wobbled and bucked as the tires shredded, turning and spinning until it slammed front fender-first into a drainage ditch. The force of the sudden stop whipped him against the restraining seat belt and then back hard into the seat, igniting fire in his shoulder. With a groan of metal, the rear end of the vehicle tumbled over the front.

In a dizzying whirl, he felt the same sensation he’d experienced when he’d flipped his bike and catapulted himself and his machine over the guardrail as a teen. First the stomach-clenching sensation of dropping, falling. Then the bone-jarring reentry into earth’s orbit. Gravity always wins, he thought ruefully as his senses came back online.

Something dripped from the ceiling, he believed at first, until he realized he was upside down, suspended by the seat belt, and the dripping was warm and sticky, probably his own blood. His shirt was already sodden from his earlier wound.

He jerked his head toward Tracy.

She was also tethered, but her eyes were closed, hands dangling loose as if she were an astronaut, weightless.

“Tracy,” he said, scrambling against his seat belt.

She did not answer, did not stir.

Finally his belt gave way and he dropped to the ceiling, which was now serving as his floor. Tracy’s door had been crumpled in the overturn, so he applied his good shoulder to the passenger door. It didn’t budge. He switched methods. Three desperate kicks and the thing gave way, dumping him out into the night in a squeal of metal. Still dazed, he struggled to his feet. Judging from the damage to Tracy’s side of the car, getting her clear was not going to be easy and he worried about dragging her out the way he’d exited.

The high sides of the ditch in which they’d landed made it impossible to detect anyone bearing down on them. He heard the sound of a car door closing. A smaller vehicle, not a squad car or the heavy ranch trucks his brothers would be driving. Time to move.

Climbing back through the passenger door, he tried to position himself to catch her body when he pushed the button to unfasten her seat belt. She slid into his arms without a sound. Easing her flat, he checked for a pulse with icy fingers. He found one, the steady beat tapping against her smooth throat. He blew out a breath. He should thank God, he knew it, knew his mama would say a prayer, but the urgent desire to take care of things himself dried up the words.

“Tracy,” he said, stroking her cheek. He thought her eyelids might have fluttered, so he bent close, comforted by the warm caress of her breath on his face. “Hey, open your eyes for me, Pockets, okay?”

She stirred, moaning as if in pain.

“Gonna have to slide you out of here, but first I’m going to borrow your gun. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get it back in tip-top condition in case you need to shoot at me again.” What he would have given just then to see her open her eyes and have her fire a snappy comeback at him.

Just as he removed the gun from her jacket, a series of shots ripped into the back of the vehicle. Sparks flew where the bullets struck the metal fender. He shielded Tracy as best he could, peering around the headrest to return fire through the ruptured window.

He waited for the attacker to come again with another volley of shots. The guy either wasn’t much of a shot, or was simply laying down enough fire to keep them in place until he could move in. The next round of shots didn’t materialize, but headlights lit up the night, came close and nearly blinded him. Three sets of cowboy boots pounded the ground.

Jack, Barrett, Owen. The Thorn brothers had arrived.

The twins, Jack and Owen, were the first to get on hands and knees and peer inside.

“Gunman,” he said.

“Yeah. We saw somebody—” Owen handed his rifle to Jack “—heading for their car.” He eyed Tracy. “How bad?”

“Not sure. Ambulance?”

“On the way,” Jack said.

Barrett hustled over and assisted Jack in sliding Tracy loose from the car. He draped a blanket over Tracy while Jack and Owen returned to help Keegan climb free of the wreck. His head swam and his shoulder pulsed with pain.

“You hurt?” Owen asked.

“Yeah, he is,” Jack said. “Shirt’s all bloody.”

Owen didn’t wait for further details. He hauled Keegan away a few yards, forced him into a sitting position and began searching him for the source of the bleeding.

“I’m all right,” he said, trying to push his brother off. Owen, in full-blown Marine Captain mode, ignored him and ripped open a pack of bandages from the first-aid kit he always carried in the truck, then pressed a wad to Keegan’s wound.

Biting back a grunt of pain, Keegan squirmed to get closer to where Tracy lay on the blanket. Owen pinned him at the knees with his body weight. “Stop. She’s breathing. Pulse, Bear?”

His bearded oldest brother nodded. “Strong.”

“Head injury?” Keegan asked.

Owen didn’t answer.

“Why are you getting shot at this time?” Jack said.

“I wasn’t. She was. Witnessed a murder.”

All three brothers stared at him. He wondered what Tracy would think when she woke to a bunch of Thorn cowboys hovering over her.

His heart gave a painful thump at the next thought.

If she woke up.

Owen finally taped a bandage down and released Keegan to go to Tracy’s side. He heard the wail of a siren approaching.

“I’ll go meet them,” Jack said.

Keegan nodded. He recognized the car as belonging to Chief John Larraby, Keegan’s half brother and the man he despised second most out of everyone in his life. Better Jack or any of his brothers than him interacting with John.

Tracy coughed and he leaned close. “Hey there,” he said softly. “That’s it. Open your eyes now for me, okay?”

Slowly, so slowly, her eyes flicked open. She struggled to sit up, but he held her down with a hand on her shoulder while Barrett did the same. “What...what happened?” she whispered.

“It’s okay. We got away from the killer.”

She blinked, frowning, the dazed look in her eyes awakening a twinge of concern deep in his gut.

“What killer?” she said.

FOUR

She woke from the nightmare, the strong hands squeezing, throttling, killing. Heart slamming, she fought her way to consciousness, waking up with one thought in her mind...murder. Her vision cleared and she jerked to a sitting position to find herself in a hospital bed, startling the three people gathered there. For one long, terrifying moment, she searched her mind and found it blank. Where? How? Who were they? And who was she? Why was an image of murder circling her brain?

“It’s okay,” the gorgeous blue-eyed man said. His arm was in a sling, a cowboy hat tucked in the crook of the other elbow. A fringe of dark hair framed his face. “You’re all right, I promise.”

The dull roar in her head quieted just a fraction. The doctor edged forward and smiled. “You’ve had a little bump on the head. Can you tell me your name?”

Again terror ballooned until facts began to land clumsily into place like heavy stones dropped into a creek. “Tracy. My name is Tracy Wilson.”

“Excellent. That matches your driver’s license, so we’re doing great so far.” He asked another round of questions. Slowly she recalled the year, her age, her career as a bloodstock agent. She would have told him of her father if the ache in her heart hadn’t stopped her. All the while, she eyed the familiar cowboy and the police officer standing next to him. Police, hospital—it all added up to something bad but she could not command her thoughts.

“It’s Friday morning.” The doctor’s words finally penetrated.

“Friday?” she squeaked. Where had Wednesday and Thursday gone?

“Do you remember visiting the Mother Lode Equestrian Center on Wednesday night?” the cop asked.

Did she? Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket and she blinked hard.

The cowboy shot a hostile look at the cop. “Can’t you let the doctor finish?” There was something difficult between them, something that had started a long time ago, she guessed. The cowboy was beyond handsome, long and lean, a five o’clock shadow darkening his chin. It took her a moment to realize she knew him.

“I’ve met you, haven’t I?”

His face lit with a breathtaking smile. “Yes, ma’am. Keegan Thorn.”

Fear bubbled in her stomach as she tried to recall where. The unruly fringe of hair, the deep baritone of his voice were all familiar. Her fuzziness subsided a fraction. He’d helped her, this cowboy.

“I changed your flat tire, but I practically had to arm wrestle you to do it.” He grinned, but she thought the smile didn’t quite reach through the worry nestled in his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said. “For doing that.”

He shrugged. “No problem. Happy to help.”

“But how did I get a head injury? Was I in an accident?”

Keegan’s smile vanished and he looked away. More alarm bells clanged in her mind.

The crew-cut officer inched forward. His blue eyes were similar to Keegan’s, though edging more toward slate than sapphire, but he was a few inches shorter, his face narrow and mouth not as full. There was certainly a resemblance, though, along with the unmistakable tension. A snippet of conversation flitted through her consciousness.

На страницу:
2 из 4