Endangered Heiress

He could’ve been fired. Hiding. Why else would he move to the outskirts of a small town? Then again, maybe he just wanted peace and quiet.

Madelyn tried not to let her imagination run away with her. Either way, she was grateful that he’d been there to help when she needed it. Noticing the fact that the man was gorgeous couldn’t be helped. He was standing right in front of her. They were barely five feet apart, so it was easy to take note that he had the darkest brown eyes she’d ever seen highlighted by sandy-blond hair and a dimpled chin. Her nerves were heightened and that was why her body was having an out-of-place reaction. She also tried to convince herself that the only reason she considered his rippled chest and muscled arms was basic survival instinct. On a primal level she needed to know that this man was strong enough to defend her should the white sedan come back for another round. The fact that he seemed more than capable kept her nerves a couple of notches below panic.

“The sheriff is on his way and you look like you could use a cup of coffee.” Hudson motioned toward the ranch-style house. “Since I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave you alone on my property, you’d better come inside with me.”

She nodded. The man was unnervingly cool considering he’d just had to shoot out someone’s tire to get them to leave his land.

“Your car should be fine where it is,” he said, his horse still tied up near the gate in the shade.

“Thank you.” She followed the handsome cowboy inside his house. The decor looked comfortable, simple. A couch and matching love seat surrounded a tumbled stone fireplace with a large rustic star over the mantel. There was a bronze statue of a bull rider on the sofa table and twin lamps that looked good for reading light.

The kitchen was simple—white cabinets, stainless-steel appliances and marbled granite. She leaned against the bullnose edging, trying to absorb everything that had just happened.

“Care to fill me in on what’s going on?” Hudson asked, offering her a fresh cup of coffee.

Madelyn took the mug and gripped it with both hands, noticing that she was still shaking. She chalked it up to adrenaline. Owen had nearly run her off the road recently, trying to get her attention. He’d seemed more desperate to speak to her than deadly at the time. But he drove an Escalade, not a white sedan. Of course, logic said he could’ve rented one.

“I had a bad breakup and he might be following me.” She had to consider that possibility, especially since she hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver. Of course, with Owen’s money he could’ve hired someone to scare her.

The cowboy’s jaw muscle clenched and released. He blinked the thickest lashes. “Is the law aware?”

“A judge in Houston issued a restraining order.” She reached for her necklace and found comfort in holding her mother’s dragonfly. “I couldn’t get a good enough look at the driver to know if that was him. That’s not his car.”

“Is he dumb enough to drive his own if he pulled a stunt like this?” Hudson asked.

“No.” Owen wasn’t stupid. “He has a lot of money. Enough to hire someone to be discreet.”

“Does he have a record?” Hudson’s eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” she hated to admit. She sipped the fresh coffee, welcoming the burn on her tongue. “I didn’t find out about it until it was too late. I’m sure that he was only trying to scare me before. This is something totally different. I hope it’s not him.”

The cowboy’s steady gaze seemed locked onto an idea.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, realizing that she was gripping her mug so tight that her knuckles were sheet-white.

“That it’s him and he’s escalating,” he said, shooting her a look.

“He’s a jerk, I’ll give you that, but he’s not... I mean, that guy seemed like he was trying to kill me. Owen threatened me but he was trying to intimidate me to get back together with him. I wouldn’t be able to do that dead.”

The cowboy didn’t respond and the quiet rang in her ears.

And then it dawned on her that he was probably thinking Owen had decided that if he couldn’t have her no one would.

The doorbell rang before she could rationalize that idea. The cowboy set down his mug before picking up his shotgun. He loaded a slug in the shotgun’s chamber and readied it on his shoulder. “Whoever it is won’t get to you on my watch.”

Madelyn was momentarily too shocked to move as another shot of adrenaline coursed through her. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Could Owen hate her that much? Could he be that selfish? Yes, he’d crossed a few lines and had gotten away with it until now. But would he go so far as to want her dead? She’d covered stories that still made her shudder to think about them in the same context as her relationship with Owen.

The sheriff walked in and introduced himself as Clarence Sawmill. He was middle-aged, and his eyes had the white outline of sunglasses on otherwise tanned skin. Deep grooves in his forehead, hard brackets around his mouth and his tight grip on a coffee mug outlined the man’s stress level. He was on high alert and, from the looks of him, had been since news broke of Maverick Mike’s murder.

“Wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Sheriff Sawmill,” Madelyn conceded, taking the hand being offered in a vigorous shake.

“I’d like to hear what happened,” he said with a polite nod. The sheriff was considerably shorter than the cowboy, who had to be at least six foot three, and he wasn’t nearly as in shape. Sawmill squared his shoulders. His forehead creased with concern as Madelyn recalled the events, horrified at the thought Owen could be behind the attack. She wouldn’t deny the possibility. And she tried not to notice how intent the cowboy seemed at picking up every last detail of her statement. One look at him said he had to have been on the job. And it might not be her business but she wanted to know more about the quiet cowboy.

Sawmill listened. “Did the driver fire at you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“We’ve had a few similar incidents on the highway lately. Cases of road rage have doubled with the August sun and the town is still in a frenzy over the death of one of our residents.” Sawmill’s shoulders seemed in a permanent slump and his posture gave away his weariness. No doubt this was the first time he’d dealt with a high-profile murder on what he’d see as “his watch.” The intensity of his expression said he cared about doing a good job.

Road rage? She prayed it was that simple because the other was unthinkable.

“Is there a number where I can reach you if I have more questions?” Sawmill asked.

Madelyn relayed her cell number. “I’m staying at the Red Rope Inn for a couple of days if you need to find me.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’ll make a note on your file.”

“Thank you for your time,” Madelyn said as she followed him out the door. She scanned the horizon as a cold prickly feeling came over her, like eyes watching her. But there was no one around.

Before the sheriff disappeared she’d handed her empty mug to the cowboy. “Thanks for your help. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He tipped his hat but didn’t respond as he followed her onto the lawn. “Keep watch in case he returns.”

“You think he’ll come back?” Her heart drummed her rib cage.

“Probably not. He’ll have to fix his tire and regroup,” he said. “Doesn’t hurt to be extra careful.”

Madelyn thanked the cowboy again before sliding into the driver’s seat. Her palms were sweaty and her heart still galloped but she’d been threatened in her job before. It would take more than a stressful brush with road rage—if the sheriff had accurately assessed the situation—to detour her from finding out what Maverick Mike wanted with her.

Now that she’d almost made it to the ranch, her curiosity was at an all-time high. And she couldn’t think of one reason the man would summon her.

* * *

THERE HAD TO be two dozen news trucks lining the street in front of the Hereford Ranch due to Maverick Mike’s murder. Again, Madelyn questioned what she was doing here. If there was a story, wouldn’t one of these reporters have already sniffed it out?

A beefy security guy stood at the gate attached to a white log fence. He was wearing navy shorts and a matching button-down short-sleeved shirt, and had a gun strapped to his hip.

She rolled her window down and gave her name along with the name of the paper where she worked.

Beefy’s dark brow arched.

“I’m expected,” she added to clarify.

“Name again, please,” he said, checking his tablet.

“Madelyn Kensington.” She couldn’t get a good look at his eyes through his mirrored sunglasses. The guy obviously worked out but he had nothing on the cowboy from earlier.

Beefy tilted his head to the side. “Main building is straight ahead. Go on through.”