Colton Cowboy Hideout

He grabbed the shovel from the pickup bed and then, with her trailing just behind him, he forged ahead into the thick woods.

Other than the faint trickle of the brook that ran through this area and an occasional rustle of a rabbit or another small animal racing to find cover, a pleasant quietness reigned. It was especially pleasant after the utter chaos in the house.

He was grateful Josie didn’t feel the need to fill the relative silence with meaningless chatter. He needed some time to clear his head and calm his racing thoughts.

Sheriff Troy Watkins certainly didn’t have to go far to look for suspects in Eldridge’s case. All he had to do was look at the family and he’d find plenty of people who had motive to want to do harm to the old man.

Would a ransom call come in? Would a note be received demanding money for the return of Eldridge? Had a business rival gone over the deep end and sought revenge? Hopefully Troy would be able to figure it out quickly and get Eldridge home safe and sound.

He glanced over his shoulder and stopped in his tracks as he realized Josie had fallen slightly behind. “Sorry,” she said with a smile. “My legs aren’t as long as yours.”

“No problem,” he replied and tried to ignore how her beautiful smile warmed something in his stomach that hadn’t been warmed for a very long time. “It’s not too far now.” She stepped up beside him and once again he was taunted by her inviting scent.

“This watch must really be important to your father for you to go to all this trouble,” he said. Here in the shade provided by the trees overhead, her eyes gleamed gold-green.

“He wants to be buried with it and my siblings thought it was important to try to get it for him.”

“Are your siblings all younger than you?” he asked.

“No, I’m the youngest.” Her gaze shot ahead, as if eager to get the job done.

And why wouldn’t she be in a hurry? He was sure the last thing she wanted to do was spend any more time in his company. She probably thought he was an old fogy. Hell, he was an old fogy who wanted only peace and stability for his daughters.

He had no desire to hang out in a bar or go dancing at the latest hot spot. He’d rather play on the floor with his daughters than do much of anything else.

They moved ahead and the small stream appeared next to them, babbling musically over the small rocks in its path. Josie threw a glance over her shoulder and then stumbled over an exposed tree root.

He reached out and grabbed her firmly by the upper arm to steady her. Sensory overload instantly threatened to dizzy his head. Beneath the grasp of his hand her skin was warm and soft. A strand of her hair flew across his cheek, a tease of silkiness that caused tightness in his gut.

Once she was stable, he dropped his grip on her and took a step back. “Thanks,” she said, her voice slightly husky.

He gave her a curt nod and once again they walked on. “There it is.” He pointed ahead to an ancient oak that rose up majestically next to the stream. The trunk was huge and marred by a series of old carvings dug deep within the wood.

Tension wafted from Josie. “It’s just like my father described—the tree, the carvings and the creek.”

“Did he tell you what the carvings meant?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not even sure he’s the one who made them.”

“Then let’s see if we can dig up an old watch,” he replied.

They hadn’t quite reached the front of the tree when a man stepped out from behind it, a gun in his hand.

Josie released a sharp yelp of surprise and Tanner tightened his grip on the shovel. What in the hell was going on? Did this man have something to do with whatever had happened to Eldridge?

“Josie Colton,” he said, his thin lips twisting into a sneer. “I knew if I tailed you long enough you’d lead me to the watch. I’ve been watching you for days.”

“Who are you?” Josie asked.

“That’s for me to know and you not to find out,” he replied. “Now, about that watch...”

“What watch?” she replied. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice held a tremor that belied her calm demeanor.

Tanner didn’t move a muscle although his brain fired off in a dozen different directions. The man had called her by name, so this obviously had nothing to do with Eldridge.

Why would a man with a gun know about a watch wanted for sentimental reasons? What hadn’t Josie told him? Was it possible to unarm the man without anyone getting hurt?

“Don’t play dumb with me, girly.” The man raised a hand to sweep a lank of oily dark hair out of his eyes. “Your daddy spent years in prison bragging about how he was going to be buried with that cheap watch and then nobody would ever find the map to all the money from those old bank heists.” He took a step toward them. “Now, tell me where that watch is. I want that map.”

Adrenaline pumped through Tanner. He certainly didn’t know anything about old bank robberies, but a sick danger snapped in the air.

A look of deadly menace radiated outward from the gunman’s dark, beady eyes. The gun was steady in his hands and Tanner’s chest constricted.

He tightened his grip on the shovel, calculated the distance between himself and the gunman’s arm and then he swung. The end of the shovel connected. The gun fell from the man’s grasp, but not before he fired off a shot.

The woods exploded with sound—the boom of the gun, a flutter of bird wings overhead as they flew out of the treetops and Josie’s scream of unmistakable pain.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_b164cf16-5ac5-524b-9e52-92c9b8604a2b)

Pain seared through Josie’s upper arm. She grasped it and warm blood seeped through her fingers. At the same time the man picked up his gun from the ground and then turned and ran, quickly disappearing into the thicket.

Tanner dropped the shovel and his hat fell off his head as he raced to her side. Josie’s brain fogged with shock and the stinging agony of her injury.

“Here, take this.” Tanner quickly pulled his T-shirt over his head, exposing lean muscle and taut abs. He thrust the shirt into her hand. “Press it against your wound. We need to get back to the truck and get you some medical help.” His urgent tone cleared some of the fog from Josie’s head.

Help. Yes, she needed help, although some of the excruciating sting had already started to abate. Still, she’d been shot. She’d been shot! The thought momentarily weakened her knees.

Tanner bent down and grabbed the shovel and his hat. Then with narrowed eyes he scanned the area. “Let’s get out of here,” he said urgently.

As they headed back to the truck Tanner remained vigilant, looking both behind them and around the trees surrounding them even though his shovel would be of little use against another flying bullet.

They didn’t speak and Josie heard nothing to indicate they were being tracked, but then she hadn’t heard anything before the man had leaped out from behind the oak tree.

The back of her throat threatened to close off and tremors filled her as a chill gripped her very soul. Jeez, she’d been shot. The creepy-crawly feeling she’d had for the last couple of weeks of somebody following her hadn’t just been her imagination. There had been somebody following her...watching her.

Who was the man? Where had he come from? Apparently he’d followed her all the way from Granite Gulch and she hadn’t even known it.

She stumbled across the ground, inwardly screaming. Once again her father was responsible for chaos and danger...a danger she’d brought here to Tanner.

What if he’d been shot? What if he’d been killed? His daughters would have probably wound up in foster care, and the foster-care system had been responsible for Josie needing to go into the witness protection program for so many years.

Who was the man? The question played over and over again in her mind. Was he one of her father’s old buddies? How had he known she would lead him to the watch? If Tanner hadn’t attacked first, would the man have shot them both if she hadn’t produced the watch? Oh, God, what a mess.

By the time they reached the truck, her frantic heartbeat had begun to slow. Tanner helped her into the passenger seat and then he got behind the wheel and started the engine with a roar.

“Are you losing a lot of blood? Are you keeping pressure on the wound? Do you feel like you’re going to pass out?” The questions fired out of him as the truck bumped across the land at what felt like a breakneck speed.

“No, I’m not going to pass out.” She pulled the T-shirt away from her arm. Blood. Bright red blood, but not as much as she’d expected. “I think the bullet just grazed me.” She returned pressure on the wound.