Family on the Range

What would Lou say about a child near his secluded ranch, a haven he’d created for secret agents of the Bureau of Investigation and not for child rearing?

The little girl stared at her with big eyes, and she winced.

Why should she care what Lou thought? Yes, he employed her to keep his house, but she’d just bought her own home, her first step toward a more independent life. Determination straightened her backbone. If she was going to stop being afraid, to start living again, then she must put Lou and everything he represented behind her.

Could she do that, though?

Thank goodness he wouldn’t be home for several weeks. That gave her time to return Josie to her mother and persuade her own mother to come live with her. Because if Lou were home, he’d protest, and she didn’t know if she had the backbone to stand up for what she thought was right.

Chapter Two

An uncomfortable dryness at the roof of Lou’s mouth woke him. His tongue felt oversize, and his throat worked to swallow. He opened his eyes to find himself in the dark tones of his bedroom. A sense of claustrophobia wrapped galvanizing tentacles around him.

He tried to shove upward, but fierce pain in his chest snatched the breath from his lungs. Forced to lie still, he took shallow breaths while the pulsating daggers near his upper rib cage ebbed. Only thirty-six. It wasn’t fair to feel this way.

“Water,” he croaked.

Movement to his left, and then a firm hand slipped under his neck. Relieved, Lou allowed his head to tip forward so he could drink from the proffered cup.

The hand took the water away too quickly. After resting his head back on the pillow, Mary crossed his line of vision, disappeared, and then reappeared on his right side.

Hair pulled back in a bun, she might’ve passed for any Irish lass but for the duskiness of her skin and the high cheekbones that pronounced her native heritage. As usual, the sight of her stunned Lou for a moment.

His lids lowered and he watched as she bustled with his covers, stretching and straightening. Finally, she patted them, a satisfied look relaxing the line of her full lips. She turned her gaze to him.

Immediately he noted the strange look in her eyes. Normally she appeared serene, gentle, timid even. Today, however, wariness shadowed her gaze, something he’d only seen in her eyes when she dealt with others. Never with him.

He didn’t like that something was wrong with her. He would fix it, whatever it was. Frowning, he ignored the burn in his throat to speak. “Something’s wrong.”

Her eyelids flickered before she turned away. “You’re still thirsty.”

The water she brought him slid down easy, coating the soreness with cool relief. Cleared his head, too, so he could more closely examine the situation. Something was off. Mary’s evasion, that look on her face...

“Help me up,” he said.

She set the cup on his dresser and then returned, sitting at the edge of his bed, just out of reach. Her scent, a strange mix of sage and flowers, filled his senses and taunted him.

“I won’t help you sit up. You might tear your stitches,” she replied. Her pronunciation was technically correct, but an exotic flavor rounded each of her words, courtesy of her trilingual skills.

“How long have I been out?”

“You left the ranch a little less than a week ago. I believe two days into your assignment you were shot and then taken to the hospital. They removed the bullet and telegrammed James.”

Her mention of his ranch hand and long-time friend failed to comfort.

“Did they catch the shooter?”

“No one has told me much. James picked you up from the hospital and brought you here. He drove to town this morning to find supplies to keep your wound clean, but he should be back this afternoon.” Her brow lined. “You have been going in and out of consciousness for days now. How do you feel?”

Confused. He felt confused and bothered.

“Sore,” he answered shortly. “Where’s my M&P?” His Smith & Wesson military and police revolver had kept him company for almost twenty years. He didn’t plan on losing it now.

The lines in her forehead deepened. “I put it somewhere safe.”

He pushed up, purpose fueling his movement. His vision blackened for a moment as his upper body throbbed with pain, but he ignored the sensation.

“Bring it to me,” he managed to say.

“You can’t move like that.” Mary leaned over him, her features drawn with worry. “You almost died. Someone tried to kill you, and that’s why the bureau decided it was best to get you here, to the safe house. You are on temporary leave until you recover.”

Lou closed his eyes and waited for the nausea and torturous aches in his body to pass. This couldn’t be happening. He needed his job. The last place he wanted to be stuck at was the ranch.

“Let me give you some pain medication.” Mary’s voice drifted over him.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “Not yet. This place isn’t safe.”

“Mendez is dead.”

Lou forced his eyes to open when what he wanted more than anything was to sleep. “He might’ve passed our location on to one of his buddies.”

Twelve years ago, Mary had been kidnapped by a man called Mendez. She’d been his first kidnapping and, thankfully, had been rescued by government agent Striker, aka Lou’s friend Trevor, before Mendez could sell her.

Unfortunately, her rescue hadn’t stopped Mendez from becoming a notorious slave trader, known for trafficking women down to Mexico.

Trevor spent the next ten years as a shadow, tracking Mendez and rescuing what women he could while hiding behind his nickname, Striker. And Mendez had developed an obsession to pay Striker back for foiling his moneymaking kidnapping schemes. Out of fear, and knowing Mendez wanted to use Mary to draw Striker out from his anonymity, she’d been hiding on this ranch until two Christmases ago, when Mendez had found her again. He’d attempted to kidnap Mary but had accidentally taken Lou’s niece, Gracie, instead.

Thanks to Gracie’s ingenuity, she’d escaped and had been found by Trevor. Mendez and his men had died of poisoning unrelated to their kidnapping plans, but Lou couldn’t shake the feeling this place wasn’t safe anymore. He didn’t want Mary to see the depth of his worry, though. She had enough burdens to carry.

Feeling exhausted yet unwilling to surrender consciousness, he met her gaze. “Trevor and I buried Mendez. You don’t have to worry about him. But our cover is gone....” He paused for breath. He’d been shot before, stabbed, even, but never had he felt this tired.

“Take the medicine.” A note of stubborn finality crept into her voice. “I will speak with you about this later.”

Lou blinked hard against the tide of sleep pulling his lids closed. Mary wavered in front of him, holding out some foul-smelling concoction. She pressed the spoon against his lips, and he grabbed her wrist. Keeping his gaze pinned on hers, he swallowed but didn’t let go of the delicate bones beneath his fingers.

Her eyes widened, and a blush spread across her face at his touch. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

“Thank...you.” He struggled to speak without slurring, to give her a reassuring smile.

“You shouldn’t talk right now.” She lifted her other hand to his brow, smoothing his hair with warm, firm fingers. “I hear the wagon. James will be in at any minute.”

It seemed only a second to Lou until he heard his ranch hand and old friend James in the room. “Got him laudanum. Some Oregon grape root, too.”

Mary rose and disappeared from Lou’s view. He stifled the urge to shout and demand someone help him up from this bothersome bed. They came back, James smirking down at him.

“Had to go and get yourself shot, boss?” He swiped the hat off his head and rubbed the gnarled mass of hair above his ears. “Leave us with all the ranch work while you catch them bootleggers, and now look at ya.”

“Can you watch him for me?”