High-Caliber Cowboy Page 8

  “He needs them if he wants to keep the others who were involved in line.”

  Brandon stared at her. “Blackmail?”

  “Not exactly. Insurance.”

  “You seem to know him pretty well,” Brandon commented after finishing his hot dog. “Is he blackmailing you?”

  She shot him a disbelieving look. “You think I would be involved in something—” She waved a hand through the air in obvious frustration. “I told you. I’m an investigative reporter. This is what I do. Find out everything I can about a subject so I know where to look.”

  “For the dirt?” He hadn’t meant to sound so negative about her career path.

  “If there is dirt.”

  He nodded. “You think he knew you were coming after him and that’s why the safe was empty?”

  “He knew someone was,” she said. “I hired a private investigator to look into the allegations.”

  “And?”

  “And she’s disappeared.”

  * * *

  IT WAS LATE when Sheriff Cash McCall got back to his office. As he walked in he saw that the message light was flashing on his phone.

  “Cash, it’s Raymond Winters. Call me. I found something interesting during the autopsy.”

  Cash quickly dialed Winters’s number. He answered on the second ring.

  “I thought you’d like to know Emma Ingles was sober as a judge,” Winters said without preamble. “She hadn’t ingested any of the vodka. But you want to hear something odd? There was vodka in her lungs.”

  “How would vodka get into her lungs?” Cash asked.

  The coroner chuckled. “Only one way that I can think of. Someone tried to make it look as if she’d been drunk when she fell into the river by pouring the vodka down her throat. But since she was already dead, it went into her lungs.”

  Cash swore. “She was murdered?”

  “Sure looks that way unless you can figure out how she managed to get that much vodka in her lungs, then walk down the road and throw herself off the embankment, hit her head on a rock and fall into the river—without taking any water into her lungs.”

  “Thanks, Raymond, for letting me know.”

  “One more odd thing. I found another bruise. This one at the base of her neck. She was hit hard with something.”

  “You don’t think it was during the fall in the river?”

  “No.”

  Cash shook his head thinking about Emma Ingles lying face up in the river. “What killed her?”

  “A blow to the back of the head. I’d say it was inflicted before she was thrown off the embankment.”

  * * *

  “DISAPPEARED?” Brandon echoed.

  Anna didn’t answer and he saw that she was crying. Oh, hell. “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying!” she snapped, and sniffed.

  Right.

  She was crying harder now.

  Oh, hell. Being raised by a cantankerous old man and three older brothers, he didn’t have a clue what to do when it came to women. Well, at least not the crying part.

  This was all Shelby’s fault. His mother. If she had stayed around like she was supposed to…

  He got up to go around the fire and put a tentative hand on Anna’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right.”

  She shot him a look that told him that was the wrong thing to say since it was an obvious lie.

  “Okay, it’s not going to be all right.” He put his arm all the way around her and she turned into his chest, burying her face in his jacket. “But it could be worse. VanHorn could have shot us both back there.”

  She wiped her tears with her sleeve, still crying but laughing, too, as she leaned back to look up at him. “You always see the silver lining in every cloud, don’t you?”

  Not always, but definitely right now with her in his arms. He held her closer, dropping his cheek to her hair. It still smelled a little like smoke, reminding him just what kind of woman she was. She encircled his waist with her arms and leaned into him as if, for right now at least, she needed someone to lean on.

  He hated how good it felt to hold her. He wanted to wring her neck—not comfort her. This wasn’t over. VanHorn had seen them. He would come after them.

  Not that it mattered at this moment. Brandon remembered his reaction to her the first time he’d seen her. It was nothing compared to having her in his arms. He had the strangest feeling that he’d been here before with her. It made no sense.

  Just like the feelings she evoked in him. Just his luck that the first woman who ever made him feel like this was wanted by not only the law but also by his family’s sworn enemy.

  He touched her long, dark silken hair and thought he felt a shock of electricity shoot through his fingertips. The scent of her wafted up, mixing with the smell of the campfire, the pines, the summer night.

  He’d never felt more alive, as if everything was suddenly extra vibrant, the intensity of it making him feel light-headed.

  She stepped back, looking a little embarrassed as she wiped tears from her cheeks.

  He took a breath, watching her, wondering about her, knowing he needed to back off. It would be a mistake to get involved with this woman. I’m already involved. Yeah? Not as much as you’d like to be.

  “You never told me what VanHorn did that warranted vandalism, burglary and arson,” he reminded her—and himself. His voice sounded a little husky even to him.

  “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “Before we go any further here, I’d like to know what I’m involved in.” Brandon knew in all fairness that he’d involved himself. He could have radioed Red Hudson last night, let the ranch manager handle it. But he hadn’t. And now he had only himself to blame.

  “Right now he thinks I’m in cahoots with you,” Brandon said. “And given that the VanHorns have always hated the McCalls—”

  “That silly feud?”

  “Silly? We’re talking bad blood for several generations between the families. This little incident is only going to fuel the fires. And I can tell you right now my family will be as angry as VanHorn. No good will come of this.”

  “I’m sorry but if you had just left me alone, you wouldn’t have to be here now,” she snapped.

  “I was doing my job,” he shot back, even though that wasn’t quite the truth.

  “If you had been doing your job, you would have turned me over to Mason VanHorn. You were working for him. You say you’re not working for him, but how do I know he didn’t send you to intercept me and find out how much I know? Or maybe to destroy what evidence I have.”

  Brandon shook his head in disgust. “I haven’t lied to you. Don’t you wish you could say the same.”

  “You’re wrong,” she protested.

  He gave her a look, then stepped away from the fire to unroll his sleeping bag.

  * * *

  SHE COULD HAVE kicked herself. She knew he wasn’t working for VanHorn. He’d rescued her tonight. Brandon McCall was one of the good guys. She couldn’t be that wrong about the blond-haired boy who’d saved her when she was nine. So why was she pushing him away? To protect him? Or herself?

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Going to sleep. It’s late and I’m tired.”

  “I’m trying to be honest with you. I can’t tell anyone until I have proof.”

  “Uh-huh.” He took off his jacket, rolled it up for a pillow, then stripped off his shirt and started to unbutton his jeans. He was more handsome than she had ever imagined he would grow up to be. His back was tanned and muscular and just the sight of him dressed only in jeans and boots took her breath away. It was the first time she’d ever ached for a man.

  “You might want to turn your head,” he said, amusement in his voice as he noticed her staring at him.

  She couldn’t hide the emotions this man evoked in her, and didn’t want to try. She’d dreamed about Brandon McCall since she was a girl. He’d been her fantasy man, one she had idealized in her imagination.<
br />
  But not even her imagination had done Brandon McCall justice. “Sure you won’t share your sleeping bag?” she asked, only half joking. She rubbed her arms, chilled by her own thoughts more than the weather. “It’s already getting cold and I’m not use to this altitude.”

  His gaze locked with hers, burning through her. “I’m not going back to the VanHorn Ranch. Neither are you,” he said. “I’m taking you to the sheriff in the morning and there is nothing you can say—or do—to change my mind.”

  He thought she was trying to seduce him? “Brandon, you aren’t going to just go to sleep and leave me standing here?”

  “Brandon?” He froze, his fingers on the buttons of jeans as he frowned at her. “I never told you my first name. And come to think of it, you never asked.”

  * * *

  ANNA REALIZED her mistake the instant his name was out of her mouth.

  He stepped toward her. He was shirtless now and she couldn’t help but notice the broad expanse of his chest, the soft blond hair like down that disappeared into the space where he’d unhooked the top two buttons of his jeans.

  “How long have you known my name?”

  “Now look who’s suspicious,” she said, and saw that he would have an answer or else. “I asked around.” Only she’d done the asking when she was nine, some twenty-two years ago.

  He stopped just inches from her. His skin was wonderfully browned from working on the ranch without his shirt, his shoulders muscled, his arms strong and well-shaped, just like his slim waist and hips, his long legs beneath the denim.

  She recalled being in his arms and the feeling it had evoked.

  “Why would you ask around about me?”

  This time? “I was worried about you. I thought I might have hit you a little too hard. I called the clinic.”

  He shook his head. “There is no way they would give out any information on a patient. Try again.”

  “It doesn’t matter how I found out your name, does it?”

  “Yeah, it does,” he said, stepping so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body. His masculine scent filled her. He let out a low chuckle as if he knew he had her cornered. The sound reverberated in her chest making her heart pound a little faster.

  “Just once, I’d like to hear the truth from those lips,” he said, his voice low and rough with emotion as he stared down at her mouth.

  She licked her lips. “We met once before last night at the ranch.”

  He leaned closer. “Trust me, I would have remembered.”

  “You were just a boy. I was sitting on the curb eating a Popsicle on Main Street. Some older kids were giving me a hard time. You saved me from them.” She saw his expression. “I guess you don’t remember.” She tried to hide her disappointment. She knew she was being foolish. Just because he’d made a lasting impression on her—

  “How old were you?”

  “Nine. You were eleven.”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s all right. It wasn’t that big of a deal,” she said, trying to hide her hurt.

  A muscle bunched in his jaw. “Oh, I remember all right.”

  She smiled sadly. “Sure you do. Then you probably remember that I was eating a grape Popsicle.”

  “It wasn’t grape. It was cherry. You said it was your favorite.”

  She felt her eyes burn with tears. “You do remember.” She couldn’t help the bubble of joy that rose in her. “I shared my Popsicle with you. You said cherry was your favorite, too.”

  He stepped back, jerking his hat from his head to rake a hand through his hair. His pale blue eyes were cold with anger. “I remember that little girl. And I remember her name. My God, you’re Christianna VanHorn? Mason VanHorn’s daughter?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Anna felt her heart stop at the look of horror in his eyes. He remembered all right. “Brandon—” She reached for him but he pulled free.

  He stepped back from her as if she’d just told him she was the devil in disguise. “Whoa! You’re Christianna VanHorn?”

  At that moment, she would have gladly denied it. She hated the look of shock and revulsion in his face. “Now you know. Only I go by Anna Austin.”

  He shook his head, anger in his blue eyes.

  “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “No,” he said sarcastically. “You’ve been honest with me from the get-go. It isn’t bad enough that the VanHorns and the McCalls have hated each other for years? I get involved with you?”

  “We’re not exactly involved,” she pointed out, surprised at her own anger.

  “Why don’t you go by Christianna VanHorn?” he asked. “I mean, that’s who you really are.”

  “Would that make it easier for you?” Anna quickly turned away to hide the tears that that swam in her eyes. Earlier in his arms, she’d thought they’d both felt something. Obviously it was only because he hadn’t known whom he was with.

  He stepped around her until he was facing her. She could see that he was still angry. Still shocked as if she had purposely deceived him so he would help her. Hadn’t she?

  “Why?” he demanded. “Why would you go after your own father? Vandalize his gas wells? Break into your own house? Try to burn down the place? Why?”

  “Brandon, it’s complicated.”

  “I’m sure it’s complicated. You still can’t be honest with me, can you?” He turned and walked away from her.

  “Brandon? Please.”

  He stopped, his back to her.

  She felt tears burn her eyes again. She’d known he would be shocked when he found out who she was. But it was the look of disgust that was killing her. “I can explain,” she said, and reached out to touch his arm.

  He drew back as if her touch burned him and shook his head as if warning her to keep her distance. “You should have told me.”

  “Brandon, this isn’t about that stupid family feud, is it? That has nothing to do with you and me—”

  “The hell it doesn’t. Your father will send out a pack of dogs to hunt me down the moment he realizes I haven’t gone to my brother. After last night, he’ll think we were in this together.”

  “That’s why we have to stick together, help each other.” Her voice broke. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. She’d known that one day she would see Brandon McCall again. But not like this.

  “I should have turned you over to your father,” he said, pulling away from her.

  “You couldn’t do that,” she said to his back.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I know you. I knew the kind of man you would grow up to be. You couldn’t give me up to my father and you can’t now, just as you had to help me when I was nine.”

  His broad shoulders slumped, his head dropped, then slowly he turned back around to her, his eyes full of sadness. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done here?”

  “That’s why I need your help.”

  * * *

  CHRISSY. Mason still couldn’t believe it. He’d struggled to his feet in the dim light of the pines to see her and Brandon McCall take off on a horse. Together.

  Dr. French was right. But Chrissy wasn’t just in town. She was on the ranch. She was after him. She knew.

  His worst nightmare had just come true.

  Even when Red and a few of the men had come running out to find him muddy and shaken, all he could do was stare after the two as they disappeared into the darkness.

  He ignored offers of help as he stumbled into the house and poured himself a stiff drink. “Leave me alone,” he barked. Red left with the other men, but Mason knew Red hadn’t gone far.

  Mason dropped into a chair, suddenly too weak to stand, and took a long swallow of his drink. It burned all the way down. Chrissy. Or Anna Austin, as she called herself for her newspaper and magazine articles.

  The ramifications beat him like golf ball-size hail. Shaking, he set the drink on the table and dropped his face into his hands.

  His life had been one mistake after
another. The only gift he had was making money and now he had more of that than he would ever spend and it meant nothing. He had no one.

  All these years he’d thought at least he had Christianna—as long as he kept her thousands of miles away, as long as she never got too close, never found out what demons drove him, consumed him.

  But now he no longer even had that. He knew what she was after—and what extremes she would go to to get it. She’d set the ranch on fire! Vandalized his wells! Broken into the house that had been her home!

  But that was nothing compared to her ultimate betrayal. She was in on this with a McCall.

  * * *

  BRANDON STARED at Anna in the glow from the campfire, remembering the little girl she’d been. Not so different.

  That day on the curb, she’d been holding her own, even against five big kids. She hadn’t really needed his help. But she did seem to now.

  He hadn’t known when he’d shared her cherry Popsicle that she was Mason VanHorn’s daughter, Christianna. Would he have helped her if he’d known?

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were Mason VanHorn’s daughter right away?” he demanded, not letting himself think about the freckle-faced girl with the cherry Popsicle or the beautiful woman who’d wanted to share his bedroll.

  “I haven’t been his daughter for twenty-one years,” she said. “He sent me away.”

  Brandon didn’t want to react to the pain he heard in her voice. He thought of his own mother. Gone for over thirty years. But at least he’d had a father. Anna hadn’t had either all these years.

  He looked at her, his emotions at war. “I can’t believe you’re Christianna VanHorn.”

  “Stop saying that like I’m the spawn of the devil. Even if it might be true.”

  He shook his head. Hell’s bells, what had he gotten himself into this time? And more to the point, what had she? “You’ve lied to me from the start, beginning with your name.”

  “That’s not true. Anna is my nickname. Austin is my middle name and my mother’s maiden name. It’s the name I write under. I never liked Christianna. It was so…”

  “Long?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, long. Anna’s the name my mother called me. She never liked Christianna. It had been my father’s baby sister’s name, a sister who had died when she was an infant.”