# Rancher Under Fire

Vickie McDonough

SABOTAGE AT ANGELFIRE RANCHJackson Durant would go to any lengths to protect his young daughter and his ranch. He knows the puzzling incidents on his homestead are no accidents. Someone is after him…but who? And why? Reporter Mariah Reyes is determined to find out. She never expected her pursuit of a story on the reclusive rancher would endanger her life—nor that she'd fall for the cowboy. But when Jackson's daughter is kidnapped, she'll do anything to help save the little girl—even if it means becoming a target herself.

SABOTAGE AT ANGELFIRE RANCH

Jackson Durant would go to any lengths to protect his young daughter and his ranch. He knows the puzzling incidents on his homestead are no accidents. Someone is after him…but who? And why? Reporter Mariah Reyes is determined to find out. She never expected her pursuit of a story on the reclusive rancher would endanger her life—nor that she’d fall for the cowboy. But when Jackson’s daughter is kidnapped, she’ll do anything to help save the little girl—even if it means becoming a target herself.

Mariah was the last woman he should be interested in.

A reporter who had the power to destroy his peaceful life.

But Jackson had to admit he enjoyed the feel of her arms locked around his waist as they rode out to the fence line. He stared at the damage. The fence had obviously been cut. By whom? He didn’t have any enemies. But for several weeks there had been incidents that made him uneasy.

“This repair might take a while,” he told her. “Why don’t you go down to the creek?”

He watched her walk away, but he put the brakes on his thoughts. Don’t think about the greenhorn reporter. She’ll be leaving in a few days anyway. Jackson shook his head. That was why he didn’t want women on the ranch. They were a distraction. Nothing but trouble.

He worked on the repair till a loud crack echoed over the hills. Jackson jumped, nicking his finger on a barb. Gunfire?

Another blast ripped the quiet, followed by a scream.

Mariah!

VICKIE McDONOUGH

is an award-winning and bestselling author of over thirty published books and novellas. She grew up wanting to marry a rancher, but instead, she married a computer geek who is scared of horses. She now lives out her dreams in her fictional stories about ranchers, cowboys, lawmen and others living in the West. She’s a wife of almost forty years, mother of four grown sons and one daughter-in-law, and is grandma to a feisty eight-year-old girl. When she’s not writing, Vickie enjoys reading, buying cool things for her booth in an antique mall, watching movies and traveling. To learn more about Vickie’s books or to sign up for her newsletter, visit her website: www.vickiemcdonough.com. You can also find Vickie on Facebook and Twitter.

Rancher Under Fire

Vickie McDonough


www.millsandboon.co.uk

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But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint.

—Isaiah 40:31

To my agent, Chip MacGregor.

If not for Chip, this book would never have happened. Thanks for pushing me and opening doors that give life to Rancher Under Fire.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Mariah Reyes had to face the facts—she was lost. Hours of wandering on the desolate country roads of Northeastern Oklahoma had left her more confused than a chameleon in a bowl of Skittles.

She checked for oncoming cars—not that she’d seen more than one in the past half hour—then reached for the map on the passenger’s seat. She peeked down at the line she’d drawn before leaving home that showed the way to Angelfire Ranch, but it didn’t help. Glancing up, she jerked the steering wheel to the right to get her car back in her lane and willed her pulse to return to normal.

“This is crazy.” She slowed the car, pulled onto the gravel shoulder and searched her purse for her phone. Maybe she could find her way using the built-in GPS and maps. She turned it on and opened the map app. She’d already plugged in the address to Jackson Durant’s ranch, but she hadn’t wanted to risk driving while trying to follow the tiny GPS dot on her phone.

She studied the barren winter wilderness while she waited for the map to load. Tall, yellow grass fluttered in the wind, and the few leaves still clinging to the almost-bald trees waved at her. The land here wasn’t as flat as the Dallas area, and there were more trees, but the emptiness of the countryside after the busyness of the big city left her feeling isolated.

She checked her phone. With only one bar on her cell, the map wouldn’t load. “That’s great.” Mariah tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat and blew out a sigh. So much for modern technology.

Now what?

She’d passed a farm several miles back, but she hated asking for help. She shifted the car in gear and drove forward. Just a few more miles, and if she didn’t find Angelfire Ranch, she’d turn around or ask someone for directions.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into a parking lot containing half a dozen trucks and a single gray sedan. She looped her arm through her purse straps and read the name of the establishment made from cement blocks painted an icky avocado-green: Tank Up—Gas and Bar. She shook her head. “Only in Oklahoma.”

A Coke and some chocolate would do a lot to improve her mood. She grabbed her map, pressed the remote to lock the car and headed into the store. Loud music, smoke and the odor of burned pizza greeted her.

A slim clerk dressed in denim, boots and a cowboy hat nodded. “Howdy, ma’am.” His gaze dropped to the map in her hand. “Can I he’p you find somethin’?”

She smiled. “Just let me grab a Coke first.”

Mariah surveyed her surroundings—something she did as a habit. Probably the reporter in her wanting to know everything that was happening. The right side of the building housed a small convenience store while the left opened up to tables, chairs and a bar on the far wall. Neon signs shone through the cloud of smoke that hovered above a table where four men played cards and drank beer. The country music blaring from an old jukebox in the far corner whined a song she didn’t recognize. The buzz of conversation stopped, and the men at the table, along with another guy talking to the bartender, turned to gawk at her.

Mariah spun around, snatched a candy bar off the rack and made a beeline for the soda fountain. Thanks to her father, men made her nervous, especially ones who were indulging in liquor. She never knew what to expect from them. Three years as an investigative reporter had boosted her courage and made her much more outgoing, but being the only woman with seven men—some of whom were drinking—increased her anxiety.

She filled a disposable cup then hurried to the counter and paid for her items. She eyed a slice of cheese pizza in a warmer behind the clerk but decided she didn’t need the carbs. Glancing back at the clerk, she fished her wallet from her purse. “Could you please tell me how to find Angelfire Ranch?”

The young cowboy smiled. “Sure thang, ma’am. Just head north four miles or so until you see a broken-down hay baler in a field then turn right. You’ll see the big Angelfire sign after a few minutes. Cain’t miss it.”

She wanted to ask what a hay baler looked like, but several of the men from the table had risen and were ambling her way. Mariah gathered her things and rushed out the door. She didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she turned her Mustang onto the road again.

She made note of the mileage so she could tell when she’d traveled four miles. At least she was closer to Angelfire Ranch than she’d thought.

A motion in the rearview mirror snagged Mariah’s attention. A black truck—no two—spun out of the store’s parking lot and were approaching fast.

Mariah pressed down the gas pedal, keeping watch on the odometer, the road and the trucks. Did they just happen to leave at the same time? Or were they following her?

She glanced at the speedometer—seven miles per hour over the speed limit—and the nearest truck was still closing the space between them. Mariah grasped the wheel harder, and her pulse jumped into overdrive. Just when she thought the first truck would ram her, it whizzed into the other lane and passed her. She glanced in the passenger window of the second truck as it also zoomed by, but the tinting was too dark for her to see through.

She relaxed her grip on the wheel and blew out an irritated breath. “Show-offs!”

As the second black truck passed her, she looked for the tag number, but the lower half of the vehicle was covered in mud. Suddenly, the truck swerved back into her lane, and the taillights lit up. The gap between her car and the pickup narrowed. Mariah slammed on her brakes and swerved into the other lane, tires squealing. A quick glance revealed no oncoming traffic. Her left rear tire dropped off the tarred edge, and she struggled to get it back on the road. Gravel chunked against the underbelly of her car. She jerked the wheel to the right, bumped up onto the asphalt and slowed to a stop on the center line. The truck sped down the road and disappeared around the corner.

Mariah’s heart pounded.

What just happened?

Had that driver deliberately tried to run her off the road?

Blowing out a breath, Mariah checked for traffic then pulled onto the right side of the road again. She wasn’t easily scared, but the randomness of the attack left her trembling. Maybe the driver had drunk too much liquor—or maybe mistaken her for someone else. Or maybe he was hotdogging. That was the only thing that made sense.

She glanced at the odometer, glad to see she had only another mile until the turnoff to Jackson Durant’s ranch. She hoped he was ready for her, because she aimed to get the real story about why he quit football in the midst of an undefeated season, not the fluff Where Are They Now? piece her editor wanted.

In the field to her right, she spied a rusty heap of equipment, which must be the hay baler since it was the only farm apparatus around. The road to Angelfire stretched out past the end of the fence line. “Finally!”

A movement straight ahead caught her eye. A black truck crept over the next hill, which was several hundred yards past the turnoff. Mariah’s heart jolted. Was it the same truck that had nearly caused her to crash?

She wasn’t waiting around to find out. She pressed on the gas, but as the Mustang charged forward like a thoroughbred from a starting gate, so did the truck. Mariah eyed the distance to the turnoff, keeping a death grip on the steering wheel. Just a few more yards.

The truck veered into her lane, barreling toward her.

Mariah swung the wheel a bit early, hoping she didn’t land in the ditch. She had to make this turn. Her tires squealed as the rear end of her car swept around the corner then fishtailed. She righted it just as the truck reached the turn. Mariah stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The store clerk had said she’d see the sign to Angelfire Ranch in a few minutes, but she reached it in one. She slowed down to make the turn onto the ranch’s gravel road.

Would the truck follow her onto private property?

If it did, she’d be ready. This was one driver she’d take delight in using her Taser on.

* * *

Jackson Durant hugged his daughter, enjoying her laughter.

Hailey released her hold on his neck and pushed back to look him in the face. “Toss me up again, Daddy.”

“One more time. Then we need to get back to work.” He lowered her to the ground, and Hailey squatted down then jumped. Jackson lifted her and pitched her up a couple of feet into the air over his head. He wouldn’t be able to toss his six-year-old like this much longer. He lowered her back down, amid girlish giggles, and squeezed her shoulder. “Time to get busy.”

He retrieved the yearling he’d tied to the paddock fence and led her out into the yard. The black filly would make a good saddle horse one day, but she still needed some work.

“Can I lead her?”

Jackson peered down at his daughter’s pixie face, remembering again how close he had come to losing her the day she was born. A deep ache gutted his insides even worse than the pain he’d felt when he walked away from quarterbacking an undefeated team on its way to the Super Bowl. He couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine—what his life would be like without his daughter.

Every day her brown eyes and sweet smile looked more and more like her mother’s. Would he be reminded of his wife’s betrayal for the rest of his life, just by looking into his daughter’s face?

As if sensing his troubled thoughts, Baron licked Jackson’s hand. He reached down and patted the border collie’s black-and-white head. No, Hailey might look like Misty, but his daughter didn’t have her mother’s shallow character. Once again he slammed the lid on the anger bubbling up at the thought of Misty’s disloyalty. Though the familiar pain had numbed a bit over the years, whenever he thought of his deceased wife, it threatened to rise to the surface again, disturbing his peace with God.

“Hello...Da-addy?” Stretching onto the tiptoes of her tan cowboy boots, Hailey waved her hand back and forth in front of his face.

The black filly on the other end of the lead rope in Jackson’s hand shook her head and snorted, wary of his daughter’s flapping arm. “Hey, settle down,” he said to both females. Grasping the horse’s halter, he stared at his daughter. “Hailey, you know better than to make any sudden movements around these green broke horses.”

Nostrils flaring and the whites of her eyes showing, the filly attempted to jerk her head free of his hold.

Jackson held the small horse secure, rubbing her neck. “Shh. You’re okay.”

“Daddy?” Hailey patted Jackson’s stomach. “So...can I lead her around?”

“Just a minute.” Jackson observed the black filly for a few moments. When she quieted, he released her halter but hung on to the coiled lead rope. The horse ducked her head, nibbling the ankle-high winter grass at his feet.

He patted the filly’s shoulder. Had she calmed enough for Hailey to handle her? He breathed a deep sigh. Did every father wrestle with the issues he did, or was his daily struggle to find a balance with Hailey and duties at the ranch related to his being an overprotective single dad? He wanted to keep his daughter safe but not smother her. His gaze lifted across the ranch yard to the horses grazing peacefully in the pasture. His daughter loved horses as much as he, and she had never been afraid of them, not even as a toddler. Though he wanted to hold her back until she was older—and bigger—Hailey knew how to handle horses, even if her childishness sometimes overpowered her sensibilities. He patted his daughter’s back. “I guess you can lead the filly for a while, but don’t make any sudden movements, and don’t go too far in case you need me.”

“Yip—” Hailey slapped her palm to her mouth, halting her high-pitched cheer. Her gaze darted to the filly and back to him as she lowered her hand. “Sorry. I’ll be quieter.”

Chuckling, he handed the lead rope to his daughter. What was the point in trying to keep her away from the horses? She loved them and was a natural. Pride swelled in his chest as he watched Hailey curl up the nylon rope with the skill of one raised her whole life on a ranch. Holding the coil in one hand, she clutched the lead just below the snap and walked the yearling down the gravel drive.

“C’mon, girl. You and me’s gonna be buddies.” Baron trotted along behind them for a few feet, but then he turned and moseyed back to Jackson’s side.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jackson scanned the well-kept ranch. The gray single-story house provided a cozy escape from the hot Oklahoma summers and chilly winters. His new red barn, complete with modern amenities like a sprinkler system and a bathroom with a shower, had stalls for twelve horses and was the envy of his neighbors. Across the rolling hills, quarter horses grazed lazily in the unusually warm December weather. His chest swelled as gratitude filled his heart—but then he remembered the dark shadows of recent days, and his gaze lifted. Thank You, Lord, for allowing me to realize my dream of owning this ranch. Please help me figure out the root of the problems plaguing me lately. They can’t be coincidences.

Pursing his lips, he watched Hailey turn the filly and head toward him. So far his problems hadn’t caused her any harm, except for upsetting her. He considered all the things that had happened in the past few weeks—broken fences, missing equipment, sick horses. Was he simply having a run of bad luck?

“Don’t ya think she’ll make a good barrel racer? I’m gonna name her Sabrina.”

“That’s a fine name.” He smiled. Hailey had to name every horse that passed through their ranch, whether it stayed for a week or forever. While at Angelfire Ranch, the animals were treated like family. Sometimes the rodeo owners and other people he sold the horses to kept the names his daughter had given them and sometimes they changed them, but Hailey didn’t care as long as she gave them their first one.

The familiar ta-dump, ta-dump of tires crossing the cattle guard pulled his gaze down the long gravel drive. Though people frequented the ranch often, he wasn’t expecting anyone today. He studied the approaching vehicle—a sports car that was going far too fast.

He started toward his daughter. “Hailey, bring the filly back. Right now.”

Hailey stopped in the middle of the road and stared at the car, barreling toward her. Jackson increased his pace. His daughter tugged the prancing horse off the road and onto the dried winter grass. The filly pawed the ground. The closer the sports car came, the more agitated she grew.

Baron barked. Jackson broke into a run. A shrill whinny rent the air as the black filly reared, her front hooves pawing the air just inches above Hailey’s head. Jackson’s heart took a dive. He raced toward her, but his legs felt as if they were encased in cement.

“Let go! Hailey! Let go of the rope.” His words sounded hollow, as if shouted down a long, narrow tunnel.

Sabrina bolted, yanking his daughter to the ground and dragging her back toward the road as the car maneuvered a bend and headed straight for them. Baron raced for the front of the horse, as if to cut her off and turn her back. The driver blasted the horn. The car skidded and swerved, sending a dusty cloud of gravel and dirt over filly and dog. Tires spun, chunking pebbles against the car’s underbelly, and the Mustang veered to the right as the driver spun around trying to miss a large maple tree. Metal and fiberglass crunched against wood as the car lost the fight.

Heart pounding, Jackson slowed as he reached Hailey and lifted her to her feet, pressing her against him. That car had come so close to hitting her. “You okay, sweetie? Are you hurt?”

Hailey’s mumbled response warmed his blue denim shirt, but he couldn’t make out the words. His daughter pushed against his belly, and he reluctantly released her.

“I couldn’t breathe, Daddy.” She gulped in several gasps of air, then glanced at the rope burns on her palms. “I tried to hold on so Sabrina wouldn’t get away. I wasn’t scared, but I couldn’t hang on.”

He scanned his daughter’s face and body to make sure she wasn’t injured then released the breath he’d been holding. Her denim jacket was dust-covered but had probably saved her from scraping or bruising her arms. With his sleeve, he wiped dirt off her chin, relieved that she hadn’t cut it. A few minor rope burns reddened her palms, but otherwise she looked fine.

With his hands shaking and heart ricocheting around his chest like a racquetball on a court, he was in worse shape than his daughter. Not quite believing she was unharmed, he asked again, “You’re really not hurt anywhere besides your hands?”

“I’m fine, but that car’s not. And Sabrina’s gettin’ away.”

He glanced in the direction Hailey pointed. Still galloping and flipping chunks of dirt behind her, Sabrina had almost reached the ranch’s entrance. The blue lead rope flapped in the air like a pennant. Baron had given up the chase and trotted toward them, tongue hanging out.

With the danger past, Jackson looked skyward. Thank You, Lord, for protecting my little girl.

Ruffling his daughter’s hair, he said, “Don’t worry about Sabrina, pun’kin. We’ll catch her or one of our neighbors will.”

Draping his arm around Hailey’s shoulders, he turned toward the wrecked vehicle. Hissing steam seeped from the metallic blue Mustang now hugging his silver-maple tree.

He clenched his jaw, fighting his anger. Even his years of professional football training hadn’t prepared him for the rage coursing through him at the person who’d put his daughter’s life in danger with such reckless driving. If not for his Christian faith, he’d march forward and punch the driver’s nose. What kind of idiot raced up the drive of a horse ranch?

Jackson took a deep breath and unclenched his fist. He ought to be concerned about the driver, but at the moment, thoughts of his daughter’s near miss overpowered any compassion he might have.

“Cool car,” Hailey said. “Well, it was cool.”

With an eerie groan, the door creaked opened. Two small feet clad in navy pumps appeared below the door. A feminine, well-manicured hand grasped the top of the window frame, and a woman’s brunette head popped up above the dark tinted glass of the driver’s window. Wariness churned deep in Jackson’s belly. What was a woman doing here?

After a moment she stepped out from behind the car door and glared down the road. “That horse ran right in front of me. Look what it did to my car.”

“If you hadn’t been driving so fast, you wouldn’t have spooked her and caused her to bolt.” Jackson yanked his black Stetson off and smacked it against his leg, wishing he could follow Sabrina and be rid of this unwanted visitor.

“Uh-oh, there goes another hat,” Hailey mumbled. “That lady’s in trouble now.”

He cringed at her comment. He’d lost count of the number of Western hats he’d gone through as a result of trying to control his temper. He liked this particular one and aimed to keep it awhile. Slapping it back on his head, he marched forward.

“Listen, lady, your driving nearly got my daughter killed.” Hands clamped to his waist, he glared down into the woman’s startled black eyes.

She took only a second to recover from her surprised reaction. “Me? What are you talking about?” She swiped her hand toward the crumpled hood. “Look at my car!” Sobering suddenly, she turned toward the road again. “Did you see that truck?”

Jackson glanced down the road, wondering about her random change of topics. “What truck?”

The moment of vulnerability disappeared as the woman tossed her dark mane over her shoulders, then tilted up her face and glared back at him, ebony eyes flashing. “I never even saw your daughter, and that horse did run right at me.” She reached one hand to the car door and white-knuckled the window frame. Her expression softened. “Is your daughter okay?”

Jackson nodded, his heart still beating faster than normal at the close call.

Hailey skidded to a stop beside him. “Daddy, did the lady get hurt?”

He smiled at his daughter and brushed his hand across her head, and then Jackson studied the woman for a moment. At six foot two, he normally towered over most females, but this one appeared to be less than a half foot shorter than him. Her olive complexion and black eyes verified her Hispanic heritage. Wisps of dark brown hair curled around her oval face, giving her a softer appearance than Jackson expected from such a fireball.

“Look. I’m sorry. I really didn’t see your daughter—or the horse—until it ran in front of me. It’s just that...” She glanced toward the ranch’s entrance again then pursed her lips. “Never mind.”

The woman lifted a finger to her nose and a tiny sneeze squeaked past her pink lips.

Jackson blinked. He’d never heard such a feminine sound before.

“My, there’s a lot of dust out here.” She waved her hand in front of her face.

“Yeah.” Jackson straightened. “Especially when someone drives too fast and fishtails on the gravel.” Or when it didn’t rain for weeks, but he let that thought slide.

The woman hiked her chin; the fire in her eyes brightened. “Sorry if I was going too fast. You don’t exactly have a speed-limit sign posted. I’ve been driving up and down these country roads for hours, trying to find this place. Not to mention—” She jerked a tissue out of the pocket of her navy business suit and stuffed it under her pert nose just as another sneeze squeaked out.

“Why didn’t you stop and ask somebody? Everyone around these parts knows where Angelfire Ranch is.” Why did men always get blamed for not asking directions when women were just as bad?

Her chin lifted again. “I had a map. But obviously whoever faxed it to me didn’t know how to draw intelligent directions.” She ducked into her car, grabbed a piece of paper, then waved it in his face. “See?”

Jackson instantly recognized the map to his ranch printed on Angelfire letterhead. An ominous feeling, like overthrowing the final pass that would have won his team the play-off game, settled in his gut.

“Why don’t y’all quit fussin’?” Hailey held out her hand to the woman and smiled. “I’m Hailey Durant. This is my daddy. Did you know he was a famous football player?”

The woman blinked at him, and then the color left her cheeks, leaving it to resemble the milky coffee Hailey occasionally drank. “You’re J. D. Durant—ex–Texas Tornados quarterback?”

“Folks around here call me Jackson.” He gave Hailey a stern look. He should have scolded his daughter for her outspokenness, but his mind was too busy racing, trying to figure out what business this citified woman had with him. Today was Thursday, and nobody had an appointment scheduled to view his horses until the weekend. Besides, she didn’t exactly seem as though she was in the market to buy a horse.

“You sure don’t look much like your football pictures.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. Had the paparazzi tracked him down again? “People change after six years.” He pulled his hat lower on his forehead. His looks weren’t the only way he’d changed; his heart and lifestyle had both taken a one-eighty. “Just who are you, anyway?”

“Uh—” the woman licked her pink lips “—I’m Mariah Louisa Reyes.”

Mariah Reyes. The name didn’t ring any bells. Should he know her? A memory invaded his mind—of a phone call several weeks back. A memory of a reporter from the Dallas Observer visiting the ranch so he could write an article on Angelfire. Something Jackson had regretfully allowed his brother, Evan, to cajole him into.

“Are you the reporter?” Hailey asked. “Uncle Evan said you’d be coming.”

What was that reporter’s name? Rayburn—something. Raymond? Reyes? The uneasy feeling in Jackson’s belly swirled faster than an Oklahoma tornado.

No!

“Yes,” the woman said. “I work for the Dallas Observer. I’m supposed to stay here for a few days and observe how you gentle and train horses for rodeos for a story I’m writing.” She moved a step to the side, winced and met Jackson’s gaze, her black eyes shining like polished onyx. “People will be fascinated to learn how your life has changed since you quarterbacked the Tornados, Mr. Durant. The story will run in our Where Are They Now? series.”

“Oh, goodie,” Hailey squealed, bouncing up and down, clapping her hands together. “You’re gonna be in the paper, Daddy.”

Great. Where Are They Now? series? Caution crept up his spine. He’d worked hard to maintain his privacy the past years since moving to the ranch and didn’t want strangers knowing where he lived. Besides, that article didn’t sound like one that would promote the ranch—and that was his only reason for agreeing to it. Jackson cleared his throat. “You’re the same reporter who talked to my brother, Evan Durant, and made arrangements to come here?”

The woman nodded.

He yanked off his hat and smacked it against his leg. “But I thought you were a man.”

Ms. Reyes heaved a derisive snort. “Not hardly. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Where had he come up with it? Evidently he’d made a false assumption—or had his brother purposely led him in that direction, knowing he’d never allow a woman to stay at Angelfire? Evan was going to get a tongue-lashing. His brother knew he avoided women whenever possible, and he couldn’t believe that Evan would make arrangements for one to stay at the ranch. Jackson never would have agreed to an interview if he’d known he’d be stuck with this prissy female.

He’d left the football high life and all its painful memories behind when he inherited the ranch from his uncle. And he certainly didn’t want to spend even a few days in the company of a beautiful woman. The last time he did that, his life had turned upside down and inside out. He shut his eyes, refusing to think again of the woman he’d let into his life years earlier—the one who’d nearly destroyed him.

Curling the rim of his hat, he studied the dust on his boots. Dust this feisty female had stirred up. Somehow, Jackson had the feeling dirt wasn’t the only thing this lovely, outspoken reporter would stir up. He just hoped she didn’t dig up any dirt from his past. He preferred to keep that buried.

He smacked his hat against his leg again. His daughter had nearly gotten killed. His filly had galloped off, and his dog had come close to getting run over. Better to end this now before it got any more out of hand. Jackson slapped his hat onto his head and glared at the reporter. “Ma’am, you can just head back to Dallas and forget about that interview.”

TWO

Mariah couldn’t voice the words that came to her mind with a child present. She’d finally drawn her first travel assignment, only to end up in the middle of Who-Knows-Where, Oklahoma, chased by a crazy person in a truck, with her beloved Mustang wrapped around a tree. And now this.

She narrowed her eyes and glared at J. D. Durant. She wasn’t about to let this washed-up jock-turned-rancher chase her away or frustrate her any more than he already had. Moving slowly and testing each limb for pain, she ducked into the car. She pushed back the deflated air bag and sneezed again as the white powder danced in the air. Kneeling on the driver’s seat, she reached across to the passenger’s seat to grab her handbag. A sharp burning sensation exploded in her knee, sending pain throughout her leg. She sucked in a sharp gasp and backed out. As if sharing her hurt, the car door uttered an eerie, unnatural screech when she forced it shut.

Scowling at Jackson Durant, she limped to the rear of her car. With great effort, she willed the trembling in her hands to stop, pressed the button on the remote and popped open the trunk. At least the rear end of the car had avoided damage.

Hard footsteps marched toward her, sending her pulse racing. J.D. hovered beside her, breathing loudly. A flash of her father, doing the same right before he knocked her silly, sent a shiver scurrying along her spine.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His deep voice buzzed her ears like an angry hornet. Steeling herself, Mariah ignored Mr. Durant and grabbed her largest bag. Giving it a hard yank, she pulled it from the trunk then dropped it to the ground. She turned around and reached in for her tote bag.

Sunshine entered her peripheral vision for a moment as Mr. Durant bent and picked up her suitcase, then tossed it back into the trunk.

“I said there isn’t going to be an interview, so there’s no point in you staying.”

Mariah straightened and, for the first time, realized what an imposing figure Jackson Durant presented up close. His photos didn’t do him justice—or maybe the country life agreed with him. With that dusty cowboy hat on his head he had to be close to a foot taller than her. Eyes amazingly similar to the dark blue of the Texas Tornados’ football uniform blazed at her, daring her to argue. An angular jaw framed a handsome tanned face, and his pleasingly straight nose looked out of place on an athlete. Dark brows that matched thick hair the color of black coffee arched as she continued to study him.

Rattled for a nanosecond, she regrouped and returned his stare, leaning even closer. A victorious smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Just how do you propose I leave?”

His eyes flickered with confusion for a brief moment then opened wider as understanding dawned. A muscle quivered in his jaw. His lips tightened into a pale line, revealing a pair of intriguing dimples in his cheeks.

At least one good thing would come from her car being almost totaled—she just might stay at Angelfire Ranch long enough to get her story. It had been at least an hour’s drive since she’d passed a motel of any sort and much longer since seeing a decent one.

“I’m stranded,” she said, not even trying to keep victory from her voice.

“She’s right, Daddy.” The young girl sidled up to her father and took his hand. “Her car’s all smashed up, so she cain’t leave.”

“‘Can’t,’ not ‘cain’t.’” Jackson smiled down at his daughter, but his lips slipped in a frown again as his gaze returned to Mariah.

What would it feel like to be on the receiving end of his heart-stopping smile? She’d seen plenty of them in the old photos she’d studied while researching him. She shook her head. Collecting smiles from an ex-superstar wasn’t why she was here. She had a story to write.

He stared off in the distance, a muscle in his jaw twitching. His lips curled in resolve. “I’d offer to take you to town until your car’s repaired, but there isn’t a motel within sixty miles of here. I reckon you’ll have to stay here while we see about getting it fixed. But no story.” Arms crossed over his wide chest, he glared down at her, leaving no room for objection.

“Thanks for your...um...gracious offer.” Her sarcasm prompted another scowl from him. Why did she do that? Rub salt in a wound. Maybe because as a child, she’d never been able to fight back. Maybe because she’d never had luck with men, especially confident, wealthy ones. Business execs always wanted something in return for a night on the town—something she was unwilling to give. Sports jocks were even worse. Arrogant. Cocky. So full of themselves there wasn’t room for anyone else.

No, her track record with men wasn’t good. Just standing this close to one gave her the shakes. She reached for her suitcase at the same instant he did, and his calloused hand enveloped hers, sending unwanted fingers of fire blazing up her arm. Mariah yanked her hand away.

“I’ll get it,” he mumbled, obviously not happy about losing their argument or her being stuck at his ranch. He turned and strode toward the house.

“C’mon. I’ll show you where the spare room is,” J.D.’s daughter said, skipping up to her. The girl grabbed the small bag. Mariah pushed her purse and laptop bag up on her shoulder then closed the trunk. Hailey took her by the arm and pulled her toward the sprawling ranch house. “I hope you can stay a long time. We don’t ever have company stay overnight.”

Mariah peeked at the child beside her. Where her dad was dark and brooding, his daughter was friendly and outgoing. Her hair was a much lighter shade of brown than his, and her eyes reminded Mariah of chocolate kisses.

Hailey slowed, leaned closer and whispered, “Daddy sure was surprised you’re a woman. Uncle Evan must have forgot to tell him that.” She peeked up at her father, who stood at the door holding the suitcase, then beamed a dimpled grin much like his.

“He’s not the first to be shocked that I’m a female. The first was my father,” Mariah said.

Hailey giggled. Mariah sensed that given the chance, she and the young girl could become friends. “So, how old are you?”

“Six.”

“Six, huh?”

“Yep. I just had my birthday last week. Sometimes it’s the same day as Thanksgiving, but not this year. I’ll be seven next year.”

A wave of melancholy washed over Mariah. Had she ever looked forward to a birthday? When she was a child, birthdays had been virtually nonexistent. Oh, they came and went like any other day, but they weren’t celebrated, other than her mother slipping her a quarter, if she had one.

“Daddy says I can have my own horse when I’m older. He loves horses, but he loves football, too. Course, he don’t play football no more. Well, ’cept sometimes he plays with Lance and Justin.” Hailey skipped up the sidewalk that led to the cranberry-red front door of the gray brick ranch house.

Mariah filed the names Lance and Justin in a mental folder with plans to research them later, and then she studied the area. Though the house itself looked well kept, there was nothing special about the landscaping. In fact, the flower beds overflowed with dried grass and dead stalks. The only signs of life were a couple of dark green weeds and a few pitiful purple pansies that needed watering. The place sure could use a woman’s touch.

Mariah’s shoes scuffed against the sidewalk as she limped beside Hailey. Glancing down, she noticed a dark spot staining the knee of her new pantsuit, which was covered in white powder from the air bag. She quickly looked up before she got woozy. She must have banged her leg when she wrecked the car and was just now feeling the stinging sensation where the injury rubbed against her pants. She tried not to limp as she passed her reluctant host.

Hailey pulled open a screeching metal storm door, pushed against the main door and slipped inside. The screen slammed against Mariah’s arm as she stepped across the threshold. The door handle scraped against her elbow, forcing her into the doorjamb. She winced.

“Sorry ’bout that,” J.D. mumbled. He pulled back the door and held it while she walked in.

At least he had some manners.

Mariah looked around as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the house. They passed through a small mudroom and into a spacious kitchen decorated in dark green and yellow with wallpaper covered in birdhouses and tiny flowers. Everything was neat and tidy, not at all what she expected of a single father’s home.

She followed Hailey, passing a more formal table and chairs in the dining room, which looked as if they were brand-new—a sign the family probably took their meals in the kitchen. Mariah peeked into the living area as they walked past the door, noting the Southwest theme with dark red, green and tan accents. Continuing down the hallway, they passed a closed door, and then Hailey walked into a bedroom with light blue walls.

“This is the guest bedroom. That’s my room. It’s painted lavender.” She pointed to a closed door across the hall with a big purple-and-yellow daisy on it. “Daddy’s is that way.” Waving her hand in the air, she motioned on down the long hall.

Mariah glanced at J.D. and noticed his ears reddening, probably from the mention of his bedroom. She bit back a smile that such a tiny thing would rattle the rugged man after the way he lit into her for endangering his daughter. Ignoring the jealous ache caused by the thought of a father actually protecting his child, she turned her attention to the cozy bedroom. Powder-blue curtains matched the blue floral quilt on the queen-size bed. Through another door was a small bathroom that would give her privacy. She would be comfortable, even if she wasn’t there for very long.

Her suitcase bounced as her host dropped it onto the bed. “I’ll call Denton’s shop in town and see if they can start repairing your car today.” He turned and stalked out of the room, obviously anxious to be rid of her as soon as possible.

“Deuce says Daddy’s kinda like a summer thunderstorm. He gets mad and blows up but calms down quickly.”

Wondering who Deuce was, Mariah smiled at the young girl’s analogy.

Hailey flopped onto the bed. “I’m glad you’re a woman even if Daddy isn’t happy. Sometimes Aunt Kelly comes out and takes care of me, but not as much as she used to when I was little. She lived here then. This was her room.”

The talkative child might be a wealth of information if Mariah could get to know her and could overcome her aversion to using the child to gain information on her father. She unzipped her suitcase, hoping for a longer stay than one night. “Where does your aunt Kelly live now?” She pulled out her black pantsuit, gave it a shake and hung it up in the empty closet.

“Oh, she lives in town. But she comes out here a lot.” Hailey stopped her bouncing and leaned forward, a mischievous smile brightening her face. “She’s sweet on Lance. At least she used to be.”

“And who’s Lance?”

“He owns the ranch next to us. He’s Daddy’s best friend.”

“Hai—ley!” Jackson’s bellow echoed down the hall. “Come and help Deuce put away the groceries.”

Mariah smiled, certain he must have finally realized he’d left his chatty daughter alone with her.

“Okay!” Hailey took one last bounce and hopped off the bed.

“Who’s Deuce?” Mariah asked as she hung a teal velour top on a hanger.

“Daddy’s old friend. He lives here—in the room off the kitchen.”

That was one room Mariah had obviously missed.

“He’s really old. Daddy says he looks like he needs to be ironed, ’cause he gots so many wrinkles.” Hailey giggled as she headed out the door. “Deuce is our cook.”

Mariah wondered how old Hailey’s version of “really old” was. The youth back at the Tank Up had called her “ma’am,” even though she was only twenty-four.

She contemplated the black truck that had chased her as she arranged her folded clothing and undergarments in the empty dresser. Had the attack been random? Or maybe one of the cowboys from the bar just wanting to scare a city girl? What else could it have been? Not a soul in the state of Oklahoma knew her. She blew out a tense breath and set her suitcase in the bottom of the closet, next to her white tennis shoes. She sat on the chair that matched the small desk and looked at her pants. At least she hadn’t torn her new business suit in the wreck, but she’d have to soak the pants in cold water to get the bloodstain out.

She rolled up her left pant leg, sucking in a deep breath as pain burned down her shin when she gently pulled the fabric away from an inch-long gash on her knee. A thin trail of blood ran halfway down her shin. Quickly, she shifted her gaze away.

Ignoring the nausea churning in her stomach, Mariah glanced around for a tissue. When she didn’t find one, she dared to look more closely at her leg. The sight of blood had always made her feel like vomiting, if not fainting. She grabbed hold of the desk, desperately hoping the room would stop swirling. This was not the way to impress J. D. Durant and change his mind about the interview.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Mariah jumped at the closeness of J.D.’s masculine voice. No! Not now. Why did he have to appear just when she was at her weakest? She waved a dismissive hand in the air as she struggled to regain her composure.

Ignoring her, he disappeared into the bathroom and rummaged around for a minute, then returned with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, ointment and bandages, which he set on the desk beside her. He returned to the bathroom, ran the faucet for a moment and came back with a damp cloth.

When he knelt beside her, Mariah sucked in a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the task at hand. She reached for the aqua washcloth, but he pulled it away. “I can do it,” she whispered, still not sure her stomach wasn’t going to revolt and totally embarrass her.

He stoically ignored her again and gently cupped her calf, his warm touch sending odd tingles spiraling down her leg. She placed her hand on his shoulder, intending to push him away, but her gaze landed on the bloodstained cloth. Instantly she realized her mistake, but it was too late. Darkness swirled with light as she felt her body wilt.

* * *

Jackson dropped the wet washcloth and grabbed the reporter as she sagged toward him. Pushing to his feet, he lifted her in his arms and hugged her limp body against his chest. He couldn’t believe this was the same spitfire who’d argued with him outside only minutes ago.

He laid her on the bed then pulled off her shoes. Snatching the clean washcloth off the floor, Jackson folded it in a long line and laid the clean side across her head. Now what? He’d never had a female faint on him before.

Was she injured worse than he first thought? There was the cut on her knee, but maybe she’d also banged her head in the accident and now had a concussion. Guilt plagued him for being so hard on her earlier. He may be a Christian, but he sure hadn’t acted like one. He paced the room, trying to decide what he should do.

Why did women always cause him problems? This was the very reason he’d moved to the country, to get away from pesky, gawking fans and hovering women who wanted to be with him simply because he was a rich, famous athlete. He’d yielded to a woman’s charms once, but that was a long time ago, and it wouldn’t happen again.

“C’mon, Lord. Help me out here.”

He could handle wounded horses and cows, could face a line of three-hundred-pound tacklers all bent on sacking him, but give him a sick or crying woman, and he lost all sensibility.

Get a grip, Durant.

A soft moan erupted from behind him, and he spun around. Ms. Reyes’s arm rested across her forehead. He hurried to her side and eased onto the edge of the bed. “What can I do to help?”

She lifted the washcloth from her head, staring unseeing for a few moments. “Please...”

“What?” Jackson leaned forward, noticing her long, dark lashes.

“Please tell me I didn’t pass out.” She pressed her hand against her trim stomach.

“Wish I could, but—”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? I’m so embarrassed.” A faint flush of scarlet darkened her olive skin, and then panic dashed across her pretty face as she scanned the room. “I didn’t upset Hailey, did I?”

She started to sit up, but he gently grasped her shoulders, pressing her back down. Her concern for his daughter warmed him. Maybe he’d been too harsh and misjudged her at first glance. “You need to rest for a bit while I doctor your leg. And no, Hailey wasn’t here when you passed out.”

“Thank goodness. I wouldn’t want to frighten her. She’s such a sweet little thing.”

“Yes, she is.” Jackson smiled. Hailey could talk the ears off a mynah bird, but she certainly was a sweetie pie—and tough. She hadn’t even fussed when Sabrina yanked her to the ground or when he’d doctored the rope burns on her hands a few minutes ago. He was proud of his daughter’s fortitude, unlike this city gal, who fainted at the sight of a little gash. A ranch was no place for someone like her.

The sooner he patched up her leg, the sooner he could get away from her. He refocused his attention on the woman’s injury and forced a politeness in his voice that he didn’t feel. “If you’re done with the washcloth, I’ll finish cleaning your leg with it, Ms. Reyes.”

Her cheeks darkened in a deep blush again. “Call me Mariah, and I can clean my own leg.”

Jackson couldn’t refrain from smirking. “I saw what happened when you merely looked at your bloody knee. How do you expect to stare at it long enough to doctor and bandage it? Am I wrong in guessing that you pass out at the sight of blood?”

Mariah’s faced paled, and she glanced away. “No, you’re not wrong,” she said on a whisper. “This is so embarrassing. Go on and get it over with.” She grabbed the damp cloth and tossed it in his direction.

He snagged it in midair, cleaned her wound, then washed off the blood that had trailed down her slim leg. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, not really, but I imagine I’ll be sore tomorrow.”

Relief washed over him as he cleansed the wound with peroxide. He squeezed some triple antibiotic salve onto the inch-long gash then applied two wide bandages. No problem. Just like treating one of Hailey’s banged-up knees. Well, not exactly, but at least the woman didn’t cry or fuss about it hurting. Without thinking, Jackson reached behind Mariah’s leg and gave her calf a soft caress, just like he would Hailey’s. He wasn’t prepared for the electric arc that sprinted up his arm. He released her as if he’d been shocked and glanced up.

His eyes locked with her black gaze and held. Awareness sizzled between them.

“Daddy, I’m done helpin’ Deuce.” Hailey peered in the doorway. “Are you gonna go catch Sabrina? Can I go, too?”

Instantly his connection with the troublesome reporter severed. He shook his head, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Leaping off the bed, he accidentally looked in Mariah’s direction again.

She must have sensed whatever it was he had felt, because she wore a dazed expression, too—or maybe she’d gotten a glimpse of the bloody washrag. Jackson shrugged off the unwanted sensations. This wasn’t good.

Women were trouble, and he had enough trouble already—especially with all the strange goings-on lately. To make matters worse, Tim Denton couldn’t begin fixing the reporter’s car until the first of next week—and that was if the vehicle wasn’t totaled. He was stuck with the nosy reporter for at least the whole weekend since Westin, the nearest town to the ranch, didn’t have a motel—or a car rental agency.

“Oh, you hurt your leg?” Hailey crossed the room to the bed, and Jackson stepped back.

“It’s nothing. Just a little cut.” Mariah sat up and rolled down her pant leg then turned to sit on the side of the bed. “Your dad patched me up.”

“He’s good at fixin’ things. See, he put princess bandages on my hands.”

Hailey held up her palms as if they were trophies and flashed him a dimpled smile, sending a warm sensation, better than a cup of hot coffee on a chilly day, down his midsection.

“So, what about Sabrina?”

“I’ll catch her.” He stalked out, not bothering to look at the reporter again. He and his daughter were a team. They got along fine and didn’t need another female around to mess up things. He especially didn’t need a reporter around when problems were plaguing him. What if she got hurt? Or what if she told the world about what had been happening here?

He clenched his jaw. He needed to get her car fixed and get her on the road home.