﻿ “I’m staying with you.”

Shelly couldn’t have heard him right. A man like Matt Collingsworth didn’t put himself out for a prospective employee. But then she wouldn’t have expected one of the richest men in Texas to be sitting across from her tonight, either.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“You shouldn’t be alone until we know why someone tried to kill you today.”

“And you’re planning to serve as my bodyguard? That isn’t necessary.”

“Actually, it is. Family tradition, the cowboy code and all that. A real man never walks away from a woman in danger.”

He’d walk away fast enough if he knew she was CIA and here to put him and his family away for life. She should be thanking her lucky stars for this entrée into the inner sanctum of the world she’d come to infiltrate. But only one word came to mind, and it seemed to be shouting inside her head and echoing through every cell of her body:

Help!

Joanna Wayne was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organisation. Her first novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestselling list for romance and won many industry awards. She is a popular speaker at writing organisations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

She currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star state. You may write to Joanna at PO Box 265, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.

LOADED

BY

JOANNA WAYNE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To all my Texas friends who so willingly share their

family stories with me. To my husband for putting up

with me when I’m so lost in one of my stories I forget

to cook dinner or come to bed. And a special thanks to

all my readers who love a cowboy tale the way I do.

Chapter One

Shelly Lane walked into the Country Café at one-forty on a Friday afternoon in the middle of June, following on the heels of Matt Collingsworth. Smells of fried chicken, cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee greeted her. It looked like the sort of place you should seat yourself, but a short, plump woman with a knot of graying curls on top of her head was smiling and sashaying toward her.

“Hi, there,” the lady said, her charming Texas drawl pulling her words into extra syllables. “You can just sit anywhere, and Jill will be around to take your order in a jiffy.”

“Thanks.” Shelly glanced around and noted that she was the only one eating alone. Most of the customers were family groups, though there were a few tables with just lone cowboy types. Several looked her way. Most grinned and nodded. A few waved. Colts Run Cross was a very friendly town.

Shelly located Matt—he’d joined a group of men and one super-cute young lady at a table near a window—then chose a spot where she could observe him without making it too obvious. Actually, she didn’t mind him seeing her now that she was about to make contact with his mother.

The chair wobbled a bit as she slid it closer to the square wooden table covered in a blue plaid cloth. A simple vase holding two silk daisies sat in the middle, flanked by inexpensive salt and pepper shakers and a bottle of catsup.

Her attention returned to Matt. He was far more handsome in person than in the likenesses she’d studied of him. His hair was short, dark brown and only slightly rumpled by the Western hat he’d been wearing before entering the restaurant. His jeans were worn, but clean, and though she couldn’t see it now, she knew from stealthily following him about town that they showed off his lean, hard frame to perfection.

He glanced her way and smiled. A treacherous skip of her heart forced her to take a deep breath and regroup. Even the slightest attraction on her part could compromise her mission.

Jill stopped at Shelly’s elbow. “The special today is fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy and pinto beans. That comes with corn bread or biscuits and a dish of peach cobbler and ice cream for dessert. Or you can order off the lunch menu. It’s on the back.”

The waitress turned the menu over and tapped the offerings with her index finger. “What would you like to drink?”

“Just tea, please, with lemon.”

“Sure thing.”

Jill stopped off at Matt’s table, flirting shamelessly with him and his cohorts. Not that Shelly blamed her. They all had that sexy cowboy mystique about them. It was even more potent than Shelly had expected, but she knew that Matt Collingsworth was no simple cowboy. Nor was he your everyday Texas rancher.

Not only did his family own the second-largest spread in Texas, but they were sole owners of Collingsworth Enterprises, which encompassed the operations of Jack’s Bluff Ranch as well as Collingsworth Oil and its related subsidiaries. Which meant they had ties to some of the most high-ranking businessmen and politicians in this country and in other key parts of the world.

The waitress arrived with the tea and Shelly ordered a grilled chicken salad, which arrived in short order. She lingered over her food, finally leaving though Matt was still engaged in a very animated conversation with the others at his table.

The sun was blinding when she stepped out the door of the small café. She fished in her handbag for her sunglasses and put them on as she crossed the street to her dark blue, nondescript sedan. She was opening the door when she spotted a black car rounding the corner, speeding toward her.

Sunlight glinted off the barrel of a revolver as it slid through the open window. Her instincts and training kicked in at the speed of light. She searched the empty streets for someone to warn, then crouched behind the car door as the sound of gunfire and bullets pinging against metal shattered the quiet afternoon.

Even if she’d had time to retrieve her weapon from the car, she wouldn’t have had time to fire back. The car had roared past and she could hear the footsteps and voices of people rushing from the nearby shops, before she realized she’d been hit by a ricocheting bullet.

The keys slipped through her fingers and it felt as if a dozen wasps had all found the same spot on the back of her upper arm. Blood soaked the sleeve of her blouse. She stared; the incredulity of the situation made the facts difficult to register. This couldn’t have happened. She was CIA and deep undercover. Not even her own mother knew she was in Texas.

“She’s been shot,” a female yelled.

But when Shelly looked up, she was staring right into the dark, piercing eyes of Matt Collingsworth. Trouble had never been more ominous—or looked so good.

Chapter Two

My name is Shelly Lane. I’m a physical therapist who’s just arrived in Colts Run Cross and has no idea why anyone would be shooting at me.

Shelly worked to keep the lies firmly implanted in her mind as she fought to overcome the effects of pain and unexpected vulnerability.

“Some fool fired at me from a passing car and I think a bullet ricocheted into my arm,” she said, as Matt crouched down beside her.

“Is that the only place you were hit?”

“I think so.”

“You’re damn lucky. Your car wasn’t so fortunate.”

She only nodded, wondering if he was as innocent in all this as he seemed. Her experience told her to doubt him. Her instincts said differently.

“Hope this isn’t your favorite blouse,” Matt said, wielding a pocketknife and staring at the bloodied mess.

“No, cut away. Not the arm—just the sleeve.”

“Picky, are you?” He cut away the fabric and then helped her to the sidewalk where someone had brought out a chair for her to sit on.

“The ambulance is on the way,” a bystander announced.

“Who shot her?” someone else yelled.

“Some guy in a black Ford. Skidded around the corner. He’s long gone now.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Probably stings like hell,” Matt said, shifting so that he could get a better look. “The bullet tore into the flesh of your arm, but there are no exposed bones. A few stitches should put you back together.”

He applied pressure to slow the bleeding as she dealt with the bizarre irony of having him come to her rescue. His touch was strangely heady—probably from the rush of adrenaline and the loss of blood. Still, his take-charge attitude was impressive. It was easy to understand why the ranch he comanaged with his bother Bart was so successful.

But then, organizational skills and money were exactly what was making the Collingsworths’ ties to terrorists so difficult to trace. She could not let down her guard for a second.

“Who shot at you?” Matt asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Do you have that many enemies?”

“I don’t have any that I know of. All I know is the car came from nowhere and someone started shooting at me.”

“Are you saying this was just a random drive-by?” There was no mistaking the suspicion in his voice.

She tried to move her arm so that she could see the wound.

“Probably best to keep it still,” Matt said. “The ambulance will be here soon.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.”

“Maybe not, but you have to go to the emergency room and that’s as good a way as any to get there.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Nope, just a rancher. Name’s Matt Collingsworth.”

“Of Jack’s Bluff Ranch?” She hoped there was ample surprise in her pain-laced tone.

“That’s right. Have we met?”

“No, I’ve only been in Colts Run Cross a few days but I have an appointment with Lenora Collingsworth tomorrow at the ranch.”

His eyebrows arched.

“I’m the physical therapist she hired for her father-in-law.” That much was true. She’d been a physical therapist, before going back to school for a degree in criminal psychology and going to work for the CIA. Her PT background was the only reason she’d drawn this kind of major assignment so early in her career.

“Bum luck to show up in town for a new job and get shot before you even get started,” Matt said.

“Do you have many drive-by shootings around here?”

“Never. This makes no sense at all.”

And she could tell from his tone and expression that he liked things to make sense. She suspected he also liked being in control. He’d certainly taken over here quickly enough.

“I’ll let Mom know not to expect you tomorrow—if ever. I can see how a welcome like this might convince you to turn around and go back home.”

Nothing would make her willingly leave before the investigation was completed, but her supervisor was not going to like this development. If the shooting wasn’t a random act of violence, then someone had to know who she was and why she was here. In that case, she’d be jerked off the assignment before she even made it to Jack’s Bluff Ranch.

A siren sounded and a sheriff’s squad car pulled up. A couple of uniformed lawmen jumped out, and the bystanders who had gathered around her all started talking at once.

“A bullet hit the car and…”

“No one saw the shooter, but he was in a sedan…”

“Okay, let’s try to talk one at a time,” one of the lawmen said. “Did anyone get the license plate number?”

“The car was a black, late-model Ford Fusion, but there was no license plate,” Matt said.

“Did you see the whole thing?”

“No, I was inside the café when the shots were fired, but I raced to the window in time to get a good look at the back of the vehicle before it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.”

The lawman put up his hand to signal for quiet. “Did anyone get a look at the shooter?”

“I came running out of Flora’s Antique shop when I heard the shots,” an overly plump woman with heaving bosoms offered. “All I got was a glimpse of the back of the car.”

The others shared similar accounts.

The lawman doing all the talking turned to Shelly. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“No. The second I saw the gun, I ducked out of the way.” Which meant there were no eyewitnesses, just as the brazen shooter had no doubt intended.

“Could be some kind of gang-related initiation,” one of the young cowboys who’d been sitting with Matt in the café said. “Same thing happened in New Orleans when I was there a few months back helping rebuild a church lost to Katrina.”

“Well, hells bells, Charlie. This ain’t New Orleans.”

The ambulance arrived, and two paramedics jumped out and ran toward her. One started tending the wound that was now only oozing blood. The other commenced with a series of routine questions about the injury and about any allergies she had.

“Let’s just hold on here a minute,” the lawman-in-charge interrupted. “I need the victim to answer a couple of questions before you go rushing her to the hospital, seeing as how she’s not in dire need of emergency medical care.”

He introduced himself as Sheriff Ed Guerra, and she told him her name.

“So, Miss Lane, do you know why anyone would be taking pot shots at you?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t know anyone in Colts Run Cross except the people I’ve met over the last four days. They were all very friendly.”

“So you just moved here?”

“I’ve been staying at the motel on the highway, but I came here to work for the Collingsworths. I’m a physical therapist.”

The sheriff and Matt exchanged glances.

“She’s supposed to work with Jeremiah,” Matt said.

The sheriff nodded and nudged his cowboy hat back a bit farther. “Where are you from?”

“Atlanta.”

“That’s a long commute.”

“I needed a change of scenery and I’ve always wanted to visit Texas.”

“How did you hear about a job at Jack’s Bluff Ranch?”

“I found the Houston Chronicle classifieds online and saw the Collingsworths’ ad.”

He nodded and scratched his clean-shaven chin. “Guess that makes sense. The rest of my questions can wait until you get that arm cleaned and stitched.” He nodded to the medics. “She’s all yours.”

She let them load her into the ambulance. Her arm still hurt, but her biggest problem right now was finding out who had shot at her and why—before her supervisor determined she wasn’t the person for this assignment.

If he found out that she’d let Matt Collingsworth get to her for even a second, he’d pull her anyway. But he needn’t worry. She was focused now and would make sure that Matt’s masculine sexuality and piercing eyes did not affect her again.

Her mission was to infiltrate the family and ferret out the full truth, an accomplishment that would likely destroy the Collingsworth empire and send at least some of the family members to prison for the rest of their lives.

She’d do the legwork. A judge and jury would decide the rest.

“THE PATIENT’S AWAKE NOW, Lenora. You can go in, but don’t expect her to be too talkative. That pain medication is making her drowsy.”

“I just want to say hello and make sure she doesn’t need anything.” Lenora knocked and then entered the hospital room where her would-be new employee lay beneath a pale blue blanket with an IV attached to her right arm. Her eyes were watchful as Lenora stepped to the side of the bed.

“I’m Lenora Collingsworth.”

Shelly smiled and tried to push up on her elbows, giving up on the idea quickly and dropping back to the pillow. “It’s nice to finally meet you, though this isn’t exactly how I’d pictured the moment.”

She had a nice smile and a sense of humor. She was attractive, too, with short brown hair specked with gold, and half bangs that set off her beautiful gold-green eyes.

Lenora placed her hand on the bed rail. “I can’t believe this happened after I assured you that you were coming to a safe area. But in all honesty, I don’t remember a single case of a random, drive-by shooting in Colts Run Cross. In parts of Houston, yes. But never in our community.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Shelly said. “In hindsight, I should have come straight to the ranch, but it’s my first visit to Texas and I wanted to do a bit of sightseeing before I began work.”

“Well, at least you got to do that. I don’t want to tire you, but I wanted to let you know how sorry I am and to make certain you have everything you need.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t plan to be in this bed long. The doctor stitched me back together and is giving me antibiotics and some pain medication. He says I’ll be good as new soon. I’ll likely leave the hospital tomorrow.”

“Where will you go?”

“Back to the motel, I guess. I can’t expect you to provide room and board until this arm heals and I can start work.”

“Nonsense,” Lenora said, relieved that Shelly wasn’t planning to renege on their agreement. “You can have all the time you need to heal at the ranch. It will give you a chance to get to know Jeremiah before you start treating him. As I told you on the phone, he’s a bit cantankerous since the stroke. Well, more than a bit at times, but he can be loveable when he wants to be.”

“That would be great—if you’re sure I won’t be imposing.”

“Not at all. I’ll check with the hospital in the morning,” Lenora said. “If the doctor releases you, I’ll either pick you up myself or have someone else in the family do it, depending on their schedules. Whoever drives you to the ranch can stop off at the motel for your luggage. In the meantime, I’ll have the housekeeper get your room ready.”

“I have my own car, still parked on the street in front of the café.”

“Matt had it towed to Hank Tanner’s body shop once the sheriff and his men had finished examining it. Hank will keep it there until you have a chance to look at it and decide what you want done. No strings attached.”

“So the vehicle was examined?”

“Yes, of course, dear. Ed Guerra and his department are very efficient. And don’t worry about the cost of the bodywork on your vehicle. I’ll cover whatever your insurance doesn’t. It’s the least I can do.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I insist.”

“Thanks. That’s a very generous offer, but I’m sure the insurance will handle it. I guess all I have to do now is give my arm a little time to heal. I can’t wait to actually get started.”

“Just hold on to that attitude once you meet Jeremiah.”

“I promise.”

Lenora had a feeling that this was going to work out perfectly in spite of the troublesome start. The shooting still worried her, but she’d checked Shelly’s references thoroughly. There was no reason to think this was any more than a random shooting perpetrated by some hoodlum who’d been high on drugs. It was the sheriff’s job to take care of that.

The positive news was that a smart, attractive woman who was unfazed by gunfire could surely handle Jeremiah. She might even be able to stir a little romantic excitement in Matt. If any man needed a woman, it was him—not that he’d ever admit it.

Lenora found herself humming as she left the hospital. This just might turn into a very memorable summer. In fact, she was counting on it.

“SHOT AT FROM A PASSING CAR right on Main Street?” Incredulity colored Jaime’s tone and lit up her eyes. “And just when I was thinking of moving into Houston to add a little excitement to my ho-hum life.”

“It’s not funny,” Lenora said. “She could have been killed.”

“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean it that way. But you have to admit it’s unusual. There has to be more to the story than that.”

“Things like this happen in big cities all the time,” Lenora said. “It was inevitable it would make its way out here eventually. There’s no reason to believe Shelly did anything to provoke the attempt on her life.”

Matt had known the topic of the shooting would come up sooner or later. In fact, he was surprised they’d made it all the way through dinner before Lenora had approached the subject.

They’d gathered on the huge screened back porch, and since it was Friday, several extended family members were still sitting around catching up on the week’s happenings.

The shooting had been front and center on Matt’s mind all afternoon, and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that the best news for them would be if Shelly Lane decided to pack her bags and move right back to Atlanta. She might be totally innocent in all of this, but the odds were that she wasn’t.

“Tell me more about this woman,” Langston said, after Lenora had given them the few details they knew about the gunfire incident. Langston was the oldest, the head honcho of Collingsworth Oil. He had a cabin at the ranch, but lived in Houston during the week with his pregnant wife Trish and teenage daughter Gina.

“Shelly seems really nice,” Lenora said. “And mature for her age. A lot of young women would have panicked and been ready to clear out of town as fast as they could. She only wants to heal and start working with Jeremiah.”

“How old is she?” Trish asked.

“Twenty-nine,” Lenora said. “But she’s experienced and a very competent physical therapist. I checked her credentials thoroughly before hiring her.”

“Twenty-nine. Very interesting. And single, I’m guessing, since she’s moving in with us.” Jaime added. “And Matt’s thirty-three. How convenient, not that Mom would ever play matchmaker.” That brought a few laughs.

Matt groaned. His mother had managed to manipulate him into situations with half the single women in Colts Run Cross over the last few months. He hadn’t taken the bait then and he wouldn’t be biting this time, either, certainly not with a city girl out here for a change of scenery.

“This isn’t about Matt,” Lenora said. “It’s about Jeremiah.”

His grandfather picked that moment to join them on the porch. He propped his cane against the old wicker couch and dropped to the cushioned seat. “What about me?”

“I’ve hired a physical therapist,” Lenora said. “She’s from Georgia, but she’s going to live with us and help you regain your balance and strength.”

He sputtered and muttered a few curses under his breath. “If I wanted to be manhandled by a woman, I’d have remarried.”

Trish walked over and sat down by Jeremiah. She had a way with the old codger, but then she pretty much had a way with everyone.

“Having a live-in therapist seems the perfect solution to me,” Trish said. “You never want to go to your appointments. This way you won’t have to.”

“I don’t go to therapy because the sessions don’t do a dadgummed bit of good. If they did, I wouldn’t be hobbling around here like some useless old man, now would I?”

“You limp,” Trish admitted. “But you could never be useless.”

I’ve hired Shelly Lane,” Lenora said. “If you want to get rid of that cane, you’ll cooperate with her. If you’re too hardheaded to work with her, then it will be your loss. She’s moving in tomorrow.” Lenora dusted her hands as if that were the end of the matter, but that didn’t mean it was.

“Tomorrow?” Jaime questioned. “I thought this new physical therapist was in the hospital.”

Lenora kicked off her black sandals and pulled a foot into the chair with her, settling it under her full black skirt. “If not tomorrow, then the next day. She’s coming here to recuperate.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Langston questioned.

“Why wouldn’t it be? She doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” Lenora said. “Besides, it will give her a chance to get to know Jeremiah before she starts working with him.”

“Yeah, like that’s an advantage,” Jaime mocked.

Matt’s muscles tightened. “I know you mean well, Mom, but you can’t just move her onto the ranch until we have more facts about today’s attack.”

“What’s to know?” Lenora asked. “She was just crossing the street and someone started firing at her. You were the one who told me what happened, Matt. That’s why I went to the hospital to check on her.”

“That’s the way it looked,” Matt said, “and the way Shelly told it, but at this point there’s no way to know she’s leveling with us. The shooter could be someone she knows.”

Jeremiah swung his cane in the air, banging it into the leg of a table and sending a half-empty glass of iced tea into a wobbling dance that fortunately ended without the glass hitting the floor. “Don’t know what this world’s coming to, but if some sick bastard’s trying to kill her, you ought to already have her out here. Can’t expect a woman to take care of herself.”

“Right,” Jaime said, mocking him. “What would we ever do without a man to take care of us?”

“Let’s get back to Shelly Lane,” Langston said. “She’s probably as innocent in all this as she claims, but to be on the safe side, I’d like to have Clay Markham investigate her before we move her onto Jack’s Bluff. He’s as competent a private detective as you’ll find anywhere in Texas, and Collingsworth Oil has him on retainer.”

“And I say we get Aidan Jefferies to run a police background check on her as well,” Matt said. “If they both clear her, then Mom can move her in with no worries.” Aidan was one of Langston’s closest friends and a Houston homicide detective.

“How long are we talking about for these investigations?” Lenora asked.

“A few days at most,” Langston assured her. “Actually, they’ll probably know by tomorrow night if she’s had any other attempts on her life or reported any type of threats. They’ll definitely know if she has a police record of any kind.”

“I guess I can live with that,” Lenora said, “though I hate to tell her that I’m going back on my offer to move her out here tomorrow. And I don’t like the idea of her going back to that motel all alone.”

“Have the doctor keep her in the hospital,” Matt said. “I don’t know why he’d object to that, as long as we pick up the tab.”

“I suppose that’s an option,” Lenora said. “And tomorrow’s probably not the best day to have her out here, anyway, what with children from the Turnaround Program coming out for the day.”

Matt groaned. “That’s tomorrow?”

“Yes, and you promised to help with the horse riding,” Lenora said, smoothing her short graying hair. “I’ll give Shelly’s doctor a call, but I guess I should go back into town tonight and break the news to Shelly in person.”

“I’ll do it,” Matt said, suddenly uneasy with his mother becoming too involved with Shelly before they had an official report.

“Okay, but don’t tell her the delay is because we’re having her investigated. Just say I’m getting her room ready so that everything will be perfect when she arrives.”

Matt shrugged. “Sorry, Mom, I’m not into sugarcoating.”

“Just be nice,” Lenora said. “Miss Lane’s welcome to Texas has already been traumatic enough.”

“I’m always nice.”

“Compared to what?” Jaime asked. “A striking rattlesnake?”

“Just because I’m not a pushover for a smile and a pretty face doesn’t mean I’m unsociable.”

“Pretty, huh?” Jaime smiled tauntingly. “This story just keeps getting better. But I’ll have to hear the rest tomorrow. I’ve got a date with Tommy Stevens tonight, and he should be here to pick me up any minute.”

“When did you start dating him?” Trish asked. “I thought you were back with Garth.”

“Not anymore. All he thinks about is running off to some new rodeo competition. Like at twenty-five, don’t you think he’d have better things to do than try to stay on a stupid bull?”

Matt would have thought the guy had better things to do than date Jaime. She was as fickle as a mare at breeding time. But all she had to do was crook her finger and Garth—and half the male population of south Texas—came running. He hoped someone would shoot him if he ever got that crazy about any woman.

His cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID: sheriff’s office. He walked to the kitchen to take the call. Ten to one this had to do with Shelly Lane, and the odds were even better that it was not good news.

Chapter Three

“What’s up, Ed?” Matt asked as soon as the sheriff identified himself.

“I just talked to Emile Henley up at the Shell Station on the highway west of town. He said a stranger in a black Ford Fusion stopped for gas at his place about an hour before today’s shooting.”

“That’s interesting. Did he think the man might have been drunk or high on something?”

“Nope, just buck-snorting arrogant according to Emile. He said he tried to make small talk when the guy came inside for cigarettes, but the man just made some comment about Colts Run Cross being a hick town and stomped away.”

“Did he notice if the car had a license plate on it at the time?”

“Said he didn’t notice.”

“But he likely would have if the plate had been missing. The culprit probably removed it just before opening fire on Shelly Lane.”

“That’s what I’m thinking as well. I’d be careful if I was you about moving her onto the ranch. She seems nice enough, but truth is she might be mixed up in most anything.”

“I’m in solid agreement. If it were up to me, I’d write out a check for her time and expenses and say adios, but Mom is championing her case—as if she were the only qualified PT north of the border.”

“I hear you, and your mother can be a stubborn woman at times. Can you call Miss Lane to the phone?”

“I’d have to yell awful loud. I’m out at the ranch.”

“Isn’t she there with you?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“I stopped by the hospital a few minutes ago to question her and the nurse said she checked herself out and told them she would be spending the night at Jack’s Bluff Ranch. I figured Lenora had picked her up.”

“No, Mom’s been here all evening. So have I. Shelly Lane is definitely not here.”

“This case is getting weirder by the minute.”

“Is there something more about her past?”

“Not a lot. I ran her through the system. Everything checks out. No warrants out for her arrest. No rap sheet. Not even an outstanding parking ticket.”

“So you’re thinking this might have actually been a case of random violence?”

“Could be. There’s been a rash of them in southeast Houston of late. We’re less than an hour and a half out of the city so it’s reasonable that some of the hoods down there might have connections up here. But then there was the gun.”

“Are you saying you found the weapon?”

“Not the perp’s, but when we were checking Miss Lane’s vehicle for ballistic evidence, I found a loaded Smith & Wesson .45 in her busted-up glove compartment. It might mean nothing. Lots of women traveling alone carry high-powered pistols these days.”

“But it could mean she was afraid of someone,” Matt said, “someone who followed her to Texas.”

“Exactly.”

As far as Matt was concerned, this was beginning to look more and more like the pretty little PT had better reasons than a need for change of scenery for taking a job so far from home. And now she’d lied about where she’d be tonight.

But no matter what she’d told the nurse at the hospital, it was a sure thing she wouldn’t be spending tonight, or any other night, at Jake’s Bluff Ranch until he got to the bottom of this.

FORTUNATELY FOR SHELLY, Hank Tanner’s Garage and Body Shop was on Birch, a quiet side street of mostly closed family-owned businesses less than a mile from the hospital. It should have been an easy twilight walk except that the temperature was still in the eighties and the humidity seemed higher still.

Perspiration wet her underarms and dripped into her eyes. Worse, her arm had stated to throb. Wiping her face with a tissue from her pocket, she crossed the street and turned the corner, thankful when she spotted the sign for the garage in the next block. Her spirits lifted more when she saw her car parked at the side of the old clapboard building.

Hopefully her weapon was still in place. The sheriff would have surely checked the damaged vehicle for ballistics evidence, but he’d have had no reason to check her locked glove compartment. But then he probably had the keys. She didn’t remember giving them to anyone, but either she had or she’d dropped them when she got shot.

Stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, she cut across the corner of the parking lot, walked around the rear of an old pickup truck and got her first good look at the extent of the damage to her vehicle.

The whole side of the car was riddled with bullet holes. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the weapon, but judging from the size and number of holes, it must have been a large automatic. Her nerves grew edgy as it hit her how close she’d come to getting killed.

Attacked in broad daylight on the main street of Colts Run Cross. She could see why that might rouse both the sheriff’s and Matt Collingsworth’s suspicions, but what else could it be except random violence?

The only people with reason not to want her here were the Collingsworths, and it was almost inconceivable that they could have learned her identity this quickly. And even if they had, a careless, open attack like this wasn’t their style.

She let her fingers slide over the damage, then walked to the passenger-side door, opened it and climbed inside. The vehicle wasn’t locked, but even if it had been, entry would have been easy enough with two windows shot out.

Her spirits plunged at the first glimpse inside the glove compartment. The contents—including her weapon—were missing.

There was the possibility that Hank Tanner had her belongings inside for safekeeping, but more likely the sheriff had confiscated them. No problem there. The car and gun registrations would check out.

Still, it was amazing how vulnerable she felt without her weapon, despite the fact that she hadn’t carried it on her body since arriving in Colts Run Cross. It didn’t fit the PT persona and chancing someone noticing that she was carrying a weapon would constitute an unnecessary risk when there was no reason to think she was in any kind of danger.

Her cell phone vibrated—not her regular phone but the CIA one, disguised as a compact. It was her signal to call in at her earliest convenience unless she was free to take the call. She wished she could ignore it, because it was likely her supervisor and she wasn’t sure she was ready to handle Brady Owens just yet. She took a deep breath and leaned against the car.

“Shelly Lane,” she said, identifying herself.

“I got the word you’ve been shot,” Brady said, without bothering with a greeting. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, or I will be in a few days. It was only a flesh wound. Left arm. Random violence. Nothing to worry about—really.”

“Any complication is reason for worry. Where are you?”

“At Hank Tanner’s Garage, standing by my vehicle.”

“Who’s with you?”

“I’m alone. I wouldn’t have answered otherwise.”

“I’m just checking.”

To see if the accident had somehow addled her brain and made her a risk. The Collingsworth case was Brady’s baby and he’d made it clear that he wasn’t comfortable with her lack of experience. She was certain he’d be even less thrilled with her now.

“I’m totally aware of the seriousness of this case, sir, but things are under control. What I meant is there’s no reason the assignment shouldn’t still be a go.”

“That will be my decision. I haven’t made it yet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have there been any new developments since you called in the report?”

“Nothing except that I’ve left the hospital.”

“Were you released?”

“No, sir, but the wound is too insignificant to require hospitalization. I’ll go back in tomorrow to have it checked.”

“See that you do that. Is there anything else I should know?”

“My weapon was locked in the glove compartment of my car at the time of the shooting incident. It’s missing. I assume either the mechanic took it for safekeeping or the sheriff has it. Either way, I’m sure I’ll get it back.”

“Just be sure to explain it away convincingly. Do you think there is any chance the Collingsworths were behind the attack?”

“I’m all but certain they weren’t. Matt Collingsworth was inside the restaurant when it occurred and was the first to come to my rescue.”

“So I heard. That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have ordered a hit. With his money, hired guns are easy to come by.”

“But we have no evidence that any of the Collingsworths have ever used a paid assassin,” Shelly countered. “And Lenora Collingsworth visited me at the hospital. She seemed extremely apologetic about the shooting incident and has asked me to move to the ranch tomorrow. That would be the last thing she’d do if she knew I was with the CIA.”

“It would seem that way, unless you’re walking into a trap.”

“They’re not going to shoot me in cold blood,” Shelly said. “They use money and influence—not guns—to get what they want.” Shelly knew that Brady would have a difficult time denying that.

Besides, she was his best chance—maybe his only chance—to get an agent inside the family circle, and they needed that edge to push things off dead center.

They’d had a mole inside Collingsworth Oil for months. Ben Hartmann was an experienced agent and talented computer hacker, but as yet he hadn’t acquired the proof to seal the case. No proof that the Collingsworths were GAS, Ben’s term for suspects once they had indisputable evidence that they were guilty as sin.

“We’ve spent weeks setting this up,” she argued. “Unless there’s a serious leak in our department, no one could possibly have found out why I’m really here. It would be a major setback if we called this off just because some two-bit hood with a point to prove to his fellow gang members shot up my car.”

“The random violence angle is a huge assumption, Shelly. You know what I think about assumptions.”

“Yes, sir.” But he also knew there was always a gamble in this type of operation.

“I’d like to hear your firsthand, no-spin account of today’s shooting incident.”

She filled him in on the details, leaving nothing out—except for her ridiculous and very momentary attraction to Matt Collingsworth. He listened without questions until she’d finished.

Then the silence on the line seemed thick with apprehension. She knew he was rethinking everything, especially her inexperience. She didn’t breathe easy until she heard the muffled clicking of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a clear signal that he was giving in. All the agents recognized the telltale habit.

“Proceed as planned, while I have this checked into, Shelly. But watch your back and stay on high alert. Never underestimate a Collingsworth.”

“That’s a given.”

Once the connection was broken, she stepped outside the car and looked around. It was almost completely dark now and a sliver of moon hung just over the top of a cluster of sweet gum trees on the opposite side of the street.

There were a couple of other businesses on the block—a machine shop and a tree-trimming business. Both were closed with no sign of life around the buildings, except a black cat, crouched near a trash bin, cautiously watching Shelly.

A welcome gust of wind caught an empty bag and blew it across the parking lot depositing it under Shelly’s banged-up vehicle. Thankfully it was not actually her car, but one the agency had purchased specifically for this assignment.

A pickup truck turned the corner onto Birch, the beam from its headlights fanning her for an instant before returning to the street. The driver slowed, and in spite of her mental reassurances of safety, her nerves skittered nervously.

It’s a small town, she told herself as the driver pulled into the parking lot a few feet away. He was probably just curious why a woman would be out here all alone. Still, she’d feel a lot safer with her weapon in hand. Today’s close call had been an excellent reminder that she wasn’t invincible.

The car stopped, and she got her first good luck at the driver. Her muscles clenched. This wasn’t a curious passerby.

He was here to find her.

Chapter Four

Matt slid from behind the wheel and stood by the side of his truck, his gaze fixed on Shelly. Her face and eyes were shadowed, her features blurred in the early-evening darkness. She looked pale, but her shoulders were squared and her mouth was set in hard lines as if she was determined not to let the situation get the better of her.

An unexpected protective urge surged inside him as his focus moved to her bandaged arm and then to the bullet-battered car.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she quipped, but her attempt at humor lost its effect to the eerie screech of an owl hidden in the branches of a nearby tree.

Matt looked around, expecting to see Hank standing nearby. He didn’t. The place was completely deserted except for Shelly.

“What are you doing here after hours?” he asked.

Shelly brushed her bangs to one side and propped her right hand on her hip almost defiantly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was looking for you,” he admitted. “I tried your motel. When you weren’t there, I drove here to see if Hank had heard from you.”

“How did you know I’d left the hospital?”

“The sheriff called me. Apparently you told the nursing staff you were going to Jack’s Bluff tonight.”

She shrugged and looked backed to the car as he stepped closer. “I didn’t exactly tell them that. They just surmised it and I didn’t set them straight. It seemed the easiest way to walk out of the hospital without causing a major ruckus.”

“Why not just wait until the doctor released you?”

“I hate hospitals and I didn’t see any point in running up a big hospital bill when I didn’t need to be there in the first place.”

Matt scanned the quiet parking lot. “How did you get here?”

“I walked. It’s not that far.” She slapped at a mosquito that was buzzing around her ear. “I’m fine, Matt. And I don’t hold your family responsible for any of this, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried at all.” Unfortunately, that wasn’t exactly true. Pretty much everything about Shelly Lane worried him—and puzzled him—especially the fact that she was standing on a deserted street alone at night after being shot at just hours ago.

He didn’t trust this whole situation, wasn’t at all convinced that Shelly didn’t know who’d tried to kill her. Yet if she did, that would give her all the more reason not to put herself at risk like this.

He stepped between her and the car. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Shelly?”

“No. Why would you ask that? You were there when some crackpot roared in from nowhere and used my car for target practice.”

“The other possibility is that he’d come to town looking for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even know anyone around this part of the country.”

“Maybe someone followed you from Atlanta. Maybe a jealous boyfriend? A jilted lover?”

“The last boyfriend is engaged to be married to a fashion model. He forgot me at the first sight of my replacement—who I introduced him to, no less.”

Matt doubted that any man had found Shelly that easy to forget, but he wasn’t going there now. He pressed a hand on the top of the car and leaned into it. “Do you always carry a loaded gun in your glove compartment?”

She turned to look at his truck and the shotgun riding the rack behind his seat. “Obviously there’s no local law against carrying weapons in a vehicle.”

“Touché.”

“Actually, one of my friends insisted I buy it before leaving Atlanta. She kept stressing how it wasn’t safe for a woman to drive so far by herself, said I might have car trouble and get stranded in a dangerous area. Who knew the danger would be in Colts Run Cross?”

Which is what made this so difficult to buy into. He watched as the breeze teased her bangs, blowing wispy strands of hair about her forehead.

“I’m shaken, Matt. I won’t deny it. My first instinct was to go running back to Atlanta. But running from random violence is like trying to get out of the path of a tornado. It can strike anywhere.”

“But both are more likely in some places than others.” The owl screeched again and mosquitoes were starting to treat the back of his neck like a buffet. Whatever was going on with Shelly Lane, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get to the bottom of it tonight.

Matt rocked back on the heels of his boots. “No point in hanging around out here,” he said. “I can give you a ride back to your motel.”

“Thanks.”

And on the way he’d tell her that her plan to move to the ranch tomorrow had been put on hold.

They walked back to his truck in silence and he opened the door for her. He circled the vehicle, climbed behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition and gunned the engine. The beams of his headlights illuminated the damaged side of Shelly’s car as he backed from the lot.

His hands tightened on the wheel as the reality of the situation settled into a grim knot in his stomach. If the attack on her was personal, the guy wouldn’t just give up because the first try didn’t work. The shooter might even be a hired hit man biding his time until he could get to her again. Maybe waiting for dark, when she was alone in a motel at the edge of town.

A spray of gravel shot from the back wheels of his pickup truck as he sped away from Hank’s. He couldn’t take her to the ranch when no one knew for certain she was on the up and up. But he couldn’t just dump her to fend for herself if she was in real danger.

So where did that leave him?

SHELLY SAT UP STRAIGHTER, staring at the neon sign identifying the rambling wooden roadhouse whose parking lot they’d just pulled into as Cutter’s Bar and Grill.

“Why are you stopping here?”

“I could use a cup of coffee,” Matt said.

“I don’t drink coffee this late,” she said.

“Then how about a beer?”

“I can’t drink alcohol. I’m still feeling the effects of the pain medication they gave me at the hospital. Besides I’m not dressed for going out.”

That wasn’t exactly a valid argument since she had on the same jeans she’d had on at lunch today. Topping them was the crimson cami she’d had on under the bloodied blouse that Matt had cut the sleeves out of. There was a blood stain on it, but it so closely matched the color of the shirt, it looked more like fabric shading. Her attire would likely be the same as half the women in the bar.

“You look fine,” Matt said, “and I could really use the coffee.”

She hesitated, then pulled down the visor and checked her reflection in the small lighted mirror. “I at least have to put on some lipstick,” she said, already reaching in her handbag for a tube. She’d have never gone out in D.C. looking like this, but she wasn’t in the nation’s capital and this wasn’t a date. It was her job. This might be the perfect opportunity to start winning Matt’s confidence.

Matt took her arm as they crossed the parking lot and walked through the open doorway. Shelly took in the sights and the atmosphere.

Cute cowboys in Western shirts, jeans and boots perched on worn wooden barstools and drank beer from bottles and whiskey and Tequila from shot glasses. Couples filled the dance floor, two-stepping to a slow country ballad.

Matt exchanged waves and greetings with some of the patrons as he led Shelly to the left side of the main room, away from the bar and dance floor. Couples and small groups were enjoying late dinners. Odors of fried onions and peppery spices hung heavy in the air; there was a refreshing absence of stale cigarette smoke and Shelly assumed Cutter’s Bar had followed suit with many other Texas restaurants and bars and allowed smoking only outside the building.

Most of the patrons were in their early to mid twenties, but there were some older customers as well, including a group of six women who looked to be their late fifties.

They seemed to be having the most fun of all, laughing and talking loudly. One of the older women caught Matt’s eye and waved him over. The other women at the table seemed equally as delighted to see him as Shelly and Matt maneuvered through the maze of tables and mismatched chairs.

Shelly knew from her research that all the Collingsworths were not only well-liked but respected throughout this part of Texas. Watching Matt, it was easy to see why. He wore his wealth the way she might wear a pair of old jeans. Easy. Comfortably. Free of even the slightest pretension.

“This table looks like solid trouble,” Matt said, leaning over to kiss the cheek of the one who’d initially spotted him. “What are you gorgeous hens doing out without the roosters?”

“They’re all over in Austin at a cattle auction, so we decided to hit the town.”

“Look out, cowboys,” Matt said.

“Land sakes, we don’t want them,” one woman said.

“Right,” another agreed. “We just got rid of our own. We’re just here to eat someone else’s cooking.”

“And have company that doesn’t moo.”

They all laughed again and Matt introduced Shelly to the rancher’s wives. She felt an unexpected twinge of guilt that they accepted her so readily when she was here under false pretenses. But how could these women, or anyone else in this town possibly know the traitorous paths that the Collingsworths had followed?

Make that had allegedly followed, but the evidence against them was overwhelming—just not indisputable as yet.

Matt spoke and waved to several more people before they finally stopped at a table near the back, where it was only slightly quieter. He held her chair for her, then took the seat opposite hers. She was keenly aware that in a bar full of sexy cowboys, he still stood out.

It wasn’t his looks that set him apart, though he certainly held his own in that department. It was his self-confidence, Shelly decided. He was a man who knew who he was and what he was about.

A waitress sashayed over, and true to his word, Matt ordered a black coffee.

“If you’re hungry, they have great burgers here,” he said. “Good chicken-fried steaks, too.”

Shelly had learned quickly that battered and fried steak—as big as the plate and covered in thick cream gravy—was a staple of every restaurant in this part of Texas. She’d tried it, and loved it. Then promptly gave it up before she gained too much weight to fit into the new jeans she’d purchased for this assignment.

“I can bring you a menu,” the waitress said. “Kitchen’s open until midnight.”

“Thanks, but I won’t need one. The burger sounds good.”

“With cheese, jalapenos, onion rings?”

“Just cheese. And a glass of iced tea, unsweetened.”

Shelly wasn’t hungry, though she’d barely touched her dinner at the hospital. But picking at food would be less awkward than having nothing to do but stare at Matt, while he bombarded her with questions that she’d be forced to answer with rehearsed lies.

She was certain that’s what this coffee date was about. He was obviously suspicious of the day’s events and determined to check her out. That convinced her even more that neither he nor his family had any idea who she really was. All she had to do was play this cool and she’d soon be living inside the gates of Jack’s Bluff Ranch.

“Don’t you drink beer?” she asked when the waitress walked away.

“Occasionally. Mostly I’m a whiskey man, but I had a drink after dinner and I figure that’s enough. I have an early day tomorrow”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Cows don’t know that. Besides, I’m helping out with one of Mom’s do-gooder events tomorrow.”

“What does that entail?”

“This is her Turnaround Project where she brings a group of inner-city preteens out to get a feel for ranch life. They’re kids who’ve been in trouble in school and sometimes with the law. Behaviorally something or other.”

“Behaviorally challenged?”

“That’s it. Or as Jeremiah says, undisciplined brats. They usually come in with huge chips on their shoulders, but by the time they leave, most are strutting around and grinning like rodeo champs.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“For the most part.” The waitress returned with Matt’s coffee and Shelly’s tea. “Tell me about you,” he said, once the waitress walked away.

“What do you want to know?”

“Guess we should start with the basics.”

“Name, rank and serial number?”

“I was thinking more along the line of why a woman from the big city is looking to work in Colts Run Cross?”

“A thirst for adventure, though today’s excitement wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Were you giving private, live-in care in Atlanta?”

“No, I worked for a rehab center.” She told him something about the setting and the work, all verifiable if he checked.

“I take it you’re not married,” Matt said.

“No. I came close once. It didn’t work out. What about you?” she asked, though she knew he was single.

“Never came close.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Why?”

He stared at her with his steely gray, almost brooding eyes, and a tingle that felt far too much like anticipation zinged along her nerve endings. This was completely unlike her—and too dangerous and unprofessional for words.

She forced herself to picture Matt with huge warts on his nose and thick bushy eyebrows that jutted out like porcupine quills.

“It’s just that most men have either been married or had a close call or two by the time they reach your age,” she said, going for an easy nonchalance.

He smiled, and the warts vanished. “I have a few more years before Medicare kicks in.”

She blushed in spite of herself. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“It’s okay. The truth is, I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Tell me about Jeremiah,” Shelly said, hoping to get the conversation on safer ground. “Your mother indicated he can be a bit difficult at times.”

“She said that, did she? Let’s just say that dealing with my grandfather on a daily basis will make this afternoon’s trouble seem like a bad dream.”

She grimaced. “That bad, huh?”

Matt worried the handle of his mug. “Before the stroke, my grandfather was the CEO of Collingsworth Enterprises and went into his Houston office five days a week. The only concession he’d made to aging was that he’d hired a driver a few years back to fight the traffic for him while he read the morning paper and made phone calls.

“Now he refuses to set foot in the building. He claims he’s not interested, but we all know that he just doesn’t want to go back there and have his former employees see him hobbling around and relying on the cane.”

Jeremiah’s stroke had caused a few problems for the CIA, as well. As CEO and with a reputation for being a hard-edge and aggressive businessman, he’d been the focus of their initial investigation. They’d suspected that he might be totally responsible for the terrorist funding in exchange for favorable business deals and that the rest of the family might not even be aware of his illegal dealings.

But when he’d suffered the stroke and disappeared from the picture, the illegal and traitorous activities had actually surged, making it obvious that at least one other member of the family was in on the illegal scheme, perhaps even Lenora Collingsworth who’d replaced Jeremiah as CEO.

“So lots of luck with the old codger,” Matt said.

“Thanks. I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

The waitress returned and placed the burger in front of Shelly. The mammoth toasted bun spilled over with leafy green lettuce and thick slices of the bright red, home-grown tomatoes Shelly had gotten used to since arriving in Colts Run Cross.

Not surprisingly, her appetite sprang to life. Halfway through the burger, she let her gaze scan the row of men and women seated at the bar. A tall, lanky man on the end was staring back at her.

He was in his late twenties, she’d guess, with light brown hair that crawled into his shirt collar. No visible tattoos, but his nose had a slight crook to it as if it had been broken and not reset properly. Still, he was cute enough in a rugged sort of way.

When their gazes locked, he tipped his beer in her direction as if they might have met before. He was probably just one of the locals she’d crossed paths with over the past few days. Still, a wary tremble of foreboding slithered up her spine. She couldn’t afford to have someone from her distant past show up and recognize her as shy little Ann Clark from Biloxi, Mississippi.

But he’d seemingly forgotten her now and was flirting with a young woman who’d just sidled in beside him at the bar. Shelly pushed the rest of the burger away. “Do you mind if we go now, Matt? My arm is starting to throb a bit.”

“No problem.” He motioned to the waitress for their check.

“Do you know what time Lenora is picking me up tomorrow?” Shelly asked. “I’d like to be packed and ready to go when she arrives.”

Matt propped his elbows on the table and leaned in closer. “I’m afraid there’s been a slight change in plans.”

Her guard went up. “What kind of change?”

“I’m going to give this to you straight, Shelly. My brothers and I aren’t totally convinced you’ve been on the up and up with us.”

Acid trickled and burned along the lining of her stomach. If she handled this wrong, the whole assignment could go up in smoke. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Just that the kind of random violence we saw today has been previously unheard of in Colts Run Cross.”

“So you think that he had to be targeting me?”

“That makes more sense.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Matt, but I don’t have those kind of enemies. And if I did know who’d shot at me, why on earth would I lie about it?”

“You tell me.”

She feigned an indignant expression and straightened her back and shoulders. “What difference does it make what I say if you think I’m a liar?”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Having you checked out by a private investigator is just a reasonable precaution. It’s not personal.”

“Really? It sounds extremely personal to me.” But it was not a problem for her. You go for it, Matt Collingsworth. Check all you want. The CIA has me covered.

“In all likelihood, we’re only talking a couple of days here,” Matt said. “I’ll cover your expenses at the motel or, if you’d prefer, I can drive you into Houston and book you a room in a more luxurious hotel.”

Why not? Money was no object for the Collingsworths.

“The motel’s fine. I can wait around there until you decide if I pass muster,” she said, “as long as it doesn’t take too long.” She stood to go, grabbing her handbag from the back of her chair and slinging it over her shoulder.

“There is one more thing,” Matt said.

“Let me guess. You want me to stay handcuffed to the bed in the motel until you’re sure I’m not luring evil into your quaint little Texas town.”

He smiled again, a kind of taunting, half smile that tightened her chest. Not attraction, she told herself. She had that totally under control.

“Handcuffs sound interesting,” Matt said, “but I was thinking of something a little less dramatic.”

“Such as?”

“Until we know why someone tried to kill you today, I don’t think you should stay alone.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah. I’m staying with you.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. A man like Matt Collingsworth didn’t put himself out for a prospective employee whom he suspected might be a blatant liar. But then she wouldn’t have expected one of the richest men in Texas to be sitting across from her tonight in a Texas roadhouse, either.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“On the off chance that the guy who shot you today was looking to kill you specifically, you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“And you’re planning to serve as my bodyguard?”

“Why not? I’ve never gone up against a killer before, but I’ve handled some bulls that were looking to leave my kidneys scattered over the rodeo ring.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Actually, it is. Family tradition, the cowboy code and all that. A real man never walks away from a woman in danger, even one with a loaded Smith & Wesson in her possession.”

He’d walk away fast enough if he knew she was CIA—here to put him and his family away for life. But he didn’t know, and for now, it would apparently be only her and Matt in a slightly shady motel on the edge of town. Breathing the same stale air stirred by the whirring ceiling fan and overworked air conditioner. Perhaps close enough she’d hear the rustle of sheets when he shifted positions.

She should be thanking her lucky stars for this entrée into the inner sanctum of the world she’d come to infiltrate. But only one word came to mind and it seemed to be shouting inside her head and echoing through every cell of her body.

Help!

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