THREE HOURS LATER, Jo was in her room back at the ranch’s bunkhouse. She’d showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a black tank top, and was now busy stuffing her few belongings into her military duffel. She opened drawers and closed them, checked under the bed and the rest of the furniture to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything, and then thrust her Beretta in with the rest of her things.
She found a folded piece of paper under the dresser. Only it wasn’t paper, it was an old photograph her father had given her before she shipped off for training. She slowly rose to her feet and opened it, gazing at a shot of her with her parents, taken when she was about two years old. Her mother had been young and vibrant and healthy, smiling into the camera and holding on to Jo as if she’d never let her go.
Jo couldn’t remember the occasion, but she’d looked at the picture so many times that she imagined she did have memories of when the photo was taken. It had been a bright summer day and the three of them had gone for a picnic on a Gulf Coast beach. The temperatures had been warm, the water cool, and they’d been a family with no problems looming on the horizon…
She heard a sound outside and jumped, then quickly stuffed the picture into the duffel with the rest of her belongings.
After a brief knock, Trace opened the door.
“You’re damn lucky you didn’t get a ticket or break your neck driving that fast on the highway,” he told her.
She refused to look at him as she drew the strings tight and put her bag on the bed. “If you’d had been driving anything other than Vern’s rusty old can, you would have beat me back.”
He didn’t respond. She guessed he was taking in the room and the fact that she was packed.
“You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.
She finally stared at him. “You act surprised. Did you think I’d change my mind between Beaumont and here?”
“I was hoping.”
She sat down on the bed and pulled on her boots.
“What about…”
She cut a look in his direction. “What about what?”
His gaze dropped to her stomach.
She knew he was referring to the possibility that she could be pregnant after the night spent out on the range.
Jo got up and shouldered her duffel. “I got my period this morning.”
She began to pass him, and he grasped her arm for the second time that day.
She pursed her lips. “What is it with men wanting to exert their physical superiority over women?”
His own mouth was drawn into a tight line. “Are you telling me the truth?”
“What reason would I have to lie? Even if I was pregnant, there’s not a thing you can do to keep me here. And you know it.” She looked at his hand. “In fact, if you don’t release your hold right now, cowboy, you’ll find out just how capable I am in hand-to-hand combat.”
Despite her threat, Trace stood his ground, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind her words.
Jo returned his gaze, not about to give an inch.
No, she hadn’t gotten her period yet. But she would. And until then, there was no reason for him to think he might soon be a father.
He finally let her go.
“I’m going to get my last check from Miss Dorie and then I’m gone,” she said. Jo wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to share that information.
“It’s Sunday. Miss Dorie’s not in today.”
Damn. “Well, then, I’ll just have to call in my forwarding address whenever I have one.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Good,” she countered.
Yet neither of them made a move to part.
Trace took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll cut you the check, Jo. Just cool your heels here for a minute and I’ll bring it out.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“I’ve got to stop in at the house first. Grab a shower, get a change of clothes. Surely you can wait that long?”
Jo worried her bottom lip between her teeth. The sooner she was out of here, the better. She knew that.
Still, in her heart of hearts, she suspected that she was dragging her feet this time. Praying Trace might say something, do something, that would make her want to stay.
She dropped her duffel. “I can wait.”
He smiled.
And that alone was almost enough to make her want to unpack her things.
Almost.
DAMN IT ALL TO HELL and back.
Trace knew he was living on borrowed time. He didn’t know if Jo truly planned to stick around to get her check or if she’d roar by in her truck the moment he went into the ranch house.
He had planned to leave Vern’s truck in the parking lot behind the bunkhouse and walk back to the stables, but instead floored the gas pedal, in a race with time to figure out a way to get Jo to agree to stay.
He was going so fast, a dust cloud kicked up behind the truck. At the stables, he jammed on the brakes, causing the cloud to crowd around the cab, billowing inside the open windows. The quick stop had also apparently knocked something loose under the seat, and it hit the back of his heel. He coughed and reached down to pick up the plain brown bottle.
That was odd.
The bottle was unmarked and bore no label of any kind. So he unscrewed the top and warily took a whiff.
Christ. Chloroform.
He sat for a long moment staring at the container.
The only connection he could make between the ranch and chloroform was the soaked pillowcase that had been pulled over Jo’s head…
Trace quickly got out of the truck and looked under the bench seat. A few rags, fast-food wrappers, an empty beer can…He pulled the lever to release the seat back so he could search behind it, his heart beating a million miles a minute.
He didn’t know what he was looking for. The man responsible for the attack had already been charged, not only with assault against Jo, but for the rash of other rapes in the area over the past six months.
He rummaged through the foot-deep garbage behind the seat. It wasn’t possible, was it? It had to be a coincidence that Vern had the anesthetic in his truck.
He spotted an empty plastic sleeve. Snatching it up, he searched for something to tell him what it had held. He turned it over.
It was packaging for a pillowcase.
Jo…
“Always did say you two boys were a little too righteous for your own good.”
Trace jerked upright at the sound of the voice behind him. Before he could turn around and address the speaker, something hard hit him in the back of the head. His legs buckled underneath him. He grabbed on to the truck door to try to stay upright, but couldn’t stop himself from dropping to his knees.
A second blow rendered him unconscious.
JO PACED THE LENGTH of the room and back again before stopping at the open door to watch for Trace’s return.
She made a sound of frustration. “He’s playing me. I should just get out of here and call the ranch office later.”
Instead, she started pacing again, her gaze falling on the love seat. She paused behind it, curving her hands over the back. Was it really a few short days ago that she and Trace had sat right here, making out like a couple of teenagers while listening to music? It was hard to believe. Harder still to accept as true the notion that she’d lived her life so long without him in it.
And here she was two steps and a drive away from never seeing him again.
The music…
Realizing she had never taken out the CD that had been playing that night, she stepped to the TV stand and bent over to eject it now. Sure enough, the Eagles Greatest Hits popped out.
Carefully holding it around the edges, she walked to her duffel on the bed and felt inside for her CD case, shuffling everything else so that the heavy stuff fell to the bottom. Finally, she found what she was looking for and safely inserted the disc into its protective envelope.
“Going somewhere, Atchison?”
Jo started and looked toward the doorway. “God, Vern, scare the devil out of a body already.”
She pulled on the duffel drawstring and turned to face the older man, who stood with one boot on the step as he leaned against the jamb.
“You didn’t go out on the run today?” she asked.
He turned his head and spat toward the grass on the other side of the sidewalk, one of the few men at the ranch who still indulged in tobacco chew. “Eric decided not to send the guys out after last night’s party. Quite a few of them may have had one or two too many, if you know what I mean.”
Jo squinted at him. Never had Vern singled her out for a conversation. And he’d certainly never come to her room.
She absently rubbed her bare arms, not quite comfortable with the way he was looking at her.
He nodded toward the bed. “Going somewhere?”
“Um, yes. I thought it was time for me to hit the road. I don’t generally spend much time in any one place. A rule of mine.”
“Were you planning on giving notice? Or was I just supposed to note that you weren’t present tomorrow morning?”
“I gave Trace my notice. He’s supposed to be cutting my final check as we speak.”
Vern’s smile somehow wasn’t the least bit friendly or cordial. “Is he now?”
“Yes. He should be back any minute.”
Vern stepped inside, and for reasons Jo couldn’t define other than gut instinct, she took a step back.
“Where you going, JoEllen Sue? You know there aren’t any exits that way.”
And he closed the door, still wearing that creepy smile…