Chapter Eight

Clare helped Jackson into the house and onto the couch. She set the rifle aside and ran to the kitchen. In seconds she returned with an ice pack and a towel.

As she wiped the dirt and blood from his face, she sighed. “What in the world am I going to do with you?”

He grinned beneath her ministrations. “Look at it this way, at least you finally got to shoot somebody.”

“That isn’t funny,” she said, and smacked his chest, and he winced. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, with a rough chuckle. “I’m just glad you’re a good shot.”

She nodded. “Grandpa taught me. I guess he knew it would make me feel better if I knew how to protect myself. Did you get a look at them?”

“No. Did you?”

“No. In seconds they’d disappeared into the woods beside the drive. I couldn’t even see where to shoot. I did hear a car start up though.”

He nodded. “No way to tell then, if they came from nearby or not.”

“Sit still while I go get the first aid kit. You could use a few bandages.”

“Later.” He rose to his feet with a groan. A few too many well placed blows to the ribs, but he didn’t think any were broken. Bruised for sure, but not broken. That axe handle would’ve probably done the job, though.

“Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

“I need to check on some things,” he said.

“Outside?” He nodded, and she cursed beneath her breath. “No, Jackson. You’re not going back out there.”

“I have to. There’s no telling what they were doing.”

“I’ll tell you, they were here to kill you, and they very nearly did.”

He took her hand from where it clutched at his coat. “You can watch my back with your gun. Maybe you’ll get to take another shot,” he said with a wink.

“Jackson—”

He lifted his hands rested them on her shoulders. “I’ll be fine,” he said, then pecked a kiss on the tip of her nose, then turned to the door.

“You’re not going out there alone.” She rushed to the closet and grabbed her coat. “I’m going with you.”

He gave a nod, knowing he couldn’t stop her if he tried.

She handed him her rifle and snatched up a shotgun for herself.

They took a slow and careful tour around the yard. He found his flashlight on the ground where they’d jumped him and flicked it on. When they reached the side of the barn around midnight, it started to snow, covering fresh tire tracks.

“Looks like a truck or maybe an SUV. We need to call the sheriff and let him know what happened,” Jackson said.

“Do you think they were planning on breaking in again?” she asked, and he heard the faint quiver in her voice.

He slipped his arm around her, and liked how she settled in against him as if they’d been together forever. “I don’t know. But they’re gone now, and they know you’re not alone. They also know you’re a crack shot,” he said, with a gentle squeeze.

“That’s not something I thought I’d ever have to do,” she said with a shiver.

“You did what you had to, and I for one, am grateful.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “I couldn’t let them kill you.”

“I don’t think that was their intention.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek, wiping away a lingering snowflake.

“I couldn’t take that chance,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

There was no stopping himself. He’d been working up to it with small kisses here and there, but they’d been almost brotherly. A press of lips to her forehead, her temple, and just a few moments ago, the tip of her nose. It was time to show her he wanted to be much more to her than a friend or neighbor.

“I don’t want to rush you into anything, but I’ve got to kiss you, so remember that I’m already wounded,” he teased, as he lowered his head.

His lips met hers with a soft, tentative touch. Anything more, and he feared he might frighten her, or drive her away. But she surprised him and leaned into his kiss with a sigh. With a slip of his tongue along the edges of her lips, she opened to him, and he found the sweetness he’d been craving.

But he had to hold back, not go too fast, and they still had to deal with the men who’d attacked him and whoever broke into the house.

As much as he hated to do it, he pulled back just a bit, leaving his lips against hers, and whispered, “It’s after midnight.”

She brushed her lips back and forth, over his mouth with a murmur. “And it’s snowing.”

He pulled her tighter against him, ignoring his bruised ribs as she tormented him. “Are you cold?”

“Mmm, not at all,” she said, continuing to tease his lips with her own.

But what had happened that day, the danger she could be in rushed to the forefront of his mind. “We should go inside and call the sheriff,” he said.

She sighed and broke the connection, but remained nestled in his arms. “You’re right. It stinks, but you’re right.”

He chuckled and walked her back to the house with his arm still wrapped around her. When this business was settled, they had some serious talking to do. After tasting her sweet lips, he knew without a doubt that they were meant for one another.

****

It was after one o’clock in the morning when the sheriff arrived, and the snow had covered the tracks they were able to find.

With a weary sigh, the sheriff shook his head at Clare’s offered cup of hot coffee. “I’ll check the hospitals for a gunshot wound, but I have a feeling nothing’s going to turn up.”

Jackson gave his best description, size, build, but that was about all.

“I still think it was Morgan,” Jackson said.

“We still need some proof,” the sheriff said with a shake of his head.

“Would a sick ranch hand be proof enough?” Clare asked.

Both men looked at her with a puzzled frown.

“Well, you said you didn’t think they’d show up at the hospital,” she said. “So if Morgan has a sick ranch hand, my bet would be he’s the one I shot.”

The sheriff nodded with a small grin. “I’ll make sure to check on that.”

After the sheriff left, they sat on the couch for several minutes in silence. There was no use going up to bed, Clare knew she’d not sleep a wink now.

She leaned forward and set her cup down on the coffee table. “I’m still trying to figure out why this ranch would be so important to Morgan that he’d go to such extremes.”

“Morgan is a narcissistic ass. He’d sell his own mother just so he could be the biggest rancher in the county.”

She sat back and pulled her legs beneath her as she gathered her grandmother’s quilt around her. “Yes, but doesn’t it all seem a bit extreme?”

He nodded, then laid his head against the couch, his arm stretched out across its back, his eyes closed. “Who knows what he thinks is extreme?”

She rested her cheek against the couch and watched him. He was bone-tired. He deserved his rest after all he’d done for her, all that he’d been through for her.

And she was falling in love with him, even though she knew she shouldn’t. Not so soon, or so quickly, but she couldn’t stop herself.

One of his eyes opened, and he smiled without lifting his head.

“Come here,” he said, wiggling his fingers where they almost touched her shoulder.

Without a second thought, she scooted across the couch, covered them both with the quilt, then placed her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his battered cheek against the top of her head and promptly fell asleep.