Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe. Cassie Miles
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pines that formed a natural barrier around Fiona’s house. Her rocky, forested land had never been intended for farming or grazing.
“Before Nicole was abducted,” Carolyn said, “she and my brother had an argument. Last night, when they met face-to-face, she told him that the kidnapping gave her time to think, and she decided not to come home. She never wants to see Dylan again.”
“She wants a divorce?”
“Apparently.” Carolyn kicked a pinecone from her path. “Dylan won’t talk to me. Or anybody else. Whatever Nicole said, it was enough to convince him. He called off the search.”
“Can he do that?” No matter what the victim said, kidnapping was still a crime. “Isn’t the FBI involved?”
“The FBI profilers and search teams were willing to back off. They blame Nicole’s behavior on Stockholm syndrome.”
“They think Nicole fell in love with her captor?”
“I don’t believe it. Nicole and my brother are soul mates. Damn it, she wouldn’t leave him. Not like that.” Carolyn’s determination flared. “I’m not letting this investigation die. I convinced one of the FBI agents to stay. Even if my brother doesn’t like it.”
She stopped walking. They stood at a high point on a ridge, looking down at the barbed-wire fence that separated their property. In a pasture near the trees, a large herd of cattle were grazing. A field of improbably green winter wheat, planted in late September, stretched out to the road.
Fiona loved this view—a patchwork of subtle winter colors punctuated by the green of the wheat and the heavy black shapes of cattle.
Elvis stepped up beside her and nudged her shoulder like an oversize dog who wanted to be petted. She stroked his neck. “If Nicole is with her kidnapper, that means he’s still at large. Right?”
“There are two of them. One of them has a criminal record as long as your arm. The other is Butch Thurgood—supposedly the guy Nicole likes. He’s won top prizes in rodeos for bronc busting, and he has a reputation for being a horse whisperer.”
“Last night,” Fiona said, “I heard two men arguing. I didn’t see them, but they were close to my house.”
“Did you search?”
Fiona shook her head. It had never occurred to her to go poking around in the dark. “Do you think it was them?”
“It’s worth investigating. I’ll tell Burke, and we’ll come back over here.”
“Burke?”
“The FBI agent who stayed behind.” When she said his name, her features relaxed. “Can I ask you something? Woman to woman.”
“Okay.”
“How did you know? When you met Wyatt, how did you know he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”
“It’s not something I planned for. My heart told me.”
“Lucky you.” Carolyn gave a wry grin. “My heart isn’t so direct. I’d know what to do about Burke if I could refer to a balance sheet or see a prospectus.”
Though Fiona respected her neighbor’s keen business sense and focus, she didn’t believe these denials. “It’s obvious that you care about him. Even if it doesn’t make rational sense, you might even love him.”
“I’ve been in love before, and it hasn’t worked.”
“You’ll never know what’s going to happen with Burke unless you give it a try.”
“Oh, hell. I couldn’t possibly pick a more inconvenient time for this to happen.” She stuck the toe of her boot into the stirrup and mounted Elvis. “I’ll be back with Burke to investigate your mysterious voices in the night.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.”
Fiona watched as Carolyn rode down the ridge to the road where she wouldn’t encounter any barbed wire. Though they were the same age, Fiona felt much older. She’d already been through her own cycle of life—marriage, childbirth and the death of her husband.
Now she was alone again. Starting over. She envied the glow of first love that flushed Carolyn’s face when she spoke of the FBI agent. Someday, she hoped to feel that way again. She remembered the sudden rush of emotion that came with love. The shivers. The heat. Hot and cold at the same time.
Instead of walking directly back to the house, she climbed the ridge. From a vantage point behind a boulder, she looked down at her property.
A cool December wind shook the branches of the pines. In spite of the bright sunlight pouring down, she shivered. The voices she had heard last night could have been coming from the barn. Or the toolshed. Or the unfinished pottery studio Wyatt had been constructing for her.
She glimpsed something moving at the back of the house. A shadow that resembled the silhouette of a man. She squinted hard, trying to be sure of the vague shape she thought she’d seen. Was someone creeping around her house?
Her back door slammed. The noise jolted through her like a shot. She hadn’t locked up when she’d gone to greet Carolyn. That shadowy figure could have gone inside her house.
Riding in the passenger seat of a black SUV with the Longbridge Security logo on the side, Jesse stared through the windshield at the blue Colorado sky. He was on his way to the Carlisle Ranch to put things right.
Behind the steering wheel, Wentworth sat tight-lipped and disapproving. He hadn’t said a word on the drive from Delta to the small town of Riverton.
Red and green Christmas decorations were plentiful on the storefronts. An inflatable snowman stood outside the drugstore. No chance for making the real thing; the weather had been mild for December.
Wentworth pulled up at a stop sign. To their left was the only gas station in town. In front of the auto repair bay, a cowboy slammed the door on his truck and cursed.
“For the record,” Wentworth muttered, “I think you should have stayed in the hospital.”
“Duly noted.” Jesse looked toward the gas station where the cowboy’s ranting got louder. “What’s going on over there?”
“That guy sounds like he’s unhappy about the repair job on his truck. Not exactly in keeping with the spirit of goodwill to all.”
As Jesse watched, the cowboy grabbed a tire iron and stormed toward the office. “Pull over.”
“Aw, hell. I don’t want to get involved in this.”
Still, Wentworth swung the SUV into the gas station and parked by the pump. Longbridge Security wasn’t connected with law enforcement, but Jesse felt a personal obligation to uphold public order.
A white-haired man in coveralls shuffled out of the gas station office. In his grease-stained hands, he aimed a double-barrel shotgun at the cowboy. “Take your business elsewhere,” he growled. “Your truck ain’t worth the rubber you leave behind on the road.”
“I got no problem with you, Silas.” The cowboy backed off. “Where the hell’s your grandson?”
“I’m not the boy’s keeper. Or his parole officer. Get off my property.”
“I’m going.”
As the cowboy made his prudent retreat, the old man lowered his shotgun and glared at Wentworth. “You boys got a problem?”
“No, sir.”
Wentworth backed up and made a speedy exit.
“Quaint little town,” Jesse said.
“The old man’s a real character.