Secluded with the Cowboy. Cassie Miles
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both strong-willed. Responsible. Deeply loyal.”
“Pig-headed,” Carolyn said. “And demanding.”
Nicole didn’t want to see history repeating itself. Andrea and Sterling got divorced; what if her marriage was doomed?
“There is a difference,” Andrea said. “Sterling and I never really stood a chance. In spite of how much we loved each other, we didn’t want the same things from life. It’s not that way with you and Dylan. From the moment I saw you together on your wedding day, I knew you’d make it.”
“Why?”
“You have something special. You’re both westerners right down to your roots. You’re a vet, Nicole. You love animals. And Dylan is a rancher.”
“She’s right,” Carolyn said. “You two have everything in common.”
Except for a desire to have children?
She needed to go back to the beginning of their relationship, to remember all those things that had attracted her to Dylan in the first place. To find the man she’d fallen in love with five years ago.
AT THE SOUND of gunfire, Dylan ducked and leaned forward in the saddle—a gut reaction to threat. His next instinct was to search. He squinted through the moonlight. On the side of the road to his left were rocks and shrubs that could be used for cover. The shot had sounded like it had come from farther away, however.
On the horse beside him, Burke dug into his saddlebag and pulled out a pair of night-vision goggles that he fastened onto his head.
“What do you see?” Dylan asked.
“Cows. That truck that was coming down the road turned around.”
Even Jesse—a professional bodyguard who had successfully thwarted a number of assassination attempts—was puzzled by the gunshot. He swung his horse around, facing north on the road.
The cattle bawled and stomped their hooves.
The ranch hands on horseback yelled to each other. Every man had a gun in hand.
There was a second shot. And a third.
“That way,” Jesse yelled. “He’s in that truck.”
Jesse quickly dismounted, planted his boots on the pavement near the shoulder of the road and aimed his rifle. Rapid-fire, he got off four shots.
Dylan saw the red flash of brake lights. He couldn’t hear the truck’s engine with all the noise surrounding him, but he knew the vehicle was driving away. Nate Miller was getting away.
It wasn’t prudent to chase after that truck; Burke had warned him about being lured into danger. But there was no way in hell that Dylan could sit back and allow that son of a bitch to escape. He dug his heels into Orbison’s flanks and took off like a horse-powered rocket.
The dim moonlight reflected off the roof of the truck. He was driving without headlights on the two-lane road.
Dylan raced behind him, riding hard and fast. His horse’s hooves pounded the pavement. He wanted to believe that he was closing the gap with every stride, but the fastest horse on the planet couldn’t outrun a truck.
Half a mile ahead was the turn leading toward the ranch. With several men standing guard, the people in the house were safe. Nicole was safe. But Dylan hated to think of Nate getting within a mile of her.
If the road had been straight, he would have continued at a gallop. But the truck took a sharp turn and disappeared behind a stand of pine trees.
The perfect spot for an ambush. And Dylan was no fool. He directed his horse onto the shoulder of the road, slowing his pace to ride across the unfenced property.
Burke came up beside him. He wasted no time with discussion. With hand signals, he indicated that he’d ride around to the other side of the trees.
If Nate had parked in the cover of those trees, they’d have him surrounded.
Rifle in hand, Jesse rode up beside Dylan. “When we’re close,” he said, “we approach on foot.”
Dylan understood his thinking. He wanted both feet planted on the ground before taking aim. There might only be time for one shot, and he didn’t want to miss. Beside a shrub, barren of leaves, he and Jesse dismounted. Dylan drew his handgun.
Together, they picked their way through trees and shrubs. The dry soil, littered with pinecones and dead leaves, crunched underfoot.
They could see the road. The truck sat there, idling. The old engine rattled. The stink of exhaust tainted the air.
He couldn’t see anyone inside. Nate might have left his vehicle, might be on foot, hiding behind a tree trunk or crouched in the shadow of a rock. He didn’t expect Nate to play fair.
“Split up,” he whispered to Jesse. “I’ll go left.”
“I’m sticking with you.”
They’d have a better chance of finding Nate if they spread out, but there wasn’t time for a discussion of strategy. He moved forward.
The truck lights flashed on.
Jesse dropped to one knee and pulled Dylan down beside him. Before either of them could take aim, the truck raced away.
Dylan started toward the pavement, but Jesse held him back. “Stay down.”
“He’s getting away.”
“That’s what we should do. Get the hell out of here.”
On the opposite side of the road, Burke waved. He was also on foot. “Stay down. I called Jesse’s men at the ranch house for back-up.”
Dylan crouched beside a waist-high boulder. He had to agree that this set-up didn’t feel right. The truck had waited for them to get close. They’d been drawn into this area. It was a trap.
“Damn, Jesse. I want to go after him.”
“There could be somebody else driving that truck,” Jesse said.
“What? Who?”
“Nate pulled over a hundred thousand bucks off the top of the ransom. He’s got money to pay an accomplice.”
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