Certified Cowboy. Rita Herron
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Maybe she should leave the BBL tonight. Johnny was already suspicious. He might have already run a background check. If not, and if he decided to look into her past and discovered the warrant for her arrest, he might turn her in to the sheriff.
Then she’d go to jail and her son would never have a chance.
But the moment she entered the cabin, she froze, her lungs choking as the scent of another man’s cologne wafted toward her. Not Johnny’s woodsy scent, but an expensive brand that nauseated her because it reminded her of Rex.
Dear God, had he found her?
JOHNNY WANTED TO ASSURE Rachel he was only trying to be nice to her son. But he couldn’t force her into liking him or sharing her past.
Dammit. He’d put off checking into her background. Why, he didn’t know.
Maybe because she was so damn pretty and looked so lost and frightened and in need of a friend. Or maybe it had to do with her son. Maybe Kenny reminded him of himself at that age.
But he couldn’t stall running the background check any longer. Not with the other kids around.
He walked back to the dining hall, retrieved his truck, then drove back to the main headquarters. Inside, he grabbed a cold beer, then slipped inside the office. He hated to probe, but he was her employer and they had rules, so he phoned the service they used to run background checks.
Troy Staley, the guy the BBL had used before, answered and plugged Rachel’s name into the database.
He took a long pull from the bottle and waited several seconds, then Troy spoke.
“Several different women with that name popped up, Johnny. The first is seventy-five and lives in Wyoming.”
“So it’s a common name,” Johnny said, although his pulse was clamoring.
“Yeah. There’s also a teenager from Georgia who won a beauty pageant.” Troy sighed. “I’m checking down the list, but none of them match the description you gave me. Well, except the last one. But that Rachel Simmons was buried in Austin three weeks ago.”
Hmm, she’d lived in Texas and was about the same age as Rachel.
He frowned, his mind clicking away various possibilities. Maybe the database had missed her for some reason.
Or maybe Rachel had given him a fake name.
But why?
“Thanks, man. If you find out anything else, give me a call.”
“Right, I’ll keep looking.”
Johnny disconnected, then headed out the door, irritated that Rachel might have placed the kids at the BBL in danger. Night had fallen, the full moon a ball of fire casting a shimmering glow across the pastures as he climbed into his truck and drove to her cabin.
He loved his own spread, but this place had come to life with the kids this week. And for the first time in years, he felt as if he was doing something worthwhile.
He couldn’t let anyone jeopardize the operation or the people here.
The truck rumbled across the dirt drive, the sight of the quarter horses they’d just brought in running through the east pasture a reminder that he had to start organizing the rodeo. Plan the events, advertise, make posters… It was going to take time and all his focus.
A vehicle parked at the ridge by the creek on the hill drew his eye, and he frowned. Maybe one of the grooms or ranch hands had driven out there for some fresh air? He craned his neck to see the make of the vehicle, but didn’t recognize it.
Odd.
Still, he didn’t know every SUV or truck belonging to the hands.
Then again, what if their neighbor Rich Copeland was snooping around? He’d protested when Brody had bought the land and designated it for a kids’ camp. Copeland tried to stir up supporters to stop Brody, claiming troubled boys would endanger his own property and hands. Brody had tried to make the man understand that his fears were unfounded, but Copeland wouldn’t back down and had spread rumors and stirred animosity and worry with others in town. There was bad blood between the men now.
He’d reached Rachel’s cabin and forgot about the vehicle and Copeland as he pulled to a stop and tried to determine the best way to approach her.
Sucking in a sharp breath, he climbed out, pausing to study the cabin. Even though she’d been here only a few days, Rachel had planted flowers in the flower boxes and had attached wind chimes from the awning of the front porch. She’d even hung the bird feeder Kenny had built in the day camp with the other boys and filled it with birdseed.
As if she was making this a home.
Guilt slammed into his gut for what he was about to do. Because if she didn’t come clean with him, he had no choice. He’d have to ask her to leave.
And that meant tearing out a little boy’s heart.
No wonder she hadn’t wanted Kenny getting attached to him.
He started toward the porch, but suddenly a scream pierced the air. A woman’s scream… Rachel…
The image of her bruises flashed in his mind, and he took off running.
KENNY THOUGHT HE HEARD a scream outside. He clutched the butterball puppy to him and craned his head to hear again.
No, it had to be the wind. He was safe and so was his mama.
He stretched against a haystack, and Cleo plopped her head in his lap. The puppies started crawling all over him, up his leg, and the fat one fell off and rolled onto its back with a squeal.
Kenny rubbed its belly, then helped it turn over. The fat butterball got on his feet but wobbled and fell over again and he laughed.
Cleo snuggled against his arm and he hugged the dog.
“I like it here, Cleo,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “And I really like Mr. J.”
The dog licked his neck, and he swallowed back tears. He was a big boy and not supposed to cry.
But his mama was scared. She jumped at every little sound. He just knew any minute she’d tell him it was time to leave.
“I don’t wanna leave,” he whispered to Cleo.
But a shadow moved in the barn, and just like his mama, he jumped. A squeaking sound came from the far corner, and he scooted back behind the haystack, pulling the puppies with him. The butterball one got away, though, and waddled across the barn floor.
Kenny held his breath.
Had his daddy found them? Was he in the barn?
He choked back a cry. If he was, he might hurt the puppy.
Kenny looked around for something to fend him off with if he came toward him. A stick or a rock. Anything to save the little butterball from his daddy.
Outside he heard a scream.
Not the wind. His mama.
His heart pounded. He had to save her. “I love you, Cleo,” Kenny whispered. He hugged the dog, then scratched behind her floppy ears and settled Cleo back down beside the other puppies.
The butterball one had made it to the door, and he ran to get her, then carried her back and put her in the stall. His legs felt shaky, and he wanted to hide inside the barn with the dogs.
But he remembered the bruises on his mama’s face and neck, and he balled his hands into fists. Then he ran back to the barn door and peered outside.
Daddies were supposed to be nice like Mr. J.
But his daddy was a monster.
He couldn’t let him hurt his mama anymore. He just wished he was big and strong like Mr. J. so he could stop him.