By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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away from her old stomping grounds in Manhattan, but there was always a chance that he knew someone who knew someone….
God, she had to stop thinking like that. Instead, she collated, stapled, put paper into file folders. In the end, it ate up ten minutes. Ten. And Brennan wasn’t due for another hour or so. She’d never survive.
She could change, but no, she’d wait. The clothes she had on—work jeans, old tee, boots—were perfectly fine for day-to-day. It didn’t matter that she smelled like a barn. But she would prefer to spiff up a little for the big shot with a checkbook. Nothing too fancy, just better jeans and a clean shirt.
Talk about a different life. In the beginning, she’d missed shopping like crazy, but she’d adapted. Learned to cook a little. she’d have killed for a pricy latte…okay, still would. But there were advantages to living on this very thin wire. She’d also learned to sew, and was grateful for the training because she’d had to patch up more than a few animals. Safe Haven survived due to the kindness of a few key players, like the vet, Dr. Yardley, who donated what time he could. Mr. Jorgensen from the feed and hardware floated loans for grain and other supplies. In fact, the whole sanctuary was built out of goodwill and patience, but Mr. Brennan could change all that.
Thanks to Shea, Annie had seen the difference an infusion of cash could bring to a two-bit operation like Safe Haven. But she remained cautious. Hope was only a friend in small measure. She didn’t dare put herself in a position where she might fall into another pit of despair. It had taken her almost a year to climb out of the last one.
A quick knock at the door was followed instantly by one of the school kids ducking his head in. “Pinocchio’s gotten stuck in the fence by the water pump.”
All thoughts of Tucker Brennan vanished as Annie grabbed her gloves, followed the boy out of the cabin and ran as fast as she could.
THE DRIVE WAS PLEASANT, considering the circumstances. Tucker had only been to Montana for business, and never this far north. Looking out at the Rockies and the acres of lush land brought back memories of his early days when he’d still been learning about ranching from the ground up.
His father had made sure he’d done every job the Rocking B had for a cowboy. It had been hard work, but worth as much as his college years. His apprenticeship had given him more than just hands-on experience; it had given him perspective.
He barely noticed the town of Blackfoot Falls from the highway. It was like a thousand others across the country with a local diner that served great home-cooked meals, a bar that offered cheap beer, pool tables and country music. All he cared about was that it was thirty miles from the Safe Haven turnoff.
Finally, he saw the big wooden sign that marked the entrance to the sanctuary. He was early, hoping the surprise would give him a slight edge. He liked to take stock of people when they were flustered. They revealed more than they knew.
So he slowed the rented SUV to keep the dust down as he headed for the main buildings. He passed one pasture with a half dozen horses, none of whom were particularly bothered by his vehicle. They looked pretty decent for rescue animals.
The fencing was sturdy, if old-school, about what he’d expected. According to the info he’d gathered on Safe Haven, there had been a few corrals, a barn, two stables and a cabin standing when Annie took over. Clearly, she’d made improvements.
His pulse revved as he neared the buildings. In one glance, he’d know the truth. But the truth alone wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to use every moment he could to catch her vulnerable and get the evidence he needed. Even if it took a couple of days.
He pulled into a small parking area. There were several trucks lined up, mostly pickups, a tractor that had seen better days and a short yellow school bus.
Behind it was the cabin that had to be Annie’s living quarters. She hadn’t been kidding when she said it was small. But the working buildings gave a good first impression. Well spaced, old, but taken care of. In back of the barn he saw a small crowd of folks standing in a semicircle, as if they were watching a fight. Something pretty fierce, if the dust coming from the center was any indication.
He jumped out of the SUV, his inner alarm bells ringing. As he approached the crowd, he saw that the onlookers were kids—high school age—and two adults, a middle-aged woman pressing a hand to her throat and a petite twenty-something holding the arm of one of the teenagers, preventing the boy from moving forward. They all looked worried.
And then he heard it. The cry of a panicked, bleating goat.
He jogged the last few feet until he could muscle past the outer ring of spectators. It was a pygmy goat whose horns were tangled up in some high-tensile wire. Despite the name, pygmies weren’t that much smaller than other breeds of goats, and the situation was dangerous. The woman trying to free him was taking a hell of a risk. Goats were notorious for their fear response. They kicked and struggled so fiercely they sometimes died from their hearts giving out.
Tucker knew the best thing to do was let the goat be and hope he tired himself out in time for intervention. Because a person trying to save one could well end up needing a doctor.
The woman making that mistake was Annie Sheridan. He had to admit she made quick work of cutting free the wire, but he could see she’d been battered and bruised. Her blond hair was damp with sweat, her face smeared with mud and blood.
The kid next to Tucker was a big beefy guy whipping the side of his leg with a pair of thick gloves.
He nudged the boy, who did a double take. “Lend me your gloves.”
“Annie told us not to step in,” he said. “It could be dangerous.”
“I understand.”
The boy looked him up and down, then handed him the pair. Tucker slid them on as he shouldered his way closer to Annie and the struggling goat.
She had just managed to cut the second to last wire curled around the goat’s right horn when the back-leg kicking started again. Tucker ducked what could have been a very unfortunately placed hoof, then lunged forward, one hand on the back of the animal, the other grabbing on to his horn.
“What the…Get out of here, you idiot!”
“Cut the damn wire.” Tucker was holding the goat’s head back, just enough to unbalance him so he couldn’t lean on his front legs. “Now.”
Annie, grunting as the goat’s body slammed her in the side, got the final wire cut.
Tucker had to use both hands to steady the terrified creature, while Annie quickly and efficiently cleared away the loosened wire fragments from his other horn.
The goat was free now, but he didn’t know it, and Tucker didn’t want to release him until Annie was out of the way. But she was too busy shouting at him to move to see that his position was stronger.
It was someone from the crowd that finally got her attention. An older man ran up, yelling, “Annie, get the hell out of there.”
She did. Quick on her feet even with that prodigious frown on her face.
Tucker stopped looking at her and focused on making his own exit. It took a highly uncoordinated jump straight back, after which he nearly fell on his ass, but the goat did the right thing and ran toward the barn.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
For the first time, he got a good, clear look at the woman who’d just yelled at him, her fury uncompromised by her dirty face or her breathless exhaustion.
He didn’t answer. He was too busy accepting the fact that he had found Leanna Warner.
“WELL, THIS IS PERFECT,” Annie said, shaking her head. “Of course you’re Tucker Brennan.”
“And