Mason. Delores Fossen
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real name was Madelyn Turner. Maddie. But she no longer thought of herself as that little girl who’d nearly died from a hired gun’s bullet.
She was Abbie Baker now.
And she had a thoroughly riled, confused cowboy lawman looming over her. He was waiting for answers that didn’t involve her real name or anything else so mundane. Mason’s attention and narrowed glare were on the concho.
“Where did you get it?” he asked.
Abbie considered another lie. She’d gotten so good at them over the years, but no one was that good. There was no way she could convince Mason that she’d found the concho and then had coincidentally applied for a job at the Ryland ranch.
There was nothing chance about it, and now she might have endangered not just Mason but also his entire family. Someone had come after her tonight, and she had to get to the bottom of that—fast.
First, though, she had to get past Mason, literally. And that meant giving him enough information to satisfy him but not so much that he would have a major meltdown.
“Where did you get the concho?” he repeated.
Abbie tried not to look as frightened as she felt, but she figured she wasn’t very successful. “Your father gave it to me.”
She saw the surprise go through his eyes. Maybe Mason had thought she’d stolen it or something.
“My father?” he snapped.
Abbie settled for a nod, knowing she would have to add details. But the devil was in those details, and once Mason heard them, he might physically toss her off the ranch. That couldn’t happen at this exact moment.
“When?” he pressed. “Why?”
She had no choice but to clear her throat so she could answer. “When I turned sixteen. He said it was a good-luck charm.”
That was a lie. Actually, Boone had said he wanted her to have it because it was his most valuable possession. Something he’d reserved for his own children.
Nothing about his severe expression changed. Mason’s wintry eyes stayed narrowed to slits. His jaw muscles stirred. He continued to glare at her. For several snail-crawling seconds anyway. Then he cursed. One really bad word. Before he turned and scrubbed his hands over his face. It seemed to take him another couple of moments to get his jaw unclenched.
“So Boone is alive,” he mumbled. “Or at least he was when you were sixteen.”
“He still is alive,” Abbie confirmed. “I talked to him on the phone before I went to bed.” She chose her words carefully. “He met my mother and me about four months before she was killed.”
“Where?” he barked.
“Maverick County. But we’ve lived plenty of other places since then.” She paused because she had to gather her breath. “We move a lot, finding work at ranches all over the Southwest. He’s always worried that Vernon Ferguson will find me.” And finish what he’d started.
Mason’s eyes narrowed even more. “Boone lived with you?”
“He raised me,” Abbie corrected.
That didn’t improve Mason’s ornery mood. More profanity, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a dry smile that held no humor at all.
“He raised you.” And he repeated it. “He couldn’t raise his own sons or be a husband to his wife, but yet he took you in. Why?”
Abbie had asked herself that a thousand times and still didn’t have the answer. “It was either that or I would have had to go into foster care. There weren’t many options for a kid in witness protection.”
“You would have been better off in foster care,” Mason mumbled. “I figured the SOB was dead.” He held up his hand in a stop gesture when she started to speak. “He should be dead.”
That sent a chill through her. That chill got significantly worse when Mason grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“He sent you here,” Mason accused. “Why? He wants to mend fences with us after all these years?”
Abbie didn’t get a chance to deny it.
His grip was hard and punishing. “Well, you can just go back to Maverick County and tell the bastard that he’s not welcome here. Neither is his lackey. Consider yourself officially fired.”
“He didn’t send me,” Abbie managed to say.
Mason no doubt heard her, but he didn’t respond except to haul her toward the door. Abbie dug in her heels. Or rather, tried. It was like wrestling with an angry bear. She wasn’t a weakling, and her work with the cutting horses had honed some muscles that most women didn’t have, but she was no physical match for the likes of Mason.
Still, she had to make him understand.
“Boone didn’t send me,” she repeated. “In fact, he wouldn’t be happy if he knew I was here.” And that was a massive understatement.
That stopped Mason, finally, even though they were just inches from the door.
“Boone knows how much you hate him,” she added.
Oh, that put some fire into those ice-gray eyes. “He can’t begin to imagine how much I hate him.” His attention dropped back to the concho. “I put a bullet through mine and then nailed it to my bedroom wall so it’s the first thing I see when I wake up. That way, I can remember that the man who fathered me is a worthless piece of dirt.”
Abbie had expected anger, but she hadn’t quite braced herself enough for this outright rage. Boone had been right. He had done the unforgivable when he’d walked out on his family. At least it was unforgivable in Mason’s eyes, and she wondered if she stood a better chance pleading her case to one of his brothers. The problem was, she might not get the chance to do that.
Mason started moving again, toward the door.
“Why did Boone leave Silver Creek?” she asked.
Again, that stopped him. Well, sort of. Mason didn’t open the door, but he put her back right against it, and he kept his grip hard and tight on her shoulders. She was trapped, and Boone’s warning came flying through her head.
Mason isn’t the forgive-or-forget sort.
It was one of the few times Boone had talked about his sons, about the life he’d left behind here in Silver Creek. Boone wouldn’t have wanted her to come here, but she’d had no choice. This was her best bet at finding the answers to why Boone had been so secretive lately. He was definitely keeping something from her, and Abbie was scared that the something meant he was in serious danger.
“You tell me why he ran off,” Mason challenged.
She shook her head. Actually, her whole body was shaking, maybe from the adrenaline. Maybe the cold.
Maybe Mason.
She glanced down between them, at the fact that their bodies were pressed against each other. Not good. After all, despite the anger and Boone’s warning about this particular Ryland, Mason was a man, and she was a woman.
Mason must have realized it, too, because while still scowling and cursing, he stepped back. “Why did Boone leave?” he repeated.
Abbie had to shake her head again. “I don’t know.” It was the truth, but she wished she had the answer because it would no doubt clear up a lot of other questions she had. “He wouldn’t say. But for what it’s worth, he was a good surrogate father to me.”
Mason made a skeptical sound and threw open the door. However, he didn’t toss her out. That’s because his oldest brother, Grayson, was standing in the way. He had an armful of clothes, a concerned look on his face and the same cop’s eyes as Mason. And he eyed the grip that Mason had on her.
“A