Christmas Ranch Rescue. Lynette Eason
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they’d moved into their teenage years. But he’d gotten over her and moved on.
Or so he’d thought.
The feelings that had raced through him once he realized the intent behind Clay’s manipulation made him understand he’d been fooling himself. And that made him mad. He had no intention of fanning an old flame, but the desire to see Becca and protect her from whatever was going on unsettled him. Sylvia had taught him that romance was a waste of time and should be avoided at all costs.
And yet...Becca would never do what Sylvia did.
Would she?
He hated the small kernel of doubt that sprouted its ugly head, but he couldn’t help it. People changed, he knew that. But was it possible for Becca to change that much?
For the most part, Nathan had physically healed from the gunshot wound to his shoulder, but emotionally healed was another story.
After he had refused to budge on his insistence that Clay was wrong and he’d have no part of the scheme, the man had finally said, “Then prove she’s innocent.”
Those four words were why he’d called her and asked to see her, and why he now found himself in Becca’s driveway, fingers still clamped around the wheel of his pickup truck.
* * *
A hand slapped over her mouth and jerked her head back. Pain assaulted her and Becca let out a squeal as the pitchfork slid from her fingers to bounce on the dirt. Jack, her golden retriever, bounded into the barn, barking and lunging at the man behind her.
“Shut up!” He danced sideways to avoid Jack’s snapping jaws, keeping Becca between him and the dog.
Becca struggled, her back screaming in protest at the rough treatment. She finally managed to jam an elbow into his torso. He gave a low grunt and his hand slipped enough for her to open her mouth and bite down.
Yelling, he shoved her away from him. Becca kept her feet beneath her and stumbled for the door while her back spasmed and her head spun. Then the pain overwhelmed her and sent her to her knees. She cried out, unable to do anything except pray her attacker was done.
“Hey! What’s going on in here?”
Jack continued his frantic barks, but she knew the voice that had come from behind her. She rolled, gasping at the arch of fire that burned up her back.
Her attacker had grabbed the pitchfork and was headed toward her friend. “Nathan, watch out!”
With the black ski mask covering his features, she had no way of knowing who he was, just that he was getting ready to stab Nathan.
Nathan waited until the man almost reached him, then spun and kicked out, giving a grunt of satisfaction when his foot connected. The pitchfork flew from the attacker’s hands.
The masked man lunged for the door. Nathan let him go and raced to Becca’s side. He dropped to his knees. “Becca, are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” she gasped. “Don’t let him get away.” Jack ran after the escaping intruder. “No! Jack, come!” The dog stopped and returned to Becca. He paced in front of her, his concerned brown eyes never leaving her face.
Nathan’s blue eyes snapped to the barn’s exit, then back to her. “I’m more concerned about getting you to a doctor, but stay put. I’m going to check on him and call 911.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, nausea sweeping over her. Residue from the pain and fear, she was sure.
“I’ll be right back, I promise. Just going to try and get him.”
Nathan raced away from her and she tried to roll to her side. The lightning flash of pain that swept through her stopped that idea. She lay still, swallowing, doing her best not to be sick. Desperation and fury washed through her. She’d reinjured her back. All the therapy and exercises and taking it easy had been undone in the blink of an eye. If she got her hands on the person responsible—
“He’s gone,” Nathan said, coming back into the barn. “He had a car stashed out of sight, backed into the woodsy part near the top of your drive. I would have chased him but didn’t want to leave you here alone and hurt.” He held out a hand. “Can I help you up or would you rather wait for the ambulance to get here?”
She stared up at him, considering her options. “I think as long as I don’t move, I might manage to keep from hurling.”
He squatted, his jeans pulling tight against the muscles in his legs. His boots had seen better days and the cowboy hat hid his eyes. She reached up and flicked it off. His blue eyes set in his permanently tanned face stared down at her. He blinked and then smiled. “You haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you.” She took a deep breath and moved slowly. Her back muscles twinged but didn’t lock up on her. She held up a hand. “I’ll take a little help if you can pull nice and easy so I don’t have to use my back.”
He did. Pretending she had a metal rod in place of her spine, she got to her feet. No bending, no moving fast, no twisting. Her head beat a fast rhythm of pain along with the throbbing in her back. “Thanks.”
Jack whined and nudged the side of her leg. She absently gave his ears a scratch, and that seemed to pacify him.
Sirens filled the air around them. She took a deep breath and a step forward. It hurt, but at least it didn’t feel like she had a knife wedged in her back anymore.
“You need to get to a doctor and have that checked out.”
She didn’t bother telling him she was a doctor. He knew that. Not a back doctor, true, but... “I know what’s wrong and I know how to fix it. Rest and physical therapy.” She grimaced. “Neither of which I like very much.”
“I’m thinking a pain pill wouldn’t hurt.”
She tightened her jaw. “I don’t do drugs—in spite of what everyone in Wrangler’s Corner thinks.”
He lifted an eyebrow and studied her. “I wasn’t suggesting you did. I saw Clay earlier and he told me you had a serious back injury.”
“I do. Did. It’s in the healing process. Or it was before just now.” She’d done the narcotics in the beginning, just to get through the day, but fearing addiction, she’d weaned herself off, and before the attack, had been at the point where she could just take something over the counter when she needed it. Like when she overdid it. Although she had to admit, the pain now was bad enough to have her thinking twice about finding her prescription bottle.
Nathan hovered at her side. “I’m glad you showed up when you did,” she said to him.
“I’m glad I did, too.”
She tilted her head. “Why do you need a job? I thought you were some big bad DEA agent in Nashville.”
His eyes shuttered and his jaw tightened. “I am. Was. Am. Not the big and bad part. Just the agent part.”
“So which is it? Am or was?”
“Was. I quit.” He pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, it’s more like an extended leave of absence, but I have an open invitation to return anytime.” He sighed. “I got shot and decided to come home to recover. I have more time off than I need, I’m just not ready to—” He stopped and shook his head. “I’m healing nicely and boredom has set in.” He gave a small shrug. “I heard you needed help, I’ve got some medical bills to pay, so I’m here to apply.”
He’d been shot? How had she missed hearing about that one? No doubt because she lived like a hermit most of the time. She looked him over carefully. “You don’t look hurt.”
“It wasn’t a bad wound, and like I said, I’m healing. Actually, the shoulder is pretty much healed. I’ve done the physical therapy and I’m cleared to go back to work. I just don’t want to yet.” His eyes darkened and he glanced away. “Besides,