Christmas Ranch Rescue. Lynette Eason
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grunt and a sigh reached his ears. Nathan frowned. Not the noises of someone trying to be quiet. He stepped into the short hallway, grateful for the dim glow from the night light plugged into the outlet. He tried to stay in the shadows but knew if someone looked down the hall, at the very least, they’d see his profile.
The bunkhouse was fairly large, probably about a thousand square feet total. Three small bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen and living area. He’d chosen the bedroom nearest the front door. The noises had come from the bedroom to his left. Nathan slipped down the hall, alert for any movement. A flashlight beam bounced off the wall to his right. It came from the bedroom where he’d heard the noises.
“Who’s there?” he called out, then moved into the bathroom located in between the bedrooms in case someone decided to shoot for his answer. Everything stilled. “Answer me.”
Light footsteps from inside the bedroom reached his ears. He hefted the weapon and aimed it at the door.
Which someone pushed closed. Nathan stared.
At the other end of the bunkhouse, the front door shut with a quiet snick. So quiet he almost wondered if he’d heard it. But knew he had.
He spun to face this next threat, his gaze bouncing between the entrance to the hall and the bedroom with the closed door. Light footsteps fell softly on the hardwood. He moved from the safety of the bathroom and into the hall that led to the large living area and the front door. He peered around the edge and saw a dark shadow moving across the floor toward him. He swung his weapon up. “Freeze.”
* * *
Becca froze. “Nathan?”
“Becca?” His arm lowered the weapon away from her. His shoulders relaxed a fraction in the dim light.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. Jack bounded up beside her and she placed a hand on his head. “Jack, shh!” He settled at her side.
“Someone’s in the room at the end of the hall,” Nathan said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I was getting ready to find out when I heard you sneak in. Why didn’t you knock?”
“I saw lights flickering and thought I saw someone sneaking around the bunkhouse. I wanted to make sure you were all right without letting whoever was here know that I saw him.”
They kept their voices low as they moved toward the hallway that would take them to the back bedroom. Nathan stopped. “Stay here,” he whispered.
“No way.”
“If someone starts shooting, I don’t want you in the way.”
She hefted the rifle in her right hand. “Thanks, but I know how to take care of myself. Let’s figure this out together.”
She thought she heard, “Stubborn woman,” before he moved to the door and stood to the side. He lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles on the wood. “Open up and come out! Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Silence.
Becca frowned. Who could be in there? Why would her attacker go in the bedroom and shut the door?
The mental light went on. “Wait a minute,” she whispered. “I know who’s in there.”
“Who?”
“Brody MacDougal. We call him Brody Mac.”
“Who’s that?”
“One of my lesson students turned volunteer turned part-time worker.” She moved around Nathan and reached for the knob. “Brody Mac? Is that you in there? Come on out, hon, this is Becca.”
Shuffling sounded from inside. Slow, soft footsteps made their way to the door. The knob turned slowly and she moved back. Nathan caught her by the upper arms and she paused, waiting.
The door opened and Becca tensed. “Brody Mac?”
“Becca?” He had a deep but gentle voice.
Her muscles relaxed and she stepped into the doorway. She looked up. At six foot three, he had the build of a linebacker, the heart of a marshmallow and the mind of a ten-year-old. Brody Mac’s head hung low and he peered at her through his lashes. “Hi, Becca.”
“Brody Mac, what are you doing coming in here at midnight and scaring everyone?”
He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shuffled his feet. “I didn’t have nowhere else to go.”
“Anywhere,” she corrected automatically.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s what I meant.”
“Come out here and sit down for a minute, will you? I need to get my pulse back under control.”
Brody Mac stepped into the hall and spotted Nathan. He gasped and ducked back into the room, ready to shut the door. Becca followed him before he could. “Brody Mac, this is my friend, Nathan. Get back out here and meet him, will you?”
“Is he going to shoot me? I saw his gun.”
“No, of course he’s not. I have my rifle, too, but no one is going to do any shooting, okay?” She noticed Nathan had the weapon out of sight and was walking toward the seating area in the large room.
Brody Mac exited the bedroom, his tentative footsteps snagging her heart. She held out a hand and he took it, his palm dwarfing hers. She led him to the sofa where he sat down and released her hand, keeping his gaze on Nathan. Jack bounded over to him and licked his wrist. Brody Mac laughed and scratched the dog’s ears. “Hi, Jack.”
Becca patted his arm, pulling his attention from the animal. “This is Nathan Williams. Say hi.”
“Hi,” Brody Mac said. He extended his arm but then pulled it back. Nathan held his hand out and waited. After a brief hesitation, Brody Mac gave a small smile and shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Brody Mac,” Nathan said. “I didn’t mean to scare you with the gun. I’m a cop.”
Brody’s almond-shaped eyes went wide. “A cop? For real?”
“For real.”
“That’s super cool. I like cops. They keep me safe.”
“Yeah,” Nathan said, his voice soft. “We sure do try to do that.”
“Now,” Becca said, “tell me what you’re doing here.”
“I had to leave home.”
“Why?” she asked, but had a feeling she already knew the answer.
“This afternoon, Daddy came home and started yelling ’cause the tractor wouldn’t start. Mama told me to go find someplace to stay. I was at the library for a long time then I walked here. I got lost a couple of times so I had to go home and find the way through the woods. That’s why I got here so late.”
Becca rubbed her eyes and glanced at Nathan. “There’s a shortcut between his land and mine.” To Brody Mac, she said, “Are your things still in the bedroom?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay. You know you can stay here.”
Nathan lifted a brow at her and she shrugged. “His daddy’s not such a nice person, but Brody Mac here is a great guy.”
Brody Mac shuffled and rubbed the palms of his hands up and down the sides of his legs. “But my daddy doesn’t like me. He says I’m stupid.” His lower lip quivered. “I’m not stupid, am I, Becca?”
Rage at the man’s careless and needless shaming of Brody Mac burned in her heart, and her tongue wanted to blast the man. With effort, she controlled both and forced a smile. “Of course, you’re not stupid. I know he’s your daddy, but sometimes daddies are wrong,” she said. “About a lot of things.” She looked