Mr. Taken Page 3

“You can’t be serious. Why...? Who?” She stared at the bottle, but let her hands drop to her sides.

  His thoughts moved to the guy in the blue truck. He hadn’t seen the man drop anything out of the window, but that bottle hadn’t been there long. Or maybe Colter was wrong and someone else had come, chickened out and left the flammable grenade as a warning.

  Either way, it looked as though someone had planned to act against the ranch. More, someone had wanted to hurt the place and the ones he loved.

  Chapter Three

  Whitney wasn’t the kind who got scared easily, but seeing that bottle in Colter’s hand had made every hair on her body stand on end. There were any number of people, thanks to the news of the deaths and the kidnapping, who had a bone to pick with Dunrovin; yet it just didn’t make sense to her that someone would come here with the intention of making things worse. Why throw a bomb? Why harm those who worked here? None of the people who currently worked or lived on the ranch were guilty of any wrongdoing.

  Well, at least any wrongdoing when it came to the ranch. She couldn’t think about her past, not when it came to this. She bit the inside of her cheek as she mindlessly petted the dog that was safely tucked into her shirt.

  “Do you think we should call the police?” she asked, tilting her chin in the direction of the dangerous object.

  Colter sighed. “We probably should, but I’m not sure that having any more police out to the ranch is a great idea right now. Maybe this is nothing. Maybe it was just something someone had in the back of their pickup and it just bounced out as they drove over the cattle guard. Maybe it’s just spare gas or something, you know.”

  His feeble attempt to make her feel better didn’t work. She could hear the lie in his voice. They both knew all too well this wasn’t just some innocuous thing. This was someone’s failed effort to cause damage.

  Yet to a certain degree she agreed with him. The last thing the place needed was more negative press. Even though his brother Wyatt was a deputy for the local sheriff’s office, it didn’t mean they would be able to keep this thing under wraps. If they called 911, everyone in the county would hear about the latest development in the melodrama that the ranch was becoming. But if they didn’t inform the police, there wouldn’t be a record of it, and if something else happened...

  She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat.

  Nothing else would happen. They had gotten the person responsible for the murders. They might have had a bad track record, and a bit of a target on their backs, but that didn’t mean the entire world wanted to take them down. Maybe it was just someone’s spare gas.

  “Is there oil in it?” she asked, motioning to the green Heineken bottle.

  He glanced down at the bottle and swirled it around, the green glass looking darker, almost as if the liquid inside had a slight red hue. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  She smiled and some of her fears dissipated. “You know... Maybe someone was just passing through. Maybe you were right. I mean, if it’s a mixed gas—”

  “It could be for a chain saw. Maybe they were going out onto the federal lands behind the ranch looking for a Christmas tree or something,” Colter said, finishing her sentence. “You are freaking amazing, you know that?”

  She smiled and tried not to notice the way her heart sped up when he looked at her like that. She tried to reaffirm that her self-esteem wasn’t dependent on his approval, but no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, she couldn’t fully accept it as truth. He was so darn cute, and when he smiled, it made some of the sharp edges of her dislike soften. He wasn’t as bad as she had assumed. If anything, he had a way of making people relax; and that was just the kind of person she needed in her life. Though he couldn’t know that. Nothing could happen between them. Not now, not ever. She needed to stay independent, indifferent.

  “I’m not amazing.” Even to her, she sounded coy. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was playing some kind of demure game to get him to fall in love. She wasn’t and would never be that kind of woman—a woman who belonged more on the debutante circuit, the kind who could turn on the Southern charm with the simple wave of a hand.

  He slipped his hand into hers and she stared at it in shock for a moment before letting go of him and turning away. He couldn’t like her. She couldn’t like him. If he knew the truth, he would want nothing to do with her.

  “Wait. I’m sorry, Whit,” he called after her, but she didn’t slow down as she made her way back to the office.

  She couldn’t let herself turn around. She couldn’t let him see the look in her eyes that she was sure was there—a look which begged for him to touch her; more, to love her with every part of his soul. She desperately wanted a love like that, but just because she wanted something, that didn’t mean that she should have it. Not when she might or might not have been done running.

  The dog scrambled out of her shirt and jumped to the floor as soon as she closed the door to her office. The poor thing was covered in dirt and muck, and a piece of what looked like chewed gum was stuck to its ribs. The little thing rushed over to Milo’s bed and snuggled into the pile of blankets. She was never going to be able to explain what had happened to the owners if they found out.

  If they found out.

  She couldn’t tell them. No. She chuckled as she thought about all the Nos that were suddenly entering her life. Everywhere she turned, every choice she had to make came to that stark end. No.

  Things really hadn’t changed that much from Kentucky.

  When she was home in Louisville, it had been the same. She had told her parents she was leaving, that she was never coming back, that she was following her gut—and every word had been met with the same “No.” But they hadn’t understood. They had thought it was only out of some selfish need to spread her wings after everything that had happened with Frank. They hadn’t known the whole truth, a truth that haunted her every move and threatened to rear its ugly head and reenter her life as long as she stayed there.

  And maybe part of it had been the fact that she wanted so much more. She wanted to be around horses again—not close enough to touch, but close. Once you had a love for the animals, there was no turning your back to it, no matter what kind of pain had come from them in the past.

  She pressed her back against the office door and closed her eyes. No. She couldn’t dig up the past. No.

  There was a knock on the door, and it sent vibrations down her spine. She turned around to see Colter standing there, looking at her through the glass.

  Why couldn’t he get the message that she just wanted him to leave her alone?

  Instead of opening the door, she pulled down the shade so he couldn’t see her. She couldn’t deal with him right now. And seeing him look at her like that, like there was something more than friendship budding between them, it tore at her heart. If something happened...she’d have to run. She’d have to leave this place. She couldn’t reveal her past to him or to anyone. She couldn’t allow her feelings to make her vulnerable.

  “I get it—I have chapped hands,” he said with a laugh, and what she assumed was his best attempt at relieving the tension between them, but he was wrong if he thought it would be that easy.

  “Or maybe it’s not my hands, but you just don’t want to talk to me,” he continued. “That’s fine. I just wanted you to know that everything is back in place and the cattle guard is down. If you need anything just let me know. I’m going to stick around and help my dad.” He stood still, almost as if he was waiting for her to answer, but she said nothing.

  After a few long seconds, she heard the sounds of his heavy footfalls as he made his way off the porch. She was tempted to peek out from behind the curtain to see where he was going, if he’d finally gotten the message that she wasn’t interested, but she stopped herself. She had to be strong.

 
The phone rang, and she had never been more grateful for the obnoxious sound.

  “Dunrovin Ranch Guest Services. This is—”

  “We need more towels,” a woman said in a shrill voice, cutting her off.

  She glanced down at the room number that lit up the phone’s screen. Of course it was Ms. Fancy Pants. She bit the side of her cheek as she thought of all the comebacks she would have liked to say.

  “Absolutely, ma’am. I’ll have one of our staff bring them to you. Is there anything else you will be needing?”

  There was the rumble of a truck and the squeak of brakes from the parking area.

  “Where is the nearest club? We wanted to go dancing. You know...honky-tonking, or whatever you rednecks call it.”

  She swallowed back her anger, only letting a sardonic chuckle slip past. “Ma’am, the only club we have out here is a sandwich. But if you are looking for a bar, we have several. There’s the Dog House, which is about five miles from here. It’s mostly locals, but on the weekends they usually have a few people dancing.” But it was a far cry from the country-style bar that always seemed to fill the movie screens in which everyone was dancing and there was a mechanical bull in the corner. The Dog House was one step away from being somebody’s garage. In fact, it would have made sense if that was what the place had once been.

  Ms. Fancy Pants sighed so loudly that Whitney wondered if the woman had put her mouth directly on the mouthpiece. “I guess it will have to do. And I won’t even bother asking about restaurants. I’d rather go hungry than eat anything this town has to offer.”

  Whitney’s dislike for the woman mounted with each of the woman’s passing syllables.

  “We’ll be right over.” She hung up the phone, unable to listen to the woman’s prattling for another second.

  There wasn’t a snowflake’s chance in July that she was going to face the woman who’d just called. She dialed the number for the housekeeper, but the phone rang and rang, and she left the girl who was supposed to be working a message about the towels.

  She set down the phone and stared at it for a moment. On second thought, maybe she could ask Colter to help. He didn’t work for the ranch, but if he was as interested in her as he seemed to be, he might jump at the chance to come to her aid; and it might get him out of her hair for a bit and give her the time she needed to get back to center about him and her feelings.

  She sighed, content with her plan, as she opened the door. There was a black Chevy truck parked in the lot, and a tall, thin blonde had her arms draped around Colter’s neck. As Whitney watched, the woman threw her head back with a laugh so high and perfect that it bounced around the courtyard until it was finally, thankfully swallowed up by the dark barn.

  It was stupid to stand there and watch as the woman flipped her hair and then ran her fingers over the edges of Colter’s jacket collar, but she couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Sure, the woman was coming on to him. Whitney could understand a woman’s attraction to the trim firefighter with a gift when it came to making people at ease, but she couldn’t understand the swell of jealousy and unease that filled her as she watched.

  He had held her hand, yet now his hands were on the blonde’s hips. Was Mr. Eligible Bachelor really Mr. Taken?

  Had he been playing her? He had to have been. Heck, he was probably thanking his lucky stars right at that very moment that she had turned him down in time for Ms. Blonde in Tight Jeans to come and wrap her model-ish body around him like a thin blanket.

  She gritted her teeth, making them squeak so loudly that it was a wonder he hadn’t heard them even at a distance.

  The mysterious woman moved to her tiptoes and gave Colter a kiss on the cheek.

  It was the last straw.

  Whitney turned around and went back inside, slamming the door in her wake. That was fine. If Colter wanted to be with every one of the town’s available women, that was fine. He could be with all of them except her. She had better things to do with her time.

  On the wall, just beside the door, was a picture of Colter in his bunker gear, a smile on his face. It was ironic. Here was a man who was sent into the flames to save people’s lives, but the best thing he had done for her was to save her from falling in love.

  Chapter Four

  Colter squirmed out of Sarah’s grip. At one point he wouldn’t have minded having her hands all over him, but not now—not with everything that had happened between them. That attempt at a relationship had crashed harder than the housing market. She cared about only two things: her catering business and how she could make herself happy—no matter the cost to others. Sure, the blonde chef was cute, but beauty was a depreciating asset; being genuine, kind and selfless was far more important than any outward attributes.

  He glanced back over his shoulder toward the office where Whitney was working. He could have sworn he’d heard a door slam, yet thankfully, she was nowhere in sight. He would have hated for her to get the wrong idea.

  “Colter, when are you going to take me out again?” Sarah asked, running her finger down the buttons on the front of his shirt.

  He took hold of her hand and lowered it gently as he gave her a firm but unwavering smile. “It was fun, but—”

  “But what?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes up at him.

  He hated this kind of confrontation. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her or lead her on, but she was making it difficult.

  “But we just don’t fit. You know what I mean?” he said, trying to take the path of least resistance.

  “I bet we could fit together if we just tried, Colter,” she said, her voice soft and airy. “I just... You know when we went out, I had just broken up with Kent. I wasn’t at my best. I’d like another shot.”

  “It’s not you—”

  “It’s me.” She stepped back from him. “Get a new line. Or at least just learn how to tell the woman the truth. If you’re not into me, that’s fine...” Sarah flipped her hair back off her neck and straightened her jacket like she could simply brush off his rejection.

  “Sarah, it really isn’t you. I’m just not looking for anything right now.” He glanced back to the ranch office as the weight of the lie rolled off his tongue and fell hard. Sarah was right; he wasn’t into her. He didn’t know why he was bothering to lie other than to save her feelings. The woman he really wanted was Whitney, and she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

  “When you are looking...I’ll be waiting,” she said, her playful smile returning as though she thought there was still room to hope.

  He gave a resigned sigh. “Why are you here?”

  “I need to finalize the catering details with your mom. Is she around?”

  He motioned to the house. “I think she’s inside.”

  “Are you coming to the party?” Sarah asked.

  There was no right answer. If he said no, she would see him there and be upset, but he knew if he admitted he was going to be there, she would pressure him for something. He didn’t feel like dancing around another come-on.

  His father walked out of the house and made a beeline for the barn. “Actually, I need to run along and help my father set things up.”

  Her face fell with another rejection, but before she could say anything he jogged toward his father.

  “I’ll see you at the party, then?” she called after him, but he didn’t bother to turn around; instead he slipped into the safety of the barn.

  Throughout his life this kind of thing seemed to be a recurring theme—the women he didn’t want were desperate for him to commit to them, but the women he really wanted to date wouldn’t give him the time of day. He dated a lot, but it seemed like things never went too far. With the last woman, he’d gone on one date and she’d spent the entire time talking about her job. They had hit it off all right, they had been able to ta
lk, but, like all the other women he’d gone out with, the woman wasn’t what he was looking for. The way things were going, he was never going to have another serious relationship.

  Maybe he was just destined to be on his own. To some degree, he liked it that way. His fridge carried only the staples—meat log, cheese and mayonnaise. It was just like the rest of life—simple, uncluttered and what some people might have considered a bit habitual. If he did end up finding himself in a relationship, he’d have to give his routine up—women were never simple. None being more complicated than the curiosity that was Whitney Barstow.

  He chuckled as he imagined her walking into his house. She’d probably turn around and walk right out if she saw how bare the place was.

  It was just easier this way, deep in his world of habit and minimalism—even if it was a bit lonesome at times. He could deal with lonesome. At least it meant that he wouldn’t have to deal with heartbreak.

  As the word sank in, the thoughts of his biological father moved to the front of his mind. He had only one memory of the man. Colter was two years old, and his father was leaving him and his brother Waylon on the fire department’s doorstep. He had just woken up and his eyes were still grainy from the residue of sleep. Yet he could still see his father’s eyes, the color of rye whiskey and their edges reddened with years of what he knew now was hard living. More than his eyes, he could remember the raspy smoke-riddled words he’d last said to them: “Boys,” he’d whispered, making sure he didn’t give himself away to the firemen just behind the doors. “You all don’t go into the flames. When life burns at ya...run.”

  Opening himself up for a relationship was just running into the flames.

  “I see Sarah’s at it again,” his adoptive father, Merle, said as he wrapped a bit of baling twine around his arm.

  Colter grabbed a handful of pellets and let the mare at the end of the stalls nibble it out of his hand.

  “She’s still...Sarah...” He said her name like a verb, and it was met with his father’s chuckle.