Rancher Under Cover Read online

  All too quickly the small corral near the house came into view and she pulled on the reins to slow her gait, the moments of thoughtless pleasure now gone.

  She pulled Buttercup to a halt and dismounted as Randall caught up with her. “That kind of riding is what I call chasing out the demons,” he said as he dismounted, as well. His gaze slid the length of her, a lazy perusal that instantly jacked the tension back inside her. “So, Caitlin O’Donahue, exactly what demons were you exorcizing?”

  There was a gleam of intelligence in his vivid green eyes and for some reason she felt as if he was attempting to peer into her soul.

  It was a soul so shattered, so damaged that she wasn’t sure she would ever let anyone in, especially not some hot cowboy she didn’t know.

  “No demons here,” she replied as she broke eye contact with him. “I just enjoy the wind in my face.” She tied up Buttercup and then looked at the mare in the corral.

  The horse had run to the far corner of the enclosure when they’d shown up. Painfully thin, it was obvious she was both undernourished and frightened.

  “Garrett Simms should be shot,” she exclaimed, not hiding her disgust.

  “My sentiments exactly. I have no idea how long she was trapped in the wire, but from the look of her it was quite a while.”

  “Part of his job was riding the pasture to check on the health and well-being of the horses and it’s obvious he wasn’t doing his job. Good riddance is all I can say.” She opened the gate and stepped into the corral with Randall following her.

  The horse, a young mare she recognized, pawed the ground nervously as her ears went back flat. “Her name is Molly,” Caitlin said. “Is she eating okay?”

  “She’s eating fine,” he replied.

  “You said she has some wounds on her?”

  “On her backside,” he replied. “I’d like to wash them out with some saline water and maybe get some antibiotic cream on them. I was hoping she’d calm down, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen and she really needs to be tended to. I can probably lasso her and maybe you could hold her head while I work on the wounds.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Caitlin agreed.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Caitlin watched as Randall left the corral and headed for the nearby barn. He walked with a loose-hipped gait that screamed of sex appeal, and it surprised her that in her present state of mind she found him more than a little bit attractive.

  She didn’t want to go there, not with him, not with any man, not for a very long time. The very thought of a man touching her in any way filled her with a sickening revulsion and made her realize just how wounded she’d been left.

  It didn’t take long for him to return with a length of rope, the saline solution and antibiotic cream, and a lightweight navy towel. He placed everything on the top of a fence post except the rope, which he gathered in his hands as he reentered the corral.

  “This might take a few minutes,” he said. “She’s really frightened.”

  It was obvious Molly was scared to death. Her ears were pinned back and her tail was tucked between her legs as she backed away from Randall.

  “Hey, baby girl,” Randall said, his deep voice smooth and low. “Hey, Molly girl.” He handled the rope as well as he’d ridden in the saddle.

  As Molly sidestepped nervously and rolled her eyes, the terror the mare was obviously feeling resonated deep inside Caitlin.

  Trapped.

  The mare felt trapped, and Caitlin knew exactly how that felt. Caitlin’s heart began to thunder with frantic beats as a shaking began deep inside her. Her throat narrowed, making her feel as if she were choking. Her chest ached as she tried to keep breathing.

  Hands holding her down, men jeering and laughing at her terror. No way to fight back. No way to free herself from the danger.

  She watched, frozen, as Randall cornered Molly against the back rails of the corral and tried to lasso her once…twice, both times without success.

  Trapped.

  The memories exploded again and again in her head, hands holding her arms, her legs, making it impossible for her to move, to fight. Help me, a little voice cried in her head.

  Leave her alone, she wanted to scream at Randall. Can’t you see she’s terrified? Don’t hurt her, just get away from her and let her go.

  “It’s going to be all right. Everything is going to be just fine.” Randall’s soft voice broke through the memories that threatened to consume her.

  Just breathe, she told herself, hoping to ward off the panic attack that was poised to spring. Thankfully, at that moment, Randall managed to lasso Molly around her neck.

  “Grab that towel and the rest of the stuff,” he shouted to her as he kept Molly’s head tight against his chest.

  Grateful for something to do, Caitlin quickly grabbed the items and hurried toward him. “Cover her eyes,” he instructed and then began sweet-talking the horse once again.

  The blindfold of the towel appeared to calm Molly somewhat. Although her body remained tensed, she didn’t try to fight against him.

  “Now, if you can hold her head, I’ll take care of those wounds,” he said.

  Caitlin nodded and grabbed the rope from him. She held Molly’s head close to her chest as Randall grabbed the saline and antibiotic cream and moved to the back of the horse.

  “It’s okay, girl. I know you’re frightened, but the worst is over now,” Randall crooned to the horse. “You got through the scary part and now it’s time to heal.”

  His words, coupled with the gentleness of his tone, seemed to reach inside Caitlin and drag a gentle finger over the ragged pain that knotted inside her.

  A haunting vulnerability swept over her, as unwelcome as the agony that had been her companion over the past two weeks. She could listen to him forever, and the fact that his soft, soothing voice got to her also scared her.

  He worked quickly and efficiently, Caitlin noted with relief, because she felt her composure slipping and needed to escape from Molly and, more importantly, from his soft, soothing voice that touched her, that somehow made her want to listen to him forever.

  “That should do it,” he said as he stepped away from the horse.

  She let go of the rope, the need to escape from him overwhelming. “I have to get back to the house.” She didn’t wait for his response but ran out of the corral, determined not to break down where the hot, handsome cowboy might see her.

  Rhett watched her go with narrowed eyes. There was something bubbling just beneath the surface of Caitlin O’Donahue. He’d seen it first when she’d taken off hell-bent for leather across the pasture.

  Chasing out the demons. Although she’d said she just liked the wind in her face, he was sure that’s what she’d been doing. And it begged the question, what kind of demons could possibly be lurking inside the lovely Caitlin?

  He’d sensed a seethe of emotion coming from her again as she’d held Molly’s rope. Tension had rolled off her in waves, a tension that was out of place with what was going on in the corral.

  He was definitely intrigued, and it had been a long time since any woman had intrigued him. Of course it didn’t hurt that the woman gave new meaning to the word sexy.

  Still, when she’d taken off, riding fast and furious across the pasture, his heart had leaped into his throat as a sense of dreadful déjà vu shot panic through him.

  He loosened Molly from the lasso and removed the towel from over her eyes. Instantly she danced away from him, wariness once again in her gaze, in her very stance.

  He left the corral and his thoughts once again went back to that moment when Caitlin had dashed across the pasture. For a moment he’d been flung back in time, back to when he’d raced across a pasture with another woman, a woman who had tragically died in his arms.

  That had been eight long years ago, when he’d been twenty-seven. At that time all he’d wanted in life was to work his ranch, love his wife, Rebecca, and have a couple of kids to add to his joy.


  A wild ride across a pasture had destroyed it all, had nearly destroyed him. He glanced at the house and thought again of Caitlin. She intrigued him, and he definitely felt a kick of desire each time he saw her, but all he wanted here was to do his job, to get her father into custody.

  The man had to show up sometime or at least let his daughter know where he was holed up. Rhett intended to get close enough to Caitlin to learn any information she might get about Mickey’s whereabouts.

  Rhett would do whatever it took to achieve his goal. He wasn’t a happy, laid-back cowboy anymore. He’d spent years as a Detroit cop before being recruited by the FBI. As a federal agent he was doing his best to protect the President of the United States and he wasn’t about to forget it.

  The day passed quickly with chores that had to be done in order to maintain his undercover position as foreman of the ranch.

  There were four other ranch hands and Rhett found them pleasant and competent men. They went about their business with little prodding from him and none of them seemed inclined to idle chitchat.

  At noon the men all disappeared for lunch and Rhett headed for his cabin, where a microwavable pizza awaited him.

  He’d just pulled it out of the refrigerator’s tiny freezer when a knock fell on the door. He opened the door and looked at Caitlin in surprise. She appeared uncomfortable and held a covered plate in her hands. “Esmeralda made some extra fried chicken for lunch and thought you might like some. I figured I’d bring it out here and pick up that résumé you promised me.”

  Once again he noticed that she smelled of clean, minty soap and some sort of exotic flowers, and the scent fired a tiny flame in the pit of his stomach. Her glorious hair was confined sedately at the nape of her neck instead of flowing free as it had done when she’d ridden Buttercup.

  “I was just about to zap a pizza for lunch,” he said as he took the plate from her. “I imagine Esmeralda’s chicken is a much tastier choice.”

  He set the dish on the small table and noticed that she didn’t cross the threshold into the room and that the gun she’d brought on the ride that morning was still stuck in her waistband. Interesting, he thought, that she felt she needed the weapon with her when delivering chicken to his doorstep.

  “You want to join me?” he asked. “It looks like Esmeralda sent enough for five people.”

  “No, thanks, but if you could just get me your résumé I would appreciate it.” She shifted from one foot to the other, obviously ill at ease.

  “No problem.” He went to the duffel bag on the floor and set it on the twin bed. “You make the business decisions around the ranch?” he asked as he rummaged in the bag.

  “For now. At least until my father gets home.”

  “I would have thought he’d want to be here to welcome you back home. How long were you gone?” He pulled out one of the copies of the résumé that had been specifically prepared for him when he’d been assigned this job.

  “A couple of months, but he didn’t know I was coming home.” Tension was evident in her voice. She glanced back toward the house, as if wishing she were back inside and not on his little doorstep.

  “Can’t you call him on his cell phone or something?” Rhett handed her the résumé and then offered a charming smile. “I mean, I hate to get all settled in here and then find myself fired the minute your father comes home.”

  “Unfortunately he’s not answering his cell phone and, in any case, if you do your job well then you don’t have to worry about getting fired,” she replied and took a step back from the door. “Thanks for this,” she said as she held up the résumé. “If I have any questions about it I’ll let you know.”

  Once again he found himself watching her as she walked away from him. She had a sensual sway to her hips that would naturally draw a man’s eyes, but he still sensed a certain darkness in her…and a toughness. She definitely didn’t seem to go all soft and gooey beneath the charm of his smile and dimples.

  She probably had a boyfriend. He couldn’t imagine a woman like her being alone, without any love interest in her life. A woman like her surely didn’t want for male company.

  Was she aware of what her father had gotten himself involved in? How much, if anything, did she knew about the secret society? She’d been out of the country for months. It was possible she knew nothing about anything that had come to light recently. It was also possible she knew and that was the stress he sensed in her.

  Rhett was accustomed to women wanting to get close to him, finding him attractive, but Caitlin seemed to be the exception to the rule. She appeared as skittish and wary as Molly, but he was determined to get beneath her defenses.

  She intrigued him, and she definitely kicked up a surprising dose of lust inside him, but that wouldn’t stop him from manipulating her unmercifully to achieve his goals.

  Micky O’Donahue stood at the window of the small motel room, watching as twilight began to fall. With the violet shadows of night beginning to edge in, a tense pressure built painfully inside his chest.

  It was the same with the approach of each night since he’d left his ranch to go into hiding—the darkness brought with it a fear he’d never known before.

  The darkness could hold danger and he’d never see it coming. Somebody could crash through the door, take him out with a single bullet to the heart.

  He’d gotten in over his head, thrown his money and influence behind the wrong people, and now he didn’t know what to do to get himself out of the mess, was afraid that he’d pay for his mistakes either with his life or with a life behind bars.

  Hell, who was he kidding? Even if he wound up behind bars somebody from the society would find a way to get to him. He wouldn’t last a week before somebody shanked him in the back or beat him to death.

  He allowed the thick curtain to fall back across the window and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Even if he wasn’t scared senseless he’d find his surroundings horrifying.

  The nightstand was scarred with cigarette burns and drink rings. The gold shag carpeting was certainly the original. The lumpy bed held no appeal and the water pressure in the bathroom was nearly nonexistent.

  Mickey was accustomed to the best of everything and this seedy motel two hundred miles from his ranch was definitely depressing, but he also hoped it was the very last place on earth anyone would look for him.

  He glanced at his cell phone on the nightstand and mentally cursed the fact that when he’d decided to take off and leave home he’d forgotten to pack the charger. The phone was dead. But maybe that was a good thing. He knew that with today’s technology a cell phone registered in his name could lead searchers to him. Even if he had the charger he’d be afraid to use the phone.

  Although he’d like to check in with Esmeralda, he was also afraid to call the landline at the ranch. It was probably bugged and there was no way he could chance somebody tracing the call and finding out that he was here. He needed to go out to get a disposable cell, but so far he’d been afraid to venture outside the room for anything.

  Fear was a new emotion for Mickey. Sure, he’d been afraid when his wife had died and left him with a three-year-old to raise. He’d been scared then that he wouldn’t measure up, wouldn’t be the kind of father he wanted to be to his darling daughter.

  But this kind of fear was something different, something completely new. It seeped into his bones with a sickening cold, tightened his gut until he thought he couldn’t breathe.

  He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, that sooner or later he’d need to decide his next move. But the problem was, he didn’t know who to trust. Mickey had always been a survivor. His craftiness and sense of self-preservation were what had made him successful in the political arena.

  He’d been savvy, always with an eye to his own enrichment of power when it came to picking politicians to back. He’d only made one mistake—trusting Hank Kelley.

  His stomach churned as he thought of the senator who had fallen from grace. Hank
had been a good friend and a powerful ally over the years, but now he found himself embroiled in the same mess as Mickey. Even worse, Hank’s daughter had been kidnapped by the very men Mickey feared were after him and now Hank was hiding out at his sons’ ranch in Montana.

  As Mickey thought of his own daughter his heart swelled with a combination of fierce love and pride. Caitlin was not only beautiful, she was smart. She’d breezed through medical school to become a plastic surgeon and he’d been proud of her decision to work with Doctors Without Borders before eventually opening her own practice.

  There was only one thing Mickey loved more than power or money and that was his daughter. He hoped she would never know what her father had gotten involved in.

  Once again he moved to the window to peer outside, the fear a rising lump in the back of his throat, a twisting coil in the pit of his stomach. The only thing that gave him any peace at all was the knowledge that Caitlin was safe and far away from all this, in South America doing charitable work.

  Chapter 3

  Caitlin stepped outside onto the front porch and breathed in the sweet scents of home. She sank onto one of the wicker chairs and settled in to watch the sunset.

  She and her father often sat here together to enjoy the last gasp of day. They’d talk about the ranch, about the mother Caitlin couldn’t remember and about life in general.

  She’d always treasured that time to connect to the man who had been the best father a girl could ever want. They’d begun the ritual of watching the sunset together when she’d been a little girl.

  If Hank was at the ranch, she wondered if Mickey was with him. What kind of trouble was her father in? As she remembered the words that had been said to her in the jungle, she was afraid that her father was in some sort of trouble with extremely dangerous men.

  The fact that she now sat on the porch alone only added a final whimper to what had been a difficult day. Seeing how traumatized Molly was and then fighting off the panic attack that Randall’s smooth voice had somehow produced had only been part of her stress.