Rancher Under Cover Read online

  “Maybe I should ask if you have any enemies,” she countered, her gaze once again locking with his. “I mean, this didn’t happen before you showed up here.”

  He forced a dry laugh. “Not me. I don’t stick around long enough in one place to make enemies. We should probably call the police.”

  She shook her head vehemently, her flaming-red hair glistening in the artificial light overhead. Despite the circumstances, Rhett felt a crazy lick of lust warm his belly. His fingers itched to lose themselves in that glorious mane. Nothing like a brush with death to make a man want to make love with the nearest woman, he thought.

  He tamped down his desire as he saw the fear that lurked in the depths of her eyes. “It’s your call,” he finally said.

  “There’s really no point in calling the authorities. We can’t tell them anything that would help them catch whoever was out there. It would just be a waste of time to report this.”

  He had a feeling she was reluctant to call the authorities for another reason altogether—because she knew her father was in trouble and she didn’t want to get the police involved. He wanted to ask her a hundred questions but knew now wasn’t the time to push her. He couldn’t overplay his hand or she would know that he wasn’t just a good-old-boy wrangler.

  She looked achingly vulnerable with that nerve ticking in her slender neck and her eyes dark and fathomless. Along with his desire to tangle his hands in that red hair of hers was also a crazy need to wrap her in his arms and pull her tight against him to assure her that he’d keep her safe from whatever she feared.

  It was an unacceptable emotion, one that stunned him and made him spring to his feet. “So, what do you plan to do about this?” he asked. “Of course, for all I know, the fact that somebody shot at us while we stood on your porch might be an everyday occurrence.”

  “Of course it isn’t an everyday occurrence. I told you nothing like this has ever happened before, but I’m not sure what to do about it,” she replied tersely. “All I know is that calling in a report would solve nothing and the only thing I can do from here on is stay aware.” She picked up her gun from the end table. “I can take care of myself.”

  She might have wanted to appear strong and invincible with the gun in her hand, but he noticed that her full lower lip trembled ominously and her hand shook slightly. “I couldn’t help but notice that you carry a gun,” she said.

  He nodded. “I don’t go looking for trouble, but I’m always ready for it if it comes at me,” he said, using almost the same words she had used when they’d taken their ride together and he’d mentioned her gun.

  Her cheeks once again flushed with color. “I’m sorry I made it difficult for you by fighting when you were trying to keep me safe. I didn’t know what was happening…what you were trying to do.”

  “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” He tried not to think about her warm body beneath his and the scent of her that had momentarily filled his head when he’d lain on top of her. “I just knew that standing up we were easy targets.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. I’d much rather have a couple of splinters in my backside than a bullet through my head.”

  He gave her one of his legendary lazy grins. “If you need a little help picking some of those splinters out of your back I’d be more than happy to offer my services.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine, and on that note I think it’s time for you to say good-night,” she said as she placed her gun down and then rose from the chair.

  She walked with him to the door and he turned back to look at her. “I don’t know what happened here tonight, but I would definitely recommend that you keep your doors locked. I plan to sleep with one eye open.”

  For just a moment she looked achingly vulnerable with her shoulders slumped slightly forward and her eyes filled with shadows. A strand of her hair fell forward and before he realized his intention he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. Soft and silky, the feel of the curl seemed to imprint itself on his skin.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked softly.

  Her lower lip trembled again and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to cover it with his own. He leaned toward her and she must have seen his intention in his eyes, for she quickly took a step back from him as her shoulders snapped rigid. “Good night, Randall.”

  “’Night,” he replied and stepped out the door. His gaze swept the area at the same time he drew a deep lungful of the night air. He needed the fresh air to banish the desire Caitlin had evoked in him.

  In all his years since the tragedy that had changed his life no woman had ever gotten under his skin, until now. And she was working her way under his skin by doing nothing more than appearing to be a strong, independent woman who, on second glance, had a wounded darkness in her eyes and a fragility that made him want to wrap her in his arms.

  He had to keep his desire for her in check. As he left the porch his gaze continued to scan the area, but he sensed the threat was gone and he had a feeling Caitlin felt the same way.

  Otherwise why hadn’t she insisted they call the authorities? What woman in her right mind would be shot at on her own front porch and then dismiss the whole thing? It just didn’t make sense.

  He suspected that she believed what he did, that the shooter had been after Mickey and so she felt no further danger directed toward herself.

  So, what did she know about all this? And more importantly how quickly could he get what he’d come here for so that he could escape from her haunted eyes, her lush lips and the emotions she stirred that held an edge of danger for him?

  Chapter 4

  Sleep had been next to impossible after the unsettling events of the night before. Caitlin finally got out of bed at nine the next morning, tormented by her own thoughts and the lingering aftermath of bad dreams.

  Once she’d showered and dressed she had only one thought in her mind—to get some answers. There was no way she believed those bullets the night before had been intended for her or the new ranch foreman, and that meant they could only have been meant for her father.

  She and her father had often sat on the front porch during the evenings. Although Randall was taller and leaner than Mickey, in the darkness of night she thought it would be relatively easy for the shooter to assume the man on the porch with her was her father.

  So, why would somebody want to shoot Mickey? She couldn’t help but believe whatever trouble her father was in was tied to Hank Kelley, who had also dropped out of sight.

  She’d hoped to get some answers from Hank’s son Cole, but in the conversation she’d had with him he hadn’t been forthcoming with any information that might explain either Lana’s kidnapping or Mickey’s disappearance.

  She decided to call Dylan, Cole’s twin brother, to see if he could give her more information than his brother had. She and the handsome Dylan had dated some years before when they’d both been teenagers. Their romantic relationship had fizzled after several dates, but through the years they had remained good friends.

  Grabbing her cell phone she sat on the edge of her bed and dialed his number. Dylan was not only a high-powered lawyer, but she’d heard through the grapevine that he’d recently gotten romantically involved with Cindy Jensen, Hank’s longtime aide.

  She was happy for him if he’d found love. He was a good, solid man who deserved all the happiness that came his way.

  “Dylan,” she said when his deep voice answered. “It’s me.”

  “Caitlin, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, but I just got back into the country a couple of days ago and I need some information. I’m here at the ranch and Dad has disappeared, and with everything that’s going on in your family I have a feeling he’s in volved in something bad. I need some answers, Dylan, and I’m hoping you’ll give them to me.”

  “Caitlin, the less you know about all of this the better,” he replied, his voice holding a deep weariness.

  Caitlin bit back a sigh of frustration. “Last night somebody s
hot at my ranch foreman and I believe those bullets were meant for my father.”

  Tell your father his old friends say hello. She shook her head to dispel the voice. There was no way she intended to tell anyone about the trauma that had brought her home, and, in any case, one thing had nothing to do with the other. “Dylan, please. I need to know what my dad has gotten himself involved in.”

  There was a long moment of silence and then Dylan released a tired sigh. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but somehow your father and mine got themselves involved in some sort of secret society called the Raven’s Head Society.”

  Caitlin frowned and pressed the phone tighter against her ear. “A secret society? What kind of secret society?”

  “One whose goal is to kill the President of the United States.”

  She gasped in horror. “That can’t be true,” she protested. “Both Hank and my father have supported President Colton through the years. My dad could never be involved in something that terrible.”

  Joe Colton was a popular president, known for promoting peace and fighting corruption. There was no question he’d stepped on some toes, made some enemies in achieving his altruistic goals, but there was no way Caitlin would believe her father had become one of his enemies.

  “According to my father, they didn’t know what they were getting involved in. The Raven’s Head Society was just supposed to be a group of wealthy businessmen and politicians working together to get the country back on its feet after the financial fallout of the last couple of years. It wasn’t until your father and mine were in too deep that they realized the true goal and tried to get out.”

  Caitlin’s head reeled with the information. A secret society? The death of a president? It couldn’t be true. How on earth had her father managed to get himself involved in something so terrible?

  “Where’s your father, Dylan?” she asked. “I heard he’s disappeared from sight, that he’s at the ranch. Is my father with him?”

  “Dad is there, but I can tell you for sure that Mickey isn’t with him,” Dylan replied.

  “Why doesn’t your father just tell everything he knows to the FBI or the CIA or whatever?”

  “Because members from the society have Lana.”

  Caitlin’s heart chilled at his words. Now she understood better what had kept the Kelleys silent. “So what do they want?”

  “They want my father to take the fall for the rest of the society and then commit suicide in order to protect the rest of the members.” Dylan’s voice trembled slightly with what sounded like suppressed emotion.

  Caitlin knew Hank had never been close to any of his sons, and the reports of Hank’s womanizing must have deepened the breach, but there was no doubt that Dylan was worried about both his sister and his father.

  Dylan cleared his throat and continued. “We’re trying to figure out a way to get Lana back safe and sound and keep Dad alive. Dad has been in touch with the kidnappers and has demanded proof of life where Lana is concerned.”

  Proof of life. The very words sounded so ominous and the implication of needing such a thing was horrifying. Her heart crunched as she thought of her friend. Beautiful Lana with her sweet innocence—she was not only gorgeous but was also an accomplished artist and studying to get her master’s degree in art history.

  Was she already dead? The question ached in Caitlin’s heart. She couldn’t imagine life without the woman she considered her little sister.

  “Caitlin, wherever your father is, there’s no question that he’s in danger. There are members of the society who wouldn’t blink twice before killing him. They consider him a threat to everything they want. If he contacts you, encourage him to turn himself in. Maybe he’ll listen to reason better than my father is doing at the moment.”

  Caitlin thanked Dylan for being up front with her, and when the call ended she remained on the bed, overwhelmed by the information she’d received.

  How on earth had Hank and her father gotten themselves into such a mess? Even as the question formed in her mind the answer came to her: they were both power-seekers and their hunt for power and influence had landed them in a dangerous mess.

  She was smart enough to know that if Mickey turned himself in, he would probably be facing prison time for his involvement in any plot to kill the President of the United States. She also knew her father well enough to know that he’d rather be dead than live out the rest of his life in any prison.

  Certainly this information made it more than likely that the attack last night had to do with somebody trying to kill her father. She wanted him home, but she also wanted him safe.

  Tell your father his old friends say hello.

  The voice exploded in her head, bringing with it memories that ripped at her soul, tore through her head. Had the men in the jungle somehow been a part of the secret society? Had that been a warning to her father? It seemed impossible to believe. The jungle of El Salvador was a world away from the political machinations of Washington, D.C.

  Thick emotion rose up in the back of her throat and squeezed her lungs. The odor of jungle rot filled her head and she jumped up off the bed and mentally shoved back against the memories.

  Dead. She needed to be emotionally dead in order to put one foot in front of the other, in order to face herself in the mirror.

  The Kelley family was in crisis, but so were she and her father. She walked to the window and peered out. Where are you, Dad? I need you here with me. I need you to help me understand.

  There was nothing she could do until her dad surfaced. She hoped he’d call the ranch, check in, and then she could talk to him, tell him she needed him and wanted him home.

  Once he was back at the ranch they could figure out his next move. As far as she was concerned he needed to go to the authorities and tell them whatever he could about the Raven’s Head Society. It was the right thing to do and Mickey had always encouraged her to do the right thing. Surely he could be put in some sort of protective custody to make sure he remained safe.

  Needing some fresh air, she headed downstairs and was greeted by Esme in the kitchen. “Ah, I thought maybe you were going to sleep the day away,” the housekeeper said.

  “I was just on the phone with Dylan, trying to find out if he or any of the Kelleys have any idea where Dad might be,” Caitlin replied.

  “Did he know?” Esme asked, a dark worry filling her eyes.

  “No.” There was no way Caitlin intended to tell Esme everything she’d learned from Dylan. She knew Esme’s penchant for making herself sick when she worried. “I just wish he’d call and let us know he’s okay.”

  “This just isn’t like him,” Esme said more to herself than to Caitlin. “Are you ready for some breakfast?” As always Esme figured food could fix any problem. “I baked some blueberry muffins this morning.”

  “Maybe later. I’m going to head out and check on a horse.” What Caitlin wanted more than anything at the moment was a distraction from her own thoughts, her own feelings. Besides, there was nothing she could do about her father until he got in contact with her.

  She stepped outside and, although the warmth of the morning air attempted to heat the chill inside her, it didn’t work. Dylan’s words had created a cold spot inside her very soul that she wasn’t sure would ever be warm again.

  It was only when she spied Randall near the small corral that a flutter of heat fired through her. He had a saddle draped over a sawhorse and was polishing the leather.

  He didn’t see her and for a moment she stood perfectly still and gazed at him. As he worked on the saddle his biceps tightened and his shoulders seemed to expand with his efforts. Definitely hunk material.

  She’d thought he was going to kiss her the night before. There had been a moment when he’d tucked her hair behind her ear and she’d been certain that a kiss was his intention.

  And what would have happened if she’d allowed him to kiss her? Would his closeness to her yank her back into the not-so-distant past? Would the feel
of his lips against hers, the weight of his arms around her thrust her into a horrifying, embarrassing panic attack?

  Right now she couldn’t imagine being intimate with a man ever again. The thought of a man’s weight on top of her, of grasping hands and hot breath caused a wild panic to attempt to possess her.

  At that moment Randall looked up and the sexy smile that curved his lips at the sight of her shot another small burst of heat through her and tamped down the rising sense of panic that had momentarily gripped her. “Good morning,” he said.

  His shaggy blond hair gleamed in the sunlight overhead and his eyes appeared even greener in the light of day. Whiskers darkened his jaw, only adding to his bad-boy attractiveness.

  “Good morning to you,” she replied. “I just thought I’d come out and check on Molly.”

  The horse stood at the back of the corral, watching them with a wariness that broke Caitlin’s heart. Whether it was something Garrett Simms had done to her or the time she’d spent wrapped up in that barbed wire, Molly was obviously traumatized. Caitlin could definitely relate.

  Randall set the rag he’d been using to polish the leather on the edge of the sawhorse and straightened. “From what I can tell, her wounds look a little better today, but mentally she still seems to be in a bad place. I decided to do a little work out here where she could see me and maybe learn to trust again.”

  Caitlin leaned against the fence a small distance from him, although from where she stood she could smell the scent of his minty soap mingling with the saddle leather. It was a pleasant scent that could go to her head if she allowed it.

  “I’ve been trying to entice her with some bits of apple,” he said and pointed to several apple slices on top of the fence post. He picked up a piece and walked to the gate and entered the corral.

  As he approached the horse Caitlin couldn’t help but notice the broadness of his shoulders, the slim hips that wore the tight jeans as if they’d been specifically tailored just for him. His boots were dusty and worn, as cowboy boots should be, and he walked with the confidence of a man who knew his place in life.