Familiar Showdown Page 9

  Rory had also ridden the range often—and alone. He’d come in from a long ride, eager to talk about the wildlife he’d seen and the magnificence of the wilderness right outside his back door, but he’d seldom been specific about where he’d gone or why. At the time, she’d given it no thought. Now it seemed sinister.

  There was also the pump house, where he’d fiddled with the mechanics of the well for hours on end. And the tractor shed. And the house, which also bore the stamp of his labor. He’d put in modern appliances and a butane generator that ran both the air-conditioning and the well. Rory had been handy around the ranch, no doubt about it.

  “When he was here, he stayed busy working on things.” She listed the areas. “I can’t say he seemed more interested in one place than another.”

  Johnny scooted back his chair and walked to the kitchen window. “The lights are still gone.”

  “Do you think they left?” she asked, hope suddenly springing into her heart. Maybe Carlos Diego’s men would simply leave them alone.

  “They haven’t left,” Johnny said. “They won’t come at us again tonight. They’re regrouping, planning.”

  “When will they come?”

  “A day or two. Maybe a little longer. They have time on their side.”

  “Aren’t they afraid we’ll destroy whatever it is they think I have?”

  “Good question, which tells me that it’s something our government would also want. They’re counting on my protecting whatever it is.”

  She stood and refilled Johnny’s tea glass. “What was Diego into?” She thought of novels she’d read, which provided her only frame of reference for this world of criminals. “Drugs? Prostitution? International money laundering?”

  “All of the above. Add gunrunning to the list. All sideline businesses—his primary focus is selling information.”

  “What kind of information?” Stephanie didn’t like the sound of this at all. Such were the ingredients for movies—and in the movies a whole lot of stuff got burned, blown up and destroyed, including people.

  Johnny finally met her gaze head-on. “The United States has operatives all over the world. Most of them gather information—intelligence. These operatives don’t take action. It isn’t like James Bond, for the most part. The agents merely keep a finger on the pulse of certain activities in other countries. To negotiate with some countries we rely on information about their activities.”

  “Activities that have an impact on our country,” she said.

  “That’s right.”

  “And Rory was an operative?”

  “Rory was the exception to the rule. He gathered intelligence, but he also took part in illegal activities as part of his cover. He’d been successfully planted inside the Diego organization. We’d spent years building his cover, his transport business, his personality, his past.” Johnny picked up his plate and walked to the sink.

  She could tell that he didn’t want to talk about this, but she wanted answers—she needed answers. “You owe me an explanation, at least.”

  He turned slowly, the plate still in his hand. “No, I don’t. I’ll tell you what I can, Stephanie, because I recognize that you’ve been wronged. You’re caught up in something and you’re totally innocent. But there are other lives at stake here—not just yours and mine.”

  “Then it seems that someone should be checking on us. That someone in power would make sure my barn wasn’t torched. Tell me how that happened. My horses could have died. I could have been shot this afternoon. Where is this wonderful organization you work for?”

  She saw him swallow and knew he was as worried as she was. That didn’t calm her one bit.

  She went to the bedroom and brought the box of letters Rory had written her. Once, she’d cherished them. Now the very idea that she’d believed a single word made her feel stupid.

  “There may be a clue in these,” she said, putting the box in front of Johnny’s place at the table. She went to the sink and ran hot water.

  While she washed the dishes, Johnny read the letters. Familiar sat beside him, almost as if he, too, were reading along.

  Stephanie couldn’t help but remember the letters. Some of them included personal references, endearments, dreams. She and Rory had spun out the plans for the ranch and their lives in loving detail.

  “He meant to move here and live with you. I believe he was sincere in that.”

  She froze. She could feel Johnny’s gaze on her back, drilling into her. She didn’t face him, though. She was struggling to rein in her emotions.

  “What does it matter what he intended?” she finally asked. “He lied about everything. Had he come here, it would only be worse for me now.”

  She heard Johnny’s footsteps and then felt his hands grasping her shoulders. His grip was warm and firm, and he held her as he spoke. “He may have lied to you, but I know he loved you.”

  “He loved me so much he let me create an image of who he was in my head—”

  “And he wanted to be that man, Stephanie. You made him want to be the man you thought he was. It’s obvious Rory was planning on leaving the agency and building a life with you.”

  She spun, suddenly furious. “Why are you taking his side? What’s he done? Sold the names of his friends to a foreign government? How can you even pretend that there’s one single thing about him that’s decent?”

  Johnny sighed. “Because I know what it feels like to be in a life that requires lies and fabrications to protect the ones you love.” The last phrase was spoken softly.

  Stephanie saw the sadness in Johnny’s eyes. It had never occurred to her that perhaps he, too, had lied his way into a woman’s heart.

  “Don’t defend him. And don’t defend yourself. You choose to live a life of lies. You shouldn’t drag innocent people in behind you.”

  His hands dropped to his sides. “You’re right.” He went to the table and picked up his hat. Slowly he put it on and moved to the back door. “I’ll check on the horses before I go to bed.”

  Stephanie lifted her jacket from the hook by the door. “I’m going, too. I refuse to live like a captive in my own home.” As she reached for the doorknob, she felt a sharp pain in the back of her thigh.

  Looking back, she found Familiar digging his claws into her leg. “Cat!” She reached back to swat at him, but he dropped lower, wrapping around her calf. His claws dug in deep enough for a firm hold.

  “Dammit!” She hopped around the kitchen.

  “Even the cat has sense enough to know you shouldn’t go outside tonight,” Johnny said.

  When she heard the hint of amusement in his voice, it was almost her undoing. “Leave me alone. Both of you.”

  As soon as she turned toward the hallway and her bedroom, Familiar dropped down to the floor. He rubbed against her shin, purring as if he were an angel.

  “Traitor,” she said as she stalked past him.

  JOHNNY EYED THE BLACK CAT. Whatever doubts he’d once harbored about Familiar’s abilities he had set aside in the last few days. The cat was a creature of exceptional intelligence, and he could get away with things that would get a human shot.

  “Good work, Familiar.” He stroked the cat’s sleek hide.

  When Johnny opened the door to go outside, the cat darted in front of him. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have the feline on guard patrol. The cat had an uncanny awareness of danger.

  Johnny was a strong believer in the abilities of all animals to pick up and recognize impulses that were far too subtle for the average human. There were some men and women with a so-called sixth sense. Rory had been one of them. He’d been able to work within a highly volatile crime organization, staying one step ahead of Carlos Diego.

  He’d been so successful at it, in fact, that he’d betrayed not only Carlos but the Omega Project.

  Johnny slipped through the night, moving silently from paddock to corral to the nearest pasture where Stephanie had put most of the horses.

  In the faint glimmer of a new moon,
he could see them grazing peacefully. Familiar walked the rail fence, his nose up and his tail straight in the air. He, too, was taking the measure of the night.

  Far in the distance a coyote howled, a sound so lonesome that it touched Johnny down in his bones. Rory had nicknamed him “the coyote.” It had started as a joke, but the name had stuck. It suited him. Because he never dated, never pursued any of the women who made it clear they’d be interested in a night on the town or a bit more.

  Because Johnny had never felt comfortable dragging an innocent person into the web of lies that had become his life. He’d feared what would happen, and now he could see firsthand that he’d been right. Stephanie was living proof.

  But the worst of it was that he’d begun to have serious feelings for her.

  And that was counterproductive for her and for him.

  In coming to the ranch, pretending to be a cowboy on the move, he’d lied to and betrayed her. On top of that, he’d had to deliver the news that Rory was likely alive and had put her in a position of great danger. No, there was no recovering from all of this.

  Yet he couldn’t ignore his feelings. It had taken all his restraint not to gather her into his arms and hold her, offer the comfort he knew she needed. But that would be a lie on top of a mountain of falsehoods. He couldn’t protect her. Hell, he didn’t know if they’d survive the week.

  The most disturbing part was the fact that he’d been cut off from the rest of the organization. Anything could have happened in the world at large, and none of the news would have filtered to Running Horse Ranch.

  When he finished checking all the horses, he stopped by the bunkhouse and got his gear. Stephanie wasn’t going to like it, but he intended to spend the night in the main house. It would be easier to keep her safe that way.

  He and the cat moved silently through the night, slipping in the back door of the house, which he locked. He closed all the shutters and headed for the sofa. If by some chance Stephanie had fallen asleep, he wasn’t going to make noise.

  Maybe in the morning things would look better. Stephanie had plans to move the horses to safety, but he knew that would never happen. Carlos wouldn’t allow her to leave. But Johnny would cross that bridge when he had to. For the moment, he needed sleep.

  WELL, IN TYPICAL humanoid fashion, things have spiraled out of control in a big-time kind of way. Why is it that bipeds complicate their lives by lying? Felines, a naturally superior species, never lie. We are exactly what you see—perfect creations that come with self-confidence, remarkable balance and agility, a loving nature and a need to control our environments. Not to mention a healthy and finicky appetite.

  I can see that Johnny has developed feelings for Miss Cowgirl. And she likes him back. That’s why his betrayal is all the more bitter for her to swallow. Now two felines would simply sniff, romp a bit and then get down to the business of mutual attraction. Not the bipeds. They make everything difficult. So in a time of great danger, Johnny is on the sofa and Miss Cowgirl is locked in her room.

  What a mess.

  The only positive news around here is that while I was out with Johnny, I didn’t sense any other humans around. The horses, also keen observers of human nature, were serene and grazing. I think for tonight, at least, we can settle in for some sleep. Which is a good thing, because I need my beauty rest.

  Tomorrow we’ll search for whatever Rory stole. If it’s here, we’ll find it. Once we know what it is, we’ll have a better idea of how to proceed.

  Chapter Ten

  Stephanie awakened to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cooking bacon. For a moment she snuggled beneath the covers and drifted into half sleep, a place where she felt safe and loved. In the background she could hear her grandfather chanting softly as he made the breakfast that would start their day. She burrowed deeper into the warm quilts and drifted back in time to a morning of sunshine and the joy of learning “the way of the horse” with the slender Oglala elder, her beloved grandfather, who’d never raised his voice in anger.

  Her grandfather had just received a blue roan, a beautiful mare who was so head-shy no one could get a halter on her. This was to be the day’s lesson—to teach Purple Sage, the horse, to learn to trust her. Stephanie was eager to show her grandfather how hard she’d studied his teachings. She would show Purple Sage that humans could be kind and helpful as well as cruel and abusive.

  The smell of cooking bacon teased Stephanie’s senses, drawing her toward wakefulness. She was hungry. The day was starting and life was—

  She sat up and threw back the covers with a start. She was a grown woman and her grandfather had been dead for years. The only person who could be cooking was Johnny Kreel. She flung herself out of bed and pulled on jeans and a warm shirt. The mornings were getting colder, and she found clean socks and her boots.

  She checked the bedside clock—it was just after daybreak. She had too much to do to waste a minute. Her plan was to load the horse trailer and move some of the horses to a safer location. It would take several trips to transport them all, but once that was done, then she’d decide whether she would stay and fight—or flee.

  When she walked into the kitchen, she paused. Johnny, unaware that she was in the room, stood at the stove, turning the bacon in a sizzling skillet. He hummed an old cowboy tune softly under his breath. Familiar sat on a chair at the table, watching. The scene was so homey she felt a catch in her chest. Looking at Johnny work, she had to admit certain things, if only to herself.

  Johnny Kreel moved her. He touched something primal and feminine deep inside her. His flannel shirt clung to his broad shoulders, and his worn jeans hugged his lean hips. Every move he made was fluid grace. His whipcord body implied prowess and power, but he’d never used his physicality in a negative way. At least not that she’d ever seen.

  Despite herself, she imagined what it would feel like if he wrapped his arms around her and held her. If he kissed her. Would he be a tender and fiery lover? She swallowed, desperately trying to get control of her thoughts. Johnny worked on her, but she couldn’t afford to let him. He wasn’t to be trusted, and surely she’d learned that bitter lesson from Rory. Or she should have.

  But Johnny wasn’t Rory, she argued with herself. Rory had set out to deceive her. Johnny had come along to try to clean up the mess Rory had made. In a way, he was as much a victim in this situation as she was. Rory had put them both between a rock and a hard place.

  No matter how mad she was at Johnny’s deception, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt. He was a handsome man who embodied so many qualities she admired—and some she couldn’t tolerate.

  And those were the ones she had to concentrate on if she didn’t want to suffer another heartbreak.

  He sensed her presence and turned to face her, the spatula in one hand. “Morning.” He offered a slightly crooked grin. “Breakfast will be ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  She nodded, dropping her gaze, hoping he hadn’t picked up on her thoughts. Her emotions were too volatile, and she wasn’t sure how much of her inner turmoil might show in her face.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of starting breakfast,” he said.

  “No.” She went to the coffeepot and poured a cup, taking her time as she tried to figure out how to handle the situation that had been thrust upon her.

  Johnny drained the crisp bacon on paper towels and turned to the refrigerator for eggs. “Familiar has ordered two eggs, over easy. What about you?”

  Stephanie eyed the cat. “I figured Familiar more for the poached egg kind of cat.”

  “That was his first choice, but I’m not much into poaching. Fried or scrambled were his choices.”

  She put her coffee on the counter and retrieved a loaf of bread. “Over easy,” she said as she put four slices in the toaster.

  Familiar looked from her to Johnny and back to her. He seemed to be assessing the situation. When Johnny put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him, the cat immediately
ate. Stephanie envied him such a ferocious appetite. Something about Johnny made it difficult to eat in his presence. At least for her.

  She buttered the toast and found the homemade jam she’d bought in Custer. A local church group had picked blackberries earlier in the season and made the preserves. The taste reminded her of childhood and of making blackberry jam with her grandmother, Olga. Those has been rare moments spent indoors. Given the chance, she was always outside with Running Horse, caring for the stock and watching him train. But she had some treasured memories of her grandmother, too.

  “You’re thinking about the past, aren’t you?” Johnny asked.

  Embarrassment crept into her cheeks. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged one shoulder as he put a plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of her. “The left side of your mouth sort of tugs up. It happens whenever you talk about your grandfather, so I figured you were thinking about him.”

  “Yes,” she said, feeling even more exposed. She had to be careful; Johnny could read her like a book.

  “I wish I could have met your grandfather,” Johnny said, turning from the stove with another plate of hot food in his hand.

  He sounded so sincere that she looked at him. She stopped, her fork in midair, and met his gaze. For one long moment they were frozen in that pose. She stared over her fork into his eyes while he held a spatula in one hand and a plate in the other and stood halfway between the stove and the table.

  It was craziness, but she felt the blood rush through her body. She had the sense of falling, as if the world had tilted too suddenly and she was going to be flung into space.

  In slow motion, Johnny put the plate on the table and lowered the spatula, placing it carefully beside his plate. He came toward her, never breaking the gaze that held them like a magic spell.

  She found herself rising from her chair, pushing it away with the backs of her knees. It fell with a loud crash, but she didn’t hear it. She was aware that Familiar had stopped eating and was watching them with wide green eyes, but there was no sound in the depth of the moment. There was only Johnny.