12-Alarm Cowboys (113 page)

Becket stood beside the ATV, his gaze on her.

She smiled and waved, that happy glow following her inside. Yes. She’d always loved Becket, but she knew she needed to take their new relationship slowly. With emotional scars, she wasn’t sure how much of it would carry over. Kinsey didn’t want Becket to have to deal with any long-term issues she might have. Still, she wasn’t letting anything spoil her good mood.

In the kitchen, she found a note on the table.

Since Kinsey is with you, Lily made a run to town for groceries. Chance went to the diner for lunch, and Nash went to work. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t. We’ll be back later.

Kinsey grinned, glad they didn’t know what she and Becket had done out in the south pasture. That act was their secret, one she’d hold dear to her heart. Her core still tingled from the best sex she’d had in a long time.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor, gathered clean clothing, and crossed to the shower, wondering if Becket would hurry back to the house and join her in the shower.

Alas, he might not be aware the ranch was deserted except for the two of them. If he knew, he might be tempted.

She stripped out of the dusty clothes and stared at herself in the mirror. Her body was a colorful mass of bruises. Some purple, others that ugly shade of greenish-yellow. How could a man be attracted to a woman who looked like her?

Another thought made her frown. What if he really was having regrets and was procrastinating out in the barn to avoid facing her?

Kinsey shook herself. Dillon had made her feel unworthy of love. She was free of him, and should free herself of the negative thoughts he’d made her believe.

With purpose in her steps, she entered the shower and turned on the water. Afterward, she’d join Becket in the kitchen. If something happened between them, their relationship was meant to be. If not, perhaps she just needed to be patient. Her life was headed in the right direction. She wasn’t going back to the hell she’d lived in before.

After Kinsey disappeared
into the house with a sexy smile on her face, Becket revved the ATV engine. The rumble of the machine beneath him seemed to be a metaphor for how he felt at that moment. His divorce three years ago had put him emotionally on hold. No woman was worth the trouble of dating if the relationship would only end up in disappointment, or her leaving him for a richer man.

Until Kinsey. He was attracted to her for who she had been, and who she’d become. However, telling himself over and over to take it slow with her would be futile. He’d never look at his ATV the same. The rumbling engine reminded Becket of Kinsey riding him, with nothing but air covering her skin and blue sky as a backdrop.

She was hot and she was beautiful, her laughing green eyes shining right into his heart. He could fall in love with her, if he let himself. Becket shifted into gear and pressed the throttle.

Take it slowly.

His new mantra repeating in his head, he drove the ATV into the barn and parked it next to the other that needed repair.

Though his body was in the barn, he let his thoughts drift to Kinsey showering in the bathroom across the hall from his bedroom. If he hurried, he could catch her, dripping wet, and in need of someone to dry off her skin. They could move to his bedroom and make love again. This time on the comfortable mattress, taking their time and not risking sunburn on her naked body.

Sweet Jesus.
Had he really made love to Kinsey on the seat of the four-wheeler?

Take it slow.

Becket inhaled and let out his breath in a long, slow stream. Kinsey needed to recover before she threw herself into anything. Especially into sex with another man. She had been more than willing, initiating the encounter, but was it the right thing to do? Had he taken advantage of her at a weak moment?

He would give her time. Let her shower as planned, and then meet him in the kitchen to make a sandwich. Not steal a kiss, or take her on the kitchen table. His groin tightened as he struggled to quench his desire.

Feed the horses.
Hell, he’d already done that.
Stack some hay
. It was all perfectly stacked, ready to use in the winter. Maybe he could reorganize the tack room. That could kill an hour, if he took his time.

Making his way to the room filled with saddles, bridles, and other equipment, he glanced inside. Well, damn. He’d completely reorganized it a month ago. The equipment was still clean and orderly.

He might as well go to the house and see if Kinsey was done in the shower. Maybe he’d climb the stairs and knock on the door, just to see if she needed anything—fresh towels, toilet paper, someone to pat the moisture off her skin. He groaned and started to turn away from the tack room.

A scuffling sound and a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Before he could react, something hard hit him in the back of the head.

Pain shot through his skull. Becket staggered into the tack room, his knees buckling.

Fight it. Don’t go down
.

Another blow to the back of the head sent him crashing to the hardwood floor, and the lights blinked out.

‡

K
insey finished a
long shower, disappointed Becket hadn’t joined her. She’d taken her time drying off, hoping to hear a knock on the bathroom door. In her mind, she already had a plan. She’d drop the towel, plant a hand on his chest, and back him into his bedroom across the hallway.

No knock came to her door. With a sigh, she dressed, dragging her clothing over her sensitized skin, wishing Becket’s hands were covering her instead of clothes. She laughed at her imaginings. Kinsey realized having a relationship with someone she trusted was so much better than what she’d had with Dillon.

The house was silent except for the sound of her footsteps as she descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. Becket had obviously stayed to perform needed chores in the barn. Or maybe he regretted making love to her in the pasture.

Deflated and a little sad, Kinsey searched the refrigerator for sandwich ingredients. Deli meat, mustard, mayonnaise, and cheese—everything she needed to make a lunch.

The door creaked open behind her.

“Just in time. I was about to make sandwiches. You can help.” She turned with a smile.

“Hello, Kinsey.”

All the items slipped from her arms and crashed to the floor as Kinsey faced the man who’d become her living nightmare. “Dillon,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, her insides quaking.

Dillon advanced a step. “Imagine how worried I was when I woke up to find you gone.”

Kinsey inched backward, her gaze darting around, searching for a way out. All escape routes required passing her ex-boyfriend. Where was Becket? “I’m sorry. I sh-should have left a note.”

He took another step, closing the distance. “You stole my keys out of my pocket.”

Stay calm
. Her heart slammed against her ribs, pumping so fast her head swam. “I only took the key to
my
car and put the others back.”

“You stole them out of my pocket.” Another step and he could almost reach her.

Kinsey stepped back and to the side, placing the kitchen island between them. If she remembered correctly, knives were kept in one of the drawers. Which one? She’d only have a single chance to find it.

Dillon’s eyes narrowed, and he held out his hand. “You’ve had your fun, Kinsey. Time to come home.”

Kinsey’s back stiffened, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not going back.”

“You belong to me.”

To me. Not with me.
Dillon considered her his property, not his partner. Anger stiffened her muscles. “I don’t belong to anyone. Especially not you.” Her voice hardened, though her knees shook. She shot a glance toward the open door behind Dillon. Where was Becket?

“Grayson isn’t coming to save you.” Dillon’s lips curled into a sneer. “He’s not coming to save anyone ever again.”

Her heart stopped, and she clutched the edge of the island. “What do you mean?” Then she smelled smoke coming through the open door, and her pulse leapt. “Dillon, what have you done?”

Dillon’s lips peeled back over his teeth in a feral snarl. “Taken away temptation. You’re coming home, and you’re not ever returning to Hellfire. Now, quit wasting my time. Let’s go.”

Rage filled her, bubbling over like a boiling cauldron. “Dillon, you’re a sick bastard. There is no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you.” She yanked open the drawer, grabbed the biggest, sharpest butcher knife she could find, and held it in front of her. “You’re never laying a hand on me again.”

Dillon gave her his ‘public’ charming smile and raised his hands as if in surrender.

Something he’d never do. “Baby, I promise. I won’t hurt you.”

“You forget, I’ve been with you long enough to know you break all your promises.” She circled the island, the knife firmly in her grip. She had no question in her mind that she’d use it if he came at her. Her goal was to get the hell out of the house and find Becket. Her chest tightened as she imagined all the horrible things Dillon could have done to him. And why was smoke drifting through the kitchen door?

“Quit stalling, Kinsey. We’re leaving now.”

“Then leave. I’m not going with you. Ever. Again.”

Dillon lunged for her.

Kinsey jabbed the knife at the hands reaching for her, cutting into his forearm.

He cradled his arm. “You fucking bitch.”

Kinsey turned and ran for the door.

Footsteps pounded behind her.

Before she made it through, strong hands grabbed her around the waist and yank her back against him. She slammed the knife into his thigh.

“Bitch, you’ll pay for that.” With one arm around her middle, Dillon knocked the knife out of her hand with a heavy blow to her wrist.

Pain shot up her arm, but she couldn’t give up. Not now. She’d come this far, she couldn’t go back. Wouldn’t. She jabbed her elbow into his gut and stomped on his instep.

Dillon grunted and wrapped her in a bear hug, trapping her arms to her sides and lifting her off the ground.

Kinsey kicked and twisted, but the more she fought, the tighter he squeezed, until she could barely draw a breath. “Put me down, Dillon. You’re breaking the law. I swore out a restraining order against you.”

“Yeah, I got the texts from my teammates. How’s that working for you?”

Not any better than she’d predicted. The man was insane, and hope began to leach out of her. He was so much bigger, and as strong as an ox. How could a woman of five feet one inch, weighing less than half what he did, fight a man that big?

Use your brain.

Warm, wet blood dripped down her leg. She’d injured him. Based on the strength of his grip, the damage wasn’t enough to weaken him. But, the amount of blood on the floor would make it slippery. She let her body go limp, pretending to pass out.

“ ’bout damn time,” Dillon grumbled, loosening his arms slightly.

Kinsey sucked in a deep breath, clearing her head.

Dillon started through the door, but Kinsey jerked her legs up, planted them on the frame, and pushed hard.

He staggered backward, slipping in his own blood. Then, he crashed to the floor, taking Kinsey down.

As soon as he hit the ground, he released her and groaned.

Kinsey was ready. After rolling to the side, she leaped to her feet and scrambled for the exit. The hot Texas sunshine beckoned her, and the fresh air screamed freedom. All she had to do was get there.

Two steps. That’s as far as she made it before Dillon swept out his leg. He caught her at the ankles, knocking her feet sideways.

She fell, watching the floor as if it rose up to greet her. Her forehead hit, pain ripped through her, and blackness descended.

Becket coughed, dragged
in a breath of hot, acrid smoke, and coughed again. He forced open his eyes and they stung, making them tear. As he fought his way through the fog to consciousness, he took a moment to realize the fog was smoke, and he was awake. Pain throbbed at the back of his head. He pushed to his knees to get a bearing on his location. Stirrups hung in front of his face from saddles perched on saddletrees. Tack room.

His first thought was of the horses. Then he remembered turning them out to pasture earlier.

Becket staggered to his feet, pulled his T-shirt up over his nose, coughing. His eyes burned and smoke filled the air, making seeing in the small room hard. He touched his fingertips to the door and doorknob. They were hot. Which meant the fire was on the other side.

Grabbing a saddle blanket, he wrapped it around the doorknob and twisted. The door didn’t budge. He held the knob and threw his shoulder against the wood panel. Still, the door wouldn’t open. Something blocked it. He hit the door again with his shoulder. Again, to no avail. If he didn’t escape soon, he would be overcome by smoke, or the fire would find its way through the walls, and consume him and everything else in the tack room.

Hunkering low, he felt his way through the cloud of smoke until he found the outside wall. He cleared an old wooden trunk and several saddletrees out of the way, and then kicked at the boards. His first blow did little to budge the nails driven into the beams over fifty years ago when the barn had been built.