12-Alarm Cowboys (114 page)

Bracing his back against the boards, he cocked his leg and threw everything he had into hitting one board, low to the floor. It moved, the nails sliding out. Kicking again and again, he loosened one board, and then the adjacent one. The smoke thickened, and he couldn’t get a clean breath of air. He hacked and coughed, but he didn’t give up.

He suspected Dillon Massey had been the man who hit him. The thought of what Dillon might do to Kinsey made Becket kick harder until one board shot free of the brace boards, and Becket could see blue sky. Fresh air seeped in but the smoke prevailed. He worked at another board until it broke. The hole he’d created was barely big enough.

Becket laid flat on the floor of the tack room and squeezed his big body through, sucking in air once his head cleared the barn. With renewed strength, he wiggled, scooted, and crawled inch by inch until he was free of the barn. Coughing, practically hacking up a lung, he staggered to his feet and ran for the house. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious.

Dillon could be halfway across the county with Kinsey by now.

As Becket reached the house, he saw Lily’s red truck pull into the barnyard.

She dropped to the ground, staring at the barn. “Holy hell, Becket. What happened?” She didn’t wait for his response, but ran for the water hose.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” he called out, barreling through the kitchen door. He slipped on something dark and wet and nearly fell. He straightened, and his heart sank to his knees. The liquid was blood, and a butcher knife lay against the baseboard with more blood streaked across the blade.

Becket ran straight for the phone in the hallway. He knew he wouldn’t find Kinsey in the house. Dillon had her. Sweet Jesus, he prayed she was still alive as he placed a call to 9-1-1. “There’s been an attack at the Coyote Creek Ranch. Kinsey Phillips has been abducted. Send the sheriff, the National Guard, hell, call out anyone and everyone you can. Dillon Massey has her. He’s insane and will kill her if we don’t find her quickly. He’ll probably head out of the county. And send the fire department to the Coyote Creek Ranch. The barn is on fire.” He slammed the phone onto the cradle and ran back out the door.

Lily had the water hose aimed at the roof of the house, sweeping her arm right and left. The barn was too far gone to save. The best they could hope for was to prevent the other buildings from catching fire. But at that moment, Becket didn’t give a damn about the barn or even the house.

“Where’s Kinsey?” Lily asked.

His jaw tight, mind going in a million directions, Becket answered, “Massey has her.”

“Damn.” Lily redirected the hose to a burning ember that landed on a patch of dried grass. “Where would he take her?”

That’s the question that nagged him, and he had no good answers. “He’d be a fool to take her back to his house. That’s the first place the police will look.”

Another truck raced into the barnyard and came to a skidding, dusty stop. Chance leaped out. “Let me guess. Massey made his move. The bastard has to die.” Chance pulled his personal protective gear from the back of his truck and pulled them on. “What are you waiting for?” He jabbed at finger in Becket’s direction. “Find him. We’ll take care of this.”

“Nash will do his best to have road blocks set up to stop Massey,” Lily assured Becket. “They’ll find her.”

“But will they find her in time? There’s blood all over the kitchen.” He swallowed over a dry throat. “I’m afraid he’ll kill her.”

“If he wasn’t taking her back to his place, where would he go?”

Becket stood with his hands on his hips, trying to think like Massey. “The better question is: where would he go if he wanted to kill her?”

“Anywhere,” Lily answered.

“He’s mean enough to make her want to suffer,” Becket said, forcing his mind to think like Massey. “The man was jealous about everything she loved. He took those things away to keep her tied to him.”

“Kinsey came back to Hellfire,” Lily said.

Becket’s eyes widened. “Because it was the only home she’d ever known.”

“But her parents are dead,” Lily pointed out.

“He can’t take away her memories—memories tied to the place she grew up. The place where her parents lived.” Becket’s heart pounded.

“You think he’d take her to the old Phillips’ place?” Chance asked.

“Unless he’s found on the road, it’s the only other location he might have taken her.” Becket’s fists knotted. “He burned down this barn, he might try to destroy her house, as well.”

Moving a few feet to her right, Lily nodded. “And she’d have nowhere to call home.”

“Go,” Chance said. “We’re right behind you as soon as the fire trucks arrive.”

Becket ran for his truck.

“It’s faster by horse!” Lily cried out.

She was right. By road, the drive would take fifteen minutes. But with all the tack burning in the barn, Becket would have to ride bareback, without a bridle.

His black gelding, Soot, pranced along the fence, whinnying, his eyes wild as the smoke blew his way.

Veering away from his truck, Becket vaulted the fence, snagged Soot by his halter, and swung up over his back. Then, leaning over the horse’s neck, he twisted his hand in his mane and sank his heels into the animal’s flanks.

Thankfully, the horse responded and leaped into a gallop, headed across the open pasture toward the old Phillips’ place.

Becket prayed he’d get there in time. Already, he’d broken a promise to Kinsey. He’d said Dillon would never get his hands on her. When Becket caught up to the man, he would never do it again.

‡

W
hen Kinsey woke,
she lifted her head and stared around at her mother’s piano and the sofa her parents had recovered for their twenty-fifth anniversary. For a moment she didn’t understand why she was seeing these things, but then memories washed over her, and tears sprang to her eyes. She was in her parents’ house. Sunshine streamed through dirty windows and dust motes spun in the air, but this was her home. The place she’d grown up. Pain throbbed in her forehead, and she tried to raise her hands to touch the spot, but they wouldn’t move.

She sat in a dining room chair in the middle of the living room. Her wrists were secured to the arms of the chair with duct tape. A flash of movement drew her attention to the window overlooking the front yard.

Dillon stood outside, shaking a big red fuel can, slinging liquid across the front porch.

Then she smelled a pungent acrid scent, and her blood ran cold.

Kinsey strained and tugged at the bindings on her wrist. The tape held firm.

Dillon entered the house, reeking of gasoline and carrying the jug with him, splashing it across the floor.

“Dillon. Don’t do this.” She fought to keep a quaver from her voice. “I’ll come home with you.”

He snorted and slung more gasoline across the couch, some of it landing on his trouser legs. “I’ve tried to be reasonable.”

Kinsey bit hard on her tongue. Now wasn’t the time to tell him he was crazy and mean. “Take the tape off my wrists, Dillon. I’ll go with you.”

“I couldn’t keep you away from this damn place, even after your parents died.” He pulled a box of wooden matches from his pocket. “You had to come back, didn’t you?”

“I only came to visit. I’m ready to go home now,” she said, as calmly as she could, though her insides shook. With as much gasoline as he’d poured all over the room, it wouldn’t take long to burn. She had to stop him before he lit a match. “Please, Dillon. Take me home. I promise not to leave you again.”

“I could have forgiven you for leaving, but when I saw you kissing Grayson…” Dillon pulled a match from the box and stared at the red tip. “You always were a tease. I never trusted you around my teammates. I should have known you had something going on back here. Were you fucking the neighbor cowhand every time you came home to visit your parents?” He slid the match against the box and it ignited into a bright red-and-orange flame.

A gasp escaped. “Never, Dillon. I came home to see my parents. Only my parents.”

“Shut up!” he yelled. “You’re nothing but a lying bitch.” Scowling, he flung the match.

Kinsey’s breath caught as the match flew through the air and landed on the couch pushed up against the wall. The flame smoldered for a moment, then caught the gasoline and spread across the cushions.

Dillon’s gaze followed the spread of the flame, his mouth curling into a smile. “You love this place so much…you can stay and burn with it.”

“Don’t do this, Dillon. If you let me die in this house, you will have committed murder. Your football career will be over. You’ll go to jail.”

“And you will still be dead, and this house will be gone.” He headed for the door. “My career is over, anyway. Coach wasn’t playing me in the next game. Says I’m too much of a loose cannon.” He kicked an end table, sending it flying across the room. “What the fuck does he know, anyway? Fuck him! Fuck you. And fuck this place. I’m done with it all.”

Kinsey was so focused on the fire flaring in her old house, she almost didn’t hear the hooves thundering against the ground until a horse slid to a stop outside, and a rider dropped to the ground.

“Kinsey!” A voice called out.

“Great.” Dillon laughed. “I can take care of your lover at the same time.” He grabbed another chair and slammed it against the dining table, breaking it into pieces. With one of the legs in his hand, he squared off opposite Becket as he charged through the door.

“Becket! Watch out!” Kinsey cried.

Dillon swung the sharp piece of wood.

Becket ducked, and the chair leg cracked against the doorframe. He hit Dillon with a hard punch to the gut.

Dillon doubled over, but came at Becket with a powerhouse swing, catching him across the chin.

Grunting, Becket jerked backward and fell out the door onto the porch.

Dillon followed, kicking at the man sprawled on the wooden deck.

In a flash, Becket caught Dillon’s foot and twisted, sending him crashing against a wall, out of Kinsey’s line of view.

She had other problems. Everywhere Dillon had spread the gasoline was in full flame and burning through the couch, the carpet, and into the wooden floors beneath. She bit back a coughing fit. If she didn’t get out soon, she’d be engulfed by the flames.

Kinsey tried pounding the chair against the floor to break it, but the old chair held solid and refused to split. Flames spread across the floor, following the trail of gasoline to the door, blocking that exit. Now, the only direction clear of flames was toward the front picture window.

Outside the door, the men fought fiercely, grunting and banging against the outside walls. The front door slammed shut. Even if she made it through the flames, she couldn’t reach the knob.

Kinsey braced her feet on the floor, leaned forward, and lifted the chair legs. Smoke stung her eyes, making them tear, and burned her lungs with each breath, but she wasn’t ready to die.

She turned, aimed the legs of the chair at the window, and walked backward, picking up speed. If she didn’t hit it hard enough, she wouldn’t break the old glass. As she neared the window, she threw her entire body into the seat of the chair. The legs hit the window. Glass exploded outward, and she fell through, tucking her head to avoid the jagged edges.

The low windowsill caught the back of her legs, and she flipped over it, landing hard on the porch. The wooden chair back, taking the brunt of the landing, split into pieces.

Kinsey rolled across the shattered glass, the sharp edges cutting into her skin. She didn’t care. Cuts and bruises would heal—she had proof of that fact. If she didn’t get completely away from the house, her dive through the window wouldn’t have helped. Still attached to the arms and back of the chair, but with the legs broken off, she struggled to get her feet beneath her.

On the other end of the porch, Dillon had pinned down Becket and pummeled his face.

“Leave him alone!” Kinsey screamed.

Dillon’s head shot up, and he glared at her. He stopped hitting Becket and staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and where she’d stabbed him in the arm and thigh. One eye was swelling, and a jagged wound cut across his eyebrow. “No fucking way!” Dillon shouted. “You can’t leave.”

The fire had spread inside the house, catching on the curtains around the broken window. A flaming ember wafted out onto the porch, igniting the gasoline Dillon had sluiced over the weathered boards.

A breeze fanned the flame, making it shoot up as Dillon plowed through. His trousers caught on fire, the flames rising up his leg.

Kinsey managed to get to her feet and braced herself for the pending impact.

Before Dillon reached Kinsey, Becket grabbed him from behind, his hands hard on the football player’s shoulders.

Dillon roared and fought to free his arms from Becket’s hold, the fire creeping up the front of his pants.

Unable to contain the bigger man for long, Becket shoved him sideways, away from Kinsey.

Dillon fell through the broken window into the burning house.

Flames spread across the porch toward Kinsey.