Run Wild (44 page)

“‘Thank you’?” she muttered, her anger simmering over inside her until she began shaking. “Thank you?” she said louder. The notebook paper crinkled as her fingers clenched into fists.

Putting it on the table, she smoothed it out and read the rest of the note.

You’re going to try and follow me. So I’ve temporarily disabled your Avalanche. You can kick my ass later, Natasha, but at least you’ll be alive to do it. There is a conspiracy going on over at Trinity Ranch and you’re not going to race into the middle of it over the excitement of making a bust.

I understand your adrenaline. Trust me, I do. I know how good it feels when the pieces come together and you figure it all out. Honestly, I wouldn’t have it all pieced together so neatly if it weren’t for you.

If I’d had time I would have talked this out with you. I would have explained why there are times when you simply can’t be part of things. I know when you calm down you’ll understand.

Your man,

Trent

Natasha held up the piece of paper and stared at the final two words before his signature. He’d started to write something else, then changed the letters. It looked as if he’d turned the
l
into a
y
. The
o
wasn’t touched. But he’d gone over the
u
as well. Had he started to write
Love,
then changed his mind? Instead he wrote:
Your man.

“Any man of mine wouldn’t treat me like this.” She glared at the note, balled it up in her fist, and threw it down on the table. Then ignoring what he’d said in the letter, she grabbed her things and hurried out the front door, although she didn’t lock it just in case.

The Avalanche wouldn’t start.

“You jerk!” she yelled, and slammed her hands down on the truck.

Natasha didn’t feel the cold when she stood outside her truck, staring in the direction of Trinity Ranch. Did Trent seriously think he could make love to her, say all those words that had twisted her brain around into a confused state of mush, then simply leave her to go play sheriff? What did he think she would do, stay here and bake cookies and have them warm on a plate when he returned?

Natasha snorted and kicked the ground hard enough with her boot her big toe stung. Embracing the pain, she pulled out her cell and called him. It rang as she marched up the porch steps but then went to voice mail.

“Damn you.” She had half a mind to leave a threatening message, informing him no man treated her this way. Hadn’t he forgotten to chain her to his bed? “Damn you,” she cursed again.

The pain quickly outweighed the anger. Trent had told her he loved her. He said things that made it sound as if he truly knew her. His words had worked magic, made her believe she might have actually found the one. But then to do this!

“It’s just as well,” she murmured, and a wave of eerie calm sank into her gut. “Thank you, Sheriff Trent Oakley, for showing me your true colors.”

He was a good man, she decided, relishing how clear her mind suddenly was. He had all the qualities needed to make a wonderful lover. Natasha didn’t doubt for a moment he would be loyal, make any woman proud to stand by his side, and he would honor and adore his woman until death parted them.

There was one catch with Mr. Perfect, she realized, once again standing in his kitchen and deciding she would drink the rest of his coffee. Trent had said it himself.

His woman.

She’d actually started to believe those words sounded magical when she’d rinsed off in the shower. Her heart had embraced the thought of being wanted, cherished, loved, and adored. She’d overlooked one minor catch.

Possessed.

Trent wanted to own her. Making her his woman apparently also meant he believed he had final say over her actions.

“It’s equal all the way or nothing, sweetheart,” she said, staring at the crumpled-up note.

Natasha sipped her coffee, slowly pacing his kitchen. There had to be a plan B. There was always a plan B. Remaining here until he returned and put the truck back together was not an option.

She paused at the counter, stared out the window at the backyard, then slowly began to laugh. Plan B was staring her in the face.

“Well, Sheriff Oakley,” she said, putting her coffee mug in the sink, then picking it back up, rinsing it out, finding his cup on the table, doing the same, then on an afterthought grabbing his note and brushing the pieces of paper she’d torn into her hand. She threw them away, glanced around, and restacked the newspaper she’d spread around his kitchen table earlier.

Was that really all there was to Weaverville’s newspaper?

Natasha grabbed her things, slid her coat on, hurried outside to the Avalanche, grabbed her gun out of the glove box, made sure it was loaded, then double-checked the safety before sliding it into her coat pocket. Then running back inside, she locked the front door, then rushed back through the house to the back door and let herself out.

“If you’re going to be my man,” she said as she made her way to the barn, “you’re going to need quite a bit of training.”

She was almost skipping with excitement when she saddled up Midnight, then mounted him. “Come on, boy; put some muscle into it. We’ve got bad guys to catch.”

It probably wouldn’t have taken as long to get to Trinity Ranch if she and Midnight had cut through meadows. Natasha wasn’t sure who owned the land and she didn’t want to get lost. They followed the highway, managing to stay within view of it, until she spotted the entrance to Trinity Ranch. Her heart pounded eagerly in her chest as she slowed Midnight, brought him to a stop, then leaned forward, rubbing his neck as she formed a game plan.

“Miss King, you’ve decided to join the party.”

Natasha spun around on Midnight, twisting her torso and making the horse uneasy when she slid in the saddle at the sound of a woman’s voice.

“I was seriously getting bored waiting for the fireworks to end so I could saunter in and claim my prize.” Rebecca Burrows walked toward Natasha, a hunting rifle nestled at her shoulder and the long barrel pointed straight at Natasha. “Get off the horse. I have no desire to kill it. I will if I have to, though, so no tricks.”

“You’re going to kill your father.” Natasha couldn’t get her brain to shift gears fast enough. She’d been all hell-bent on leaving Midnight here where he’d be safe, hurrying across the highway, and sneaking onto the property until she found Trent. She’d gotten so excited imagining the look on his face when he learned he couldn’t tie her to any bed, she obviously hadn’t paid close enough attention to her surroundings. But now, as she saw Rebecca, her intentions were clear.

“My what?” Rebecca laughed. “Jim Burrows is no father. He’s a slut!” she screamed. “And he cared more about his precious bastard son than my brothers. He chased them off, you know. By the time they were grown none of them gave a rat’s ass about this ranch. Jim wanted it that way from the beginning. He wanted to give it all to that stupid bastard of his.”

She’d moved closer until she was close enough to poke Midnight in the rear with the end of her rifle. He whinnied in protest, jumping to the side and staring at her with large, wild-looking eyes. Obviously, Midnight didn’t like the looks of that shotgun any more than Natasha did.

“Get off the damned horse before I kill it out from underneath you,” Rebecca ordered, her voice filled with maniacal coolness.

“Okay, okay,” Natasha said, raising her hands in surrender before grabbing the reins. It had crossed her mind to order Midnight to haul ass. They would be across the highway in seconds and able to warn someone that Rebecca was hiding over here, armed and dangerous. Natasha didn’t doubt for a moment that Rebecca would shoot Midnight. Natasha wouldn’t risk the horse’s life. “I’m getting down. Just keep that rifle away from him. He doesn’t like it and you won’t accomplish anything if he tramples you to death.”

“I’m not dying today.” Rebecca shook her head as she spoke. There was enough humidity in the air to turn her hair into a headful of curls. They bounced as she adamantly denounced the idea of failing. “And I’m sure not going to prison. One good thing about bastards, they are so damn willing to fight, and kill, to gain even a small portion of what they think they deserve.”

“You used Pat O’Reilly to do your dirty work.” Natasha slid off Midnight, patting his side and hoping he wouldn’t react to her panic.

“I didn’t even know he was my half brother,” Rebecca sneered. “Not until—” She broke off, not finishing her sentence.

Natasha released the reins. Trent had told her Midnight knew how to get home. Even if he happened to wander a bit before heading in that direction, someone might spot him. That would be an excellent red flag to draw attention to her predicament. Although the thought of Trent rescuing her left a foul taste in her mouth. Somehow she needed to talk her way through this on her own.

“Not until?” she prompted, needing to keep Rebecca talking.

Rebecca raised the rifle higher, and the long, narrow barrel stared Natasha straight in the eye. It was a one-eyed monster and one she had a hard time staring back at. She looked down, searching the ground around her, but then it hit her.

“You and Pat were going out,” she whispered.

Rebecca tightened her grip on the rifle.

“Okay, it’s cool. Like you said, you didn’t know. He didn’t know. And you’re right: it is all your father’s fault.”

“Quit calling him that!” Rebecca screamed.

Natasha swore for a split second she saw her life flash before her eyes. It whirled past her in an array of colors, then exploded with a bright white light as all the scenes bombarded into one another. For a moment it knocked her equilibrium off.

“He destroyed our family. He destroyed Mom. That man is not family to me!” Rebecca snapped, the pain and betrayal filling her and turning her eyes a cold, steely shade. “Now move!” she demanded, gesturing with the rifle. “Oh, and just so you know.” Her tone turned into a disgustingly, sweet sound, like a spoiled child, a very insane, crazed child. “That man you keep calling my father insisted me and my brothers and sister learn to shoot at a very early age.” Her laughter was chilling. “Thanks to his insistence that we know how to hunt, and defend ourselves, I’m one hell of a damn good shot.”

Natasha jumped when Rebecca prodded her with the gun. “Move,” Rebecca demanded. “We’re going to go pay dear papa a visit.”

The two very large barns and the ranch house seemed oddly quiet when Rebecca urged Natasha forward at gunpoint. She walked behind Natasha, so Natasha couldn’t see Rebecca’s face, but the young woman kept mumbling under her breath, either talking to herself or arguing with herself. Natasha wasn’t sure. Instead of trying to hear every word Rebecca said, Natasha darted her gaze across the property, searching for a sign of anyone. She didn’t see a soul.

Odd, there weren’t any vehicles around, either. Not Trent’s Suburban, not a work truck, nothing. Had Trent driven to the far end of the ranch? If that was where everything was going down, it would explain why there weren’t any ranch hands by the house. They probably all had hurried to witness the action once word traveled it was happening. Natasha wasn’t sure how that word would get out, but she had faith in the power of gossip, even among men.

“Go inside.” Rebecca had taken Natasha to a side door, more than likely the door she had always gone in and out of while growing up out here.

Natasha reached for the handle and turned it. It wasn’t locked. She opened the door, pushing it hard enough to make it bang against a coatrack nailed to the wall adjacent to the door.

“Don’t wake the dead,” Rebecca snapped, whispering. She’d lowered her gun so it pointed to the floor and used her other hand to grab Natasha’s arm and shove her forward.

Rebecca wouldn’t know how well Natasha could fight. She glimpsed the younger woman through her side vision, with her curls windblown around her face. Natasha could kick that gun out of Rebecca’s hand. It was cocked, though, and would easily fire if Natasha did.

“What are we doing in here?” Natasha also whispered. “Your—” She stopped, changed her wording. “Jim wouldn’t be here. I think I heard he’s fixing fences.”

“He’ll come home,” Rebecca said sweetly, and pushed Natasha again.

They moved through the large, incredibly well-furnished home with all of its lavish possessions on display in every room. Natasha remembered Ethel telling her it took a year to make the house her own. She wondered how different it looked from the home Rebecca grew up in. Daring another side-glance, Natasha imagined the pain of seeing her home with another’s woman touch imprinted all over it.

“This place is so gaudy.” Natasha tried for the sympathy angle.

Rebecca snorted. “I don’t give a damn about this house.” The rage was too deep for her to see anything other than the end of her tunnel.

Natasha doubted Rebecca saw it through realistic eyes, though. There was no way this would end pretty.

A TV sounded from somewhere in the house, the ramblings of some overly dramatic soap opera adding to the uneasy setting. They moved into the kitchen and Natasha heard someone humming. This time she didn’t bother with a discreet glance. Natasha turned and looked at Rebecca.