Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) (4 page)

Chapter 4

Bobby’s siren wail penetrated Holt’s consciousness
like a nail in his skull.

He opened one eye. The lighted digital clock beside
his bed read two o’clock.
Right on time, little guy.
“Coming,” he
mumbled.

One foot on the floor. The other. He raked fingers
through his hair, then pushed to his feet. Starting for the door, he snapped
alert as though slapped.

Maddy McCoy
.

He’d finished some paperwork in the office, then
slipped off to bed early. But escape didn’t work worth a damn. The image of
Maddy’s sassy face and the memory of her scent kept him torturing his sheets
for hours before he finally slept.

Shit, she was in the master bedroom. He couldn’t troop
through the house in his skivvies. Blinking in the darkened bedroom, he
stumbled back and forth like a drugged steer as he searched for his jeans.
Didn’t he leave them on the chair? Or on the floor? No. He put away the clean
ones and tossed the manure-smeared ones into the washing machine. Where they
remained.

Bobby cranked it up a notch. He could rival that opera
singer, Luciano something.

Hell with it. Holt hit the door and burst into the
hall.

And collided with a slim figure in filmy white.

He stumbled to a halt and braced himself as his arms
went around her to stop her fall. She emitted a small yelp like a cartoon
eek
.
Under his hands, her slender body in the silken covering was a miracle of
curves and soft, toned female flesh. His body tightened and his pulse raced off
to distant planets. The hallway suddenly didn’t have enough air.

He immediately set her away a step. Then he stepped
back another. “Sorry. Bobby.” The baby’s cry subsided to hiccups and whimpers.
No emergency, to his relief.

“Thought that was my job,” she said. “Two o’clock
bottle. Diaper change. Like that.”

“You’re here to spell me when I’m doing ranch work.”

“A rancher needs sleep.” She returned his scowl,
although humor tugged at the corner of her lips. “Why do you want me here if
you won’t leave Bobby to me?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again with a snap.

Bobby cranked it up again. Only taking a breather. His
wail rivaled an air raid siren.

“If you’ll get out of my way,” she said, tossing her
hair and smoothing her nightshirt so it highlighted her breasts, “I’ll see to
the baby.” The grin popped out, accompanied by a slow perusal down Holt’s body.
“Nice...legs.”

He blinked, shot a glance downward. Damn, betrayed by
his tented boxers. His Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed hard. He jerked to
the side along the wall, as if someone had pressed a knife to his side.
“Bobby’s all yours.”

“Great!” She turned and swung her hips as she flounced
toward the baby’s room.

*****

Closing the door behind her, Maddy stepped to the crib
and gathered the squalling infant in her arms, damp diaper and all. “There,
there, Bobby. Auntie Maddy’s got you.”

She kissed his downy head, sweet with baby sweat from
his efforts at rousing help. Eyes closed, she rocked him in her arms and let
his warm weight soothe her. Her pulse downshifted, with an occasional blip of
vibration.

Who had escaped whom out there? She had no business
tempting Holt. He’d gone on the defensive, barely verbal and practically
growling. She’d best remember not to tease the mountain lion again unless she
was prepared to be mauled. Not the best image but it would serve to make her
stop and think next time. Would there be a next time? Did she want a next time?
Her heart raced like that of a frightened rabbit.

*****

The next morning, Holt drove his Silverado into
Rangewood. Guiding the pickup over the long gravel driveway and the highway
gave him time to ponder how drastically life had changed.

Though he’d made it to town a couple of weeks ago, it
seemed like years since he’d gotten away from the ranch. Calving and little
Bobby tied him to the Valley-D but good. He loved the work nearly as much as he
loved his nephew, but running the ranch shouldn’t turn the place into a prison.

Having help there would free him to come and go as
ranch chores let him. Then why did he feel so antsy?

Maddy McCoy. With her flowery scent and her long legs.
She was one reason he beat it out of there early today before the offices and
stores in Rangewood opened.

To have the woman who’d left his brother at the altar
caring for Rob’s child scraped barbed wire across his nerve endings. A little
voice reminded him he was partly to blame for that but he shushed it. To have
her in his house, eating at his table, sprawled in the living room with her
laptop burrowed under his skin like a tick. To have her sleeping across the
hall in the master bedroom was idiocy.

He should have switched rooms with her. Better yet, he
should move out to the bunkhouse with Bronc.

Except he’d be too far from Bobby.

Not that he needed to be there for the kid during the
night. Maddy had been on the spot when the little screech engine cranked up.
His blood heated with the memory of their midnight encounter.

He’d slammed back into his room pronto, but that
didn’t eliminate from his brain the image of Maddy in her short silky
nightshirt and maybe nothing else. He had to fight his way back to sleep in
that prissy iron bed. From now on he’d leave to her the privilege of night
duty.

Beat the hell out of him why he was so obsessed with
her.

She was as feisty and bold as ever, but changed in
other ways. Confusing ways. In the old days, the princess, as her granddad had
called her, wanted for nothing. If she asked for a pinto pony or a new saddle
or God knew what, the next day one appeared as if conjured by a genie.

After she flew off to pursue her photography career,
the headline jobs landed in her lap. She flitted to more countries than Holt
could name. Yet she arrived in Rangewood practically empty-handed. All she
claimed to have was her fancy camera case, a laptop, and a big duffel bag. When
he drove her to town to pick up her things, she directed him past the motel to
the garage where her Range Rover sat out back, waiting for the mechanic’s
verdict. An older model, more truck than SUV. She said she’d checked out of the
motel because Faith’s friend in town rented rooms and she planned to go there
later. A lie, he suspected, confirmed by what he saw in the back of the Rover.
She tried to block him, but open and stuffed into a corner was a sleeping bag.

Something was eating at her, some secret. She was as
wary of him as a green colt, so her agreeing to stay awhile came a mite too
quick to make sense. But he had his own mystery to handle without pursuing that
one, so he’d let it go. For now.

The highway snaked through the high valleys past gates
that led to neighboring ranches. Not much traffic this morning, except for the
black pickup behind him. He’d seen no one in any direction when he left the
Valley-D. Then out of nowhere the black truck appeared. He didn’t recognize it
as belonging to anyone he knew, couldn’t see the driver clearly. Too far back
to read the license plate.

He jabbed fingers through his hair, knocking off his
hat. Hell, too many years watching his back had him imagining a tail. Probably
some kid tooling around in a hot rod jerry-rigged of spare parts. That’s why he
couldn’t recognize the make.

By the time he hit Rangewood’s Pike Street, the black
truck had disappeared. Along with that, Holt relegated Maddy to the back of his
mind.

Other than a few residential avenues, Pike was the
only paved street in the quiet, friendly town. He pulled up to the curb and
turned off the engine. As he exited the Silverado, the last person he wanted to
see sauntered down the sidewalk toward him.

“Well, Holt, not too often you tear yourself away from
that ranch to come into Rangewood.” Edgar Patterson, Bobby’s grandfather, stuck
out his hand.

Reluctantly, Holt shook it. “Edgar.”

“Ranch that size takes full-time work to make it pay.”
With a meticulously manicured hand, Edgar smoothed his graying hair, its long
strands coaxed to conceal growing baldness. His tan twill business suit matched
his sharp amber gaze.

The dig hit its mark, but Holt had spent too many
years dealing poker-faced with street slime to let on to the banker. “You’ll
get your loan payments on time. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. Not a bit. The wife’s concerned
you can’t do right by our grandson. Financially, I mean.”

It was all Holt could do not to grab the older man by
his chicken neck and shake him. “Bobby’s well taken care of.”

“By the way, where is the little guy?” Patterson
peered in the truck window. He fixed a probing gaze on Holt, a hawk sighting
vulnerability in his prey. “Left him at home? Espie must be there today.”

Holt didn’t intend to be the hawk’s hapless rabbit. He
smiled. Now was the time to drop his news. “No, a...friend is staying with me
for a while to care for the baby.”

Patterson gave an indignant huff. “Not that old
reprobate Bronc Baker?”

“Bronc lives on the Valley-D, but no. It’s Madelyn
McCoy. She used to spend summers on the Circle-S with her grandparents. Grew up
with Rob and me.”

“McCoy?” Edgar’s eyes narrowed with speculation. “She
the one who jilted Rob?”

Holt shifted his feet. “That was a long time ago. We
were all close. She’s good with Bobby.” Patterson might buy that description,
but did he?

“Staying there? Living in the house?”

“Down the hall from the baby’s room.” Better not to
mention she was in the master bedroom. “Like a nanny.”

“A nanny.” Patterson seemed to turn the idea over in
his mind. “The McCoy girl?” He uttered a terse farewell and hustled toward the
bank.

For sure the man was on his way to phone his wife
about the latest development. Whatever they cooked up together after that
wouldn’t be good for him. Or Bobby.

He turned to the office he’d parked beside—Turner and
Hawke, Attorneys at Law. Last night Holt had phoned Chris Hawke, a cousin of
Espie’s, about handling the custody case. Patterson probably figured out what
Holt was doing there too.

Hell of a thing. The Pattersons’ challenge of Bobby’s
guardianship was going to cost him money he needed for the baby and money he
needed for the ranch. He—or Chris—had to find some way to avert the custody
suit.

Inside the building, Chris Hawke greeted him in his
office, a book-lined space with diplomas and certificates on the walls. The two
of them played football together for Rock County High and started law school in
tandem.

“It was supposed to be Donovan and Hawke on a shingle
in Denver, remember?” Holt said.

“Funny how things work out different.” Chris shook his
hand and waved him to a chair. “If your dad had lived, do you think we’d have
made it as a team?”

“Hard to say.” Losing their dad to a massive heart attack
Holt’s second year in law school had torn his and Rob’s world apart, but they’d
rebuilt. He could do it again. “At the time, I thought Rangewood was a hell of
a bore, but after chasing drug dealers and other dregs in big cities, it seems
like heaven. What about you? Why did you set up shop with Agatha Turner?”

“Seems minority hiring was full up in the big city.
Not one law firm wanted a newly graduated Native American attorney.” Chris’s
laugh was ironic but not bitter as he smoothed his thong-tied ponytail over his
shirt collar.

“Boot-licking in a big firm doesn’t sound like you.”
Holt nodded toward the Anasazi-bead amulet that hung to the middle of the other
man’s Western dress shirt. “Cut your hair and wear a tie? I can’t feature it.”

“Yup. Not my style. First time some suit gave me a
hard time, I might’ve decked him and been outta there fast. Agatha’s a tough
old bird, but she trusts me. Lets me help out my people if they need it.”

“Good catching up, and we should do more of it,” Holt
said, “but now I need your help.”

“The Pattersons,” Hawke said, opening the folder on
his desk. “This is going to be hard on you. I hope we can make it easy on your
little nephew.”

Holt’s gut clenched. “Do Bobby’s grandparents have a
viable case?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Lawyer-ese for what, Chris? Give it to me straight.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Bobby. He’s a Donovan and he’ll be raised on
the Donovan ranch.”

“The Pattersons are alleging you’re an unfit guardian
for an infant on the grounds you can’t provide adequate care.”

Holt saw a sliver of light. “Adequate meaning money or
nurturing, like love and attention and feeding?”

“Could be both, depending on what their attorney
pushes. Vague for now. They have Ingrid Kline of Tobias and Kline in Colorado
Springs. A reputable firm, have done a lot of custody cases. I’ve never seen
Kline in action but hear she’s clever.”

“Things could be worse.” Holt considered his options,
but had only one, and a temporary one at that. “Bobby has a nanny. Trial basis
for now. Then we’ll see.”

Chris Hawke smiled and made a note. “Tell me about the
nanny.”

A half hour later Holt practically ran from the law
offices, his stress level shooting up like a thermometer in July. He’d been
thanking God Maddy agreed to stay until he heard Chris’s assessment of the
situation. The court would be looking for stability, not temporary measures.
Maddy would leave. Then what the hell would he do?

“I’m right behind you.” Chris Hawke closed the door
behind him and jogged to join him. A head shorter and of stockier build, he
stepped out to match Holt’s long stride. “I’ll go with you to the sheriff’s.
They should have more on Rob’s accident by now.”

“Thanks.” Checking in with the sheriff was his other
errand, tying up the loose ends of his brother’s death. He’d told Chris last
night about his doubts on what exactly caused the crash. He appreciated his
friend’s company and support. He backed the Silverado out and headed south to
the county seat of Fort Adams.