Dana Mentink - Lost Christmas Memories

His smile almost teased one from her until she squelched it. “I didn’t. The bullet didn’t go anywhere near you.”

“Good thing for me you’re a terrible shot.” He gestured at her coat with his chin. “What else you got in those pockets? A Winchester? Nunchucks?”

“Can I use your phone? Please?”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” He stepped between her and the door, and her pulse ricocheted up a notch. Maybe she’d been right in the first place. She fingered the gun in her pocket.

“Don’t come any closer.” She was dismayed that her voice came out more like a squeak than a command.

He held up his palms. “Listen, Pockets. I think you owe me more of an explanation, considering. Let’s start again. I’m Keegan Thorn. I live at the Gold Bar Ranch. You look like you need help.”

Tracy stared. “I have to go.”

He folded his arms now, biceps drawing the leather tight. “Uh-uh. Here’s what you’re supposed to say at this point. ‘Hello, my name is—fill in the blank—and I’m sorry for shooting at you when you were trying to help.’” A smile tweaked his full lips.

Model handsome, she couldn’t help but notice.

Stop noticing , she ordered herself. Get help. Get away. Now. She turned to go around him.

“Who’s after you?”

His question stopped her. “I...” Thinking about the hands choking, throttling the victim, made her dizzy.

“You’re scared. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to see that.”

“Look,” she said, turning. “I...I’m very sorry I shot at you, but I need to get going, Mr. Thorn.”

“Keegan.”

“Keegan,” she allowed. “I apologize for scaring you.”

“I wasn’t scared. Just startled.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Pockets.”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, nerves twinging. “My name is Tracy.”

“Excellent.” He wiggled his fingers. “Keep it coming.”

Maybe if she could convince him of the urgency, he’d let her use his phone. “All right.” She blew out a breath. “Short story is I...I witnessed a murder and I need to call the police. The killer is after me.” She hated the wobble that crept into her voice just then.

His eyes opened wide as saucers.

“Now can I use your phone?”

“I’d be happy to let you, but there’s no signal here.”

She groaned, fighting the urge to scream in frustration.

“But I’ll give you a ride to the nearest phone on my bike.”

“Your bike?”

“Motorcycle.”

She shook her head. “I just need to change the flat on my Jeep.”

Puzzlement played across his face. “Why won’t you let me help?”

“It’s nothing personal.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mr. Thorn—” She caught his raised eyebrow. “Keegan, I apologize for shooting at you, but I can’t explain anything else right now. I need to get away from here. Fast.”

“All right. Let’s make a deal.”

“What deal?”

“I’ll change your tire for you...”

“I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but my mama would have my ears for allowing a lady to change her own tire. Anyway, I’ll change the tire and ride in your Jeep to the Gold Bar. We can call the police from there and my brothers will bring me back for my bike. It’s raining too hard for me to ride safely anyway.”

“But...”

“You’re soaking wet and scared. You need somewhere to stay for a couple of hours and I want to be sure you get to a safe place. Deal?”

Take the help of a smooth-talking, gorgeous stranger? Trust him, when her life was on the line?

“No, thanks.” She ran out the door into the driving rain, strode over to her hidden vehicle and retrieved the lug wrench.

He somehow got in front of her and took the wrench from her hands.

She groaned. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because,” he said, the mischievous smile back in place. “You need my help, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

She stared.

He stared back.

“Is this some kind of cowboy standoff?”

“You got that right, and since I’m the cowboy—” he aimed a long, lazy smile at her “—I figure I win.”

Keegan hatched a plan as he pulled the lug nuts from the tire and wrestled the spare into place. Tracy was too scared and untrusting to tell him more regarding her situation, but she would, in time. Keegan would stick by Tracy’s side all the way back to the Gold Bar, where his mother would promptly feed her—after her call to the police—and offer her a place to sleep. Before she knew what hit her, Tracy would be spilling the details as if she were one of the family. Evie Thorn’s powers of persuasion were legendary.

And then Keegan would fix her problem. Simple. Whoever he was, this criminal would not be terrorizing her again. Keegan would fix it by force if necessary. Part of him relished the thought. Though he’d mostly left his troubled days behind, there was still plenty of untamed energy coursing through his veins. And if there was one thing Keegan could not abide, it was a bully. That sense of intolerance had gotten him beaten up in grade school, but by the time high school rolled around, Keegan had grown to just over six feet of solid muscle and the student body had gotten the message. He would not be pushed around. Period. Nor would anybody he held dear.

Maybe he was born to be a renegade, or maybe it was the adrenaline that came of a birth father who would not acknowledge Keegan or the affair he’d had with Keegan’s mother. Or perhaps it was the constant reminders from his half brother, John Larraby, Gold Bar’s police chief. Keegan’s gut twitched at the thought.

One time late in high school, John had let loose a sucker punch at Keegan’s brother Jack and taken him down. Keegan didn’t remember the moments that followed, but when his head cleared, he was in the principal’s office, nose bleeding, being suspended for roughing up John along with most of the offensive line. No one laid a finger on Jack ever again and that was all that mattered. John hadn’t forgotten the drubbing and neither had Keegan.

Tracy’s hair gleamed in the dim light, shoved behind her ears and glimmering with highlights that indicated she was a blonde. He liked blondes, but moreover, he liked women who stood right up to him and displayed a strong independent streak. Tracy had already proved herself to be that kind of woman, as she’d hurried to the Jeep and checked the pistol in her pocket.

“Where’d you get the gun?”

“It was my father’s. He was...he was teaching me to shoot.”

“You didn’t finish the lessons?”

“No.” He caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she swallowed and blinked hard, not about to give him access to her pain. Strong woman, but not strong enough to keep the anguish from peeping through when she’d mentioned her father.

He finished the tire and went to his bike.

“What are you doing?” Tracy called. “Get in. We have to go.”

“Gotta get the ribbon,” he said as he pulled the package from his saddlebags. “For the pomanders.”

She watched him, openmouthed, as he strolled back, package tucked under one arm.

“Pomanders?” she said. “What’s that?”

“I have no idea,” he said, smiling. “But two of my brothers are getting married at Christmas and Mama says this ribbon stuff is required, so I’m carrying out my duties.” He opened the door and tossed the package into her Jeep.

The quirk of a smile twisted her mouth. It was the first time he’d seen her relax even the tiniest amount, and he was happy about it. Anything to keep her mind off whatever nightmare she’d witnessed.