Delores Fossen - Mason

“Where?” he barked.

“Maverick County. But we’ve lived plenty of other places since then.” She paused because she had to gather her breath. “We move a lot, finding work at ranches all over the Southwest. He’s always worried that Vernon Ferguson will find me.” And finish what he’d started.

Mason’s eyes narrowed even more. “Boone lived with you?”

“He raised me,” Abbie corrected.

That didn’t improve Mason’s ornery mood. More profanity, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a dry smile that held no humor at all.

“He raised you.” And he repeated it. “He couldn’t raise his own sons or be a husband to his wife, but yet he took you in. Why?”

Abbie had asked herself that a thousand times and still didn’t have the answer. “It was either that or I would have had to go into foster care. There weren’t many options for a kid in witness protection.”

“You would have been better off in foster care,” Mason mumbled. “I figured the SOB was dead.” He held up his hand in a stop gesture when she started to speak. “He should be dead.”

That sent a chill through her. That chill got significantly worse when Mason grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

“He sent you here,” Mason accused. “Why? He wants to mend fences with us after all these years?”

Abbie didn’t get a chance to deny it.

His grip was hard and punishing. “Well, you can just go back to Maverick County and tell the bastard that he’s not welcome here. Neither is his lackey. Consider yourself officially fired.”

“He didn’t send me,” Abbie managed to say.

Mason no doubt heard her, but he didn’t respond except to haul her toward the door. Abbie dug in her heels. Or rather, tried. It was like wrestling with an angry bear. She wasn’t a weakling, and her work with the cutting horses had honed some muscles that most women didn’t have, but she was no physical match for the likes of Mason.

Still, she had to make him understand.

“Boone didn’t send me,” she repeated. “In fact, he wouldn’t be happy if he knew I was here.” And that was a massive understatement.

That stopped Mason, finally, even though they were just inches from the door.

“Boone knows how much you hate him,” she added.

Oh, that put some fire into those ice-gray eyes. “He can’t begin to imagine how much I hate him.” His attention dropped back to the concho. “I put a bullet through mine and then nailed it to my bedroom wall so it’s the first thing I see when I wake up. That way, I can remember that the man who fathered me is a worthless piece of dirt.”

Abbie had expected anger, but she hadn’t quite braced herself enough for this outright rage. Boone had been right. He had done the unforgivable when he’d walked out on his family. At least it was unforgivable in Mason’s eyes, and she wondered if she stood a better chance pleading her case to one of his brothers. The problem was, she might not get the chance to do that.

Mason started moving again, toward the door.

“Why did Boone leave Silver Creek?” she asked.

Again, that stopped him. Well, sort of. Mason didn’t open the door, but he put her back right against it, and he kept his grip hard and tight on her shoulders. She was trapped, and Boone’s warning came flying through her head.

Mason isn’t the forgive-or-forget sort .

It was one of the few times Boone had talked about his sons, about the life he’d left behind here in Silver Creek. Boone wouldn’t have wanted her to come here, but she’d had no choice. This was her best bet at finding the answers to why Boone had been so secretive lately. He was definitely keeping something from her, and Abbie was scared that the something meant he was in serious danger.

“You tell me why he ran off,” Mason challenged.

She shook her head. Actually, her whole body was shaking, maybe from the adrenaline. Maybe the cold.

Maybe Mason.

She glanced down between them, at the fact that their bodies were pressed against each other. Not good. After all, despite the anger and Boone’s warning about this particular Ryland, Mason was a man, and she was a woman.

Mason must have realized it, too, because while still scowling and cursing, he stepped back. “Why did Boone leave?” he repeated.

Abbie had to shake her head again. “I don’t know.” It was the truth, but she wished she had the answer because it would no doubt clear up a lot of other questions she had. “He wouldn’t say. But for what it’s worth, he was a good surrogate father to me.”

Mason made a skeptical sound and threw open the door. However, he didn’t toss her out. That’s because his oldest brother, Grayson, was standing in the way. He had an armful of clothes, a concerned look on his face and the same cop’s eyes as Mason. And he eyed the grip that Mason had on her.

“A problem?” Grayson asked, suspicion dripping from his voice. He waited until Mason let go of her before he handed her the clothes from his wife.

“Yeah, there’s a problem,” Mason verified. “Boone sent her.”

“He didn’t,” Abbie answered as fast as she could, and she was getting darn tired of that broken-record accusation.

Grayson looked first at Mason. Then her. “Is that why you’re here at the ranch, because of Boone?”

“No,” Abbie said at the exact moment that Mason said, “Yes.”

Grayson gave them a raised eyebrow. “Well, which is it?”

Both Rylands stared at her, waiting. “Boone doesn’t know I’m here, and he didn’t send me,” Abbie insisted. “He believes he doesn’t stand a chance of reconciling with any of you.”

“He’s right,” Mason jumped to answer.

Grayson didn’t voice an opinion, but his expression made it clear that Mason and he were of a like mind. And that meant Abbie was wasting her time and putting them in future danger for no reason. Well, except that she might get some answers from Grayson that she hadn’t managed to get from his brother.

Abbie hugged the clothes to her chest and looked Grayson in the eyes. “Boone never talked much about all of you, so I don’t know why he left.”

Mason cursed.

Grayson lifted his shoulder. “Does it matter why?” he asked.

Unlike Mason, he actually waited for her to answer. “Maybe.” That required a deep breath. “Something’s wrong.”

“If he’s dying, then you’d better break the news to someone who gives a flying fig,” Mason grumbled.

Abbie was about to tell him that Boone wasn’t dying, but she had no idea if that was true. And that made her sick to her stomach. Yes, Mason had a right to be this enraged, but she was already getting tired of it. He was aiming that venom not just at her but also at the man who’d raised her. A man she loved like a father.

“Get dressed,” Mason said again. This time it was an order, and he grabbed on to the concho and shoved it back into her gown so that it was out of sight. “I’ll drive you into town so you can leave Silver Creek.”

Grayson had a different reaction. He flexed those previously raised eyebrows. “Someone just tried to kill her,” he reminded Mason. “And that someone likely set fire to the guesthouse with her in it. As the sheriff, I think I’d like to get to the bottom of that first before she leaves.”

“Boone sent her,” Mason argued.

“And we can send her back. After the doc checks her out and she answers a few questions.” Because Mason was clearly gearing up for an argument, Grayson tipped his head to the clothes. “Go ahead and change.”

Abbie considered staying put, considered trying to convince them that she wasn’t there on a mission of peacemaking, but it was obviously an argument she’d lose. On a huff she headed to the bathroom but didn’t shut the door all the way. She needed to hear what the Ryland brothers were planning to do with her. Too bad she couldn’t quite manage that because both lowered their voices to whispers.