Lynette Eason - Christmas Ranch Rescue

“Nathan? Is that you?” Nathan Williams, her former best friend and reformed practical joker, was back in town and asking to see her. Maybe he’d come early and was reverting to their teenage days.

Silence echoed back at her. She wished Jack, her five-year-old golden retriever, had followed her into the barn. He’d tell her if someone was out there. But he’d taken off across the backyard and through the pasture.

She shook her head. “Focus on the horses,” she muttered. Owning her own barn had been a dream since childhood. A little pain—and paranoia—wouldn’t stop her from giving her clients what they’d paid for. “One down, eleven more to go.”

She moved to the next stall. The pretty paint nickered and nuzzled up against Becca’s face. Absently, she stroked the animal’s warm neck. She couldn’t help but scan the open area between the stalls once more, even as she took comfort in the horse’s calming presence. He didn’t seem worried. Becca stepped back and her foot caught the edge of the bucket, dumping what she’d just filled.

She sighed and righted the pail to start over. Even with all of the hard work, she wouldn’t do anything else, have any other career—not even use the medical degree she’d been arm-twisted into getting. At least, not right now. Right now, horses were her passion.

No matter the backlash she got.

Becca tightened her jaw. She’d succeed. She would. She’d find the money to keep the barn going. Somehow, someway. And she wouldn’t ask her parents for help—that was for sure. She’d go back to working a full-time job before she’d ask them for help. Which they wouldn’t give her anyway.

Don’t let me give up, please God. Give me strength. The prayer felt weird, and she felt almost guilty for praying it. Her parents had both been born in Wrangler’s Corner and grown up not too far from where Becca now lived. But they’d had bigger dreams than horses and ranching. Not only for themselves, but for her, too. Their only child. So they’d packed her up and moved to Nashville when she was seventeen years old.

She still wasn’t sure she’d forgiven them for that—even though she’d gone along with it without outward argument.

Somehow she’d survived the move, the new school, and the never-ending social engagements she’d been required to attend. She’d excelled at pleasing her parents.

Until she’d had enough.

A year ago, she’d bought this place with the small bit of money her grandmother had bequeathed her and moved home.

The barn door squeaked again and she jumped. “Nathan? If that’s you, it’s not funny.”

Silence echoed back at her. Nathan used to like practical jokes, was always pulling off some stunt when they were in high school, but he’d never been mean or deliberately creepy. Even he wouldn’t take it this far. When he’d called this morning and asked to see her, she’d been stunned. Pleasantly stunned for sure, but she knew she hadn’t hidden her surprise well. “I’m back in town,” he’d said, “and I need some work. Do you think I could come talk to you about a job?”

She stumbled through a yes and he’d promised to be there shortly.

But even he couldn’t have gotten here that fast. So that meant someone else was there. But who and why wouldn’t that person answer her?

Her pulse began a swift beat and her nerves shivered. Becca kinked the hose and the water flow stopped. She stepped from the stall and looked out into the open area. Nothing. Again. She shuddered and bit her lip, chastising herself for jumping at her shadow. No one was there after all.

The door to the barn creaked but didn’t open. She stomped her foot and turned back to stare at the door. She’d moved too fast. Pain shot through her and she grimaced. “Hello?”

Only the sounds of the horses answered her. Her nerves stretched and she moved from the stall to the center of the barn. Her boots crunched on the combination of dirt and scattered hay as she stopped and listened. Before the accident, she would have marched up to the door and thrown it open. Now, fear invaded her body, and she shivered. It didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t shrug it away.

She reached for the pitchfork she’d leaned against the stall opposite the paint’s.

A flash of memory taunted her. Pounding hooves and a horse’s crazed whinny. She gasped and knew the memory was from the day of her fall. She had very little recollection of what had happened that day.

Four weeks ago, when she’d awakened in the middle of the field, the pain had taken her breath away. Christine Hampton, her trainer, had been on the phone screaming at the 911 dispatcher.

Now it seemed as if someone was trying to get in her barn. And Becca didn’t know if she had the strength to defend herself if that someone had evil on his mind.

* * *

Nathan Williams watched the trees pass by as his anger simmered beneath the surface. The conversation with Clay Starke had riled him, and he almost missed the turn for Becca Price’s gravel drive. He pressed the brake hard and made a quick turn in the right direction.

Once he knew he was back on track, he let the conversation he’d had not twenty minutes earlier run through his head. He’d been in Clay’s office, sitting across from the man who’d just asked him to spy on the woman who’d been his best friend since childhood.

Granted, they hadn’t spoken much in the past several years, but she’d meant the world to him once upon a time, and he was kicking himself over what he’d just agreed to do.

When Clay Starke, sheriff in the small town of Wrangler’s Corner, Tennessee, located about an hour outside of Nashville, had called asking for his help, Nathan had listened with the intention of letting Clay down gently.

However, when his friend had told him about Becca’s accident and that she was desperate for help, he hadn’t been able to say no. He’d come home and found out what was really going through Clay’s mind. “It’s possible she’s running drugs off her ranch and I need it proven one way or another.”

“There’s no way that’s possible.” He’d immediately defended Becca. “I’m not going to do it.” He’d shoved the chair back and stood, anger thumping through him. Betrayal burned in his belly. “You lied to me.”

Clay had leaned forward, regret and determination stamped on his lined face. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything because I knew this would be your reaction. I remember how crazy you were about Becca in high school.”

“Yeah, well, she wouldn’t give me the time of day, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” At least not in the romance department. But she’d loved hanging out with him at his house and playing Sunday afternoon football in the big backyard with him and his dad.

Clay had sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m at the end of my rope, Nate. People are dying. The last victim of an overdose, Donny Torres, was only nineteen years old. And while he had a rap sheet as long as your arm, he didn’t deserve to die.”

“I agree.”

“I talked to Donny’s parents. I’ve known them for a while now, and I knew Donny well. He was a hard case, I’ll admit. He didn’t hang around with the good guys, and his name has popped up several times in my various investigations. I think he knew a lot more about the drugs in this town than he was letting on. And...”

“And?”

“He had Becca’s cell phone number in his phone. When I asked her who he was and why he would have her number indicating a call from her, she said she didn’t know. I mean, she knew Donny, of course, it’s a small town. But she said she had no idea why he had her number in his phone and that she’d never called him.”

“Maybe she didn’t.”