Barb Han - Endangered Heiress

“Thank you for helping me,” she said and her voice shook. She also had an almost imperceptible drawl. She was from Texas. “I have no idea what’s going on. This guy came out of nowhere aiming a gun at me.”

She looked completely rattled. Her eyes—eyes that were almost a perfect match to her convertible—were wild, and she had that desperate look he’d seen one too many times on victims and especially on Misty when...

Hudson refused to go over that again. Not even in his mind.

He could clearly see that this woman’s hands shook. And her eyes had that bewildered quality that victims often had when they didn’t see a crime coming.

Hudson believed her. “Do you have a weapon?”

“No.” She glanced around and his gaze dropped to her jean pockets for confirmation. A serious mistake in his opinion because stray voltage zapped him and a thunderclap of need followed, sizzling through him.

“Where are you headed?” He blew out a sharp breath. Those emotions had no business in this conversation. He’d call the sheriff, turn her over and get back to his day.

“I’m Madelyn Kensington, by the way,” she said, offering a handshake.

He took it, and did his level best not to notice the fact that her skin was as silky as it looked. “Hudson Dale.”

“What branch of law enforcement do you work in?” she asked, dropping her hands to her sides. He didn’t mind the move. There was no way she was carrying a weapon anywhere in those jeans.

Her question caught him off guard. “What makes you think I’m anything more than a rancher?”

She glanced at his legs. “Your posture. The way you hold that shotgun. You walk with your arms out a little, like you’re still wearing a holster, and your aim with that shotgun is pretty dead accurate.”

He put a hand up to stop her. “I’m no such thing. What kind of work do you do that makes you notice the way a man carries himself?”

“Me? I’m a reporter from Houston headed to the Butlers,” she said, and he was close enough to see her erratic heartbeat pound at the base of her neck.

The last thing Hudson needed was someone who knew how to do research nosing around in his business and especially his past. And there’d been plenty of journalists in the area following the death of Maverick Mike.

“Well, right now, Mrs. Kensington—”

“It’s Miss,” she corrected.

He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment even though an inappropriate reaction stirred in his chest.

“Is there any chance that white sedan belongs to your boyfriend?” he asked.

“I don’t have one, but I do have a persistent ex,” she admitted.

Why did relief wash over him when he heard those words? He’d noticed her ring finger a minute ago and tried not to care one way or the other when he didn’t see a gold band.

“The guy who just ran you off the road is getting away.” Hudson fished his cell out of his back pocket, keeping an eye on the reporter. “So, if you don’t mind, I need to make a call to the sheriff’s office and see if we can stop him before someone else gets hurt.”

“Yes, by all means,” she said, taking a step back and leaning a hip against the side of her trunk. She folded her arms and he noticed how the move pushed her breasts against the spring-green cotton shirt she wore. Calmer, her voice was as creamy and smooth as her skin.

Hudson forced his gaze away from the wheat-haired beauty. Getting involved with a woman like her was dangerous. Emotions had no place in an investigation. And he had no intention of repeating past mistakes.

Chapter Three

Madelyn’s pulse hammered her ribs. Hudson Dale might look like a cowboy in those low-slung jeans, dark navy T-shirt with rolled-up sleeves and white Stetson, but something—call it reporter instincts and keen observation skills—told Madelyn that he was hiding something. Would that something put her in more danger?

The man had that law-enforcement swagger when he walked but hadn’t identified himself as such. He even sounded law enforcement when he’d instructed her to get out of the car with that commanding voice of his—a voice that traveled over her with an inappropriate sensual shiver that ran down her back.

When she’d outright asked, he denied ever working the job. She’d spent enough time around cops when she worked the crime beat early on in her career to recognize the voice of authority they used when they spoke to someone. This guy looked far too young to be retired. The man couldn’t be a day older than thirty-two, which was only two years older than Madelyn.

He was either undercover, or...

He could’ve been fired. Hiding. Why else would he move to the outskirts of a small town? Then again, maybe he just wanted peace and quiet.

Madelyn tried not to let her imagination run away with her. Either way, she was grateful that he’d been there to help when she needed it. Noticing the fact that the man was gorgeous couldn’t be helped. He was standing right in front of her. They were barely five feet apart, so it was easy to take note that he had the darkest brown eyes she’d ever seen highlighted by sandy-blond hair and a dimpled chin. Her nerves were heightened and that was why her body was having an out-of-place reaction. She also tried to convince herself that the only reason she considered his rippled chest and muscled arms was basic survival instinct. On a primal level she needed to know that this man was strong enough to defend her should the white sedan come back for another round. The fact that he seemed more than capable kept her nerves a couple of notches below panic.

“The sheriff is on his way and you look like you could use a cup of coffee.” Hudson motioned toward the ranch-style house. “Since I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave you alone on my property, you’d better come inside with me.”

She nodded. The man was unnervingly cool considering he’d just had to shoot out someone’s tire to get them to leave his land.

“Your car should be fine where it is,” he said, his horse still tied up near the gate in the shade.

“Thank you.” She followed the handsome cowboy inside his house. The decor looked comfortable, simple. A couch and matching love seat surrounded a tumbled stone fireplace with a large rustic star over the mantel. There was a bronze statue of a bull rider on the sofa table and twin lamps that looked good for reading light.

The kitchen was simple—white cabinets, stainless-steel appliances and marbled granite. She leaned against the bullnose edging, trying to absorb everything that had just happened.

“Care to fill me in on what’s going on?” Hudson asked, offering her a fresh cup of coffee.

Madelyn took the mug and gripped it with both hands, noticing that she was still shaking. She chalked it up to adrenaline. Owen had nearly run her off the road recently, trying to get her attention. He’d seemed more desperate to speak to her than deadly at the time. But he drove an Escalade, not a white sedan. Of course, logic said he could’ve rented one.

“I had a bad breakup and he might be following me.” She had to consider that possibility, especially since she hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver. Of course, with Owen’s money he could’ve hired someone to scare her.

The cowboy’s jaw muscle clenched and released. He blinked the thickest lashes. “Is the law aware?”

“A judge in Houston issued a restraining order.” She reached for her necklace and found comfort in holding her mother’s dragonfly. “I couldn’t get a good enough look at the driver to know if that was him. That’s not his car.”

“Is he dumb enough to drive his own if he pulled a stunt like this?” Hudson asked.

“No.” Owen wasn’t stupid. “He has a lot of money. Enough to hire someone to be discreet.”