Terri Reed - The Cowboy Target

“Where is Wyatt’s dad?”

“He passed on a decade ago.”

A knock sounded at the kitchen door. Penny set her coffee in the sink before moving to answer the knock. Gabby and Wyatt stood on the threshold, bundled up for the walk across the driveway.

Gabby entered with an abundance of exuberance to see Spencer. “Here, doggy, doggy. Spencer.” She disappeared into the living room with Penny hot on her heels.

Wyatt gave Jackie an apologetic smile. “Hope you don’t mind. She was dying to come see your dog.”

“Not at all. Spencer will love the attention.” She set her mug on the counter. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, I’ve already had two cups.” He eyed her running gear. “Exercising?”

“Running helps get me going in the morning.”

“You came prepared.”

“I did.” She remembered what she’d seen on her run. “Do you have a plane surveying your cattle and horses?”

A scowl darkened his gaze. “No. But I know the one you’re talking about. The white plane with the blue stripe. I’ve seen it occasionally. More so lately. Flies pretty low.”

“That’s it. If he’s not flying on your behalf, I wonder what he’s doing.”

“Beats me. I can’t control the airspace over the ranch.”

“Worth checking on. There’s gotta be some federal regulations about low-flying aircraft,” she commented.

He shrugged. “Could be. I’ll check into it. I’ve got work to do. Ranch won’t run itself.” With that, he tipped his hat and then headed toward the kitchen door.

“Wyatt.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Be careful. Make sure you’re always with someone. Or two or three someones.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “I can take care of myself.”

Her mouth quirked. His ego was a bit touchy. She’d have to remember that. “I’m sure you can. But you don’t want to leave yourself open to another frame job. Or, worst-case scenario, leave Gabby on her own.”

Her meaning dawned in his dark eyes. “Right.” He tipped his hat and walked out.

Every instinct told her to get up and follow him. As a bodyguard, her first priority was always to keep the protectee within reach. But he wasn’t her protectee. He wasn’t her client.

She’d come here with the promise to her aunt and uncle that she’d keep an eye on the investigation into who killed George Herman. Though thinking about who they were and why they’d tried to frame Wyatt for the murder burned in her veins like molten lava.

Her dormant investigative skills clamored to be put to work. They were skills she hadn’t had to use often since leaving the Atkins County sheriff’s department and going to work for Trent Associates as a protection specialist. Guarding people rarely required investigating murder.

She made her way to the living room and stopped in the arched doorway. Gabby sat on the floor with Spencer’s head on her lap while Aunt Penny read her a story from a thick volume of children’s classics. Seeing the child and dog so cozy made Jackie’s heart twist in her chest. Her gaze moved to her aunt, to the contented expression on her lined face.

Jackie was glad God had brought this little girl into her aunt and uncle’s life. Yearning gnawed at her as strong as hunger. Maybe someday God would give Jackie a little girl, too.

But first she would need a husband.

After her debacle with Jarrod, she wasn’t sure she was up to the task of looking for one. Finding a husband meant putting her heart on the line again. It would take a special man to coax her to venture toward marriage. As of yet, God hadn’t brought such a man into her life. Maybe He never would.

Quietly she turned away from the touching sight and headed upstairs to shower and dress for the day.

An hour later, she headed outside dressed in thick wool cargo pants, a Dri-FIT T-shirt beneath a fleece pullover, a parka and insulated boots. She walked to the barn in search of Wyatt.

She came across her uncle in one of the stalls with a huge, beautiful black stallion. He pawed at the ground as Uncle Carl brushed his coat.

Leaning on the stall door, Jackie said, “He’s gorgeous. What’s his name?”

Carl smiled. “Alexander. He’s a studhorse. We’re getting him ready for a live cover in a few weeks.”

“Do I want to know what that is?” she asked.

He laughed. “Making baby horses.”

“Ah. Enough said.” She glanced around. “Have you seen Wyatt?”

“May not be back from feeding the cattle.”

The scuff of a boot on dirt alerted Jackie just as Wyatt said, “I’m right here.”

Jackie turned around to find herself nose to chest with Wyatt. The scent of him, spicy and masculine, sent a shiver sliding over her. She tilted her head back. “Careful, cowboy. Sneaking up on me could get you hurt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a slight twitch to his lips.

She planted her hand on his chest and applied pressure. She was more annoyed by her reaction to him than his closeness. “A little space, buckaroo, if you don’t mind.”

He grinned outright but stepped back. “You were looking for me?”

Trying to ignore how his devastating grin played havoc with her pulse, she strived for an authoritative tone. “I want you to take me to see where George Herman lived.”

His grin evaporated. He gave her a curt nod. “What do you hope to find?”

“Something—anything—to indicate why he was killed.”

“I’m sure the police have gone over the place with a fine-tooth comb.”

“True, but they didn’t have you along.”

“I’ve already told you, we weren’t close.”

“No, but you knew the man for twenty years. Maybe you’ll see something that seems normal to anyone else, but you know it is out of place for him.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Okay. Let’s go. While we’re out, we’ll also check the feed shed.”

Pleased by his proactiveness, she smiled. “Good idea.”

“But I’m driving.”

“Knock yourself out, cowboy.” She followed him out of the barn to a dark blue 4x4 truck on steroids. Huge treaded tires, like ones on a tractor, dwarfed the body of the vehicle.

“You drive a monster truck?”

“When I need to get out on the land.” He shrugged. “Besides, my regular rig is in police custody.”

Right. The truck they’d found the incriminating knife in.

He came around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Need a lift?”

In her younger days, a remark such as that would have earned him a right jab or a stomp to his insole. Maturity had cooled her temper and allowed her to see the offer for what it was—politeness. “I can manage, thank you.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender and took a half step back.

Thankfully, a bar jutted out of the side of the cab near the door. She reached up, barely managed to grab the bar, then swung one foot up to the running board, nearly doing the splits, and pulled herself up. Standing on the running board, she glanced back at Wyatt.

His lips twitched. “I’m duly impressed.”

“You should be,” she shot back and slid into the passenger seat. Good thing she stretched every day. That stunt could have seriously hurt.

He shut the door, came around to the driver’s side and hefted himself up into the seat. The truck’s engine rumbled like a pride of hungry lions.

“Do you enter this bad boy in monster-truck rallies or something?”

He scoffed. “No. Not my thing.”

Somehow she didn’t think so. Wyatt struck her as the homebody type. A man who liked his castle and didn’t need to show off his testosterone to feel like a man. Not that she thought he was a wimp. There was strength in his hands, his arms. After her shower this morning, from her bedroom window, she’d watched him hefting hay bales from the back of a truck. The man was strong. Probably knew how to throw a punch, too.