Pamela Britton - The Ranger's Rodeo Rebel

He had? Good heavens. She hadn’t even noticed.

“You should get in the habit of that, too,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Pick a street you know isn’t a dead end, one that will allow you to double back. If someone’s following you, they’ll take the same route, and you’ll know it’s a bad guy, because nobody’s going to do circles for no reason.”

She nodded.

“And don’t assume he’ll be in his truck, either.”

She glanced at him sharply, because that’s exactly what she’d been looking for.

“He could change vehicles.” He rested his wrist on the top of the steering wheel in a manner of complete ease. She supposed compared to driving in a war zone, her situation must seem like Disneyland to him. “And if you are being followed, don’t let on that you know. The worst thing you can do is speed up and try and outrun him.”

“What do I do?”

“Call 911. Or me. Head to the police station. The man’s not going to follow you there. Not unless he’s stupid.”

She hadn’t really thought about that. Yipes.

“If you aren’t paying attention,” Chance continued, “and you notice he’s followed you to the ranch, don’t worry too much. Just come on inside. He’s not going to come down our road, and if he does, I’ll take care of him.”

“What about Natalie’s clients? Or Claire’s? What if he somehow sneaks in thanks to them? What if he hides out or waits until I’m alone?”

Claire ran a canine rescue not far from where Colt lived. Natalie ran a successful horse-jumping business. There was no telling who might accidentally let James in—if it came to that. Carolina doubted he’d come after her like that, though. He was simply mad she’d turned him in. It made him feel like a big man to terrorize her. He was succeeding, and that made her angry all over again. No man should ever have that kind of power over a woman.

“I’ll have Claire call her clients tonight and explain what’s going on.”

Oh, great.

“I’ll ask Natalie to take precautions with her clients, too.”

So the whole family would now know what an idiot ex-boyfriend she had. Terrific.

BITCH.

Her skin prickled as she recalled the red color. She never would have thought he’d go that far. Now that some of the shock had faded, it made her furious. How dare he deface her property? Granted, it was just a tiny apartment, but she’d worked hard to get the place, and now her landlord would likely throw a fit—and she’d have to pay to fix it, too.

“It’ll be okay,” Chance said, patting her leg, which made her madder, because she wasn’t some little girl who needed a pat on the head—or the leg, as the case might be. She was a full-on adult who could take care of herself.

Then why are you glad a former Army Ranger is sitting next to you? And why are you grateful he’ll be with you tonight? And why does the sight of his hand on your leg make you all squirmy inside?

They were questions she refused to answer.

* * *

PRICKLY.

That was the word he would use to describe her. Chance pulled his brother’s black truck into its parking space and added the word to his list of stubborn, fiercely independent and dogged.

“Looks like your brother’s back,” Carolina said.

Colt and Natalie had matching trucks, except for their different colors, and they’d clearly returned from running errands. Chance hadn’t heard them leave this morning, which just went to show how completely wiped he’d been from his long journey home. It’d been an eight-hour hitch to Europe, then another eight across the pond. A quick stop on the East Coast, where he’d managed to snatch a nap in an empty hangar only to be headed out again less than an hour later. All told, he’d traveled for twenty-four hours. He’d gone straight to bed once he’d arrived home. Not that it’d helped. He was still bone tired.

“I’ll go in and talk to him,” he said.

“No. That’s okay. I can explain the situation.”

Yup. Independent.

He shook his head. “We’ll go in together.”

It was strange walking up to the house he’d grown up in. Strange and unsettling, in a way. Saying he’d had a bad childhood was like saying Abraham Lincoln had a bad night at the theater. His father had terrified all three of his kids, but he’d taken out his temper on Colt the most. His brother used to say their dad tried out his evil tricks on him first, then used them on Chance or Claire. As they’d gotten older, they’d gotten wiser, especially Colt. He’d taken to preempting their dad, but not always. There’d been times when none of them had been able to avoid the drunken fits.

And so as Chance turned the handle to the front door, he braced himself. He hadn’t been inside since his brother’s wedding, not even when he’d returned home last night, and he really wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Anyone home?” he called, though he knew there was. He took two steps and then stopped.

Where before there’d been a small sitting room and a room beyond, there was now open space. The wall he’d been thrown against as a twelve-year-old—after he’d dared to tell his dad he was too sick to walk to school—had been removed. The kitchen was still to his right, but the wall separating it from the sitting room had been removed. The whole first floor was open, and it felt so different that he instantly relaxed.

“We’re up here,” a female voice called. His sister-in-law, Natalie. “In your old room.”

He caught Carolina’s eye. She couldn’t seem to stop her gaze from moving around the room, as if she were in awe of the scope of the place, and maybe even a little intimidated.

“I’ll stay down here,” she said.

“No. Come up. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

He glanced around again. It was like a whole new home.

Maybe that was the point.

He glanced at Carolina. She clearly didn’t want to go, but he touched her shoulder and urged her forward. He could feel the tension beneath his hand as they headed toward the stairs on the left. The staircase was the one thing that hadn’t changed. The oak banister he’d tried to slide down still existed. His father used to make them march up those stairs when they’d been bad. Chance remembered looking up at the top landing, heart pounding...

Enough.

That was in the past. He was a different person. Not the frightened child who’d grown up with an abusive father. And this was a different house. Pictures of Natalie jumping the most amazing horses hung on the stairwell wall. Pictures of his brother, too, at rodeos and reining competitions. Pictures of Natalie’s protégée, Laney, in the winner’s circle. And in the middle of it all, a picture of the three of them, Colt, Claire and Chance, blown up big, and smiling. He was young. His mom held him in her lap, which meant his dad must have taken the picture.

“Is that you?” Carolina asked.

He jerked his gaze away from the image. “Yup.” He tapped the picture. “And Claire and Colt.” Not that anyone would need to be told. They all had dark hair. Only the eyes were different. Colt’s were hazel, Claire’s and his own eyes were green.

“You were so young,” she observed.

“Yes, we were.”

There had been good times, he reminded himself, heading the rest of the way up the stairs before she could ask any more questions. His trip down memory lane had started to sink his mood, and he refused to let his father have that kind of power over him. Not ever again.

“Hey, guys,” he said, stopping before his old room, first door on the left, a smile instantly lifting his lips. It looked as though a box factory had exploded.

“Hey, you two,” Natalie said, returning his grin somewhat sheepishly as she, too, peered around the room, her hands on her pregnant belly.