Rita Herron - Cowboy to the Max

SADIE STRUGGLED to quell the fear raging inside her as Carter started the engine and pulled back onto the road.

She had once been a strong woman. She was an advocate for the Native American community, had fought for her people and their rights. She had studied the Navajo way of medicine, learned the roots and herbs used to help treat illnesses, the prayers and rituals performed to help with the healing of the body, the mind and the soul.

But she had also seen such poverty and backward ways that she had wanted more for her people. She had excelled in school because her education was her ticket out of poverty. She had set her sights on medical school in an effort to bridge the gap between the reservation and the surrounding areas in terms of medical care.

Then her mother had been diagnosed with cancer.

And she’d been forced to take waitressing jobs to pay medical bills and hire a nurse to tend to her mother while she worked. It had been a vicious cycle that had left her drained, and with no time to study, she’d lost her scholarship and her dreams.

Then Carter had walked in that night with his sexy, bad-boy swagger and talked her into his bed, and she’d fallen into his arms. She’d even imagined a relationship beyond the bedroom. A life. A future.

But then she’d been attacked…

Nausea roiled through her. For five years, she’d run from that memory. From the hulking monster who had threatened her and abused her and left her scarred both physically and emotionally.

She wouldn’t run anymore.

Carter had been unjustly accused and incarcerated. But she’d lived in a prison of her own, as well.

A prison built on fear.

Carter deserved justice. And so did she.

Together they would find the truth and go to the police. And if she died trying to do the right thing, at least she’d go to her grave with a clear conscience.

Exhausted, she closed her eyes and let the rumble of the truck eating the miles lull her into sleep. She had no idea what time it was when they jolted to a stop, but when she opened her eyes, they were at a deserted ranch in the middle of nowhere.

A thread of anxiety knotted her stomach, but Carter was scowling as he looked across the property, and he didn’t appear to have sex on his mind.

Instead his face was contorted with pain.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“My old man’s ranch,” Carter muttered.

“Is he here?”

Carter shook his head. “SOB died a few weeks ago. Place is run-down, but we can hide here for the night.”

“Won’t the police be watching it?” Sadie asked.

Carter shrugged. “Maybe. But Brandon said they’ve already searched it once.”

Anger laced his voice, but Sadie decided not to push for more information. Still, as he pulled the truck into a sagging barn, then climbed out and shut the barn door to hide the truck, she realized how isolated they were.

If Carter had been lying about protecting her, he could kill her and dump her out here, and no one would ever find her.

Irritated at herself for losing ground with her resolve to be stronger, she opened the door and slid down from the truck seat. Carter still had her derringer. She had to get it back.

At least with a gun in her hand she might have a chance at protecting herself from Carter. Or from the man who’d stolen her life and her sanity for the past five years with his constant threats.

Her mind warred with her Navajo beliefs, but she had to stand her ground. This man was evil, had scarred her and had destroyed too many lives.

She’d kill him before she allowed him to touch her again.

CARTER SCANNED THE PROPERTY, in case someone had followed them, then grabbed his duffel bag and led Sadie into the house. He hadn’t seen the place in years, and the shabby, run-down conditions were worse than he’d expected.

At one time, he’d had lofty dreams like Johnny and Brandon. He’d known one day his old man would get locked up or killed by someone he pissed off, and he’d thought this land would be his. He’d planned to bring in cattle, some horses, work it from the ground up and have something to be proud of.

Hell, he didn’t even care if he was rich like his buddies. He just wanted something of his own. A piece of land. Freedom. To earn a respectable living.

To be able to walk the streets without people calling him a murderer.

Bitterness welled inside him at the irony that he’d hated his old man and his violent tendencies but that he’d ended up in jail just like him.

And when his old man had been released from prison, he’d come back to the ranch to live out his last days. Had he hoped Carter would show up so he could pound his fists into him one more time before he died?

Or had the bastard mellowed?

A sardonic chuckled bubbled in his throat, riddled with disgust. No, his father hadn’t had a decent bone in his body.

And judging from the peeling paint, rotting porch, cobwebs and dirt streaking the farmhouse, he hadn’t done anything to improve the place once he was released. Of course, he had been dying…

Served him right for all the pain he’d inflicted on others.

Sadie tried to flick on a light, but the bulb popped. Hell, he was surprised the power was still on at all.

“I know it’s a rattrap,” Carter said. “But at least we can get some rest and regroup in the morning.”

Sadie nodded, and he showed her up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. The faded blue paint of his little brother’s room had turned a dingy gray, dust coating the old dresser and iron bed in the corner.

“Was this your room?” Sadie asked, as she glanced at a yellowed poster of a country rock group taped on the wall.

“No, it was my brother’s.”

“Where’s he now?” Sadie asked.

Carter swallowed hard. “He killed himself. Couldn’t take my old man anymore.” And I had already cut out and deserted him.

The familiar guilt plowed through him. He should have taken his brother with him.

Sadie gave him a sympathetic look, but he didn’t deserve it. Besides, she looked dead on her feet. Realizing they’d left her place with no time for her to pack anything, he unzipped his duffel bag, yanked out a denim shirt and tossed it to her. “Here, you can sleep in that. Now get some rest. If you need anything, I’ll be down the hall.”

She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Carter?”

He turned to go, but paused at the sound of her voice. “Yeah?”

“Can I have my gun back?”

He studied her for a long moment, then his gaze fell to her trembling hands, and he removed it from his jacket and laid it on the nightstand. “Just don’t shoot me with it, okay?”

Relief softened her face. She’d probably slept with that gun since her attack. He understood about the demons that emerged at night and wished he’d had a damn gun in prison.

“I won’t,” she said in a strained voice. But a small smile curved her mouth, reminding him of how beautiful she was, and lust hit him hard.

Dammit, he had to leave or he’d haul her up against him.

What in God’s name was wrong with him? Every night in jail on his cot, he’d thought of her, remembered her seductive eyes and body. Remembered the soft curve of her breast, the dusky ripe brown of her nipples, the creamy skin of her hips, the damp invitation between her thighs…

Then he’d start sweating and shaking and wake up nearly howling like an animal. Because he remembered how she’d used him.

For five years, he’d considered her his enemy.

But now, he suddenly wanted to protect her and make love to her again.

He was damn crazy.

Hadn’t prison taught him he couldn’t trust anyone?

He balled his hands into fists and strode down the steps, his boots pounding out his frustration on the rickety wooden steps. Hell, yeah, it had.