Cowboy Christmas Guardian

UNDER THE RANCHER’S PROTECTION

Someone is dead set on stopping Shelby Arroyo from doing her job: assessing mineral rights in a mine in gold country. But after rancher Barrett Thorn rescues her from an attack, the handsome widowed cowboy seems to feel responsible for her. That is, until he discovers she’s from the family that he’ll never forgive for his wife’s death. As the threats against Shelby escalate, cowboy honor and an unexpected attraction keep Barrett by her side, even at his own risk. And since Shelby won’t back down, Barrett must protect the brave, loyal woman he has no business falling for...a woman someone wants to kill by Christmas.

“What just happened?” Shelby demanded.

“Dynamite.”

She gave Barrett an incredulous look. “Dynamite? As in TNT?”

He nodded. “Plenty left around here from the mining days.”

“Why would someone light up a stick and toss it at me? It has to be the guy who threatened me.”

“Maybe, unless you’ve angered somebody else.”

She folded her arms and skewered him with such a look of disdain it almost made him smile.

Whatever she had or hadn’t done, it wasn’t his business. Yet once again, he found himself trying to extricate her from a pile of trouble.

“What makes you think it’s not the man who threatened me?” she said.

“Doesn’t seem like a rational thing for him to do.”

“He threatened to kill me recently, if you remember.”

“Words don’t mean much. My father believes him to be an honorable man, deep down.”

She met his eyes, her own glimmering with unreadable emotion. “I admire that kind of familial respect.”

Something was under those words, something deep and painful and raw.

Dear Reader,

What is it about cowboy heroes? There’s a mystique about the hardworking cowboy, the tough, honorable, God-fearing man who isn’t afraid to speak the truth or fight for his family honor. I am thrilled to bring you this new series featuring the Thorn family—four brothers who will face any danger to protect their beloved Gold Bar Ranch and the women whom they will come to love along the way.

In this first installment in the series, Barrett Thorn must come face-to-face with his inability to forgive those who were responsible for the death of his wife. It’s a struggle for a man with a deep faith, who knows what God wants from him. In the course of the novel, he’ll meet a woman who challenges his beliefs and his feelings, as they both seek to solve a mystery and stay alive.

Thank you for coming on this new journey into cowboy country! I hope you will enjoy riding along with me. As always, I am blessed to hear from my readers. You can contact me via my website at www.danamentink.com and there is also a physical address there if you’d like to write. God bless you, my friends, and welcome to Gold Country!

Sincerely,

Dana Mentink

DANA MENTINK is an award-winning author of Christian fiction. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award, and she was pleased to win the 2013 Carol Award for Lost Legacy. She has authored more than a dozen Love Inspired Suspense novels. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her via her website at danamentink.com.

Cowboy Christmas Guardian

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28

This book is dedicated to Phil and Nancy Fay, horse lovers, baseball fans and faithful servants.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Barrett Thorn shouted to his younger brother between the clashes of thunder that ripped through the winter darkness. “Gonna go after her. See to the paddock.” Swanny, the runaway pregnant mare, was prone to panicking during lightning storms and, true to form, she’d broken through the paddock and bolted.

A flash of lightning illuminated Jack, sitting astride his mare, shoulders hunched against the storm. Barrett was relieved that it was not Jack’s twin, Owen, out in the treacherous night. Owen was not physically healed yet, in spite of his bravado. The war had damaged him inside and out. It would be his first Christmas back home since his return from Afghanistan.

In his typical quiet way, Jack didn’t answer, pulling his horse into a fluid turn and trotting away through the pouring rain. Their father, Tom, was back at the house where Keegan and Owen were helping him check on the other sixty horses in their care. The Gold Bar Ranch, was the finest setup in the town of Gold Bar and maybe in the entire region, in his humble opinion, but it took all of them to keep it that way. Most of their herd would be fine, Barrett figured, but the more recent arrivals they were boarding for clients over the Christmas holidays might not feel as comfortable in their newer surroundings. Horses could be almost as unpredictable as people. Almost.

From his vantage point on the bluff astride his rock-solid horse, Titan, Barrett had seen only the streak of Swanny’s white flanks moving through the undulating branches of the wind-whipped pines. He held Titan still, listening, rain collecting on his close-cut beard and funneling off his hat.

With a section of fencing failing yet again on the western perimeter of the Gold Bar’s thousand-acre ranch, the horse would have had easy access to the abutting land, a swath of ravine and hills cut through by a river swollen by yet another storm.

“Why couldn’t you stay in the stable like all the other horses?” He was suddenly struck by a memory so strong it hitched up his breath.

“Swanny doesn’t care about all your cowboy orders,” Sabrina used to say. He could picture his wife, whom he’d nicknamed Bree, so clearly in his mind. Her fringe of blond bangs fell over eyes that saw through his macho facade and right into the most tender places in his soul. Bree was the woman God meant to be his partner, his love, his best friend, riding beside him through this life.

Except that she was gone in a moment of carelessness, lost in a crushing tangle of metal.

His stomach tensed with white-hot rage at the person who had taken her away and stripped him of any kind of a future.

Titan’s uneasy shifting pulled him from the memory. He had to get to Swanny soon, before she broke a leg or got tangled up in barbed wire. He urged Titan through the gap in the busted fence and onto Joe Hatcher’s property with only a small flicker of unease.

He wondered if the surly saddler had followed through on his threat to set booby traps to keep local kids from fooling around, searching for gold. If he had the time, he’d knock on Hatcher’s door and ask permission, but Swanny was in danger. He wasn’t about to let pleasantries get in the way of rescuing the poor beast.

“Hope we don’t get shot,” he muttered to Titan. They picked their way carefully over the flattest stretch of ground that sloped down to a densely wooded area. Not the greatest place to hang out during a lightning storm, but Swanny was scared, no doubt, and might have headed for the comfort of the overhanging branches.

Barrett rode closer, the noise of the rain mingling with the sound of the swollen river at the bottom of a crevasse just beyond the trees. Fingers to his lips, he let out a piercing whistle which usually alerted his horses that there would be a sugar cube or an apple for them if they presented themselves. It worked on some horses and not on others. Swanny never failed to come for her bit of dessert.

“A hopeless sweet tooth,” Bree used to say.

Ducking as the wet branches slapped the back of his neck, he pushed on into the trees. Titan stopped short, as surprised as Barrett at what they saw.

A cream-colored compact car, foreign made, was parked under the bushes. It looked to be fairly new and sported out-of-state Nevada plates. Definitely not a vehicle he’d ever be caught dead in. He could not picture Joe Hatcher driving such a thing either, but who would trespass on his property and go so far as to park their car in such an isolated corner? And for what purpose?

A crackle of branches drew his attention.

“It’s Barrett Thorn. I’m looking for my horse,” he called out, figuring it was the best way not to get shot if Joe Hatcher was out patrolling his property. “Who’s there?”

No answer, but neither did he hear the sound of a shotgun being cocked, so that was a plus.

The rain pounded harder. Titan shifted his weight to indicate that he did not understand his master’s crazy choice to remain in the elements when there was a perfectly good barn back on the Gold Bar Ranch.

At the moment, Barrett was beginning to question his own actions, too. Swanny would wind up back at the barn sooner or later, and it would be a lot easier trying to find her after sunup. He might be risking his own safety and that of Titan by continuing the search mission. Was he going the extra mile to find the horse because she was his duty? Or because she had been Bree’s favorite?

“You’d do it for any of the horses,” he mumbled to himself. He patted Titan’s neck, the storm howling around them.

No one emerged from the undergrowth. It must have been an animal or a storm-related noise he’d heard. Of course. What else would it have been? Swanny would have responded to his whistle long ago.

Still, he waited a minute longer. His cowboy hat was not enough to keep the driving rain from snaking down his neck, wetting his shirt under his jacket. His jeans were soaked from his belt to the top of his boots.

If Swanny was in the woods somewhere, she’d have shown herself by now, he felt certain. It was time to search elsewhere. The car would remain a mystery for someone else to solve.

“We’ll go check the east end again, in case your daffy girl changed her mind and started back home,” he said. Titan twitched an ear, eager to be heading out of the storm, and began his about-face.

Thump.

Barrett pulled Titan to a stop. What he’d heard this time wasn’t a twig snapping.

Thump, thump.

Cold prickles erupted on the back of his neck at the sound. Hopping from the saddle, he approached the car.

Another thump and a woman’s cry.

Coming from inside the trunk.

* * *

Shelby Arroyo slammed her sneakers against the metal lid of the trunk and kicked for all she was worth. The effort sent pain shooting up her neck to her skull where her attacker had struck her from behind while she’d been fumbling in her trunk. She was scared, terrified even and angry at herself.

“How stupid you are,” Shelby hissed. “Staying out until nightfall without even letting Uncle Ken know your route.” Absorbed in the area geology as she usually was, completely oblivious, she’d not got even a glimpse of the person who had hit her over the head and pushed her in. And where was her cell phone? She stopped kicking long enough to grope again around the pitch-black space, encountering nothing but the bag of extra shoes she’d left there. The little pack she carried with her assaying tools, driver’s license, phone, keys and wallet had fallen from her hand, probably taken by her attacker along with her soil samples.

Why? The samples were worthless, just a way for her to collect information about the area geology, and she had less than twenty dollars in her wallet.

Whoever had done it must have been watching her, biding their time. The thought froze her. Strange hands had lifted her up, dumped her in and left her there. She was fortunate the guy hadn’t decided to kill her, unless he figured she’d die in the trunk before anyone found her. It would be a slow, unkind death, of hunger and thirst. A flood of panic stampeded inside. Stop it, Shelby.

She kicked again in frustration. “Let...me...out,” she hollered to no one. Try as she might, she could find no internal trunk release. There had to be one somewhere, but her shaking fingers simply could not locate it and of course she’d never taken the time to read the owner’s manual. Who imagines they’re going to get locked in their own trunk? she thought bitterly.

The car jolted.

She almost screamed.

Someone was attempting to open the trunk from the outside. Her heart jumped to her throat. Was it help? But who would know where to find her except the man who had locked her there in the first place? No innocent bystander would be out strolling along in a downpour at ten o’clock at night.

He’d come back.

Her mind scrambled, trying to figure out some means of defense. She had nothing, no weapon, no phone. “God...” she started, but that wouldn’t do any good. Prayers were fine and all, but she knew she had to rely on herself, as she’d told her mother so many times before the woman no longer knew who Shelby was.

Resolve hardened inside Shelby like hot lava hitting cold ocean water. She intended to use every shred of muscle she possessed to save herself. No divine intervention required. Tensing her legs, she poised to kick out, straining to hear over the whoosh of rain.

Was that footsteps now, heading away?

No. The car was lurching under a heavy onslaught at the front end, the metal shuddering around her. There was a sound of breaking glass. After a moment, the trunk release triggered and the lid slid open a couple of inches. She paused to give him just enough time to return to the back of the vehicle. Timing would be crucial.

One chance is all you get, Shelby, she thought.

She was blinded by the glare from a flashlight whoever it was must have been holding. Another half second. With an explosive effort, she bucked her feet out as hard as she could. The trunk lid made contact.

She heard a man’s grunt of surprise and pain, but she did not stop long enough to assess the damage. Instead she was out and running as fast as she could over the open ground.

“Stop,” a man’s deep voice called.

No way, her mind shot back but her feet did not slow. Pain pounded through her neck and shoulders but the adrenaline kept it at bay. She had to get to a house or find a place to hole up until morning to buy herself time.

“Stop,” the voice came again louder, closer. “There’s a...”

She did not hear the last word. Running faster than she’d known she could, Shelby flew, feet slipping on wet rocks and tripping over the uneven patches of ground.

He was drawing nearer, moving surprisingly fast for a big man. A glance told her he was as wet as she was, a cowboy hat hiding his face.

She pressed harder and he yelled again, but she gave his words no heed.

A smell of sodden vegetation and the faraway sound of running water triggered an alarm bell in her mind. Cold air wafted up from somewhere far below. The ground suddenly gave way underneath her as she plunged into nothingness.

TWO

Barrett skidded to a stop at the edge of the ravine, flopping down on his belly. Rain slashed at him and the almost-perfect darkness obliterated her from view. He shined his flashlight down into the ravine.

It took him several minutes to spot her, the gleam of one pale arm showing against the slick rock. She lay perfectly still on her back on a narrow ledge of rock, one leg dangling down into the abyss.

Dead? His blood went cold. No, not dead, unconscious, he told himself firmly.

It wasn’t going to be easy logistically to get to her. Plus, if she awakened, she’d probably try to claw his eyes out or something and send them both to the bottom of the ravine. Rubbing his chin where the trunk lid had caught him, he tasted blood in his mouth.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed Jack and explained the situation in twenty words or less. Jack would alert their father and brothers. There was no sense contacting the volunteer fire department since it might take upward of thirty minutes to an hour to assemble any kind of rescue group out here, especially on such a night.

Titan eased close at Barrett’s whistle. Barrett retrieved a rope from the saddlebag, shoving his hat inside. He tied the rope to a sturdy trunk that overhung the ravine. If he’d stopped to think a minute, he might have considered the recklessness of his actions. Slippery slope, inadequate light, storm raging and a volatile woman at the bottom of it all.

Best to call in rescue and wait, or delay until his brothers showed up. But something in the way she lay there, body twisted, slender and vulnerable in the storm, would not let him delay a moment more.

Looping the other end of the rope around himself, he eased outward into the gap back first, beginning his rappel over the edge.

Titan shook his mane and stamped a hoof on the ground.

“I know, buddy,” Barrett muttered. “This is just all kinds of crazy.” His horse’s brown eyes were the last thing he saw as he plunged into the darkness.

The series of storms had saturated the ground, washing away ribbons of soil and leaving behind a lattice of twisted roots. Bits of rock pattered down from above, striking his neck and shoulders. The rope scratched against his palms, reminding him that he should have had the good sense to retrieve his leather gloves from the saddlebag along with the rope. His boots scraped even more material away from the cliff wall as he navigated down to the ledge.

As far as he could tell, the woman had not moved. The fall hadn’t covered a great distance, no more than fifteen feet, he figured, but who knew what kind of injuries she might have sustained if nothing had broken her fall? Again the cold, sick sensation gathered in his belly.

When he was about a yard from the ledge, he stopped, feet braced against the mud. “Ma’am?” he called. “My name is Barrett Thorn and I’m coming to help you.”

She didn’t answer. He hadn’t figured she would, but it was worth a shot.

He settled gingerly onto the ledge, crouching next to her. A mass of wet hair covered her face and he reached out a finger to pull it away. Her profile was visible, nose small, chin narrow, face heart shaped. The delicacy of it struck him.

Without warning, he was plunged back in time some four years earlier, when he’d pulled Bree from the wrecked car. Her eyes had been shut, too, but they’d fluttered open for one precious moment before they’d closed for the last time. There was nothing in this world that could hurt worse than that, except being reminded every day in a million ways that he was alone. Strange the things he missed about Bree.

The pillow next to his with a satin case to “keep away the wrinkles” of which he’d never seen a hint on her face.

Her ready laughter.

The smell of the candles she always insisted on lighting for every evening meal.

Her horrendous cooking. He even missed that. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to eat another plateful of tuna casserole, crunchy with half-cooked noodles. He swatted at a trail of water running down his cheek. Business at hand, Barrett.

Swallowing hard, he found the junction of the unconscious woman’s chin and neck, and pressed his fingers there, seeking a pulse.

“Lord God,” he prayed, but he could not finish. The last time he had prayed for the life of a young woman, his woman, his love, God’s answer had been no. Gritted teeth, pounding heart, his soul quaked with fear that he would find no spark of life. Gone, like Bree, with him crouched there helpless. Rubbing his hands as dry as he could, he tried one more time. This time, the proof was dramatic.

She jerked to a sitting position with a scream and shot out a hand that nearly shoved him over the edge.

“Easy,” he said, holding open palms up to show her he was not a threat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her eyes were wide as silver dollars, whole body trembling. Her breath came in short bursts as she scrabbled away as far as she could get from him. He attempted to reassure her that he wasn’t some random killer who’d appeared on a ledge in a storm, but she moved backward and he lunged forward to catch her.

The rock ledge gave way beneath her feet. Her eyes were bright with fear as she disappeared before his eyes for the second time.

* * *

Shelby’s senses cartwheeled through a dizzying cascade as her legs slithered over the side. Pitch-black night, cold rain, the sick sensation of no ground under her feet. The jagged edge of rocks cut into her belly as she clutched at anything that might keep her from falling the rest of the way.

“Help,” she wanted to scream, but she could not manage a single syllable as she continued to slip down the slope.

Rocks ground against her hips and roots broke away under her fingers. She felt a jerk and a painful pressure on her wrist. Looking up against the sheeting rain, she saw the man with the beard hanging on to her wrist with both hands. His full mouth was contorted with the effort.

No, no, her mind screamed. He’d come to finish what he’d started when he’d struck her and stuffed her in the trunk of her car. She braced her legs against the canyon wall to push away.

“Listen,” he said between clenched teeth. “I am not the guy who hurt you. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that because you’re wiggling and I don’t wanna drop you.”

Trust him? She had no intention of doing any such thing, but the canyon below her did not give her much choice. Die on the rocks, or live long enough to get away from the bearded guy? Her forearms ached and her ribs burned with pain.

“Give me your other hand,” he ordered.

Fighting her instincts, she heaved her other arm up and he clasped it tight. They both breathed hard for a few seconds before he began to haul her back up. She helped with her legs as much as she could. Inch by painful inch, she was pulled upward until she landed on her knees on the ledge. The man bent over at the waist, panting.