A shocking inheritance

makes her a Texas-sized target

When a wealthy Texas oilman is murdered, the tiny community of Cattle Barge, Texas, is turned upside down. And rancher Hudson Dale’s former cop instincts are on high alert. Especially when lovely Madelyn Kensington crashes into his life claiming she’s an heiress of the deceased. And someone wants her dead! The sexy cowboy offers his help and protection. Now, Madelyn must trust a complete stranger with her life. But would she trade her inheritance for his love?

USA TODAY bestselling author BARB HAN lives in north Texas with her very own hero-worthy husband, three beautiful children, a spunky golden retriever/standard poodle mix and too many books in her to-read pile. In her downtime, she plays video games and spends much of her time on or around a basketball court. She loves interacting with readers and is grateful for their support. You can reach her at www.barbhan.com.

Also by Barb Han

Sudden SetupEndangered HeiressStockyard SnatchingDelivering JusticeOne Tough TexanTexas-Sized TroubleTexas WitnessTexas ShowdownTexas PreyTexas Takedown

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Endangered Heiress

Barb Han

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07888-7

ENDANGERED HEIRESS

© 2018 Barb Han

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To work with an intelligent and amazing editor is a true gift to any writer’s career. A huge thank-you to Allison Lyons for being that gift to mine. I’m incredibly grateful for the chance to work with Jill Marsal, an amazingly talented agent.

I have so many writer friends to thank for friendship and encouragement. I’ll start with a few: Elizabeth Heiter, Chris Keniston, Kellie Coates-Gilbert and Kathy Ivan. I love plotting books and getting #AllTheWords with you.

To my children, Brandon, Jacob and Tori, who are true lights in my life. I’m excited to see what adventures this year brings for each of you. And I fully intend to hit 1m before you, Jacob. Challenge accepted. Let the games begin.

And to John, who makes me laugh and keeps me grounded while encouraging me to reach for the stars. I can’t wait to see what this year holds for us. I love you with all my heart.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Madelyn Kensington glanced at the screen of her phone as it vibrated. Her ringtone belted out. The screen read Unknown Caller and the number wasn’t familiar. Everyone had gone to lunch on her floor and she suddenly felt vulnerable.

The area code revealed the call came from within Texas. Her muscles corded. She prayed this wasn’t her ex trying to trick her into speaking to him by using a different phone. She had no plans to drop the harassment charges against him or ask the judge to lift the restraining order. She was still frustrated with herself for allowing Owen to slip past her jerk-radar. She’d walked away the instant he’d revealed his true colors and, based on his threats, she’d been too late.

A low sigh slipped out. This whole week had been one problem after another, and being without her convertible while the word skank had been removed from her hood—courtesy of Owen even though he’d denied it—ranked right up there with the time she’d been stranded for twenty-four hours with no bathroom during a road trip in college.

The ringing stopped and she stared at the device. Tapping her foot, she waited for the voice-mail icon to pop onto the screen. It was taking too long. She absently fingered the small dragonfly dangling from its chain around her neck as she waited. The necklace had belonged to her mother and touching it made her feel connected, comforted when her life felt like it was spiraling out of control. In times like these Madelyn especially missed never having known her mother.

Owen’s last words wound through her thoughts. Think you can walk away from me? You’ll never know when I’ll strike. Icy tendrils gripped her spine, shocking her with a cold chill that spread through her body. Either her ex was leaving the longest voice mail in recorded history or this was another frustrating telemarketing call.

Again, her ringtone belted out as the phone vibrated in her hand. The motion startled her. She dropped the device and pushed her chair back as her cell crashed against the tiled floor. Great—she probably just broke her phone over nothing. This needed to stop. She was jumping at every shadow ever since Owen’s reaction to the breakup.

This probably didn’t have anything to do with him anyway. Her father could be trying to reach her. She’d left three messages last week and another this morning to share the good news about her promotion as well as the special ceremony her old high school had planned for her.

Madelyn bent over and clasped her fingers around the phone. She hesitated. What were the chances her father was actually returning the call? It wasn’t the first of the month. His calls came like clockwork.

Okay, she’d answer and then get rid of this jerk.

“Hello,” she stated on a sharp sigh, deciding on balance that she needed to deal with whatever was on the other end of the line.

“I apologize for the interruption, Ms. Kensington, but I promise this call will be worth your time.” The slight Southern drawl sounded educated and from Texas. “My name is Ed Staples.”

“Okay-y-y.” She drew out the y as she geared up for her response to the sales pitch that was surely about to come. The name Staples sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him, so she spun around and typed his name into her laptop.

The man seemed to pick up on her frustration. “I’m the family attorney for the Butler estate.”

She studied her laptop screen and, yes, received confirmation Ed Staples was telling the truth.

There was a pause and Madelyn felt like he was waiting for some kind of reaction from her.

“Are you familiar with Mike Butler?” Mr. Staples asked.

“Maverick Mike Butler?” she said out loud, not really meaning to. Now she really was confused. Of course she’d heard of Mike Butler, aka Maverick Mike. Her job at the Houston Daily News as an investigative reporter assured she would at least be acquainted with the name. His story was no secret—son of a poor crop farmer who beat the odds and made something of himself. He’d done so well that he was one of the wealthiest cattle ranchers in the Lone Star State. His rise to riches was as legendary as his buck-wild reputation. If rumors were true, he won his first ranch at a poker table and lost his first wife to his gambling problem. And that was where his run of bad luck had ended. Everything else the man touched seemed like it turned to gold. It was no secret that he lived on his own terms, another fact widely known to pretty much every Texan. Last week, the legend from Cattle Barge had made even bigger news with his death.

“Ma’am,” the lawyer said.

The sound of his voice made her jump.

“Sorry—what did you say?” Outside of print, Madelyn had no idea who Mike Butler was. She’d never met him personally and they didn’t exactly run in the same circles. “What did you need from me, Mr.—?”

“Staples, but please call me Ed.”

Right. He’d already said that. Madelyn was distracted. Thinking about Owen had thrown her off.

“How can I help you, Ed?” she asked, refocusing.

“Can you meet me tomorrow afternoon here at the Butler ranch?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I’m working, but I might be able to arrange something if you tell me what this is about,” she responded, still trying to shake the creepy chill from earlier. Owen was right about one thing: he seemed everywhere to her.

“I’ve been instructed to offer to send a car,” he continued, unfazed by her work excuse.

“No, thanks. I have my own. Is there a reason we need to meet face-to-face? I mean, can you tell me what this is about over the phone?” she asked, mildly interested in what he had to say and at the very least thankful for the distraction.

“I apologize. My instructions are clear. If you want to know the nature of Mr. Butler’s request you have to be on the property.” He was steadfast. She’d give him that.

“Well, then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she countered. Her frustration level was already high and she didn’t need another person wasting her time. Plus, it wasn’t like she could drop everything without a clear reason to give her boss and she didn’t cover the crime beat.

“Would it make a difference if I told you that it’s in your best interest to come?” he asked.

This guy was persistent. And frustrating with his cryptic message.

“Cattle Barge isn’t exactly a few minutes down the road. If you want me to make that drive I need something to go on. My boss will want to know why I need time off to chase down a story outside of Houston,” she said. When she really thought about it, the ranch must be swarming with media by now. Any news about Mike Butler’s death guaranteed above-the-fold placement in print and major promo for broadcast. “Plus, there must be dozens of reporters at the gate chomping at the bit for something to report. Why tell me? I mean, just walk outside your front door and pick someone if you want to get your story out.”

“This is personal,” he said. “In fact, you may want to take vacation days.”

Days? She decided to entertain him for just a second. “Okay, so let me see if I have this correctly. You want me to take off work at the snap of a finger for a man I’ve never met and a reason you refuse to tell me? Does that sound about right?”

“I’m afraid it’s better than it sounds,” he admitted.

“Who wants me there?” Maybe she could come at this from another angle to get an answer.

“Your presence was requested by Mr. Butler.”

She waited for the rest of the sentence but Ed Staples would’ve made a great poker player.

“Pardon my directness, but he’s...gone. It would be a little difficult for him to ask for me,” she stated.

“I’m aware.” He didn’t give up anything with his tone. And she wouldn’t even still be on the phone if he hadn’t thrown out the name Mike Butler. But her mild curiosity wouldn’t be enough for her boss to green-light an overnight trip. “This matter is urgent.”

Hadn’t she just read about his oldest daughter being targeted for murder? Was it possible the family wanted an objective reporter to confide in? Then again, that incident had happened after Butler’s murder and the lawyer had said this was personal. If it was, wouldn’t she at least know Mike Butler? And, again, why her? She exposed neglect in nursing homes and small business fraud.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you. I can recommend—”

“Your refusal will come at a hefty cost to you, Ms. Kensington,” he said firmly.

“No disrespect, but I have a good handle on what’s important to me,” Madelyn shot back.

“I didn’t mean that as a threat.” He sounded frustrated that he couldn’t pick the right words to persuade her. A few beats of silence came across the line. And then, “Are you sure you want to walk away without knowing what a man like Mike Butler wanted you to be aware of? Out of everyone he could’ve picked, he chose you.”

Well, when he put it like that she could admit the initial pull was becoming a stronger magnet. Walk away and she might never know what Mike Butler wanted to tell her before he died. Curiosity was growing the more she thought about it and a big exclusive could be huge for her career right now. She could prove to her boss that he’d made a good move in promoting her.

“Fine. I’ll talk to my boss,” she finally said, knowing full well she could get the time off.

“I’ll email the details of your stay.” The lawyer sounded pleased and a little bit relieved.

“I’ll make my own arrangements.” She’d learned a long time ago not to put herself in the hands of a source. And that was just how she’d treat this out-of-the-blue request, like any other news story she was covering.

“Be advised that you’ll need to take off several days. I’d suggest a minimum of three,” he said.

Wasn’t that cryptic? She thanked him and ended the call, figuring she would take it one day at a time. Pretty much her new mantra, she thought.

For the rest of the workday, her thoughts kept circling back to Owen. Not even a hot cup of coffee could thaw the icy chill that crept into her bones when thinking about him. Nor could she shake the feeling of being watched as she walked to her vehicle after work—a feeling that was becoming a little too familiar. Madelyn had always been able to trust her instincts. Until recently. Until Owen. He’d knocked her off balance and she was still trying to regain her footing.

This, too, shall pass. The saying that had gotten her through so many sad or frightened nights as a child provided no comfort.

By six thirty the next morning, Madelyn had eaten breakfast, picked up her convertible from the shop and was on the road. She wanted to get out of Houston before traffic was too bad. The call still had her scratching her head and her imagination running wild. Dozens of scenarios had zinged through her mind when she should’ve been sleeping. But then, sleep had been as realistic as a unicorn sighting since Owen had made those threats. He’d been stalking her, too, and that had her scanning faces wherever she went, expecting him to pop up at the grocery store, gas station and every other place she visited.

Her thoughts returned to the call from Ed Staples. The lawyer had said this was personal but that wasn’t exactly a new tactic to get a reporter’s attention. It ensured she’d agree to the meeting without asking too many questions. Her mind ran around the same hamster wheel.

Even though she was a reporter, she didn’t work the crime beat. Furthermore, she worked in Houston, not Cattle Barge, although Mike Butler’s money seemed to reach all parts of Texas.

Did the lawyer want to leak information to her? Or was this truly personal as he’d suggested? She searched her thoughts and couldn’t think of one logical reason she’d plan to stay on for a few days. What could be so important? Why her? Those and other questions that had kept her awake when she should’ve been sleeping had her yawning as she maneuvered onto the highway. Possibilities churned through her mind.

She tapped her fingers on her steering wheel, keeping time with the music on the radio. There was another good reason to get out of Houston. His name was Owen Lockwood. Dating him had been a mistake. He came from Houston oil money, family money, which she had promised herself she wouldn’t hold against him when they first met. He’d been charming and polite on those first couple of dates. And then work had gotten even busier leading up to her promotion. Before she really processed their relationship, he was bringing her six-month anniversary flowers.

When he wanted to celebrate their milestone, all she could think about was how she’d lost six months of her life to nonstop work.

Owen had planned out an elaborate date and said he wanted to talk about their future. A future? She’d almost laughed at him until she realized he was serious. Working fourteen-hour days, she barely had time to shower. The last thing she needed was the complication of a real relationship. And, face it, her time with Owen had been winding down anyway. He’d started to become possessive when they were out to dinner and another man smiled at her or looked her way.

When she’d asked why they needed to do more than enjoy each other’s company, he’d blown up. His reaction seemed over-the-top. She’d told him as much. That was when everything started heading south.

Madelyn gripped the wheel tighter with her left hand and brought her right to her mother’s dragonfly necklace. A migraine threatened and that reminded her even more of those last few weeks with her ex. He’d been the one to point out that she’d been getting them more and more frequently as their relationship had progressed. He’d insisted that she’d been spending too much time at work and insinuated she wanted to be with her coworker Aiden Creed. Owen had demanded that she spend all of her time off with him. And then he’d dropped the bomb that he’d been following her.

They’d fought. She’d told him it was over and he’d come unhinged. A man like Owen was used to getting what he wanted. He didn’t take the breakup news well.

She’d filed a report when he broke her bedroom window. Another when he’d spray-painted the word skank across the hood of her new convertible. She’d saved an entire year for the down payment on her blue two-door sedan. Nothing had been handed to Madelyn and that was okay by her. She’d learned how to do things for herself at an early age.

It wasn’t until she’d filed the police report against Owen last week that she found out about his past. The officer who’d taken the report looked her in the eye and asked if she was wasting his time. It turned out that similar charges had been filed and then dropped before anyone set foot in court.

Madelyn had been indignant and the implication that she’d cave under pressure fueled her determination even more. Owen wasn’t getting away with his antics this time. She had every intention of standing up for herself and the other women who couldn’t do it for themselves, for future women who would encounter the man.

Anger burned through her as she flexed her fingers around the wheel. Her grip intensified. When she really thought about it, spending a couple of days several hundred miles away sounded like enough time to let Owen cool off and get a grip. His bad deeds had been intensifying lately.

Besides, she really was curious about why she’d be summoned to the home of Maverick Mike. Maybe he’d read one of her pieces and wanted to set the record straight about his personal life. Stranger things had happened.

Madelyn kept her eyes on the stretch of road in front of her, ignoring the tingles of excitement that always came with working on something big—and this had to be huge. Everything involving that man was immense. Traffic had slowed to a crawl and she couldn’t see what was up ahead holding everyone up.

On this expanse of highway, she was beginning to see why everyone believed the whole state was nothing but oil derricks and tumbleweeds. The only oil derricks she’d ever seen in the city were on cocktail napkins. And, to be fair, she’d only seen a handful of tumbleweeds on the road so far. The closer she came to her destination the landscape began to change and she noticed there were more cows than she’d ever seen in one place. But then, Madelyn rarely left the city willingly. And she was going to a cattle ranch, she reminded herself. There’d be livestock.

Traffic had finally opened up on the 248-mile stretch southwest on a drive that had crawled out of Houston despite leaving early.

Her job had netted more than a few interesting assignments over the years but this request topped the list, literally coming out of left field. For one, she hadn’t been working on a story that involved cattle, ranching or dead maverick billionaires. In fact, she’d had no association with the senior Butler although she might be one of the few women in Texas who hadn’t, she thought as she rolled her eyes. What could she say? The man had a reputation.

Speaking of which, Butler’s lawyer hadn’t given her anything to work with, either. The man who’d identified himself as Ed Staples had kept the call short and sweet, promising her the message he needed to deliver would be worth the trip to Cattle Barge. Not even her editor, Harlan Jasper, could get answers. He’d made a few phone calls to see if he could dig anything up and had gotten zero. He’d thrown his hands in the air, pulled her off her current assignment, a piece on the real story behind the new districtwide alcohol-free campaign being implemented at local high schools, and had told her to make a story out of whatever information came out of the meeting. Even in death Maverick Mike Butler was news. Or maybe she should say especially in death. His demise had already created a media circus.

Leave it to a man with a big reputation to go out with fireworks, she thought. And even though her relationship with her own father was strained—well, that was probably a generous way to put it since she hadn’t spoken to him in three weeks—she appreciated the fact that she knew what she was getting into with him. He lived in the same bungalow-style house she’d grown up in on the outskirts of Houston. He mowed the lawn at eight thirty every Sunday morning—no matter how many times the neighbors had begged him to push back the time even a half hour later. And he’d never remarried after losing her mother shortly after childbirth to negligent hospital practices, although he had dated the same woman for twenty-six years since. He was as reliable as fall football in Texas. And just to prove it, he still hadn’t called her back. Her father phoned on the first day of every month, and any news—no matter how important to her—could wait until their monthly phone call, in his opinion.

Even though she desperately wanted to share her good news, her father didn’t operate on the same excitement scale as her. There’d been more than work news. A few days before her promotion, her former high school swimming coach had called to say that she was being inducted into the school’s hall of fame. Thanks to generous alumni donations, the school was getting a new wing. They wanted her to bring her family to the celebration. She’d almost choked on her mouthful of coffee. Even though she’d called her father right away, she was still waiting for a response. She seriously doubted he would change his schedule. He didn’t like to upset his routine.

Madelyn wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to ask him to go with her to the high school event. Maybe it was because he was getting older and she saw less and less time to repair their relationship. And she could never exactly pinpoint how it became broken in the first place. Her father loved her in his own way. She’d never doubted that. Her friend Aiden thought it was because Madelyn resembled her mother a little too much. She glanced into the rearview for a quick second. Did she remind him of what he’d lost?

Exiting the highway, she decided to table the thought. She pulled into the parking lot of a small motel. She was roughly two towns over from Cattle Barge.

Madelyn desperately needed a place to cool off and regroup before the meeting with Ed Staples. It was hot. A drive that should’ve taken four hours had spread to a hard six and she still hadn’t reached her final destination yet. She could already tell that the media circus surrounding the death of Maverick Mike had brought in news outlets from around the country. Traffic had thickened the closer she got to the small town.

Even though it was a very real possibility that Madelyn might be turning around and going right back home tonight, she’d learned a long time ago it was best to grab a room when she had the feeling a big story was about to break, and this one, two towns over, was the only one available.

All these reporters swarming couldn’t be wrong.

Where there was smoke, there usually was fire. And she was curious just how big this blaze was going to get.

Chapter Two

The motel room was sparse but had everything Madelyn needed—clean sheets, a decent Wi-Fi connection and a soft bed. She set her overnight bag down, walked into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. There were eight missed calls on her cell with no indication of a return call from her father. She shouldn’t be surprised but it was impossible not to be disappointed.

There were, however, repeated messages from her ex-boyfriend’s lawyer. What was it all of a sudden with her and lawyers? As for Owen’s attorney, no amount of calling or pleas would stop her. She had every intention of following through on the charges she’d filed. The next time she saw Owen Lockwood he’d better be explaining himself to a judge. And apologizing to her and every other woman he’d tried to manipulate and bully. She looked at her hands and realized that she’d been clenching her fists thinking about him.

Madelyn dried her face on the white hand towel before heading back outside and into gnarled traffic.

According to her GPS, she’d be arriving at her destination in thirty-seven minutes. A glance at the line of slow-moving vehicles in front of her said she needed a new system that could adjust arrival times based on traffic jams. In this mess she’d be lucky to get a quarter of a mile in half an hour.

To make matters worse, cars slowed down, stopped and then sped up with no clear reason. It went like this for forty-five minutes as she tapped her finger on the steering wheel. Her patience was wearing thin and especially since an oversize black pickup had been practically glued to her back bumper. She changed lanes. He whipped behind her. She shifted back and glanced in her rearview. There he was again. Was he afraid he was going to miss something? Because she could promise him there wasn’t anything going on in front of them. Ten minutes later, they were still doing the same dance and the song was getting tired.

Madelyn pressed her brake, leaving a large gap between her and the car in front. The pickup wheeled around her, pumped his fist as he passed and then cut her off. She steered her blue two-door convertible into the right-hand lane to avoid a collision. Wasn’t this turning out to be a red-letter day?

GPS said she still had twelve minutes before she reached her destination, which meant another twenty-five at a minimum. Fantastic, she thought sarcastically, looking at the four-lane highway. Before she could celebrate ditching the truck, a sedan came bearing down on her. Rather than tango with another frustrated driver, she put her blinker on to let him know she planned to get out of his way.

As she tried to change lanes, he whipped beside her. She turned to see what his problem was and caught the glint of metal. Shock gripped her. He had a gun. Pointed directly at her. Panic roared through her. Madelyn hit the brake. The white sedan mimicked her.

What on earth? The driver was going to shoot.

She slammed the wheel right and sped onto the shoulder. Horns blared and she didn’t need to look in her rearview to know the sedan was following her. Gravel spewed from underneath her tires as she gunned the engine, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. Adrenaline kicked in and her hands shook. A gun being pointed at her had to be the equivalent of half a dozen shots of espresso.

Eyes focused on the patch of shoulder she navigated, she searched around for her cell with her right hand. She needed to call 9-1-1. The other driver was nuts.

At least this area of road was straight even though scores of angry drivers were going crazy on their horns. A truck popped in front of her, blocking her, and she had to slam on her brakes to avoid a collision. Her tires struggled for purchase on the concrete, spewing rocks.

The white sedan was closing in from behind. With the line of bumper-to-bumper cars to her left at almost a complete stop and the damn pickup in front of her, she had nowhere to go. Except right but that was a field. She spun the wheel, unsure of what to expect once she left concrete. Her vehicle wasn’t exactly built for off-roading. Panic seized her lungs as she struggled to calm herself enough to take a couple of deep breaths.

She checked her rearview mirror. The sedan was tracking her. And she was running out of field.

* * *

HUDSON DALE WAS on his horse, Bullseye, when he noticed something he hadn’t seen in the year since moving to the outskirts of his hometown of Cattle Barge—action.

A pale blue two-door convertible tore across his neighbor’s land, kicking up all kinds of dust. Not far behind was a bigger sedan, white. Normally, he’d butt out of other people’s business but this looked urgent, like trouble, and was headed his way. Besides, he could admit that his life felt a lot like watching paint dry lately. He was restless.

His experience in law enforcement had his instincts riled up as he watched the scene unfold. The convertible was being chased down and needed an out. As the vehicle passed by, he caught sight of the driver. He couldn’t get a good look at her face, not with all that wheat-colored hair whipping around since her windows were open, but he could see that a female was at the wheel. She was getting bounced around pretty well in her small sedan.

Hudson strained to get a good look at the driver of the vehicle pursuing hers. He immediately pulled his shotgun from his saddlebag when he realized the male figure had a gun. Hudson loaded a shell.

“Come on, boy,” Hudson said to Bullseye. He’d been named for the brown markings surrounding his left eye, making it look like the center of a target.

The convertible driver had nowhere to go and she seemed to realize it as she spun the wheel and hesitated, facing down the other driver.

Hudson whistled one of his loud, call-the-cows-home signals and motioned for her to head toward his gate. He aimed his shotgun, pumped once and fired a shot at the back tire of the white vehicle bearing down on her. Hudson’s chest puffed out a little as he scored a direct hit. He’d been keeping up with target practice, maintaining sharp skills even though he’d never planned to need them again for work.

The convertible driver navigated wide as the other vehicle spun out.

Hudson managed to open the gate while seated on his horse. The pale blue two-door blazed inside the gate and he sealed off the entrance as he hopped off Bullseye, pausing only long enough to tie the horse off. His law-enforcement training had him putting plenty of mass between him and the drivers of both cars in the form of an oak tree.

Red brake lights stared at him from the back of the white sedan. The driver was making a choice.

“Put your hands where I can see them and get out of your vehicle,” he shouted with authority, shotgun at the ready and trained on the white sedan.

The numbers on the buyer’s tags were impossible to make out at this distance. The vehicle sped off. Hudson muttered a curse as he watched a suspect disappear. He angled toward the blue convertible that was still idling in his driveway.

“Hands where I can see them,” he shouted with that same authority to the driver.

She complied.

“Can I move them to open the door so I can come out?” she asked, and there was something about her voice that sent an unwelcome sexual current rippling through him. Damn. It hadn’t been that long since he’d had female company. Not really. Sure, it had been too long since he’d had interesting companionship. Everyone he’d dated since returning to Cattle Barge had left him bored and indifferent. What was so special about her?

“Yes,” he said as he neared the vehicle.

The door to the driver’s side opened and she kept her hands in full view. The woman who stepped out was stunning. Her wheat-colored hair fell around her shoulders in shiny waves. Her body was just as curvy, and, hell...sexy. She had long legs attached to what he could only guess was a sweet round bottom from this angle. Her full breasts rose and fell rapidly, no doubt from adrenaline and fear. She had cornflower blue eyes that were clear and bright. A couple of freckles dotted her nose on otherwise flawless skin. And speaking of skin, her jeans fit like a second layer and were tucked inside red roper boots.

Her hands were in the surrender position and she didn’t bother to close her vehicle’s door. Good moves. He also noticed that there wasn’t a gold band on her ring finger. Didn’t always mean someone wasn’t married, but was a pretty good indicator. He lied to himself when he said the only reason he’d noticed was habit.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, ignoring his other thoughts—thoughts that had no business creeping in while he investigated a possible crime. Speaking of which, this whole scene had angry boyfriend written all over it.

“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.”

“Does he have a record?” Hudson’s eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” she hated to admit. She sipped the fresh coffee, welcoming the burn on her tongue. “I didn’t find out about it until it was too late. I’m sure that he was only trying to scare me before. This is something totally different. I hope it’s not him.”

The cowboy’s steady gaze seemed locked onto an idea.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, realizing that she was gripping her mug so tight that her knuckles were sheet-white.

“That it’s him and he’s escalating,” he said, shooting her a look.

“He’s a jerk, I’ll give you that, but he’s not... I mean, that guy seemed like he was trying to kill me. Owen threatened me but he was trying to intimidate me to get back together with him. I wouldn’t be able to do that dead.”

The cowboy didn’t respond and the quiet rang in her ears.

And then it dawned on her that he was probably thinking Owen had decided that if he couldn’t have her no one would.

The doorbell rang before she could rationalize that idea. The cowboy set down his mug before picking up his shotgun. He loaded a slug in the shotgun’s chamber and readied it on his shoulder. “Whoever it is won’t get to you on my watch.”

Madelyn was momentarily too shocked to move as another shot of adrenaline coursed through her. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Could Owen hate her that much? Could he be that selfish? Yes, he’d crossed a few lines and had gotten away with it until now. But would he go so far as to want her dead? She’d covered stories that still made her shudder to think about them in the same context as her relationship with Owen.

The sheriff walked in and introduced himself as Clarence Sawmill. He was middle-aged, and his eyes had the white outline of sunglasses on otherwise tanned skin. Deep grooves in his forehead, hard brackets around his mouth and his tight grip on a coffee mug outlined the man’s stress level. He was on high alert and, from the looks of him, had been since news broke of Maverick Mike’s murder.

“Wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Sheriff Sawmill,” Madelyn conceded, taking the hand being offered in a vigorous shake.

“I’d like to hear what happened,” he said with a polite nod. The sheriff was considerably shorter than the cowboy, who had to be at least six foot three, and he wasn’t nearly as in shape. Sawmill squared his shoulders. His forehead creased with concern as Madelyn recalled the events, horrified at the thought Owen could be behind the attack. She wouldn’t deny the possibility. And she tried not to notice how intent the cowboy seemed at picking up every last detail of her statement. One look at him said he had to have been on the job. And it might not be her business but she wanted to know more about the quiet cowboy.

Sawmill listened. “Did the driver fire at you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“We’ve had a few similar incidents on the highway lately. Cases of road rage have doubled with the August sun and the town is still in a frenzy over the death of one of our residents.” Sawmill’s shoulders seemed in a permanent slump and his posture gave away his weariness. No doubt this was the first time he’d dealt with a high-profile murder on what he’d see as “his watch.” The intensity of his expression said he cared about doing a good job.

Road rage? She prayed it was that simple because the other was unthinkable.

“Is there a number where I can reach you if I have more questions?” Sawmill asked.

Madelyn relayed her cell number. “I’m staying at the Red Rope Inn for a couple of days if you need to find me.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’ll make a note on your file.”

“Thank you for your time,” Madelyn said as she followed him out the door. She scanned the horizon as a cold prickly feeling came over her, like eyes watching her. But there was no one around.

Before the sheriff disappeared she’d handed her empty mug to the cowboy. “Thanks for your help. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He tipped his hat but didn’t respond as he followed her onto the lawn. “Keep watch in case he returns.”

“You think he’ll come back?” Her heart drummed her rib cage.

“Probably not. He’ll have to fix his tire and regroup,” he said. “Doesn’t hurt to be extra careful.”

Madelyn thanked the cowboy again before sliding into the driver’s seat. Her palms were sweaty and her heart still galloped but she’d been threatened in her job before. It would take more than a stressful brush with road rage—if the sheriff had accurately assessed the situation—to detour her from finding out what Maverick Mike wanted with her.

Now that she’d almost made it to the ranch, her curiosity was at an all-time high. And she couldn’t think of one reason the man would summon her.

* * *

THERE HAD TO be two dozen news trucks lining the street in front of the Hereford Ranch due to Maverick Mike’s murder. Again, Madelyn questioned what she was doing here. If there was a story, wouldn’t one of these reporters have already sniffed it out?

A beefy security guy stood at the gate attached to a white log fence. He was wearing navy shorts and a matching button-down short-sleeved shirt, and had a gun strapped to his hip.

She rolled her window down and gave her name along with the name of the paper where she worked.

Beefy’s dark brow arched.

“I’m expected,” she added to clarify.

“Name again, please,” he said, checking his tablet.

“Madelyn Kensington.” She couldn’t get a good look at his eyes through his mirrored sunglasses. The guy obviously worked out but he had nothing on the cowboy from earlier.

Beefy tilted his head to the side. “Main building is straight ahead. Go on through.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling away and kicking up a lot of dirt as she navigated into a parking spot near the main building’s entrance. She grabbed her purse and stepped out of her car, dusting off her jeans, thinking how much she loved living in the city. The ranch was beautiful, don’t get her wrong, but checking her boots for scorpions before she put them on wasn’t exactly her idea of fun.

The main building looked like an oversize log cabin. It had more of a Western high-end resort feel with rustic accents. She slipped her purse strap over her shoulder and walked toward the door. Before she could reach for the knob, the door swung open. She had to put a hand up to stop it from smacking her in the face.

“My apologies,” the man wearing a taupe business suit with cowboy boots topped off by a cream-colored Stetson said with a smile of appreciation. “We spoke on the phone earlier. I’m Ed.”

Madelyn introduced herself as she took his outstretched hand. His shake was firm and quick, his expression concerned.

“Sorry I’m late. I had a difficult time getting here today,” she confided.

“Do you mind filling me in on that?” he asked with a raised brow.

“I’ve already given my report to the sheriff.” And then it dawned on her why he’d ask. Ella Butler had just survived an attempted murder. Madelyn shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. Sheriff thinks it’s a case of road rage.” She didn’t want to get into the fact that it could’ve been Owen with a stranger.

“I see. You’re no doubt aware of the situation the Butler family is dealing with,” he said with a sympathetic look, and she couldn’t help but notice that he was scanning her face. But for what? He seemed to be intensely staring at the bridge of her nose and it was making her a little self-conscious. Her nose had always had a slight bump and she’d sworn that she would get a nose job someday as a teenager.

Ed nodded and his lip curled into a faint grin. He was looking at her like she was some piece of artwork to be examined, like he was searching for something.

“Yes. I’m sorry for the loss of their father and for the criminal activity surrounding it,” she said honestly. She didn’t know the family, but a quick Google search last night had revealed a snapshot of what they’d been going through. No one deserved this kind of attention. She was getting irritated at the way he was staring at her. “Forgive my confusion, but what is so urgent that you needed to see me right away?”

He seemed to catch on when she used her you’re-being-rude tone.

“I apologize for my behavior.” He shook his head and made a production of walking in the opposite direction toward an office with glass-and-wooden French doors. “I’d prefer to have this conversation in private.”

Madelyn glanced around, didn’t see another soul. The place was beautiful, though. So far she’d endured a crazy driver, a cowboy who rattled her with his calm demeanor, and now she was with a lawyer who needed to get to the point. She had no idea what was going on with people today, but she’d hit her limit and was starting to get annoyed.

She stalked behind the lawyer into the office. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the walls. She was almost distracted by the rare book collection when she decided it was more important to know the real reason she was standing in what had to be Maverick Mike Butler’s private study. If it wasn’t for the day she’d been having, she might actually enjoy all of this. Seriously, this guy was legend and how many times in her life would she actually get to stand in the study of such a notorious, successful and eccentric man?

The problem was that her nerves were still fried from the drive over and her thoughts kept wandering to the handsome cowboy who’d literally ridden up on his horse and saved her. Call it Old West nostalgia, but he did make her pulse race just thinking about him. That was the thing about living in Texas. Anything could happen.

Ed put on glasses and took a seat in the executive chair. He motioned toward a leather club chair opposite the massive desk. She took a seat, crossed her legs and placed her folded hands in her lap, figuring this day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

He mumbled another apology before locating an envelope and making an “ah-ha” sound. He pushed black-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

Madelyn realized she’d lifted her hand to her mother’s necklace as she fingered the details of the dragonfly.

“Forgive me for saying, but...” He paused and then seemed to think otherwise as he stared at the envelope.

She caught his stare and a feeling rippled through her. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was but that look in his eyes sent a shiver racing down her spine, like the kind when people said a cat walked over a grave.

Ignoring the prickly-pin feeling on her arms, she half expected him to get up and walk out of the room when he tossed the envelope in her direction. Many a news lead was “handed” over in similar fashion.

Instead of excusing himself, he leaned back in his chair and continued examining her.

“What’s in that envelope is yours to keep. I’ve been instructed by the late Mr. Butler to advise you to think heavily on it before you break that seal. There’ll be no going back once you know what that envelope contains and the information will change your life forever.” She listened for something in Ed Staples’s tone to indicate that this was some kind of joke. The intensity of his stare said that it wasn’t. And now her curiosity really was hitting full peak.

“I doubt that, Mr. Staples.” She picked up the white envelope.

“Don’t be so sure,” he said. “You should take a moment to consider whether or not you’re ready.”

She ripped open the flap in one swipe and pulled out the 8-1/2 by 11 sheet of paper. It was trifold, so she flatted out the page. “All I’m ready for is a hot bath, a glass of wine and a...”

Madelyn froze. A gasp escaped.

There was no way. This had to be some kind of twisted joke. She glanced up, looking for cameras. Was she on one of those prank shows?

“I can assure you this is legitimate,” Ed said, but his voice disappeared in the background noise exploding in her head.

She would know something like this. Someone would’ve said something to her before now.

“I know who my father is and it isn’t Mike Butler.” The words were barely audible even to her as she pulled out the legal document that declared her his legal child. Madelyn cleared her throat. “There’s been a mistake.”

And then Ed Staples said the words she least wanted to hear. “I’m afraid not. It’s true.”

Madelyn gripped the piece of paper. The edges crinkled in her hand.

“I’ve never even met this man. This can’t be—”

Ed sat there, looking like he had a well of patience to draw on. And then he said, “Who do you think gave your mother that necklace you’re wearing?”

Those words exploded in her head. She was on her feet fast and racing toward the door before she could even begin to process. The day her father had given her the trinket popped into her thoughts. He’d looked so grieved when she opened the gift on her fifteenth birthday. Her mother had given him death-bed instructions to make sure Madelyn received it. He’d looked so pained as she opened the box. Until now, Madelyn had always believed that the necklace reminded him of her mother. Could his expression have meant something else? Was it a reminder of the affair she’d had?

Madelyn didn’t bother to look back to see if Ed Staples had followed her. All she needed was a quiet room and a way to rewind this crazy day.

With every step toward her pale blue convertible, a little more life escaped from her. A shot of adrenaline was the only thing keeping her legs moving, her flee response having kicked into high gear. Her chest squeezed and it felt like her lungs were seizing.

Hands shaking, she took a few tries to get the letter unstuck from the moisture gathered on her fingers and grip her car key.

She wasn’t sure how she managed to get the key in the ignition and start her car. It was all a blur. Was her entire life a lie? A secret this big couldn’t be hidden for thirty years...could it?

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away the best she could and focused on getting the hell out of there. Time seemed to slow as Madelyn tried to process the possibility of Mike Butler being her birth father. Maverick Mike Butler.

One hand on the wheel, she absently fingered the delicate silver dragonfly dangling from its chain as the log-style home shrank in the rearview mirror.

Madelyn parked in front of her motel room. Her limbs felt like hundred-pound weights and her body sank deeper into the driver’s seat. She managed to pick up her phone and dial her father’s number.

Of course, he didn’t pick up. Why would he start now, she thought bitterly.

Madelyn forced herself out of her car and into her motel room. The second she walked in, something felt off. Hadn’t she placed her laptop on the second bed, not the one closest to the door? Her overnight bag was unzipped and some of the contents spilled out. On the mirror at the back of the wall were scribbled large letters in what looked like red lipstick: Walk away or die.

Taking a couple of steps backward, she stumbled over her overnight bag. She quickly recovered her balance, grabbed her laptop and shoved it inside her small suitcase.

A few seconds later, panting, she was inside her car. She locked the doors and tossed her bag in the back seat. All she could think about was getting out of there and far away from Cattle Barge.

But go where?

Chapter Four

Madelyn thumped the steering wheel, refusing to cry. Then the questions flooded. Who was behind this? How did someone find out she was staying at the Red Rope Inn? How on earth did someone get inside her room? Was she being followed? That was a stupid question. Of course someone had followed her—the white sedan from earlier. The feeling of eyes on her prompted her to scrutinize the parking lot.

All the cars appeared to be empty but appearances could be deceiving. She drove around the building to the motel lobby. She parked, locked her car door and stalked inside, tucking her fears as far below the surface as she could. Like a simmering pot, her emotions threatened to boil over without warning.

Later, she would process this horrific day. Right now, all she could think about was finding out who was behind this threat. A dozen scenarios fought for attention. She’d been so quick to blame Owen for trying to run her off the road earlier. Her thoughts moved in a different direction now. The person behind the mirror scrawl was most likely the driver of the white sedan.

It was obvious that someone wanted her far away from Cattle Barge. Did one of Mike Butler’s children know about her? What about Ed Staples? Could she trust him? As far as she knew, he was the only one who knew she was coming to the ranch. Why would he summon her there and then try to hurt her? He had her number, probably her home address. Why wouldn’t he just assault her without making himself known? It didn’t rule him out, but placed him lower on her possible suspect list.

Nothing else made sense. She’d been nearly run off the road, shot at and threatened.

Madelyn was certain of one thing: someone was watching.

A bell jingled as she swung open the glass door to the lobby and stalked inside.

“Where’s Trent?” Madelyn asked the smiling woman as she walked to the counter. A metal nametag pinned to her shirt read Kelsey.

“Shift change,” Kelsey reported, looking a little taken aback by Madelyn’s direct question. “How can I help you?”

Madelyn glanced at her watch. One fifteen was an odd time for a shift change. She debated tactics. Being nice usually got her the information she wanted. What had happened back there in her room had thrown her off balance and she felt violated. There was no better way to describe her emotions. She still couldn’t figure out who would have an issue with her. The envelope Ed Staples had handed her was sealed. Based on the way he’d examined her features when she’d first arrived and his knowledge of the origin of her mother’s necklace, he had to have known the contents. Personally, she didn’t know the man from Adam, so she couldn’t get a good read on him. Was he a loyal employee to Mike Butler? A personal friend? Or was he closer to the family? Did he feel sorry for them and decide to take matters into his own hands?

He’d seemed honest and even a little bit caring, but maybe it was an act. People faked friendly all the time, smiling at strangers when they were really just trying to get their own way. She’d seen people try to manipulate others using charm tons of times in her line of work. Her profession had also taught her that people had two faces, the one they showed the public and the one they kept to themselves. Both were real. And she could never be certain which one she was getting. Until a tipping point happened...

“Who has access to my room?” Maybe Trent was friends with one of the Butler kids and figured he’d be doing them a favor by scaring her off. That was probably the best-case scenario.

“No one.” Kelsey blinked.

“Not even the front office?” Madelyn pressed. Cattle Barge was a small town. If news had leaked that she was the daughter of Mike Butler then someone could be trying to protect the family. Heck, it could’ve been someone in the family, for all she knew. Was her arrival the tipping point? What about the lawyer reaching out to her? Everyone had to be looked at as a suspect now.

“Well, of course, we have acce—”

“And what about housekeeping?” Madelyn’s hands were fisted at her sides as frustration and fear built inside her, gathering steam. What if she’d been in the room? Would that person have attacked?

“Well, yes—”

“Maintenance?”

Kelsey nodded.

“So you and countless others do have access to my room.” Madelyn was almost to the point of hysterical now. She took in a slow breath that sounded like a hiss from a heating coil.

“Did something happen?” Kelsey caught on. Finally, light brightened her eyes as the insinuation dawned on her.

Part of Madelyn—the frightened child inside her—wanted to deny that any of this was possible. She’d like to write off the whole situation as a bowl of crazy, a landmark bad day. She needed a minute to process the day she was having. More than anything, she needed to hear her father’s—well, hold on now, was Charles Kensington even her father anymore?—voice. But that wasn’t an option. No matter how many times she phoned, he only returned her calls on the first of every month. Today was the ninth.

Madelyn pulled her cell from her purse. She started punching in those three digits reserved for emergencies. This day had emergency stamped all over it.

“Ma’am, what are you doing?” Kelsey asked, her voice low.

“Calling the sheriff,” Madelyn stated as she turned her back on the front desk attendant.

“There’s no need to do that.” Kelsey’s voice had that quiet calm as she slowly spoke, drawing out her words like she was trying to talk someone out of jumping off the roof.

“How do you know? I haven’t told you why I’m here yet.” Madelyn turned toward the glass door in time to see a cruiser pull into the parking lot. He was coming in dark, meaning no lights or sirens.

“I’m sorry. You were so upset and yelling at me, so I hit the panic button my boss had installed under the counter.” Now Kelsey sounded nervous.

“Why would I hurt you?” Madelyn heard the irony there. She was being stalked and Kelsey had hit the panic button over a few direct words. This time she blew out a slower breath that sounded less like a hiss. “It doesn’t matter. Someone broke into my room and I want to file a report anyway. Call and tell them that you hit the button on accident. That we’re okay in here.”

Silence.

“Kelsey, I’m not in the mood to play games. Would I turn my back to you like this if I was here to hurt you? Make the call.” Madelyn swiveled around, hands up. “All I was doing was retrieving my cell so that I could call the sheriff.”

Kelsey gave a nervous smile before she picked up the phone.

* * *

HUDSON COULDN’T STOP thinking about the stranger, about Madelyn. The sheriff had written the incident off too easily as road rage and hadn’t paid enough attention to the fact that she had an angry ex-boyfriend. Even though this wasn’t Hudson’s business, he put away Bullseye and then climbed into his pickup truck. All he planned to do was drive down to the sheriff’s office and put a bug in the man’s ear. Sawmill was distracted and anyone could see that he had too much on his plate. Hudson didn’t plan to insult the sheriff. He’d find a tactful way to plant the seed about her ex.

Twenty minutes later he was pulling into the parking lot. There was media everywhere and a flock rushed his truck until they got a good look at the driver, realized he wasn’t a Butler and dispelled.

He pushed through the mob to the front door, relieved when the lobby was clear. There was a constant hum of chatter from an adjacent room and he suspected that was a “war room” set up for receiving tips and leads on the Mike Butler murder.

“How are you, Hudson?” Doris asked, rolling her eyes at the craziness going on. She was midfifties and the type who made it her personal mission to know what everyone in town—and in his case, just out of town—was up to. She was also an old friend of his mother’s before she’d passed away. Lucky for her Hudson’s mother had died years before she could be embarrassed by her son. Hudson performed a mental headshake. He wasn’t there to think about his own shortcomings and misery.

“Better now that I’ve had a chance to see you.” The line was cheesy as all get-out but Doris didn’t seem to mind.

She smiled so hard her cheeks turned six shades past pink.

“And you’re a flatterer,” she quipped with that smile intact.

Hudson’s gaze drifted to the makeshift command post that had been set up in the adjacent conference room. He heard the buzz of intake volunteers taking calls.

“Looks like you’re staying busy.” He forced his gaze away from the room and back to Doris. He’d read the stories about Maverick Mike and then Ella Butler.

“Us?” Doris glanced around. “Darn right. This town hasn’t seen anything like this in all my considerable years. It’s a train wreck in here, if you ask me. I don’t remember the last time the sheriff left for more than four hours to sleep. His heart won’t take it at this pace.”

Pens were lined up in neat rows on her desk next to a line of pencils. She had a notepad positioned on her desk in front of her and her computer was off to one side. A woman like Doris was old-school and would prefer to write things down over spending her days glued to a screen. Hudson was sure she subscribed to the old thinking that staring at the TV too long could make a person go blind.

“Are you trying to convince me that you’d let things get out of control?” He perched on the edge of her desk and she immediately shooed him off it.

“There are other, more qualified people in town who could act as a consultant if they saw fit.” The insinuation was that he, being from a big city like Houston, would be more equipped to deal with hard-core crimes, like, say murder. Hudson leaned to one side to avoid the proverbial hand grenade being tossed at him. He had no plans to touch that statement. His days in law enforcement were over.

“What brings you all the way into town?” She blinked her eyes up at him like she was ready for him to tell her the sky was falling.

“Can’t I check on my favorite person once in a while?” He wasn’t ready to tip his hand. Gauging from the chaos in the office, the sheriff didn’t have the resources to properly address the reporter’s incident. And that worried Hudson for reasons he shouldn’t care about. He’d done his part, played the role of Good Samaritan. If he had any sense he’d turn around, walk out that door and let a sleeping dog alone.

Instead, he took a seat across from Doris and leaned forward.

“Thanks for the habanero peppers, by the way. Diced some up and threw them in the pan with a pair of eggs this morning. Best breakfast I’ve had in months,” he said.

“There’s something about homegrown that gives ’em that extra kick of flavor.” Her eyes lit up. His mom used to joke that her friend grew a garden in small part to feed herself and in large part so that she could stop by and check on her friends on a regular basis. “If you’d come around more often, I’d send you home with all you want. I always grow more than I can use in case someone’s in need.”

“Now I’m a charity case?” Hudson joked but a pang of guilt nailed him. He’d been content to stick to his ranch. Heck, he’d have his groceries delivered if it meant never leaving his property. The place was the only thing keeping him sane after everything he’d lost and he’d pretty much lost everything.

Once again, he had to ask himself why he was sitting in the sheriff’s office.

“Is the boss around?” He glanced toward the hallway.

“Afraid not. Everything all right?” Concern creased her forehead.

“With me? Yeah. I was just checking on a friend,” he said.

“Since when do you have a friend in town?” Her brow shot up.

The phone rang. She excused herself to take the call.

Hudson had almost talked himself into slipping out the door while she was preoccupied with the conversation. Until he heard her say the name Madelyn Kensington.

“Where is she?” Doris asked.

Hudson leaned a little closer to Doris’s desk.

“The Red Rope Inn, got it,” she said low into the receiver. “I’ll sure tell the sheriff when he returns. Should be half an hour or so.”

Did something happen to Madelyn?

“She’s hysterical? What about?” Doris asked into the phone. “Okay. I got it. I’ll let him know. Thank you for the call.” Before Doris could end her conversation and delay Hudson with questions, he was out the door.

Madelyn was in trouble. He’d heard it in Doris’s voice. The Red Rope Inn was eighteen minutes from there, according to his GPS device. He glanced at the route, confident he could make it in ten.

Hudson zipped in and out of cars. The deputy on duty wouldn’t appreciate any interference with his investigation, so Hudson needed to think of a good excuse to show up. Mentioning Doris might get her in trouble, and based on his proximity, he had about two minutes to come up with a plausible excuse.

The parking lot was quiet. All the action was going on inside the lobby, Hudson noticed as he searched for Madelyn through the glass. His pulse calmed a notch when he saw her—saw that she was okay—and he didn’t want to care as much as he did. He told himself it was the action he missed and not the person who’d occupied his thoughts since she’d driven away.

“I couldn’t get ahold of you on your cell.” He made a beeline toward Madelyn with the pretense they were a couple. The bell gave away his presence the second the door moved.

Her gaze flew to him and he couldn’t immediately discern if his being there was a good thing or not.

“Why are you here?” The shock in her voice gave away the answer...not thrilled.

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