Lone Rider. B.J. Daniels
wife.”
For the first time since he’d stumbled across this woman he’d thought dead for the past twenty-two years, she laughed a real laugh. It was rich, musical and delightful. He wanted to make her laugh for the rest of her life.
Quickly he quelled that thought, chalking it up to mere loneliness. His wife of more than forty years had died recently, leaving a hole that nothing had filled—until Sarah.
“None of this is Buck’s fault.”
Russell raised a brow. They’d had this discussion before. He thought all of this was Buckmaster’s fault and had said as much. “You tried to commit suicide twenty-two years ago,” he’d argued. “What happily married woman with six beautiful daughters, the twins only months old, drives her car into the Yellowstone River in the middle of winter in an attempt to kill herself?”
“Maybe one with postpartum depression or a houseful of young children and a husband who...”
“Who was distracted with his political career?” Russell suggested.
She shook her head. “He was involved only in local politics back then, and ranching.”
“Something was wrong, and even if he didn’t drive you into that river, he wasn’t around enough to notice that you needed help.”
Sarah sighed. “Unfortunately, I can’t remember, so I have no idea why I would do such a thing.”
Russell suspected something had happened to trigger her suicide attempt other than postpartum depression. He was betting Senator Buckmaster Hamilton was behind it. But Sarah didn’t believe it. Or didn’t want to believe it.
Russell didn’t want to fight with her, though, so he said, “He wants you to come stay on the ranch. He suggested I bring you late at night to avoid the press.”
“He can’t be serious,” she said, meeting his gaze.
Russell had said the same thing to the senator. “Apparently he is very serious. But you wouldn’t be staying in the big house with his other wife. You’d be living in the bunkhouse complex he built for the girls. He said it’s like a condo, and you would be comfortable and safe there.”
“Safe? Does he know the woman he’s married to at all?” She shook her head, looking miserable. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Moving onto the ranch with him married to another woman? Can you imagine what the press would make of it?”
Russell couldn’t help his relief. “Are you going to tell Buckmaster about your visit to the neurologist?”
“What would be the point? Buck wants answers. The doctor didn’t give me any.” She let out a small, bitter laugh. “Buck won’t accept that I might never recall the past twenty-two years. That those years might be gone forever.”
Russell wondered if Buck might surprise her and be just as glad she couldn’t remember. He could see that a part of her hoped she wouldn’t remember the past. But he knew those years weren’t entirely gone. He’d seen her look startled on occasion, her eyes growing dark and cloudy, her hands balling into fists. But it was her expression that told him she was remembering. Wherever she’d been, whatever she’d been, the memories terrified her. Who she might have been terrified her.
“For Buck’s sake, I need to disappear again so I’m not such an issue with him running for president. But I want to have a relationship with my children. They already expect me to desert them again. The media has already made me out to be some flighty airhead who abandoned her husband and children, returning only because of my husband’s political success.”
“You could remarry,” Russell said and then bit down hard on his tongue.
* * *
HER HEART THUDDING against her ribs, Bo looked at the knife in the man’s right hand. Her arm ached from the grip of his fingers digging into her skin. She could feel his dirty fingernails biting into her flesh. Her attempts to talk him into letting her go had fallen on deaf ears.
Now his gaze followed hers to the knife and back to her face. “That’s right, sweetheart. Unless ya want this blade plunged into yer belly, ya do what I say.”
His words sent terror shooting through her. She fought to breathe as she met his eyes. Instantly she recoiled at the cold hatred she saw there. She didn’t need a reminder of who this man was and what he was capable of. A man who’d already killed once. A violent criminal.
“We’re goin’ to walk down to my camp,” he said and tugged on her arm.
All her instincts told her she had to think of a way to get away from this man. But he was big, a good six foot four or more, and solid as a new barn. Even if she could break free and avoid the knife, she doubted she could outrun him.
Looking around, she saw that her horse had stayed where the man had dragged her from it. If she could reach her horse—
“Ain’t going to happen, so ya might as well put it out of yer pretty little head. You ain’t goin’ nowhere. Yer mine now.”
She swallowed, terrified at the thought. “They’ll be looking for me. You would have a better chance without me. If you took my horse—”
He jerked her arm, dragging her over to a tree where he had hidden an oily green pack. She watched him lay down the knife and lean over to reach into the pack with his free hand. Her whole body was trembling with fear, but she had to at least try to get away.
She spun to the side, his fingers losing their grip on her arm as she flung herself in the direction of her horse. She took a step, then another, longer one, trying to run on her quaking legs. If she could just reach her horse—
The blow to her back flung her to the ground. She sprawled in the dirt, the fall knocking the air from her lungs. Gasping like a trout tossed up on the bank, she struggled for breath as she tried to get to her feet.
His knee landed in her back, the weight of him crushing her to the ground again. She let out a scream of pain. He wound his hand into the hair of her ponytail and jerked her head back.
“Maybe I weren’t clear. Yer with me now. Anybody comes lookin’ for ya? I’ll kill ’em. Ya want me to hurt ya bad? I will and I’ll have fun doin’ it. Try to get away agin? And ya will wish ya was never born.”
He rose and she was able to take a breath, then another. Her back ached. So did her arm and the roots of her hair as he dragged her to her feet by her ponytail.
“Me and Bo-Peep. Ain’t we a handsome couple?”
Bo felt sick to her stomach as he pulled her back over to his pack. He dug out a roll of duct tape, ripped a piece off with his teeth and, still holding on to her hair, one-handedly bound her wrists. She had the horrifying feeling that this wasn’t the first time he’d bound a woman with duct tape.
THE SENATOR GLANCED at the clock on the wall and swore. It had been hours, and no sign of his daughter or the cowboy who’d gone after her.
“Maybe I should call the sheriff,” he said more to himself than to his wife.
“I thought you promised to wait twenty-four hours before you did anything,” Angelina reminded him.
“Bo didn’t take the money,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than her. “It’s just...missing.” He realized it must have been missing for some time. He recalled his daughter Olivia’s engagement party. Bo had been throwing down the champagne. He’d been concerned then. Why hadn’t he talked to her about it?
“Even if she didn’t take the money, Bo’s responsible for it,” Angelina said.
Bo would know that, as the president of the foundation