The Cowboy's Hidden Agenda. Kathleen Creighton
was moving, moving against her will, her feet going along with her body as if they’d had no other choice.
Had there been a choice? If she’d had presence of mind to go limp, what would it have gained her? Only, she was certain, the indignity of being carried. No, she’d had only one chance, and that had come later, outside, when Bronco had paused for some reason at the place where the lawns ended in a low stone wall and two steps dropped down to the hard-baked dirt. It was then, operating on pure gut instinct, that Lauren had seized the moment and stomped down with all her strength on his instep.
Her valiant effort produced only a muffled grunt. Instead of releasing her, Bronco’s grip on her arms tightened. There was a flash of blinding breath-stopping pain, and his voice, whispering the warning against her ear, so soft it sounded obscenely like an endearment. “Let’s have an understanding—you don’t try to get away, and I don’t have to hurt you.”
And then, in a more normal voice, a lazy almost insolent drawl, he’d said, “Look here, Laurie Brown, where do you think you’re gonna go? Look around you.”
That was when she realized her truck and horse trailer were gone. They had been taken from her along with her freedom, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
But she wasn’t giving up. She’d wait…and she’d watch. When the moment came, she’d be ready.
“Are you okay?”
Lauren opened her eyes and found herself clinging to the gray mare’s saddle, engulfed in a wave of dizziness. Bronco’s arm slid around her, under her arm and folded across her rib cage.
“You need to sit down for a minute?”
She felt as though she couldn’t breathe, as though he’d taken all her oxygen. She managed to gasp, “Don’t touch me!” fighting the weakness, feeble with rage.
He let go of her with a little snort of laughter and muttered, “Suit yourself,” then stepped away. She was left clinging to the saddle, feeling weak-kneed and childish.
“Am I allowed to go to the bathroom?” she asked, teeth clenched.
His reply came from the other side of the gray mare. “Doubt if you’ll find a bathroom, but you’re welcome to use a bush.”
Her heart pounded. Was this the moment? How quickly could she mount up—more quickly than he could grab the reins? Don’t be stupid. He’s got a faster horse than you have, and he knows the terrain. Be patient, Lauren. This is not the time.
As she stalked into the brush she heard Bronco call, “I’d check real good for rattlers if I were you.”
Chapter 4
The phone call came that evening during dinner at the gracious brown-brick Georgian home of Pat Graham, in a Maryland suburb of Washington, D.C., where Rhett and Dixie had gone to await developments out West. The attorney general left the dining room to take the call in her study, and when she returned her face was grave.
Rhett reached for Dixie’s hand. “News?” he asked quietly.
“That was Vernon,” Pat said as she seated herself. Her movements were slow and careful, and her eyes didn’t quite meet those of her guests. She placed her napkin across her lap. “They heard from the Navajo Tribal Police. A sheep-herder named Billie Chee reported finding your daughter’s truck and trailer around noon today abandoned on the Big Reservation near Window Rock. Vernon’s people are going over it now.”
Rhett nodded; he’d been prepared for something of the sort but felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach nonetheless. “From what you’ve told me about these people, I doubt they’ll find much,” he said flatly. “Any word from McCullough’s ranch? Do they know where he’s holding her?” Curled inside his, Dixie’s fingers felt like ice.
Pat Graham picked up her knife and fork, stared at her plate for a moment, then carefully laid the utensils back down. “Vern and Henry both have their people out there in force. They’ve had the place under surveillance since about eight this morning, local time.” Rhett made a sharp sound. The attorney general glanced at him. “Nobody’s gone in or out since then, but that doesn’t mean much. McCullough would have been expecting something of the sort, I’m sure. He wouldn’t keep Lauren there—most likely moved her out during the night. They could have her stashed just about anywhere by now—there’s a lot of wide-open country out there.”
Dixie clapped a hand over her mouth. Unable to sit still, Rhett pushed back his chair. “I need to be out there,” he muttered, driving a hand through his hair. “I can’t just…sit here, while my daughter’s out there somewhere—God knows where—held hostage by some damn…militia!” He was standing, now, gripping the back of Dixie’s chair. He wondered why it didn’t snap in his hands.
Pat rose, too, and leaned toward him, bracing her hands on the white linen tablecloth. “Rhett, I know how you must feel.” Her umber eyes were intent, her voice low and earnest. “But I can only advise you very strongly not to do that. We cannot have the media getting hold of this. We’d be putting your daughter in grave danger if we do. SOL’s instructions were very emphatic on that point. You must proceed with the campaign schedule as if nothing’s wrong, right up till the convention.”
Rhett expelled a breath. “Where I will regretfully decline the nomination for president.”
Pat nodded. “Once you’ve done that, your daughter will be released unharmed. So they say.”
Pacing, Rhett uttered a profanity. “They can’t be allowed to get away with this,” he growled. “Think what it would mean—hell, it amounts to a coup! The end of our political system as we know it, the rule of law, the will of the majority—”
“Rhett.” Dixie caught his hand and held on to it.
He halted and passed a shaking hand over his eyes. “She’s my child, my little girl. I don’t know what I’d do if…” He sought Dixie’s eyes, like chips of an autumn sky, and clung to them as if they were the light of hope.
“We’re going to get your daughter back,” the attorney general said with quiet conviction.
Rhett threw her an angry look. “Seems to me you’ve got to find her first. Is Vernon certain she’s not at McCullough’s?”
She hesitated a beat too long. “Not absolutely certain, no. And there’s no way they can be until they get in there. But rest assured, he and Henry will take no overt action until they know your daughter is out of harm’s way.”
“Pat, this isn’t a damn press conference,” he snapped, then immediately followed that with a heavy, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
Only once before in his life had the future seemed so black, so terrifying, ironically also a time when he’d feared his children might be lost to him forever. Sixteen years ago, and it seemed like yesterday. Back then, too, it had looked as if he might be forced to make an unthinkable choice. Back then the choice had been between his children and Dixie, the woman who had become as essential to him as the air he breathed. Now, as then, the stubbornness inherent in his nature insisted there had to be another possibility. A third choice.
“This man Henry’s got on the inside—the one he says is going to keep my daughter safe. What have you heard from him? Seems to me if anybody’d know where Lauren is being held…” He paused at something in the attorney general’s eyes. “What?”
The woman’s face was a study in mute sympathy. “I wish I knew. At last report he hadn’t checked in since the night before Lauren was taken. Henry hasn’t heard from him in almost forty-eight hours. We don’t even know if he’s—”
“Alive?” Rhett finished for her.
Pat shrugged and looked away.
They arrived at the entrance to the camp around midnight, by the light of a full moon. Bronco suspected Lauren