Endangered Heiress. Barb Han

       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?”