Certified Cowboy. Rita Herron
She sighed in relief, grateful for the reprieve as she met Johnny on the steps.
She just wondered how long it would last.
REX SLID LOWER INTO THE seat of his car, where he’d parked beneath a cluster of live oaks, his fingers sliding over the Smith & Wesson in his hands as he studied the Georgian house with the gigantic columns and sculpted shrubs.
The house belonged to Judge Walton Hammers. A rich, powerful man who held the fate of people’s lives in his hands.
An arrogant bastard who’d signed the papers granting Rachel the divorce.
A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. The stupid, fat fool had no idea that by doing so he’d signed his own death warrant.
A Mercedes rolled up and Rex tensed, his heart pounding, his fingers itching to do the job. The judge steered the Mercedes into the driveway, then hit the garage door opener, and the door slid up. The Mercedes coasted inside, then the lights flicked off.
Night had fallen, dark shadows casting the mansion in gray as Rex climbed from the sedan, grabbed his rope and inched his way along the wooded lot toward the garage.
He tiptoed into the space, hiding in the shadows as the judge and his wife climbed from the car. The judge staggered, a little tipsy, and his wife moved around to help him inside.
Rex gripped his gun at the ready, then bolted up behind them and jammed the gun at the judge’s back.
“Inside now. And disarm the security.”
The woman shrieked and the judge started to turn around, but Rex crammed the gun in his back. “Do it or you both die.”
“Who the hell are you?” the judge grumbled.
“Just do as he s-says,” his wife cried.
The judge stumbled in, his wife gripping his arm, and punched the alarm. Rex relaxed slightly at the sound of the beep, then shoved the man into the room.
“Why are you doing this?” the judge bellowed.
The wife started to sob. “Please, my jewelry is upstairs. Just take what you want and don’t hurt us!”
Rex released a sinister laugh. Good idea. Make it look like a robbery gone bad.
“Up the steps,” he ordered.
The judge tilted his head sideways to look at him, but Rex jerked his arm. “I told you to move!”
“You won’t get away with this,” the judge growled.
Rex shoved them both toward the hallway and followed them as they climbed the winding staircase, the wife clutching her husband as if she might fall if he didn’t hold her up. When they entered the bedroom, the judge reached for a light.
“No.” Rex shoved the woman onto the bed, jammed the gun at the judge’s head, then pushed the rope into his hands. “Tie her up.”
The judge stammered a protest, but Rex turned the gun on his wife and he complied. The woman cried and wept as her husband bound her hands and feet, and the judge kept apologizing to her, promising that it would be all right. When he had the knots secure, Rex ordered the judge to sit down beside her.
“Just take the jewelry, and there’s money in my safe,” the judge offered in a shaky voice. “You can have it all. Just don’t hurt my wife.”
Rex barked a laugh. “You don’t understand, Judge. You took my wife from me. Now I want you to feel that same pain.”
With a flick of his finger, he pulled the trigger and shot the woman in the head. She screamed a second before the bullet pierced her brain. Blood splattered, then she slumped onto the bed in a flood of red.
The judge bellowed in shock and grief, then charged toward him. Rex pulled the trigger, firing a round into the fat man’s gut.
Then he pushed him back onto the bed and sat down, smiling as the blood began to seep from the judge’s belly.
The judge groaned and wheezed for a breath, struggling to get back up and fight.
But it was useless. He was going to die. It was only a matter of time.
The sweet taste of victory surged through him, and he fired a shot into the man’s kneecap and was rewarded by a loud scream of pain.
The woman’s death had been quick and relatively painless.
But the judge would die slowly, bleeding to death.
He grinned. He would watch the old bastard suffer until the end.
Chapter Four
The next few days Rachel avoided Johnny as much as possible. He was nice to her, good with Kenny and patient with the older boys who’d arrived. He had allowed Kenny to join in the camp activities with the other children, and let her son follow him around. He tolerated his questions and never lost his temper.
He was too good to be true.
And too sexy.
Not that she was interested in sex. No, Rex had ruined that for her, too.
But as she hurried back to the dining hall to help Ms. Ellen with dinner, she spotted him working with a group of teens in one of the pens. He was teaching them how to rope a calf, his muscles bunching as he gripped the animal and tied the rope around its legs.
She kept waiting for the ball to drop, for him to go off on one of the boys like Rex would have, but so far, he’d remained calm and in control.
Was the article she’d read about him having a hot temper simply gossip?
Kenny hung on to the fence, watching, infatuated with the cowboy’s every move.
Apprehension tightened her shoulders. If he grew too fond of the man, it would only make it more difficult when they had to leave.
And she had no doubt that that moment would come.
Rex’s harsh words echoed in her ears. I’ll kill you next time.
He would never give up. He would find them. And then the running would have to start again. A new name. A new town.
A new house or apartment or trailer, whatever she could find.
Another reason she couldn’t call the little cabin she and Kenny were staying in home. Although, the fireplace and homemade quilts and warm earthy tones made it cozy, and it felt more like home than any place she’d ever lived.
So did the dining hall. And Ms. Ellen… She was like a grandmother to Kenny and a second mom to her.
She liked Kim, Johnny’s sister, too, and her four-year-old little girl, Lucy, was adorable.
Kim taught riding skills to the younger campers and also did personal counseling, and Lucy and Kenny had enjoyed playing together.
Ranch life started early and she rose at five-thirty to help with the day’s meals while Kenny fed Cleo and played with the pups. Ms. Ellen arrived at the kitchen at four to start breakfast, but she always greeted her and Kenny with a warm smile and a pan of hot biscuits or cinnamon buns.
It was the first time since her parents died that she’d come close to having a semblance of a family.
She was desperately afraid she and Kenny were both losing their hearts to the ranch and the people here.
“Come on, Rachel,” Ms. Ellen called. “This barbecue sauce needs your special touch.”
Rachel grinned and went to taste the sauce, then added a dollop of molasses, and Ellen deemed it perfect. For the next two hours, they worked side by side, setting up the buns and Brunswick stew and slicing brownies to add to the dessert table along with bowls of homemade banana pudding.
A group of young boys from a middle school in a lower-income area filed in, then