Bulletproof Christmas. Barb Han
was always in the right place. His chest clutched while he thought about her. He needed to stop himself right there. That was the past. She was the past. The best way to end up thrown from his horse was to keep looking backward.
Besides, nothing could be changed and he’d only end up with a crick in his neck.
A log crackled, sending another round of burning embers into the air. Rory hoped like hell the couple who’d lit it didn’t have plans to go to sleep with the blaze still going, if there was a couple. There was no accounting for lack of skill and knowledge. If this was a situation with inexperienced campers they might not even realize they’d set up on private property. A place as massive as Hereford was impossible to cordon off completely from the outside world, even though security would be tighter following Mr. Butler’s murder.
Rory changed position again, moving stealthily along the tree line near the lake. He crouched behind the trunk of a mesquite tree, watching, waiting. A blast of frigid air penetrated straight through his winter jacket. It was twelve in the morning, which could be considered early or late, depending on point of view. Tomorrow was supposed to be even colder. The mornings were already crisp and the forecast said a cold front was moving in for Christmas Eve in five days.
He shouldn’t complain. This was nothing compared to December weather in Wyoming. Forty degrees was practically a heat wave.
The twenty-hours-straight drive had tied Rory’s muscles into knots. They were screaming to be stretched. Exhaustion and cold slowed his reflexes. He’d have to take that into account if he confronted the campers.
Protecting the Butler property took top priority for reasons he didn’t want to examine. He’d known the family since he was a kid. His father had worked in the barn for part of Rory’s childhood before blowing up at his boss and getting fired. Rory had plenty of fond memories of spending time with the twins, Dalton and Dade. The Butler boys had treated him like one of them from the very beginning. That was most likely the reason he felt compelled to take this job and why he felt so damn guilty for having the fling with Cadence.
Rory could rest later when he turned over the bad guys and collected his paycheck.
At this time of night, the campers should have been in their tent. The wind had picked up and Rory was certain the temperature had dropped ten degrees in the last hour.
Moving silently along the perimeter of their camp, he repositioned away from the water, noting that this location was a little too close to the Butler home for comfort.
A noise on the opposite side, the place where he’d first set up, caught his attention. Rory flattened his body against the cold hard earth. Wind whipped the fire around as he flexed and released his fingers to keep blood flowing.
A man came into view of the firelight. He had to be roughly five feet ten inches, if Rory had to guess, a good four inches shorter than him. The guy had on jogging pants, tennis shoes and a dark hoodie. A smallish dog—on closer inspection, it looked like a beagle mix—trotted behind City Guy’s heels. That was bad news for Rory because the dog would pick up his scent and give away his location. Even with the fierce winds, it was only a matter of time before the beagle found him.
To avoid that fiasco, he would make himself known. He hopped to his feet and moved about fifteen feet closer before making a loud grunting noise to call attention to his presence. He needed a good reason to be out there alone this time of night...
“Dammit,” he said loudly as he stalked out of the shadows, making as much noise as one man could without a herd of elephants behind him. “I seem to have lost my hunting knife. It was a present from my girlfriend and things haven’t been so great between us lately. I really don’t want to have to go home and explain that. There’s no chance you’ve seen it, is there?”
From this distance, Rory could see the man’s face had a day’s worth of stubble and he was wearing one of those expensive compass watches. No way was this an outdoorsman.
City Guy seemed thrown by Rory’s presence, making him believe the man was either up to no good or scared out of his wits. Poachers were generally harder to detect and it usually took days, sometimes weeks, to track them. They rarely ever set up camp unless they were armed to the nines or stupid, and the latter were easily caught.
The man quickly recovered a casual disposition, bending down to grab his dog by the collar. He took a knee next to the beagle. “Sorry, what did you say you’re looking for?”
“A knife about so-big.” Rory made a show of holding his hands out, palms facing each other, to indicate a roughly nine-inch blade and subtly lead the man to believe that he wasn’t carrying another weapon. In this position, it would take Rory approximately three seconds to drop, roll and come up with the handgun in his ankle holster. Everyone in this part of Texas carried for protection against wild animals, so he assumed City Guy was armed, too.
“What makes you think it’s around here?” City Guy said, keeping a cautious-looking eye on Rory while covering most of his face with the brim of his ball cap.
“According to my GPS, I was somewhere around this area hunting this morning.” He glanced at his watch. “Technically, yesterday morning. Guess it was pretty early, around daybreak.” Rory was fishing to see when the guy set up camp.
“We didn’t get here until noon. I checked the area as I set up and didn’t see anything.” The guy shrugged.
“I’m Rory, by the way.”
“My name is—” there was a hesitation so brief that Rory almost wrote it off as his imagination but then City Guy finished “—Dexter but everyone calls me Dex. And this is Boots.”
He made a show of scratching the dog behind his ears.
Even though Dex was considerably smaller than Rory, it was obvious the guy hit the gym. And Rory would put his life savings on the fact that the guy’s name wasn’t Dexter.
“Nice to meet you both.” Rory picked up his earlier ruse by pretending to search the ground using his phone’s flashlight app. Maybe he could needle the guy for a little information or see if he could get him talking and trip him up. “I’m such an idiot. How does someone lose a nine-inch knife?” He shook his head and threw his hands in the air.
“It most likely slipped out of your pack,” Dex said. “Could happen to anyone.”
“You’re probably right.” Rory scanned the ground. “And I’m starting to think I was crazy to think I could find anything in the dark.”
“Your flashlight might catch the metal,” Dex said, keeping one eye on Rory.
“That was my thought, too.” If he could get the guy to think he was an amateur, he might be able to lower his defenses even more. In this case, it was hard to know who was playing whom. “You come out here a lot with Boots?”
“No. My girlfriend, Lainey, is here. We’re doing a romantic thing for the night. I thought it would be a good idea. You know, the whole under-the-stars thing, but I’m not so sure she agrees. She might’ve ditched me and headed to a roadside motel.” He laughed and it sounded a little too forced. “You didn’t bump into her, did you? She’d die of embarrassment because she asked for privacy to take care of business. She’s a redhead and she’s wearing a white down coat, full length, with snow boots.”
Dex was giving too many details as he described her. Was he nervous? Lying? There was no reason to describe his girlfriend out here. If Rory saw a woman at this hour, it would have to be her.
“Maybe I’ll stick around until she gets back so I don’t catch her off guard,” Rory said, pretending to keep busy while waiting for a reaction.
Dex wore a red ball cap and kept his face angled toward the dog, making it difficult to make out his features, even though he was near the fire. “As long as you return the way you came, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good point.” Rory figured the more Dex believed he agreed the better. “How long are you two planning to stick