Matt: Texas Rascals Book 2 Read online

  Think. Savannah chewed her lip. She’d taken a first aid class when her mother was sick. What did she remember?

  How bad was the laceration? Her fingers probed his hairline. Blood, viscous and dark, trickled from the gash on his scalp. Deep but not life-threatening.

  Savannah sucked in air. What kind of low-life scum would do this to a helpless old man? She gritted her teeth, wanting to throw back her head and scream out her rage. But she could not afford to give in to anger. She must keep calm.

  Clem was probably in shock. He had to be kept warm. She needed blankets.

  There were horse blankets in the tack room. It was closer than the house, and she’d still be able to keep Clem in view.

  Getting to her feet, she stumbled, feeling a bit dizzy as the blood rushed to her head. She put a hand on the side of the barn to steady herself.

  Thump.

  What was that? Savannah frowned. Had the noise come from inside the barn? She kicked the door open wider with the toe of her boot. Adrenaline surged through her system. Was Clem’s assailant still inside the building?

  “Who’s there?” she demanded, trying to sound brave. A sudden chill ran through her. What if the criminals were hiding in the barn?

  She stood, poised for flight, her thoughts racing. Should she go after a blanket? Try to drag Clem into the house? No. She remembered being warned against moving an accident victim. Squaring her shoulders, she made her decision. Clem needed her help; this was no time for cowardice. Resolutely, Savannah stepped into the barn.

  The odor of oats and hay clung in the air, heavy and overpowering. Narrowing her eyes, Savannah darted a quick glance around the cluttered room. Straw lay strewn over the floor. Gardening equipment rested against one wall in haphazard order. Dust motes rode a shaft of sunlight sloping through the small, grimy window overhead.

  She stepped forward. Stopped. Waited. Listened.

  Silence.

  Don’t be such a scaredy-cat.

  Savannah drew in a deep breath and moved into the tack room. Keeping her legs stiff to bolster her courage, she grabbed for a horse blanket thrown over the rack.

  Creak.

  She froze, the coarse blanket clutched in her outstretched hands. Jerking her head toward the open door, she saw a shadow fall across the floor.

  Fear catapulted bile into her throat. Goosebumps spread over her skin like a rash. Her heart constricted. Before she could run, before she could scream, a sweaty hand was clamped over her mouth.

  Instinct begged her to bite, to fight, to get away. She opened her mouth, intending to chomp down on the pad of the stranger’s palm when she heard the ominous click of a cocked gun and felt cold metal pressed to her temple.

  “Better not try it, sister, unless you want to leave a motherless child behind,” a gravelly voice lashed out.

  Terror iced her guts, slick as frozen cement. A wiry arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tight against the trespasser’s body.

  Savannah’s five senses stood at attention. Her nostrils quivered. She smelled the strong odor of dirt, mold, and sweat. Fear branded her tongue—brackish, salty, bitter.

  Blood roared in her ears, as loud as a tornado. A fly buzzed at the window, the sound amplified, expanded, until her head was filled with the strumming noise. Her heart hammered like a long-distance runner. She felt the intruder’s rude arm tighten around her waist.

  Her vision sharpened. She viewed every aspect of the barn in vivid detail—the jagged crack running along the wall, a coil of rope nestled in the corner beside one stall, a pair of old work gloves knotted on a shelf next to a jar of nails.

  Shifting her eyes, she could see Clem’s dormant body through the open door, stretched out on the ground.

  “Yeah,” the ugly voice behind her said. “Your handyman got in the way. That stupid deputy sheriff, too. Thought he could fool me by hiding his patrol car behind the barn. Maybe they’re both dead, maybe they ain’t. I don’t rightly care.”

  Savannah’s heart sank. She could expect no help from Deputy Joe.

  “You’re in something of a fix, sister.”

  Where was the other thief? Matt had said there were two. What if the other outlaw had somehow gotten to Ginger and Cody? The thought drove spikes of terror through her lungs.

  Please, God, let Ginger stay locked in the house. Let them be okay.

  “Now, I’m gonna let go of your mouth, but don’t you scream, or the gun goes off. And I want you to keep facing forward, don’t look at me. Get my drift?”

  Savannah nodded. Her chest muscles were tight. Sweat drizzled down her neck, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Her knees wobbled. She’d never been so terrified.

  The beefy palm lifted. Her lips felt crushed, bruised.

  “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

  “No talking, remember?” The man trailed the gun from her temple down her cheek, then clamped a hand on her shoulder. “My, you are a pretty one. I like your yellow hair. I can see why that detective keeps sniffing ’round here. Too bad he ain’t here to save you now, though.” The creep emitted a harsh bark of sadistic laughter.

  She could smell the strong stench of alcohol on him, and her stomach churned.

  “I’d enjoy putting a bullet through him.”

  Savannah stiffened. Had Ginger called the ambulance yet? Was it on its way? What about Matt? Had she called him, too?

  “Yes, indeed, you are one fine little filly.” The corrupt hand at her waist inched up under her shirt. Rough fingers grabbed at her breast, squeezing hard. The joke was on him. She didn’t have any sensation in her augmented breasts since the mastectomy and reconstruction surgery.

  He mashed his mouth to her ear and ground his hips against her back in a lewd gesture. “What say me and you have some fun?”

  Savannah stayed rigid, silently infuriated but unable to act on her rage. She had to remain calm, retain her wits.

  “Oh, you’re one of them cold-blooded types, huh? Too good for the likes of me.” He leaned closer, jamming the gun into her tender flesh. “Well, I’m gonna make you be nice to me, one way or the other.”

  Savannah gulped and willed herself not to faint.

  16

  Matt did not pull into the driveway of the Circle B. Instead, he parked a few yards down the road, unholstered his duty weapon, and crept through the pasture, dodging behind mesquite trees and sagebrush in an attempt to stay out of sight.

  He sought out Joe’s hiding place behind the barn and discovered the abandoned patrol car. Swearing under his breath, Matt scanned the area and spotted Joe on his back beneath a tree.

  “Joe.” He sprinted over and squatted next to the downed man. Joe groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. “You okay?”

  “Matt? That you? I can’t see so good. My vision is blurry.”

  Matt helped Joe to a sitting position. “What happened?”

  “They ambushed me.” Joe grimaced, raising a hand to the back of his head. “I heard a noise, went to investigate, and they got me from behind.”

  Matt fingered the large goose egg blossoming on the back of Joe’s head.

  “Can you stand up?”

  “I can try.” Joe struggled to dig his feet into the sandy soil, but when he tried to stand, his knees buckled. He groaned. “I feel dizzy.”

  “Okay.” Matt stroked his jaw with a thumb and forefinger. “Forget standing. If I drag you over to the car, do you think you can call for backup?”

  “Yeah. I can handle that.”

  Grunting with the effort, Matt laced his arms under Joe’s upper torso and tugged him over to the patrol cruiser. “It’s up to you to get me some help, buddy. I’m going after Larkins and Thompson.”

  “Right.”

  Leaving Joe behind, Matt turned toward the Circle B. He was so damned stupid. How could he have ever left Savannah and the baby alone, even with Joe on watch, certain that Thompson and Larkins would come back to the ranch? He’d underestimated those two, and his lapse in judgment could co
st Savannah her life.

  No. Not as long as breath inhabited his body.

  He moved faster, crouching low until he arrived parallel with the driveway. He caught a glimpse of Savannah’s compact car, saw the passenger door hanging open. The sight alarmed him even more.

  He wanted to burst forth, guns blazing, Savannah’s name on his lips, but he had to be smart, size up the situation. Evaluate the circumstances. Quickly, he glanced at the house and saw a face pressed against the window. Savannah?

  His fear dissipated a bit. Had he overreacted?

  Uncertain of what awaited him, Matt proceeded with caution, slowly circling the house. He saw Clem’s pickup sitting at the west pasture gate, but no sign of the ranch hand. From his vantage point, he could see the back of the barn and part of the farmyard.

  He hunkered behind an outcropping of rocks, watching, waiting.

  No movement. No noise. No anything. He didn’t like this one bit. The whole atmosphere was suspicious.

  He ran a hand along his jaw, anxiety corkscrewing through his stomach. He still loved her with an intensity that frightened him. For two years, he’d tried to convince himself he’d gotten over her, but the bare truth was that he would never get over her. They might not ever solve their problems and build a life together, but he would never be free of his desire for her. She was as much a part of him as his own flesh and bone.

  And he would die for her if necessary.

  Shifting his weight, he consulted his watch. Only ten minutes had passed since he’d first walked onto the ranch. Ten minutes of prolonged agony. Should he go to the house or stay put?

  He muttered a curse. Every tissue in his body cried for combat, to vanquish an enemy, but such rash action might prove fatal.

  Still undecided, he crept closer. His gaze swept the area. A breeze rustled the trees. He looked down and saw a chewed red cocktail straw lying in the sand. Fear torqued him. The muscles in his hand strained as he clasped his gun tighter. If they’d harmed one strand of Savannah’s lovely honey hair, Matt would hunt them to the ends of the earth.

  He had to act, but what was the right thing to do?

  Rising to a standing position, he skirted a clump of cacti, sidled up to the barn, and pressed his body against the corrugated tin. With his gun drawn, he inched along the side until he came to the corner. Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, he sprang around the barn, his 9mm firearm clutched in both hands.

  That’s when he saw Clem’s body.

  * * *

  Brent Larkins’s dirty fingers clawed at her blouse.

  Frantically, Savannah tried to think. She wanted to scream, but her tongue seemed welded to the roof of her mouth. Where was Hootie Thompson? Had he cornered Ginger and Cody in the house? Was that why neither the ambulance nor Matt had shown up yet?

  Not knowing if she could count on being rescued, she had to save herself.

  “Oh, you’re a hot one,” Larkins groaned, rubbing his slimy hand along her skin.

  Savannah shuddered, repulsed. Her gaze raked the area, desperately seeking a weapon, racking her brain for some hint of a plan.

  And then she saw it.

  The muzzle of Gary’s shotgun pointing out from its place behind the door. She caught her breath, afraid to hope. Could she get away from Larkins and make it across the barn to the weapon?

  Clearing her throat, Savannah wet her lips. “I could get into this a little more if you weren’t holding a gun to my head.”

  “Ah, no, babe. I ain’t that stupid. Besides, I like having sex with a gun in my hand. It’s a real kick.” He traced the cold, hard nose of his gun against her chin.

  She bit her tongue to choke back the bile rising in her throat, but she couldn’t risk making him angry. He reeked of whiskey, and she didn’t know what this low-life snake was capable of.

  “Where...where’s your friend?” she asked hoarsely.

  His raucous laugh grated her nerves. “I suppose he’s in the house, making the acquaintance of your little sister.”

  Savannah moaned as he voiced her worst fear. “Please,” she begged. “Do what you want to me, but leave my son and my sister out of this.”

  Vicious images of what could be transpiring in the house raced through her mind like a raging forest fire. As an answer, Larkins turned her around to face him, one hand on her shoulder, the other loosely gripping his gun.

  “I’m gonna do what I want, either way,” he said, then dipped his head and sucked on her neck.

  Savannah took advantage of the only opportunity she might have. With one swift movement, she plowed her knee into his groin. Larkins’s grunt of pain brought her a moment of brief satisfaction. He dropped to his knees, clutching at his wounded crotch.

  Spinning away from him, Savannah ran for the barn door and Gary’s gun.

  The outlaw cursed her. She heard him cock the hammer of his revolver. She stopped. Her arm inches from the door, blood strumming madly through her veins.

  “You’re gonna pay for that,” he growled, staggering to his feet.

  Should she go for Gary’s gun and risk getting shot?

  Larkins lurched forward, his ugly face twisted into a mask of rage, his pistol pointed right at her head.

  “Drop the gun, Larkins.” Matt’s voice cut through the roaring in her head. He’d come!

  Her heart sang with joy. She turned to stare at him. Her hero.

  Matt’s full attention was trained on his quarry. His eyes were narrowed, harsh, demanding. His gun poked at Larkins’s head. He looked as substantial as a rock—powerful, immovable. Savannah’s heart swelled with love for him. No matter what else, Matt was one hell of a lawman.

  “Damn you, Forrester!” Larkins shouted.

  “Put the gun down, Larkins,” Matt ordered, his voice hard, serious steel. “Don’t make me kill you.”

  The timbre of Matt’s voice quaked Savannah to her toes. Her man was fierce, protective, a mountain range of strength and power. His job defined him—ambitious, fair, bold, loyal, brave—excellent qualities for either a lawman.

  Or a husband.

  Larkins kept his gun leveled at Savannah’s heart. “You’re bluffing, Forrester. You put your gun down, or the lady gets it.”

  * * *

  Matt hesitated.

  He stood behind Clem’s prostrate body, feet wide apart, gun gripped in both hands like a lifeline. He wanted nothing more than to rid the world of Brent Larkins forever, but Savannah was in his line of fire. Could he get off a shot before Larkins did? Did he dare take the chance?

  No. He couldn’t risk it.

  “Who’s got the upper hand now, lawman?” Larkins taunted. “Looks like you didn’t think this one through. That little wench got you rattled. Screwed up your thinking.”

  Matt clenched his teeth. Larkins was right. His concern for Savannah superseded common sense. He’d burst in, prepared to save her, only to find the tables turned for lack of proper planning. He’d made a grave error, worse than any rookie. He’d let his emotions rule him.

  Savannah’s eyes widened in fear. Those beautiful gold-green eyes should never have to experience the ugly side of life. She deserved to be shielded, protected. She’d trusted him, and he’d failed her. Just like he’d failed her that night in Kelly’s when his ego had him rushing to Jackie Spencer’s defense and getting shot in the process.

  If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the expression reflected on Savannah’s face. She’d lost her faith in his ability to save her. Anybody could see that. What kind of lawman was he, that he couldn’t safeguard the one person he loved most in the whole world?

  This was why she hadn’t confided in him about the breast cancer gene, and later why she hadn’t tried harder to tell him that she was pregnant with Cody. She’d lost her faith in him.

  “Throw down your gun, Forrester,” Larkins repeated.

  “Where’s Thompson?” Matt asked, stalling for time. His mind raced, quickly reviewing and discarding his options. How to solve this dilemma?


  “Right here, Detective.”

  Matt whirled to see Hootie Thompson approaching from the house, a rifle in his hand. “You’d better do as Brent asked and put your gun away.”

  Faced with the inevitable, Matt tossed his firearm to the dirt and raised his hands above his head.

  “Yahoo! Ain’t that a pretty sight, Brent? A defeated lawman without a gun and completely at our mercy,” Thompson gloated.

  “You got them cows loaded in the trailer?” Larkins asked, stepping across the barn to grasp Savannah by the elbow. She tried to shake him off, but he clung to her like a grass burr.

  The sight rankled Matt. He clenched his jaw. He wanted to wrap his bare hands around Brent Larkins’s disgusting throat and squeeze until the man turned purple.

  “Yep,” Thompson answered Larkins. “Got six Gerts loaded and made a good haul in the house, too. Three hundred dollars and a pair of diamond earrings.”

  “What did you do to my son and my sister?” Savannah shouted.

  Matt glanced at her. All fear had fled from her lovely face. If anything, she looked indignant.

  Hootie Thompson strolled over, leaned down, picked up Matt’s gun, and stuck it in the waistband of his pants. “I didn’t do nothin’ to your precious family. Your little sister is tied up, and the kid’s asleep,” Thompson drawled.

  “You ought to be more concerned about yourself,” Brent Larkins said, leering at Savannah and gesturing toward her with his pistol. Matt fought to keep from lunging the distance and attacking Larkins. He couldn’t save anyone if he got shot. “Looks like we’re gonna have to take a hostage, and I prefer you to the lawman. You smell better.”

  Hostage?

  The word sent a stab of fear knifing through Matt’s body. He would not allow them to take Savannah away from the Circle B. He would die first.

  “Yeah.” Hootie giggled. “She’d make real sweet company.”

  “Come here,” Larkins said to Thompson. “You take the girl while I deal with the lawman.”

  “Don’t hurt him,” Savannah pleaded. Her eyes met Matt’s, desperate, scared, but struggling hard to be brave.