Someone To Protect Her. Patricia Rosemoor

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      His accent was slight, making her think that while he’d been born in Mexico or elsewhere, he’d probably been in this country for many years.

      “Good. I’m anxious to be in the air.”

      And away from a place that had proved unsafe, even as she’d feared, if not in the manner she had expected. True, the Quinlan Research Institute was bound to be far more remote than the National Center for Aquatic Research, but that was probably good. Less likely that the villain could find her again. She could take comfort in that.

      And at least her well-being would be guarded by Frank Connolly and the other Montana Confidential men.

      “If you’ve never been in one of these old planes, be prepared for the noise, especially since we’re hauling cargo. No sound-proofing.”

      “I don’t mind a little noise.”

      “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, miss, I have some checks to make.”

      “Go ahead, please,” she said even as she heard hooves clacking against the metal ramp.

      She only hoped her work on the antidote to D-5 went well and fast. Then she would go home, C.J. thought. England. She wouldn’t be afraid there.

      Frank and the van driver went through the same routine with the other two horses, a dainty chestnut named Born to Be Wild and High Note, another bay. And then they set up hay nets in front of each of the four horses.

      Not that the animals were relaxed enough to eat, she noted.

      “They’ll chow down when we’re in flight,” Frank assured her. “You’ll have to water them at least once.”

      He indicated the large resin water container and two metal buckets lashed to the side of the cargo bay.

      “Uh-huh.”

      She could handle that, C.J. told herself, even as her pulse tripped a beat.

      “And the tranquilizers are in that pack,” he said, pointing out a fastened-down canvas bag with lots of outer pockets. “Top zipper.”

      “I’m praying for a smooth, uneventful flight,” C.J. said. She hoped to heaven she wouldn’t need to go into the bag for anything.

      “I’ll take care of the ramp and stairs,” the driver said as he left with a wave.

      Frank secured the door behind him. And as if they knew what was going on, the mares grew restless. One snorted, another whinnied, and all four tested their constraints.

      “Talk to them,” Frank said as he made his way to the cockpit. “I’ll let you know when to buckle up.”

      “Talk to them,” she echoed softly, moving so the mares could better see her, yet keeping a safe distance. “Take it easy now, ladies.”

      She spoke to them in a soothing tone even as she heard Frank and his copilot begin a preflight checklist. Not that she knew locks and chocks from gear and flap selectors. She tuned out the men and concentrated on her charges. As little as she might like a job, she had always taken any responsibility given her seriously.

      “These restraints are for your safety and are only temporary,” she assured the mares, thinking she sounded somewhat like a flight attendant. Which, in a way, she was. “Soon you’ll be frolicking in a big pasture.”

      The actual words she chose might be lame, but to C.J.’s relief, the mares seemed to respond to the calming sound of her voice.

      Suddenly the engines roared to life, as did the mare called Double Platinum. She stomped and snorted and tried throwing up her head. Dismayed at the animal’s frustration, C.J. stepped just close enough to give the velvety surface of her nose a gentle pet.

      Her own stomach tumbled as she murmured, “There, there, now.”

      The palomino calmed, but the chestnut in one of the rear stalls seemed equally upset. Her sense of unease growing, C.J. quickly moved around to reassure her, as well. Unfortunately, a pat on the nose didn’t do a thing. The mare’s eyes rolled wildly and the muscles in her neck bulged. C.J.’s heart accelerated when the animal began thrashing around in the confined space. And when she kicked the sides of the stall, C.J. flew back, fearful for her own safety.

      And for the frightened beast’s, as well, since she knew how easily a horse could break a leg.

      Getting nowhere with rudimentary calming techniques, she thought to call Frank. And yet she hesitated. He would think her a coward. But what were her options?

      The awful realization suddenly set in—she’d have to drug this one.

      Her hands shook as she unzipped the bag for the supplies. No sooner did she get to the syringe and set it up with the tranquilizer than she heard Frank’s voice over the intercom, his commanding tone competing with the roar of the engines.

      “Time to buckle up!”

      “In a minute!” she yelled back, fighting herself, trying to get near the mare, who was intent on biting her rather than accept the tranquilizer with dignity.

      Or so it seemed to a frustrated C.J.

      But she had to do this, she thought as the shaking of her hands spread to the rest of her. Had to. She couldn’t let Frank down. He was counting on her. She concentrated on that fact. On the man who had come out of nowhere to save her. He’d asked this one thing of her and she would do it.

      Sweat popped on her brow as she made one attempt after another to get close. Her stomach threatened to empty itself. But it would have to wait, C.J. thought, until after she’d administered the injection. Every time she tried, however, the chestnut moved with her and gave her the evil eye. Then the mare would roll her eyes and bare her teeth. And the restraints were long enough to give her some latitude.

      It became a dance of sorts, a matter of the mare trying to assert her will over the too weak, too humiliatingly cowardly human in charge.

      About to rush to the cockpit and beg for Frank’s help, C.J. realized that she had no options when the plane began to move along the tarmac.

      Too late!

      She had to do this!

      “Now, just settle down, Miss Wild!”

      The mare sassed her back.

      A desperate C.J. thrust her free hand under the animal’s head and shoved upward until the restraints tightened. The unplanned action took the chestnut by surprise—she didn’t fight for a few precious seconds, long enough for C.J. to administer the injection. And by the time the mare knew what she was about, it was all over and C.J. quickly backed out of teeth range.

      “There, now you’ll feel better.”

      As would she.

      Born to Be Wild snorted. Her long red lashes swept over her eyes and she suddenly appeared a bit befuddled. And vulnerable. C.J. told herself to back away, to get to her seat. She herself was still shaking and unsteady on her feet.

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