Endangered Heiress. Barb Han

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СКАЧАТЬ she’d filed. The next time she saw Owen Lockwood he’d better be explaining himself to a judge. And apologizing to her and every other woman he’d tried to manipulate and bully. She looked at her hands and realized that she’d been clenching her fists thinking about him.

      Madelyn dried her face on the white hand towel before heading back outside and into gnarled traffic.

      According to her GPS, she’d be arriving at her destination in thirty-seven minutes. A glance at the line of slow-moving vehicles in front of her said she needed a new system that could adjust arrival times based on traffic jams. In this mess she’d be lucky to get a quarter of a mile in half an hour.

      To make matters worse, cars slowed down, stopped and then sped up with no clear reason. It went like this for forty-five minutes as she tapped her finger on the steering wheel. Her patience was wearing thin and especially since an oversize black pickup had been practically glued to her back bumper. She changed lanes. He whipped behind her. She shifted back and glanced in her rearview. There he was again. Was he afraid he was going to miss something? Because she could promise him there wasn’t anything going on in front of them. Ten minutes later, they were still doing the same dance and the song was getting tired.

      Madelyn pressed her brake, leaving a large gap between her and the car in front. The pickup wheeled around her, pumped his fist as he passed and then cut her off. She steered her blue two-door convertible into the right-hand lane to avoid a collision. Wasn’t this turning out to be a red-letter day?

      GPS said she still had twelve minutes before she reached her destination, which meant another twenty-five at a minimum. Fantastic, she thought sarcastically, looking at the four-lane highway. Before she could celebrate ditching the truck, a sedan came bearing down on her. Rather than tango with another frustrated driver, she put her blinker on to let him know she planned to get out of his way.

      As she tried to change lanes, he whipped beside her. She turned to see what his problem was and caught the glint of metal. Shock gripped her. He had a gun. Pointed directly at her. Panic roared through her. Madelyn hit the brake. The white sedan mimicked her.

      What on earth? The driver was going to shoot.

      She slammed the wheel right and sped onto the shoulder. Horns blared and she didn’t need to look in her rearview to know the sedan was following her. Gravel spewed from underneath her tires as she gunned the engine, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. Adrenaline kicked in and her hands shook. A gun being pointed at her had to be the equivalent of half a dozen shots of espresso.

      Eyes focused on the patch of shoulder she navigated, she searched around for her cell with her right hand. She needed to call 9-1-1. The other driver was nuts.

      At least this area of road was straight even though scores of angry drivers were going crazy on their horns. A truck popped in front of her, blocking her, and she had to slam on her brakes to avoid a collision. Her tires struggled for purchase on the concrete, spewing rocks.

      The white sedan was closing in from behind. With the line of bumper-to-bumper cars to her left at almost a complete stop and the damn pickup in front of her, she had nowhere to go. Except right but that was a field. She spun the wheel, unsure of what to expect once she left concrete. Her vehicle wasn’t exactly built for off-roading. Panic seized her lungs as she struggled to calm herself enough to take a couple of deep breaths.

      She checked her rearview mirror. The sedan was tracking her. And she was running out of field.

      * * *

      HUDSON DALE WAS on his horse, Bullseye, when he noticed something he hadn’t seen in the year since moving to the outskirts of his hometown of Cattle Barge—action.

      A pale blue two-door convertible tore across his neighbor’s land, kicking up all kinds of dust. Not far behind was a bigger sedan, white. Normally, he’d butt out of other people’s business but this looked urgent, like trouble, and was headed his way. Besides, he could admit that his life felt a lot like watching paint dry lately. He was restless.

      His experience in law enforcement had his instincts riled up as he watched the scene unfold. The convertible was being chased down and needed an out. As the vehicle passed by, he caught sight of the driver. He couldn’t get a good look at her face, not with all that wheat-colored hair whipping around since her windows were open, but he could see that a female was at the wheel. She was getting bounced around pretty well in her small sedan.

      Hudson strained to get a good look at the driver of the vehicle pursuing hers. He immediately pulled his shotgun from his saddlebag when he realized the male figure had a gun. Hudson loaded a shell.

      “Come on, boy,” Hudson said to Bullseye. He’d been named for the brown markings surrounding his left eye, making it look like the center of a target.

      The convertible driver had nowhere to go and she seemed to realize it as she spun the wheel and hesitated, facing down the other driver.

      Hudson whistled one of his loud, call-the-cows-home signals and motioned for her to head toward his gate. He aimed his shotgun, pumped once and fired a shot at the back tire of the white vehicle bearing down on her. Hudson’s chest puffed out a little as he scored a direct hit. He’d been keeping up with target practice, maintaining sharp skills even though he’d never planned to need them again for work.

      The convertible driver navigated wide as the other vehicle spun out.

      Hudson managed to open the gate while seated on his horse. The pale blue two-door blazed inside the gate and he sealed off the entrance as he hopped off Bullseye, pausing only long enough to tie the horse off. His law-enforcement training had him putting plenty of mass between him and the drivers of both cars in the form of an oak tree.

      Red brake lights stared at him from the back of the white sedan. The driver was making a choice.

      “Put your hands where I can see them and get out of your vehicle,” he shouted with authority, shotgun at the ready and trained on the white sedan.

      The numbers on the buyer’s tags were impossible to make out at this distance. The vehicle sped off. Hudson muttered a curse as he watched a suspect disappear. He angled toward the blue convertible that was still idling in his driveway.

      “Hands where I can see them,” he shouted with that same authority to the driver.

      She complied.

      “Can I move them to open the door so I can come out?” she asked, and there was something about her voice that sent an unwelcome sexual current rippling through him. Damn. It hadn’t been that long since he’d had female company. Not really. Sure, it had been too long since he’d had interesting companionship. Everyone he’d dated since returning to Cattle Barge had left him bored and indifferent. What was so special about her?

      “Yes,” he said as he neared the vehicle.

      The door to the driver’s side opened and she kept her hands in full view. The woman who stepped out was stunning. Her wheat-colored hair fell around her shoulders in shiny waves. Her body was just as curvy, and, hell...sexy. She had long legs attached to what he could only guess was a sweet round bottom from this angle. Her full breasts rose and fell rapidly, no doubt from adrenaline and fear. She had cornflower blue eyes that were clear and bright. A couple of freckles dotted her nose on otherwise flawless skin. And speaking of skin, her jeans fit like a second layer and were tucked inside red roper boots.

      Her hands were in the surrender position and she didn’t bother to close her vehicle’s СКАЧАТЬ