Rancher's Covert Christmas. Beth Cornelison

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       Prologue

      He needed to be free of his blackmailer once and for all.

      A cut brake line should do the job.

      One last time, he’d do the man’s bidding, but then, no more.

      He made his way into the garage where the Double M owners parked the large pickup truck used to tow their cattle trailer. No overhead light. The light might draw attention, he decided, and dropped the hand that hovered near the switch. He fumbled in the dark until he found the snake-necked flashlight on a shelf on a sidewall. Shuffling slowly, his path lit only by the thin moonlight that filtered through the high window, he made his way past the family’s personal vehicles. He stopped at the Ford F-350 that would haul the trailer with the largest part of this year’s herd to market. Or not.

      His goal was to strand the family long enough that they missed the best sales days. If they didn’t make it to market, didn’t get top dollar for the cattle, the financial setback would devastate the struggling ranch. And he could finally be finished with the plot to ruin the Double M.

      Raising the hood, he stepped up on a stool to lean over the engine. He used the flashlight to locate the main brake line, then centered an empty coffee can beneath the reservoir.

      Unfolding his pocketknife, he sliced a thin line in the tube that fed fluid to the brakes. A slow leak of yellow-tinged liquid seeped from the cut. He bent the tube slightly, accelerating the flow into the can. The rapid drip, drip, drip of liquid into the aluminum can synced with the anxious drumming of his heart. He needed to hurry. His absence would be noticed soon, and someone might come looking for him.

      He considered allowing a small telltale puddle of the brake fluid to collect on the garage floor. He wanted the damage to be discovered before the trip over the mountains, just not soon enough to repair the damage before the scheduled departure. His goal was to prevent the trip to the cattle market, not to cause an accident.

      He heard a noise, a scuff of feet, and he jerked his head up. The overhead light came on, and he blinked in the bright fluorescent glow.

      “Oh, hi,” the woman at the door said.

      He swallowed hard as she approached and, squeezing the pocketknife handle, his gaze locked on hers.

      “I didn’t realize anyone was in h—” She stopped abruptly when her gaze fell to his handiwork.

      The dripping of fluid continued, like gunshots in the still garage. The knife in his hand screamed his guilt.

      “What are you doing?” Her tone was sharp, accusing. Her eyes narrowed on him, as understanding and outrage hardened her face. “It’s you! You’re the one who’s been sabotaging the ranch!”

      Bile rose in his throat, knowing he’d been found out, knowing what awaited him when she told what she’d seen tonight. His heartbeat stuttered. Unless...

      “It’s not what it looks like.” He rose and moved toward her.

      She took a stumbling step back, shaking her head. “I know what I’m looking at. It explains so much. I won’t let you get away with this!”

      Panic swelled in him. A survival instinct. He lunged toward her, grabbing her arm. “No! You can’t say anything!”

      “Ow! Let go. You’re hurting me!”

      He squeezed tighter, shaking her. “You can’t say anything!”

      “Let go, or I’ll scream!”

      If he let go, she’d run straight to the main house, tell the family what she’d seen. If she screamed, someone would hear her and come investigate. Neither could happen. He had to make sure she didn’t talk. He narrowed his eyes and snarled, “You can’t say—”

      She drew a deep breath and opened her mouth.

      Before she could loose the shriek, he snaked his arm around her, still clenching the small knife. He clapped his hand firmly over her mouth and nose. A muffled grunt of surprise rumbled in her throat, and she struggled to free herself from his grip. Between tightening his grip and her thrashing, the pocketknife managed to cut her, slicing through her sleeve and gashing her arm. He shifted his grip, only to accidentally jab her belly when she flinched.

      Her accelerated pulse meant that she bled faster and droplets began to make the floor slick as they struggled. Finally he dropped the knife with a clatter. With his hand now free, he wrapped his arm across her sternum and dragged her up against his chest. “Be still!”

      His fingers dug into her cheek and chin as he smothered her distressed cry.

      Damn, damn, damn! What was he supposed to do with her? How could he shut her up?

      Her fingers scrabbled feebly at the hand he had over her mouth. But having pinned her arms at her sides with his other arm, she barely reached his palm. Her efforts did little other than anger him. Why did she have to fight? Why couldn’t she have just promised her silence and left him alone?

      Despite the freezing temperatures, sweat popped out on his brow. His heart thumped hard enough that he would have sworn the whole ranch would hear it. Do something! his brain screamed. But the harder she fought, the more rattled he became. The madder, the more desperate.

      “Stop it!” He shook her and stumbled when she raised a foot to kick backward at him. His grip tightened as his frustration and fury grew. “I said stop!”

      A whimpering mewl escaped from beneath his muffling СКАЧАТЬ