Cowboy Protector. Margaret Daley

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      TWO

      Scrabbling for a safe answer to his loaded question, Hannah swallowed hard but kept her gaze trained on Austin, sitting behind his desk in his office. She wished she could share her past with someone because there were days the pain of loss beat her down, but that would be a foolish, dangerous move on her part. “No. I love what I do. My job is important to me.” Helping others was what kept her going on those days when thoughts of her past threatened to overwhelm her.

      He nodded. “Do you have any questions about the job? About Misty?”

      “She’s adorable, and I think I can help her.” The child was hurting physically, and emotionally, too. Although her mom was still alive, Hannah could identify with losing a mother.

      “Then I’ll have an answer soon for you.” He stood, snatching up his set of keys. “A storm is moving in, and I want to make sure I get you back in time for your bus.”

      Pushing to her feet, she started to tell him she could stay another hour and still get back before the bus to Billings left. She would like to spend some more time with Misty, but she was being dismissed. When she got back to Billings, she needed to look seriously for another job.

      Later that night when Hannah finally fell into bed, sleep came quickly but so did the dream. Back in her rental house as if two years hadn’t happened, Hannah heard the crashing sound of glass breaking. The noise of footsteps.

      They’ve found me!

      The words screamed through Hannah’s mind, wrenching her from the nightmare that gripped her. Her eyes flew open, her limbs all tangled in something confining. Her thoughts jumbled, she fought for release. Frantic, she rolled, trying to get away.

      The breath-jarring impact with her bedroom carpet totally woke her up. Her sheet held her prisoner in its snarled mess. Lying next to her bed, she shifted until she faced the ceiling and saw the lights from outside her apartment dancing on its spackled surface.

      Drawing in deep gulps of air to calm her racing heartbeat, she tried to reassure herself that her nightmare hadn’t been real—at least not the part about her being tackled by some unknown assailant. But the break-in two years ago had been very real. Real enough for her to flee the town where the Witness Protection Program had settled her, and when her time to report in with the U.S. Marshals had come last year, she’d let it pass without calling. She didn’t know if the break-in had anything to do with her being in the program or not. She hadn’t waited around to discover the truth because if it had been connected she would be dead by now.

      She pushed herself up to a sitting position. Slowly the thundering of her heart eased. But as she scanned the dark recesses of her room, she could imagine some henchman lurking in one of them, waiting to pounce. A shiver chilled her. She dragged the tangled sheet about her shoulders and huddled under its warmth, wishing she didn’t have such a vivid imagination.

      She didn’t have this nightmare much except when she planned to move to another location and for maybe the first week in the new place. But the trip yesterday to Bitterroot Valley and the Triple T Ranch had stirred up all her fears. Once she was settled she’d be okay—that was if Austin Taylor decided to hire her.

      She had her doubts after the last meeting in his office and the silent trip back to Sweet Creek and the bus depot.

      When he’d asked her if she had anything to hide, she’d hated lying to him, but how was she supposed to tell him that she had some evil people after her who would love to know where she was? Thankfully the nearly two years she’d been on her own without the Witness Protection Program, Devon Madison’s goons hadn’t found her because she was very careful. Staying in one place for three years could have possibly led someone to her front door. The key was constantly moving every few months, changing her name a couple of times, using cash and not leaving a paper trail in any name.

      Finally rising, she shed her sheet and donned her lime-green terry-cloth robe. She needed coffee then a shower. She still had a job at Saul Peterson’s. He’d told her to stay until she found another one. But she couldn’t stay too long even if she didn’t get a job right away. She had some money saved, if need be.

      After fixing a pot of coffee and pouring a mug full, she parted the drapes in her living room overlooking the street in front of her apartment building. Only a few inches, but enough she could check out the area. She often found herself doing this when she was home, a habit she’d picked up early in the Witness Protection Program. One she wasn’t going to give up even if she felt secure in her new identity.

      She usually peered up and down the road, searching for any car parked that didn’t belong. When she discovered one, she would note its tag number, description and keep tabs on it. She’d moved once in the middle of the night when a vehicle kept appearing out in front of her place. Discreet questions with her neighbors had left her puzzled with who was the owner of the Chevy. Later, she’d discovered quite by accident it was a man having a secret affair with a neighbor. That incident had reinforced her need not to panic, to use a clear-thinking judgment. Panic could lead to a mistake and, according to the man who’d helped her with her new identity in the beginning, could get her killed.

      A sigh escaped her parted lips when she saw an empty street, except for a truck that traveled toward the east. The sky brightened to a rosy hue, splashing an array of colors from a pale baby blue to a lemon yellow. Time to get ready for work.

      Taking several sips of her coffee, she surveyed the road one last time. A black Ford SUV drove around the corner and onto her street. It slowed and pulled into a spot across from her building. No one got out. She stepped back and farther to the side, then inched the curtains apart.

      When ten minutes passed, she started to reach for her pad to write down the tag number, but a young woman came jogging down the sidewalk from the apartments across the street and slid into the passenger side of the SUV. It sped away.

      Hannah collapsed against the back of the chair behind her, still clasping her mug between her hands. Would this constant fear ever go away? Probably not.

      In her mind she truly believed that she was safe, but in her heart she couldn’t quite shake her gut reaction to different situations—like an unknown vehicle on her street. She had to continue to work on that, or she would never have any kind of life. Any kind of peace.

      Hannah got off the bus in front of Mama’s Diner and hurried inside. She headed to a booth in the back near an exit and slipped onto the black vinyl cushion, worn in spots. Being a little late, she noticed the morning crowd was thinning. Her usual waitress gave her a smile, finished pouring some coffee for one of her customers, and then threaded her way through the maze of tables to Hannah.

      “I thought maybe you’d taken a new job and had left Billings,” Olivia Jarrod said as she set a mug on the table and filled it.

      “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” Olivia was the closest person to a friend she’d had in a long, long time. From the beginning two months ago when Hannah had come into the diner for breakfast before going to Saul Peterson’s around the corner, they had hit it off. It had been Olivia’s first day on the job, and she’d been nervous, making a lot of mistakes. A few customers hadn’t had much patience, but Hannah saw a person in need of a kind word. From that point on, she’d always sat in Olivia’s area, and her friend had sometimes been able to join her for a cup of coffee if the crowd wasn’t large. She’d miss Olivia. There was a connection with Olivia she couldn’t explain.

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