The Marshal's Hostage. Delores Fossen

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      But it wouldn’t be easy. He had to cut through the woods and head to the old cabin that Declan kept when he needed to get away. There was a four-wheeler parked there. It wouldn’t be ideal transportation for an unconscious woman in a bathrobe, but it would have to do. Plus, it would probably turn out to be faster than going back to Owen for help.

      Dallas didn’t think Owen would be in a helping mood.

      The temperature dropped when they reached the thick part of the woods where there was no sunlight at all. So he wrapped his arms around Joelle’s legs. Maybe that and his body heat would keep her warm.

      “Are you taking me to bed?” she mumbled.

      Even groggy, she’d asked a question that brought back those blasted bad memories. Or good ones, depending on his mood. Right now, his mood sucked, and he didn’t want to think of the times he had indeed hauled her off to bed.

      But he did.

      He thought about it.

      And cursed himself.

      “Dallas?” he heard Owen call out.

      Owen yelled something else that Dallas couldn’t make out. Something bad, no doubt. Joelle had been right about her fiancé having a vile temper. When they’d lived at the orphanage, Dallas had not only witnessed it, he’d been on the receiving end of it—often while trying to run interference for the younger boys who would later become his foster brothers.

      He thought of his brothers as he ran. Also thought of his father. Kirby wasn’t going to approve of this, but his brothers would stand with him. They would understand, and if they’d had the chance to save Kirby, any one of them would do the exact same thing.

      Dallas kept running, the minutes ticking off in his head, still not taking a direct route to the cabin. He meandered through the woods, trying to leave as few signs as possible so that Owen and his henchmen couldn’t easily track them.

      He finally spotted the cabin just ahead. Good thing, too, because his legs were about to give out. He checked the shed first and saw the four-wheeler parked inside before he carried Joelle onto the porch. He located the key that Declan kept in a goofy frog planter, and he let himself in.

      “Where are we?” Joelle mumbled.

      “The place belongs to Declan.”

      The cabin wasn’t much, just one room and a bath with sparse furnishings. He eased Joelle onto the sofa sleeper and went in search of a jacket for her and the keys to the four-wheeler.

      When Dallas turned around, Joelle was sitting up. Or, rather, she was trying to. She was wobbly, but she finally got herself upright.

      She stared at him, dragged her tongue over her bottom lip and added a groan. “You really screwed up this time.”

      Dallas grabbed a ratty-looking jacket from a hook on the wall. “Well, I’m not alone. Your fiancé just had you drugged, and you’re scared to death of him.”

      She didn’t deny either of those things.

      And that meant he had more questions for the nonanswers she’d just given.

      Joelle shivered, pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged herself.

      Oh, man.

      There it was. That punch of sympathy. As long as Joelle was defiant and lying through her teeth, he could hold on to the anger over that blasted report of her inquiry. But seeing her weak and trembling wasn’t good for his resolve of wanting to wring her neck.

      Dallas huffed, took the jacket to her and draped it over her shoulders. Even though they needed to get out of there, he sat down beside her. “Why did Owen drug you?”

      She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, shook her head. “Long story.”

      “We have time,” he lied.

      Her gaze came to his, and he saw the tears. Yep, tears. He would have had to be a heartless SOB to be immune to those. Dallas cursed, slipped his arm around her, and Joelle went to him as if she belonged there.

      She didn’t, he reminded himself. The ring on her finger and the report she’d written were proof of that.

      “I need to marry Owen,” Joelle whispered. She moved away from him. “I don’t have a choice. And neither do you.”

      Dallas frowned. “What the heck does that mean?”

      “It means you have to take me back to the church, and then you have to leave.”

      Well, there went that shot of empathy he’d had just seconds earlier. “Have you lost your mind? The man drugged you,” he reminded her in case she’d missed it the first time he’d said it. “There’s no good reason for you to become his wife.”

      Her gaze came to his again. “Yes, there is. And don’t ask the reason because you don’t want to know.”

      That caused him to shake his head. “You’re wrong about that. In fact, we’re not leaving this place until you tell me what’s going on.”

      “I can’t.” She didn’t even hesitate.

      Dallas stood and went to look for the key to the four-wheeler. It was a better use of his time than sitting there glaring at her stubborn face and listening to her ramblings that didn’t make sense. But getting up didn’t stop the thought from coming at him.

      No pregnancy, so why would a woman marry a man she didn’t love? A jerk who would drug her? There was only one reason that popped into his head.

      Because that man had forced her into it.

      But why would Owen have done that? Again, he could only think of one reason: Owen wanted something from her.

      Joelle wasn’t rich, but she had a job with power and access to the governor. Owen was wealthy, always wheeling and dealing, so perhaps he needed Joelle to cut some corners for him. Maybe along the lines of tax exemptions or reclassification of land that he planned to buy for commercial purposes.

      So, yeah, there were reasons why Owen would want Joelle in his bed and under his influence.

      But why would Joelle have agreed?

      The answer came quickly, too.

      Because Owen was blackmailing her or using some other form of coercion.

      Dallas rifled through the kitchen cabinets and located the key for the four-wheeler inside the sole coffee cup. They could go now. He could take Joelle to the hospital and face whatever consequences would come from the fallout. On the way there, he could talk her out of submitting a report that would lead to his father’s arrest.

      That was a must.

      He couldn’t let her go until he was positive that Kirby wouldn’t be hauled off to jail.

      “The report,” Dallas repeated under his breath. And he turned back around to face her. “Are you marrying Owen because of that СКАЧАТЬ