Billi Jean

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Running Scared

ISBN # 978-0-85715-924-3

© Copyright Billi Jean 2012

Cover Art by Posh Gosh© Copyright March 2012

Edited by Amy Parker

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Total-e-burning
and a
sexometer
of
3.

This story contains 264 pages, additionally there is also a
free excerpt
at the end of the book containing 11 pages.

RUNNING SCARED

Billi Jean

When a woman running scared runs into the arms of a sexy cowboy, she might lose her fear, but will she also lose her heart?

When a woman on the run hits a town right out of the Wild West, the first cowboy she meets sets his sights on her. Alone, scared, and starting over, Susan will have to decide if the big, bad Russell Ryland, retired Navy SEAL, now rancher, is for real or just using up his down time between missions.

Russell takes one look at the smiling, blue-eyed beauty and realises there’s a heck of a lot more after retirement than he’d thought. As he begins to dream of a life with Susan, he fights an unfamiliar battle within himself-doubt. Does she want him, or is she merely out for some fun?

Time for the reluctant couple nearly runs out when the very men Susan is hiding from come to call. Will Russell wake up quickly enough to save her? Or will their doubts get them both killed?

Dedication

To my mom, Barb Jones,

who was always my greatest fan.

Watch over us all, Mom; love you.

To my children, Tommy and Caileigh;

each special wonders of joy that

brighten my life with their sunshine.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

MapQuest: Aol

MasterCard: MasterCard Incorporated

Mercedes: Daimler AG

Saranac: Matt Brewing Company

Budweiser: Anheuser-Busch

Coors: Coors Brewing Company

Lays Potato Chips: Pepsico

Kleenex: Kimberly-Clark Worldwide, Inc.

U-Haul: U-Haul International, Inc.

Mini-Me: New Line Cinema

Austin Powers: New Line Cinema

Dodge: Chrysler Group LLC

Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

Wranglers: VF Corporation

Carhartt: Carhartt, Inc.

Corona: Cerveceria Modelo

Taser: Taser International

Good Housekeeping: Hearst Corporation

Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

Amstel Light: Heineken International

SIG Sauer: SIG Sauer, Inc.

JCPenney: J. C. Penney Company, Inc.

Chapter One

There has to be some kind of mistake
.

The MapQuest directions sat on the truck seat next to Lacey, outlining that this was the right exit. She hadn’t accidentally decided to take a wrong turn. Besides, there weren’t any decisions in her life right now, only directions. She smiled at the thought. Yeah, her attempts at making colossal, life-changing decisions had landed her here, in the middle of nowhere, with no one and nothing around her.

Well, not exactly nothing. There were mountains everywhere. Huge, monstrous mountains, like the kind you could see on the travel channel seconds before some giant paw-waving, open-mouthed, roaring grizzly ate the cameraman.

Oh, yeah, this had to be some kind of mistake. Lacey needed the beach. And people. At this point, she’d settle for a pizza from her favourite beach shack. To hell with anyone else. She needed out of this truck, she realised, surprising herself with a broken mini-sob.

There wasn’t a car in sight when she pulled her truck off the turn lane and stopped a few hundred yards onto the cracked asphalt of the old highway.

Two fumbles at jerking the door handle open, and she jumped down, the map in her hand. Blue sky, a cold November breeze, clean air and mountains filled her senses immediately. One deep breath, two, and half the tension simmering along her skin disappeared. Not the unease, though. The breeze felt different from home. Smelt different. Was different.

This has to be a mistake
.

She rubbed her hand through her hair at the thought. Yeah, sure, this had to be a mistake, right? Wrong. Throughout this mess, she’d kept thinking that any time now she’d wake up, that this couldn’t be happening, that there had to be some kind of freaking mistake. Life couldn’t turn from normal to horrible in the blink of an eye. A decision to go outside a club trying to avoid a creepy guy couldn’t destroy everything she’d worked so hard to build.

But, yeah, one look at the rugged, wilderness reminded her that, yeah, one thoughtless decision
had
ripped her life to shreds.

If she could reverse time, she’d—what? If she’d known that by leaving the bar she’d witness a mob hit, would she have taken her chances with the creepy guy? Probably not.

So here she was, standing on the side of a road on what looked like some crazy Wild West movie set.

Reality sucked. Delusions worked so much better—at least for about ten seconds. Lacey hadn’t witnessed a murder. She hadn’t been beaten to within an inch of losing her life. She hadn’t spent months in a hospital trying to breathe on her own. She hadn’t been forced to testify against some of the nastiest criminals in the world. She hadn’t been left out to dry like this, forced to move, alone, to a place so remote and far from normal she might as well have been on another planet.

She was used to people, sunshine that smelt like the ocean…heck, music and noise, for God’s sake. She was used to delis filled with adorable little old Italian men, smiling at her and asking about her day. She was used to Jewish bakeries with bagels that she’d get up at seven for on a Sunday morning. She was used to coffee shops brewing wicked espresso by the cup. She was used to nice people. Beaches. Safety.

The landscape facing her she was
not
used to. Big open grasslands, lined with the brilliant colours of fall foliage. Yellow and burnt cinnamon, deep green pines next to the white bark of some other kind of tree—beech or aspen, she didn’t know—all created a wildly beautiful picture.

The view gave her the creeps. Maybe she was afraid of wide-open spaces. Agoraphobia was a possibility.

Humour bubbled up and she rubbed her face with both hands. The map crumpled a little, reminding her of the brutal reality of her new life. She was running scared. Nothing was going to change that. Not standing here, not staring off at the mountains, nothing.

So many regrets washed over her. Tears stung her eyes—she felt like they were clogging her throat. Lacey fought them and ignored the deep hollow pit in her stomach.

She needed a plan. Action washed all the turmoil aside—always had. She’d always filled her life with action. Being forced to sit in a truck for days on end had driven her slightly insane, no doubt.

The real estate office in Troy couldn’t be too far. She’d find that, then her home, and see her new address for the next… Ah, God, who knew how long she’d be here?

Forever?

And didn’t that thought put a huge dollop of pity into her pity-party sundae? Two blinks and the tears held off, so she focused on the mountains. The peaks looked white, possibly ten feet deep in snow by now. She could hike up to that snow; feel the cold on her face, maybe trail run along the ridges and ravines? They would be a challenge. Something to do. Later, maybe, after she’d settled in.

A truck slowed behind her, bringing the heartbeat she’d settled down to normal skyrocketing. What felt like ice water flooded her veins, while goosebumps beaded along her arms and a huge whoosh of adrenaline raced through her veins. The FBI agents had been clear:
do not act anything but normal.
What that meant, really, after all she’d endured, was a bit unclear. She didn’t feel normal in her own skin, let alone here in this wilderness. Besides, she doubted she would look normal to a small western town filled with redneck cowboys. She was a beach babe, had always been one, and didn’t think the changes of hair and scenery were going to make a difference.

Truck doors closed and she turned to face two guys—
two cowboys
, she corrected herself, taking in their jeans, rough looking tan jackets, scuffed boots and dusty black cowboy hats. Both walked over, and she panicked. What was she supposed to say?

They don’t look Russian
. The thought ran a frantic circle in her mind, followed by,
what does a Russian hitman actually look like?
God, did he have to be Russian? Or even a
he
? A humorous hysteria built up, but she took a deep breath and clenched her hand around the map. She steeled herself not to take a step backward as both men walked right up, almost breaking her bubble of personal space.

“Miss, can we help ya out?” The blond guy stopped a few feet from her. At least six feet two, broad shouldered, his face worn with sun and weather, he towered over her five feet three inches. His blue eyes crinkled in a smile that looked genuine enough, but it slowly faded when she didn’t respond.

She managed a shaky smile.

He glanced at the other guy and so did she.

The other guy wasn’t smiling. She caught a flash of his grey eyes in a lean, tough face set in a stern expression. Dark brows, dark shadow on a square jaw, he reminded her of the FBI agents. With broad shoulders packed with muscles, he was handsome in a rough and rugged sort of way. Her heart skipped around.

Lacey was normally a picky kind of girl. Not picky as in the guy had to be this way or that—she never knew what would attract her—but picky as in not many men drew a second glance. She couldn’t pinpoint her attraction to a certain look or background or genetic makeup she could name, but this guy had it, whatever
it
was. And he had
it
in a bad way. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Her skin tingled, and not because of the cold air. Suddenly very conscious of the scar along her temple, she forced herself not to brush her hair over her forehead to hide the damage.

 She was on the run, starting a new life alone, and now her heart was tripping against her ribs for a guy she hadn’t even met. Life was strange.