Skin Deep (6 page)

Megan in labor while shackled to a hospital bed by her ankle, in pain and chained like an animal. Megan, still shackled by her ankle, looking down at newborn Emily, looking exhausted but happy. Megan in tears as her baby was taken away, despair on her face.

Nate didn’t know what it was like to be a woman, or to bring a child into the world, or to have that child taken away. He’d never been arrested, had never spent a day in prison. He’d never been addicted to anything, not even the painkillers they’d pumped into his system when he’d been in the burn center. But he
did
know that it had taken a lot of guts for Megan to get from where she’d been in those photographs to where she was today.

And now some piece of shit was stalking her, threatening her, threatening little Emily. It made Nate want to hurt someone.

Specifically, Donny Lee Thomas.

Nate dried off, strode naked to his closet, and slipped into a pair of jeans. He’d just pulled a T-shirt over his head when his cell phone rang. He picked it up, glanced at the display, but didn’t recognize the number. “Nate West.”

“It’s Megan. Megan Hunter.”

“Megan.” Nate felt guilt slide through him. He’d just spent the past hour reading her life story, and she didn’t know it. “What’s up?”

“I wondered if you’d mind very much if I brought Emily out to see the horses. You said it was an open invitation. But maybe you’re busy.” There was hesitation in her voice as if she expected him to say “no.” Beneath that, he heard fear.

“Has something happened?”

She hesitated. “I found a letter from Donny and the men he’s working with in Emily’s cubby at preschool. Apparently, they paid the janitor to put it there. It had a note demanding money, along with photos of Emily and me that were taken while we were under police surveillance. They threatened to kill both me and Emily if I don’t get them a hundred thousand dollars by ten tonight.”

Jesus Christ! Son of a bitch!

Nate’s rage shifted into overdrive. “Do the cops know?”

“Yes. I called them right away.” Her voice quavered. “My brother is coming tonight to take me to stay at his place, but right now I’m just sitting in my house with an unmarked police car outside my door. I … I don’t want to sit here alone, waiting, and I thought maybe if you didn’t mind…”

More than a little gratified that she had turned to him, he didn’t hesitate. “Of course I don’t mind. Head on up. I’ll give you directions.”

# # #

Nate tucked his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and grabbed his coat and gloves. The drive to the ranch from Megan’s house took about forty-five minutes, which meant she’d arrive at the gate in about fifteen minutes. He wanted to be there to ensure she wasn’t followed. He walked to the gun safe, grabbed his SIG Sauer P226, slid it into his shoulder holster, then took out his shotgun and a case of double-aught buck shells.

If anyone came looking for trouble, he’d make damn sure they found it.

“Where the hell are you going?” His dad’s voice came from behind him.

“Megan Hunter called.” He quickly told his old man what Megan had told him. “She’s afraid and doesn’t want to be alone. She asked if she could bring her little girl up to look at the horses. I’m heading to the gate to meet her.”

His dad frowned. “You know, a woman who’s been through what she’s been through—that’s a lot for a man to take on.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she comes with baggage. I’m not judging her. I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve a second chance. Hell, I followed her story every day in the paper for weeks. I even wrote a letter to the governor asking him to grant her a pardon. I think what happened to her was pretty goddamned awful. Even so, she’s going to bring her troubles to your door.”

Nate felt a spark of irritation. “None of this is her fault.”

“That may be true, but think of it this way.” His dad pointed to the shotgun. “You barely know her, and you’re heading out to meet her loaded for bear.”

Nate understood the point his old man was trying to make. “I can handle it.”

His dad’s frown deepened. “It’s a damned stupid time for her to come up here anyway. Didn’t she check the forecast? That storm they expected to dump thirty-six inches on the northwest part of the state took a detour and is headed straight for us.”

Shit.

Nate glanced outside, saw a few fat flakes already falling. “It’s too late now. She’ll be at the gate in ten minutes.”

M
egan turned off Squaw Pass Road onto County Road 270 and followed it as it twisted and turned through a forest of ponderosa pines and bare aspen, the high peaks hidden in a bank of storm clouds. Snow had begun to fall from a heavy, gray sky, forcing her to turn on the car’s headlights and windshield wipers. She hoped the storm would die out. She didn’t want to drive home in the dark in a blizzard.

According to the directions Nate had given her, the gate to the ranch was supposed to be about three miles up on the right. There was no one else on the road. The unmarked police car that had followed her up I-70 all the way to Evergreen Parkway had turned around and gone back to Denver. They were probably ticked with her, though not nearly as angry as Marc.

The guys assigned to watch her had called him the moment she’d pulled out of the driveway. He’d called a few minutes later and chewed her head off when she’d told him she was headed up to Nate’s ranch.

“You’re running again, Megan. This is an impulsive decision. You hardly know anything about this guy.”

But Megan already knew what she needed to know about Nate.

She knew he’d already risked his life to protect her. She knew he wasn’t behind the attack or the photos or the threats. She knew he wasn’t a cop.

Of course, she hadn’t told her brother that.

Marc trusted his fellow officers. He worked beside them every day. He didn’t see the situation the way she did. Someone had followed her throughout the day and taken photos of her and Emily, and the police who’d been watching her hadn’t even noticed. Either they didn’t do their job very well, or maybe one of them was in on it.

She didn’t trust them.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Emily straining to see out the windows. “We’re almost there, sweet pea.”

And there it was—an archway constructed of big logs, a wooden sign bearing words “Cimarron Ranch” hanging from the crossbeam.

Nate was waiting just outside the gate in a white Ford pickup. When he saw her, he climbed out of the cab, wearing a black cowboy hat, the collar of his shearling barn jacket turned up to keep out the snow, his hands in his pockets.

She stopped, rolled down the window, her pulse skipping when he smiled. “Hi.”

“You found me.” He bent down and looked in the window. “Hi, Emily. Are you ready to see some horses?”

“Uh-huh.”

Megan glanced back in time to see her daughter nod. “I didn’t know it was going to snow. I’m afraid we won’t be able to stay very long. I want to make it back to town before the storm gets worse and the roads get slick.”

“I think it might be too late for that.” Nate tilted his head, glanced skyward. “Head on up the road. My dad is waiting for you at the house. I’ll follow.”

“Okay.” Megan rolled up the window, the wipers squeaking as she accelerated up the dirt road, gravel crunching beneath the tires as she drove.

In her rearview mirror, she saw Nate climb back into his pickup, but rather than starting up the engine, he simply sat there. It took her a moment to realize that he was waiting to see whether she’d been followed.

And some of the tension she’d been carrying with her eased.

She’d driven for perhaps five minutes when she saw it—the ranch house. It was easily five times the size of her house. Built of stone and logs, it was a mix of Swiss chalet and western styles with a steeply sloped roof and high cathedral ceilings and windows. Several stone chimneys jutted from the roof, smoke curling against the gray sky. The front door was set back from a portico driveway accented by a colonnade of polished logs. Off to one side stood several very large outbuildings, including what looked like a horse barn complete with several corrals. As the road curved around, she spotted the entrance to a multiple-car garage attached to the rear of the house

Ranch
house
? More like ranch mansion.

An older man—Nate’s father?—stepped out of the house’s front door and stood beneath the large portico. He waved to her, motioned for her to park near the front door. She pulled up, turned off the car, and opened the door.

“Welcome to the Cimarron, Megan. I’m Jack West, Nate’s father.” He extended a hand, gave hers a firm but friendly shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. West. Thanks for having us.”

He smiled, and Megan saw a strong resemblance between father and son—the strong jaw, the eyes, the firm mouth. “I’m glad you beat the storm. Leave your keys in the ignition, and take your little girl on inside where it’s warm. I’ll park the car. Nate will be right along.”

Megan got Emily out of her car seat, watching from the doorway as Jack drove off in her car. She turned and went inside—and felt her jaw drop.

If she’d had a dream home, it might have looked like this. The living room had high timber ceilings, windows all around with views of the high peaks, and an enormous fireplace with a hearth and chimney made of rounded river stones. The floor was polished wood, the furniture made of wood and leather, paintings of Colorado landscapes framed on the walls. Everything from the lamps and lighting fixtures to the blinds and area rugs was tasteful.

No antlers. No dead animal heads. No animal skin rugs.

She took Emily to sit on a couch near the fire, basking in its warmth, while Emily watched the flames. Then on the mantel she saw it—what appeared to be a family portrait. She stood, took it down, and stared.

There was Nate standing between his mother and father in his marine dress uniform, a big smile on his handsome face. Megan had no idea how long ago the photo had been taken—sometime before Nate had been burned. He was beautiful, so handsome, the kind of man that made a woman go weak in the knees. Jack looked younger, too—fewer lines on his face, less gray in his hair. Nate’s mother was a natural beauty. Nate had her cheekbones.

“That was Nate’s graduation from Officer Candidate School.” Jack’s voice came from behind Megan, making her jump. “That was a proud day for me and my wife. Theresa’s been gone these past five years, but I still miss her. She died suddenly. Aneurysm.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Megan put the photo back. “You made a beautiful family.”

“Nate just pulled into the garage. He’s heading over to the horse barn. I’ll take you there.” Jack leaned down. “You must be Emily, the girl who loves horses. Are you ready to see some real, live horses, sweetheart?”

And Emily smiled.

# # #

Nate saddled Buckwheat, the steadiest, most docile gelding he owned. “You ready for some excitement, boy?”

Buckwheat looked back at Nate through soft, dark eyes.

Nate led the horse through the stables to the indoor riding barn and tethered him to one of the posts. He heard Megan and Emily’s voices coming from the stables and walked back to meet them. He found his dad standing at Baby Doe’s stall, holding the pregnant mare’s bridle, his pockets full of carrots, while Megan held Emily up, mother and daughter petting the animal’s muzzle.

“Oh, her nose is so soft!” Megan’s face lit up with a smile. “It’s like velvet.”

“It’s called a muzzle.” Nate came up beside her.

She looked over her at him, her smile growing brighter. “She’s beautiful! I love her coloring.”

Nate was struck again by how pretty Megan was—the all American girl next door with a touch of pin-up girl sexy. But hers wasn’t just a physical beauty. There was something about her—an inner light, an innocence, a vulnerability. Looking at her, he couldn’t believe she’d survived so much brutality.

How strange it was to know so much about her. He knew about her childhood. He knew about her adoptive parents. He knew what had landed her in juvenile detention—and what had happened to her there. He knew what she’d done, how she’d finally landed in prison two months pregnant. And he knew how hard Marc Hunter had fought to protect her and Emily, almost losing his own life to save theirs.

The only trouble was that Megan didn’t know Nate knew.

And that made him feel guilty as hell.

He patted the mare. “She’s a palomino.”

Megan’s brows knit together in a frown, her cheeks pink from the cold, the bruise Donny had given her almost healed. “I thought she was a quarter horse.”

“Quarter horse refers to her breed.” Nate couldn’t help but grin. “Palomino describes the color of her coat.”

Megan smiled sheepishly. “I guess I don’t know much about horses.”

“Well, it’s a good thing for you and little Miss Emily that we know plenty.” Jack took a carrot from his pocket, broke off a piece and offered it to Emily. “Would you like to feed Baby Doe? Open your hand and let the carrot lie flat on your palm like this.”

Emily held out her tiny hand and trustingly did as Nate’s dad showed her, holding her hand open just beneath the mare’s mouth.

Baby Doe took the carrot and crunched.

Emily squealed with delight.

“Can I try?” Megan looked as amazed and excited as her daughter.

“Sure.” Jack handed Megan the rest of the first carrot. “Just keep your palm flat. There you go. That’s right.”

Megan and Emily laughed together as the mare fed from Megan’s hand.

And Nate found himself sharing a smile with his dad.

They gave Megan and Emily a thorough tour of the stables, stopping to pet every horse along the way. They showed them the stalls where mares were kept when they were about to foal, the stalls where they were bred, and the cabinets where veterinary supplies were stored. Just for fun, Nate’s dad opened a barrel of oats to show Emily what horses like to eat. While Emily played in the oats, Megan walked over to look at the tack. Unable to stop himself, Nate followed.

“Where are the stallions?”

“We have one. We keep Chinook in a separate stable.”