The Rebel of Copper Creek (8 page)

“If there's ever trouble. If you're worried about anything at all, you call me any time of the day or night and I'll be here.”

She had no doubt he meant it. “Thank you, Griff.”

She remained in the doorway and watched as he made his way toward the plane parked on the strip of asphalt. Though she felt a pang of regret, she knew she'd done the right thing by telling Griff exactly how she felt. Buddy might be gone, but he was still alive in her heart. And there was no room for any other man in her life.

She stayed where she was until the little Cessna was airborne.

Then, with a thoughtful look, she squared her shoulders and began moving through another round of endless chores.

W
ell, look who's here.” Nonie Claxton sidled up beside Griff and winked at Whit and Brady, who trailed behind him. “You sexy things have just lifted this tired old soul considerably.” She pointed to an empty table near the back of the room. “Park it and I'll be right over to take your order.”

“Just a round of longnecks,” Whit called. “Cold and frosty.”

“You got 'em.”

She walked away to see to another table and returned a short time later with a full tray of longnecks.

When she left, Griff nodded toward a table of rowdy cowboys across the room. “Either of you know that wrangler called Mitch?”

Brady took a long pull of beer. “Mitch Cord. I think he's been fired from every ranch from here to Wyoming.”

“Fired? Why?”

“For one thing, he's got more mouth than muscle. For another, he just can't be trusted.”

Griff's eyes narrowed. “He's working at the Grayson Ranch now.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Brady shot a glance at the others drinking with Mitch. “Maybe they all work there. Recognize any of them?”

Griff shook his head. “I've never met any of the wranglers. Except Mitch. He showed up at the barn today and made some pretty crude comments to his boss.”

“I'm not surprised.” Brady took another drink. “But I am surprised that the widow Grayson would keep him on.”

“Not for long, I'm thinking.” Griff watched as the table of cowboys ordered another round.

An hour later, the roar of voices in Wylie's had reached a fever pitch.

Brady sat back. “I'm ready to head on home.” He glanced at Whit and Griff, who had met him in town. “You two coming?”

The three shoved away from the table. Griff reached into the pocket of his jeans and dropped a tip on Nonie's tray.

As he turned, he heard a familiar voice saying, “…take that bet. Twenty says I'll have her purring like a kitten.”

“Not a chance.” Several of the cowboys seated at Mitch's table shared a laugh. “They don't call her the ice queen for nothing.”

“That's just 'cause she hasn't been lucky enough to taste my magic potion. I'm telling you. By this time tomorrow night, that frigid widow will be putty in my hands.”

Griff continued on past the table, aware that the boastful cowboy hadn't even noticed him.

Outside, as Whit started to climb into the passenger side of their ranch truck, Griff put a hand on Brady's arm. “Would you mind driving Whit back?”

“Sure thing.” Brady gave him a long look. “Where are you going?”

Griff glanced skyward, at the full moon, and then over at the truckload of rowdy cowboys climbing into a convoy of trucks and heading toward the highway. “It looks like a good night for a long drive in the country.”

Whit circled around the truck. “Look. I heard what that loudmouth said. But it's just the liquor talking. Halfway home, he'll be sleeping it off.”

“And if he's not?” Griff's voice was soft enough, but both Brady and Whit heard the edge of steel.

Whit glanced at Brady before turning to Griff. “I'll come with you.”

Griff shook his head. “After the day you put in, you need to sleep. I'll handle this.”

Brady reached into his truck and removed a rifle. “Take this along. It's a good companion on a long drive.”

Griff weighed it in his hand before stowing it on a rack behind the seat. “Thanks.”

Whit scrolled through his cell phone until he came to the number he was searching for. “Put this on speed dial.”

Griff copied the number. When he looked up with a questioning frown, Whit grinned. “Police Chief Ira Pettigrew. A good guy to know.”

As he stepped into the truck, Whit slapped his arm. “Just remember, bro. If you need me, I've got your back.”

“I'll remember.”

Griff pulled away. In his rearview mirror he watched as Brady and Whit headed away from the interstate and turned toward home.

Home. He had already begun thinking of the MacKenzie Ranch as home.

He switched on the radio and listened to Carrie Underwood sing about dealing with a guy who did her wrong. It had him smiling as he thought about the way Juliet had stood up to Mitch in the barn.

Yeah, he thought with a grin. She'd scratch a cheater's car. Or scratch his eyes out. And she probably wouldn't need any help doing it. But he had to make the long drive anyway. He knew there'd be no sleep for him until he had satisfied himself that she was safe.

Griff drove along the gravel road. Up ahead, the big ranch house was in darkness. A good sign, he thought. If all the lights had been blazing, he'd have speeded up. But now, seeing the curtain of darkness, he felt relief pour through him.

He cut the lights, so he wouldn't wake Juliet or the boys. There was no sense causing them alarm.

It was probably just as Whit had predicted. The drunken cowboys were already sleeping it off, and Mitch along with them.

He glanced toward the barn, expecting to see the trucks. Rolling down his window, he heard the faint hum of engines, and he could see headlights moving along a hillside toward the highlands. Two rusted trucks remained. One was idling.

Parking his truck alongside the others, he peered inside the truck with its engine idling, expecting to see someone asleep. Finding it empty, he felt the hair at the back of his neck prickling. He took up the rifle and made his way under cover of darkness toward the house. He wouldn't wake Juliet. He would just walk the perimeter of the house to assure himself that Mitch wasn't hanging around.

He was halfway there when he realized the back door was standing wide open.

Drawing near he heard Juliet's voice: “…kind of trouble?”

“An accident.” Mitch's voice sounded extremely agitated. “Cooper said I should come and get you.”

Griff stood in the shadows. By the glare of the overhead light in the mudroom he could see Juliet clearly, her hair disheveled, wearing a baggy T-shirt that fell to her knees.

“But what can I do? Why didn't Cooper phone the police?”

“You'll have to ask Cooper. Come on. Let's get moving.”

“I can't just leave with you. I have two little boys asleep upstairs.”

“You said yourself they're sleeping. I'll have you back before morning.”

“How do you know that? What if we have to haul the accident victims all the way to town?”

“We'll stop here and pick up the kids. Come on. You're wasting time.”

Juliet dug in her heels. “You go ahead. I'll put my boys in the back of the truck and drive myself to the hills.”

“You won't know where to find us.”

Her voice turned to ice. “I'll call Cooper and have him direct me to the camp. But right now, I need you to leave so I can go upstairs and deal with my boys.”

Mitch made a sound that could have been a laugh or a groan of frustration as he kicked the door shut. “You're not going to make this easy for me, are you? You're just too damned smart for your own good.”

Her head came up sharply. Her eyes narrowed on him. “What are you—?”

He snaked out a hand and caught her by the wrist. “You look mighty fetching in that getup, ma'am.” He dragged her close. “You'll look even better in nothing at all.”

Before he could say more, the back door was kicked open and Griff''s voice, deadly soft, was the only sound. “Step away from the lady, or you're a dead man. You have five seconds to live.”

“Who do you think—?” Mitch spun around.

He took in the sight of Griff standing in the open doorway, eyes hard as granite, rifle aimed directly at Mitch's head.

The wrangler shot a look at Juliet. “So. It's like that, is it? I can't wait to spread the word around town that the MacKenzie bastard's a new boarder at the widow Grayson's ranch.”

Griff never raised his voice. It was still little more than a whisper. But every word cut razor-sharp. “You had to the count of five. Now you're down to four. Want to try for three?”

Mitch's furious reaction was to press one beefy arm around Juliet's throat and twist around to face Griff, holding her firmly against him as a shield. “You wouldn't want to shoot the wrong one now, would you?”

Griff's words remained deadly soft. “When I take aim I never hit the wrong target, whether it's an enemy in combat or an ordinary scumbag. Now you have two seconds left.”

Juliet dug her elbow into Mitch's midsection at the same moment that she planted her heel in his groin with as much force as she could muster.

Stunned, he released his hold on her.

Griff used that moment to haul her behind him before taking careful aim.

Mitch lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Hold on. You can't kill an unarmed man.”

“I can and will if you're still here in one second. It'd be justice for what you planned on doing to the lady.”

At Griff's words, Mitch raced past him and dashed out into the darkness.

In that same instant Griff saw all the color drain from Juliet's face as she sagged against the edge of the table.

Instead of giving chase as he'd planned, he gathered her into his arms. When she went limp, he scooped her up and cradled her to his chest.

The sound of a truck's engine broke the stillness.

Headlights drifted across the walls and ceiling before fading from view.

Griff touched a hand to her cheek. “You all right?”

She couldn't speak. Instead she buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and struggled to keep from weeping.

His voice was a whisper. “It's okay to cry.”

“I'm not crying. I never cry.” Even as she said it, his collar grew damp from her silent tears.

All he could do was stand there, holding her as the aftershocks rolled through her. A trembling began in her legs and moved up all the way to the tips of her fingers, which were wrapped firmly around his neck. She held on to him as if he were a lifeline. Gradually, as the tears and the shaking passed, he carried her toward a chair and eased her down.

He crossed the room and locked the back door before setting aside his rifle and dropping to his knees in front of her. Then he handed her his clean handkerchief. “Better now?”

“A little.” She blew her nose before taking in deep drafts of air.

He pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket. “I need to call Chief Pettigrew.”

She nodded.

He felt a wave of gratitude to Whit as he touched the number programmed into his phone and waited as it rang several times. Then he heard the voice, gruff from sleep.

“Ira Pettigrew here.”

Griff handed the phone to Juliet, who said softly, “Chief, this is Juliet Grayson. One of my wranglers talked his way into my home and threatened to…hurt me.”

“Give me a name.”

“Mitchell Cord.”

“I know him. Is he armed?”

“I don't know. I didn't see a weapon.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“He left in one of my ranch trucks. He could be anywhere.”

“Are you alone, Mrs. Grayson?”

She hesitated for a moment before saying, “No. My two sons are here, and so is Griff Warren.”

“Bear MacKenzie's other son?”

“Yes.”

“I'd like to talk to him.”

Juliet held out the phone to Griff.

“Griff Warren, Chief.”

“You witnessed this attempted assault?”

“I did.”

“I'd like you to accompany Mrs. Grayson when she comes into town tomorrow to swear out a warrant.”

“I'll be there.”

“Thanks, Griff.” The chief cleared his throat. “Do you think Mitch might return and try again?”

“If he does, he'll face my rifle again.”

“Again?”

Griff turned away and kept his tone low. “I threatened him with my rifle. I intend to keep it handy in case he wants to try his luck one more time.”

“Thanks, Griff. That's all I need to know. I'll see both of you in the morning. Until then, I'll have my deputies keep an eye out in town for a Grayson Ranch truck.”

Griff rang off and deposited his phone in his pocket. To give Juliet some time to compose herself, he said, “I'll make some coffee.”

Quickly, efficiently, he moved about the room, plugging in the coffeemaker, filling it with coffee and water, taking cups and saucers from a cupboard. When it was ready he filled two cups and brought them to the table.

Juliet blew her nose and stared down into the cup, avoiding his eyes. “How did you know what Mitch was planning?”

“He was at Wylie's. Drunk and bragging.”

She shook her head. “I can't believe I let him in the door. But he said there'd been an accident in the highlands, and…” Her lips trembled. “I let down my guard. What would have happened if Casey or Ethan had come down those stairs?”

Griff reached across the table to lay a hand over hers. “They didn't. No sense borrowing trouble.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “Heaven only knows what lies he's spreading about me to the others.”

“What do you care?”

“I know. I shouldn't.” She tried a sip of coffee, but her hand was shaking and she was forced to set the cup down with a clatter. “But I do care. I hate that he can lie and boast about his ‘conquests' and people will believe him.”

“Only a fool would believe a scumbag like Mitch.”

He watched as she steadied her hand and took a drink of coffee before looking over at him. “I don't know how to thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. I'm just glad I followed my instincts.”

“Your military training?”

He shrugged. “I don't know if it's military, or just plain common sense. If something doesn't seem right, it probably isn't.”

“That's going to become my mantra.” She paused. “Except that ever since coming here, nothing seems right.”