Buch lesen: «Shielded By The Cowboy Seal»

Chapter 1

The late-autumn snowstorm promised to be a killer and her car was dead.

Fat flakes swirled lazily in the wind outside the battered 2010 sedan. A curtain of darkness had fallen, turning the pretty country road ink black. She should have checked the battery before leaving Florida. Certainly it would have saved her from being stranded here on a lonely stretch of New Hampshire road.

Meg August—no, she was Meg Taylor now; the “August” part of her life was back in Palm Beach with her soon-to-be ex-husband—tried the engine again. Nothing. She turned and looked at her traveling companion. “Well, Sophie, looks like we are up a particular creek without a paddle or a life raft.”

Woof!

Snug inside her pink-and-black Louis Vuitton dog purse, Sophie licked her hand. Shivering, Meg patted the dog’s head. She’d stopped to let Sophie out for a rest break and the car had died. The icy rain had turned to snow, but not before soaking her blue suede jacket. Perfect for chilly nights in south Florida. Not so perfect for this.

Meg removed the wet jacket and tossed it onto the backseat. Clad only in a thin yellow sweater and black linen trousers, she kept shivering. She went to rub her arms and winced.

Her left arm still felt tender. Prescott’s fists had landed there two weeks ago, shortly after she confronted him about her discovery that he’d shipped out defective body gear manufactured by Combat Gear Inc., the company she’d founded to provide quality, low-cost body armor to US soldiers and law enforcement personnel. Not only did he authorize the shipments months ago, but he’d filed the incorporation papers for Combat Gear Inc. with her first and middle initials, Margaret Elizabeth, and her maiden name, Franklin, as the CEO.

She was the one responsible for any deaths resulting from use of those vests. She had to make this terrible wrong right.

Prescott disagreed. When she’d threatened to call the authorities, he beat her. The bruises were myriad rainbow colors instead of black. She could silently endure his growing rages.

But she would not stand for others getting hurt because of her product.

She’d called her former college roommate, Lacey Adler. Asking for help was the hardest thing she’d had to do since burying her grandmother a week ago. Lacey told her about her charity that helped women flee their abusive husbands.

She’d asked for a safe house in New England, and Lacey had given her directions to a remote farmhouse in New Hampshire. Cooper Johnson, a Navy SEAL friend of Lacey’s husband, Jarrett, agreed to give her shelter through Project SOS Securities, his security firm.

Cooper would give her a place to stay with Sophie as long as she needed. She’d be safe. Coop, as he was called, was great with dogs.

Meg hated relying on strangers. But she needed a hiding place until she could obtain the proof that Prescott knew the body gear was defective.

If Prescott didn’t find and kill her, the New England storm surely would.

Now, they were parked alongside a dark road, no one in sight. She glanced down at her fashionable clothing. Perfect for leaving Palm Beach and avoiding suspicion from any of her neighbors.

Not so perfect for braving the chilly temperatures of the north. She tried turning the ignition again. Nothing.

After putting Sophie on the backseat, Meg climbed over the console and joined her. She reached for her grandmother’s antique quilt, her most precious possession, and wrapped it around them both. Sophie wagged her tail and licked Meg’s face, as if to offer reassurance.

Shivering, she curled up next to Sophie, the cold spiking her body like steel nails, and said a little prayer for some kind stranger to find them.

And not her soon-to-be ex-husband.

* * *

Cooper “Coop” Johnson rubbed the shoulders of the quivering mare. “Easy, girl,” he murmured.

Betsy was going on thirty, and had a mild case of colic. Colic had already killed one horse on the Sunnyside Farm, and he wasn’t about to see his baby sister’s favorite mare succumb to it. He walked her around the barn, mindful of her arthritis, rubbing her down, hoping the heavy blanket would help.

Jarrett, his former squad leader from the teams, had asked him to give refuge to a woman in trouble. Coop agreed because he would do anything for his ex-boss, but family came first these days. He’d taken leave from the Navy to help his mom run the bed and breakfast while her sister’s family visited relatives in Oregon. Mid-November was the slow time, so his aunt, uncle and their three sons decided to combine a family wedding with a much-needed vacation while Coop helped out with the farm and inn.

They’d closed the inn after his oldest sister, Brie, had died. Fiona, his mother, had reopened it two months ago, but with the approaching winter, only a few guests had registered. Keeping horses was expensive. Summer boarders helped pay for food and overhead. Those boarders had packed away their mounts into shiny trailers and headed south.

Probably to Florida, where it was warm.

Or Palm Beach, where it was warm and wealthy, where his assignment was supposedly traveling from.

Meg. He didn’t know anything about her, other than the photo Jarrett sent and the fact that she lived in wealthy Palm Beach and she needed a place to stay while her divorce was being finalized.

No one would take her in because her dog was vicious and bit people.

Jarrett said Meg’s money was all tied up until the divorce and she couldn’t afford a pet-friendly hotel. Coop doubted she was in trouble. The photo Jarrett sent showed a brunette woman who looked like a beauty queen dripping in diamonds. But it wasn’t his place to judge, just give her shelter.

All Jarrett had told him was that Meg had a dog that Coop needed to train. He refused to share anything else out of respect for Meg, who was supposed to arrive six hours ago.

Maybe she had to stop somewhere to buy the dog a prime rib dinner.

Coop stopped walking Betsy and placed her in the stall. “Good girl,” he crooned.

His sister had had a way with animals, and could always make Betsy better.

Betsy nosed around, looking for the carrot Brie had always placed there as a treat. Coop’s throat tightened. He stroked her withers.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You can’t eat yet, not until you get over this colic.”

Betsy whinnied.

“I know,” he whispered, laying his head against the horse. “I miss her, too. But I promise, I’m going to do everything she would have to get you well again.”

Giving her a final pat, he headed outside, pulling up the collar of his faded sheepskin jacket. Dark storm clouds had blotted out the moon, and the night had turned wicked cold.

Inside the house, he went into the private family living room and found his mom sitting by the fireplace in the rocker Brie had always liked to use when she was home. Fiona glanced up, lines furrowing her brow.

“How’s Betsy?” she asked.

“Better.” Not exactly a lie, but he wasn’t going to worry his mom any more than necessary. “Horses are all fed, bedded down. They’ll be fine. And the guests?”

“They left a while ago. They wanted to get a head start away from the storm. I refunded the rest of their stay.”

Cooper wanted to protest, but his mother’s warning look stayed him. “Why?” he asked.

“Return business is important, Cooper. I didn’t want them to think we put our guests’ safety last and money first.”

It sounded like a wonderful principle, but it wouldn’t pay the bills. They were okay for now, but the first payment on the refinance of the farm was due soon.

Not to mention the costs of burying Brie...

He rubbed at the tightness in his chest. Sabrina was only twenty-six when a stray bullet pierced her body armor. She’d been responding to a routine domestic disturbance call with her partner. The husband shot them both, but Brie’s partner wore the standard departmental body armor.

He lived.

Brie died.

Cooper had purchased the armor especially for his baby sis when she started working as a beat cop in dangerous areas of the city. He didn’t want her having the standard body armor the department issued. He wanted the best.

Now Brie lay six feet under, and Combat Gear Inc., the company that produced the defective gear, kept rolling in profits. He would hire a lawyer to sue, but the company’s owner, M. E. Franklin, probably had enough money to purchase a cruise ship filled with attorneys. Coop had googled his name, but found nothing. He seemed a total mystery.

All he’d found so far was that the bulletproof vests were invented by Randall Jacobs, vice president of Combat Gear Inc. Coop had done a little more checking and found out the man owned a posh summer home on a lake near here. Once he got over some of his grief, maybe he’d pay the man a visit.

He studied his mother, worried about the purple shadows beneath her eyes. Today had been a tough day. Federal authorities had opened an investigation at last into Brie’s death after someone tipped them off about the faulty bulletproof vests. He’d sent the family lawyer to give a statement to the Feds and the media.

Dredging up Brie’s death had opened old wounds. For all of them.

Fiona’s warm brown gaze sharpened as she looked up at the antique clock on the fireplace mantel. “Isn’t your guest overdue? I made up the cottage with fresh linens and blankets, and stacked firewood.”

Coop stiffened. “I thought she could stay at the inn.”

“She has a vicious dog. Better if she stays in the cottage.” His mother gave him a knowing look. “With you.”

Uh-oh. He recognized that spark in her eye. “No. Maybe for the night, but, ah, no. I can find a place for the dog.” He flexed his hands in their worn leather gloves. The cottage behind the barn, with a fabulous view of the White Mountains, had been Brie’s retreat.

“Brie would approve of a woman in trouble staying there,” Fiona said in her gentle way. “You can’t keep that house as a memorial to your sister, Cooper. You have to let go sometime.”

“It hasn’t even been six months.” He went to the fireplace to warm his chilled body. “And I’m not sure how much trouble this Meg is in. She lives in Palm Beach and she’s rich. She looks like a spoiled beauty queen.”

“Don’t judge. Your friend Jarrett vouched for her. Isn’t that enough?”

Guilt pinched him. Coop turned around with a sigh and squinted at the now-darkened skies. “I’ll try calling the number he gave me for her cell phone.”

But after dialing it, it kept ringing. Fat flakes of snow began to fall as he paced the porch. Coop pocketed his cell and went inside.

“I’d better go look for her.”

“Call me when you find her.” Fiona always worried ever since Brie’s death.

“Of course.”

Gathering several blankets, he tugged his wool Stetson low over his brow, pulled up his collar and went outside. A blast of icy air slammed into him, sending a chill snaking down his spine. Cooper climbed into the Ford pickup and started the engine.

Damn nasty night to be outside. Maybe the princess had decided to sightsee and didn’t have the foresight, or the courtesy, to phone and let him know she’d be delayed. But as he drove through the increasing snowflakes, worry niggled him.

Coop knew his irritation masked a greater emotion—grief. It was far easier to give way to anger than to examine the winking light of deep grief that had gripped him since they’d lowered Brie into the ground. He’d refused to cry, held back the tidal wave of sorrow so he could stay strong for his family.

Focus. It was what had gotten him through missions with the team and brought him home alive time after time. He squinted as the truck’s headlights barely pierced the thick gloom of snow.

If she’s decided to hole up in some ritzy hotel and I’m out here for nothing, I’ll really be pissed.

But the same tingle that skated down his spine grew stronger. Gut instinct. Had saved his butt a time or two before on missions, so he never ignored it.

Instead of continuing down the main road, he turned off the side road that was a shortcut leading to the farm. Jarrett had given Meg directions, a disposable cell phone that couldn’t be tracked, and the fastest way to get to the farm. If Meg used this road and her car had broken down by chance, she’d be doomed because only locals used the shortcut.

And most locals were smart enough to be snug at home, curled up by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate, not riding around in a late-autumn blizzard.

He drove for two miles and was nearly ready to give up when he spotted an older model white sedan parked by the roadside. It looked deserted, but the tingle down his spine intensified.

Cooper parked behind the car and got out. A blast of icy wind slammed into him, slicing his cheeks like tiny darting needles. Damn, that was cold! The snow had stopped and turned to freezing rain. Driving on these roads was gonna be hell, but the truck was steady and he knew this turf.

His sole concern focused now on the occupant of the car. Using his Maglite flashlight he always carried in the truck, he shone light into the car.

A slender woman and a dog lay on the backseat curled up beneath a quilt. Neither responded as he opened the door. The dome light overhead didn’t even turn on.

Damn it! Cooper was glad she’d had the sense not to lock the car doors. He checked her vitals. Alive, but groggy, suffering from the early stages of hypothermia. He gathered her into his arms. His heart raced. She was so tiny and fragile. Storms blew in fast in this region, and what started out as a sunny day could quickly turn into bone-chilling temperatures.

He surveyed the fashionable, ankle-length black suede boots, thin trousers and light sweater. Dressed for a cocktail party, not the northern climate.

The woman, barely conscious, moaned as he picked her up and placed her into the back cab of his truck. Coop covered her with the thick wool blankets, slammed the door shut with the heater running, and returned to the sedan.

A small brown-and-white dog lay on the seat, looking half dead. Its fur was clipped short in a puppy cut and its eyes were closed.

A sparkling rhinestone collar with a heart pendant ringed its fat little neck. Next to it was a fancy-looking dog purse with a gold monogram that looked expensive enough to feed his horses for the next three months.

Despite the freezing rain dripping down his neck, Coop stopped and stared. “This is the vicious killer? I had stuffed animals more ferocious.”

Sheesh.

He gathered the dog into his arms and raced to the truck, placing the dog gently on the seat next to Meg. Then he made a quick call to Fiona, assuring his mother he’d found Meg and would return home shortly.

Coop cranked up the heat to full blast, then climbed into the backseat. He removed his jacket and wrapped the dog in it until it resembled a furry burrito.

Had to get this wet clothing off Meg. With a murmured apology, he removed her damp sweater, trying to avoid looking at her breasts, but it was tough. She had lovely breasts, full and generous, and a lacy red bra that was mouthwatering.

Focus.

As he went to drape her in a blanket, he saw enormous yellow and blue bruises on her arm.

Cooper went still. Rage boiled inside him. He gently touched one and heard her moan. Cooper pulled her upper body into his lap and tucked her hands between his thighs, knowing that area held the most warmth.

Yeah, it was doing wonders for his groin, but he’d survive.

Her eyes fluttered open. Green as the Caribbean he loved for scuba diving. Confusion flickered in her irises, then she blinked and panic set in. She tried to pull her hands from between his thighs.

“No,” she whispered. “No, please don’t make me do that. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

Jaw tightening, he forced her hands to remain between his legs. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now, but you’re in danger of getting hypothermia.”

Had to get her back to the cottage, get her warm before the storm got worse. Cooper gently disentangled himself from Meg. The little dog looked up, whined. She’d feel safer with the dog in her arms. As Cooper reached out for the dog, the animal growled.

And promptly bit his hand.