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Fortunately, Manny had decided to take matters into his own Native-American hands. Wearing his well-practiced, stern-Indian expression, he’d wrapped a thick, horsehair blanket over his shoulders and positioned himself in his pickup at the front gate. A no-nonsense rifle was propped against his dashboard and a NO TRESPASSING sign had been posted on one of the weathered fence posts, in full view of the road.
No one suspected the .22 wasn’t loaded or that Manny Clearwater was the self-proclaimed worst shot in the county and one of the easiest-going guys Zach had ever met. His severe countenance, shaded by a black felt hat decorated with silver and feathers, was enough to keep even the most ambitious reporters off the property.
For now.
Zach had envisioned bringing Adria here until she’d healed and hoped that the news about her attack would die a quick but quiet death. But his plan had blown up in his face and it seemed as if the entire world knew where she was.
Including the man who wanted her hurt. The muscles in the back of his neck drew together and his jaw clenched so hard it ached. Since she’d declined police protection, Zach had made it his personal responsibility to keep her safe. And alive. But it seemed as if the world, and Adria herself, were against him.
The bottom line was that she wasn’t safe here. And that bothered him. It bothered the hell out of him.
He found Adria by the stables, the sunlight catching in her blue-black hair. Forearms bridged over the top fence rail, she watched a herd of mares and half-grown foals picking at the sun-bleached stubble of the field.
A whirlwind, laden with thick dust, danced across the dry paddock, picking up a few dead leaves and spinning them
across the ground while the horses moved lazily from one tuft of dry grass to the next. Their hides were dusty and uneven, already beginning to change to the thick, longer coats of winter.
Unaware that he was behind her, she shifted, leaning on her opposite leg, her face turning in profile. His gut clenched at the sight of her and he told himself to forget that she was a woman. “You’re a popular lady. The phone’s been ringing off the hook.”
“Why do you think I escaped out here?” She ran a finger along the dusty edge of the top rail and her cheeks had turned a deep shade of pink with the cold. “At first I talked to them, but the questions got too heavy, so I decided to take a break.”
“Manny’s keeping them at bay down at the gate—the answering machine should catch anything we need to know about.” He propped a foot on the bottom slat and stood next to her. Pretending interest in the ridge of mountains on the horizon, he asked, “How’re you feeling?”
“Kind of like an eighteen-wheeler drove up my back.” Smiling a little, she showed off the hint of a dimple that he found incredibly sexy. “But I’ll live and I’m afraid that’s going to disappoint a lot of people.”
“Don’t even say it.”
But she wasn’t finished. “You know, Zach,” she continued, turning to face him as the breeze teased soft, curling strands out of the band that held her hair away from her face, “I can’t stay here forever.”
“It’s only been a couple of days.”
“I have my life.”
“You mean London’s life.” He cocked a dark brow and scowled at a few white clouds as a wavering flock of geese, trying and failing to maintain a “V,” honked into the wind and flew steadily southward, as if making up for lost time.
With one hand she shaded her eyes against the lowering sun. “It’s time I settled this.”
“How?”
“I think I need to hire an attorney and a private investigator. Get things moving along.”
She was staring at him so intently, her gaze shifting from his eyes to his mouth, that desire swept through him like a hot prairie wind that no man could tame, no mortal could control. He remembered kissing her, nearly making love to her by the river, and it was all he could do to slide his hands into his pockets to hide the swelling that was beginning to warm his groin. He wanted to reach out and grab her, press his lips over hers and kiss her until neither one of them could breathe. He imagined bending her backward till her hair swept the ground.
Hell, this was getting him nowhere!
She was still talking about hiring a detective. “…best for all of us.”
“Jason’s already retained a guy—a creep named Oswald Sweeny. He’ll get the job done.”
“For Jason. And for you.”
The corners of his mouth tightened involuntarily. “You said you wanted to know the truth.”
“I still do,” she said, squinting against the sunlight. “Correct me if I’m wrong, okay? Sweeny’s working for the family, right? He’s digging around, trying to prove that I’m a fraud. So he might not tell me—or the family might not feel the need to inform me—if he found proof positive that I’m London. Only if I’m not.” She dusted her hands on her jeans. “So I think I’d better start looking for a few guys on my team. Good guys in white hats.”
He dug in the dirt with the toe of his boot. “From what I hear, you can’t afford much.”
She’d been expecting that, but not from Zach. From the others, of course, but not Zach, and she couldn’t stop the little stab of pain that reminded her that he’d found out things about her and hadn’t confided in her—that he’d shared them only with the inner circle of the Danvers family. The chosen few. Her throat caught. She’d always considered him an outsider, but, as painful as it was, the truth of the matter was that she, and she alone, was the outsider. Obviously there were secrets Zach kept from her and she wondered how much he and the rest of his family discussed her behind her back. Had he told them the secrets she’d confided to him about her home in Montana, had he laughed when he’d discovered she was flat broke, had his eyes lighted with an evil little fire when he’d hinted that she’d nearly made love with him?
