“Hey,” he said, brushing a hair back from her face. His tender touch tickled her cheek. “Before we head to bed, there’s something I’d love to show you.”

  “Oh?” She smiled.

  “You game?”

  “Always.”

  “That’s why I love you.”

  “Oh, so that’s the reason.”

  “One of many, darling,” he said with a cowboy twang that sent her heart palpitating.

  “So…where are we heading?”

  “Nowhere in that skirt,” he said.

  She frowned. “What? Why?” What exactly did he have in mind? There were very few things she couldn’t do in a skirt.

  “You don’t have a pair of jeans in that small duffel you brought from the station, do you?”

  “No.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and she fought not to lean over and kiss him. But she was beyond curious where they were headed and what Logan wanted to show her at 2100.

  “Do you even own a pair of jeans?” he asked.

  “I own pants.”

  He chuckled. “Not the same thing.” He rubbed her knee before standing. “I’ve got something you can wear.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m a little scared of what you have in mind.” Both in attire and destination.

  Ten minutes later, she climbed down the ladder from the loft, wearing a pair of Logan’s sweats. The mishmash of blouse, sweatpants, and high-heeled boots looked… She shook her head. “I look ridiculous. Are you sure I can’t ride a horse in a skirt?”

  “Not unless you want to ride sidesaddle, but it’s not the same experience.”

  “Very well, but lose that smug grin.”

  He pressed his fist to his mouth, but a chuckle escaped.

  She dipped her chin and arched a brow.

  “I’m done,” he said, though he hardly looked it. He stepped closer, wrapped his arms around her, and dropped a kiss on her nose. “You’re breathtaking, always.”

  “Better,” she said, and he pressed a kiss to her lips.

  He knew keeping watch despite the hour would pay off. So they were going for a nighttime horseback ride? Perfect. This was his opportunity. He’d prefer to kill them and hide the bodies, but Keller wanted an accident, so he’d adapted his plan, waiting for the right moment, the right situation—and this was it.

  He got to his feet as they mounted their horses a hundred yards away in the pen. Climbing in his dune buggy up on the ridge, he left the lights off as he tossed his binoculars on the passenger seat. He looked at the hunting rifle strapped in place behind him and smiled. Time to do as instructed and get rid of the bothersome pair.

  He watched the trail they took, then drove around the ridge to intercept them. He parked the dune buggy far enough away to stay out of their sight and earshot, then took off on foot through the woods. Soon, they’d reach the ridge. That was where the “accident” would occur—on the narrowest rim of the trail.

  Em was a natural. He knew she’d be. She took to everything so easily, her easygoing nature just adapting. He loved her so. The lyrics for “I Lived” by OneRepublic tracked through his mind, especially the part about hoping the person found love and that it hurt so bad. Hurt in a good way. It was the strangest dichotomy, but he understood it. He ached for her.

  “Now we’re going to have to go through a narrow stretch along the trail. Just go slow.”

  “Where exactly are we headed?”

  “There’s an outcropping on the far ledge. We’ll tie up the horses and head out on the boulder. Sitting there, away from any man-made lights, you can see a gazillion stars.”

  “A gazillion, huh?” She laughed. “Oh.” Her voice went up an octave. “I see what you mean about the trail narrowing.

  “You’ll be good. Just let Wrangler do his thing. The horses have walked this trail so many times over the years, it’s second nature to them.”

  Em stared down at what was visible of the steep drop-off in the moonlight. It had to be well over a hundred-foot drop.

  “Easy now,” Logan said. “Nice and slow. You’ve got this. Just trust your mount—he knows what he’s doing.”

  A noise like the crack of a whip sounded a millisecond before the rock by Em’s head shattered.

  Wrangler reared back, and Logan’s heart lodged in his throat. Em.

  TWENTY

  Logan hopped off Bathtub, shooing the horses forward. “Home,” he said, crouching low. “Go on.” The horses raced toward the ranch.

  Crack. Another bullet flew overhead.

  He dove low by Emmy. She lay as flat as she could make herself, her sidearm in her hand. “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  The flash of a muzzle shone for a second about three hundred yards due north. Thump. The bullet hit the dirt mere inches from the sole of his boot.

  “He’s too far out of range for our handguns.”

  “We’ve got to move,” he said as they lay flat beneath the whoosh of another bullet overhead. “We’re sitting ducks out here. Roll into the ditch.” He gestured towards the ridge.

  Her eyes widened. “Closer to the ledge?”

  Another bullet thumped in the dirt inches from them.

  Em holstered her Glock and rolled into the narrow ditch. He rolled on top of her as another bullet passed overhead, followed less than a second later by the retort.

  The muzzle flash let him know the shooter was three-hundred yards away—and not a solid shot. But the shooter still had them at a great disadvantage. They were too far out of firing range and were pinned in the narrow shaft of the trail.

  “We need to keep moving,” he said, scooting off of Em.

  Without a word, Em propped herself up on her elbows and army crawled forward.

  Logan followed.

  Rock shattered above them on the trail, jagged splinters raining down on them.

  One hit Logan in the shoulder, but they continued moving. If they stayed still, they would die.

  “Another twenty yards,” he said. “and we’ll line up with rocky crag and the woods.”

  “Got it.”

  Dirt clung to his face, smothering the breath from his lungs. He coughed and slithered forward, undeterred.

  Fifteen yards.

  Crack. Thwack.

  Ten.

  “Okay, stop,” he hollered over the gunfire. “Right after the next shot, get upright and race for that rocky outcropping thirty feet to your ten. Keep your head low. I’ll have your six.”

  She nodded. On the next shot, Em waited until the round hit the ground, then she crouched down and booked it for the crag.

  He followed, tight and low.

  Another shot and booming retort. Their attacker had moved closer, but not by much.

  They braced their hands on the cold rock as they eased up, peering over it, pegging the new location of the muzzle flash.

  The shooter had come in a solid twenty yards.

  Em looked over, then winced at the motion.

  His gut swooshed. “You’re not okay.”

  “Just hit my head, twisted my neck when I fell off Wrangler. I’m a little dizzy, that’s all. What’s the plan?”

  “There’s a bigger crag of rocks due west, ten yards into the forest cover. We can make it there. Then…you remain, and I go hunting.”

  With Em as safe as possible behind the crag of boulders and tree cover, he worked his way toward the origins of the shots. Everything had been still since they hit forest cover. They’d thrown the shooter off. He was no doubt waiting for a sign of movement.

  Only another twenty yards of tree coverage, and then Logan would have to work his way around rocks and onto the trail paralleling theirs.

  Thump. The crack followed swiftly.

  He was close.

  Logan bolted from the forest cover to the first set of rocks, dropping low beneath them.

  Thump. Crack. Thump. Crack.

  Logan pressed his back flush with the cold rock.

  The latest round hit a rock with a thwack a good dozen yards to his three o’clock.

  Logan smiled. The shooter didn’t know his position. And at this point, he was almost close enough to return fire.

  He moved to his next position. It had minimal coverage, but he was now in range.

  He waited for the shot and retort, then raised up, aimed, and fired. One. Two. Three shots.

  Wood splintered by the shooter’s position.

  He crept forward, closing in.

  Taking a deep breath, he held it, aimed and squeezed the trigger. Boom.

  He waited, but the shooter didn’t return fire.

  He moved closer, firing again.

  Again, nothing—the air eerily still.

  After a steadying breath, he moved fast for his target.

  He fired as he tracked forward. Crack. Crack. Crack.

  Reaching the shooter’s position. Empty. Untouched other than the marks in the dirt where he’d set up and his shell casings littering the ground.

  An engine growled in the distance.

  Logan raced towards the sound, adrenaline coursing through his legs.

  He reached the edge of the forest in time to see a dune buggy disappearing in the distance.

  He was too late.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Logan finally got reception as they reached Aunt Rae’s.

  Wrangler and Bathtub stood near the pen.

  “Let me get you inside,” Logan said to Em. “Then I’ll go put them away for the night and call Tom.”

  She nodded, then winced.

  Worry ricocheted through him.

  “Stop it,” she said.

  “Stop what?” he asked, getting her inside and leading her to the sofa.

  “Fretting. I’m fine.”

  “I’m calling Doc Brown all the same.”

  “That’s overkill. It’s just a bump to the head.”

  “It could be a concussion. Humor me.”

  She reached her hand to the base of her head and jerked slightly.

  “Tender?” he asked, sitting beside her.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll get you ice.”

  “Look after the horses first.”

  “They won’t go anywhere.” But it was sweet that she was concerned for them.

  “You take care of them, and I’ll stay put,” she bargained. “Deal?”

  He exhaled. “Deal. But ice first.” He grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer and carried them to her. “These should do the job.”

  “Thanks,” she said, gingerly placing the bag at the base of her skull. “Now shoo.”

  “Keep your gun handy. I’ll lock the door, just in case the shooter comes back.” His gut said the shooter was long gone, but they had to remain vigilant.

  “Okay,” she said, refraining from nodding.

  The second he was out the door, he called Tom and apprised him of the situation.

  “Be there in twenty,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Next call was to Doc Brown, who was on his way before they even hung up.

  Logan strode to the pen, letting the horses in. “You guys were good today,” he said, unsaddling them and letting them roll in the dirt before brushing them down.

  The horses nuzzled him, and he took a brief moment to stroke each of their muzzles.

  With one last goodbye to the horses, he strode back to Aunt Rae’s, still very cognizant of his surroundings.

  He’d barely made it inside when a car pulled up out front. He moved for the door. Gun at the ready, he opened the door a slit.

  Tom had pulled the SUV along the mesa to Aunt Rae’s door, bypassing the walking path from the main house. “Hey,” he said, climbing out.

  “Hey, man.” Logan stepped back, allowing him passage.

  “How’s Emmy doing?” Tom asked.

  “Just a little bump on the head,” she said from the couch.

  “Hey, Emmy,” Tom said.

  “Hey, Tom.”

  Logan shut and locked the door behind them, then joined Em on the couch.

  Tom remained standing; his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Want to run me through it?”

  Doc Brown arrived and saw to Emmy while he and Tom stepped outside to give her privacy. He took the time to bring Tom up to speed.

  “I’ll go collect the shells. See what other evidence I might be able to find,” Tom said as Doc Brown exited Aunt Rae’s.

  “How is she?” he asked, his heart racing.

  “I imagine she’ll say she’s fine.” Doc Brown chuckled.

  “You pegged her well,” Logan said.

  Tom waved and pulled out of the drive.

  Logan waved and turned back to Doc.

  “You should go tend to her,” he said, gesturing to the barn door.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Doc clapped him on the shoulder and headed for his car.

  Taking one last breath of the crisp night air, Logan stepped inside to find Emmy still on the sofa.

  “Hey, luv,” he said.

  She smiled. “I like when you call me that.”

  “Good,” he said, moving to sit beside her. “Get used to it.” His smile stilled. “How are you?” Doc only said that she’d claim to be okay. He hadn’t actually told him how she truly was.

  “I’m fine,” she said as he scooted closer, concern no doubt evident on his face. “He said he didn’t see any signs of a concussion…”

  “And?” Logan pressed.

  “He said I’ll just end up with a big goose egg and some bruising.”

  “And?”

  She sighed. “And he told me to take it easy, keep ice on the bump, and stay awake just in case it’s a concussion.”

  “I’m glad he’s being cautious,” Logan said, rubbing her knee. “I’ll stay right here with you.”

  “Very well.” She smiled. That smile. The mischievous one. “And how do you propose we pass the time?” she asked, scooting closer until she was right next to him.

  He chuckled. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

  “I don’t think he meant my lips.” She leaned over, hovering hers a breath from his. She held a moment longer, then pressed them achingly slow to his.

  Man, he loved this woman. He kissed her back, being extra gentle, but the more heartfelt her kiss, the deeper he fell, forgetting everything but the sweet feel of her.

  Knock. Knock, Knock.

  He eased back, despite wanting nothing more than to keep her wrapped up tight in his arms. “That would be Tom.” He sighed, thankful for his friend but not the timing.

  “Hey, Tom,” Logan said, getting the door.

  “Hey.” Tom stepped inside.

  “What’d you find?”

  “Four-wheeler tracks. I followed them on foot out to the dirt road on the far side of the west pasture, but, of course, the trail ended at the pavement.”

  “Thanks for tracking it, though. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome, but that’s not all.” Tom held his Stetson in his hand and raked a hand through his hair. He looked at Em then back to Logan. “I know Emmy’s recuperating, so would you rather talk outside so she can rest?”

  Her head popped up from where she’d been resting it against the couch arm. “I’m good.”

  Tom nodded. “I found something. Hang on, I’ll grab it from the SUV.”

  Curiosity pinged through Logan.

  Tom returned with an evidence bag in hand and a pair of gloves.

  Logan spied a pair of binoculars inside.

  “Here you go.” Tom handed him the gloves.

  Logan pulled them on and then slid the binoculars out of the bag.

  “I figure he lost them off the dune buggy. They were lying not far from its tracks. They look expensive,” Tom said.

  “They are,” Logan said. “They’re night vision.” While the guy lacked skill shooting at long range, he certainly had at least one piece of expensive equipment. He returned them to the evidence bag.

  “What are you thinking?” Tom asked. “Mary or our mystery man?”

  Em kept watching over the back of the couch.

  “I don’t know. Whoever was shooting wasn’t good, but a junkie, I’d imagine, would be far worse.”

  “So…you’re thinking mystery man, too,” Tom said.

  “Seems like the more probable option.” Logan lifted his chin at the evidence bag. “What I want to know is how a drifter and some guy who’s hocking stuff for her has the funds for a pricey pair of binoculars like that.”

  Tom cocked his head. “You think someone’s paying the bills?”

  His gut said yes, but why and who? He shook his head. Nothing with this case was as it first appeared.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Em,” Logan murmured against her ear as they cuddled on the couch, time evaporating.

  “Hmm?” Her voice was lazy and sweet like a warm summer afternoon.

  “You need to get some rest.” It was the last thing he wanted her to do. He wanted to hold her in his arms all night, but she needed to lay back and put ice on her head.

  “Doc Brown said to stay awake,” she whispered, her breath tickling his neck.

  “Yes, but to take it easy, so you should probably lie down. We can watch a movie.”

  “Okay. After one more kiss,” she said, pressing her lips to his. This kiss was different from the rest—deeper, stronger, and full of love.

  He didn’t want to stop, but he knew they had to. He had to stop. Not just because she had to rest, but because this was the woman he loved, who loved him back. Even knowing the worst of him, she still loved him back. And despite how good she felt, how good they were together, Em most certainly wasn’t someone to fool around with. She never had been. She was someone to cherish. Someone to marry.