He glanced back, for a moment, then looked at Carlin again. "She's alive. If you want her to stay that way-"

"I'm not walking into that house until Kat walks out," Carlin snapped. "You sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Even from the distance of thirty feet, she saw the anger flash in his eyes. "You're not running this show."

"Until Kat comes out, I am."

Brad drew his gun and pointed it at Carlin. "If you run, I'll shoot you."

"I know." The way he'd shot Jina, the way he'd shoot Kat if he got the chance. But she wasn't running; she was standing her ground.

If he'd just wanted to shoot her, he could've done it the minute she'd stepped out of the truck. He could've lurked around town until she showed up and shot her in the back. No, he wanted her to suffer. That was her advantage, at the moment. If he wanted to really hurt her, she had to be in the house. She wasn't going into the house until Kat came out.

Brad left his position in the doorway; without him holding it open, the storm door swung drunkenly shut. He was back less than a full minute later, hauling Kat behind him. He pushed open the storm door again, shoved Kat onto the porch. Her hands were bound behind her back; her face was swollen and already turning blue. She limped, almost fell as she tried to run to Carlin. She stumbled, and Carlin caught her.

"I'm so sorry," Carlin whispered. She wanted to cry, but tears would have to wait.

"Come on, Carlin," Brad called. "Get inside." Over Kat's shoulder she saw him take aim. "If you make me shoot, Miss Bailey gets it first. Then you."

"I'll be right there."

"You packing?" Kat whispered. She lifted her head enough that Carlin could see the pure fire and hatred burning in her eyes. enough that Carlin could see the pure fire and hatred burning in her eyes.

Carlin nodded.

"Good. Blow his brains out for me, will you?"

Again Carlin nodded, then she looked Kat in the eye. "If everything goes wrong and I don't make it-"

"Don't even say that!" Kat snapped, her voice surprisingly strong.

"Tell Zeke I love him." Carlin spun around so her back was to Brad, rather than allowing Kat's back to present a clear and tempting target.

"Tell him yourself," Kat whispered.

Before Kat could say anything else Carlin released her hold and turned again to face Brad. She stepped toward him; he lowered his gun-slightly-and smiled at her.

When she was not much more than a yard from the door he whispered, "I've missed you."

ZEKE TURNED ONTO Kat's road, and there it was, straight ahead-his blue truck, parked at the curb. A vehicle he didn't recognize-another truck, this one white-was parked in front of it. He caught a too-quick glimpse of fair blond hair at the door to Kat's house, and by his truck a brunette bent over in what-even from this distance-appeared to be pain. Kat's road, and there it was, straight ahead-his blue truck, parked at the curb. A vehicle he didn't recognize-another truck, this one white-was parked in front of it. He caught a too-quick glimpse of fair blond hair at the door to Kat's house, and by his truck a brunette bent over in what-even from this distance-appeared to be pain.

It was Kat, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt and no coat. Hands held awkwardly behind her back, she lurched away from the truck and into the road, as if struggling to cross to another house. She was going for help.

He wanted to rush in, wanted to drive his truck into Kat's front yard and storm the house, but one last shred of common sense made Zeke take a deep breath and pull to the side, where Brad couldn't see him. There was no need to let him know that anyone was here. Let him think, for now, that Carlin was on her own. But how long would he wait, knowing that Kat would obviously go for help? Not long. Maybe he'd tie Carlin's hands behind her and come out the door any second now, taking her to his truck. think, for now, that Carlin was on her own. But how long would he wait, knowing that Kat would obviously go for help? Not long. Maybe he'd tie Carlin's hands behind her and come out the door any second now, taking her to his truck.

Kat stopped in the middle of the road, looked his way, turned, and attempted to run toward him. Spencer was out of the truck in a heartbeat, running to meet Kat as he slipped off his heavy coat. He'd take care of her, do what he could. Knowing Kat was in good hands, Zeke headed for the house. He was so angry he was seeing red, could barely think. d.a.m.n it, he had to do something, now now. A sense of urgency gnawed at him.

"Zeke, stop," Kat said weakly as she and Spencer met in the road. Spencer pulled a knife from his pocket and quickly cut the duct tape that bound her hands. Then he wrapped his coat around her and offered her a shoulder to lean on-literally. Zeke stopped, getting a good look at her. Oh, G.o.d, Kat's face, and the way she held her body, as if standing was a real effort. That son of a b.i.t.c.h had done a real number on her. But she said, "If you go barging in and surprise him, he'll just shoot her."

"He's got a gun," Zeke said, to clarify.

"Yeah." Kat winced as she put her weight on her right foot. "But so does Carlin." She looked at him, square on. She was hurt badly, but she still had her wits about her and she was no wimp, not even now. "She traded herself for me, even though she knows d.a.m.n good and well Brad doesn't intend for either of them to leave that house alive." She turned gingerly and glanced back. "If he did, he never would've let me go."

She was right. She'd seen something Zeke hadn't seen. Brad wasn't taking Carlin anywhere, he intended to die there with her.

Time was short, too short.

Storming the house would get Carlin killed. Standing here and doing nothing would get Carlin killed.

"I think the back door is unlocked. The kitchen door," Kat said.

"You think think?"

"I'd just taken out a sack of garbage when he knocked at the door, and...I just don't remember. Sometimes I lock the door immediately when I come back in, out of habit, but sometimes I forget."

Women and their locked doors.

It was his best shot. Zeke turned to Spencer. "Get her in the truck and warmed up, and call the sheriff's department. Tell them to head this way, no lights and no sirens. Talk to Billy, if you can. He knows what's going on."

With that, Zeke slanted across a neighbor's yard with the intention of cutting along the back side of the houses until he got to Kat's kitchen door. He could only pray that she wasn't as paranoid about locking her doors as Carlin was.

CARLIN STEPPED INTO the house, her head high. She'd be a fool to pretend she wasn't afraid, but in the months she'd been running from Brad she'd changed. She wasn't going to run, wasn't going to hide, not ever again. Zeke was worth fighting for. No, her the house, her head high. She'd be a fool to pretend she wasn't afraid, but in the months she'd been running from Brad she'd changed. She wasn't going to run, wasn't going to hide, not ever again. Zeke was worth fighting for. No, her life life was worth fighting for. was worth fighting for.

"You didn't have to rough Kat up," she said, allowing her anger to show.

"If she's hurting it's her own fault," Brad explained in a calm voice. "She wouldn't tell me where you were."

"Well, here I am." She held her arms out to the sides, all but offering herself up to him.

"Take off the coat." He gestured with his gun. "I want to see you."

"You can see me just fine with the coat on." She wondered if the bulge of the pistol showed through her sweater; it would, almost certainly. If he made her turn around after she removed the parka, if he suspected she was armed...she would never get the chance to fight back. if the bulge of the pistol showed through her sweater; it would, almost certainly. If he made her turn around after she removed the parka, if he suspected she was armed...she would never get the chance to fight back.

Brad took a step closer. "Take the coat off. Now."

Carlin didn't move back. She actually wished he'd move even closer. Zeke had taught her to defend herself, and though she'd never actually put the proper force into those moves, she knew she could if it came to that. If she went for her gun now he'd get his shot off before she had a chance to even aim in his direction. The object wasn't just to disarm, capture, or kill Brad; it was to survive.

She wanted to survive to see another day; she wanted to wake up in Zeke's bed, again and again. She wanted to see spring and summer in Wyoming.

She slipped her parka off and tossed it onto the closest chair. "Fine. No more coat."

She couldn't outdraw him, not on a good day and definitely not with his gun already out and aimed in her direction. She couldn't beat him in a fair fight. What she could do, what she needed to do, was catch him off guard-and fight dirty.

"Do you love me?" She tilted her head, took a step toward him.

"What?" He seemed surprised. Whether it was the question or her willingly coming closer to him, she didn't know.

"I can't think of any other reason you'd come after me this way. After all this time, all the miles I tried to put between us...here you are. It must be love." She almost choked on the word. She knew what love was, now, and it wasn't this. It wasn't anything like this this.

"Of course I..." Brad choked himself, unable to say the word. His eyes darkened. "You're mine."

"Do you think you own me, is that it?" She moved another step closer, her heart thudding, the blood rushing in her ears. another step closer, her heart thudding, the blood rushing in her ears.

"Yes." She'd manage to confuse Brad, at least. He'd expected terror or hysterical confrontation or both. Instead she spoke to him of love and moved gradually and steadily closer.

His gun shifted slightly, no longer pointed directly at her. If he were to fire now a bullet might get her in the side, or the shoulder. His head c.o.c.ked to the side. Carlin prayed no sirens-police or ambulance-broke the spell. Not yet. She needed one more minute, maybe two.

"I don't like running," she said. "I don't want to run anymore. Please, Brad, let me stop."

"Why did you leave?" he asked, and the gun lowered a few more inches.

She reached out, touched his chest. She saw the surprise in his eyes, the sudden leap of sick l.u.s.t, the insane smugness, as if he'd known all along that she really wanted him. She moved closer, put her other hand on his chest, too. Then she gripped his shirt hard in both fists and pulled him toward her. If she hadn't already been moving his way he might've been alarmed by the move, but instead he opened his freakin' mouth as if he intended to kiss kiss her. her.

She held him close and rammed her knee into his groin. His His nuts she didn't care about at all, so she gave it everything she had. Once, twice, pumping her knee back and forth like a jackhammer. The first blow took him so by surprise he didn't react, and the second blow made him howl in pain. The gun swung toward her again, but without releasing his shirt she threw up her elbow and blocked his arm. The third knee to the nuts sent him to the floor; he dropped to his knees, cussing a blue streak. She released his shirt and kicked at his arm, hitting it hard enough to knock the gun out of his hand, sending it clattering across the floor. nuts she didn't care about at all, so she gave it everything she had. Once, twice, pumping her knee back and forth like a jackhammer. The first blow took him so by surprise he didn't react, and the second blow made him howl in pain. The gun swung toward her again, but without releasing his shirt she threw up her elbow and blocked his arm. The third knee to the nuts sent him to the floor; he dropped to his knees, cussing a blue streak. She released his shirt and kicked at his arm, hitting it hard enough to knock the gun out of his hand, sending it clattering across the floor.

Swiftly she backed up and pulled the pistol from her waistband, held it firmly in both hands, and aimed at Brad's head.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't pull the trigger. As she had suspected all along, she couldn't shoot an unarmed man, not even Brad. She fought to keep him from reading it in her face. All she had to do was hold him here until Zeke and the guys and the sheriff arrived. A few minutes; surely no more than that. Kat had already had time to make phone calls. Was Zeke already on his way? Had whoever was watching the road away from the ranch realized she was the one headed to town?

Gagging, cupping his b.a.l.l.s, Brad struggled to his knees. Tears of pain filled his eyes, and his voice didn't shake or quiver as he said, "Shoot me. Pull the trigger."

Carlin backed toward the front door. One step, then another. She didn't want to be any closer to Brad than she had to be.

"Maybe you think I won't. Do you think I haven't prepared for this? This is my my pistol, and I've shot a h.e.l.l of a lot of rounds through it, thinking about the day I'd be aiming it at you." If he knew she didn't intend to pull the trigger he might go for his own pistol again. She didn't want that. She didn't want to shoot, period, but she especially didn't want to be forced into trying to shoot a moving target. She knew her limitations. pistol, and I've shot a h.e.l.l of a lot of rounds through it, thinking about the day I'd be aiming it at you." If he knew she didn't intend to pull the trigger he might go for his own pistol again. She didn't want that. She didn't want to shoot, period, but she especially didn't want to be forced into trying to shoot a moving target. She knew her limitations.

Of course, if he went for his gun, she'd have no choice but to shoot. Her squeamishness had its limits.

"I'd rather be dead than go to prison. Do you know what it's like for a cop in prison? Do you have any idea?" He sounded infuriated, as if he'd been unjustly accused of something.

"I don't care. I hope you rot in jail." Carlin couldn't find an ounce of pity in her. He'd stolen months of her life. He'd murdered Jina, a woman whose only crime had been to be a friend and borrow a raincoat-oh, yeah, for Jina she wanted Brad to suffer. The miserable son of a b.i.t.c.h, she wanted him to suffer and yeah, for Jina she wanted Brad to suffer. The miserable son of a b.i.t.c.h, she wanted him to suffer and then then die. die.

Brad smiled. "That's what I thought." The smile changed to a smirk. "You're not going to shoot me. If you were, you'd have done it by now." He pushed himself forward and up, reaching for his gun. The son of a b.i.t.c.h was doing it!

Carlin let out a curse word and aimed, praying wildly, bracing herself, hoping she at least hit him somewhere because he was moving and she'd never practiced that- And then she heard the back door open.

Brad heard it, too. The door squealed and a floorboard creaked as someone took a step into the house. He dove the rest of the way for the gun, grabbed it, rolled, and aimed for the door between the living room and the kitchen.

It could be anyone. Zeke, Kat, a deputy, a neighbor Kat had sent to help. She couldn't let any of them be harmed.

She dug deep inside herself, took aim, and fired. He grunted and fell back, blood blooming on his side. From his position on the floor he turned and looked at her, surprised, then sat up as he swung the gun toward her once more. "You b.i.t.c.h, you shot me!"

The blood distracted her. There was a lot of it, and it was darker than she'd expected, and shooting a person wasn't at all like shooting a target. Then Zeke came through the door, low and fast, weapon in his hand. Carlin barely had time to recognize him, but she saw Brad jerk his head around at this new threat, saw him settle and decide and bring his pistol back around toward her, his finger tightening on the trigger. Zeke fired, and the side of Brad's head blew out in a red mist of blood and brain matter.

Carlin stood frozen for a moment, completely incapable of doing anything. Somehow she held on to the pistol, didn't let it drop; when she had some command of her body again she carefully, very carefully, put it on an end table and backed away. Zeke was right there, closing his arms around her, sheltering her head against his shoulder. of her body again she carefully, very carefully, put it on an end table and backed away. Zeke was right there, closing his arms around her, sheltering her head against his shoulder.

She held on tight, because she could. Because she needed it.

"It's over," he said gently. "It's done."

She wanted to tell Zeke that she loved him, that he'd given her something worth fighting for. But not now, with the scent of blood in the air. Later, when they were alone and she'd washed the stench of Brad off of her, and off of Zeke. Later, when her heart wasn't beating so hard that the drumming drowned out everything else.

And for the first time in a long while, she knew without a doubt that they would have a later later.

Chapter Thirty-one

IT HAD TAKEN some time for Zeke to convince Carlin that neither of them would face charges for shooting Brad; their actions had been clear-cut self-defense. Even if they hadn't been able to doc.u.ment Brad's violent behavior and finally tie him to the murder in Dallas, there was also Kat's testimony, and her injuries. It turned out two of her ribs were cracked, so she was in for some painful days. some time for Zeke to convince Carlin that neither of them would face charges for shooting Brad; their actions had been clear-cut self-defense. Even if they hadn't been able to doc.u.ment Brad's violent behavior and finally tie him to the murder in Dallas, there was also Kat's testimony, and her injuries. It turned out two of her ribs were cracked, so she was in for some painful days.

The sheriff had known Kat-and Zeke-forever and a day, and he was a big fan of Kat's cherry pie. No charges would be filed. Maybe "he needed killin'" wasn't an acceptable excuse now, but add on son of a b.i.t.c.h, as in "the son of a b.i.t.c.h needed killin'," and it came close. Regardless, there were no repercussions.

It had been a few long d.a.m.n days, but the worst was behind them. Kat was healing, Brad was gone for good, and Carlin was still here. She didn't have have to stay now; she didn't to stay now; she didn't have have to squirrel away cash, watch every penny she spent, so that meant every day she was there was a day she wanted to be there. She'd called her brother and sister, on his house phone, at his insistence, and talked to them for hours. He didn't give a d.a.m.n what the final bill would be; her joy at actually talking to them, at being to squirrel away cash, watch every penny she spent, so that meant every day she was there was a day she wanted to be there. She'd called her brother and sister, on his house phone, at his insistence, and talked to them for hours. He didn't give a d.a.m.n what the final bill would be; her joy at actually talking to them, at being free free, was worth every penny.

He woke with her in his arms. Snow had been falling all night, and the temperature was predicted to drop well below zero for the next few days, and G.o.d only knew what the windchill would be. They'd have their hands full, protecting the animals and the machinery. Carlin would make chili or soup, or maybe even the Mexican shepherd's pie if the guys wanted something really substantial, but at any rate it would be something hot to warm them all from the inside out, and at night she'd be here, in his bed. The only question that remained was: would she stay?

After what she'd been through, he figured the best thing he could do was not push her, let her decide for herself what she wanted to do, where she wanted to be. He wanted her here, he wanted her to stay, but the best way to show her that he loved her was to be willing to let her go, if that's what she wanted. But, d.a.m.n, it wasn't easy to back off when every instinct he had made him want to hold her close.

She fit against his side as if she'd been born to be there. She snuggled in tight and warm. In a few minutes they had to get up and start the day, but for now...it was nice and warm, and felt as if this was the way the world was supposed to be.

"I'm going to see Kat today," she finally said around a yawn. "And I plan to take her a real real get-well present-flowers, or a coffee mug filled with candy." get-well present-flowers, or a coffee mug filled with candy."

"WD-40 is is a real get-well present when your back door squeals like a son of a b.i.t.c.h," Zeke argued. a real get-well present when your back door squeals like a son of a b.i.t.c.h," Zeke argued.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to smother a smile. "Well, it did make her laugh," she conceded.

Even if laughing still hurt.

He rubbed his hand over her bare shoulder. "Just a couple of months until spring," he said, keeping his voice casual. "March will be here before you know it."

She shifted, the movement rubbing her body against his. "That's true. Have you put out an ad for a grumpy old man to take my place?" his. "That's true. Have you put out an ad for a grumpy old man to take my place?"

"Not yet." He tilted his head to look down at her. "Should I?"

She was quiet for a long moment. Then she rose up, leaned over him so they were chest to chest and eye to eye. "I've been wondering what spring and summer would be like here. I'd like to watch everything turn green, and maybe see a calf born and learn how to ride a horse, and you know what you need, Zeke? You need a dog. Make that two or three dogs. I would kind of...like to have a dog."

"A dog," he repeated. He'd had dogs before, would have them again, but he'd hardly expected that would be a reason Carlin might want to stay.

"And besides," she said, turning her head slightly so she was no longer looking him directly in the eye. "I think I love you, and I'd like to see where we go when there's no crisis between us."

She'd said it before, without the qualifier, but this felt like the first time because before had been, well, before before.

"You think think you love me." you love me."