Cowboy Protector Page 8

  “I wasn’t counseling her, exactly.” Jane grinned at him. “Just letting her in on some of the facts of being in a relationship with a McKenna man.”

  “We’re not in a relationship.”

  “Not yet, perhaps—”

  “Not being the significant word here.” Neil insisted, “She’s not my type.” No matter that he was attracted to her anyway.

  “Perfect, then.”

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “I just plan on seeing to her safety in any way I can, is all.”

  “You keep telling yourself that.”

  Why did the members of his family treat him like an idiot? Neil wondered.

  When he carried through with his plan for the evening, they would be convinced they were right, of course, but he would know better. He clenched and unclenched his jaw. Tried to relax. He’d been thinking on The McKenna Legacy—actually, he’d been doing little else since he and Annabeth had been thrown together—and his obligation was clear. He needed to keep her safe from danger.

  That didn’t mean he automatically had to make Annabeth Caldwell his woman.

  Bits of that last vision—the one that had led up to the knee-melting kiss in the truck—flitted through his mind, but he brushed that away. He did have control over his own actions, at least.

  “So what’s the plan?” Jane asked.

  “To stick close by Annabeth’s side until this thing is resolved.”

  “You’re going to get a job as a stock laborer?”

  “Not exactly. I figure she’s safe enough once she’s here on the grounds with all the people around.”

  “Just as she was when you were taken hostage yesterday morning?”

  A point that Neil ignored. “The vision of danger that I had—it didn’t happen here. It was in some other neighborhood, maybe even her neighborhood. She doesn’t live too far from one of those elevated lines on the rapid-transit system. Though I don’t know how the bastard would find her. Thankfully, Detective Wexler kept his word—Annabeth’s name wasn’t released to the media.” He’d double-checked both major papers and various news programs on local channels to be certain.

  “Ah, so you’re going to keep watch over her at home?”

  Jane looked so smug that Neil enjoyed saying, “I’m merely going to see her home at night and pick her up for work in the morning.”

  “And if your schedules don’t coincide?”

  “They’ll just have to. Besides, with that composite of Nickels that she helped shape for the police, it won’t be long before the thief is picked up.”

  “I do hope you’re right,” Jane said, the teasing in her voice suddenly vanquished.

  “Right about what?” Skelly asked, dropping back from the group to join them.

  “About the police wrapping up the case quickly,” Jane said.

  They’d reached a crossroads near the food stalls. Just ahead, his family could flag down a couple of taxis. Neil would go back to find Annabeth for that ride home. Odors of cooked food assailed him and his stomach growled in protest. He was hungry again.

  He was just wondering if he could persuade Annabeth to get something to eat, when Skelly said, “Take care of Miss Annabeth,” and swatted Neil in the arm.

  “How do you know that I’m going to see her?” Skelly hadn’t, after all, been in on the conversation with Jane.

  Skelly merely arched an eyebrow. “If you need backup, cuz, sound the alarm.”

  “I don’t think it will come to that.”

  “And don’t keep the lady up too late.” Donovan moved in to stick in his two cents. “Your Annabeth might not need any beauty rest, but tomorrow is a workday for her.”

  “I’m just going to see her home. That’s it,” Neil insisted, abruptly changing plans about getting some chow, deciding he could raid the refrigerator when he got back to Skelly’s place.

  “Go on with you, now,” Curran said, his arm around Jane’s waist. “And be looking over your shoulder, lad. You’ll not know from which direction the danger will commence.”

  His cousins and their mates all gave him like advice as they said their goodbyes. Curran and Jane would be going back to Kentucky at daybreak. And Donovan and Laurel would likewise be leaving for Wisconsin.

  That still left enough McKennas around to keep him irritated, Neil figured.

  Waving his family off, he headed back across the grounds to find Annabeth and offer her that ride home.

  BY THE TIME she was through rustling calves and was ready to head for home, Annabeth was exhausted. The day had been long, the work hard. She would sleep well that night.

  Darkness already awaited her.

  To her left, the cityscape glowed in electric splendor, as did the festival’s midway straight ahead on the other side of the arena. While rides and food booths and the music stages wouldn’t shut down until Grant Park closed for the night, the actual rodeo was already winding up. Drifting from the arena came audience reactions as a clown bullfighter kept spectators on the edge of their seats.

  Yawning, Annabeth started to leave the area, then decided that using a Porta Pottie before heading for public transportation would be in her best interest. The portable toilets stood along the curb, next to the blocked-off street turned parking lot for the stock trucks and horse vans and vehicles of festival workers and contestants.

  At the moment, however, only the row of portable toilets stood sentinel over the parking lot like silent soldiers. Pools of light from the street lamps limned the structures that reminded her of upright coffins.

  The area was majorly deserted.

  Everyone within hearing distance was probably jammed into the arena, glued to the antics of some grown man who was crazy enough to put on a clown suit and makeup and dance directly in front of a raging bull.

  Just the thought of putting oneself in such peril made Annabeth shiver, but everyone had his or her own danger threshold, she guessed, her mood darkening now that she didn’t have work to occupy her.

  The portable toilets were already rank, so she got in and out as quickly as she could.

  Then, yawning again, tired eyes watering, she washed her hands at the portable sink that stood before the row of Porta Potties.

  Some low noise competing with the trickling water raised her hackles. Hands wet, she froze and concentrated. The sound—the clack of boot heels against pavement?—came from directly behind her.

  Before she could turn around to see who was there, rough hands shoved her forward onto the sink.

  “Hey—”

  Her head was smacked into the faucet and for a brief moment she saw stars.

  “Don’t move,” a low, hoarse voice commanded as internal stars lit her mind. “Don’t turn around.”

  A large hand gripped the back of her neck hard to make certain she couldn’t disobey. Another hand searched her intimately, making her stomach clench and her gorge rise while the rest of her seemed to freeze.

  As much as she might want to, she couldn’t seem to move. She couldn’t fight.

  Then the hand slipped into her side pocket.

  Her wallet!

  Dear Lord, her paycheck!

  Getting her wits about her, Annabeth struggled and yelled, “No! You can’t—”

  But obviously he could. She felt the leather lift free of her pocket. This couldn’t be happening to her. Not one more bad thing! She screamed and kicked backward, but all her running shoe met was air.

  “Let go!”

  “What’s going on over there?” someone shouted from a distance.

  Though the voice was familiar, Annabeth couldn’t get a handle on it, for she was struggling with the thief, trying to break his grip. Somehow he’d managed to slip his hand around the front of her neck. She clawed at the fingers of steel to no avail.

  They tightened perceptibly.

  Air! She needed air!

  Even as she struggled to get some, her attacker whirled her back toward the portable toilets. Knees weak, she stumbled along, still doing her best to
break his grip. Those stars behind her eyes were shining brighter now and her lungs felt ready to burst when he finally released her.

  Gasping, throwing out her hands for something to steady herself, Annabeth teetered forward.

  Her attacker gave her a hard shove in the middle of her back and she went flying. Then a horrible odor and the edge of something hard against her knees stopped her.

  “No!” she rasped, twisting around just as the Porta Pottie door shut and was latched from the outside.

  Trapped in a disgusting outhouse!

  “Help!” she squeaked, jiggling the release futilely. Then, gathering enough spit to swallow, she tried again. “Somebody help me!”

  She hit the door of the unit with the flat of her hands. The walls around her shook but the door didn’t budge.

  “Annabeth? Is that you?”

  “Neil? Get me out of here!”

  “Where are you?”

  She banged some more. “Here. I’m in this hot, stinking hole!” Sweat was trickling down her spine and beads of moisture dotted her all over. Trying to breathe only through her mouth, keeping her nose blocked, she gasped, “Some guy attacked me and locked me in!”

  Adrenaline and the stench both working on her, Annabeth only hoped he hurried before she was sick.

  “Bang again so I can find you!”

  She did, the action jolting her already upset stomach.

  “There you are.”

  “Hurry!” she pleaded, trying to hold her breath as the latch rattled.

  “Hang in there,” Neil said. “I just…have to get this…free. Got it.”

  So did she.

  Even as the door swung open on creaky hinges, Annabeth’s stomach gave up the ghost and she heaved its contents all over Neil Farrell’s cowboy boots.

  Chapter Seven

  Neil caught Annabeth by the shoulders and steadied her as she was sick. Looking down at the mess splashing his boots, he winced but didn’t say a word.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, covering her mouth with a hand that trembled. “Didn’t mean to do that. I—I was shaky and th-then, when he locked me in that disgusting hole—”

  “Whoa, no need to apologize.”

  Neil thought to pull Annabeth close and comfort her, but even though she looked vulnerable and in need of a pair of strong arms to steady her, something kept him from doing it. Holding her seemed like a dangerous venture. Probably the ongoing debate with his family kept him from following his own instincts, Neil thought wryly.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cotton bandanna. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” she said, taking it from him.

  “Are you all right?”

  Dabbing at her mouth, she nodded. “I am now that you’re here, except…” Her eyes suddenly pooled. “My wallet—the creep got my wallet!”

  “But he didn’t get you, did he? He didn’t hurt you?”

  Yet another of life’s little ironies, Neil realized—he’d just assured Jane that Annabeth would be safe alone on the rodeo grounds.

  She said, “Just my head when he banged it into the faucet.”

  “Let me see.”

  Neil pulled her around so the streetlight hit her face. Steeling himself against the physical sensation such a simple touch evoked—and that instinct that made him want to take her in his arms and reassure her—he smoothed the pale hair back from her forehead. A slight shadow was beginning to mar her hairline.

  “What’s the prognosis, Doc?” she joked, a slight quiver in her voice.

  “You’ll live.” He stared into her eyes to make certain both pupils were evenly dilated. No concussion that he could tell. “A little bruised but it doesn’t look too bad.”

  “Well, we have something in common, after all.” Her blue eyes were wide on his face.

  “Right. A few bruises.” Souvenirs of his tussle with Nickels. “So, how much do yours hurt?”

  “A couple of aspirin should do the job.”

  “Maybe someone should take a look at you.”

  “No doctors,” she said firmly.

  No doctors because she didn’t need one or because she couldn’t afford one?

  “I was thinking of the paramedic team that’s on the grounds in case someone gets gored or stomped.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “All right. But if your head gets any worse, you will do something about it.” Even if he had to throw her over his saddle and ride her to the medic station himself. “In the meantime, we should find you some ice to keep the swelling and bruising down.”

  “We should find my wallet and my paycheck!” Annabeth countered. “I couldn’t get to the bank yesterday for obvious reasons. Now I won’t have enough money to pay my rent. I suppose Lloyd could put a stop on that check and cut me another, assuming he could get to it in time before the bastard cashes the original.”

  Talk about living close to the vest. Neil wondered how in the world she had gotten herself into such financial trouble, until he remembered the list of jobs she’d recited. He guessed a person who kept switching jobs would have a hard time keeping up with expenses.

  Suddenly looking down, she moaned. “Your boots. Oh, Neil, I really am sorry. Let’s get you some water so you can clean them off.”

  Annabeth marched to the portable sink and wet his bandanna.

  “You probably need the water more than I do,” he said. “Any cups around here?”

  “You think I’m going to drink out of this? Thanks, but I’d rather take my chances on finding a fountain with water fit for human consumption.”

  She had a point. So Neil took the wet bandanna from her and quickly wiped off his boots, then discarded the soiled material.

  “C’mon, Sunshine, let’s get you that ice.”

  He lightly set an arm around her back and guided her toward the midway. Everything in him told him to wrap that arm around her more fully and draw her close into his side. His fingers itched to track the curve of her waist, to tighten fast to her soft flesh.

  Confused about what was happening to him, Neil resisted. He’d never before considered himself suggestible, but at the moment that’s exactly what he feared. Things were all mixed up in his mind—his attraction to Annabeth and the danger she seemed to attract, his grandmother’s legacy and the well-meaning counsel of his family.

  He needed some downtime to sort it all out, but that wouldn’t be now. Later, when he was alone, he would have time to think on it.

  Approaching the food stands, he spotted one without a line and quickly had in hand a small plastic bag filled with ice cubes. He brushed Annabeth’s hair from her forehead and placed the bag where the bruising was growing more evident.

  “Hold the ice there for ten minutes or so, then you’ll need to do it again later.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now we’d better find a phone and call the police.”

  “And Lloyd.”

  And so they found themselves back in the press office, again empty. Thankful they were alone, Neil got a shaky Annabeth to sit. She didn’t need a nosy reporter connecting this incident with what happened the day before. If it had been connected. He just didn’t know.

  He called 911 and reported the incident, then watched Annabeth closely.

  Her skin appeared pale and she kept rubbing her arms as though she was cold. Not from the ice—she’d already set that down. Shock, Neil decided. He considered offering to get her something to drink, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to leave her alone.

  Suddenly she said, “Maybe it’s me.”

  “What’s you?”

  “Bad luck. Bad karma. Whatever you want to call it. Maybe it’s just me. If I hadn’t gone looking for Lloyd yesterday, we wouldn’t have been held hostage. And if I hadn’t stopped in a deserted area tonight, some creep wouldn’t have seen me as easy pickings and taken my wallet.”

  “Are you sure your attacker was simply after the wallet?”

  “Well, it is gone. He filched it from my po
cket, shoved me into the Porta Pottie and took off.”

  “No threats? He didn’t say anything?”

  “Like what? He just told me not to turn around,” Annabeth said. “I’m sure that he didn’t want me to be able to identify him in a lineup.”

  “Strange…”

  “What? That he didn’t want to get caught?”

  “That two days in a row you were the victim of a thief who purposely hid his identity.”

  “I doubt any thief would want to be identified if he could get away without being seen. And this is the big city,” she groused. “There’s danger everywhere you turn. It’s just a coincidence. Bad karma and more bad karma.”

  But Neil wasn’t so sure.

  Her dark mood surprised him a bit. He was used to her being argumentative but in a different way. Like giving him a hard time. Now she was doing that to herself. Blaming herself. Or fate.

  But wasn’t that what The McKenna Legacy was all about—fate?

  He didn’t have long to think about it, for a moment later a uniformed policeman appeared. The dispatcher had contacted an officer already on the grounds. He took Annabeth’s complaint but gave her little hope that her wallet or its contents would ever be returned.

  Neil insisted that the patrolman forward a copy of the complaint to Detective Wexler, just in case there was any connection between the two incidents.

  When the cop left, Annabeth sat there, stunned for a moment, then called Wainwright’s answering service, left a message about the theft and then asked him to cancel the stolen paycheck and cut her another.

  “I hope he can actually do something about it,” she said despondently as she hung up.

  Neil could tell the adrenaline was wearing off. Suddenly, she appeared nerveless, like a rag doll, as if she didn’t have the energy to get herself out of there.

  “Some hot food might be just the ticket,” he said.

  “Food,” she echoed, shoving a hand into a pocket. When she pulled it free and opened her fist, two quarters, three dimes and a couple of pennies lay in her palm. “I don’t even have money for a bus ride. I’ll have to walk home.”