Bulletproof Heart
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Praise
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Books by Sheryl Lynn
Title Page
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Copyright
PRAISE FOR SHERYL LYNN
The Other Laura
“The Other Laura is a marvelous tale…
Sheryl Lynn deserves all the praise I can give.”
—Jennifer Blake
New York Times bestseller and author of Silver-Tongued Devil
Dark Star
“A remarkable love story closely wound around a tight mystery…no one will be able to put it down.”
—Romantic Times
Dark Knight
“Both an emotionally involving romance and a top-notch thriller.”
—Gothic Journal
Ladykiller
“Terrific pacing, a delightfully convoluted plot and enough twists and turns to keep the reader guessing. Add to that a steamy romance, and you end up with romance at its finest.”
—Anne Stuart
Award-winning author of Night Fall
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sheryl Lynn lives in a Colorado pine forest with a menagerie that includes a cat, two hairy dogs, two teenagers and a retired sergeant major. When in need of inspiration, she need look no further than the ever-changing views of Pikes Peak, or needs only to smell the butterscotch scent of warm ponderosa pine bark and watch the antics of dozens of resident jays begging for peanuts on her back deck. Nature is a good reminder that all things change and all hurts eventually heal.
Books by Sheryl Lynn
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
190—DOUBLE VISION
223—DEADLY DEVOTION
258—SIMON SAYS
306—LADYKILLER
331—DARK KNIGHT
336—DARK STAR
367—THE OTHER LAURA
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Bulletproof Heart
Sheryl Lynn
This one is for the girls: Maggie, Barbara, Emily, Jane, Ruth, Yvonne and Pamela. Thanks.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Emily Farraday— The young widow inherited a host of problems along with the Double Bar R ranch.
Reb Tremaine— Emily is only a target to this man with a bulletproof heart, until she forces him to face the truth about himself.
Joey Rifkin— Emily’s baby brother doesn’t know who to trust, but he does know he’ll do anything to win back the ranch that is his birthright.
Tuff Rifkin— Emily’s older brother owns neither a soul nor a conscience, but he does own a treasure he’ll kill to protect.
Mickey Thigpen— The sheriff pursuing Emily. But only time will tell if he wants her heart or Tuff’s treasure.
Tim Patterson— The deputy sheriff with a poker face and a hidden agenda.
Claude Longo— The old ranch manager wants Emily out of the way.
Chapter One
Emily Farraday held on tightly to the saddle horn as the roan mare picked her way through the forest. Lateday sunlight flirted through the pine trees, forming pockets of heat. She felt tired from a long day of cooking meals in an overheated kitchen, feeding animals in a hot barn, weeding the garden under a blistering sun and riding through the still, dry forest.
She scratched at a bug bite on the back of her neck, and felt a sticky patch on a tendril of hair. She patted upward until she found the source, a big glob of pine sap clinging to her cap, dripping into her hair.
Lifting her gaze, she could see Hannah Peak over the treetops. Hannah Peak was a runt in the midst of the towering Rockies, an outcrop of bald granite sticking out of a thatch of oak tangles like a thumb hitching a ride. Hannah maintained her own brand of majesty, though, including what appeared to be a supercilious smile carved into craggy cliffs. Emily imagined the smirk telling her not only was she sticky and smelly, but she was crazy, too.
Everyone else was right: Tuff hadn’t murdered a man, and he hadn’t buried the corpse anywhere on the Double Bar R Ranch.
A deerfly landed on her left arm. She swatted at it and missed. The mare gave a little start on the slippery pine straw and flicked her ears. Emily patted the horse’s neck.
“It’s okay, Strawberry. We’re finished for the day. Let’s just go on home, nice and easy. Don’t kill me or smash me against a tree, okay?”
Finished for the day…Emily knew tomorrow when her chores were done she’d ride out again to poke around the rough terrain in search of a grave. She was sure her older brother had murdered a man and somehow, someway she’d prove it. Even if it meant she searched the entire high-country ranch inch by rocky inch.
The path dropped sharply. Emily gave the mare her head to find a way down the hillside. Ears forward, Strawberry stepped up the pace, eager to reach her corral. Rustling in the scrub oak forewarned Copper’s appearance. The mutt bounded into view, his thick coat bristling with bits of leaves, pine needles and bark.
Emily hoped Copper would lead her to the body. He chased squirrels instead, and incited ruckuses among the Steller’s jays and crows. He gave Emily a mindlessly happy grin as he trotted past. His jaunty attitude said, Yep, another fine day romping in the forest. Sure beats hanging around the house. Great fun, old girl.
Emily managed a smile. Dumb dog.
She left the forest. A scratchy-grass meadow spread lazily across the valley, cut through by the creek and stands of cottonwoods. Yuccas jutted from the ground like bristly candles, brown pods clinging to spikes amid the nests of dagger-shaped leaves. Only the hardy buffalo grass was green; the other alpine grasses had faded to tan and beige and gold under the relentless August sun.
The roan mare’s hooves rang dully against the hard pack, and the jarring trot sent needles of fire up Emily’s spine. Rear end aching, gritting her teeth, Emily rose in the stirrups and clung to the saddle horn.
She wished she were back in Kansas City, without a horse within ten miles of her.
The house and outbuildings of the Double Bar R sprawling along the banks of Blue Rock Creek were a welcome sight for her tired eyes. The mare broke into a canter, aiming directly for the wide barn doorway. At reaching the shallow pool formed by tractors crossing the creek, she hit the water at a gallop, spraying rooster tails along her sides. Drops splashed Emily’s legs, soaking through her jeans.
Emily spotted a Jeep parked near the house. Red road dust clouded its white finish. She jerked the reins, and the mare stumbled, fighting the bit. Hauling the horse to a complete stop, Emily fixed her gaze on the Jeep’s rear license plate. She recognized the bright yellow tag as a New Mexico issue.
The ranch was too far into the Colorado Rockies and too far from the main road for casual visitors. She racked her brain for anyone she knew from New Mexico, but she drew a blank. Ever since her grandfather’s death, creditors and con artists had come crawling from beneath their rocks. Strange vehicles on the property filled her with dread.
The mare shuffled restlessly and tossed her head,
rattling the bridle. Emily tugged the reins and applied her heels to the mare’s ribs, but Strawberry balked, straining toward the barn. Emily thrummed her heels, clucked her tongue and hauled the reins. Strawberry finally groaned and turned for the house, plodding as if every step agonized her.
Emily spotted a man on the porch. With one thumb hooked in his jeans pocket, he leaned his shoulder against a post and watched her approach. His attitude befitted a conquering general surveying his newly won domain.
She stopped the horse at the base of the porch steps, and sized up the stranger. He stood well over six feet tall, lean and leggy, with an air of nonchalant grace. His eyes, framed by thick black eyebrows, were a startling bright blue. He met her gaze as boldly as if she were for sale and he was a buyer with cash in his pocket.
A hot pulse thumped low in her midsection. It startled her. Her mouth felt too wet, and she swallowed hard. She gave the bill of her cap a sharp tug, bringing herself back to earth. Her husband had been dead more than a year, but she wasn’t ready to finish mourning. She certainly wasn’t ready to look at another man as a potential sexual partner.
Trying to mirror his casual air, she looked over his clothes. His grimy blue jeans had seen better days, and the sleeves of a light blue T-shirt strained around muscular arms. No watch or rings, not even a showy belt buckle. His yellow leather work boots appeared to have a few miles on them. Nothing razzle-dazzle or remarkable about him, except for his blue, blue eyes. Her suspiciousness eased. “May I help you?” she asked.
His gaze swept her from head to toe, but it offered no clue as to what he thought. “Depends,” he said. “What are you offering?”
His voice was silk and promises. Instinctively her back straightened. Stupid vanity made her regret that she was wearing filthy clothing and that her hair was crammed messily under a pine-sap-stained cap. Strawberry shook her head and stamped a hoof. Emily loosened the reins.
Snappy retorts failed her completely.
Hinges squeaked as her younger brother used his shoulder to push open the screened door. Joey carried two Coors beer bottles by the neck, and held a jar of butterscotch-oatmeal cookies tucked under one arm. At seeing her, he lowered the beer bottles, but as quickly he lifted them. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his face hardened in defiance. As she looked between her baby brother and the stranger, Emily’s hackles went up. The stranger was too old to be Joey’s buddy.
“I didn’t know I had any beer in the house,” she said, making no effort to disguise her disapproval.
Like all the Rifkin men, Joey was tall and as tough as Manila rope. Yet the black-haired stranger with his deep chest and mature shoulders dwarfed the boy. Joey’s sullenness made him look younger still as he thrust a bottle at the stranger.
“I bought the beer,” the stranger said. “My treat.”
Looking Joey dead in the eye, she told him with her glower she was sick and tired of him soliciting strangers to break the law in buying him beer. “Maybe you ought to ask for ID next time you go treating boys around here. He isn’t yet twenty-one.”
Joey slammed down the cookie jar with such force, Emily tensed for shattered glass. The jar remained intact.
“I can drink a beer on my own front porch.” The hot color deepened on Joey’s face. “You ain’t my mama.”
She heard how she sounded. An old biddy with nothing better to do than snoop around for ways to spoil his fun. Ever since their grandfather’s death, Joey had been lost, unable to climb out of the angry morass of his grief. He drank too much and spent too much time alone. Emily understood how grief turned the days gray and filled a soul with unanswered questions. She also knew how easily Joey could follow their older brother into criminal depravity.
Except he was right. She wasn’t his mama.
Emily turned her horse away. The animal trotted out of the small yard to the barn.
By the time Emily had dismounted and stripped the saddle off the horse, a new thought disquieted her. The stranger could be one of Tuff’s friends. Emily had steadfastly refused to bail Tuff out of jail, so maybe he’d sent one of his creepy buddies to convince her to cough up the cash. Despite her weariness, she hurried in rubbing down the horse and turning her into the corral. Then Emily strode back to the house, bypassing the back door and going around front.
Joey perched on the porch railing. The stranger sat on the glider, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Emily avoided meeting his bright blue eyes. Nothing he said—or did—could convince her to give him a single penny on Tuff’s behalf.
“This is Reb Tremaine,” Joey finally said. “I hired him on as a hand.”
“Pardon?”
“I hired him. What with rounding up steers for the market and all, me and Claude are about tapped. There’s too much to do.”
Hard times and Tuff’s thievery had eroded the Double Bar R’s resources. Tuff had finagled away the mineral-rights leases that had sustained the ranch in the lean years; he’d sold off prime bottomland useful for growing hay. They ran a couple hundred head of cattle, but if beef prices dropped again, they wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of leasing federal grazing land. Hired hands were a luxury.
She made herself look at Reb Tremaine. His eyes glinted with intelligence and something else, something mysterious and maybe a little bit dangerous. He made her nervous, and she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was his clothing. The jeans fit like an old friend, but his handsome face seemed better suited for a designer shirt and a hundred-dollar tie. Well-worn clothes, shaggy hair and beard shadow aside, the man had an air of quality.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tremaine, but my brother stepped out of line. We can’t afford another hired hand.”
His mild expression never changed. Her uncertainty increased. She felt as if she’d missed something, that he knew something she didn’t. His silence left her fumbling for some way to end this encounter in a nice way. “Uh, but you’re welcome to stay for supper.”
Reb Tremaine merely nodded, and she went inside. The house was hotter inside than it was outside. Once upon a time a giant cottonwood had shaded the kitchen from the afternoon sun. A thunderstorm last spring had finally knocked the old tree down, leaving only a tattered stump now rotting into wood fluff.
Sunshine slanted knives of heat through the window. Boots thudded on the linoleum floor behind her.
“I hired him fair and square,” Joey said. “I can’t go back on my word.”
Emily filled a glass with cold water. “How do you propose I pay him?”
“Claude and I are taking seventy steers to market. We need help.”
Simple logic, simple truth. Even running a small ranch was a huge job. Repairing fences and machinery, tending the hay fields, treating cattle—the list of chores was endless. Fall roundup approached, and Joey had only old Claude Longo to help him.
Emily drained the water. “So why this Tremaine fellow?” she asked, keeping her voice down. “He looks as if he’s from the city. He probably doesn’t know the difference between a cow and a gopher hole.”
Joey chuckled without humor. “The way you do? You’re as worthless around cows as that stupid dog of yours. Shoot, you can’t half stay on a horse, much less drag a steer. Reb knows his stuff. He’s got his own gear.”
“Okay, okay. But you shouldn’t make these decisions without consulting me. The ranch is my responsibility—”
“It shouldn’t be!” Anger and hurt shone through Joey’s dark eyes. “The ranch is mine. You come waltzing in here and rooked Grandpa. If he’d been in his right mind, he’d have left the ranch to me, not you.”
“As soon as you’re old enough—”
“You’re nothing but a quitter. It won’t be six months before you find some other rich old fool to run off with.”
Joey’s words slashed to her heart.
Emily flinched. Echoes of her restless yearnings to be away from this place, away from Joey, tugged at her, but she was trapped. All she could do was grit her teeth, push forward and hope
and pray that someday she’d finish paying for her sins.
She doubted if redemption would come easily or soon. Nothing had gone right since her return to the ranch. Grandpa had died, her older brother was a criminal and Joey refused to forgive her for leaving him here ten years ago. Grandpa’s will, which bequeathed the entire ranch to Emily, made her look like the worst kind of gold digger. Nobody in the valley cared about her side of the story or gave her the benefit of the doubt. Nobody, especially not Joey, believed her about the promise she’d made to Grandpa. She didn’t want the ranch, but she’d promised to keep the place intact until Joey was man enough to own it. Public opinion and Joey’s hard heart be damned, she’d keep her promise.
If it didn’t kill her first.
She lowered the glass to the counter. She turned slowly to face her brother. “How do you know Themaine isn’t a con artist? A lot of folks think we’re rolling in money.”
“Just because you’re stupid,” Joey returned, “doesn’t mean I am.”
“I’m not stupid,” she said through her teeth.
“You married Daniel.” Joey’s eyes glittered with hard challenge.
“Keep him out of this.”
Joey’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “If you were so proud of him, how come you never brought him home?”
“This fight isn’t about me.” Except it was; it always came back to her. Joey would never understand why she’d married Daniel or why Grandpa had left her the ranch. Joey didn’t want to understand. All he wanted to do was punish her. Tears gnawed at her throat and scratched her lower eyelids.
“I hired Reb and I’m not going back on my word,” Joey said.
The fire drained out of her, replaced by grief. She mourned the boy Joey had once been. The sweetly serious child who listened in wide-eyed wonder while she read him a bedtime story. The boy who came to her with the tears and hurts he didn’t dare let Grandpa see. He glared at her now with contempt, his anger a shield against her love, his hatred a constant reminder of her guilt.