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  “I can show you around and then take you to the cabin to settle in,” Johnny said.

  “Thank you. I can start anytime.”

  “Tomorrow’s good enough. We don’t have kids here tonight, but in the morning a group of teens from an orphanage are coming in, and we’re starting our first camps.”

  Rachel tried to ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the sound of his rugged voice. He sounded excited at the prospect of the children’s arrival.

  But she’d been fooled by Rex at the beginning, by his charm. She’d never make that mistake again.

  Johnny led her and Kenny outside to his pickup truck, a big, shiny, red vehicle with a gigantic cab, backseat and a truck bed nicer than any car she’d ever owned. As he drove them across the property, he gave a running monologue describing the size of the ranch, pointing out the stables, pens, creek, river, pastures and rolling hills where they would eventually expand and add to the herd.

  “We’re planning to teach the kids to ride, how to groom and take care of the animals—responsibility will be part of their discipline and therapy,” he clarified, “and we’ll organize trail rides, camps, shows and competitions.”

  His enthusiasm seemed so genuine that the man intrigued her. And Kenny was staring out the window of the backseat in awe.

  “We’ll also teach the boys how to rope and do tricks and maybe even help on a cattle drive. But in exchange they’ll have to work the ranch. Help clean stalls, mend fences, build pens, feed the animals.” Johnny paused. “Hard work builds character.”

  Rachel nodded. Rex’s theory had been that money built character.

  Instead, Johnny was a hands-on guy. And he had big, broad, callused hands… Sexy hands. No wonder all the women had found Johnny Long so irresistible.

  But she had to be immune.

  Not that he was interested in her or ever would be.

  For God’s sake, she had a child and a dangerous ex. And she was certainly not his type.

  No, the news had shown photo after photo of him with voluptuous young blondes and redheads who followed him on the road. Rodeo groupies whose names were Candy and Brandi with an i, women who didn’t have dishpan hands or tired, lank hair or nails chewed down to the quick from worrying about money and a son she needed to care for and protect.

  Her throat thick with emotions and exhaustion, she massaged her temple, battling an unexpected rash of tears.

  “There are the bunkhouses for the campers,” Johnny pointed out. “They’re set up like dorms and divided into quadrants according to ages. We hired some college students as camp counselors. Hopefully, as the camp and our reputation grow, we’ll have returning youth who will assume that role.”

  “It’s impressive,” Rachel said, and meant it. “But I’m surprised your investors are actually physically working with the program themselves.”

  Johnny shifted, looking uncomfortable. When he parked at a long building with a wooden sign that read Dining Hall and looked up at her, pain flashed briefly across his face.

  “Not all of us were born with money or had things handed to us on a silver platter.” His voice held a defensive hint. “Some of us…had problems of our own. Now we want to give back.”

  Rachel’s heart stuttered at the lost-little-boy look in his eyes as his gaze met hers. She hadn’t meant to sound condescending, but she must have pushed a button.

  She tried to remember what she’d read about him. Something about a woman making accusations against him.

  But Kenny released a squeal of excitement, halting her thoughts, and threw open his door. “Mommy, look, there’s a dog! A real dog!”

  Rachel glanced at the mutt and nearly choked on a laugh. Cleo was a mixed mutt of some kind, a cross between a basset hound and a beagle and God knew what else.

  Johnny’s troubled look faded at her son’s outburst, and he turned to Kenny with a smile. “That’s Cleopatra, but we call her Cleo,” Johnny said. “Come on, Kenny. She’s been lonely and needs a friend.”

  Rachel sensed he wasn’t just talking about the dog. That he had figured out more about her from their initial meeting than she’d intended to reveal.

  No…that wasn’t possible.

  Not unless Rex had followed her or somehow discovered she’d been checking out this ranch. If he had, he could have already contacted the people here. Maybe he’d called Johnny and spouted off his book of lies.

  What if he’d asked Johnny to play nice to her, to lull her into a sense of safety until Rex could show up?

  Her head was churning with suspicions, her panic-voice urging her to run again, so loudly that she hadn’t noticed that Johnny had helped Kenny down from the truck and they were playing with the dog.

  The pathetic, bony-looking animal had sprawled on the ground and was salivating as Kenny scratched between her floppy ears.

  Rachel climbed down to join them, the joy on her son’s face deflating her earlier worries. She was just being paranoid. There was no way Rex could know she was here.

  “Mom, Cleo and I are gonna be best friends.”

  She knotted her hands, ready to deny him. But Johnny stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. A gentle hand that made her look up into his eyes. Eyes that were usually flirty but eyes that looked soulful now, as if he saw too much.

  The realization made her shift uncomfortably.

  “Cleo was a stray I found on the side of the road,” he said quietly. “She’d been abandoned and abused. She needs someone to love her.”

  Tears burned Rachel’s throat. He sounded so sincere.

  And somehow he’d sensed the fact that her son needed stability. Peace. Normalcy.

  The BBL offered all those things. The kind of comfort and home neither of them had had in a very long time.

  She let him guide her toward the dining hall. They would stay, she decided.

  But at the first sign of trouble, that Rex had followed them, they’d hit the road and never look back.

  Chapter Three

  Johnny noted the skittish gleam in Rachel’s eyes but forced himself not to push for the reason. Breaking horses had taught him patience, that it took time to win an animal’s trust, and he figured the same for her.

  Besides, did he really want to know about her problems?

  No. He couldn’t get caught up in her life. He was here to help the lost kids, not become involved with a woman.

  But the sight of Kenny’s excited face as Cleo licked his hand stirred emotions deep inside him. And so did Rachel’s obvious love for her son.

  Unlike his own mother…

  Don’t go there, Johnny.

  “Let’s step inside the dining hall and I’ll introduce you to Ms. Ellen. She’ll be the main cook and is the head honcho in the kitchen.”

  “Can I stay out here and play with Cleo?” Kenny asked.

  Rachel glanced around the property, then chewed on her bottom lip as if debating whether she should leave him alone.

  “It’s okay,” Johnny assured her. “It’s safe here, Rachel.”

  Her gaze jerked to his, and for a brief second fear registered. That and distrust.

  Did she think he would hurt her?

  Maybe she had seen that news story…

  But she conducted another visual sweep of the area, then gave a reluctant nod to her son. “Okay, Kenny, but stay here by the building. Don’t wander off.”

  Kenny plunked down on the grass under a Texas red oak, and Cleo rested her head in his lap. “Then we can see the puppies?”

  Johnny nodded. “Do as your mama says and yes, then we’ll see Cleo’s pups.”

  Kenny’s crooked teeth shone as he bobbed his head up and down, then he cuddled the dog and began to rub her belly.

  “He’s always wanted a pet,” Rachel confessed as they climbed the porch steps and entered the cafeteria-style room. “But I hope he doesn’t become too attached.”

  Meaning she probably didn’t plan on sticking around. “We’ll probably be looking for homes for the pups,” Johnn
y said anyway.

  She glanced at him, but again that wary expression returned. But she was saved from answering by Ms. Ellen, who came bounding around the corner of the kitchen.

  The scent of homemade cinnamon rolls filled the air, and Johnny’s stomach growled.

  “Well, if it ain’t the Johnny Long,” Ms. Ellen said. “You must have smelled the buns in the oven.”

  “Thought I was smelling heaven,” Johnny said with a wink. Ms. Ellen was a plump middle-aged woman with a smile as broad as her hips and a heart that never quit giving. When Brody had mentioned needing a cook, Johnny had visited one of the homeless shelters near San Antonio and found the gem of a woman.

  After all, she needed a second chance herself, so hiring her was the perfect solution.

  Ms. Ellen wiped her hands on her apron and looked at Rachel. “And who is this, Mr. J.? Your girlfriend?”

  Rachel’s face blanched, and Johnny nearly choked. “No…uh…she’s your new assistant cook.”

  “Well, thank the Lord,” Ms. Ellen said. “With all those hungry kids and the hands coming in, I need some help.” She narrowed her eyes. “But you’re awfully skinny, girl. You really know how to cook?”

  Rachel smiled, seemingly grateful to have the awkward moment pass. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ms. Ellen made a smacking sound with her mouth. “Well, then, welcome to Ms. Ellen’s kitchen. How about I show you around?”

  “Can it wait till tomorrow?” Johnny said. “She just arrived, so I need to give her a tour of the rest of the ranch and settle her into a cabin.”

  Ms. Ellen nodded, then bundled up them both some cinnamon rolls before she allowed them to leave. Johnny dug into one as they walked back outside, then handed one to Kenny, whose face lit up as he sank his teeth into the gooey pastry.

  Rachel laughed, and the three of them, plus Cleo, climbed back into his truck for the rest of the tour. He showed her the stables where they kept the quarter horses, the pens for training and for riding lessons, the arena where they planned to hold the rodeo, and the barn and pastures for the beef cattle and calves.

  Kenny seemed to loosen up, his excitement mounting with each discovery, and Rachel finally relaxed. And when Johnny showed them inside the barn, and Kenny saw the puppies, he thought he detected tears in Rachel’s eyes.

  “Kenny,” Johnny said gruffly. “If you’re going to stay here, you have to earn your keep.”

  Kenny’s smile faded and apprehension streaked his little face. Then he inched closer to his mother and ducked behind her, his big eyes frightened again. “Yes, sir.”

  Johnny grimaced at the sudden change in the boy’s demeanor.

  “What does he have to do?” Rachel asked, her tone defensive.

  Johnny knelt in front of Kenny and scooped up one of the puppies. “I thought you’d look after Cleo and her boys. Make sure Cleo gets food and water every day, and play with the pups. They’re just babies and need exercise.”

  The frightened expression in Kenny’s eyes morphed from relief to childlike glee in a millisecond.

  “Do you think you can do that for me?” Johnny asked, careful to use a gentle voice. “It would really help me out.”

  “Yes, sir, I can do it.” Kenny squared his shoulders as if he was a little man and had just been given an important job.

  Johnny gave him a high five, but the boy’s reaction still troubled him. Kenny had expected something worse to be asked of him. Just what had happened to the kid?

  Johnny glanced at Rachel and noticed she was trembling slightly.

  Dammit. He hadn’t meant to frighten her or the boy. But someone else obviously had. And he intended to find out who it was.

  Then he’d see to it that it never happened again.

  RACHEL SAVORED THE FRESH night air as Johnny showed them to the cabin, yet her eyes constantly scanned the area for signs that Rex had followed them.

  “The cabin isn’t large,” Johnny said almost apologetically. “But it’s clean and furnished and you’ll have your own kitchen, so you can make meals on your days off and if you and Kenny decide not to eat every meal in the dining hall.”

  He unlocked the door and Kenny bounded in, racing through the den/kitchen combination to explore.

  “There are two bedrooms,” Johnny said. “But you’ll share a bath.”

  “That’s fine,” Rachel said, admiring the wood floors and beams in the ceiling. “This has a lot of rustic charm.” And was more cozy and homey, with its country furnishings, throw rugs, pillows and the painting of horses above the couch, than any place she’d stayed in the past year.

  “Mom, there’s bunk beds!” Kenny shouted from the second bedroom.

  Johnny chuckled. “I always wanted bunks when I was a kid.”

  “Did you get them?” Rachel asked, curious about the rodeo star. He’d seemed so…normal today. Not like the arrogant playboy the papers had claimed him to be.

  He shook his head. “Nope. A couple of friends of mine, we built a fort in an old tree. That was about as close as I got.” A faint blush stained his cheeks. “But I did put them in one of my guest rooms at my place.”

  Rachel quirked a brow, wondering about that detail. Had he planned to have a family someday?

  He shifted, then gripped the front door. “Let me help you bring your stuff in, then I’ll let you get settled.”

  “I can handle it,” Rachel said, stiffening.

  Kenny raced back in. “I can see the horses from the window by the top bunk.”

  Rachel smiled. It had been a long time since she’d seen her son so happy.

  She only wished it could last.

  “Come on, partner,” Johnny said to Kenny. “Let’s bring in your stuff.”

  Kenny loped up beside Johnny and the two of them headed back to her Jeep. Rachel followed, tensing as Johnny opened the back and spotted the two small suitcases.

  He pivoted to look at her, questions in his eyes. “Is this it?”

  She nodded. “We like to travel light.” Because I had to leave my other stuff behind.

  He stared at her for a long minute, then nodded, lifted her suitcase and Kenny’s smaller one, handed Kenny his backpack of toys and strode back inside the cabin.

  Rachel heard a truck rumble and jerked around, fighting panic, her heart racing as she searched for Rex.

  But the truck rolled on past in a cloud of dust.

  She sighed in relief, grateful for the reprieve as she met Johnny on the steps.

  She just wondered how long it would last.

  REX SLID LOWER INTO THE seat of his car, where he’d parked beneath a cluster of live oaks, his fingers sliding over the Smith & Wesson in his hands as he studied the Georgian house with the gigantic columns and sculpted shrubs.

  The house belonged to Judge Walton Hammers. A rich, powerful man who held the fate of people’s lives in his hands.

  An arrogant bastard who’d signed the papers granting Rachel the divorce.

  A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. The stupid, fat fool had no idea that by doing so he’d signed his own death warrant.

  A Mercedes rolled up and Rex tensed, his heart pounding, his fingers itching to do the job. The judge steered the Mercedes into the driveway, then hit the garage door opener, and the door slid up. The Mercedes coasted inside, then the lights flicked off.

  Night had fallen, dark shadows casting the mansion in gray as Rex climbed from the sedan, grabbed his rope and inched his way along the wooded lot toward the garage.

  He tiptoed into the space, hiding in the shadows as the judge and his wife climbed from the car. The judge staggered, a little tipsy, and his wife moved around to help him inside.

  Rex gripped his gun at the ready, then bolted up behind them and jammed the gun at the judge’s back.

  “Inside now. And disarm the security.”

  The woman shrieked and the judge started to turn around, but Rex crammed the gun in his back. “Do it or you both die.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the judge
grumbled.

  “Just do as he s-says,” his wife cried.

  The judge stumbled in, his wife gripping his arm, and punched the alarm. Rex relaxed slightly at the sound of the beep, then shoved the man into the room.

  “Why are you doing this?” the judge bellowed.

  The wife started to sob. “Please, my jewelry is upstairs. Just take what you want and don’t hurt us!”

  Rex released a sinister laugh. Good idea. Make it look like a robbery gone bad.

  “Up the steps,” he ordered.

  The judge tilted his head sideways to look at him, but Rex jerked his arm. “I told you to move!”

  “You won’t get away with this,” the judge growled.

  Rex shoved them both toward the hallway and followed them as they climbed the winding staircase, the wife clutching her husband as if she might fall if he didn’t hold her up. When they entered the bedroom, the judge reached for a light.

  “No.” Rex shoved the woman onto the bed, jammed the gun at the judge’s head, then pushed the rope into his hands. “Tie her up.”

  The judge stammered a protest, but Rex turned the gun on his wife and he complied. The woman cried and wept as her husband bound her hands and feet, and the judge kept apologizing to her, promising that it would be all right. When he had the knots secure, Rex ordered the judge to sit down beside her.

  “Just take the jewelry, and there’s money in my safe,” the judge offered in a shaky voice. “You can have it all. Just don’t hurt my wife.”

  Rex barked a laugh. “You don’t understand, Judge. You took my wife from me. Now I want you to feel that same pain.”

  With a flick of his finger, he pulled the trigger and shot the woman in the head. She screamed a second before the bullet pierced her brain. Blood splattered, then she slumped onto the bed in a flood of red.

  The judge bellowed in shock and grief, then charged toward him. Rex pulled the trigger, firing a round into the fat man’s gut.

  Then he pushed him back onto the bed and sat down, smiling as the blood began to seep from the judge’s belly.

  The judge groaned and wheezed for a breath, struggling to get back up and fight.