Sun Kissed (38 page)

Samantha swung away toward the door. The very air in the office felt tainted, and she could barely breathe. Already with his cell phone to his ear, Tucker disengaged the dead bolt. As she escaped the room, she heard him say, “This is Tucker Coulter. I need to speak with Detective Galloway.”

Darkness had long since blanketed the ranch when Samantha let herself into Blue Blazes’s stall to give the stallion his nightly ration of cob. Across the arena she could hear the low inflections of Jerome’s voice as he performed the same task for another horse.
Normalcy.
Only that morning, she had despaired that anything in her life would ever be right again, but now it was almost over. Carrie was in jail, and there was a warrant out for Steve’s arrest. He would soon join his treacherous accomplice behind bars.

Samantha still could find no sympathy in her heart for Carrie. Yes, Steve Fisher was a charming, attractive, and dangerously manipulative man, but there were lines a woman should never cross, no matter how desperately she yearned to be loved. Carrie Dobson was a pathetic excuse for a human being, so far as Samantha was concerned. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the awful way Cilantro and her baby had died. There were many things she might be able to forgive, but that heartless act wasn’t one of them. She hoped Steve and Carrie paid dearly for what they’d done.

“Ah, Blue,” she whispered, resting her cheek against the stallion’s withers while he enjoyed his bedtime treat. “It’s so good not to feel afraid for you anymore. So very
good.
”

Samantha heard a slight sound behind her and smiled in expectation. Tucker was due to show up at any moment. He’d called from his cell phone only a few minutes earlier to tell her he was just leaving the equine clinic and was on his way to the ranch. An emergency call about a sick horse had taken him away from her side at around seven. The mare was stabilized now, and Tucker felt safe about leaving her in the competent hands of his night tech.

“I thought you’d never get here,” she said as she turned to give him a welcoming smile.

Her heart went still in her chest when she found Steve Fisher standing behind her. He smiled coldly. “Been counting the minutes, Samantha Jane?”

As her heart slogged back into an uneven rhythm,
Samantha looked past him to the opposite side of the arena.

“Forget it. Jerome is out cold. He won’t come to your rescue.” He glanced around the stall. “And, uh-oh, I don’t see a single chair that you can club me with.”

Samantha didn’t ask how he’d gotten into the building. She and Jerome hadn’t set the alarm. With Carrie behind bars, Steve running from the police, and the ranch still under tight security, they hadn’t believed such measures were still necessary until Jerome locked up for the night. “How did you get past the guards?”

Steve tipped his black Stetson and smiled derisively. “Meet Mac, your trainer, back off vacation. They’ve never seen the man. I just said howdy, flashed a fake picture ID, and walked right in. Bless Carrie’s heart for keeping me informed of everything happening here, including the fact that you put Mac’s name on the list of trusted personnel.”

Samantha glanced across the arena again, wondering what he’d done to Jerome. “Why are you here, Steve? You’re only going to dig yourself a deeper hole if you cause any more trouble. Why not turn yourself in and make it easier on yourself?”

“And let you go happily on with your life while I serve time in prison?” The smell of whiskey wafted to her nostrils, and she knew he was crazy drunk. “No way, sweet cheeks. I’ll be locked up for years either way. Before they slap the cuffs on me, I intend to settle the score between us once and for all.”

He was on her then, his taller and heavier body slamming into hers and knocking her backward. When she hit
the ground he landed on top of her, crushing all the breath from her. Before she could breathe again, his hands were at her throat, his thumbs digging into her larynx. Her lungs hitched, grabbing frantically for oxygen. He only smiled and tightened his grip.

“How’s it feel, bitch? You’re gonna die, and the last thing you’ll see is my face. Forever, remember? Until death do we part. I said I’d make you regret leaving me. I keep my promises.”

Black spots danced in front of Samantha’s eyes. Her body pulsated with an overwhelming urgency to breathe, only she couldn’t. She dug in hard with her nails at his wrists in a last, desperate attempt to break his hold on her throat, but his grip was like a vise, and his eyes gleamed dementedly into hers.
Suffocating, I’m suffocating.
She’d felt this way once before, and suddenly she remembered how she’d escaped him the last time.
Clint.
He’d taught her to jab at the inside corners of an assailant’s eyes with her thumbs.
Go for his gray matter,
Clint had drilled her.
He’ll turn loose, and when he does, run like hell.

“Nobody screws me over and gets away with it,” he snarled in her face. “Payback time, baby.” He assumed a singsong tone. “Say bye-bye to Daddy.”

Praying Steve was too drunk to be expecting it, Samantha let go of his wrists, stiffened her thumbs, and jabbed at his eyes. Bellowing, he jerked back, released his hold on her throat, and cupped his hands over his face. All she could see between the inverted V of his hands was his nose, so she went for that next, striking out with the heel of her hand with all her strength. He squealed and rolled away from her.

Black spots still dancing in her vision, she clambered to her feet, almost went back down, and grabbed the wall for support. Blue Blazes was shrieking and rearing. Knowing the stallion would never harm her, Samantha kept her gaze fixed on Steve. As her senses slowly righted themselves, she was able to stand without clinging to the boards, and in that moment she
knew
he would kill her if she let him get back on his feet. Terror pounded through her veins, blurring her reason. She retreated a step and tensed to kick him with all her might—in the face, in the groin. It didn’t matter where, as long as he stayed down.

Just as Samantha moved to follow through on her pan icky thoughts, she remembered the last time Steve Fisher had almost killed her. She’d lost it that night, reacting with mindless fear, and what she’d done had haunted her ever since. Now he was back, and just like before, he was dragging her down to his level.
No.
She wouldn’t go there this time.
Couldn’t
go there. It wasn’t necessary.

Wheeling around, she threw herself at the paddock doors, which she’d barred shut after bringing Nutmeg into her stall. Struggling to lift the plank, she shrieked when Steve’s hand locked around her calf. “No!” she cried, turning to fight him off. “Let
go
of me.”

Using her jeans, Steve dragged himself into a crouch. Samantha knifed her knee up, catching him on the chin. When he fell away from her, she finally got the doors open. Throwing her weight against the wooden panels, she lost her balance and rolled out into the paddock.

“Help!” she screamed. “Somebody help me!”

Tucker had climbed out of his truck and was reaching for a lightweight jacket to ward off the evening chill when he heard Samantha’s screams. He cocked his head, determined that she was somewhere outside to the left of the arena, and broke into a run to circle the building. He reached the paddock just as three male security guards were vaulting over the fence. By the time Tucker could enter the enclosure, Nona Redcliff was also on the scene, shouting orders to her guards, helping them wrestle a man to the ground, and then backing off to use her cell phone to contact the police.

Tucker knew without asking that the guy they’d just overpowered was Steve Fisher. He hurried over to Samantha, still lying prone on the scattered hay. “Are you okay? Talk to me. Did the bastard hurt you?” He ran his hands over her legs and arms. “Are you all right?”

Speaking incoherently between sobs, she sat up and locked her slender arms around his neck. “I’m fine,” she finally managed to croak. “I’m okay. Oh, God, Tucker, he tried to strangle me.”

Tucker sat so he could pull her trembling form onto his lap. “It’s over. It’s all right now. The cops will be here soon.”

She pressed her face against his neck. “Jerome…he did something to Jerome. He was working at the other side of the arena.”

Tucker couldn’t bring himself to leave her just yet. “Nona!” he yelled. “Find the foreman. He’s somewhere inside the building and may be hurt.”

Nona gave him a thumbs-up and hurried inside. Tucker returned his attention to Samantha. He’d almost
lost her, he realized. Thank God she’d escaped Fisher’s hold and run outside to yell for help.

Within seconds the paddock and stables were crawling with more security guards, who were shouting, performing emergency first aid on Jerome, and summoning an ambulance. All that was left for Tucker to do was cradle the woman he loved in his arms.

Much later, when Jerome had been transported to the hospital by ambulance for a concussion and Steve Fisher had been transported by squad car to a jail cell, Tucker and Samantha still sat huddled together on the floor of Blue Blazes’s stall.

“Do you think Jerome will be okay?” she asked.

“I’m sure of it,” he replied. “It’s only a concussion. The paramedics told me he’ll probably come home tomorrow.” He rested his chin atop her head. “Take a deep breath and slowly release it. Everything is finally looking up, lady.”

“I’m glad my dad and brothers didn’t show up until
after
the hullabaloo was over.”

He chuckled. “Amen. Your father and Clint had murder in their eyes.”

Samantha rubbed her cheek against his shirtsleeve and hugged his arm. “So did I at one point. When he rolled off me, I wanted to start kicking him and never stop.”

“But you didn’t.”

She sighed. “No. He was down. I knew there was help right outside. It wasn’t like last time, when it was him or me.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“For stopping?”

She felt him grin against her hair. “No, for taking him down. You’re quite a woman, Samantha Harrigan.”

Samantha wasn’t so sure about that, but she did know she felt at peace with the way she had handled the situation this time. “Now all that’s left is to restore your reputation. I don’t know if your practice will ever recover. People have long memories.”

“No worries. The front page of tomorrow’s paper will have Steve’s and Carrie’s pictures plastered all over it, and the
Crystal Falls Daily
will also make a full front-page retraction and a public apology to you for implying you had anything to do with the deaths of your horses.”

She stirred to look up at his face. “Really? How do you know?”

“Because I’m calling in the morning to threaten them with a lawsuit if they don’t, and I imagine your dad will, too.”

Samantha laughed. “That should work.”

They fell silent for a bit. Then she whispered, “How is it possible to feel so many emotions in one day? Anger, hopelessness, terror, and now I’m so happy I could bust. I’m ready for life to settle down a little bit.”

“As long as I’m part of it, I’ll second that.”

Samantha hugged his arm more tightly, trying to imagine life without him. “Oh, you’ll be part of it. You can count on it.”

“Is that finally an official yes?” he asked.

“To what?” she countered, unable to resist teasing him.

“To my proposal of marriage.”

“Nope.”

“It’s not?” He sounded just a little worried.

“I want an old-fashioned proposal. You have to bring me flowers, and you have to get on your knees, and I won’t say yes until you show me a ring.”

She felt him grin again. “I can handle the flowers and the ring.”

“On one knee, then?”

He laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, lady. Okay, I’ll get down on one knee. But only if you promise to say yes once I’m down there.”

“Deal.”

January 2, 2007

S
amantha stood in the vestibule of the church, clinging to her father’s arm, so nervous she felt sure her legs might buckle. Instead of bridal white, she wore a brown, calf-length, suede riding skirt, a Lady Wrangler dress blouse, brand-new riding boots, and a Stetson with elasticized ecru netting around the crown to create a veil. In her right hand she held a simple bouquet of wildflowers.

“Are you
sure
I look all right?” she asked Dee Dee, who kept tugging at the veil and smoothing Samantha’s blouse. “Maybe I should’ve worn a gown.”

“Nonsense!” the plump redhead scolded. “You look absolutely
perfect.
”

Samantha glanced up at her father for confirmation and saw tears in his eyes. “You’re the second most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen, and that’s pure partiality on my part, lovin’ your mama like I did.” He placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “I feel good about this. That boy will take fine care of you. I’m finally
done.
”

“Done?”

“Raisin’ kids. Now it’s my turn. I’ll never find another love like I had with your mother. But I’m thinkin’ there’s such a thing as bein’ close friends, havin’ fun, and havin’ someone I care about to grow old with. How would you feel about that?”

Samantha’s nerves were jangling, and she could barely make sense of what her father was saying. “How would I feel about what?”

“Me and Dee Dee. I care about her, she cares about me, and neither of us is expectin’ rockets to go off. Would it bother you if we moved past
Benji
movies and popcorn, and got married?”

Samantha was so taken aback that she momentarily forgot she was about to walk down the aisle. “Oh,
Daddy
!” Holding her bouquet out to one side to protect the flowers, she hugged her father’s neck. “I love Dee Dee. You know that.” Then she turned to hug the plump redhead who’d been the only mother she’d ever known. “What a
wonderful
wedding gift. I’m so happy for you both!”

Dee Dee returned Samantha’s embrace, then drew away to straighten the bridal veil again. “I knew you would be.”

Organ music suddenly thrummed through the building, and Samantha’s father stiffened. “I think the curtains just went up, and we haven’t made our entrance yet. Shake a leg, honey.”

Seconds later they entered at the back of the church and progressed up the aisle, with Tucker’s nephew Sly, the ring bearer, and Rafe Kendrick’s daughter Amelia, the
flower girl, leading the way. Dressed in Western-style slacks and shirt, Tucker stood off to the right before the altar with two of his brothers and two of hers beside him. Jake had accepted the honor of being Tucker’s best man.

Both the bride’s and groom’s sides of the church were packed. Samantha felt certain she’d never had so many eyes trained on her at once, and her attack of jitters grew worse with every step she took. She and Tucker had wanted to have a small, personal wedding, but in the end, three hundred people had been invited to attend the nuptial Mass, making the country theme seem a little
too
simple to be appropriate. Now she wished she’d worn a conventional wedding gown. How stupid to be wearing a riding skirt when so many of the guests had shown up in fancy dresses and suits.

Samantha felt an almost overwhelming urge to giggle hysterically. But then her gaze met Tucker’s, he smiled at her, and the world fell away. Scarcely aware of her dad beside her, she moved toward the man who’d become her everything.
It’s fine,
his smile told her.
This is our wedding. If they don’t like it, they can make tracks.

A second later he took her hand, and from that moment forward, everything happened in a blur for Samantha. She and Tucker said their vows to each other, and then they knelt in front of the altar to receive communion together for the first time as man and wife.

For Samantha, it was the most beautiful moment of her life. As if God were smiling down upon them, winter sunlight suddenly peeked out from behind the snow clouds to shine through the stained-glass windows, bathing both her and Tucker in a warm, muted rainbow of brilliance. It
was a sign. She felt
sure
it was a sign, and Tucker evidently felt it too, for he gave her hand a hard squeeze, then lifted his gaze toward the angels painted on the cathedral dome above them.

Once at the church hall where the reception was to be held, Tucker kept one arm locked firmly around his wife’s waist. Though he knew the party after a wedding was nearly as important as the nuptials, he wanted only to spirit her away to begin their honeymoon, two blissful weeks in Jamaica away from both their families. He meant to make the most of Jamaica, making love to his beautiful bride every single chance he got. If she insisted on sunbathing on the beach, he would oblige her, but he mainly hoped to keep her in bed. After waiting for almost five months, a guy had his priorities.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“About bingeing after a long starvation diet.”

She giggled. Then she sobered. “I’m eager, too. Three giant pizzas at one sitting sound really good.”

Tucker was about to suggest they duck out on their own reception when he noticed his sister, her husband, all of his brothers and their wives gathered around Father Mike. “What do you suppose they’re bending Father’s ear about?”

Samantha smiled. “Molly’s a cradle Catholic. She mentioned to me just last week that she’s gotten her first marriage annulled and would like to have her marriage to Jake blessed by the Church so she can start receiving communion again. She also wants to raise her kids Catholic.”

Tucker wondered how Jake was handling that news. Catholicism wasn’t for everybody. Drawing Samantha into a walk beside him, he worked his way through the throngs of people to reach Father Mike’s side. As he and Samantha drew close, Tucker heard Jake say, “I’d like to begin instruction.”

“Not a problem,” Father Mike said with a happy grin. A plump, balding man with the surname O’Flannery, he was everyone’s picture of an Irish priest, with graying dark hair, merry blue eyes, and just a bit of a brogue. “I teach every Wednesday night and Thursday morning. We’ll make it a family affair.”

Tucker noticed his mother just then. She stood at Molly’s side, weeping copiously. The handkerchief in her hand was so wet it was almost dripping. When she saw Tucker and Samantha, she let loose with a new flood and flapped the soaked cloth in front of her contorted face, making Tucker want to duck.

“Mom’s a little overcome with joy.” Hank came to stand at Tucker’s side, and as if by mutual but unspoken assent, they moved away to talk more privately. “All her kids, coming back to the Church.”

“All?”

“Yes, and it’s
your
fault.” Hank arched his dark eyebrows. “Why didn’t you marry a Baptist, or a Methodist, or an Episcopalian? Mom wouldn’t have gone on a campaign.” He cast an apologetic glance at Samantha. “No offense intended. You’re the perfect woman for Tucker. I just wish…Oh, never mind.”

“A campaign?” Tucker pressed. “Mom’s on a campaign?”

“To get us all back in church. Ever since you started taking instruction, she’s been a busy beaver, planting ideas in my wife’s head about how families should worship together.” Hank took off his hat and plucked a flask from inside the crown. After taking a drink, he offered it to Tucker. “Jim Beam. I’m not celebrating my brother’s marriage with bubbly.” He added hopefully, “Maybe I’ll get excommunicated before I start.”

Tucker was about to refuse when his wife plucked the flask from his brother’s hand, drew off the cap, and said, “Here’s mud in your eye.” Then she took an impressively large gulp, whistled in air, and said, “Not bad stuff.”

“You’d better watch out,” Hank cautioned. “The priest will see you.”

Samantha grinned. “You’re right. Hide it, quick. He’ll drink all the rest.”

Hank looked amazed. “You’re pulling my leg. Right?”

“Good grief, no. Haven’t you ever heard of Irish whiskey?”

Hank nodded. “Another question. What, exactly, does that toast mean? I’ve heard it all my life, but it’s never made a lick of sense.”

“Mud in your eye?” Samantha grinned. “It originated among horse racing jockeys. At the end of a race, the winning jockey would say, ‘Here’s mud in your eye,’ meaning that his horse’s rear hooves had just flung mud in his opponent’s eye. Not very gracious, but that’s how it started.”

“You’re phenomenal.” Eyes twinkling with mischief, Hank proffered the flask again. “Want another hit?”

“Don’t you dare.” Tucker pushed the flask away. “You will
not
get my wife drunk on my wedding day.”

“Good point.” Hank took another swig himself and then wandered off toward Father Mike, clearly bent on testing the waters of Catholicism with a little Jim Beam.

Tucker was still laughing when he and Samantha went to cut their wedding cake. After posing for pictures and hearing way too many toasts, they shared a piece of cake and were finally able to run toward Tucker’s waiting Dodge under a deluge of birdseed.

Before jumping into the truck, which had been covered with white graffiti and streamers of toilet paper, and with tin cans attached to the back bumper, Samantha turned to throw her bouquet. Clint, who just happened to be standing toward the front, got nailed dead center in the chest and instinctively caught the flowers.

“No
way
,” he said.

He was still saying, “No way,” when Tucker started the truck and drove off. Samantha scooted across the seat to snuggle up next to him. When Tucker looked down at her, she fairly glowed with happiness.

“You threw it at Clint on purpose,” he accused.

She giggled and shrugged. “Of course. I don’t know if there’s anything to the superstition. Believing in that kind of thing is against our religion. But who knows? It’s time for him to find someone. Maybe it’ll work.” She glanced at her watch. “We have three hours before our flight. We only need to be at our little Redmond airport thirty minutes in advance. How do you feel about stopping off at my place for something I need?”

Tucker really just wanted to be on their way, but he
had a mother and sister and understood what a catastrophe it would be if she’d forgotten something she thought was important. Underwear, maybe, or mascara, or, God forbid, her own special shade of lipstick. Only she didn’t wear lipstick. Sending her a wondering look he said, “Sure, sweetheart. What do you need?”

“You,” she said softly. “Right now, as soon as possible. I absolutely need you. And I always will, for the rest of my life.”

Tucker almost drove off into a ditch.