Peril on the Ranch Read online

  In the distance she could finally hear the sirens and prayed they arrived before the flames reached the barn.

  “Isabelle? You okay?”

  Mac’s voice came from the other end of the building. “I’m okay. One more horse then we can get out of here.”

  “I’ve got him,” he said. Through the thickening smoke, she saw him heading for the last stall. She tried to draw in a breath and got a lungful of smoke that sent her into a coughing fit.

  “Get out, Isabelle!”

  She had no choice. She couldn’t breathe. But she couldn’t leave Mac. “Just hurry,” she pleaded. She dropped to the dirt floor and found the air still smoky, but better. She managed to grab a lungful, then shot to her feet. “Mac?”

  “Go!”

  “Where are you?” She let out another cough, feeling like she was suffocating. Flames flickered from the other end of the barn and terror seized her. “Mac!

  We have to go now!”

  Lynette Eason is a bestselling, award-winning author who makes her home in South Carolina with her husband and two teenage children. She enjoys traveling, spending time with her family and teaching at various writing conferences around the country. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and American Christian Fiction Writers. Lynette can often be found online interacting with her readers. You can find her on Facebook.com/lynette.eason and on Twitter, @lynetteeason.

  Books by Lynette Eason

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Holiday Homecoming Secrets

  Peril on the Ranch

  True Blue K-9 Unit

  Justice Mission

  Wrangler’s Corner

  The Lawman Returns

  Rodeo Rescuer

  Protecting Her Daughter

  Classified Christmas Mission

  Christmas Ranch Rescue

  Vanished in the Night

  Holiday Amnesia

  Military K-9 Unit

  Explosive Force

  Classified K-9 Unit

  Bounty Hunter

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Peril on the Ranch

  Lynette Eason

  For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

  —Jeremiah 29:11

  Dedicated to my family. I love you more than words can express. Thank you for all the love and support a writer, mom and wife could ask for.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Amish Country Threats by Dana R. Lynn

  ONE

  Isabelle Trent woke with a start. She lay still, trying to figure out what had jarred her just as the sun was beginning to make its way above the horizon. She’d forgotten to pull her curtains closed before she’d fallen into bed with a half-finished prayer on her lips.

  Maybe it was just the light that had disturbed her.

  A faint cry reached her.

  Or maybe not. One of the children?

  Isabelle threw off the covers and hurried to pull on her robe and slippers. She darted out of the bedroom and into the hall, pausing to listen. Nothing. She went to the room nearest hers and peered in. The twin beds on opposite walls each held one child. Twelve-year-old Danny Billings and fourteen-year-old Zeb Hammrick, who’d become best of friends since being placed with her. Zeb had arrived first, two months ago. Danny had come a short two days later. Both boys slept the deep sleep of those without worries—exactly what she’d worked so hard to help them do.

  In the next room, five-year-old Katie Miller snored gently, her left arm wrapped around the neck of the little doll she was never without.

  The sound reached Isabelle’s ears once more coming from farther away. A cry that sounded like...a baby? A kitten? She retraced her steps back to her bedroom, bypassed it and stepped into the great room.

  The sound grew louder, and it came from the wraparound porch just ahead.

  Finally, she identified it.

  A baby.

  With a soft gasp, Isabelle hurried forward to unlock the French door and step outside. A brisk October wind whipped her hair around her face and chills skated up her spine. The wood creaked beneath her weight and the crying stopped for a brief second before resuming at an ear-piercing decibel level. She flipped the light on.

  At her feet, an infant was strapped into a carrier. A heavy wool blanket covered the baby. A small box sat next to the carrier. “Oh, my sweet little one.” Isabelle released the straps and scooped the tiny body, blanket and all, into her arms. Sniffles and hiccups greeted her. A piece of paper fluttered from the blanket back into the carrier as the baby jammed a fist into its mouth.

  Another angry wail rattled the roof. “Okay, I hear you. You’re definitely hungry.” She knelt to check the box and breathed a sigh of relief when she found a full bottle and a can of formula, along with a pack of diapers and wipes. She snatched the bottle and shook it. How long had it been in there? It was room temperature, so it was probably fine. If it had been out much longer, it would have been cold thanks to the temperatures hovering in the midforty range.

  Movement from the edge of the porch caught her attention. “Hey, who’s there?” She stuck the nipple into the baby’s mouth, and blessed quiet ensued.

  The figure moved, slipping away from the glow of the light.

  The slow-moving sun only revealed the silhouette of the person simply standing there. Not moving. Just watching. Male or female, she couldn’t tell. Unease crawled through her. “Hey, is this your baby?”

  Again, nothing. But she thought it might be a man. Then again, the lanky form could be an older teen. His hoodie-covered head swiveled left, then right. She tried to see his face hidden by the cloth but could only make out a shadow. “Hello?”

  Still, he stayed silent. He looked back over his shoulder one more time, then seemed to make up his mind about something. Her nerves jangled and alarm shuddered through her. He took a step toward her and Isabelle spun. Holding the infant in the crook of her left arm, she twisted the knob with her right hand and pushed the door open just wide enough for her to slip through. She shut the door and locked it.

  Her phone sat on her nightstand in her bedroom, but she was too busy worrying about if she’d locked the other doors. Heart pounding, she watched the figure through the glass while the baby was content to suck down the contents of the bottle.

  He moved as though to leave, then turned back, dark eyes on hers. He came toward the glass door, reaching for the knob. Clutching the baby, Isabelle whirled and raced to her bedroom to snatch her phone from the nightstand. She dialed 911 and hurried back to the den area to see the dark-clad figure pacing in front of her door. Quick as lightning, he spun and slammed a fist on the wooden part of the door. The noise jarred the infant, who let out a wail.

  “911. What’s your e
mergency?”

  “Someone’s trying to get in my house.” Breathless, she rattled off her address over the baby’s cries. She pushed the bottle back into the child’s mouth and the wails ceased. “He’s outside on the porch and I’m afraid he’s going to break the glass and push his way in.”

  “Can you get somewhere safe?”

  “No, I can’t leave the house. I’m a foster mother and I have four children here.” She hurried to the garage door and twisted the dead bolt. The lower knob was locked.

  “Other adults?”

  “One in the apartment above the garage, but she’s sixty-five years old. I don’t want her down here. One man, who’s also in his sixties, in the bunkhouse.” Her parents lived on the same land, through the trees and up the hill about half a mile away, but she wasn’t about to call them.

  She lost sight of the intruder as he rounded the corner of the porch. Isabelle hurried to keep him in her sights. As she stepped into the living area facing the front of the home, she spotted the headlights of a vehicle coming up the drive. A quick glance at the front door reassured her it was secure, with the dead bolt on and the chain in place.

  The truck pulled to the top of her U-shaped drive and stopped. Who—? She spotted the time. 7:30. Brian McGee. Mac. The man she was supposed to interview this morning for the ranch foreman job. He was early, and she couldn’t let him get out of the truck with a potentially dangerous person on the loose.

  Isabelle unlatched the nearest window and raised it a fraction.

  “Izzy-belle, what’s going on?” Five-year-old Katie stood just inside the living area, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Why do I keep hearing a baby cry?”

  “Hang on just a second, honey.” She set the baby on the floor, keeping an eye on the driver of the decades-old truck. He was just sitting there, looking around. What was he doing? She turned to Katie. “Come sit with this little one for a minute, okay?”

  Katie trotted over to plop down next to the child, who clutched the bottle with both hands. “She’s cute.”

  All babies were she to Katie. Isabelle hadn’t had a chance to find out if that was an accurate description, yet. Finally, the person she thought was there for the interview opened the truck door. “Get back in your truck,” she called. “There’s an intruder on the property!”

  “A ’truder?” Katie looked up with a frown. “What’s that?”

  The man stilled. “Where is he?”

  “He went around the side of the house. The police are on the way, but he might be dangerous. Please, get back in your truck and lock the door.” She wasn’t about to urge him inside her home until she knew exactly who he was. He could always drive away if he needed to.

  The sound of breaking glass pulled a gasp from her. “I think he’s trying to get in the kitchen!”

  * * *

  Mac bolted from the truck just as the sun crested the horizon and spread light around the area. He raced around the side of the house to the back and skidded to a stop. The intruder the owner had mentioned had one foot inside the window and his gloved hands gripped the molding. Mac darted forward, placed his hands on the porch railing and vaulted over it. He landed on the wooden flooring with a thud and faced the frozen figure now half in and half out of the house. “Don’t do it, man,” Mac said. “Cops are on the way.”

  His words seemed to send indecision sweeping through the guy. A pause Mac took advantage of. He lunged, grabbed two fistfuls of the hoodie material and pulled him away from the window. A heavy fist glanced off Mac’s cheek. He winced and jerked back, losing his grip. That gave the wiry figure the opening he needed, and he darted away from Mac to dash down the length of the porch, leap over the steps and head full-speed across the pasture. Mac pounded after him.

  The guy broke through the tree line and disappeared into the woods. Mac did the same seconds later, only to stop when he realized he’d lost him. Mac turned, listening, his eyes searching. Finally, he heard the crunching of underbrush to his left and headed that way, hit a patch of mud and slid almost falling. He managed to catch his balance, but a second later, the roar of a motorcycle captured his attention. After one last push through tree limbs and vines, he found himself staring at the back of a disappearing bike. He didn’t know where the trail led, but there was no way he’d catch the guy on foot. With a sigh, he gave up the chase and retraced his steps.

  When he came to the pasture beyond the tree line, he could see the woman who was, hopefully, his future boss. Isabelle Trent. She stood on the front porch, a little girl about five years old clutching Isabelle’s knee with one hand and a doll with her other. Isabelle cradled an infant in the crook of her right arm.

  Dressed in jeans, boots and a long-sleeved red flannel shirt, she had her blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail. It struck him that she looked comfortable and completely in her element. If understandably shaken.

  Two police officers faced her. One wrote notes in a little black book while the other spoke into the radio on her shoulder. As Mac approached, Isabelle’s green eyes landed on him, and the officers turned. Mac made sure they could see his hands.

  “That’s the man who came to the rescue,” Isabelle said.

  Mac relaxed a fraction. “Sorry, I couldn’t catch him. He had a motorcycle stashed in the woods and got to it before I could get to him.” He climbed the steps and stood beside her, facing the officers. “I’m Brian McGee but call me Mac.”

  “I’m Isabelle Trent. I’ve already told them who you are. I’m glad to hear I guessed correctly.” The baby in her arms yawned and closed bright blue eyes. The little girl watched him with wide gray eyes. Her dark ringlets tumbled over her shoulders and down to her waist. She had on pink pajamas and fuzzy pink slippers.

  “You did.”

  “Well, welcome to Timber Creek and the JoBelle Ranch. I’m sure it was a unique introduction to the place.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Can’t say I’ve ever had a welcome quite like that before. JoBelle?” He’d wondered about the name.

  “My husband’s name was Josiah. I’m Isabelle. JoBelle.” She shrugged. “We liked it.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “These are Deputies Grant Hathaway and Regina Jacobson,” Isabelle said. Mac shook hands with each of them. “They’re good friends of mine. Regina and I went to high school together. Grant was a few years ahead of us.”

  “We just got here about two minutes ago,” Grant said. “There was a tree across the back road that leads up here. We had to loop around and come in the main way. Glad to see you didn’t run into trouble or need any assistance with that guy.”

  “I don’t think he had a weapon on him, but I can’t say for sure. He was quick, though. Ran like a jackrabbit.”

  “We’ll need a description.”

  “I’ll give what I can, but I’m not sure it’ll help. He had a baseball cap and a hoodie on, so his face was fairly well hidden. He also had on ratty jeans and black gloves.”

  Grant took notes.

  “He had a goatee,” Isabelle said. “I saw that for a split second when he was trying to get in the French doors off the den. Then again, right before Mac pulled him out of the window, I got a flash of it.”

  “That’s good information. Anything else?”

  “Nothing that I can think of,” Isabelle said.

  Mac shrugged. “I’d agree with the goatee. The baseball hat under the hoodie was red and gold with a logo on it, but I didn’t recognize it.” He went back to the moment he’d pulled the guy from the window, the moment that had provided his best look at the man’s features. “Sorry, that’s all I’ve got for now. I didn’t even see the motorcycle for long. Just caught a glimpse as he went around a curve on the trail.”

  Another car pulled into the driveway and Isabelle shifted the infant to her other shoulder. Katie stayed put, and Mac wondered at Isabelle’s unfazed demeanor. A baby on her shoulder and
one attached to her leg. It looked completely natural for her. His thoughts went to another child and pain shafted him.

  He let her voice pull him from a past he didn’t want to remember.

  “That’s Cheryl Younts,” she said. “She’s with Child Protection Services.” Isabelle gently patted the baby on the back. “Someone dropped this little darling off on my front porch this morning. I think the guy you chased either dropped her off or was on his way to come get her when I beat him to it.” She frowned. “I asked him if the baby was his, but he never said a word. He acted unsure at first. Then seemed to make up his mind and started coming toward us. He was...menacing. Scary. That’s when I ran and locked us in the house and then called 911.”

  “I’m glad I got here early,” Mac said.

  “Trust me, I’m glad, too. I shudder to think what would have happened if you hadn’t managed to pull him out of the window.”

  Ms. Younts stepped out of her vehicle and approached with a frown on her face. “Isabelle?”

  “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  “I didn’t have much choice. You told me you needed me ASAP and to please hurry.” She eyed the two officers. “What’s going on?”

  Mac wanted to hear the answer to that question, too.

  “Follow me,” Isabelle said.

  They made their way back to the area near the front door and Isabelle pointed to the carrier. “I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet, but I think there’s a note in there.”

  Mac was the closest, so he leaned down and snagged the piece of paper. “It says, ‘This is Lilly. She’s eight months old and I can’t take care of her anymore. I know you’re a good mother to the kids that you have, so please be a good mom to Lilly. She’s a sweet baby and loves to fall asleep to music or have you sing to her. Thank you. Please tell her that her mommy loves her.’” He looked up. “That’s it.”

  “Lilly,” Isabelle said. “A sweet name for this little girl.” She turned to Cheryl. “Are you all right with her staying with me?”