step in, but she’d taken care of things pretty well on her own.
Lydia was one tough cookie, no doubt about it, he thought with a spark of admiration. Even so, Ely wanted to pound the guy who had tried to mess with her. He settled for calling in an anonymous tip to the local authorities before he drove away.
As she’d passed him on the road, he’d made the mistake of looking toward her car. For a split second, their eyes met—she’d seen him. He thought his goose was cooked, but she’d continued to drive and was clearly too panicked to have registered that it was him. His hood had been up, face obscured by the snow and the dark.
But it had been a close call.
He made his way to the edge of the trees in time to watch her pull her car into the detached garage. What was she doing? She sat for a while before she got out and walked around to the door of the huge ranch house. His hoodie wasn’t exactly the right gear for this kind of surveillance, but he hadn’t expected to be out in the woods that evening when he’d headed down for supper. He put it out of his mind, ignored the cold. Not important. He’d make sure she was safely tucked in, then he’d go back.
The area was very remote, rural. The next ranch was at least five miles away. An animal sound—a horse—came from one of the barns, breaking the temporary silence, and Ely shook his head.
None of it seemed like the Lydia he knew.
Then again, no one seemed to know her. Not really. Least of all him.
Unlike the cheerfulness of the town, the ranch was cold and dark except for some lights in a few of the outbuildings away from the house. No Christmas lights or such hung here. That was okay—it made it easier for him to move around undetected.
After she went inside, he watched the lights in the windows as she turned them on, moving through the house. The next thing he knew, he saw her slim form behind the shimmer of curtains upstairs.
Undressing.
He followed the movement of her silhouetted form as she lifted her sweater up over her head, her back forming a graceful arch as her arms rose, crossed and dispensed of the garment.
When she bent to shuck her jeans, he swallowed hard, taking in her profile, the slope of her breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, curve of her hip. He told himself to look away, though he couldn’t seem to do it.
For a second, he wondered which Lydia was real. The leather-clad, tattooed temptress or the soft shadow of the woman hidden behind the curtains?
Was what had happened between them that night just another act, or had any of that been real? Ely shook his head hard, as if to break the spell. When he looked again, she’d moved away from the window. What was he doing here? Sometimes, there was a thin line between surveillance and Peeping Tom. Time to head out.
First, he walked back to the house, up to the porch. He didn’t have to worry about leaving a path. His footsteps were sure to be buried beneath several feet of snow by morning.
Walking up to the door, he tugged on it to make sure it was locked—it was. He walked around and did the same to the back, finding it locked securely, as well.
Good.
He ran back to his truck and climbed in, turning on the heat. However, as he put it in Reverse, the visibility out the back windows was minimal and he misjudged the distance to the drainage ditch that ran along the side of the road. The next thing he knew, the back passenger side of the vehicle lurched down the slope.
Cursing, he knew he’d have to call for a tow. And it would probably be a while before they could get to him in this weather. He tried some more, rocking the truck back and forth, spinning the tires, and knowing he was probably only literally digging himself in deeper.
And figuratively, as well, since his options were few.
He called his driving association, only to have his suspicions confirmed. It would be a few hours before they could come pull him out; by then, it might be morning. In this snow, the truck would be buried. He told them to never mind.
He muttered another curse, wondering if he should blow his cover with Lydia or walk back to town. Both had their dangers.
He returned to the house, looking up at the still-lit window, pondering his options. He really didn’t have any. Walking unfamiliar roads back to town, at night, in this weather, was not smart. Resigned to his fate, he started to move to the porch, his inner alarm sounding just a few seconds too late. He wasn’t alone.
He knew this primarily from the impression that a gun, very likely a double-barreled shotgun, was making against his spine.
“Enjoy standing around peeking in women’s windows, huh?” someone said, and Ely tensed as he felt a little extra push from the nozzle of the gun.
“I wasn’t making any trouble. I’m a friend of Lydia’s,” Ely said evenly. “I was coming over to check on her and make sure she was okay, but then my truck went off the road back near the entrance to the ranch.”
“Really? So why not call for help?”
“I did. Tow trucks are busy tonight.”
“You could have called Lydia. One of us would have come down with a winch, pulled you out. If you’re such a friend and all.”
Clearly the guy wasn’t going to put the gun down, and Ely didn’t blame him entirely.
“My name is Ely Berringer. I’m here from Philadelphia and I know Lydia from her shop, and she’s best friends with my sister-in-law, but she doesn’t know that I’m in town.”
“Yeah, well, let’s see what Lydia—or the sheriff—have to say about it.”
Ely blew out a breath, knowing there was no way he could convince the guy to change his mind. He marched toward the house, with his hands still up, prodded by the weapon pushed into his back. He could probably disarm the man, but it was risky. Better to just let Lydia clear up the misunderstanding.
Though she might tell the guy to shoot him, Ely thought sardonically.
As the man knocked sharply on the door, Ely found he was holding his breath again, wondering what Lydia’s reaction would be. His concern was short-lived as he heard her yell, and then a shotgun blast echoed through the night a few seconds later.
Ely ignored the push of the gun into his own back as he snapped around, easily disarming his captor with instincts and skill born of years of military training. The other man fell to the porch floor with a grunt, unharmed. Ely took the weapon for himself and ran around back of the house, his heart in his throat, unsure of what he’d find when he got there.
* * *
LYDIA COULDN’T SLEEP even after she was ready for bed, the events of the evening still replaying in her mind. There’d been a few problems since she’d gotten back into town, and maybe those cowboys coming after her was a coincidence, but something in her gut told her it wasn’t.
The vet’s report on the sick cow had been in the mail when she’d come home tonight—the animal had been poisoned. She was lucky it had only been one, and that the cow would be fine.
The night after she had arrived, she’d
