lies that came from that woman’s mouth.
How could she do this to him?
She’d vowed to love him, to honor him and cherish him, but she’d turned on him. She’d told filthy lies about him. Used his son to bargain her way into earning sympathy from that snotty lawyer lady.
Hell, she’d probably spread her legs and slept with the bastard judge to get him to sign those damn divorce papers.
Both of them would pay for that.
Blind rage ate at him, and he jerked open the dresser drawers, yanking out the contents. Satin panties, bras, tank tops—he ripped them all to shreds and dropped the remnants on the tattered carpet. Again, he searched for a notepad, address book, brochure, anything that might tell him where she was running to this time, but found nothing except receipts for the cabin, which she’d paid for in cash.
She was learning not to leave a paper trail.
She’d pay for that, too.
Balling his hand into a fist, he raced to the kitchen and searched the drawers. No address or notes there, either.
But he found a hammer in a kitchen drawer and he slammed it against the counter, cracking the cheap surface, then used it to obliterate the glass-front china cabinet, breaking the door and smashing the dishes inside.
Then he went back to the bedroom and smashed the mirror above the dresser, then the bathroom mirror, watching as glass shattered and sprayed the floor.
His blood pounded through his veins as he headed back to his car. Heaving with unspent anger, he stepped outside in the night air. A smile curved his mouth as he removed the wedding ring she’d thrown back at him from his pocket and rubbed it between his fingers. The gold band was simple, but it was an unbroken circle, which symbolized how their lives were supposed to be entwined.
An image of Rachel wearing that white wedding dress the day they’d married at that little country chapel flashed in his mind, and he squeezed the ring so hard that his knuckles turned white.
He had put that ring on her finger and made her his wife. And she had agreed to love him until death parted them.
To hell with the judge.
Divorce papers couldn’t separate them.
Only death would.
Chapter Two
Johnny gritted his teeth at the sight of the bruises on the woman’s throat. Her long, curly black hair, which looked dyed, swirled around her neck, and she’d tied a scarf around it to hide the worst, but the purple-and-black marks were still visible and looked stark against her pale skin.
Someone had hurt her, bad.
Her husband? Boyfriend? Lover? Or a stranger?
His temper rose, his protective instincts kicking in. Having a younger sister had done that to him. Taught him to respect women, not to use his physical power to get what he wanted.
No matter what the press might have said.
He opened his mouth to ask her who had tried to choke her, but the wary look in her eyes and the way she quickly tried to cover up the bruises made him pause.
“My name is Rachel Simmons, and this is my son Kenny. I saw the ad in the paper,” she said, straightening her spine.
He sensed she wanted to look tough, but he towered over her, and soaking wet, she probably didn’t weigh a hundred and ten pounds.
“Right, a job,” Johnny said, collecting himself. He glanced down at the little boy and immediately checked for bruises but didn’t see any, so he breathed a sigh of relief. Still, the kid looked scared and kept his head bowed.
“Come on in.”
Rachel nodded, and she and her little boy followed him through the entryway into one of the offices adjoining Brody’s. Because all of the contributors had their own ranches to run and needed to keep in touch while they volunteered at the BBL, he’d designated several smaller offices for them to use, complete with state-of-the-art computer systems, faxes and phones.
Rachel looked surprised at the office furnishings. “Wow, I thought this was going to be a working ranch.”
“It is,” Johnny said. “Don’t let this setup fool you. Outdoors, it’s all ranching. But running an operation like the BBL requires organization, funding, volunteers, employees.”
“Of course it does,” she said. “It’s a wonderful idea. The concept of helping kids in need through hard work and counseling, of giving them role models, is very admirable.”
Finally, the little boy looked up at him, his curiosity overcoming his fear. But his voice sounded timid. “Are you a real cowboy?”
Johnny smiled at the kid and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been riding since I was born.”
“You own all these horses here?” Kenny asked.
Johnny shook his head. “No, they belong to the Bucking Bronc. But I have horses and cattle on my ranch at home.” He almost spouted off the impressive number of cattle he owned and the champion horse breeding he was so proud of, but decided now was not the time to brag.
Kenny’s eyes widened. “I seen you before. You was on TV.” He moved closer, tipping his head back and looking up at Johnny with starstruck eyes. “You’re famous.”
Johnny slanted a look toward Rachel and wondered what she’d heard. Judging from her wary expression, obviously the rumor mill had made its way around, including the good, the bad and the ugly. “Fame’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he muttered, but the kid scrunched his nose as if he didn’t understand.
Rachel didn’t give him time to say more. Instead, her look turned chilly. “The ad said to contact Brody Bloodworth. Is he here?”
Johnny shook his head, sensing she didn’t want to talk to him. Dammit. Maybe his reputation had preceded him. It bothered him more than he wanted to think.
“Afraid not. Brody had business in town.” He gestured toward a comfy leather couch facing an oak coffee table loaded with horse and ranching magazines along with brochures about the services, accommodations, camps, trail rides and other programs the BBL offered. “We’re just getting set up now, so there’s a million things to do. But I can get you an application.”
Through the window, Kenny noticed Kim working with a quarter horse in the pen and tugged at Rachel’s hand. “Can I watch the horses, Mommy?”
“Of course, buddy.” Rachel squeezed his shoulder and gave him such a tender, motherly smile that something moved inside Johnny’s chest.
The apprehension the little boy had had earlier seemed to dissipate slightly as he raced over and looked out the window.
When Johnny glanced back at Rachel, he had to swallow hard. Earlier, all he’d seen was a bruised and frightened woman, one who was likely running scared.
Now he
