nodded.
“Uh, do you, er, need anything?”
“Could you give Betsy a ride home? I...they kept my van.”
“No problem.” He straightened, happy to have something concrete to do. “I’ll drop you off and let you settle in while I go get her.”
“Thank you, and thank you for posting my bond. I’ll pay you back, every penny.” The ferocity crept into her tone, and he was glad to hear it. Jail had not broken her spirit. Stay angry, he wanted to tell her. Anger is a far better thing than despair.
As the miles wound by she stared intensely out the window. She was searching, he realized.
“Stop, Owen, stop here. I think this is near the place where I got out of my van. If I can find my thermos, I can prove I was drugged.”
He pulled to the side and prepared to get out with her. She turned tortured eyes on him. “Just drop me. I’ll look and walk home. It’s only a couple of miles. I don’t need your help.”
“Well, you’re getting it anyway. I promised Ray...”
Her eyes rounded in horror. “You told him what happened?”
Now he’d done it. “He got wind of it somehow, maybe from his ex-wife. He called me and I could not lie to him.”
“So now he knows I was arrested for murder and that the whole town thinks I killed Luke Baker in a drunken rage.”
“No,” Owen said firmly. “He thinks you were framed, just like I do, probably by Bruce Reed, and he’s going crazy that he can’t be here to help, but I told him I would get you out of this mess.”
Her lips tightened in a grim line. “I don’t need you to fix it. I will, and I’ll show you all that I am telling the truth.”
“I believe you.”
“No, you don’t. You just don’t want Ray’s little sister to be in prison.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I don’t care.” Her mouth trembled, eyes feverish. “Nothing about this has been fair. I’m going to take care of myself and Betsy like I’ve always done. We don’t need you and Ray to do anything.” She got out and slammed the door.
He did the same, pulse ticking higher. If she was going to be a “firecracker,” a word his twin Jack used for the most hot-blooded horses they worked with on the Gold Bar Ranch, then so be it. He wasn’t about to turn away, no matter what she tossed at him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
He folded his arms and stared at her. “Protecting you from yourself. Now tell me where to start looking or I’ll start a meter-by-meter perimeter search and we’ll be here all day. Gonna get cold, you know. Forecast says we’re in for a freeze, so the longer you dillydally...”
She glared at him, chin tipped to look up at him. Under any other circumstances he would have smiled.
“I’m not going to get rid of you, am I?”
“Not unless you think you can outwrestle me and I’ve got a hundred pounds and a foot and a half on you, so deal, Ella Jo.”
She whirled away and he followed her, muttering something about him under her breath and peering into the piles of pine needles in a much less orderly fashion than he would have attempted.
“It’s metal, painted green,” she snapped, “with a twist-on top.”
His head shot up as his senses detected the danger before his brain could react.
“Incoming,” he shouted, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her to the side as a motorcycle hurtled off the road and straight for them.
Ella could not process at first what was happening as the motorcycle bore down on them. Owen propelled her behind the nearest tree, which saved her from the impact of the churning tire. The driver’s face was invisible behind the shaded visor of his helmet as he roared past, but his or her intent was clear. The motorcycle engine whined as he spun the bike into a 180-degree turn and came at them again.
By the time Ella scrambled to her feet, Owen had grabbed a fallen branch and planted himself in the path of the oncoming vehicle like a baseball player, ready to swing for the bleachers.
“Owen,” she screamed. “What...?”
There was no time to finish the sentence as the motorcycle careened toward him. With a savagery in Owen’s eyes she had never seen before, he swung the thick branch at the rider. The wood broke, ricocheting off the attacker’s chest, shaking but not unseating him. The front wheel struck Owen’s leg and he grunted in pain, hitting the ground hard.
The motorcycle spun again and Ella could see that this time the driver meant not to miss his quarry. She dashed out, grabbed a rock and threw it as hard as she could at his helmet. Thanks to her days of pitching endless baseballs for Ray and Owen, her throw hit home with a crack as it struck the assailant’s visor. It was not enough to stop him. Owen was trying to get to his feet, face tight with pain.
She found another rock and aimed to throw it when the sound of another vehicle cut the chilly air. She thought the motorcycle was going to come after them again regardless, but the driver wheeled away, disappearing down the road.
Jack Thorn leaped out of his truck and ran to his fallen brother. His blond hair and blue eyes marked them as twins, though not identical, his build more slender than Owen’s, face narrower. He went to his knees next to Owen, gripping his arm.
“How bad?”
Owen breathed through his nose. “I’m okay,” he grunted, teeth gritted.
Jack looked as though he did not believe his twin. His hand remained locked on his brother’s arm, as if he could tell by the feel of the tensed muscles whether Owen was telling the truth or not.
Ella knelt next to them. “Whoever that was on the motorcycle came after us. Owen tried to do some nutty Babe Ruth thing and knock him off the bike.”
“Hank Aaron,” Owen rasped, sucking in another breath, “not Babe Ruth, and I would have had him if the branch hadn’t busted.”
That seemed to be all the reassurance Jack needed. He leaned back on his heels, letting go of his brother but keeping a wary eye on him.
“Woman or man?” Jack asked.
Ella ripped her gaze from Owen. “What?”
“Was the driver a woman or a man?” Jack repeated patiently.
“A...” She wanted to say “man” but she had not seen enough to be sure. “I couldn’t say for sure.”
“Man,” Owen said. “Too aggressive to be a woman.”
Ella
