The Cowboy’s Hidden Agenda

point, only a short while ago, of being ready to throw aside all caution and common sense. Her hand stilled; her stomach churned. For the first time in days the question burned in her mind: What’s wrong with me?

Bronco’s arms tightened around her reflexively, then relaxed as she pushed herself up on one elbow in order to look into his face. His face. A warrior’s face-fierce, savage, hard. And yet, gazing down upon its exotic planes and sharply honed lines, she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, and the parts of her body that still throbbed and tingled with the memory of his touch begin to swell in eager anticipation all over again.

Who are you? Johnny Bronco or John Bracco? Which one, of all the men you’ve shown me, is the real you?

“Something botherin’ you, Laurie Brown?” His voice was a warm growl, like the sleepy purr of a big cat.

She gave her head a small hard shake of denial that failed to cancel out her troubled frown. “I’ve always considered myself an intelligent person,” she said in a low voice, which tightened with embarrassment as she continued. “And fairly savvy, too. I’m not without experience. I know what’s what.”

Bronco’s eyes smiled back at her, black and gleaming as always, but soft now, like those of a healthy animal. “I’m sure you do.”

She caught a breath in a reflexive jerk of protest. “But I was ready to make love with you. Without protection. I wanted to. I would have.” What’s wrong with me?

“I wanted to, too,” he said gently, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. “You don’t know how badly.”

“But you didn’t.”

He shook his head, and the softness left his eyes as he captured her hand and held it still against his chest. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Inexplicable pain filled her, restricting her breathing. Trying to make light of it, she gave a high false tinkle of laughter. “Would it have been such a terrible thing?”

For a long time his eyes held hers, once more hard as obsidian and bright with facets that might have been anger…or pain. Beneath her hand his heart beat hard and fast and out of sync with her own. At last he said in a flat expressionless voice, “Maybe not terrible. I’ve got as much faith in your good health as I do my own. But…awkward for sure.” She felt his body shift and tighten, as if he’d physically hardened himself against her, though his voice remained quiet, almost gentle. “Lady, you are the president’s daughter-or going to be. I’m not about to return you to your loved ones pregnant.”

She could only stare at him; her face and throat felt swollen. Dimly she realized that his fingers were stroking the back of her hand, rubbing the third finger, the place where a ring would be. An engagement ring.

She felt the bump of his ironic laugh. “Can’t you see the headline? It’d read like a damn tabloid: President’s daughter bears half-breed Apache kidnapper’s child! No thanks.”

What could she say? There was no way to answer words so ugly and hurtful. Lauren held herself still and listened to their echoes inside her head, and finally focused on the one phrase he’d spoken that she could replay without pain. “Are you going to return me?” she asked in a small air-starved voice. When he didn’t immediately respond, she sat up slowly and, reclaiming her hand, used it to shield her breasts from his glittering gaze. “Am I ever going to see my family again?”

“You’ll see them.” He sat up, too, and in almost the same motion rose to his feet.

“When?” she cried, twisting around in order to follow him with her eyes, her heart stumbling even then at the savage beauty of his naked body. “When it’s too late?”

He was gathering up, putting on his clothes, and didn’t reply.

Bearing a platter of sandwiches, Lucy marched into the living room where the Brown family had gathered to await the latest news. Right behind her came her sister-in-law, Chris, with an enormous bowl filled with melon wedges and grapes. She was followed by Carmen, the housekeeper, carrying a pitcher of iced tea and wearing a look of patient suffering.

Though Lucy had only arrived at the Tipsy Pee that morning, it wasn’t in her to be idle. With Dixie fully occupied with seeing Rhett through this crisis, it seemed only natural that she should take over the supervision of the household. No one had tried to dissuade her; her own family was pretty much used to her bossiness, and the housekeeper seemed, if not thrilled by the invasion, at least resigned. Carmen had lived through a good many of life’s storms, large and small; she’d survive Lucy.

Setting the platter on a hastily cleared coffee table, Lucy gave the arrangement a quick inspection and nod of approval, then went to join her husband, who was over by the big front window keeping an eye on the media encampment that had sprung up near the main gate. So far, she was glad to note, it looked like just the usual candidate’s entourage. And the local law-enforcement people, augmented by a dozen or so FBI and ATF agents masquerading as ranch hands, seemed to be doing an adequate job of keeping the invasion out of the house and yard. So far. If the media ever got wind of what was really going on behind the fieldstone walls of the sprawling ranch house, Lucy thought, it would take the National Guard to keep them out.

As if he’d been thinking along the same lines, Mike slipped his arm around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. At almost the same moment, the study door opened and Rhett came into the room, with Dixie right behind him.

My God, he’s aged ten years, Lucy thought as she and Mike, her brother, Earl, and his wife, Chris, all gathered instinctively closer to one another. Closing ranks, she thought. Circling the wagons, as families do in troubled times.

For some reason that gathering, that closeness, made Lucy think of those who weren’t there. Mom and Dad, of course; she’d never missed them more. Mama, Daddy, your children sure do need you. Gwen, with her droll wisdom and lilting laugh.

And the children-how diminished and small their family group seemed without them. No wonder, Lucy thought wryly; young people seemed to take up such an inordinate amount of space. But, oh, what she wouldn’t give to have them all here right now, laughing and boisterous, arguing and eating-always eating-music thumping, long legs draped over furniture and clothing strewn across the floor. Eric was here, but he and his cousin, Caitlin-Earl, or rather, Wood’s and Chris’s daughter-had gone out riding with Carmen and her husband’s youngest granddaughter, Sara. They’d both be here when it counted, no matter what happened-at fifteen and sixteen they were old enough to share both the family’s triumphs and tragedies-but for now, let them enjoy the illusion of a carefree summer vacation a little while longer.

As for the others, they hadn’t even been able to reach Ellie, who was somewhere on a Mexican beach protecting sea turtles. Ethan wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow. And Lauren-precious Lolly. What a lovely person she’d turned out to be-hard to believe, thought Lucy, that she’d once been such a god-awful brat. Losing her was unthinkable. Unthinkable.

“News?” Mike prompted softly.

Rhett scraped a hand back over his hair, and his arm found its way around Dixie. “The camp has been secured,” he said tonelessly. “There were casualties-they won’t say how many. But none among our people-that we do know. They found a considerable number of weapons, plus files and records that should lead to a whole lot more-maybe even the source. So ATF is happy.” He paused to take a breath while everybody else in the room held theirs. Then he plunged on. “They didn’t find Lauren or ATF’s undercover man, but they did find evidence she’d been held there, and by all indications, she’s being treated well. They even rigged up a private latrine for her, with a portable toilet.” A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes flickered like a faulty lightbulb.

“So,” Mike said, “it looks like the ATF man got her away before your people got there.”

There was a fraction of a second’s pause before Rhett said heavily, “That’s one scenario.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” That was Earl, the ex-marine. Lucy could almost see him chomping at the bit, wanting to be doing something, wanting to be where the action was.

For a moment Rhett’s face darkened. Then he drew a shaky breath and his eyes looked lost and desperate. “Their leader, McCullough-they didn’t find him, either. It looks like he got away. The man that took Lauren…he’s still out there somewhere.”