EBENEZER SCOTT STOOD beside his double-wheeled black
pickup truck and stared openly at the young woman across
the street while she fiddled under the hood of a dented,
rusted hulk of a vehicle. Sally Johnson's long blond hair
was in a ponytail. She was wearing jeans and boots and no
hat. He smiled to himself, remembering how many times in
the old days he'd chided her about sunstroke. It had been
six years since they'd even spoken. She'd been living in
Houston until July, when she and her blind aunt and small
cousin had moved back, into the decaying old Johnson
homestead. He'd seen her several times since her return,
but she'd made a point of not speaking to him. He couldn't
really blame her. He'd left her with some painful
emotional scars.
She was slender, but her trim figure still made his
heartbeat jump. He knew how she looked under that loose
blouse. His eyes narrowed with heat as he recalled the
shocked pleasure in her pale gray eyes when he'd touched
her, kissed her, in those forbidden places. He'd meant to
frighten her so that she'd stop teasing him, but his
impulsive attempt to discourage her had succeeded all too
well. She'd run from him then, and she'd kept running. She
was twenty-three now, a woman; probably an experienced
woman. He mourned for what might have been if she'd been
older and he hadn't just come back from leading a company
of men into the worst bloodbath of his career. A
professional soldier of fortune was no match for a young
and very innocent girl. But, then, she hadn't known about
his real life โ the one behind the facade of cattle
ranching. Not many people in this small town did.
It was six years later. She was all grown-up, a school-
teacher here in Jacobsville, Texas. He wasโฆretired, they
called it. Actually he was still on the firing line from
time to time, but mostly he taught other men in the
specialized tactics of covert operations on his ranch. Not
that he shared that information. He still had enemies from
the old days, and one of them had just been sprung from
prison on a technicality โ a man out for revenge and with
more than enough money to obtain it.
Sally had been almost eighteen the spring day he'd sent
her running from him. In a life liberally strewn with
regrets, she was his biggest one. The whole situation had
been impossible, of course. But he'd never meant to hurt
her, and the thought of her sat heavily on his conscience.
He wondered if she knew why he kept to himself and never
got involved with the locals. His ranch was a model of
sophistication, from its state-of-the-art gym to the small
herd of purebred Santa Gertrudis breeding cattle he
raised. His men were not only loyal, but tight-lipped.
Like another Jacobsville, Texas, resident โ Cy Parks โ
Ebenezer was a recluse. The two men shared more than a
taste for privacy. But that was something they kept to
themselves.
Meanwhile, Sally Johnson was rapidly losing patience with
her vehicle. He watched her push at a strand of hair that
had escaped from the long ponytail. She kept a beef steer
or two herself. It must be a frugal existence for her,
supporting not only herself, but her recently blinded
aunt, and her six-year-old cousin as well.
He admired her sense of responsibility, even as he felt
concern for her situation. She had no idea why her aunt
had been blinded in the first place, or that the whole
family was in a great deal of danger. It was why Jessica
had persuaded Sally to give up her first teaching job in
Houston in June and come home with her and Stevie to
Jacobsville. It was because they'd be near Ebenezer, and
Jessica knew he'd protect them. Sally had never been told
what Jessica's profession actually was, any more than she
knew what Jessica's late husband, Hank Myers, had once
done for a living. But even if she had known, wild horses
wouldn't have dragged Sally back here if Jessica hadn't
pleaded with her, he mused bitterly. Sally had every
reason in the world to hate him. But he was her best hope
of survival. And she didn't even know it.
In the five months she'd been back in Jacobsville, Sally
had managed to avoid Ebenezer. In a town this size, that
had been an accomplishment. Inevitably they met from time
to time. But Sally avoided eye contact with him. It was
the only indication of the painful memory they both shared.
He watched her lean helplessly over the dented fender of
the old truck and decided that now was as good a time as
any to approach her.
Sally lifted her head just in time to see the tall, lean
man in the shepherd's coat and tan Stetson make his way
across the street to her. He hadn't changed, she thought
bitterly. He still walked with elegance and a slow,
arrogance of carriage that seemed somehow foreign. Jeans
didn't disguise the muscles in those long, powerful legs
as he moved. She hated the ripple of sensation that lifted
her heart at his approach. Surely she was over hero
worship and infatuation, at her age, especially after what
he'd done to her that long-ago spring day. She blushed
just remembering it!
He paused at the truck, about an arm's length away from
her, pushed his Stetson back over his thick blond-streaked
brown hair and impaled her with green eyes.
She was immediately hostile and it showed in the taut-
ening of her features as she looked up, way up, at him.
He raised an eyebrow and studied her flushed face. "Don't
give me the evil eye," he said. "I'd have thought you had
sense enough not to buy a truck from Turkey Sanders."
"He's my cousin," she reminded him.
"He's the Black Plague with car keys," he countered.
"The Hart boys wiped the floor with him not too many years
back. He sold Corrigan Hart's future wife a car that fell
apart when she drove it off the lot. She was lucky at
that," he added with a wicked grin. "He sold old lady
Bates a car and told her the engine was optional
equipment."
She laughed in spite of herself. "It's not a bad old
truck," she countered. "It just needs a few thingsโฆ"
He glanced at the rear tire and nodded. "Yes. An
overhauled engine, a paint job, reupholstered seats, a
tailgate that works. And a rear tire that isn't bald." He
pointed toward it. "Get that replaced," he said
shortly. "You can afford a tire even on what you make
teaching."
She gaped at him. "Listen here, Mr. Scottโฆ" she began
haughtily.
"You know my name, Sally," he said bluntly, and his eyes
were steady, intimidating. "As for the tire, it isn't a
request," he replied flatly, staring her down. "You've got
some new neighbors out your way that I don't like the look
of. You can't afford a breakdown in the middle of the
night on that lonely stretch of road."
She drew herself up to her full height, so that the top of
her head came to his chin. He really was ridiculously tallโฆ
"This is the twenty-first century, and women are capable
of looking after themselvesโฆ." she said heatedly.
"I can do without a current events lecture," he cut her
off again, moving to peer under the hood. He propped one
enormous booted foot on the fender and studied the engine,
frowned, pulled out a pocketknife and went to work.
"It's my truck!" she fumed, throwing up her hands in
exasperation.
"It's half a ton of metal without an engine that works."
She grimaced. She hated not being able to fix it herself,
to have to depend on this man, of all people, for help.
She wouldn't let herself think about the cost of having a
mechanic make a road service call to get the stupid thing
started. Looking at his lean, capable hands brought back
painful memories as well. She knew the tenderness of them
on concealed skin, and her whole body erupted with
sensation.
Less than two minutes later, he repocketed his knife. "Try
it now," he said.
She got in behind the wheel. The engine turned noisily,
pouring black smoke out of the tailpipe.
He paused beside the open window of the truck, his pale
green eyes piercing her face. "Bad rings and valves," he
pointed out. "Maybe an oil leak. Either way, you're in for
some major repairs. Next time, don't buy from Turkey
Sanders, and I don't give a damn if he is a relative."
"Don't you give me orders," she said haughtily. That
eyebrow lifted again. "Habit. How's Jess?" She
frowned. "Do you know my aunt Jessie?"
"Quite well," he said. "I knew your uncle Hank. He and I
served together."
"In the military?"
He didn't answer her. "Do you have a gun?"
She was so confused that she stammered.
"Whโฆwhat?"
"A gun," he repeated. "Do you have any sort of weapon and
can you use it?"
"I don't like guns," she said flatly. "Anyway, I won't
have one in the house with a six-year-old child, so it's
no use telling me to buy one."
He was thinking. His face tautened. "How about self-
defense?"
"I teach second grade," she pointed out. "Most of my
students don't attack me."
"I'm not worried about you at school. I told you, I don't
like the look of your neighbors." He wasn't adding that he
knew who they were and why they were in town.
"Neither do I," she admitted. "But it's none of your
businessโฆ"
"It is," he returned. "I promised Hank that I'd take care
of Jess if he ever bought it overseas. I keep my promises."
"I can take care of my aunt."
"Not anymore you can't," he returned, unabashed.
"I'm coming over tomorrow."
"I may not be homeโฆ"
"Jess will be. Besides, tomorrow is Saturday," he
said. "You came in for supplies this afternoon and you
don't teach on the weekend. You'll be home." His tone said
she'd better be.
She gave an exasperated sound. "Mr. Scottโฆ"
"I'm only Mr. Scott to my enemies," he pointed out. "Yes,
well, Mr. Scottโฆ" He let out an angry sigh and stared her
down. "You were so young," he bit off. "What did you
expect me to do, seduce you in the cab of a pickup truck
in broad daylight?"
She flushed red as a rose petal. "I wasn't talking about
that!"
"It's still in your eyes," he told her quietly. "I'd
rather have done it in a way that hadn't left so many
scars, but I had to discourage you. The whole damned thing
was impossible, you must have realized that by now!"
She hated the embarrassment she felt. "I don't have scars!"
"You do." He studied her oval face, her softly rounded
chin, her perfect mouth. "I'll be over tomorrow. I need to
talk to you and Jess. There have been some developments
that she doesn't know about."
"What sort of developments?"
He closed the hood of the truck and paused by her
window. "Drive carefully," he said, ignoring the
question. "And get that tire changed."
"I am not a charity case," she said curtly. "I don't take
orders. And I definitely do not need some big, strong man
to take care of me!"
He smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. He turned on
his heel and walked back to his own truck with a stride
that was peculiarly his own.
Sally was so shaken that she barely managed to get the
truck out of town without stripping the gears out of it.
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