Westin’s Wyoming Read online

  Though the house was little more than a skeleton now, Pierce knew by next year at this time, it would be pretty great. Adam was the consummate craftsman and he would make every inch of this place special. Some local cowgirl was going to get the house of her dreams one of these days—if Adam ever bumped into her.

  Jamie was standing in what would someday be the main living area, stamping the snow from his boots in front of a huge rock fireplace that had never seen a fire.

  “Nothing?” he asked, glancing up at Pierce.

  Pierce re-holstered the gun. “Nothing. Same with the barn?”

  “Just the stuff that’s supposed to be there but I could only tell that through the windows. Place is locked up tighter than a drum.”

  “Then it’s time we get going,” Pierce said, alarmed at how long everything was taking. The two men once again mounted their horses and continued on in the driving snow.

  The tracks were gone by now but way out on the frozen lake, Pierce could make out the bright yellow of the ice fishing shanty and that brought a clear memory of Princess Analise wondering if the ice shanty was charming. Her blue eyes had sparkled like a damn bubbling brook as she’d asked him even though she’d been worried and scared someone wanted to kill her.

  Who could want to harm her, especially for some pipeline? It was crazy.

  He closed his eyes for a second as the horse walked slowly across the snow-covered ice. Until that moment, he’d been so caught up in starting a search that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about what she and boy were going through.

  They must be terrified.

  Another hour passed. He was frozen clear through, his face so numb it had lost all feeling, the frigid air traveling up his sleeves, ice crystals clinging to the brim of his hat. Years before, his grandfather had used horse-drawn carts to cut blocks of ice from the frozen lake to store for the summer. Right now, his feet felt like two of those blocks.

  The yellow building grew larger. Pierce turned in the saddle to reassure himself Jamie was still behind him. Both the old man and the horses plodded ahead with heads down as though on remote. The wind blew snow around the horses’ feet, their long tails and manes flying.

  When they were close enough to be a target, Pierce pulled Sam to a stop. He got out of the saddle and walked back to Jamie.

  “I can’t figure any way to look inside that thing that doesn’t require one of us to sidle on up and open the door. There’s nothing to hide behind out here. You cover me with the rifle. I’m going in.”

  Jamie got off his horse. He was a crack shot but his hands had to be as frozen as Pierce’s were and Pierce was beginning to wonder if he could even hold a gun, let alone pull the trigger.

  As Jamie got ready, Pierce did his best not to drop the handgun he wrested once again from the holster and started the nerve-racking walk toward the shanty.

  Besides the rattling of the old door as the wind assaulted it, nothing made a sound. The shanty had one window but it was opaque with age and soot. He stayed low once he reached the yellow siding and looking back, could barely make out Jamie and the three horses through the blowing snow.

  Under the small overhang near the door, he discovered the imprint of shoes and his heartbeat scooted into hyperdrive. Someone was here, or had been here.

  Further study revealed the tracks doubled back until they disappeared in the new snow. Maybe this had been the original destination but it was too small and cold for what they had in mind.

  What did they have in mind? And who was they? If they wanted to use the princess to force her father into doing what they wanted, why take Lucas and Toby, too?

  Stop stalling, he told himself, and flexing his fingers inside the leather gloves, gripped the gun, grabbed the doorknob and turned it. In one swift movement, he banged against the door so hard it hit the wall behind it.

  It took him a second to make sense of what he saw.

  Chaos. Utter chaos, as though a war had been fought within the square footage of a small bedroom. Shattered shelves, fishing gear, canned food and rustic furniture spread from one end to the other. And at the center of this mayhem, the hole in the ice, usually capped with a wooden disk, today plugged with a human being.

  Pierce made his way through the rubble, his stomach stampeding up his throat. It wasn’t the stench of certain death that repelled him—it was too cold for foul odors to flourish here. What disturbed him was the sight of a man stuffed headfirst into the frigid water below the ice, his arms flailed out to the sides, visible burns on one wrist where the sleeve had ridden up, a flash of white thigh and frozen blood showing through a slash in his jeans.

  It was the obscenity of it.

  Pierce immediately holstered the gun and knelt to pull on the man’s massive shoulders. He knew it was the princess’s bodyguard even before he finally freed Harley’s head because of the man’s size and black clothes. It was obvious from the condition of the back of his skull that he’d been hit from behind. Though the wound was bloodless now thanks to the frigid water, hair and tissue coated the upended bottom of a nearby cast-iron skillet abandoned in the debris.

  Pierce half expected to find Harley’s dark glasses still in place despite the conditions. But as he turned the bodyguard over, he found the sunglasses gone, the sightless eyes open and slightly startled-looking. Just as Bierta had appeared without her distorting thick lenses, Harley looked oddly vulnerable.

  Sensing movement nearby, Pierce stood abruptly, spinning around, drawing out his gun as he moved. Frozen fingers or not, he was ready to pull the trigger.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Analise groaned.

  Where was she? Why did her head throb?

  Why did her stomach ache, why did her bones hurt, why couldn’t she feel her hands and feet? Why was she in the dark, bouncing, thumping against metal, something heavy and cold weighing her down like a shroud?

  And what was that noise?

  An engine. Maybe two. They were out of synch with each other.

  She was with those men.

  It came back in dizzying pieces.

  Toby calling her name. Her flinging open the door. Him standing on her threshold, face ashen in the reflection of the lantern on her desk, tears rolling down his cheeks. A sudden bright light from behind and above him had blinded her and she’d seen the flash of a gun. Toby whisked away, a man wearing a mask, coming like a black shadow.

  Oblivion.

  “Toby?” she whispered.

  She couldn’t even hear her voice. She said his name again, louder.

  Nothing. Where was he?

  She tried changing positions from her side to her back. Something was poking into her hip and it hurt. But it was too cramped to move; she was stuck. The heavy blanket thing on top of her…

  That’s when she realized her wrists and ankles were bound and that she was blindfolded, too. And then she remembered the shack.

  The shack. She’d awoken first in a small enclosure with Toby dumped next to her, both of them dazed. There’d been shouting and noise all around them and she’d covered his body with hers, pushing him into a far corner, trying to protect him. It had been like being in the middle of a stampede of crazed bulls on the narrow streets of Pamplona.

  She’d been blindfolded and gagged but Toby had use of his hands and he’d hugged her fiercely. She could still recall the pressure of his small arms around her neck. Wait, he’d been tied at the wrists, too. When they’d pulled him away from her, the rope tying his hands together had caught and pulled at her hair.

  It was all so fuzzy.

  The thing on top of her weighed a ton. It smelled slightly of mold. A tarp, she decided. Canvas maybe, and damp.

  What had they given her to make her so logy?

  Toby must be in a similar situation very close by. She had to get to him again and reassure him. He’d been so frightened.

  What was that thing biting into her hip? She groped with frozen hands until she felt something even colder than her fingers.
/>   For one second she didn’t even dare to breathe. There was no doubt about it—what she felt was a gun. A tiny one, smaller than her hand, but a gun.

  How could this be? Someone must have dropped it. She didn’t know enough about guns to fumble with it in the dark. Was it loaded? If she tried to check, she might end up shooting herself. But what a miracle. A gun!

  Where in the world could she hide it? The possibilities were few and far between. She couldn’t get it up a sleeve—the rope they’d bound her with made that impossible. Maybe she could reach one of her rear pockets… It would create a bulge, but maybe her coat would cover it. How about her boot? They were pretty snug, but maybe…

  In the end, the pocket won simply because nothing else worked. But stuffed in there, it created a worse discomfort than ever and she tried hard to roll onto her side.

  For a second, she drifted away again. She was in Chatioux. Spring would arrive in a few weeks. Wild pansies would dot the meadow above the castle. As the days grew warmer, the waterfalls would begin to tumble down steep cliffs, dozens and dozens of them, roaring with the freshest, purest water in the world that would pool in rock basins. How she yearned to dip cupped hands into that water and drink deeply.

  It would be too cold to swim, and yet the thought of sliding through water was intoxicating. She could go to the lake near the castle. The water would be warm and welcoming…

  She thought of Pierce touching her chin, her cheeks, his hands strong but gentle.

  What if she died today? Wasn’t it a shame she hadn’t spent the night before in his arms? Wasn’t it a waste? Technically, she was a damn virgin. Saved for a man who didn’t love her with whom to have perfect children who might now never be born.

  And she would gladly trade all of it for one hour in Pierce Westin’s bed.

  Too late.

  Unless he came after her.

  Her heart thumped wildly at the thought but she abandoned it at once. She knew how these things worked. The kidnappers would promise she would be returned safely if her father did whatever it was they wanted, namely vote down the pipeline.

  General Kaare would call her father. Her father would be made to chose between his daughter and the welfare of his people. He would make the decision that was right. She was a big girl, she knew the stakes, she expected no less of him. Too much hung in the balance…

  But what about Toby? Would he become a bargaining chip to use against Analise? Would his life be sacrificed like Darrell’s life had been?

  No.

  They were coming to some kind of destination. She could tell because the engine noise had ratcheted down and the speed was decreasing. Her stomach turned over as the world suddenly became very silent.

  Be brave for Toby’s sake…?.

  “Get her out of there,” a man said, and a second later a blast of cold fresh air announced the lifting of the tarp. Someone grabbed her jacket and pulled her upward, hauling her to her feet. Cold wind blew snow against her face and whipped her hair around her head, but she was still blindfolded and could see nothing. Still, it felt wonderful. Before she could steady herself, someone tipped her over his shoulder and turned abruptly, banging her head against something hard and she cried out.

  “Haven’t you done enough damage for one day?” the other man snapped.

  “Screw you!” the man carrying her grumbled. He had a deep voice with undercurrents of excitement. She couldn’t identify either voice. Not Harley, that’s all she knew for certain.

  With her butt on top of the man’s shoulder, would he notice the gun? Hopefully the arduous steps he took as he plowed through the deep snow would keep him occupied. She could tell he wasn’t a beefy man like Harley or as muscular as Pierce, but he was strong and his grip on her legs was like a vise. Behind her, she could hear the crunch of another man walking. Was he carrying Toby?

  They climbed stairs, then a door opened. The room they entered was out of blowing wind and snow, but it was almost as cold. Her captor’s footsteps thudded across what sounded like a wooden floor. He rolled her off his shoulder and she dropped a couple of feet onto what felt and smelled like moldy straw. Before she hit the ground, however, she heard the clatter of metal.

  Instantly knowing what had happened, she tried to twist her body to grasp with her bound hands in the direction of the noise.

  “Looking for this, darlin’?” the deep voice demanded and she could imagine him holding the gun she’d found earlier. His breath smelled like liquor.

  “Where did that come from?” the other man demanded.

  “Our little princess is full of surprises,” the drinker said as his footsteps moved away from her. There was a metallic click, and then a laugh. “It’s loaded, too. Watch out.”

  Damn. She’d just lost a loaded gun.

  Both men lowered their voices and she couldn’t make out what they said.

  She tried articulating Toby’s name around the gag. The drinker was suddenly closer. “What’s that? You worried about something?”

  She said Toby’s name again.

  “Is that the little fella? Let me tell you about him, darlin’.” But before he could utter another word, he was suddenly pulled away and the sounds of yet another scuffle erupted around her. It ended with a thump in a far corner.

  “Keep your big mouth shut, you understand me?” the man who must have been carrying Toby said. “Things are already screwed up because of you.” He sounded out of breath and furious.

  “It wasn’t my fault—”

  “Nothing is ever your fault.”

  “I’m about froze to death. I’m going to start a fire.”

  “Fire makes smoke.”

  “So what? No one’s coming after her.”

  “Don’t count on that. We never counted on Pierce Westin being here and he’s got a thing for this girl. It’s as plain as the nose on his face. He’ll come if he can.”

  “Just like you would for Miley?”

  “Don’t use any names, you idiot.”

  “You know, poor little Miley is going to mighty lonely now. She’ll need comforting, and for once in your sorry life, you’ll have a little money to spend on her.”

  “I said shut up!”

  Another scuffle erupted.

  Except for heavy breathing, it grew quiet again. Finally, Analise heard the clatter of wood as though logs had been tumbled to the floor.

  “I’m still cold,” the drinker grumbled.

  “Do what you want. I’m going up to the loft and get myself a good spot to shoot at anyone who comes around,” the other said. “Just keep your hands off the princess. The deal is she goes back in one piece.”

  Once again Analise said Toby’s name as loud and clearly as she could manage. Footsteps approached. “You want the boy safe?” the man who had just announced he was leaving said softly. “Then sit tight and cooperate. You want to go back to your palace and see your daddy again, then be careful.”

  “And hope your daddy loves you,” the drinker added.

  The door opened, sending a waft of freezing air into the room, then it slammed.

  “It’s just you and me, darlin’,” the gruff one said, but his voice sounded as though he was still at a distance.

  Analise squared her shoulders. She pushed away fear. So far she hadn’t been allowed to see anyone, surely that meant they intended to honor their promise to return her unharmed. Hopefully Toby was also blindfolded. Blindfolds were their tickets home.

  Where was Toby?

  Was he even in this room?

  She held her breath and listened for a sound that would announce his presence or a sense of movement apart from the thuds and sputters the man made while starting the fire.

  What about the journey between the snowmobile and the house? She’d been a little dazed from the knock on her head but she remembered footsteps behind her. The opening door, the fall to the hay, the clatter of the lost gun…

  No sound of Toby, she was almost sure of it.

  Where was Toby?


  PIERCE DIDN’T TURN when he heard footsteps at the door of the shanty. In a soft voice, he called, “That you, Jamie?”

  “Yeah. I wondered what was taking you so long. What in the hell happened here? Is that the bodyguard?”

  “Yeah. Someone hit him over the head and drowned him for good measure. Right now my concern is what’s going on over here.”

  Jamie was at his side in a few steps. As they both approached a corner littered with blankets, they heard a soft moan.

  “Someone is under that blanket,” Pierce said. “I’ll cover you.”

  Jamie instantly tore away the blanket. Princess Analise’s cousin lay curled on his side, his breathing shallow and labored, his freckles stark again his paleness. His wrists were bound before him.

  “What did they do to the poor little guy?” Jamie muttered, his voice choked with emotion. There was a bump on the child’s head, dried blood matted his red hair. Jamie worked at the knot on the boy’s wrists.

  All this took just seconds, but in those seconds, Pierce traveled back nine years to the crib of his son, Patrick. He remembered every detail of that moment. Indeed, he’d spent years trying to forget but there were some things you didn’t forget, not ever.

  “We have to get him back to the ranch,” Pierce muttered, his own voice raspy. Why had the kidnappers left the child here in this shape? Where was Princess Analise? “He needs medical care. Is Doc Hampstead still living at Three Corners?”

  “Doc died a couple of years ago. Sally is a certified EMT. Maybe she can figure something out.”

  “Call the ranch,” Pierce said, and spent the minutes Jamie used on his phone to gently wrap the boy in thick wool blankets until about all that showed was his pallid face.

  So innocent…

  “Pauline says they finished searching the ranch and didn’t find Lucas or anyone else. The police phoned. They’re on their way. She says Doc Hampstead’s daughter is doing a residency in Missoula but she thinks she’s home on some kind of break. She’ll take care of getting the gal to the ranch. Apparently Mike got some of the vehicles working.”

  “That’s great,” Pierce said. “You take the gelding, he’ll be fresher. I’ll take Sam and the mare.”