Saved by the Rancher

chapter One

Two years later . . .

IS HE STILL here? Lurking, waiting.

Jenna opened her heavy eyelids a mere slit. She lay sprawled on the cold wood floor, shivering, snow falling everywhere. Inside? She squeezed her eyes closed and opened them again, trying to focus on the things around her. Her sight adjusted, the double images coalescing into a morbid scene she didn’t want to see. Feathers from the pillows on the bed floated on the air and rained down, creating a white blanket over the devastation in the room.

The ringing in her ears quieted, allowing her to better focus on the bedroom of her rented cottage. Shards of glass from the smashed antique dressing mirror lay scattered around her. Some of the pulled-out dresser drawers landed on the floor, others hung open crookedly. Her clothes, though few, lay slashed and strewn everywhere. The overwhelming sweet scent of jasmine perfume mixed with the metallic scent of her blood made her stomach clench and pitch until bile rose and stung the back of her throat, leaving a sour taste on her tongue.

She took a few shallow breaths to stave off the inevitable, at least until she got to the bathroom.

His worst rage yet. Mind-sharpening memories of the last hour flipped through her brain like a morbid slide show.

Him, grabbing her from behind on the front porch when she returned from running. He clamped his gloved hand over her mouth, grabbed her around the waist, and hauled her through the door. Him, spinning her around and with a backhanded slap sending her reeling backward and crashing into the dining room table. Pain radiated from her hip and down her leg. He grabbed her wrist, pulled her forward, and squeezed her so tight to his chest she couldn’t breathe. Pain along her jaw, she opened her mouth to scream in terror, but he clamped his hand over her mouth, cutting off her air, and the scream rising out of her disappeared in the back of her throat. Him, shoving her away. She hit her head against the wall and stars exploded on the inside of her eyelids. Pain in the back of her head, a large throbbing bump swelled under her skin.

Nothing but him and pain. And, oh God, more to come.

Forcing her into the bedroom, he held her in his tight grip, grinding his hips and hard arousal against her bottom, inciting even more fear.

He liked her scared.

She stood helplessly frozen. Tried to get her mind to work, think, tell her body to flee, but her limbs didn’t heed the wild thoughts in her head.

Him, snatching her belt off the dresser, pushing her onto the bed. She landed on her stomach and his fingers dug into her skin, bruising. She curled up, tried to make herself as small a target as possible. The belt lashed across her back and buttocks, her screams disregarded, her thin tank top and nylon shorts no protection against the bite of the leather whip and metal buckle.

The dressing mirror smashed to the floor with a loud crack. He wielded a shard of broken glass, his lips pulled back in a feral smile, he slashed her thigh, tearing the flesh in a jagged line of searing pain. She screamed in agony. Him, sitting on her bloodied, welted back, pulling her hair and hacking at it. She tried desperately to scratch and claw at his hands over her head. Him, shoving her off the bed and onto the floor with a resounding thud. Him in a mindless rage, demanding over and over again, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Say you’ll come back. I’ll stop. Say it. Say you’ll come back.”

Him, whispering in her ear, his knee grinding into her spine, “You’re mine. Wherever you go, I’ll find you. You promised before God you’d be my obedient wife. Till death do us part. Death, Jenna. Say it.” The last he said with such menace, his voice became calm as a flat sea.

Her whisper, softer than his gasping breath, broke into his raging mind when all her screams went unheard.

“Never.”

Fear gripped her mind and heart like a vice, making it near impossible to speak the word.

“If you’re not with me, you might as well be dead.”

Him, hitting her in the head. Blessed blackness enveloped her.

How long have I been on this floor?

Alone, the silence and stillness in the small cottage reassured her. She couldn’t believe he found her again. God, had she really complained about the flowers left on her doorstep just to let her know he’d found her again, or the threatening notes left in her locked car or house? The late-night phone calls and hang-ups. His showing up at unexpected times and places. Those things were scary. This was . . . madness.

The first time he slapped her, she made the biggest mistake of her life and stayed with him. Because of his pleas and pretty words, she became his prisoner until his ugly words and petty jealousies forced her to flee. Now he had turned the game into a hunt. He would find her and release her, only to hunt her again at his whim.

She didn’t know how he found her, but he did . . . again. This time she remained hidden for over five months, longer than their marriage lasted. All she remembered of the last two years, always on guard, running for her life, never truly alive or safe, and once again it came down to this. He wanted her to know no matter where she went, she belonged to him, and he could find her anywhere.

Sometimes he begged her to come back. Be a family with him. They’d have children. Other times, he yelled and threw things. He blamed her for everything, including his hitting her. This time went beyond verbally abusing her and shoving her around. He raged. She would never be safe. One day he’d make good on his promise and kill her.

He certainly came close this time.

She took a moment to inventory all the aches and pains combining into the pounding throb throughout her body. A gash on her head just above her temple from the candlestick he used to knock her out. Blood dripped over the silver base to the floor where it lay beside her. The welts on her back hurt like hell. How many times did he lash her with the belt? Enough that the blood pooled along her spine. Her severely bruised ribs would heal in a couple weeks. He didn’t kick her that hard, probably because she was already out cold. Not as satisfying to kick her if she didn’t grunt and squeal in pain.

The most serious injury, a long cut on her upper thigh. Probably needed stitches. Not the first time she needed them. Wouldn’t be the last, the gruesome thought came to mind. Once the numbness wore off, she’d feel like a lump of soggy mud.

Sticky blood coated her right hand where it lay next to her leg. Like moving hundred-pound weights, she pressed herself up onto her hands, dragged her knees up under her, and sat back on her heels.

Well, I’m almost off the floor.

She waited a moment for the room to stop spinning and her stomach to settle. She grabbed the bedpost, hauled herself up to standing, her back and thigh screaming in agony. Deep breaths, the pain subsided in small increments. She’d learned to ignore it.

Get out. Get away. Hide.

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, the need to run, escape, overtook her and gave her the strength to do what needed to be done to flee to safety. The fear lay beneath all the pain, but she had to ignore it, too, and keep her head.

Jenna made it to the bathroom in time to puke her guts out. She rinsed her sour mouth and throat and refused to look at herself in the mirror above the sink. Pulling her hacked hair back, twisting it on top of her head, she knocked over the toothbrush holder with her shaking hands, and found a clip to hold her hair away from her bruised face. Hopefully, no one would notice her chopped locks. Hastily, she scrubbed the blood from her hands and face before moving back to the bedroom to dress.

She pulled clean clothes out of the closet he’d thankfully missed during his rampage. She stripped off her bloody running shorts and tank top. Bending over to pull off her shoes and socks proved to be a challenge with her back in such terrible condition. Her muscles tightened. She wiped away the majority of blood with a slashed T-shirt she grabbed from the floor. The thick cotton staunched the flow of blood from the cut on her leg. She tied another piece of T-shirt around her thigh to keep it from bleeding, until she tended it better. She finally pulled on a loose floral skirt and burgundy tunic and slid her feet into a pair of sandals.

Dressed, breathless, scared and shaking, she searched the wreckage for the phone and found it amid a broken crystal vase.

“Stop right there.” Gun drawn, the officer blocked the open bedroom doorway.

Jenna froze, eyes wide, a new surge of adrenaline pumped through her veins. Telephone in hand, she’d barely had time to dial nine. “This is my place,” she rasped out, her voice raw from screaming.

Gun still pointed at her, the officer asked, “What’s your name?”

“Jenna Caldwell.” She left off the Merrick. If she gave that name, the press would be here in ten minutes, the story splashed all over the papers.

Thank God she’d had time to clean herself up and toss the bloody clothes in the corner of the closet before the cops saw the real damage.

“Do you have ID?”

“In my purse on the table by the front door.” She scanned her surroundings. “At least that’s where I left it.”

He exchanged a look with his partner, who withdrew to the other room to find her purse. “Who were you calling?”

“You. The police. Why are you here?”

“We received a report about a break-in.” His gaze went from the smeared blood on the floor to her bruised and swollen face. “You okay?”

She ignored his question and focused on the problem. How to get out of here without being dragged to the police station, or God help her, the hospital. “A break-in. So that’s why he trashed the place.” Her gaze fell on the bloody candlestick. Bastard probably thought he killed her and needed to cover it up.

“What happened here?”

For the next twenty minutes she answered their grueling round of questions. She kept to the point without embellishing or adding any unnecessary details. The police found her uncooperative and attributed it to what happened with many women caught in this cycle. They called for help, then changed their mind and refused to press charges. She wanted to press charges, but knew she didn’t have the evidence needed to bring him down. Right now, she had one goal, escape. As quick and as soon as possible.

“So, nothing’s been taken and you never saw his face?”

“Like I said, he wore a mask.”

“How can you be sure it was your ex-husband?”

“I know.”

“Do you want to press charges for the assault?”

“Against who? The masked man? Even I know the charges would never stick. He’ll have ten people lined up to provide an alibi and a dozen lawyers to drive a truck through my testimony. Sorry, been there, done that.” If she sounded bitter, she’d earned it after years on this merry-go-round.

“At least let us call an ambulance to take you to the hospital to get checked out.”

“Just some cuts and bruises,” she lied. Not convincingly, judging by the officer’s frown. “Nothing major. I don’t need an ambulance. Just fill out your report and dump it in the this-will-go-nowhere file.” She pressed her fingers to her temples in a futile attempt to stop the pounding.

“Do you have someone who can stay with you tonight?”

“I’m not staying here.” To prove it, she turned her back on them and called a cab, using one of the many emergency numbers she’d memorized. On average, a cab arrived within seven minutes at the cottage. She’d timed them. She would head to the fitness club, grab her emergency supplies, and get lost.

Second, she called her lawyer, Ben Knight. When his secretary, Annie, answered, she said one thing, “Rabbit’s on the run,” hung up and got ready to bolt.

“What was that all about?” the officer asked, finally moving toward the door.

“Recurring nightmare.”

“You know, if you help us, we can help you.”

“No offense, but you can’t help me. The man who did this knows how to stay in the shady gray of the law.”

“Like wearing a mask and making this look like a botched robbery.”

“You’re catching on.”

“You should press charges,” he coaxed again.

“My word against his. I’ve filed for restraining orders multiple times and been denied. The anonymous notes could be from anyone, the phone calls all come from disposable phones, and there’s never a witness to any kind of abuse. No judge will side with me against him.”

“He goes to a lot of trouble to keep this thing just between the two of you.”

“It’s personal, and he’s got a lot to lose.”

“Say he did this, a judge will listen.”

“He’s a rich businessman who runs an international company. His face is splashed all over the society pages, the image of a corporate mover and shaker. I divorced him and took a big chunk of his assets with me, and he ruined me in the press, playing me off as the gold-digging whore. Who do you think a judge or jury would believe?”

“With your face looking like that? You.”

“Botched robbery, remember.”

“This is some twisted shit. Excuse the language,” he said, frustrated. She felt for him. He saw this day in and day out. She lived it.

“You have no idea.”

“We’ll follow-up, give him a call, see if we can rattle him into an admission.”

Jenna forced an indulgent smile. “It’s your time to waste.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Tired to the bone, her feet scuffed along the hardwood.

The cab pulled up outside and she rushed into the back seat. “Bayfair Fitness, please. Quickly.”

The police pulled out of the drive and her adrenaline kicked in again. No protection. She turned and checked out each window, making sure he wasn’t coming after her. She couldn’t let her guard down. He might be out there, following her. She had to get away. Fast. Her mind screamed at her, “Hurry! Run! Hurry!”

“Are you all right, lady? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine. Please, just hurry. I need to get out of here.” Her voice shook and rasped out after all the screaming.

“Looks like someone beat you good.”

Jenna held his gaze in the rearview mirror, unable to think of a single thing to say. She caught sight of her own face and winced. She looked like a wounded animal backed into a corner, shaking, her eyes wide and watchful.

“I hope the other guy looks worse than you do, missy.” She must have indicated she didn’t have the pleasure of beating the other guy bloody because he went on, “The cops’ll get him. You make that bastard pay.” He gave her a stern look.

Jenna wished she could make him pay. One day she would. Right now, she wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Impossible, at least for several more hours. Probably not a good idea anyway with the splitting headache, telling her she had a mild concussion.

Now, the long process of running and finding someplace safe to hide began. Ben, the only person she allowed herself to count on, would help her. That’s what she paid him to do. After all, this was the sixth, no seventh, time she had to run. With all her practice, they had come up with a system. And it worked this last time. Or so they thought.

She never accessed her bank accounts directly. She didn’t use any credit. She had several aliases set up. None of it mattered. Rich and spoiled, he would use all his influence and power to hunt her down for his own sport. No one ever said no to him. Until she stood up to him and dared to say no. The more times she refused him, the worse things got for her.

Those first few times he found her, he sent her pretty gifts and notes, showed up unexpectedly while she was out shopping or eating in a restaurant. The police couldn’t do anything to stop him. Stalking laws were specific—and often inadequate to protect victims. Each time he showed up, she left and found a new place to hide, never giving him an opportunity to truly stalk her. He never left enough damning evidence for the police to collect and arrest him. If they’d arrest him.

She simply couldn’t endure his unwanted attention. Then he got tired of playing contrite and demanded her return. With her resounding no came a shove, a push, a slap, a punch. Again, the police did nothing. He shielded himself behind his wealth, family name, and a battalion of lawyers, leaving him untouchable.

She’d waged a futile battle trying to get justice in a system not set up to protect against a powerful man’s obsession. Other stalked women suffered similar circumstances, oftentimes listening to the police say the same thing she’d heard too many times—until and unless he hurts you, we can’t do anything. Even then, they didn’t help her. Her ex had the ability to make people say what he wanted them to say and evidence disappeared at his convenience. Money can buy silence.

“Hey lady, we’re here.” Frowning and looking unsure, he said, “Maybe I should take you to the hospital and have them take a look at that cut on your head.”

She appreciated the thought, but couldn’t take the time to tend to herself. She had to get away. “I’ll be okay. What do I owe you?”

“Twenty-seven fifty-eight.”

She handed him a fifty. “Keep the change and forget you ever saw me.”

“No problem. I hope you’ll be okay.”

He smiled, but sadness filled his eyes. The sympathetic expression told her he wished he’d never seen her battered and bloody face. “I’ll be fine. I just need to find a new hole to hide in,” she added under her breath and exited the cab.

Slamming the door, she headed for the side entrance of the twenty-four-hour fitness club. The few people at this end of the club stared, but she kept her head down and walked directly to the locker room and her hidden emergency supplies. Relief swept through her when she palmed the orange plastic-handled key she found in her purse. The small suitcase and satchel, containing her camera bag, money, IDs, and a secure cell phone were still inside. Ben had friends in high places and guaranteed the cell phone was untraceable. Securing the bag on top of the suitcase, she rolled it behind her back out to the curb, hailed another taxi, and headed for the airport.

Next stop, the airport rental car counter. She used one of the credit cards and IDs under an assumed name to rent a car. She exited the terminal and found the waiting vehicle. Finally, safe behind the wheel, she drove out of the city and away from the terror. Constantly looking in the rearview mirror, she tried to rein in her emotions. Her head pounded, pain and exhaustion slowed her mind and body. On her way to parts unknown, after all these years, it didn’t matter where she ended up. So long as she escaped him, she would drive.

Two hours later she dug out the cell phone and called Ben. Annie answered.

“It’s Rabbit. I need Ben.” Annie put her through without a word.

“How bad is it, Rabbit?” Ben’s anguished voice came on the line.

“I’m okay. Is my identity still safe from your staff?”

“Yes. No one knows who you are, just what to do if they hear the password. Now, how bad?”

“Pretty bad.” Tears filled her eyes. She refused to cry. Not now. Not when running meant safety, meant her life. Later, when she was safe and able to take the time to fall apart. She blinked back tears. “I’ll send the pictures when I can. Promise you won’t open them. Just stick them in the book.”

“Rabbit, you know I can’t make that promise. Now, tell me how bad.”

His genuine concern prompted her confession. “I have a bad gash on my head, bruises from him slapping and punching me, a bad cut on my thigh, and welts on my back.”

Silent tears streamed down her face. Her voice so soft, detailing all the injuries. She sounded like a small child reciting her lessons. The weakness in her voice irritated her. She’d held it together with the cops, but with Ben she let down her guard.

Barely able to pull the car over to the side of some quiet suburban street, she parked.

“What do you mean welts on your back? Did he punch you in the back?”

“A belt,” she whispered, knowing he probably didn’t hear her.

“What did you say?”

She spit out the ugly truth. “I said, a belt.”

“Oh, God. Oh, God, Rabbit. Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No. No hospital. He’ll only get angrier if I do.” Her anxiety kicked in again and the adrenaline pumped through her veins and amped up her system. When it finally wore off she’d crash. Hard.

“I can’t explain away these kinds of injuries. They’ll have police and reporters there asking more questions. They’ll find out who I am. He doesn’t want the publicity. He’ll take me from the hospital and do worse to me.” He’d kill her if she went to the hospital. She knew it like she knew her name.

“I don’t know what happened this time. He worked himself into a rage before he even got me in the door. I can feel the gash on my leg oozing blood, and I can barely sit down in the seat to drive this car for the strapping marks across my backside.” Her whole body shook and she sucked back a wracking sob.

“Rabbit, I’m so sorry. Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. Protect you. I promise.” His voice pleaded and the sadness overwhelmed her.

“Please no. So far, we’ve been lucky he hasn’t discovered you’re helping me. You know what he did to my bodyguard. I couldn’t stand it if he came after you, or hurt you too. All I can do is give you the evidence and wait for the right time to end this.”

“Please, Rabbit, he’s going to kill you.”

She swiped the tears away with the back of her hand and took a deep calming breath. “I need to do this my way. It’s the only way. Have you started making arrangements?”

Resigned to the fact she refused to let him come and get her, he resumed with their business arrangement.

“I contacted the Berringers. They told me about the cottage and the police. They’ll total the damages and send me the bill. They’ve agreed to throw out your belongings. Most were destroyed anyway. They’re worried about you.”

“I hope you told them how truly sorry I am for what happened. The rest, well, it was only clothes. Oh, if he didn’t destroy my computer, try to get that back.” Her mind shut out the pain and terror and shifted to more practical matters. Easier to think about the mundane than her crazy, evil ex. Time to put the attack on the back burner and get on with hiding again.

“I spoke to the police. They’re not happy you left. If you refuse to identify him as your attacker, they can’t move forward. Let’s file charges, fight him in court, and let people see what a monster he is.”

“He wore a mask and gloves. No prints. No other witnesses. My word against his. Play that scenario out in court and I lose.”

“We can build a case based on past behavior and the evidence we’ve collected.”

“It’s not enough.” She sighed, the weight of the last few years too much to bear right now. “Ben, I’m tired. Get me to a safe place.”

“Actually, I thought ahead this time and already have a place ready.” His voice was filled with how much he hated anticipating another attack and the need for a new place to run to. All he could do for her, all she’d let him do.

“Just so happens, a friend recently moved back to his family ranch in Hidden Springs, Colorado. A huge spread, about three hundred and forty acres. I’ve secured a cabin for you on the property. Jack says it’s away from the other buildings, across one of the pastures. He’s a friend, but he doesn’t know anything about you.”

“If he’s your friend, I don’t want to put him in jeopardy.”

“He’s an old college buddy. I haven’t seen him in years. When we ran into each other, I asked about his place and thought it would make a great hiding spot for you if you needed to run. I paid the rent for the next year. I’ll call Jack and tell him you’re coming. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe there. Jack is ex-military. He’ll protect you, Rabbit.”

“No one can protect against his kind of madness.” A chill ran up her spine. What she wouldn’t give to have someone in her life to protect and love her, instead of hurting her all the time.

“Either way, it sounds nice. Thanks for working so fast. I’ll spend the next few days driving around a few of the southern states. You know, the usual misdirection and roaming should get him, or anyone watching me, off my trail, so I can safely get to Colorado.”

“I’ll send your usual stuff to the ranch. You’ll have plenty of money and your accumulated mail. There’s a card from your mother. You should call her.”

“No. If she doesn’t know where I am, he can’t hurt her and get information from her. You’ve been checking on her? She’s okay?”

“All is well. I make sure she has enough money. She’s getting along fine. She has her friends and her Thursday night poker parties.”

Jenna thought fondly of her mother. She hadn’t seen her since all of this began. The thought of her sitting around playing poker with a bunch of rowdy men and women from work made her smile. Her mother, always the life of the party, loved with her whole heart and treated everyone as a dear friend. She missed their long talks and confiding in her. After her father died, they’d grown very close. Now, she didn’t let anyone close to her, not even her mother. He destroyed everything in her life, and she wouldn’t let him destroy her mother’s, too. “I miss her.”

“I know. I’ll let her know you’re okay.”

“Tell her . . . I’m sorry. I should have listened when she said he was no good for me.”

“He’s one of the wealthiest men in the country, who knew he’s such a bastard?”

“Money can’t buy you happiness, or sanity. Look at me. I got one of the largest divorce settlements ever awarded, and I’m on the run, hunted by my ex-husband. What I wouldn’t pay for peace and safety. But money can’t buy my way out of this. Nothing can.” She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. “Sorry, the past is haunting me. Thanks, Ben, for everything.”

“You know, Rabbit, Jack might be able to help you. Trust him.”

“I don’t trust anyone. Except you. I’ll call if I need anything, or if the hunt begins again.”

“I hate it when you say that. You don’t deserve this.”

“To him, I’m only the prey. Unless or until he kills me, I don’t think this will ever end.”

“Then let me do more than just find you a new place to hide.” His words came out tight with frustration.

“How is my project coming along?” she asked, reminding him he was doing more.

“Slowly.”

“Then all I can do is run. For now,” she said, hoping to placate him.

“Stay safe, Rabbit.”

“I’ll try, Ben.”

She disconnected the call and turned off the phone. Staring out the windshield for a moment, she tried to gather her strength for the long drive ahead.

Birds chirped in the trees outside. The neighborhood was quiet with charming houses that probably had loving families living in them. Just like the one she grew up in. Sad, she’d probably never have a home and a family of her own. He would never allow it.

Unless she stopped him.