“You only think that because you don’t know who he is. He’s powerful. He wants to hurt me. If I stay here any longer, he’ll think he can do that by hurting you. Or Kenzie. Or the ranch. He has a good reason for chasing me.”
There was no way he was going to accept that. “What possible reason could be good enough to explain his stalking you?”
She shook her head, refusing to give him answers.
“Tell me, Kip. Explain it.”
“No.”
Fury at the way she was binding his hand spilled over the hold he had on it. He gripped her arms and shouted, “Tell me!”
He must have shocked her because she finally gave him the answer he sought, but the last one he’d expected. “Fine! You want to know? He wants me because I killed his son.”
CHAPTER 10
Trace stood at the window the next morning when Kip woke, silhouetted as the morning sunlight illuminated the snow-covered mountains from the faint horizon of majestic peaks to the fiery start of the new day. The reflection of the sun off the snow was almost as blinding as the sun itself.
Usually, it was one of the highlights of her day. But today, her mind scrambled to recall everything she’d blurted out the night before. When she realized what she'd said, she nearly became hysterical with fear. Not for herself. No, she was scared for him and his family. When sleep finally pulled her under, it was out of pure emotional exhaustion, not actual sleep.
But now the sun was up, and her Daddy would want answers. She had no idea what to say. She couldn’t tell him the truth. He was too protective, too willing to fight all her battles. People thought he had a golden retriever personality, but they were wrong. Especially when it came to her. When it was about her, he was more like a golden Rottweiler.
She sat perfectly still, not wanting to disturb him. He deserved to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee after the night she forced him toendure. Luckily, he hadn’t pressed her when she blurted out what she’d done… how she’d brought the past six years on herself. Not only had he not pressed her, he’d shut down. Completely. Carrying her to the bed, he’d tucked her in, then walked around to the other side, lying on top of the comforter and pulling the thick Hudson Bay blanket from the foot of the bed. That was all she needed to know. He couldn’t stand to be under the covers with her.
She didn’t blame him. No one wanted a killer in their home, much less in their bed. She’d known she couldn’t stay, but she’d hoped to leave while he still saw her as a decent person. Now he knew the truth.
She hadn’t realized Trace had his phone until he made a call. His voice was too soft to hear. That was all right. She could spend the whole day watching him framed in the window. She took a moment to memorize everything about him: the way his cut muscles tightened as he moved. He was a walker, pacing back and forth in the morning light when he talked on the phone. Just like she did.
The pewter sky hung low, the kind of Wyoming winter day that promised snow before supper. Kip didn’t mind snow once it blanketed the ground. She no longer got excited when she saw it fall; that thrill had ended six years ago. She could manage light flurries, but anything heavier triggered her panic attacks.
Frost glittered on the cold windowpanes like crushed diamonds. The scent of Ruby’s sweet, yeasty cinnamon rolls filled the air. She’d bet Ruby already had a batch cooling on a wire rack, the icing still gooey, pooling in the spirals like melted snow.
Kip stirred so Trace would realize she was awake. The last thing she needed, with her backside aching, was to get in trouble for eavesdropping. Unfortunately, she didn’t make enough noise. She heard his words as plain as day. “I need you to run a deeper background check on Kip.”
After hanging up, he helped her get dressed, and twentyminutes later, Kip sat perched on a wooden stool at the scarred oak island, legs swinging in Trace’s too-big borrowed flannel—sleeves rolled four times, hem brushing her knees—picking at a roll with fingers that still trembled from last night’s nightmare.
Everyone knew her bottom was still sore from the way she shifted gingerly on the stool, trying to find a comfortable position for her tender nether regions while she chewed. She avoided looking at Trace when he stepped back into the kitchen after checking on Daisy’s progress. Luckily, she seemed as good as new. His boots thudded on the wide plank pine floor, the scent of cold iron, coffee, and the faint musk of horse clinging to his coat.
“We’re burnin’ daylight, little fox,” Trace said, voice calm and rumbly. No doubt the same tone he used on skittish colts, but laced with something rawer today, a thread of guilt that hadn’t been there before. “Eat up. We’ve got work.”
Kip’s fork froze mid-air, a curl of cream cheese icing clinging to the tines of her fork like the lifeline she wanted but didn’t deserve. “Work?” The word came out small.
“We’ve got some Great Pyrenees pups that need training. I thought you might want to help.” He didn’t wait for an argument, just grabbed his black Stetson off the peg by the mudroom door and headed out, grabbing the picnic basket from the kitchen table on his way. Kip followed because what else could she do?
Ruby pressed a dented tin thermos into Kip’s hands as she hurried to follow Trace outside. Its warmth made the metal slick with condensation. The smell of dark roast tempted her before Trace took it from her and placed it into a wicker picnic basket. The basket’s handle creaked in his gloved hand.
He grinned back at Ruby, who was standing in the doorway watching them. “This basket weighs a ton. What all did you put in here?”
Ruby shrugged, “Not much. Just some fried chicken, potato salad, jalapeño cornbread, peach popovers, and a sleeve of Oreos.”
“Sounds amazing. I love Oreos,” Trace said.
Ruby slammed her fists to her hips. “For your girl, poor thing. She’s practically skin and bones.”
Kip managed to stop herself before she looked around to see whose body Ruby was talking about because she knew it wasn’t hers. Kip had her curves, and she didn’t mind that. She liked her body, but she was not just skin and bones.
“If you’re hunting Christmas trees on the north forty,” Ruby told Trace, eyes sharp as a hawk beneath her silvering braid, “don’t you let that child freeze to death. And don’t let her out of your sight, Trace Daniels, or I’ll tan your hide myself and hang it on the line for the crows.”
Trace’s grin widened into a smile. Giving her a wink, he said, “Yes, ma’am.”
