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“Who’s the gunman?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“And you thought it was okay to bring this kind of danger to the ranch without warning anyone? Someone other than you could have been killed tonight.”
He knew that sounded gruff, insensitive even. But no one had ever accused him of putting sensitivity first. Still, he felt…something. Something he cursed, too. Because Mason hated the fear in Abbie’s voice. Hated even more the vulnerability he saw in her eyes.
Oh, man.
This was a damsel-in-distress reaction. He could face down a cold-blooded killer and not flinch. But a woman in pain was something he had a hard time stomaching. Especially this woman.
He blamed that on her flimsy gown. And cursed again.
About the Author
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why USA TODAY bestselling author and former air force captain DELORES FOSSEN feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
Mason
Delores Fossen
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
The scream woke Deputy Mason Ryland.
His eyes flew open, and Mason stumbled from the sofa in his office where he’d fallen asleep. He reached for his shirt but couldn’t find it. He had better luck with the Smith & Wesson handgun that he’d left on his desk.
He threw open his office door and caught the scent of something he darn sure didn’t want to smell on the grounds of his family’s ranch.
Smoke.
The wispy gray streaks coiled around him, quickly followed by a second scream and a loud cry for help.
Mason went in the direction of both the smoke and the voice, racing out into the chilly October night air. He wasn’t the only one who’d been alerted. A handful of his ranch hands were running toward the cabin-style guesthouse about a hundred yards away. It was on fire, the orangey flames licking their way up the sides and roof. And the place wasn’t empty.
His newly hired horse trainer, Abbie Baker, was staying there.
That got Mason running even harder. So did another shout for help. Oh, yeah, that shout was coming from the guesthouse all right.
“Call the fire department,” he yelled to one of the ranch hands.
Mason also shouted out for someone to call his brothers as well even though they would soon know anyway. All five of them, their wives and their children lived in the family home or on the grounds of the ranch.
Mason made it to the guesthouse ahead of the others, and he tried to pick through the smoke and the embers flicking through the night air. He hurried to the sound of his trainer’s pleas for help.
And he cursed when he saw her.
Abbie was in the doorway, her body half in and half out of the house, and what was left of the door was on her back, anchoring her in place.
The smoke was thick and black, and the area was already hot from the flames, but Mason fought his way through just as one of the ranch hands caught up with him. Rusty Burke. Together, they latched on to the door and started to drag it off Abbie. Not easily. It was heavy and bulky, and it didn’t help that the flames were snapping at them.
Mason didn’t usually think in terms of worst-case scenarios, but he had a split-second thought that his new trainer might burn to death. The possibility gave him a much-needed jolt of adrenaline, and Rusty and he threw the door off her. In the same motion, Mason latched on to her arm and dragged her away from the guesthouse.
“I couldn’t get out,” she said, her voice clogged with smoke and fear.
“You’re out now,” he let her know.
Out but not necessarily safe. The ranch hands were already there with the hoses, but he doubted the house would stand much longer. If it collapsed, Abbie could still be burned or hurt from the flying debris.
“Are the horses okay?” she asked. Mason was more than a little surprised that she’d think of the animals at a time like this.
“They’re fine.” At least he was pretty sure of that. “This is the only building on fire.”
Mason scooped her up, and she looked at him. It was pitch-dark, probably two or three in the morning, but thanks to the flames and the hunter’s moon, he saw her eyes widen. A single word left her mouth.
“No.”
Mason didn’t have time to question that no before she started struggling. She wasn’t a large woman, five-five at the most and on the lean side, but she managed to pack a punch when she rammed her elbow against his bare chest. He cursed and put her in a death grip so she couldn’t fight her way out of his arms.
“I’m trying to save you,” he reminded her, and he added more profanity when she didn’t stop fighting.
Abbie was probably still caught up in the fear and the adrenaline, but Mason was finding it a little hard to be sympathetic with the cold rocky ground biting into his bare feet and with her arms and legs waggling around.
“We have to get away from the fire,” he snarled.
Those wide frightened eyes looked at the flames, and she stopped struggling just long enough for Mason to get a better grip on her.
He started running toward the ranch office where lately he’d been spending most of his days and nights because of the heavy workload. He could deposit Abbie there and hurry back to see if the guesthouse could be saved. He wasn’t hopeful, especially because the ranch wasn’t exactly in city limits. It would take the fire department a good twenty minutes to reach them.
The door to his office and quarters was still open, and he hurried inside, flipped on the lights with his elbow and placed her on the sofa. Mason looked down at her, to make sure she wasn’t injured.
She didn’t appear to be.
Visibly shaken, yes. Trembling, too. Pale and breathing way too fast. All normal responses under the circumstances.
Her eyes met his again, and Mason saw the fear that was still there. And maybe something