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  A cold rage flash-flamed inside her. Slade hadn’t stopped at punching her and knocking her out. While she was unconscious, her husband had raped her.

  She glanced at the wall clock, which, miraculously, was still in place. Only twenty-five minutes had passed since she’d arrived home. Slade could be on his way to the Tylers’ right now. No time to weigh her options. Her best chance of stopping him was to call in the law. Fumbling for her cell in her jacket, she found it and punched in 911.

  The female dispatcher at the county sheriff’s office answered. “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  “This is Dr. Haskell.” Natalie’s face was so sore she could barely move her jaw. “My husband, Slade Haskell, assaulted me and knocked me out. Right now he could be on his way to the Tyler ranch with a gun. He has to be stopped.”

  “Do you need an ambulance?” Had the dispatcher heard anything she’d said?

  “No!” Natalie would have shouted into the phone if she could. “Just pick him up. He’s drunk and probably armed. You can arrest him for DUI—or better yet, domestic violence. Believe me, I intend to press charges. Hurry, before something awful happens!”

  Natalie gave the dispatcher a description of the truck and the license plate number. Ending the call, she sank back against an overturned couch. Her head felt like a smashed melon. She needed to warn Beau, but the only number she had on speed dial was for the landline in the ranch office. The phone rang and rang without clicking over to voice mail. Something must be out of order. But even if she could leave a message, how likely was Beau to get it in time?

  Using the couch for balance, she dragged herself to her feet and pulled up her jeans. She felt nauseous. If she could make it to the bathroom in the house, she could at least wash up. But what she really needed was to get out of here, to someplace safe.

  Maybe she should have asked for an ambulance. But if she had, the whole town would know what had happened by tomorrow. Straining to focus, she speed-dialed the one friend who’d always been there for her.

  Tori showed up fifteen minutes later to find Natalie still slumped on the floor. The first words out of her mouth were, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  Righting the couch, she helped Natalie sit. Then she raced into the house and came back with a bag of ice and a towel. “Hold this on your face,” she said. “We can talk on the way. I can’t believe that bastard raped you.”

  “What about Erin?” Natalie managed to ask. “You mustn’t leave her alone. If Slade shows up there, looking for me—”

  “I took Erin to the neighbors’. She’ll be fine, and the house is locked up tight.”

  Just having her friend here made Natalie feel stronger. She walked to Tori’s station wagon on her own and buckled herself into the front seat. “Can you call Beau and warn him?” she asked.

  “I don’t have his cell number. But there’s no need. I called the sheriff ’s office on my way here. Slade was picked up on a DUI charge. He was weaving all over the road. By the time you called nine-one-one, he was already on his way to jail. We can file domestic assault charges in the morning. You still want to, don’t you?”

  “It’s not that I want to. It’s that I have to.” Natalie fought back waves of nausea. Her head felt like somebody had taken a jackhammer to her skull. She probably had a concussion. And she didn’t even want to think about the damage to her face. She could feel the swelling beneath the ice bag Tori had given her.

  “This won’t be pleasant, so be prepared.” Tori had pulled into the street and was headed for the highway. “I’ll take some pictures of you in the hospital, as well as some photos of your clinic. The police will need to interview you and collect DNA for the rape kit—”

  Natalie groaned. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

  “You were unconscious. Slade’s lawyer could claim that somebody else happened along—or that you’d been with Beau earlier.”

  Natalie lay back in the seat as the words sank in. Was spousal rape even a crime in Texas? If it was, and if it could be proven, Slade could go to prison, maybe for a long time. All she’d really wanted was her freedom.

  This was a nightmare. But it was her nightmare, and she had to keep it that way.

  “Beau had nothing to do with any of this,” she said. “Now that he’s not in danger, I don’t even want him to know what happened. He mustn’t be involved.”

  “You can’t keep him in the dark forever,” Tori said. “Sooner or later, he’s going to find out.”

  “But not yet. It’s for his own good. Promise you won’t tell him, Tori.”

  “Not unless I have to.” Tori swung onto the highway and gunned the engine. The needle crept upward to seventy. “Slade’s likely to get out on bail. First thing tomorrow, I’ll get a restraining order to protect you. Do you want me to file for divorce while I’m at it? We have plenty of grounds for a good settlement now.”

  “Yes, go ahead.” Natalie thought about the destruction of her clinic. The property and equipment were insured. But would the insurance company pay when the co-owner was responsible for the damage?

  “Maybe you should stay with me for a few weeks,” Tori was saying, “or at least until you’re healed. I’ve got plenty of room and Erin would love having you there. Think about it, at least. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

  “I’ll think about it. Thanks.” Natalie closed her eyes and pressed the ice bag against her face. The ice was starting to thaw, leaking down the side of her neck like a trail of melting tears. So many decisions. The list, if she made one, would be as long as her arm. Right now she was too exhausted to deal with the present, let alone the future. And she was in pain—so much pain that only one thing stood out with the clarity of a lightning bolt.

  Tonight her life had changed forever.

  Slade had returned to work the next afternoon. Bailed out of the county jail by Stella, he was sore, hungover, and in such a foul temper that Lute couldn’t go near him without cringing.

  Lute had overheard enough to know that Slade had been charged with DUI and domestic assault and that he’d been served with a restraining order to keep him away from his wife, who was still in the hospital. His trial date was three weeks away.

  Slade had come home to find the locks changed on the house and his clothes and other essentials boxed on the front porch. His pickup had been confiscated along with his driver’s license. He was sleeping on a cot in his office and dependent on his employees to drive him where he needed to go.

  Until this week, Lute had admired Slade to the point of hero worship. But that view had changed. Now what Lute felt was a heady sense of power. It was his simple phone message that had triggered Slade’s drunken rampage and brought him down. And it had all been so easy.

  Once Lute had aspired to be Slade’s right-hand man. Now he had bigger ambitions. Slade would be going to jail, maybe for a long time. Somebody else would be needed to manage the trucking company and do business with Stella’s so-called connections. Somebody Stella could trust. Why not him?

  The three truckers Slade employed were family men who did local hauling—things like feed, machinery, and livestock. It was Slade, and only Slade, who did the Mexican runs. Whatever was going back and forth on those runs had to involve a lot of money—guns, drugs, maybe illegal immigrants. Lute was no fool. Having grown up in a family of lawbreakers, he knew what kind of things went on across the border. Given the chance, he could handle them just fine.

  Plans were spinning in his head. He would shadow Slade for the next three weeks to learn everything he could about the business. Meanwhile, he’d be getting his trucker’s license so he could be ready to drive when the time came. And he would curry favor with Stella, letting her know she could trust him to step into Slade’s job.

  It was all coming together. Soon he would have everything he wanted.

  Natalie’s stomach clenched as she stared into the hand mirror the nurse had given her. Her left eye was swollen almost shut, and the side of h
er face was a mass of blue and purple bruises. On the second day after Slade’s beating, she looked like a character from a horror movie.

  “I guess I should be thankful it wasn’t worse,” she said, laying the mirror facedown on the hospital bed.

  “Yes, you should.” The middle-aged nurse, with a manner that suggested she’d seen it all, put the mirror in the nightstand drawer. “At least he didn’t crush your nose or break your jaw. You should see some of the women who’ve come in here.”

  “I never expected to be one of them.” Natalie settled back against the pillows, trying to appear calmer than she felt.

  “Nobody does, dear. Not the first time, at least. Your pretty face will look fine in a couple of weeks. But the doctor’s still concerned about that concussion. She wants to keep you for another day or two, or at least until the dizziness goes away.”

  Natalie sighed, reached for the chilled gel pack, and laid it against her face. She had so much to do, so many things to take care of, it was maddening to have to lie here doing nothing. But Tori, who’d been a godsend, securing her house and car and moving Slade’s things outside, had insisted that for now, the hospital was the safest place for her. With Slade out on bail, there was no guarantee that any restraining order would keep him from coming after her again.

  For that very reason, she’d decided not to stay with Tori and Erin. She didn’t want Slade coming anywhere near her friends. If she went back home, she could clean up the clinic and assess the damage while she healed.

  Slade’s guns were still in her house, locked in his gun safe. The locksmith Tori had hired had changed the combination. Natalie had always hated guns, but when she got back to the house, she would take one out of the safe, load it, and keep it close for protection. She wasn’t sure she could pull the trigger, but at least she could use the gun as a threat.

  The nurse had gone. Alone, Natalie turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Tears made stinging salt trails down her cheeks. She knew how to be strong, and she would be. But right now she only felt ravaged, drained, and destroyed.

  At the click of a boot heel on the floor, her heart lurched. Her eyes shot open. For the first split second she feared it might be Slade, but as her head came around, she saw that it was Beau. He stood framed in the doorway, looking as if he’d just been kicked.

  As his eyes took her in, a slow anger transformed his face. When he spoke, his voice was like cold steel. “How long did you think you could keep me from knowing?”

  “Who told you?” Natalie forced herself not to flinch. She knew how awful she looked, but she wouldn’t play the victim.

  Not with Beau.

  “Tori thought it would be a good idea to warn me that Slade was out on bail. I couldn’t let her off without hearing the full story.”

  “She promised—” Natalie broke off as she realized that wasn’t true. Tori hadn’t promised not to tell Beau. She’d only said she wouldn’t tell him unless she had to. Had Tori told him about the divorce, too?

  “You can’t be here,” she said. “You mustn’t be involved in this mess.”

  “Damn it, Natalie . . .” He crossed the floor, cupped her chin in his hands, and gazed down into her battered face. “What the hell happened?”

  “Somebody—I don’t know who—told Slade I was with you at the ranch. Of course he believed the worst. The next night when I got home late from working, he was there. He’d wrecked the clinic . . .”

  Natalie’s voice broke. Her face would heal on its own. But even if the insurance paid, restoring her precious clinic would take time and money she couldn’t spare. “I tried to call and warn you about him,” she said. “But I couldn’t get a message through. Have you been all right, Beau?”

  “Me? You’re worried about me?”

  “Slade’s gone crazy. He’s capable of anything.”

  “I know.” He reached down and captured her hands in his big palms. “That’s why, as soon as you’re released, I’m taking you to the ranch. You’ll be safe there. There’ll be no way he can get to you.”

  “And how do you think that’s going to look?” Natalie pulled her hands away and drew herself up in the bed. “You’re not in charge of my life, Beau Tyler. I’m going back home to get my clinic running again. If Slade has the nerve to show up, I’ll have a gun.”

  He shook his head, as if he’d expected her reaction. “But can you shoot? I know for a fact you used to hate guns.”

  “I still do. That doesn’t mean I can’t point a weapon and pull the trigger.”

  “But could you shoot your husband—even if he was going to hurt you again? Natalie, you’re the gentlest person I’ve ever known.”

  “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do!” She thrust out her chin, forcing herself to say the words. “I can take care of myself, Beau. So go away and leave me alone!”

  Seething, Beau drove back down the highway toward Blanco Springs. Today Natalie had been like a feisty little wounded kitten, hissing, clawing, and utterly vulnerable. If Slade chose to violate the restraining order, he could murder her—and likely would.

  He’d been wise to hold back what he knew, Beau reflected. Tori had told him about the rape, too. And the very thought of Slade ripping down Natalie’s jeans, thrusting into her helpless body, and leaving her to lie there was enough to incite a murderous rage. Beau had killed more men than he cared to remember, and he’d done it with the cold efficiency that was part of his job. But he’d never wanted to kill a man as much as he wanted to kill Slade Haskell.

  He didn’t plan to do it, of course. That would be murder. But he could make certain the man knew what would happen if he didn’t leave Natalie alone. At the very least, it might help keep her safe.

  When Slade had baited him before, Beau had held in his anger out of respect for Natalie’s marriage. But respect was out the window now.

  He eased off on the gas pedal as the truck rolled into town. The Blue Coyote would be a good place to start looking. Stella, the owner, seemed a friendly sort. If Slade wasn’t there, she might at least know where to find him.

  When he pulled into the parking lot, Beau didn’t see Slade’s red pickup, but Tori had told him it was in impound and that Slade wasn’t allowed to drive. If he was here, it made sense that he wouldn’t be here alone.

  Walking inside, he glanced around the bar. Slade was nowhere to be seen. But Stella spotted him. Dressed in a low-cut black satin cowgirl shirt embroidered with roses, she gave him a wave and a sexy smile. Minutes later she joined him at the bar.

  “What can I do for you, cowboy?” She nudged him with one shoulder, causing her ample breasts to jiggle. Beau glanced toward the tattooed bartender, who was wiping a glass and taking no notice. No jealousy there, Beau surmised. But it would be interesting to know more about the relationship between those two. He had yet to snap a photo of the man for his friends at the DEA to run, but he’d have to worry about that later.

  Beau ordered a beer on tap, taking his time. “I was hoping Slade Haskell would be here,” he said.

  “Have you got business with Slade?” One painted eyebrow arched a little higher.

  “You might say that.” Beau gave her a lopsided grin. He knew how to charm when it suited him. “If you’re expecting him anytime soon, I’ll hang around. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

  “Not if it means we get to know each other better.” She flashed him a wink. “Slade usually comes in about this time, so feel free to wait. Right now I’ve got my customers to keep happy, but don’t you go anywhere, hear?”

  She sashayed away, her plump ass doing a little shimmy for his benefit. Hoping he hadn’t charmed himself into a sticky situation, Beau sipped his beer and watched the door. Did Stella know what was going on? But why wonder? Beneath that cowgirl-floozy façade, Beau sensed a keen acuity that missed nothing. Underestimating the woman could be a dangerous mistake.

  He’d finished his beer and started on another when the door opened and Slade walked in. Beau’s
instincts sprang to full alert. Slade was flanked by two quiet-looking older men wearing Haskell Trucking shirts. Slade’s employees, Beau surmised. They didn’t strike him as the sort who’d wade into trouble to save their boss. But there were other men in the bar, tough-looking types who could be Slade’s friends. He’d be smart to watch his back.

  He could get away with threatening Slade, but if it got physical—and it would—the man would have to come at him first. Beau took his time, sipped his beer, and waited. His training had taught him to fight cold, with emotions detached. He would have to maintain that detachment—otherwise, his anger could push him to kill the man.

  Slade had spotted him. His pale eyes narrowed to slits of rage. “Tyler, you wife-stealing bastard!” he bellowed. “Come fight me like a man!”

  Beau set down his beer, turned slowly on the bar stool, and stood. “These people deserve to drink in peace, Slade,” he said. “Let’s take this outside.”

  “And have you run again?” Slade muttered an obscenity. “I’m gonna beat you till you puke blood! And when I’m done with that pretty-boy face of yours, no woman will ever want you again!”

  Customers scattered out of his path, forming a ring of watchers as Slade lowered his head and charged. Beau waited until the last split second, then shifted his position. Slade crashed into the bar stools. Staggering to regain his balance, he was unprepared for the lightning uppercut that Beau knifed into his solar plexus. The breath whooshed out of him. He doubled over. His knees buckled, giving Beau a perfect opening for a sharp-toed boot kick to the groin.

  In less than five seconds it was over. Slade lay curled on his side, whimpering in agony. No one else moved or made a sound.

  Beau could feel the adrenaline roaring through his body. He pictured Natalie’s battered face, her ravaged body. Bloodred fury flashed behind his eyes and he knew he was on the edge of losing control. One more strategic blow could kill the man at his feet or cripple him for life. He couldn’t let it happen.