Rancher Under Fire. Vickie McDonough

if sensing his troubled thoughts, Baron licked Jackson’s hand. He reached down and patted the border collie’s black-and-white head. No, Hailey might look like Misty, but his daughter didn’t have her mother’s shallow character. Once again he slammed the lid on the anger bubbling up at the thought of Misty’s disloyalty. Though the familiar pain had numbed a bit over the years, whenever he thought of his deceased wife, it threatened to rise to the surface again, disturbing his peace with God.

      “Hello...Da-addy?” Stretching onto the tiptoes of her tan cowboy boots, Hailey waved her hand back and forth in front of his face.

      The black filly on the other end of the lead rope in Jackson’s hand shook her head and snorted, wary of his daughter’s flapping arm. “Hey, settle down,” he said to both females. Grasping the horse’s halter, he stared at his daughter. “Hailey, you know better than to make any sudden movements around these green broke horses.”

      Nostrils flaring and the whites of her eyes showing, the filly attempted to jerk her head free of his hold.

      Jackson held the small horse secure, rubbing her neck. “Shh. You’re okay.”

      “Daddy?” Hailey patted Jackson’s stomach. “So...can I lead her around?”

      “Just a minute.” Jackson observed the black filly for a few moments. When she quieted, he released her halter but hung on to the coiled lead rope. The horse ducked her head, nibbling the ankle-high winter grass at his feet.

      He patted the filly’s shoulder. Had she calmed enough for Hailey to handle her? He breathed a deep sigh. Did every father wrestle with the issues he did, or was his daily struggle to find a balance with Hailey and duties at the ranch related to his being an overprotective single dad? He wanted to keep his daughter safe but not smother her. His gaze lifted across the ranch yard to the horses grazing peacefully in the pasture. His daughter loved horses as much as he, and she had never been afraid of them, not even as a toddler. Though he wanted to hold her back until she was older—and bigger—Hailey knew how to handle horses, even if her childishness sometimes overpowered her sensibilities. He patted his daughter’s back. “I guess you can lead the filly for a while, but don’t make any sudden movements, and don’t go too far in case you need me.”

      “Yip—” Hailey slapped her palm to her mouth, halting her high-pitched cheer. Her gaze darted to the filly and back to him as she lowered her hand. “Sorry. I’ll be quieter.”

      Chuckling, he handed the lead rope to his daughter. What was the point in trying to keep her away from the horses? She loved them and was a natural. Pride swelled in his chest as he watched Hailey curl up the nylon rope with the skill of one raised her whole life on a ranch. Holding the coil in one hand, she clutched the lead just below the snap and walked the yearling down the gravel drive.

      “C’mon, girl. You and me’s gonna be buddies.” Baron trotted along behind them for a few feet, but then he turned and moseyed back to Jackson’s side.

      Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jackson scanned the well-kept ranch. The gray single-story house provided a cozy escape from the hot Oklahoma summers and chilly winters. His new red barn, complete with modern amenities like a sprinkler system and a bathroom with a shower, had stalls for twelve horses and was the envy of his neighbors. Across the rolling hills, quarter horses grazed lazily in the unusually warm December weather. His chest swelled as gratitude filled his heart—but then he remembered the dark shadows of recent days, and his gaze lifted. Thank You, Lord, for allowing me to realize my dream of owning this ranch. Please help me figure out the root of the problems plaguing me lately. They can’t be coincidences.

      Pursing his lips, he watched Hailey turn the filly and head toward him. So far his problems hadn’t caused her any harm, except for upsetting her. He considered all the things that had happened in the past few weeks—broken fences, missing equipment, sick horses. Was he simply having a run of bad luck?

      “Don’t ya think she’ll make a good barrel racer? I’m gonna name her Sabrina.”

      “That’s a fine name.” He smiled. Hailey had to name every horse that passed through their ranch, whether it stayed for a week or forever. While at Angelfire Ranch, the animals were treated like family. Sometimes the rodeo owners and other people he sold the horses to kept the names his daughter had given them and sometimes they changed them, but Hailey didn’t care as long as she gave them their first one.

      The familiar ta-dump, ta-dump of tires crossing the cattle guard pulled his gaze down the long gravel drive. Though people frequented the ranch often, he wasn’t expecting anyone today. He studied the approaching vehicle—a sports car that was going far too fast.

      He started toward his daughter. “Hailey, bring the filly back. Right now.”

      Hailey stopped in the middle of the road and stared at the car, barreling toward her. Jackson increased his pace. His daughter tugged the prancing horse off the road and onto the dried winter grass. The filly pawed the ground. The closer the sports car came, the more agitated she grew.

      Baron barked. Jackson broke into a run. A shrill whinny rent the air as the black filly reared, her front hooves pawing the air just inches above Hailey’s head. Jackson’s heart took a dive. He raced toward her, but his legs felt as if they were encased in cement.

      “Let go! Hailey! Let go of the rope.” His words sounded hollow, as if shouted down a long, narrow tunnel.

      Sabrina bolted, yanking his daughter to the ground and dragging her back toward the road as the car maneuvered a bend and headed straight for them. Baron raced for the front of the horse, as if to cut her off and turn her back. The driver blasted the horn. The car skidded and swerved, sending a dusty cloud of gravel and dirt over filly and dog. Tires spun, chunking pebbles against the car’s underbelly, and the Mustang veered to the right as the driver spun around trying to miss a large maple tree. Metal and fiberglass crunched against wood as the car lost the fight.

      Heart pounding, Jackson slowed as he reached Hailey and lifted her to her feet, pressing her against him. That car had come so close to hitting her. “You okay, sweetie? Are you hurt?”

      Hailey’s mumbled response warmed his blue denim shirt, but he couldn’t make out the words. His daughter pushed against his belly, and he reluctantly released her.

      “I couldn’t breathe, Daddy.” She gulped in several gasps of air, then glanced at the rope burns on her palms. “I tried to hold on so Sabrina wouldn’t get away. I wasn’t scared, but I couldn’t hang on.”

      He scanned his daughter’s face and body to make sure she wasn’t injured then released the breath he’d been holding. Her denim jacket was dust-covered but had probably saved her from scraping or bruising her arms. With his sleeve, he wiped dirt off her chin, relieved that she hadn’t cut it. A few minor rope burns reddened her palms, but otherwise she looked fine.

      With his hands shaking and heart ricocheting around his chest like a racquetball on a court, he was in worse shape than his daughter. Not quite believing she was unharmed, he asked again, “You’re really not hurt anywhere besides your hands?”

      “I’m fine, but that car’s not. And Sabrina’s gettin’ away.”

      He glanced in the direction Hailey pointed. Still galloping and flipping chunks of dirt behind her, Sabrina had almost reached the ranch’s entrance. The blue lead rope flapped in the air like a pennant. Baron had given up the chase and trotted toward them, tongue hanging out.

      With the danger past, Jackson looked skyward. Thank You, Lord, for protecting my little girl.

      Ruffling his daughter’s hair, he said, “Don’t worry about Sabrina, pun’kin. We’ll catch her or one of our neighbors will.”

      Draping his arm around Hailey’s shoulders, he turned toward the wrecked vehicle. Hissing steam seeped from the metallic blue Mustang now hugging his silver-maple tree.

      He clenched his jaw, fighting his anger. Even his years of professional football training hadn’t prepared him for the rage coursing through him at the person who’d put