Crossing Nevada. Jeannie Watt

shower and had suffered a near heart attack when Blossom and Mac sounded the alarm from the living room. By the time she’d gotten out of the shower and jammed her soaking wet body into her robe and retrieved her small gun, the dogs had stilled. When she’d gotten into the living room, she saw the distinctive brown van pulling out of the driveway and a box of kitchen supplies sitting on her front porch, no signature required.

      After that, Tess simply ignored the man’s knock once she ascertained it was really him. The fewer people who saw her, the better...which was why the last thing she wanted to see as she rounded the corner of the house was a plume of dust coming from a pickup truck heading down her driveway.

      What now?

      She wasn’t waiting around to find out—not out in the open. The pickup probably belonged to one of her neighbors and it no doubt looked crazy, but she turned and headed straight back around the house, the dogs on her heels. Once she was safely inside, she locked the back door and leaned against it. The front door was already locked.

      She let out a shaky breath and debated. If whoever it was knocked, she could ignore it—even though she knew he’d seen her. There was no law saying she had to answer her door, but in a community like this, where the postmistress hugged the patrons, all that would do was cause talk among the neighbors.

      If the guy driving the truck was a neighbor.

      There’s no way Eddie’s found you.

      The phrase was a mantra she used to soothe herself during the long hours of the night, but at the moment she was fairly certain it was true. She’d just had yet another clipped conversation with the Los Angeles detective, Tom Hiller, who was handling her assault case. She called him, once a week, for any possible updates on the case. She had a strong feeling she was bugging the hell out of him, but this was her life she was concerned about and it wouldn’t kill him to take a few minutes out of his week to talk to her.

      So far nothing had changed. Eddie was an exemplary parolee with a job at a car wash. He was keeping his nose clean, doing what he was supposed to do.

      Tess was more concerned about him doing what he wasn’t supposed to do.

      The engine died and a minute later Tess heard footsteps on the front porch, which made her stomach clench until she thought she might throw up.

      Deal with this.

      Once upon a time she’d been fearless. Less than two months ago she would have described herself as savvy and streetwise. She’d had to be to survive her rugged teen years with her alleged family and their drugged-out friends. The modeling world also had its own kind of cutthroat culture. Yeah, she definitely would have called herself tough.

      Looking back, though, she could see she’d been confident to the point of bravado. Confident enough to tell Eddie to take a flying leap when he’d first approached her. Confident in her abilities to stay safe right up until the guy had appeared out of nowhere as she approached her apartment building, knocked her down and slashed her face with what the doctors said was probably a piece of metal shrapnel, telling her in a low growl that Eddie was going to keep taking pieces off her until he got the money he knew she had. The money he’d left with her drugged-out mother before going to prison. Money she knew nothing about.

      Safety had been an illusion—even to someone who thought of herself as streetwise—and she realized too late that Eddie would never believe she didn’t have his dirty money stashed away somewhere. He’d keep looking until he found her.

      The old-fashioned doorbell rang and Tess moistened her dry lips as both dogs growled, reminding herself that she was still tough. A survivor. Plus she had two big dogs and a gun.

      She sucked in a shaky breath, then pushed off from the back door and headed for the living room. She could see her visitor—from the chest up, anyway—through the slit in the curtains that covered the window in the door. He was a guy of average height and weight—as her attacker had been. She couldn’t tell what color his hair was under the beat-up cowboy hat, but guessed it was dark. He shifted his weight as he waited for her to open the door.

      Tess unlocked the dead bolt and pulled the door open a crack, feeling somewhat reassured by the dogs crowding up behind her, trying to assess whether or not this guy was a threat. She kept her face tilted so he could only see the right side, the good side, but the corner of her glasses banged against the door and she had to move back slightly.

      “Uh, hi,” the guy said as soon as it became obvious that she wasn’t opening the door any wider. The corners of his mouth tilted up slowly, as if he had to remind himself to smile, but the end result was rather breathtaking. In another time or place Tess could have appreciated a man like this. Blue eyes, incredible angles to his face, dark hair showing from under his cowboy hat.

      But not at this time. She did not smile back. “Can I help you?”

      “I hope so. I’m Zach Nolan. I called yesterday about the pasture.”

      Tess stared at him, a slight frown drawing her eyebrows together. So what was he doing here? The last thing she needed was a persistent neighbor. “Was there something about my answer yesterday that you didn’t understand?”

      “I thought maybe you didn’t understand.”

      “Really,” she said coolly, calmly adjusting her glasses, which were still slightly crooked from banging the door.

      “I would pay for the use of the pasture and the cows wouldn’t be anywhere near your place. Having the animals here wouldn’t be much different than not having them here. They’re not noisy or anything. Plus, you get the rental money.”

      “Would they be in that field over there?” Tess nodded toward the field on the other side of her driveway.

      “That would be one of the pastures.”

      “And you have to do things with the cattle, right?”

      “I move them around. Check on them.”

      Which meant someone coming and going at times she had no control over. Which meant the dogs getting used to the sounds of someone being around.

      Which seemed like a good way to compromise her safety.

      Tess drew herself up, her face still angled away from him, even though she felt odd looking at him with one eye. “Listen. I know this sounds cold, but no. I...I don’t like cattle and I don’t want to lease my pastures.”

      “You don’t like cattle.”

      “Is there some reason I should?” she asked stiffly.

      He gave a slow shake of his head, then peered at her from under the brim of his hat. “You might have moved to the wrong part of the country.”

      “I’m sorry. I’m not interested in leasing and I’d appreciate it if you’d consider this matter closed. Now if there’s nothing else?” She started closing the door without waiting for an answer.

      Zach Nolan stared at her in seeming disbelief as she pushed the door shut and then snapped the dead bolt in place.

      Believe it, cowboy.

      Tess snapped her fingers and the dogs fell in behind her as she walked through the living room back to the kitchen, wondering if Zach was still watching her through the window. A few seconds later she heard his footsteps on the porch followed a minute later by the roar of a powerful truck engine. Only then did she allow herself to sit on one of the kitchen chairs, the gun that weighed down her hoodie pocket clunking against the metal leg.

      She pushed her fingers through her hair, keeping them far away from her scars and simply held them there as she breathed in and out. In and out.

      * * *

      ZACH GROUND THE gears as he shifted down at the end of Tess O’Neil’s driveway. He tried to remember if anyone had ever closed a door in his face before.

      Nope. Not once.

      Definitely something off about this woman.

      She’d