Wanted. Delores Fossen

Maybe he was even her partner in crime.

      But the man didn’t call out to her.

      And she didn’t seem to notice him.

      Hell.

      This was not a complication he needed right now.

      If the guy wasn’t her partner, then Wyatt needed to know why he was there. Because he figured someone skulking around a barn didn’t have the best of intentions. Unless he was a lawman, that is.

      Wyatt took a harder look. The guy was dressed in camouflage clothing. There was no sign of a lawman’s badge, so Wyatt drew his Colt from his shoulder holster and eased onto the top of the boulders. Wyatt started hurrying toward Lyla. Anything he did right now was risky, but the risk went up a significant notch when he saw the man dart from the barn to the back of her house.

      The guy was armed.

      Lyla didn’t appear to be.

      And worse, she was smack-dab out in the open. If this wasn’t her partner, then why was he there, and did that gun mean he was going to try to kill her? Maybe this was someone opposed to what Lyla had already set into motion, and if the man killed her, Wyatt would never know the full truth.

      Plus, there were other reasons to keep her alive, and the biggest reason of all was that baby she was carrying.

      “Get down!” Wyatt shouted to her.

      She whirled around as Wyatt had expected her to do. And froze again. The gunman darn sure didn’t freeze. He darted out from the barn and took aim.

      At Wyatt.

      Wyatt dropped to the icy ground. “I’m Marshal Wyatt McCabe,” he shouted.

      The guy ducked back behind the barn, but Wyatt didn’t see or hear anything to indicate he was on the run. Too bad, because if there was a gunfight, then Lyla could be caught in the cross fire. Definitely not something he wanted.

      Even worse, Wyatt couldn’t call for backup. He’d checked his phone shortly after he’d parked his truck on the hidden curve of the road—not far away at all—and the whole area was a dead zone. No reception whatsoever.

      “Get down!” Wyatt called out to her again.

      Thankfully, this time she got moving and did as he’d ordered. Lyla landed on the dead winter grass, yards from her front porch and the safety of her house. There was nothing she could use to hide behind or for protection, and that meant Wyatt had to get to her, fast.

      He levered himself up but kept as low as he could. He also kept his Colt aimed and ready. And he started running. He braced himself to dive back to the ground if necessary, but when the gunman peered out from the barn, he didn’t fire.

      “Drop the gun!” Wyatt ordered.

      He was close enough to Lyla now that he heard her make a sound of surprise mixed with a whole lot of fear. Her reaction made Wyatt think she hadn’t known that an armed man was less than thirty feet away from her.

      An armed man who clearly wasn’t listening to a thing Wyatt was telling him to do.

      The guy didn’t drop his gun. He stayed put, just tossing out the occasional glances. Once Wyatt had Lyla safely inside, he was going to do something about this nonlistening moron. That didn’t mean killing him. No. That was the last thing Wyatt wanted, because he wanted answers from him, too.

      “Don’t move,” Wyatt reminded Lyla when she lifted her head. She dropped back down but looked at him as if trying to figure out who he was.

      Or rather, pretending to do that.

      Since her pretense and the reaction to the gunman could all be a ruse, Wyatt kept his attention on both her and the gunman. He made his way across the narrow dirt road that stopped directly in front of her house. Each step was a victory because there were no shots being fired at them. He really wanted to keep it that way.

      Wyatt hurried the last few yards to her, and he moved directly in front of her, making sure he was between her and the gunman.

      “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice shaking as hard as the rest of her.

      “I was hoping you could tell me.” He took aim at the barn and stood. “Is your front door locked?”

      “No.”

      Good. Though he’d figured she hadn’t bothered to lock it. Not usually much crime out in the rural part of the county. Of course, usually wasn’t the norm right now.

      “Stay behind me,” Wyatt instructed. “We’re going inside.”

      Where he hoped she wouldn’t try to kill him. But then, he figured her plan didn’t include murdering him.

      Nope.

      She or someone else had put too much in motion to outright kill him.

      Well, unless the plan had changed and someone was trying to cut their losses and make sure there were no loose ends with equally loose lips. If that was the case, then both Lyla and he could be targeted to die.

      She didn’t argue about going inside with him, and Lyla slid her hands over her stomach and practically pressed herself against his back as they inched across the yard. Wyatt could feel the tight muscles in her arms. Could feel her warm breath hit against his neck.

      And he could feel her fear.

      He shifted his position a little as they went up the steps. He had to keep Lyla shielded, but he also had to make sure the gunman didn’t try to go in through the back of her house.

      That led him to his next problem.

      If someone was trying to nix a plan that was already in motion—like this one—there might be another attacker waiting inside. Or maybe this was all part of Lyla’s plan—get him inside so she could move on to the next step.

      Whatever the heck that was.

      Despite the don’t be stupid warning echoing through his head, Wyatt opened the door and stepped inside, keeping her next to him. His attention and gun slashed from one side of the living room to the other.

      Nothing.

      Well, nothing that he could immediately see anyway. It wasn’t a large room, but there was a dark red sofa and two chairs. Not easy hiding places, but he checked anyway. Then he checked for what could pose the most immediate danger.

      Lyla Pearson herself.

      “Are you armed?” he asked, but didn’t wait for her to answer. Wyatt shoved his hand inside her coat and gave her a quick pat down.

      She gasped and tried to push him away, but Wyatt held his ground. “I don’t carry a gun,” she insisted.

      “Maybe not, but you have one registered to you.”

      Her eyes widened. “How’d you know that?”

      Wyatt just tapped the marshal’s badge clipped to his belt.

      Lyla still looked confused by all of this. Heck, maybe she was. After all, if she’d truly set up the gunman pretense, she would’ve had to have known that Wyatt would be there at that exact moment. He’d kept this visit secret. Not even his five foster brothers knew, and they were all marshals, too. He hadn’t wanted to tell them anything until he’d figured out what was going on.

      The figuring out started now.

      “Back door locked?” he asked. He pulled her inside, keeping her against the jamb.

      “I’m not sure.”

      “Stay put,” Wyatt snarled, and he hurried into the kitchen. If anyone was hiding, they would have to be in the fridge, because the pantry door was wide-open and he could see inside. He turned the dead bolt on the door to lock it.

      She didn’t ask why he’d done that, but he could feel her fear go up a notch. Or maybe she was faking that, too. At any rate, she was breathing through her