Loaded. Joanna Wayne

a female yelled.

      But when Shelly looked up, she was staring right into the dark, piercing eyes of Matt Collingsworth. Trouble had never been more ominous—or looked so good.

      Chapter Two

      My name is Shelly Lane. I’m a physical therapist who’s just arrived in Colts Run Cross and has no idea why anyone would be shooting at me.

      Shelly worked to keep the lies firmly implanted in her mind as she fought to overcome the effects of pain and unexpected vulnerability.

      “Some fool fired at me from a passing car and I think a bullet ricocheted into my arm,” she said, as Matt crouched down beside her.

      “Is that the only place you were hit?”

      “I think so.”

      “You’re damn lucky. Your car wasn’t so fortunate.”

      She only nodded, wondering if he was as innocent in all this as he seemed. Her experience told her to doubt him. Her instincts said differently.

      “Hope this isn’t your favorite blouse,” Matt said, wielding a pocketknife and staring at the bloodied mess.

      “No, cut away. Not the arm—just the sleeve.”

      “Picky, are you?” He cut away the fabric and then helped her to the sidewalk where someone had brought out a chair for her to sit on.

      “The ambulance is on the way,” a bystander announced.

      “Who shot her?” someone else yelled.

      “Some guy in a black Ford. Skidded around the corner. He’s long gone now.”

      “Son of a bitch!”

      “Probably stings like hell,” Matt said, shifting so that he could get a better look. “The bullet tore into the flesh of your arm, but there are no exposed bones. A few stitches should put you back together.”

      He applied pressure to slow the bleeding as she dealt with the bizarre irony of having him come to her rescue. His touch was strangely heady—probably from the rush of adrenaline and the loss of blood. Still, his take-charge attitude was impressive. It was easy to understand why the ranch he comanaged with his bother Bart was so successful.

      But then, organizational skills and money were exactly what was making the Collingsworths’ ties to terrorists so difficult to trace. She could not let down her guard for a second.

      “Who shot at you?” Matt asked.

      “I have no idea.”

      “Do you have that many enemies?”

      “I don’t have any that I know of. All I know is the car came from nowhere and someone started shooting at me.”

      “Are you saying this was just a random drive-by?” There was no mistaking the suspicion in his voice.

      She tried to move her arm so that she could see the wound.

      “Probably best to keep it still,” Matt said. “The ambulance will be here soon.”

      “I don’t need an ambulance.”

      “Maybe not, but you have to go to the emergency room and that’s as good a way as any to get there.”

      “Are you a doctor?”

      “Nope, just a rancher. Name’s Matt Collingsworth.”

      “Of Jack’s Bluff Ranch?” She hoped there was ample surprise in her pain-laced tone.

      “That’s right. Have we met?”

      “No, I’ve only been in Colts Run Cross a few days but I have an appointment with Lenora Collingsworth tomorrow at the ranch.”

      His eyebrows arched.

      “I’m the physical therapist she hired for her father-in-law.” That much was true. She’d been a physical therapist, before going back to school for a degree in criminal psychology and going to work for the CIA. Her PT background was the only reason she’d drawn this kind of major assignment so early in her career.

      “Bum luck to show up in town for a new job and get shot before you even get started,” Matt said.

      “Do you have many drive-by shootings around here?”

      “Never. This makes no sense at all.”

      And she could tell from his tone and expression that he liked things to make sense. She suspected he also liked being in control. He’d certainly taken over here quickly enough.

      “I’ll let Mom know not to expect you tomorrow—if ever. I can see how a welcome like this might convince you to turn around and go back home.”

      Nothing would make her willingly leave before the investigation was completed, but her supervisor was not going to like this development. If the shooting wasn’t a random act of violence, then someone had to know who she was and why she was here. In that case, she’d be jerked off the assignment before she even made it to Jack’s Bluff Ranch.

      A siren sounded and a sheriff’s squad car pulled up. A couple of uniformed lawmen jumped out, and the bystanders who had gathered around her all started talking at once.

      “A bullet hit the car and…”

      “No one saw the shooter, but he was in a sedan…”

      “Okay, let’s try to talk one at a time,” one of the lawmen said. “Did anyone get the license plate number?”

      “The car was a black, late-model Ford Fusion, but there was no license plate,” Matt said.

      “Did you see the whole thing?”

      “No, I was inside the café when the shots were fired, but I raced to the window in time to get a good look at the back of the vehicle before it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.”

      The lawman put up his hand to signal for quiet. “Did anyone get a look at the shooter?”

      “I came running out of Flora’s Antique shop when I heard the shots,” an overly plump woman with heaving bosoms offered. “All I got was a glimpse of the back of the car.”

      The others shared similar accounts.

      The lawman doing all the talking turned to Shelly. “Did you get a good look at him?”

      “No. The second I saw the gun, I ducked out of the way.” Which meant there were no eyewitnesses, just as the brazen shooter had no doubt intended.

      “Could be some kind of gang-related initiation,” one of the young cowboys who’d been sitting with Matt in the café said. “Same thing happened in New Orleans when I was there a few months back helping rebuild a church lost to Katrina.”

      “Well, hells bells, Charlie. This ain’t New Orleans.”

      The ambulance arrived, and two paramedics jumped out and ran toward her. One started tending the wound that was now only oozing blood. The other commenced with a series of routine questions about the injury and about any allergies she had.

      “Let’s just hold on here a minute,” the lawman-in-charge interrupted. “I need the victim to answer a couple of questions before you go rushing her to the hospital, seeing as how she’s not in dire need of emergency medical care.”

      He introduced himself as Sheriff Ed Guerra, and she told him her name.

      “So, Miss Lane, do you know why anyone would be taking pot shots at you?”

      “Absolutely not. I don’t know anyone in Colts Run Cross except the people I’ve met over the last four days. They were all very friendly.”

      “So you just moved here?”

      “I’ve been staying at the motel on the highway, but I came here to work for the Collingsworths. I’m a