Loaded. Joanna Wayne

as the breeze teased her bangs, blowing wispy strands of hair about her forehead.

      “I’m shaken, Matt. I won’t deny it. My first instinct was to go running back to Atlanta. But running from random violence is like trying to get out of the path of a tornado. It can strike anywhere.”

      “But both are more likely in some places than others.” The owl screeched again and mosquitoes were starting to treat the back of his neck like a buffet. Whatever was going on with Shelly Lane, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get to the bottom of it tonight.

      Matt rocked back on the heels of his boots. “No point in hanging around out here,” he said. “I can give you a ride back to your motel.”

      “Thanks.”

      And on the way he’d tell her that her plan to move to the ranch tomorrow had been put on hold.

      They walked back to his truck in silence and he opened the door for her. He circled the vehicle, climbed behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition and gunned the engine. The beams of his headlights illuminated the damaged side of Shelly’s car as he backed from the lot.

      His hands tightened on the wheel as the reality of the situation settled into a grim knot in his stomach. If the attack on her was personal, the guy wouldn’t just give up because the first try didn’t work. The shooter might even be a hired hit man biding his time until he could get to her again. Maybe waiting for dark, when she was alone in a motel at the edge of town.

      A spray of gravel shot from the back wheels of his pickup truck as he sped away from Hank’s. He couldn’t take her to the ranch when no one knew for certain she was on the up and up. But he couldn’t just dump her to fend for herself if she was in real danger.

      So where did that leave him?

      SHELLY SAT UP STRAIGHTER, staring at the neon sign identifying the rambling wooden roadhouse whose parking lot they’d just pulled into as Cutter’s Bar and Grill.

      “Why are you stopping here?”

      “I could use a cup of coffee,” Matt said.

      “I don’t drink coffee this late,” she said.

      “Then how about a beer?”

      “I can’t drink alcohol. I’m still feeling the effects of the pain medication they gave me at the hospital. Besides I’m not dressed for going out.”

      That wasn’t exactly a valid argument since she had on the same jeans she’d had on at lunch today. Topping them was the crimson cami she’d had on under the bloodied blouse that Matt had cut the sleeves out of. There was a blood stain on it, but it so closely matched the color of the shirt, it looked more like fabric shading. Her attire would likely be the same as half the women in the bar.

      “You look fine,” Matt said, “and I could really use the coffee.”

      She hesitated, then pulled down the visor and checked her reflection in the small lighted mirror. “I at least have to put on some lipstick,” she said, already reaching in her handbag for a tube. She’d have never gone out in D.C. looking like this, but she wasn’t in the nation’s capital and this wasn’t a date. It was her job. This might be the perfect opportunity to start winning Matt’s confidence.

      Matt took her arm as they crossed the parking lot and walked through the open doorway. Shelly took in the sights and the atmosphere.

      Cute cowboys in Western shirts, jeans and boots perched on worn wooden barstools and drank beer from bottles and whiskey and Tequila from shot glasses. Couples filled the dance floor, two-stepping to a slow country ballad.

      Matt exchanged waves and greetings with some of the patrons as he led Shelly to the left side of the main room, away from the bar and dance floor. Couples and small groups were enjoying late dinners. Odors of fried onions and peppery spices hung heavy in the air; there was a refreshing absence of stale cigarette smoke and Shelly assumed Cutter’s Bar had followed suit with many other Texas restaurants and bars and allowed smoking only outside the building.

      Most of the patrons were in their early to mid twenties, but there were some older customers as well, including a group of six women who looked to be their late fifties.

      They seemed to be having the most fun of all, laughing and talking loudly. One of the older women caught Matt’s eye and waved him over. The other women at the table seemed equally as delighted to see him as Shelly and Matt maneuvered through the maze of tables and mismatched chairs.

      Shelly knew from her research that all the Collingsworths were not only well-liked but respected throughout this part of Texas. Watching Matt, it was easy to see why. He wore his wealth the way she might wear a pair of old jeans. Easy. Comfortably. Free of even the slightest pretension.

      “This table looks like solid trouble,” Matt said, leaning over to kiss the cheek of the one who’d initially spotted him. “What are you gorgeous hens doing out without the roosters?”

      “They’re all over in Austin at a cattle auction, so we decided to hit the town.”

      “Look out, cowboys,” Matt said.

      “Land sakes, we don’t want them,” one woman said.

      “Right,” another agreed. “We just got rid of our own. We’re just here to eat someone else’s cooking.”

      “And have company that doesn’t moo.”

      They all laughed again and Matt introduced Shelly to the rancher’s wives. She felt an unexpected twinge of guilt that they accepted her so readily when she was here under false pretenses. But how could these women, or anyone else in this town possibly know the traitorous paths that the Collingsworths had followed?

      Make that had allegedly followed, but the evidence against them was overwhelming—just not indisputable as yet.

      Matt spoke and waved to several more people before they finally stopped at a table near the back, where it was only slightly quieter. He held her chair for her, then took the seat opposite hers. She was keenly aware that in a bar full of sexy cowboys, he still stood out.

      It wasn’t his looks that set him apart, though he certainly held his own in that department. It was his self-confidence, Shelly decided. He was a man who knew who he was and what he was about.

      A waitress sashayed over, and true to his word, Matt ordered a black coffee.

      “If you’re hungry, they have great burgers here,” he said. “Good chicken-fried steaks, too.”

      Shelly had learned quickly that battered and fried steak—as big as the plate and covered in thick cream gravy—was a staple of every restaurant in this part of Texas. She’d tried it, and loved it. Then promptly gave it up before she gained too much weight to fit into the new jeans she’d purchased for this assignment.

      “I can bring you a menu,” the waitress said. “Kitchen’s open until midnight.”

      “Thanks, but I won’t need one. The burger sounds good.”

      “With cheese, jalapenos, onion rings?”

      “Just cheese. And a glass of iced tea, unsweetened.”

      Shelly wasn’t hungry, though she’d barely touched her dinner at the hospital. But picking at food would be less awkward than having nothing to do but stare at Matt, while he bombarded her with questions that she’d be forced to answer with rehearsed lies.

      She was certain that’s what this coffee date was about. He was obviously suspicious of the day’s events and determined to check her out. That convinced her even more that neither he nor his family had any idea who she really was. All she had to do was play this cool and she’d soon be living inside the gates of Jack’s Bluff Ranch.

      “Don’t you drink beer?” she asked when the waitress walked away.

      “Occasionally. Mostly I’m a whiskey man, but I had a drink after dinner and I figure that’s