Badlands Beware Page 6

  Her expression was carefully blank, calm, which told him all he needed to know. Inside, she was anything but.

  “We don’t know anything about his life before he married Mom,” Sarah continued. “He never talked about parents or siblings. Where he was born or if this ranch was passed on. We just...assumed. And we had so much family, and everything with losing Mom, and Liza and Nina disappearing and... Well, you know. It just didn’t come up. Until now.”

  Liza’s stay with the Knights had been brief, but her returning to the Sons had hurt all of the Knights, and Jamison. Liza and Jamison had since patched things up after saving Liza’s half sister, but it had taken a long time.

  Nina’s disappearing had been the only time in Tucker’s life where he thought Duke might actually cut all ties with the Wyatts. He’d personally blamed Tucker’s youngest brother Cody, Nina’s boyfriend at the time. It had taken a long time for Duke to get past it. When Nina had returned—injured and with her daughter in tow—Tucker had been sure Duke would be furious all over again, but the reconciliation of Cody and Nina had soothed some of his anger.

  Some.

  There was the guilt again, darker this time. Tucker knew Duke had a secret life. He’d put the idea in their heads. Now he was going to lie to them as if he didn’t know what it was.

  Where does your loyalty lie? North Star or your friends?

  Two very different women stared at him. Rachel, dark hair, eyes and skin. Tall and slender. Sarah, petite, curvy, with baby blues and flyaway blond hair.

  He wanted to tell them the truth. He couldn’t think of a good reason not to, except Granger had told him not to. Duke hadn’t argued with it. There might be a very good reason Sarah and Rachel should be kept in the dark.

  What might they do if they knew the truth?

  “I’m...looking into it. His past, that is. Best I can. To see if it connects to anything that’s going on.” He did his best not to cringe, not to show how utterly slimy he felt for the flat-out lies. “I haven’t gotten very far because I don’t have a lot to go on. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

  Sarah shook her head sadly. “That’s just it. Who never talks about their parents? Or where they’re from. Dad’s got to be from South Dakota. How else would he end up with all this?”

  Tucker really hated that he knew the answer to that question. He forced himself to smile reassuringly. “I’ll keep digging. I—”

  He was interrupted by his phone going off. It wasn’t his regular ringtone. He frowned at the screen. It must be a North Star number. “I have to take this,” he said, pushing away from the table.

  Both women looked at him with frowns, but he lifted the phone to his ear and stepped out of the kitchen. “Wy—”

  Granger was barking out questions before Tucker even got his last name out of his mouth. “Where’d you get that name?”

  Tucker felt shattered, and he didn’t even fully understand why. He looked back at the kitchen. No one had followed, but he still slid into Duke’s room and closed the door. “So, it’s true. That’s his real name.”

  Why was Rachel dreaming about Duke’s real name? A man instead of a mountain lion?

  “I asked where you got the name, Wyatt.”

  Tucker hesitated. He had the sinking suspicion if he mentioned it was in Rachel’s dream, she’d be dragged into this. Maybe North Star would keep her safe. Maybe they even needed to know that she knew something. But...

  He couldn’t bring himself to utter her name. It felt wrong, and beyond that, he doubted very much Duke wanted his daughter dragged into this even if she did know something.

  And his loyalty was to his friends over the North Star Group. Even if they were doing something good in trying to take down the Sons, and that was important. But so was safeguarding Rachel.

  So, he lied instead. “I did some research on dirty cops in Chicago. You did give me enough information to go on to make an educated guess.”

  “Wyatt. Your job is to keep your families from getting suspicious while we handle the real threat. I don’t need any misdirected people wading into this. Keep your side out of it. No more digging. Do you understand me?”

  Tucker wanted to say or what, but he had a feeling Granger McMillan was dangerous enough to make or what hurt. “All right, but it seems to me it’d be more helpful if I knew the whole story.”

  “I don’t need your help. I need you to keep your families out of it. That’s it. If you can’t do that, I’ll bring in someone who can, and you will be dealt with accordingly.”

  Tucker opened his mouth to tell Granger to jump off a cliff, but the line went dead.

  Probably for the best. He let out a long breath.

  Rachel knew her father’s real name without knowing that’s what it was. Which meant, she’d had some encounter with someone who’d been a part of Duke’s previous life.

  If that someone was still out there, if that someone was behind this connection to the Sons, it meant Rachel was as much of a target as Duke.

  Chapter Seven

  Rachel didn’t have the dream. She woke up feeling rested for the first time in days. It might have put her in a good mood, but as long as her father was missing, there was no real good mood to have.

  Tucker had promised to look into Duke’s past, but she had to wonder if it wouldn’t end up being...catastrophic somehow. She didn’t want to believe her father was involved in something bad, but how could she ignore facts?

  He’d left of his own accord, sort of. She still believed he’d been forced to leave, but he hadn’t been carted off or held at gunpoint. His little disappearing act and fake vacation had to be born out of threats, or something like that.

  Rachel got dressed, trying to remind herself there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She had to trust Tucker and the Wyatts to look into her father’s disappearance. And Cecilia. Cecilia wouldn’t sit idly by. None of her sisters would. Sarah would ranch, Nina and Liza were busy with their children but would probably help Cody and Jamison in whatever ways they could. Felicity should be concentrating on growing her baby, but she would likely discuss with Gage what was going on.

  And Rachel would be left to cook and clean. She tried not to be disgusted with herself. After all, if it was good enough for Grandma Pauline, it was good enough for her.

  But Grandma Pauline was eighty. Rachel also had no doubt she’d pick up that big rifle she kept hidden in the pantry and take care of whatever intruders might deign to invade her ranch.

  What could Rachel do? Scream?

  No. That really wasn’t good enough. She needed to learn some basics about getting away or fighting back.

  She’d insist Tucker teach her. If he had to be underfoot, the least he could do was be useful. She headed downstairs and to her normal routine of making breakfast, but she stopped short at the entrance to the kitchen.

  Tucker was in her kitchen. She couldn’t tell what he was doing, but she could make out his outline. She could hear the sounds of...cooking.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, maybe a little too accusatorially to be fair.

  “Thought I could take breakfast duty since I’m staying here,” he replied, continuing to move around her kitchen as if she were just some sort of... bystander.

  “But... I always make breakfast.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve completely morphed into Grandma Pauline and can’t stand someone else carrying some weight?”

  “That isn’t...” She had to trail off because it was silly to be upset someone had beaten her to breakfast. She’d been complaining for years that Duke and Sarah never even tried to figure out their way around the kitchen.

  She should be grateful someone was lending a hand, even if it was Tucker. But mostly she felt incredibly superfluous and useless. “I guess I’ll—”

  “Have a seat. It’s almost ready. I don’t want you picking
up after me. I can do my own laundry, keep Duke’s room tidy and all that. I’m not your houseguest, so you don’t need to treat me like one. I’m here to help. That’s all.”

  “Being here to help does technically make you a guest,” Rachel muttered irritably.

  “Well, this guest can take care of himself.” As if to prove it, he slid a plate in front of her. “All I did was bake some of Grandma’s cinnamon rolls you had in the freezer and cut up a melon. Hardly putting myself out.”

  “But what if your coffee sucks?” she asked, trying to make light of how small that made her feel. When did she get so pathetic that she needed to make a meal to feel worthy of her spot here?

  He slid the mug in front of her. “It doesn’t. And, I already doctored it. You’re welcome.”

  The coffee didn’t suck. She might have made it a little stronger for Sarah, but he had indeed put in cream and sugar just how she liked it. She wanted to make a joke about keeping him around, but it sat uncomfortably on her chest so she couldn’t form the words.

  It was a little too easy to picture. She knew it would be...difficult to find a significant other. Not so much because of her scarring and lack of sight, but because she just didn’t get around much and lived in a rural area. But she’d always had that little dream of a husband and kids in this kitchen.

  To even picture Tucker filling that role was embarrassing. So she shoved a bite of cinnamon roll in her mouth instead. Even after being frozen, Grandma Pauline’s cinnamon rolls were like a dream.

  “You know, Sarah and Duke would mess up even reheating frozen rolls,” she offered, trying to think of anything else than what was currently occupying her brain.

  He took the seat next to her, presumably with his own plate of food and mug of coffee. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself, Rach, but I don’t think you give them much space to figure out how.”

  She frowned at that.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. Maybe you’re right and they can’t.”

  But she could tell he didn’t think so, and worse she knew he was right. She complained about how little they did, while never ever giving them even an inch to do it for themselves.

  She ate her feelings via one too many cinnamon rolls, then started on the fruit. She could wallow in...well, everything, or she could do something. She could act. She could change.

  “Tuck, I want you to teach me how to fight.”

  “Huh?”

  “I can’t shoot. But I could fight.” She pushed the plate away, ignoring the last few bites of melon. “I want to be able to defend myself. Maybe nothing bad happens here, but I want to be ready if it does.”

  “Rach, you don’t have to worry about that. We’re all—”

  “Tucker.” She reached across the table, found his arm. She needed that connection to make sure he understood this was more than just...a suggestion. She needed it. Needed to feel like she could contribute or at least not make a situation worse. “I could fight. I want to be able to fight.” She gave his arm a squeeze.

  He hesitated, but he didn’t immediately shoot her down again. “I’m sure Cecilia—”

  “Isn’t here. You are. Didn’t you teach some self-defense class at the Y for a while?”

  She could hear him shift in his chair, a sense of embarrassment almost. “Well, yeah, but—”

  “But what? What’s different about that and this?”

  After a long beat of silence, he finally spoke. “I guess there really isn’t one.”

  “Exactly. So, you’ll do it.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, because she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  “I guess I could teach you and Sarah a few things.” He didn’t sound enthused about it, but she’d take agreement with or without excitement.

  Rachel heard Sarah stepping into the kitchen, and then her small bright form entered Rachel’s blurry vision.

  “What things are you teaching me?”

  “Self-defense. Rachel wants to learn how to fight.”

  Rachel noted that, while he didn’t sound sure of teaching her anything, he didn’t seem dismissive or disapproving. Maybe he didn’t like teaching was all.

  Well, he’d have to suck it up.

  “Good idea,” Sarah said around a mouthful of food. “But I can shoot a gun. And kick your butt, if I had to.”

  “Kick my butt?” Tucker replied incredulously. “You’re five foot nothing. If that.”

  “I also wrestle stubborner cows than you, Wyatt. I could take you down right here, right now.”

  “All right.” There was the scrape of the chair against the floor. “You’re on.”

  “Oh, you don’t want to mess with me.”

  Rachel could see the outlines of them circling each other. “You aren’t really going to...”

  There was the sound of a grunt, a thud and then laughter. It was a nice sound. Comforting. Like having her family home. Except Dad wasn’t here, and they were pretending to fight.

  “All right. Sarah gets a pass,” Tucker conceded. “Though I maintain you did not kick my butt.”

  “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Tuck,” Sarah replied cheerfully. “Dev’s truck is already out there.” The cheer died out of her voice. “I could wring his neck. I told him to wait for me. Leave me a cinnamon roll to heat up,” she called, already halfway out the door.

  The door slammed.

  “Did you let her win?” Rachel asked.

  “It wasn’t about winning. I just wanted to see what she’s got. Good instincts and a nice jab. She’s scrappy and mean, which is good in a real fight. Besides, she’s right. She can shoot.”

  “Are you saying I’m not scrappy and mean?”

  Tucker laughed. “I wasn’t saying that, but we both know you’re not. Which is why I’ll teach you a few self-defense moves, if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “It will. When do we start?”

  * * *

  AUTUMN IN SOUTH DAKOTA meant anything could happen. A nice sunny day. A sudden blizzard. Today was a pleasant morning, thank God. The yard in front of the Knight house would be as good a place as any to teach Rachel a few moves.

  Rachel had changed from jeans and a T-shirt to something...he couldn’t think too much about. It was all stretchy and formfitting, so he kept his gaze firmly on the world around him and not on her.

  “Shouldn’t we have padding or something? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  The fact she wasn’t joking was somehow endearing. Before he’d moved to detective, he’d been on the road. Fought off the occasional person too high on drugs to feel pain, quite a few men larger and meaner than him, and more than one criminal with a weapon.

  “We’re just doing a few lessons. Learn a few rules and moves. You’re not going to be beating me up quite yet.”

  “But shouldn’t I be able to?”

  “Sure. But we’ll have to work up to it. You can’t learn everything there is to know about self-defense in a day.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Is it that complicated?”

  “It’s not about being complicated. It’s just...something you practice, so it becomes second nature. So you’re ready to do it. But listen, Rach. You’re not going to need to, because I’m here and—”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to feel like the weak link. Like the person everyone has to protect. Maybe it isn’t much, but I just want to be able to land a punch or get away from someone if I need to. That’s all.”

  She more than deserved that. He just wished he didn’t have to be the one to teach her. It would involve touching and guiding, and she was... Hell, exercise leggings and a stretchy top were not fair. He was human.

  Human and better than his baser—and completely unacceptable—urges. Because he’d shaped himself into a good, honorable man. One who did not take advantage of a young
woman who meant a lot to his family.

  And to you.

  Because what he could forget when he didn’t spend too much time one-on-one with Rachel was that they had a lot in common. What she’d said inside about wanting to feel useful echoed inside of him. Her surprise and irritation that he’d help out around the house made him want to do it all the more.

  Take care of her and—

  He cleared his throat, forced himself to focus. To treat this like any other lesson. “Rule number one. Always go for the crotch.”

  She made an odd sound. Like a strangled laugh. “I’m not going for your crotch, Tucker.”

  Jesus. He could not think about that. “Thanks for that. I just meant, in real life, that’s your target. Crotch. Eyes. The most vulnerable points.” He hated the thought of her needing to do any of that.

  “Okay.”

  “You have to be mean.”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “I know how to be mean.”

  “Really mean. Channel your inner Sarah.”

  “I’m going to channel my inner Grandma Pauline and whack you with a rolling pin.”

  Tucker laughed. “All right, killer. Show me how you’d punch.”

  He walked her through the proper form for a punch. Tried to talk her through aiming even though her sight was compromised. He instructed about grabbing anything she could make into a weapon. How to kick with the most effect.

  Her form wasn’t bad, and it got better the more she practiced. He offered to quit or take a break at least five times, but she kept wanting to go on. Even as they both ended up breathing heavily.

  “The problem is I’m not going to be in a boxing ring. If I’m going to be in a fight, it’s probably going to be because someone’s trying to hurt me or someone I love. But they’d underestimate me. Either by ignoring me or just grabbing me.”

  “Maybe, but you have to learn the basics.”

  “But I can practice punching and kicking form on my own. We need to practice like...how to get away if someone grabs me. I know you don’t want to hurt me, and I don’t want to hurt you, but it has to feel more like an actual fight.”