Her Cowboy Protector (6 page)

"Damn it, Cruz, I don't want your help!" He lashed out in anger and humiliation. "Just get back in bed where you belong."

Her hurried footsteps retreated from the door. There was a squeal and a slam before the house went silent again. Shame soured his belly as he pushed off the floor. He had no right to speak to her that way, not when she was trying to be kind and show compassion. The problem? He didn't want her compassion. He sure as hell wouldn't be able to stand to see pity in her eyes.

He stumbled over his own feet as he tried to flip the light switch on the far wall. Blinking rapidly and with a hand across his eyes, he adjusted to the sudden splash of light. His head pounded and he gripped his temples. When he pulled it together, Niall swept the room with his gaze. It didn't look nearly as bad as it usually did.

Compared to some of the doozies he'd had since leaving active duty, this nightmare had been relatively tame. He made quick work of returning his room to order and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Every time he had that dream, that nightmare where he was abandoned and dying, Niall got sick. This time, he was determined not to puke. Somehow, he had to muscle through this. He'd been an elite member of the armed forces. There was no way he was going to allow some ridiculous nightmares to beat him.

Hands shaking, Niall flopped down on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands. His body throbbed with tension. Anger swelled inside him and threatened to overwhelm him in another ugly outburst. He'd replaced that bathroom door twice because of his explosive temper. He'd be damned if he did it again because he couldn't control his rage tonight, especially with Cruz probably cowering in her room.

Guilt gnawed at him. He owed her an explanation and an apology. It occurred to Niall that of any woman he'd ever known, Cruz was probably the most equipped to understand him. No doubt she'd been through the hell of nightmares and the shakes and the furious swell of emotions that blasted through him like a shockwave.

And he'd screamed at her like some maniac. He'd heard the way she ran back to her room and slammed the door. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd locked it and wedged a chair under the knob. He wouldn't have blamed her. He probably sounded like a lunatic when in the grips of those nightmares. If he'd been a helpless pregnant woman, he'd have been terrified.

"Shit." Niall stood on trembling, cramping legs and took one step toward his bedroom door before changing his mind. His sweat-soaked body cooled uncomfortably. He wore only boxer briefs. If he showed up sweating like a pig and almost naked at her door, Cruz would probably put that gun of hers on him again.

"Hell fire and damnation!" Irritated and feeling low, Niall stalked toward the small bathroom attached to his room and connected to the other guest room. He needed a long, hot shower and some time to clear his muddled mind. His apology to Cruz would have to wait until morning.

* * *

Cruz stared at the darkened ceiling and pulled the quilt tight to her chin. Her ears still rang with the bloodcurdling screams coming from Niall's room. She'd been ripped from her sleep by what sounded like a murder. For a split-second, she'd been sure Niall and El Alacrán were trying to kill one another. Then she'd heard Niall shouting military commands and everything was clear. That fading bruise she'd spotted on his face when he'd showed up at her apartment two nights earlier suddenly made sense. He'd probably whacked the crap out himself falling out of bed or sleepwalking.

She recognized the signs of PTSD when she heard them. It was obvious he wasn't treating it properly or maybe even at all. If he wasn't going to help himself, there wasn’t much she could do. She'd been through that song-and-dance with Carlos and then with herself. It wasn't easy to ask for help—Lord knows she'd resisted—but it was the first step in healing.

And she damn sure wasn't going to be yelled at like that! No way. She wouldn't make the mistake of trying to help Niall ever again. The man was on his own.

Unsure whether or not he was a danger to her in his crazed, nightmare state, Cruz had locked the door and wedged a chair under the knob. It wouldn't stop him if he went on a sleep-induced rampage but it might slow him down long enough for him to wake. It was a terrifying thought but Cruz's experiences had taught her never to take her safety for granted.

Her throat tightened and a prickly heat burned her eyes. She blinked back tears, refusing to cry over her situation. In the grand scheme of things being stuck in a house with a crotchety cowboy who may or may not go berserk in the middle of the night wasn't so bad. Things could be much worse.

She was alive. She was healthy. The baby was growing just fine. Sure, Niall had scared her with all that knocking around and yelling but she had to trust Carlos. Her brother wouldn't have dumped her out here with someone mentally unhinged. She remembered some of the long nights with Carlos. He'd had some terrible nightmares in the early days of being home from his deployments.

Cruz inhaled a cleansing breath. There was no way she'd be able to fall back asleep. She was thirsty too. After a quick stop in the bathroom, she approached her door and put her ear to the wood. She heard nothing and assumed the coast was clear. Out in the hallway, Cruz held her breath and listened again. This time she heard the shower running in the shared bathroom smack dab between the two guest rooms.

With Niall safely installed in the shower, she headed downstairs quickly and without having to tiptoe. Some of the floorboards creaked awfully loud. One creak and Niall would probably fly out the door and strangle her. Hopefully the noise of the shower drowned out her movements.

Cruz segued into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light, and fixed herself a glass of water that she carried into Niall's office. She plopped into the swiveling chair behind Niall's messy desk and surveyed the stacks of paper and manila folders. After a day of reading and playing solitaire, she'd been desperate for work. Niall had shown her the disorganized office and she'd immediately gotten to work. It had taken her most of the day to sort everything into piles of like documents. Certain she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, she dug into the piles of papers.

As she scanned slips of paper and hastily scribbled figures, Cruz noticed the many mark-throughs and the odd placements of numbers. She'd served enough time as a TA in lower level college math courses to immediately recognize the problem. In one instance, she spotted the letter P where there should have been a nine.

Why Niall hadn't mentioned his dyslexia? She tried to imagine how frustrating it was for an extremely capable man like Niall, one of the country's most decorated and highly skilled soldiers, to struggle with simple concepts like writing numbers in the correct order. Obviously he'd learned to work around his learning disability while serving his country and studying for his bachelor's degree.

Still there had to be a way to help him. Technology could be a godsend for a man like Niall. She smacked the spacebar on the keyboard connected to his desktop to wake it up and launched an internet browser. She typed in some keywords and hit enter.

There were products like receipt scanners that could do a lot of the mundane work for him. If she couldn't find a good ranch accounting software, she'd just make one herself. A spreadsheet was simple enough to put together. Her programming capabilities were better than the average person. This wasn't exactly the degree of computational and applied mathematics she was used to but at least it was somewhat related to her field of study.

As she clicked around various websites, Cruz ignored the temptation to log on and check her email. She'd been dying to get in touch with her colleagues and friends but she'd promised Carlos and Niall she wouldn't. Touching base with folks back in Austin wasn't worth risking the tiny little boy presently stretching his arms and kneeing her in the ribs.

So far, she'd only used the internet to do a morning and evening check of newspapers across the state and in Mexico. She scoured the posts for any news of Carlos, the Reynosa and De La Garza cartels and any sort of crimes that looked like they could have been committed by El Alacrán.

Her hand stilled over the mouse.
How long before he finds me?
She'd been lulled into a sense of security with Niall, but in the back of her mind, she knew it was only a matter of time. After the attack, she'd worked up the courage to Google the assassin who had so viciously assaulted her that night. What she'd discovered had been stomach churning images of pure evil.

And I’m next.
Cruz felt it in her bones. Sometimes, the fine hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms would stand on end as if electrified. She could almost feel the cold kiss of that long blade he'd held against her throat. This time he wouldn't taunt her. This time he would follow through with his threats. He'd string her up and slit her throat.

And steal the baby.

Cruz hadn't dared to speak aloud her deepest, darkest fear, the one that kept her awake at night and left her nauseated and chilled. She'd grown almost superstitious, certain that if she voiced aloud what she feared, it would come true.

Neither Niall nor Carlos had been brave enough to mention it but she knew they had to be thinking the same thing. There was no other explanation for The Scorpion letting her live so long. Before he'd left that night, he'd warned her he was coming back. She hadn't ever been able to bring herself to repeat the words he'd spoken to anyone else. The filthy, violent things he'd said were so disturbing. He'd admitted then that she was too perfect to kill. He'd wanted seconds and maybe thirds.

In those first few weeks after leaving the hospital, she'd waited for him. She'd felt his presence like a black storm cloud hovering on the horizon so threatening and ominous. More than anything, Cruz feared the possibility he would get his vile hands on her son.

Refusing to consider that nightmare scenario a moment longer, Cruz turned her attention to Niall's accounts. What she needed was a ranch management program. Something inside her head perked. She pushed out of her chair, picked up her backpack by the bookcase and tossed it onto the extra chair in the corner. She sorted through the contents of the hot pink pencil pouch.

She tried to attend at least one math-related conference every quarter. Even though most of the sample software offered was rarely up her alley, she always took them. The AgriLife Extension workshop offered in October had been surprisingly interesting. Even her conference hotel roommate, a girl who worked in finance, had wanted a copy.

"Gotcha." Cruz took the labeled drive over to Niall's computer and plugged it in to the USB port. She double-clicked on the prompt screen to open the documents on the flash drive. She selected the one she wanted and frowned when the file opened to reveal scads of numbers and confusing data. "What in the world is this?"

Her whispered words were meant for her ears only. She shook her head as she scrolled through what looked, on first glance, to be corrupted data. On second glance, she realized it was much more than that. It was good data of some kind. Codes maybe? Or some kind of encryption—.

Cruz froze as she heard the rocking chair outside the window creak. In the next instant, she dropped to the floor and skittered around to the front of the desk, putting the large piece of furniture between her and the window. Heart lodged in her throat, she fought to swallow and breathe. The rational side of her brain insisted it was simply the wind moving the rocking chair. The paranoid side told her to run and deal with the whys and maybes later.

There. Another noise. And another. Her stomach dropped like a freight elevator on the fritz. Those were footsteps. Footsteps!

She judged the distance between the desk and the door. With much more grace and speed than she'd ever assumed possible in her bulky, awkward state, Cruz skittered out of the office in a crouched position and took refuge in the darkened hallway. She didn't dare flip the light switch. For the first time in months, she wanted to be in the shadows.

She listened as the person outside approached the front door. Her gaze trained on the thick slab of wood between her and danger. The half circle decorative glass along the top of the door caught her eye. Without a second's hesitation, she crawled into the empty dining room and pressed tight to the wall. She stifled a terrified scream when something loud and hard thunked against the door. Was someone trying to break in?

Hand clamped over her mouth, she tried to think. If she went back in the hall, the person at the door would have a clear view of her running upstairs to Niall through the decorative half-moon glass. If that person had a gun…

No. She shook her head and glanced toward the kitchen. There were weapons there. Footsteps along the front porch spurred her into action. Since Niall didn’t use his dining room, there was no furniture to shield her. The big windows overlooking the porch weren't going to do her any favors.

Once in the kitchen, Cruz rushed to the island and yanked open drawers until she found a big chef's knife. Armed and dangerous, she listened to the unmistakable squeak and thud of footsteps falling on the creaky boards of the porch. Her body turned with the stalker's movements. Knife out in front of her, she wondered if the side door off the kitchen was locked.

Suddenly, a big, rough hand clapped over her mouth. Cruz stiffened and threw back her elbow, ready to bust her attacker's spleen if necessary. The soft grunt behind her sounded more annoyed than hurt. The scent of cedar and leather so uniquely Niall hit her nose. She sagged with relief.

"Sh," he whispered against her ear, the rough stubble of his jaw scraping her cheek. He pried the knife from her hands and set it on the counter. In one swift motion, he pushed her behind him and walked her backwards to the pantry, his body always between her and the door. He shoved her inside the pantry, and, without further instruction, he closed the door, sealing her inside.

Cruz slid down the wall and extended her trembling legs as far as they would go. Sitting there amid cans of creamed corn and bags of rice, she sobbed softly into her hands. The full force of her terror slammed down hard, knocking the air right from her lungs. She hugged her belly and tried to calm down before she really lost it.