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Her breath came in quick pants, her chest tight. Death. The rifle shot. Bullet wounds. She could smell it, taste it. She knew death. And not just any death. She knew murder, life taken for selfish reasons, for more power. The tan creature was a predator, but he’d only been obtaining nourishment, not viciously killing for gain or pleasure.
Her forehead broke out in sweat, and then it chilled. She was stewing about ghastly deaths. Quaid had alluded to death and told a little of the torture. Thankfully she could not form a clear picture of the death, but she could almost hear voices begging for mercy, see eyes staring vacantly, smell blood.
She turned her head to the side and vomited. She spit but could not clear the bitterness from her mouth or her soul. Horror overcame her. Annie stirred underneath her but didn’t move.
Jacey swung her trembling leg over and slid off the horse, resting her head against Annie’s shoulder. She didn’t want to see the images. She didn’t want to remember. Ever. She was convinced her brain had blocked out her past. Maybe she simply couldn’t handle the depravity any longer. Quaid acted like she was strong, telling the story of her leaping in front of his tormenters and clawing one, but she felt weak.
“Thank you, Annie,” she murmured, leaning against the horse and sliding her arms around her neck.
Annie nickered to her.
Horses. She loved them. Almost as much as she loved cowboys.
She heard the thundering of hooves and lifted her head to see Cade racing across the wide pasture toward her. Straightening, she kept a hand on Annie to settle herself.
Jack leaped over the fence and landed about twenty feet away. Cade tugged on the reins, dismounted before Jack had stopped, and raced to her.
“Jacey?” His green eyes were full of concern. “You’re white as a sheet. What happened?”
She swallowed, and it tasted horrible. “C-Cade …” His name came out on a sob. She ran for him, slamming against his solid chest.
Cade caught her in his arms and held her. “Whoa … there now. It’s okay. I’m here.”
He was here. Solid and real. She snaked her arms around his muscular back and clung to him.
“Sweetheart.” His voice was tender and the term of endearment even more so. “Did something hurt you?”
“N-no,” she managed. “I saw you kill the creature, heard the shot. I saw the poor, mangled, tortured cow. I know death and torture. I hate it, Cade. I hate it.” She sobbed against him.
“Ah, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He cradled her tenderly yet firmly and let her cry.
He didn’t say anything else as she cried freeing tears and breathed in the musk and leather scent of his neck. Sunshine. His bright light inspired her. She held onto his strength as if he could eradicate all the evil and pain in her past. How could she not remember? Yet she could. Her mother. It all stemmed back to her mother. Weren’t mothers supposed to be nurturing and loving? Jacey’s mother had tortured her own son, murdered people, and struck fear into people’s hearts, especially hers and Quaid’s. How awful.
What if she was awful too? Part of what Quaid had explained was that Catherine had hidden her evil deeds behind a faultless public persona for years. Nobody but her inner circle, her lackeys, and the people she manipulated, blackmailed, and murdered knew what was in her heart, and only their family and the most trusted guards knew the extent of her depravity. What if … what if her mother had trained Jacey right along with Elizabeth?
“Cade.” She lifted her head, brought her hands around to his chest, and grasped his shirt in two fists. “What if I am a murderer?”
“Jacey.” His voice was full of shock and denial. “That is not possible.”
“What if I am like my mother and have been forced to do her evil work? Maybe I have this amnesia to block it all out because I cannot live with myself any longer.”
“Ah, no. No.” Cade slid his hands up to her face, cradling her jawline. They were working man’s hands. They smelled like metal and dirt and maybe even blood, which made her stomach curdle. But none of that mattered because Cade was sincere and protective, the cowboy that could help her and maybe redeem her.
What if she wasn’t redeemable?
“It would be impossible for you to fake the light in your eyes,” he said, holding her gaze.
“How do you know?”
“I … have some experience with deception.”
She waited for him to elaborate, distracted from her horrifying thoughts by that line. The woman he and Clint had both loved, or was it something else that had happened in his life? Possibly in the military? She wanted to know everything about his life. He’d told her about his parents and sisters this morning. She needed more, craved more of him and his goodness and a life well lived.
“You, sweetheart, are not deceptive.”
“I pray you are right.” She fought not to cry again. She didn’t want to be a crier, but it seemed she had no control over what she wanted in her life. Choosing to stay here with Cade may have been the first time she had a choice. That made sense why Quaid was so insistent that she choose.
“I’m always right.” He winked, and she choked out a laugh at that overconfident line. His grin helped alleviate the heaviness inside her. “Jacey, I should not have taken those shots. I reacted like I do every time a predator comes after or kills one of my cattle. It’s my fault for killing the coyote and setting you off.”
