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Authors: Becky McGraw
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hospital, because they would ask too many questions. Besides, he knew shortly Ray’s men would be out looking for them. He’d bet the first place they’d look would be the hospital.
Trace buttoned up the shirt, then picked her up, pressing her front to his chest. He balanced her again, then looped the rope around her to lash her to him. He tied off the rope, then grabbed her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist. It was tough, but he managed to throw his leg over his bike, and sit with her straddling him. After he settled her in front of him, he walked the bike out of the shed. At the corner of the barn, he saw several men walking down the gravel drive toward the holding pen and his heart sped up in his chest.
Cranking the bike, he gunned it a couple times, then put his feet on the pegs and the bike shot forward . He wasn’t going to wait until they got to the holding pen and discovered the mess he left in there. It was time to leave, and to do that he would have to pass those men on the road. Armed men. The three men were not FBI agents on assignment there either. They were ex-convicts who would put a bullet in his back without blinking.
Leaning over Ronnie, Trace twisted the throttle wide open. The bike lurched and weaved, but he got control then streaked down the road toward the men. When they saw him coming, they spread out across the road and whipped out their guns to level them at the bike. Trace didn’t slow down, he leaned closer over Ronnie and the bike. Gritting his teeth, he held the throttle wide open in a death grip. When he got within firing range, a bullet pinged off of his exhaust pipe, and another whizzed past his ear. The third guy looked to be having trouble with his weapon. Trace didn’t look too closely, and he didn’t slow down. He whizzed right past them, and they dove to the side of the road. So did the two FBI agents who sauntered out of the biggest barn on the property right into his path.
Trace ’s front wheel hit the paved road leading to the big house and ate up ground toward the gate. Please let the gate be open, he prayed, as he rounded the end of the house. His heart sank to his toes when he saw it was closed. He looked behind him and saw the thugs scrambling toward the ranch truck parked by the holding pen. Trace should have taken that damned truck, or at least disabled it, but he hadn’t been thinking. And he hadn’t had time. He didn’t have time to open the gate now, but he was going to have to do that. No matter how difficult that would be with Ronnie on his lap. If it was locked he was ten kinds of screwed.
Trace skidded the bike to a sideways stop at the gate, and tested the latch. When it flipped he breathed a sigh of relief. Pushing the gate hard, he walked the bike through the opening, then stopped long enough to shove it back shut. That would at least slow them down a second, he thought, as he gunned the bike down the driveway toward the road.
What was it with nosy , troublesome women, he wondered, gritting his teeth. And what the hell was wrong with him thinking he had to save them all. He'd barely salvaged things after rescuing Leigh Ann Baker. He should have learned a lesson. No, now he was saving the one strapped to his chest too. A woman who had helped his daddy put him in prison. By doing that he was also letting Leland off the hook. His cover was blown to hell, and the feds investigation probably was too. Trace was in a mess of trouble too because of how it all went down. Susan Whitmore was not going to be happy, and would probably think he reneged on their deal.
But even though Ronnie Winters probably deserved what she would have gotten at that ranch, Trace couldn’t in good conscience let that happen to anyone. Leaving her there would have made h im no better than those men. No better than his father. Saving her was a big risk though. He was taking a leap of
Trace buttoned up the shirt, then picked her up, pressing her front to his chest. He balanced her again, then looped the rope around her to lash her to him. He tied off the rope, then grabbed her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist. It was tough, but he managed to throw his leg over his bike, and sit with her straddling him. After he settled her in front of him, he walked the bike out of the shed. At the corner of the barn, he saw several men walking down the gravel drive toward the holding pen and his heart sped up in his chest.
Cranking the bike, he gunned it a couple times, then put his feet on the pegs and the bike shot forward . He wasn’t going to wait until they got to the holding pen and discovered the mess he left in there. It was time to leave, and to do that he would have to pass those men on the road. Armed men. The three men were not FBI agents on assignment there either. They were ex-convicts who would put a bullet in his back without blinking.
Leaning over Ronnie, Trace twisted the throttle wide open. The bike lurched and weaved, but he got control then streaked down the road toward the men. When they saw him coming, they spread out across the road and whipped out their guns to level them at the bike. Trace didn’t slow down, he leaned closer over Ronnie and the bike. Gritting his teeth, he held the throttle wide open in a death grip. When he got within firing range, a bullet pinged off of his exhaust pipe, and another whizzed past his ear. The third guy looked to be having trouble with his weapon. Trace didn’t look too closely, and he didn’t slow down. He whizzed right past them, and they dove to the side of the road. So did the two FBI agents who sauntered out of the biggest barn on the property right into his path.
Trace ’s front wheel hit the paved road leading to the big house and ate up ground toward the gate. Please let the gate be open, he prayed, as he rounded the end of the house. His heart sank to his toes when he saw it was closed. He looked behind him and saw the thugs scrambling toward the ranch truck parked by the holding pen. Trace should have taken that damned truck, or at least disabled it, but he hadn’t been thinking. And he hadn’t had time. He didn’t have time to open the gate now, but he was going to have to do that. No matter how difficult that would be with Ronnie on his lap. If it was locked he was ten kinds of screwed.
Trace skidded the bike to a sideways stop at the gate, and tested the latch. When it flipped he breathed a sigh of relief. Pushing the gate hard, he walked the bike through the opening, then stopped long enough to shove it back shut. That would at least slow them down a second, he thought, as he gunned the bike down the driveway toward the road.
What was it with nosy , troublesome women, he wondered, gritting his teeth. And what the hell was wrong with him thinking he had to save them all. He'd barely salvaged things after rescuing Leigh Ann Baker. He should have learned a lesson. No, now he was saving the one strapped to his chest too. A woman who had helped his daddy put him in prison. By doing that he was also letting Leland off the hook. His cover was blown to hell, and the feds investigation probably was too. Trace was in a mess of trouble too because of how it all went down. Susan Whitmore was not going to be happy, and would probably think he reneged on their deal.
But even though Ronnie Winters probably deserved what she would have gotten at that ranch, Trace couldn’t in good conscience let that happen to anyone. Leaving her there would have made h im no better than those men. No better than his father. Saving her was a big risk though. He was taking a leap of
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