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CHAPTER 1

If she hoped to live, Sarah Cooper needed to pull off the most convincing performance of her life.

A disappearing act.

The GPS's robo-voice announced she'd arrived at her destination. A white wooden sign that read Oak Ridge Farms and featured a bucking black stallion marked the entrance. She glanced in the rearview mirror one last time to make sure no one had followed her. Tension eased from her stiff neck. She'd white-knuckled the drive on the freeway out of San Diego almost a week ago. At least the quiet country lanes in rural Maryland had prevented anyone from sneaking up on her.

She turned onto a tree-lined, dirt driveway, and her heart rate kicked up a notch.

This ranch was her last hope and the only job left that included room and board. No more sleeping cramped in her car, risking a heart attack every time a cop banged on the window.

She eyed the low-fuel light. The gas tank was as empty as her stomach. Nerves jitterbugged up her spine. She knew nothing about horses or farms. From the time she could walk, her life had been dance, dance, dance. Her slim build, perfect for ballet, wasn't an asset when interviewing for jobs requiring manual labor. None of the other jobs had panned out. She clenched her molars.

This interview would be different. It had to be.

Rocks and dirt crunched under the tires of the dinged-up Honda she'd bought. At some point, she'd owe a boatload of money to a parking garage in California where she'd abandoned her almost-new Toyota.

It didn't matter. A dead woman had no use for a nice car.

She pulled up to a maroon and white-trimmed barn. In the distance, a sprawling, tan house sat atop a grassy hill. Horses grazed in spacious fields enclosed by brown, split-rail fences between the stables and woods. Open meadows stretched for miles.

Peace and freedom. What she wouldn't give to have those again.

She took a deep breath, snatched the help-wanted ad from the seat beside her, and stepped out to find the owner. On her way toward the stables, she zipped her baggy jacket. Early May weather didn't call for a coat, but with luck, her slim frame would look bigger, and Debbie wouldn't worry about hiring someone too small to do the work.

A gust of wind blew the newspaper clipping out of her hand. The scrap skirted along the dirt, and she lunged to grab it. Her fingers touched the edge, but another gust set the paper back in flight. She scrambled, rounding the corner of the barn, and smacked headfirst into a pair of booted legs. The impact threw her back, and she landed on her butt. Her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in before logic, and she tensed.

Her gaze climbed and climbed before reaching a man's face shadowed by the brim of a navy ball cap with a Wounded Warrior emblem. Electric blue eyes stared down at her with such intensity her breath caught.

"Are you okay?" He offered a hand.

God, no, but she couldn't tell him that. "Yes."

Her first lie of the day.

One flex of his strong forearm and she found herself on her feet again. She'd never had one of her dance partners lift her up with such ease. Or grace. But something told her if she called this guy graceful, he wouldn't take it as a compliment.

He stepped back and crossed his arms. "Can I help you?"

She glanced up at his still-shadowed face, from his chiseled chin to the jagged scar at the edge of his right cheekbone. Thick, corded muscles lined his neck, and broad shoulders stretched his camouflage T-shirt. No doubt, physical work shaped his body, not a weight room.

His guarded eyes seemed to see right through her.

She forced herself not to squirm.

The breeze blew the clean fragrance of soap and leather toward her. She inhaled the pure, masculine scent, getting a little lightheaded.

He cleared his throat.

She jumped and mentally slapped herself, kicking her libido to the backseat. With her life in danger, she needed to stay focused.

"I'm looking for Debbie. I called about the ad in the paper, and she told me to come out." Sarah squared her shoulders and ignored the warmth rising to her cheeks.

He hitched an eyebrow. "You're here to apply for the farmhand job?"

"Yes." She nodded. Best to keep the conversation short. The doubt on his face only meant more questions and possible trouble. "Can you tell me where I might find Debbie?"

"She's probably at the house for lunch." He waved up the hill at a large rancher with a white wraparound porch. "And you are?"

"Sarah." At least she'd kept her first name the same. Less chance of slipping up.

He held out his hand. "Bruce."

When her palm pressed against his calloused one, a ripple of awareness passed through her.

Wheels crunched on the gravel behind them. She whipped her head around and froze, straining to make out the person behind the wheel. A woman emerged from the car, and Sarah heaved a big sigh.

A frown tugged at the corner of Bruce's mouth. "That's some grip you have."

She jerked her hand away and bit her cheek. Not five minutes on the premises and she'd panicked. She couldn't blow this chance. The small horse farm, located on the opposite coast from California, would make her hard to find. Sure, she'd have to learn about horses, but the job didn't call for any experience.

"Should I wait here for Debbie to come back?"

He adjusted his cap. "I was just headed up. I'll take you to find her."

"Thanks. I appreciate that." Although, she'd rather not spend any more time with the man.

She turned to follow him and stepped into a rut. He whipped an arm out and steadied her before she fell. Damn. Another wave of heat burned a path to her face. She'd have to watch her footing and calm her nerves around this guy or he'd think her a total klutz. The furthest thing from the truth.

He drew his hand back and glanced at her mud-caked tennis shoes but said nothing. She'd need boots if she got the job, which might be a stretch given her rocky start.

"Why do you want to work here? You don't look like a typical farmhand," Bruce asked as they trekked across the field.

"I need a job, and this one includes room and board. My lease is up." Only a half lie because she did need the work. She'd better change the subject. "Do you keep a horse here?"

He nodded. "Yes. But I also run a therapy program at the farm."

Sweat trickled down the side of her neck. She glanced over her shoulder. Every step farther from her car tightened the knot in her stomach. At least she had her gun in her purse. Not that she'd learned to shoot it yet.

Bruce climbed the steps leading to the porch. A couple of wooden rockers and a wicker table with two chairs sat under the shade of the roof. An orange tabby cat, rolled into a lazy ball, slept in the far corner.

"Deb, you there?" Bruce called through the screen door.

"Come on in," a woman with a gruff, husky voice yelled. "I got plenty of soup. You hungry?"

He shot a glance at Sarah and opened the door, holding it wide for her. "No, thanks."

Sarah entered the house. The scent of biscuits wafted through the room, and her stomach grumbled. She hadn't eaten since last night. Her body ran on nothing but adrenaline now.

Sun streamed through a bay window in the airy open kitchen. Hanging plants dangled over clay containers of fresh herbs on the ledge. A large pot simmered on the stove. Homey. She missed the feeling. Homey had ended for her at age fourteen when she'd left for the dance academy in New York.

Her gaze went to the windows. Neither the bay one nor the two over the sink had curtains. Anyone could see right in. She pressed a hand to her throat.

A woman with short brown hair, wearing jeans and a red flannel shirt stood by the stove, stirring soup. She glanced over her shoulder at them and placed a lid on the pot. Probably in her mid-fifties, though hard to tell with her deeply tanned skin, she had several inches and a good thirty pounds on Sarah.

"This is Sarah. She wants to apply for the job you listed," Bruce said.

Sarah stood as tall as possible while Debbie looked her up and down.

"You a friend of Bruce's?" Debbie crossed the room to them.

"No. I kinda bumped into him." At least the first words out of her mouth to Debbie weren't a lie.

Debbie scratched her head, as if she didn't know what to make of Sarah, and faced Bruce. "Since when do you turn down my chicken soup?"

Bruce's gaze darted from Sarah to the door. "No time. I have to get the horse ready for Charlie."

Debbie checked her watch and frowned. "But it's only —"

"Gotta go."

He left without a backward glance and let the screen door slam behind him.

Sarah blinked at his abrupt departure. His relationship with Debbie must be solid for him to feel free to act so rudely.

*
Bruce hiked away from the house at a brisk clip, not sure what to make of Sarah. The tiny woman wearing a jacket two sizes too big didn't belong doing a job that required hard physical labor.

No mistaking that look of fright on her face earlier. He'd seen it enough to last a lifetime. He set his jaw and scanned the perimeter. Tall grass swayed in the empty open fields, and the surrounding woods were quiet. Nothing out of place. Yet something or someone had this woman spooked.

Despite her small frame, she carried herself in a way that made her seem taller, and he hadn't missed the spark in her eyes when he'd questioned her about working at the farm. But the dark half-moons under them and the tightness in her face were textbook signs of stress and lack of sleep.

With large emerald eyes, fair skin, and wavy, dark hair, her striking features could turn any man's head. Yet, something had stirred inside him when her cheek sturned pink.

He tamped it down.

Didn't want it.

Didn't need it.

Most of the women he'd worked with in the Navy were tough from the job and didn't blush. Not much different at the farm, for that matter. Sarah had a softness about her, a vulnerability, but also spunk to think she could hold her own.

He frowned and continued on his way.

"Whoa."

Someone tapped his elbow, and he swung around to find himself face to face with his uncle Joe.

Crap.

Of all people.

"Where's the fire?" Wrinkles formed on the sides of his brown eyes as he squinted against the sun.

A vein pulsed in Bruce's temple. He never flew under Joe's radar. All the years Bruce had spent in the Navy, no one could read him. It's what had made him one of their best operatives. But Joe? It was like he was hardwired to Bruce's brain. The man didn't miss a damn thing.

"I'm headed to the stables." Bruce glanced at Joe's hand still on his arm.

Joe let go but didn't move to leave. "Why do you look like you saw a ghost?"

Bruce would rather break in new boots with a blister than discuss his feelings. Yeah, he had a ghost, and he wasn't about to betray her. "Everyone's full of questions today. I'll never get to the barn at this rate."

"Uh-huh." Joe's eyes narrowed. "I just left there. The place is still standing."

"Well, I have stuff to do before Charlie shows up." He needed to get away before Joe dug any deeper. Turning his back, Bruce called over his shoulder, "See you later."

He strode toward the barn. When he entered, the sweet scent of hay filled his nostrils. Horses snorted in their cool, dark stalls. He worked his way down the aisle, stopping to stroke their heads as they poked them over the half doors.

As usual, when he came to Misty's stall, the old mare neighed and nudged his hand. His heart squeezed. She might not be around much longer. The last of his father's horses, and what a trooper. Misty had turned out to be a perfect therapy horse. She'd been gentle and sweet from day one. His father had chosen well when he'd bought her for Bruce's early lessons. Maybe his dad would have been proud of what Bruce had done with Misty and the program. He needed to stay focused. The veterans depended on him.

He pulled a sugar cube out of his pocket and held out his open palm. Her warm, fat lips swiped the treat away to crunch.

Through his work, he'd found a way to cope with the losses in his life. He didn't need complications like Sarah stirring up unwanted feelings.

Debbie wouldn't hire her. Hell, the twelve-year-olds who helped after school in exchange for riding time were bigger. She'd have to find someplace else to work. They didn't need whatever trouble might follow her to the ranch. This farm, his patients, and the people he worked with were his family. He'd protect them at all costs.

Any minute now, Sarah would get back in her car and leave.

A kitten Debbie had taken in rubbed against his leg, and a knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

Shit.

Debbie had a soft spot for strays. He'd have to make sure Sarah wasn't her next one.

CHAPTER 2

Sarah forced herself not to look away from Debbie's intense gaze. Between the hard lines of her face and her direct approach, the woman had a roughness about her, like she didn't take BS from anyone.

"You have experience with horses?" Debbie asked.

"I used to ride." If one time on a pony, and a few occasions with a friend counted. She had to sell herself or Debbie would probably kick her butt out for wasting her time.

"How long ago?"

"It's been a while, but I know I can do the job, and I'm a decent cook. Whatever you need, I'll do."

Debbie rubbed her jaw.

A door slammed.

Sarah's nerves jumped. She fumbled for the pepper spray she kept close at all times.

A man entered from the other side of the kitchen.

Debbie's eyes narrowed as her gaze trailed down to Sarah's hand in her jacket pocket.

The man meandered over to the pot of soup without a glance in their direction and opened the lid. "Smells good. What's up with Bruce? I ran into him and ..."

He turned. His sharp, dark eyes fixed onSarah.

His resemblance to Bruce had to make him a relative. Gray hair and a weathered face placed him probably in his sixties. His lack of paunch suggested he kept in shape.

"Joe, meet Sarah. She's here about the job I posted," Debbie said.

"You don't say." He nodded and waved at the pot. "This ready?"

"Yup. Help yourself."

Well, at least he hadn't looked at her like she was a mouse auditioning for a tiger act in the circus. He whistled off-key as he dished out a bowl of soup.

Debbie returned her gaze to Sarah and sighed. "I'm going be honest with you. The cooking and cleaning I'm sure you can handle, but I don't know if you're strong enough for the outside tasks. It's a lot of physical labor. Hauling buckets, tossing hay bales, mucking stalls."

"I'm tougher than I look. I can do it." She'd trained every day at the dance studio and taken self-defense classes. Maybe the jacket wasn't helping. She slid the coat off, curled her arm, and tapped a well-formed biceps. "See? I'm in shape."

Joe glanced at her, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He took his bowl and sat at the table.

Sarah sensed Debbie's hesitation and pushed. "Please. I really need this job. Give me a chance. I'll work the first day free. If you're not happy, you can fire me."

As Joe stuffed a biscuit in his mouth, Debbie's gaze flicked to him. Sarah could swear he gave an almost imperceptible nod, but then again, he might have just been chewing.

Debbie turned back to Sarah. "Why do you need this job so bad?"

"I don't have a place to live, and your ad said room and board were part of the deal." Another truth. Hey, she was on a roll.

Debbie stared her down.

Sarah's insides twisted, but she didn't flinch.

"What the hell, I'll give you a chance." Debbie shrugged.

"Thanks so much." Sarah let out the breath she'd been holding. "You won't be sorry."

"If you work out, you'll get paid weekly on Fridays."

Sarah cleared her throat. "Could it be in cash?"

Debbie rubbed her chin and squinted. "You running from someone you owe money to?"

"No." Another truth.

"How about the law? You wanted for something?"

"No." Not until someone figured out the tags on her car were stolen or that she possessed an illegal gun.

Again, Debbie held her gaze and then must have been satisfied because she nodded. "Cash it is. Come on. I'll show you the place. The in-law suite is below."

She opened a door off the kitchen and led the way down a flight of stairs. A plaid sofa with a folded afghan draped over the back sat behind a wooden coffee table and a small television on a TV tray. A mustard-yellow refrigerator lined up with a matching stove and sink in the kitchen. The clean scent of bleach hung in the air.

Debbie pointed to a door at the end of the room. "That leads out back."

The muscles in Sarah's shoulders tensed. While it meant another escape route if she needed one, it also provided second access to the suite. She'd have to check out the lock. The windows in both rooms only had valances. Most people enjoyed the sun peeking in. She had more to worry about than the sun.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Love in Hiding"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Diane Holiday.
Excerpted by permission of City Owl Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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