Anyplace But Here (Oklahoma Lovers 4)

“Yes, Felix. Just give him the money.”

His father stood patiently as the money was scooped out and dropped into the bag the robber held open. Once the drawer was empty, the teller stepped back. Hunter’s heart pounded as he watched the robber tie a string around the top of the bag.

With one smooth movement, he raised his gun and shot the teller in the face. In slow motion Hunter watched him turn toward his father, and laughing, shot him in the head. The thief glanced in the direction of the desk, forever burning into Hunter’s mind the face of the man who’d killed his father in cold blood right before his eyes.

Hunter jerked awake, rolled over, and groaned. It had been a while since he’d had that dream. The dream that had driven all his actions for ten years with the Texas Rangers. Every single town he entered, every criminal he faced, he was always looking for those black steely eyes. Eighteen years ago he’d seen his father gunned down. And he was no closer to catching the bastard then he’d been that day, a mere thirteen years old.

In all those years, he’d told no one that he’s seen his father killed. Two days after the funeral his father’s sister, Tori, had come to take care of them. Unable to find employment in the town where they lived, and facing eviction from their home, she’d entered into the Oklahoma Land Run and dragged them all to Guthrie.

Hunter shook his head to clear it. He’d sworn that day he would find the man and kill him. No matter that he was a sworn law enforcement agent. He would shoot the man in cold blood as that scum of the earth had murdered his father. The hatred and burning desire to find him had eaten him up inside.

Hunter had failed at keeping his mother alive. When she’d died of influenza three years before his papa, he knew it was his fault. She’d caught the illness from nursing him. He couldn’t save her, even though he’d never left her side after he recovered. Then he couldn’t save his father. He’d sat there like a statue as the bastard put a bullet in his head.

Another reason why finding Emily was so important. She needed protection and he’d let her down, too. No matter that she refused to tell him her story. He’d been a law enforcement agent. He should have guessed, or forced her to tell. How could he protect her if he didn’t know what she faced?

The longer they were separated, the more certain he was of his feelings for her. He wanted her. Not just in his bed—surely that, but as his wife. Forever and always. And if necessary, he would tear apart this town to find her.

He threw the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had a lot of work to do, and lying in bed wasn’t getting it done.

It hadn’t taken Hunter long to find Emily. Despite the hustle and bustle of the place, Galveston was in essence a small town. With her husband being a prominent citizen, it had been easy. A few questions here and there and he knew her real name, her husband’s name, and her address.

Her husband.

When he’d first heard that word, all the breath had vacated his body, leaving him reeling. That had to be the man who had dragged her back to Galveston from Guthrie. He had known she was hiding a secret from him, but a husband was a mighty large secret.

He returned to his room, contemplating whether he should pack up and leave. It was not his way to steal another man’s wife. He firmly believed in the marriage vows and would never encourage a woman to betray them.

But there was more to this story than a woman seeking time away from her husband. Clearly, Emily had been hiding in Guthrie. And from what Helen had told him, she’d been upset and fearful right before she left the restaurant. Instead of being crushed by this news, he was determined to see her. To hear from her lips that she was happily married, had no fear of this husband, and had merely been engaging in some independence.

His gut told him differently.

And so began his daily visits to her house, waiting outside for hours to see her. The first time she appeared it had taken all of his control not to rush across the street and grab her. Demand to know what was going on. The binoculars he carried showed she was thinner, tightness around her mouth giving her a bleak look. The dark circles under her eyes bothered him—Emily Smith was not a happy woman.

He watched her for two weeks, realizing she followed a schedule. A chauffer drove her to stores, a Women’s Club, a private house, and church. Each day was the same routine. Thanks to a horse and carriage he’d rented he was able to follow them.

At the beginning of the third week he decided to approach her. Since the chauffer sat outside whatever building she was in the entire time, Hunter assumed she was being watched. Whoever had snatched her back didn’t want her to run again. He had to be careful not to alarm her, or let the driver know he was making contact. Until he knew if she was in danger, he didn’t want to bring attention to himself.

About ten minutes after Emily had entered the General Store for her Monday afternoon visit, he left his carriage and strode across the street, his heart pounding. A quick glance told him there were enough customers to keep the store clerk busy and for him to go unnoticed.

Emily had her back to him, fingering body lotions. He touched a few items as he made his way toward her. A quick glance around the store revealed no one paying him any attention. He got as close as he could without appearing to crowd her.

“Emily, don’t turn around.”

All the blood drained from Emily’s head to her feet, leaving her lightheaded with black dots dancing in front of her eyes. She gripped the edge of the counter.

“Hunter?” She didn’t turn, and merely whispered his name.

“Yes.”

She began to shake, tears forming in her eyes, the first ray of hope she’d experienced since she’d arrived back in Galveston consuming her. How in heaven’s name had he found her?

Hunter moved to the other side of the counter and kept his eyes cast on the shaving soaps as he handled them, sniffing each one. “We need to meet somewhere and talk.”

“I’m being watched.”

“I know.”

She opened a lotion bottle and put a dab on her hands. “Our driver, Martin, used to leave me, and returned when I instructed him to. Now he’s been ordered to sit outside until I emerge from my appointments.” Tears slid from her eyes to drip like drops of early spring rain onto the bottles of lotion. She had to pull herself together before she threw herself into his arms and begged him to run. But she had no reason to believe he’d come to take her away. Perhaps he was only here in anger, to know why she’d left, why she’d been in Guthrie to begin with.