Page 33 of A Cowboy's Claim
She parked beside his truck and cautiously mounted the porch. “Mr. Greenlee? It’s Sydney. I came by for a visit.”
Silence.
The usual cacophony of barking from his three dogs was noticeably absent. Her frown deepened as she nudged the door open further. Inside, the house was a mess. Half-eaten plates of food, spilled drinks, clutter strewn across the living room—an unsettling contrast to the man’s normally meticulous habits.
No sign of Rodney inside.
She made her way toward the barn, circling around the side where the firewood was stacked. A faint rustling drew her attention. In the distance, she caught the crunch of tires on gravel—someone else pulling in—but her focus locked on the source of the sound ahead.
Another rustle was followed by a low mutter. She slowed, instincts prickling.
“Mr. Greenlee? Hello? You’ve got a visitor.” She rounded the corner and froze.
Rodney stood ten feet away, shotgun raised, hands shaking as badly as his voice. “You can’t have it.”
Sydney instinctively stepped back, her voice calm but firm. “Mr. Greenlee—it’s Dr. Sydney Jeremiah. We’ve met before, remember? I’m not here to take anything from you.”
“Stop. Stop right now.” His grip tightened, the muzzle of the shotgun dipping and lifting erratically.
Her brain raced. Drop to the ground or throw herself around the edge of the building? If she had a couple more inches, she could?—
“Hey there.” Declan’s voice rolled in like gravel and thunder.
He stepped calmly into view behind her, hands loose at his sides, body angled just enough to draw Rodney’s attention. “Declan Skye. Remember me? I run the animal shelter in town.”
As Rodney turned slightly, tracking Declan, Sydney didn’t wait. She ducked backward, darting around the side of the barn, breath shallow, heart pounding.
“That’s a fine piece you’ve got there, Rodney. You use that for elk hunting?” Declan kept talking behind her, his voice fading as she ran. “That’s a beauty. But I don’t think you need it right now. It’s only me. Just wanted to check in.”
Sydney raced around the barn, praying that whatever was wrong with Rodney he didn’t shoot Declan outright before she could act.
She fumbled in her pocket, fingers closing around the emergency syringe she always carried but hoped never to use. It wasn’t standard issue, but some of the situations she stepped in were dangerous. A girl had to have a backup plan.
When she crept around the far edge of the barn, Declan and Rodney remained in a standoff. Rodney’s back now faced her, and the gun had dropped slightly but was still in his hands.
Declan glanced at her so briefly it was a blink. He lifted a finger subtly.Wait.
She held up the auto-injector, thumbed off the safety cover, and let Declan see it before she inched closer.
“That sounds frightening,” Declan continued to Rodney soothingly. “Sometimes a man’s got to protect what’s his. But you know, since it’s just you and me here, you can probably put that away.”
“Don’t know.” Rodney’s gaze darted to the side. The gun lifted again.
Sydney launched forward. She plunged the syringe into Rodney’s shoulder, and he jerked.
A wild scream rang as the gun fired, dirt spraying upward—but the sedative worked fast, and Rodney was close to collapsing even as Declan tackled him to the ground.
“Jesus,” Sydney gasped.
Declan rolled to his knees, breath tight. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
Rodney was well and truly out, the sedative having done its work. Declan hauled him into a fireman’s carry and brought him inside, settling him on the bed.
He stepped away for the few minutes it took for Sydney to check Rodney over. “High fever. That’s the cause of the delirium. We need to get him to town, stat.”
“Edison’s on his way.” Declan shoved his phone into his pocket.
