Jenny's Voice: Redheads & Ranchers, #1

By Pandora Spocks

A traumatized young woman held hostage for years. 
The rancher who comes to her rescue. 
The crime boss who will kill them both if he finds them. 

Jenny Stone's voice was silenced the horrific day ruthless crime boss Victor Sorkin executed her parents in cold blood and took her as his personal good luck charm.  Now she's his pet, at his mercy when he summons her to warm his bed.  Or the beds of his more esteemed business associates. 

When she sees her chance to escape, she takes it, hitching a ride with an unsuspecting cowboy, horse trainer Cole Caldwell.  Cole's stunned to find the terrified young redhead hiding in his horse trailer.  She's as skittish as some of the horses he works with, and she's apparently mute.  But the nurturer in him wants to shelter her, to protect her.  He'll do his best to ignore the attraction he feels, content to help her know she's safe with him. 

When Jenny first escaped, her only thought was to get away.  But now she's worried.  She's put Cole in unspeakable danger.  Should she leave before Victor finds them?  Could it already be too late? 

If you like your romance filled with hot cowboys, suspense, and happily-ever-afters, you'll love JENNY'S VOICE. 

JENNY'S VOICE is Book 1 in the Redheads & Ranchers Series.   
Sexy redheads and the ranchers they can't resist. 
One-click your copy today! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bratty Ginger Books
• Release date: Feb 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386800064

Pandora Spocks

Pandora Spocks is a bratty ginger and hopeless romantic who lives her happily ever after in South Florida. Pandora has entertained herself with the stories pinballing around in her head for years. Recently she decided to try her hand at sharing those stories with others. The author of Luke & Bella: Two Streets Over and the Rannigan's Redemption series, she enjoys reading and writing literary erotic fiction. Pandora is currently busy writing her next spicy romance.

Book preview

Chapter 1

RUN!

Every fiber of her being screamed at her, willing her to shake off the fog that veiled her mind, willing her to save herself.

Jenny Stone shakily pushed herself up into a sitting position in the back seat of the black SUV, ignoring the pulsing of her swollen left eye, trying desperately to focus with her right one as she peered through the dark-tinted windows.

Her minders, Slater and Wilcox (she had no idea of their first names, nor did she care to know) had left her when they’d gone into the truck stop restaurant where the truck sat parked.  They’d assumed she was unconscious, which she had been, momentarily knocked out by Slater’s right jab to the left side of her face.

This after backhanding her across the mouth.  Her mouth was filled with the harsh metallic tang of her own blood, and she tentatively pushed her tongue toward her puffy lip.  Thankfully, her teeth seemed to be intact, no thanks to Slater’s meaty blow.

All because she’d fought him.  And she’d do it again.  Every time.

She might have no say when it came to Victor Sorkin, when he summoned her in the middle of the odd night, or when he gifted her to certain esteemed business associates.  But she’d be goddamned if she’d allow Victor’s slimy minions to presume to take their fill of her.

The trio had been on their way from Los Angeles to San Francisco.  An arms dealer with whom Victor hoped to do business was staying at the Four Seasons.  Jenny was meant to be a good-will offering for the weekend.

At the moment, she had a bigger problem, though.

Now what are you going to do? Wilcox had asked.  Jenny, her head pounding, had feigned unconsciousness.

She’s all beat up.  We can’t take her to San Francisco like that.  And we can’t take her back to Mr. Sorkin, either.  He’ll want to know what happened.

She’s not going to tell him anything, Slater had snarled.

"But what will you tell him?" Wilcox had wondered.

Slater had growled and punched the dashboard.  Stupid retard cunt!  Kicked me in the balls so hard, I still can’t breathe right.

What are we going to do?

Squinting through her good eye, Jenny had seen Slater turn to look at her.  We’ll have to kill her.

We?!  What the hell are you talking about?  I didn’t touch her, Wilcox had squeaked.

What happens if we take her to San Francisco?  Hauer calls Sorkin to complain about the merchandise.  And Sorkin kills us.

He’d glared at Wilcox, daring him to contradict him.  What happens if we take her back to LA like that?  Sorkin kills us.

He’d shaken his head.  It’s the only way.  We drive all the way to San Francisco.  Because he’ll be tracking us on GPS.  We stay in front of the Four Seasons long enough to make it look like we took her upstairs.  Then we go to our hotel.  We’ll rent a car, take her out into the boondocks, and get rid of her.

But Hauer will call to complain that she never got there, Wilcox had reasoned.

We’ll say he’s lying.  We’ll say we delivered the girl.  Then it’s all on Hauer.

Wilcox had nodded slowly.  It might just work.  He’d sounded somewhat less than convinced.

Come on, Slater had said, with one last glance into the backseat.  Let’s go get something to eat and work out the details.  The bitch is out cold anyway.

After the pair had left, Jenny had forced herself to remain motionless, counting to a thousand before opening her eyes.  By now, her left eye was swollen completely shut, and her lip felt as though it was ten times its normal size.

She had to get out.  They’d be back any minute.  If she rode with them to San Francisco, there would be no escape.  This was her one chance.  She supposed she should count her lucky stars Victor had decided for them to drive rather than fly.  Something about the private jet being grounded for routine maintenance.

The cloudy day threatened rain, but so far, it had been dry.  With the midday sun obscured by clouds as it was, Jenny wasn’t certain of the time, but she’d guess early afternoon.  The truck stop was busy, with semis and all sorts of vehicles constantly entering and leaving.

Across the way, she saw a cowboy in a pale straw hat checking on a horse in a vintage turquoise and white horse trailer pulled behind a silver pick-up truck.  Seemingly satisfied with the horse’s well-being, he turned and walked across the parking lot, passing right by her and into the restaurant as she watched from the SUV.

GO! her brain screamed at her.

She looked down at herself.  She was not dressed for walking around a truck stop.  In her slinky club dress with its halter top and micro-mini skirt, she was more suited for the function she was expected to perform.

Not anymore, Victor.  She kicked off the silver stilettos and glanced toward the restaurant.  She couldn’t see Slater and Wilcox in the window booths.  It seemed safe to assume they were seated further inside.

Carefully, she opened the door and stepped barefoot onto the pavement.  The day was cool, and she instantly felt chilled.  She closed the door quietly and, head down, she moved in the direction of the horse trailer. 

Once she got there, she scanned the parking lot.  Everyone seemed to be preoccupied with their own business.  On her tiptoes, she peered into the trailer.  Only one of the two stalls was occupied.  She tried the tailgate hopefully, but it was locked.  Glancing around again, she saw that the lot was briefly empty of people.  She stepped up onto the bumper, reached the top of the tailgate, and pushed herself up.  With one last glance over her shoulder, she leaned forward, tumbling headfirst into the trailer.

The horse, a large brown and white spotted Appaloosa, whinnied in protest, stomping her feet and pulling at the rope tethering her to the front of the trailer.

Carefully avoiding the shuffling hooves, Jenny crab-scrambled backward to the front wall of the trailer.  A large black jacket hung from a hook, and she jerked it down, slipping it on and zipping up the front.

The jacket was huge, probably meant for someone the size of the cowboy she’d seen, but it was warm.  She tucked her knees under her chin and drew the jacket down over her bare legs and feet, pulling the hood over her head.

Come on, come on.  She willed her pounding heart to slow down as she waited for the cowboy to come back and drive them away from the truck stop.

Chapter 2

Cole Caldwell mentally rolled his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning.   Meredith Wagner was a cougar in the classic sense, with her platinum blonde hair and her designer nose.   And designer breasts, he imagined.

Not that he imagined her as a habit.  She was a good fifteen years older than he; he’d just turned twenty-seven the month before.  Even so, she was in great shape.  It was a wonder what you could do with a personal trainer and a plastic surgeon on speed dial.

"Now Cole, you must allow me to take you to lunch before you head back to the country," Meredith purred.

He shook his head.  I told you, Mrs. Wagner, I’d prefer to get Dahlia back to my place before dark, give her a chance to get used to my barn and the surroundings.

Call me Meredith, she insisted, placing a well-manicured and diamond-bedecked hand on his arm.  We’ve been over that.  But seriously, you have to eat something.  You might as well do so at Layton’s expense.  Her laugh was throaty.

Layton, her husband, was CEO of some Fortune 500 company or other, and was away on business just now, a fact Meredith had mentioned multiple times since Cole had arrived at the luxury stables housing Meredith’s new Appaloosa mare, Dahlia.  The stables were part of the massive property Layton had purchased several years earlier as a wedding gift for his bride.

Cole had been called in to see what he could do to train the horse.  Meredith claimed that Dahlia was wild, refusing to allow anyone close enough to properly groom her, let alone saddle or ride her.  In the hour he’d been observing the horse, Cole noticed a slightly nervous demeanor, particularly when Meredith approached her.  But the horse didn’t strike him as wild.

The sooner I get her back to my place, the sooner we can get your horse straightened out, Cole replied, more patiently than he felt.  If he didn’t know better, he’d wonder if Meredith hadn’t mistreated the animal on purpose, just to have the excuse to call him over to Carmel Valley.

Two years earlier, he’d been contracted to help train an expensive black Arabian Layton Wagner had given Meredith for their fifth wedding anniversary.  The woman had behaved anything but the grateful, loving wife, making it obvious that she’d more than welcome Cole to her bed during her husband’s frequent absences.

Apparently, following the horse’s month-long stay at Cole’s ranch, Meredith had opted to sell the Arabian anyway.  Now she had a new project for him.

Alright, if you insist, she pouted.  She stood back and watched as Cole coaxed the Appaloosa into a soft rope halter.  He murmured encouragingly to the white and brown spotted animal, guiding it into his vintage blue and white trailer.

You’re still using that old trailer, I see, Meredith sniffed.  The least you could do is let me buy you a new one.  My horse is used to the finer things in life.

Cole grinned as he closed and locked the trailer’s tailgate.  She’s a horse.  She doesn’t much care what she rides in, as long as she’s warm and fed.  Besides, he patted the trailer’s side, I love this thing.  Fixed it up myself.

Realizing that she hadn’t succeeded in seducing him, Meredith had shifted into employer/employee mode.  See that you take good care of my Dahlia.  And I’ll be out there in a month to check on your progress.  She sniffed dismissively.  See to it that she’s ready.

He touched a finger to the brim of his straw hat.  Yes, ma’am.  See you in a month.  He swung up into the cab of his silver F-250 and headed down the drive.  In the side mirror, he could see Meredith watching him leave, her hands on her hips.

HEADING SOUTH ON 101, he thought back over his conversation with Meredith.  She was a piece of work, that one.  But she could afford his fee.  And she had wealthy friends who also owned horses.

His business was doing just fine.  He’d built his reputation as a horse trainer one satisfied client at a time, and he was well-sought-after for his expertise with difficult equines.  Meredith Wagner might be a handful, but he never wanted to turn down work.

Judging by the few minutes he’d interacted with Dahlia, he knew training the horse would be a simple process of gaining her trust.  She was a gorgeous animal, too.  He wouldn’t mind having an Appaloosa of his own.

He laughed to himself.  He gathered more strays.  Horses, dogs, cats, chickens...  Anything that wandered onto his ranch and needed a home.  His sister Beth often teased him about his menagerie.

Near San Lucas, he headed east on 198 toward his ultimate destination of Tulare County.  Thankfully, the ride between his ranch and Carmel Valley avoided I-5 almost completely.  He’d cross under it at some point, but when he was hauling horses, he preferred to stay on less traveled roads.

An hour later, though, as he approached the Interstate, his stomach rumbled.  Maybe I should have let Meredith buy me lunch.  He snorted to himself, rolling his eyes.  Nope, it would definitely be better not to encourage that one.

Just beyond the I-5 overpass, there was a truck stop frequented by truckers and travelers alike.  Being a truck stop, Cole knew it had oversized parking that could accommodate his trailer.  A quick stop for a hot burger and fries sounded like just the thing.  He signaled right and pulled into the parking lot, heading for the far side where a half-dozen semis were parked.

He opened his door and slid down, pausing to stretch his stiff legs and back.  He locked the truck and headed back to the trailer where Dahlia stood in the left side of his two-horse trailer.

How ya doin’, girl, he murmured, opening the tailgate and climbing inside.  He ran a hand up her spotted right flank, noting the way she flinched, leaning away from his touch.

Such a good girl.  We’ll be there soon.  He pulled a carrot out of his pocket and offered it to her.  The horse munched it enthusiastically.  Cole smoothed his hand across her jawline while she was distracted.  Good girl.

Satisfied that Dahlia was faring well enough in their travels, he alit from the trailer, closed and locked the tailgate, and headed into the truck stop for a bite of lunch.

WAVES OF RELIEF WASHED over Jenny as the trailer finally  began moving.  She’d heard the cowboy return, pausing to speak to the horse in a warm, deep tone.

Alright, Dahlia, let’s head on home.

Once they were out on the highway, the trailer’s motion settled into the monotonous rhythm of the segmented concrete slabs that made up the road they on which traveled.  The carrier was open at the end, and a vent was propped open a crack near the front to provide ventilation for the horse.  Which made it cold for Jenny, bare legs and all, so she hunkered inside the huge black hoodie, leaning against the side of the trailer.

For the first time that day, she felt her body begin to relax, and she reluctantly drifted off to sleep.  The nightmare she’d known awaited her was not far behind.

She’s on her way home from school.  In Chelsea’s car, they have it all worked out.  They’ll both tell their parents they’re spending the night with each other.  Neither girl’s folks ever think to check up on them.  Because truthfully, they’re good kids, honor students, community volunteers and student leaders.

But Seniors or not, there’s no way they’ll be allowed to attend a party downtown at Club Dance.  It’s just a little white lie, and they’ll have the time of their lives.  Greg Morgan is supposed to be there too, and Jenny’s already decided that if she gets the chance, she’s going to let him punch her V-card.  She hasn’t told Chelsea that, though.

Okay, so call me tonight and let me know what your parents say, Chelsea says, putting her vintage MG into reverse and backing out of Jenny’s driveway.

Jenny’s walking into the house, thinking of how cool Chelsea’s parents are, buying her such an awesome car for graduation.  No matter that the big day is still months away.  Jenny has her eye on one of those cute little Smart cars, the ones that are all electric and good for the environment, but she imagines the best she can hope for is dinner at Cheesecake Factory and another savings bond for college.

The house is quiet and that strikes Jenny as unusual.  Her mother is undoubtedly home by now, and she always has the television on, even if she isn’t watching it.

When she rounds the corner into the family room, she sees her father sitting stiffly on a kitchen chair in the middle of the room.  And that’s odd.  Why sit on a hard wooden chair when he could sit on the couch?  And his new silk tie is wrapped around his mouth like a gag.

She frowns.  Hi.  What’s up?

A voice from behind her startles her.  This must be your lovely daughter, James.

When Jenny turns, she sees her mother, still dressed in her favorite pink skirt suit, being shoved from the kitchen into the den by a man Jenny’s never seen before.  Her mother is quietly crying.

By now, Jenny’s alarmed.  What’s going on?

A deep humorless laugh came from the man with her mother.  He’s slightly shorter than average, about the same age as her father, she guesses, and he’s wearing an expensive-looking suit.  Do you want to tell her James?  Or should I?

I don’t think he’s saying nothing, comes another voice from Jenny’s right.  A tall burly man with hardly any chin and dressed all in black grasps Jenny tightly by the shoulders.

She struggles to pull away from him.  Dad? she yelps, and her mother cries harder.

You see, pet, the well-dressed man addresses Jenny, when your father stole from me, he was playing with fire.

He hands off her mother to a third man and crosses to Jenny, cupping her cheek with his hand.  She feels her bile rising as he lightly strokes her hair.  So pretty, with your red hair and green eyes.  Like your mother’s.

He looks at her father.  You might have thought about your family before you double-crossed me, James.  Now...  He trails off, tutting in mock sympathy.  Well now, we have a bit of unpleasantness to take care of.

He nods to the man holding Jenny.  The tall burly man, who smells of sausage and vinegar, drags Jenny to the kitchen island and bends her over it, forcing her head to face her father.  In the same way, her mother is dragged into the kitchen and bent over the counter opposite Jenny.  Although Jenny can’t see her, she hears her crying hysterically, and Jenny’s torn between concern for her mother and the realization of what’s about to happen.

Now, James, the well-dressed man says to her father, his voice eerily calm, you will watch.  If you try to close your eyes, we’ll just have to remove your eyelids.

Jenny’s mother screams over the sound of fabric ripping, and now she’s crying harder as the man behind her grunts in effort.

The burly man who smells like an Italian deli runs his hands all over Jenny’s body, as she stares beseechingly at her father.  Daddy, she cries out, please...

There’s a tearing in her core and she screams in pain.  The well-dressed man stands over her, and she’d almost swear she sees sympathy in his eyes as he raises a gun to her mother’s head.

The explosion shocks Jenny, and her face is spattered with warm wet goo.  Her mouth opens but no sound is formed.  Suddenly, she’s outside of herself, staring down at the scene from above.  She watches as the man behind her steps away and her body crumples to the floor.  She watches as the well-dressed man walks to her father and pulls his trigger again.

Jolting awake to find herself curled up on the floor of the horse trailer, Jenny gasped, eyes wildly scanning around, reassuring herself that she was safe, that she was miles away, and years away, from that fateful day, the last day she uttered a single word.

That day, when she’d regained consciousness, she’d awakened in a bed in a strange house.  That was when the man in the expensive suit had introduced himself at Victor Sorkin.  He explained to her that originally, the plan had been to kill the whole family.  But he’d been taken with her red hair and green eyes.  For the time being, she’d function as his ‘pet.’  And when he tired of her, he’d reallocate her through his human trafficking connections.

That had been two years ago.  At the time, public furor over the execution-style slayings and her disappearance had been fierce, not that Jenny had known about it.  She hadn’t seen any news in all that time.

Find Jenny Stone! posters featuring her Senior picture had been plastered all over Boulder.  Candlelight vigils had been held.  Voices had been raised in outrage.  But eventually, everyone had gone back to their lives.

No one had considered looking for her as far away as California.  Not that they’d have found her.  Victor had kept her hidden away, his personal plaything to be ready at his beck and call.  Now at age twenty, nearly twenty-one, she’d never made it to that party at Club Dance, had never graduated from high school, and had never started college.  It was as though her life had stopped that day.

Jenny sat up and pulled the jacket over her legs and feet again, glancing up at her equine traveling companion.  Whatever happened next, there was no going back.

COLE FELT A FAMILIAR sense of relief settle over him as he locked the ranch gate behind the horse trailer and climbed back into the cab of the truck.  Arriving back at the farm where he’d grown up, locking out the world at large, always gave him a feeling of peace.

It was home.  He couldn’t have put it more simply than that.  It was where he’d spent his entire life, with the exception of the time he’d spent in the Marines.  Following a year’s deployment in Afghanistan, he’d worked out the remainder of his enlistment in Bridgeport, where he’d trained horses and soldiers for combat missions.  He’d been thrilled to be back in the saddle, and the fact that home was a short couple of hours away had been the cherry on top.

When his enlistment had ended, he’d returned to the ranch and built his reputation as an in-demand horse trainer.  Happy that Cole was safely back in the fold once again, his parents had sold some stocks and retired to Santa Fe, leaving him in charge of the ranch.  His older sister Beth had been more than happy with that turn of events.  As much as she’d loved growing up in the country, she was far happier living in San Francisco and pursuing a career in law enforcement. 

Cole pulled up in front of the white barn, put the truck in park, and turned off the ignition.  He climbed down and closed the door, heading to the back of the trailer.

Here we are, Dahlia.  We’ll get you all brushed, then we’ll put you in your new stall.  Your supper’s already there.  As the sun slid lower in the sky, Cole sighed, glad he’d thought ahead to prepare the stall early that morning before heading west to Carmel Valley.  He was tired and ready to be home.

He unlocked the tailgate and lowered it, starting to step inside when he froze.  Someone was crouched down in the front of the trailer.  Instantly, his senses snapped to high alert.

With two determined strides, he covered the distance between himself and the stranger, who was completely covered in his own black hoodie.  What the hell are you doing in my trailer? he growled, reaching to grasp the front of the jacket and lift the person off the floor, pressing whoever it was hard against the wall of the trailer.

He heard a soft gasp as he used his free hand to whip off the hood, revealing a young woman, her red hair matted down from the hood, her face puffy and bruised.  One eye was completely swollen shut, while the other, the most piercing shade of green, stared back at him in stark terror.

Holy shit, he muttered, gently setting her down on what he realized