by Amie Denman
He realized then that his fingers were tight on the steering wheel and forced himself to relax. He really didn’t want to fight with anyone. He just wanted to raise his daughters in peace on the ranch where he’d grown up. And to do that, he kind of needed easy access to the place.
He needed to make a deal with the new owner of the Dunlop place.
* * *
ALEX NEARLY DROPPED the dishes she was in the process of unpacking when the sound of an engine hit her ears. The gate across the road was locked—she knew because she’d double-checked after driving through. There was no way anyone should be able to drive into the place.
Unless they had a key.
Or bolt cutters.
Her insides went cold at the thought.
Do not jump to conclusions. Breathe!
Carefully, Alex set the small stack of plates on the freshly washed countertop and then made her way to the dining room, heart pounding. Sure enough, there was a pickup truck parked just outside the picket fence. Montana plates. Okay. That was good. Not terrific, but better than Virginia plates. Or rental car plates.
Alex automatically drew back as the man glanced toward the window, even though she wasn’t close enough for him to spot her standing near the kitchen doorway. He was tall, dark haired, and he moved with athletic grace as he sidestepped puddles and headed for the walk leading to the front door. That was when Alex noticed that his truck was pointed the wrong way. He hadn’t come from the county road—he’d driven in from the back of the property.
Great. Now she was going to have to buy another gate lock.
Alex pulled in a breath and squared her shoulders before crossing the room to meet the stranger at the door. She should have gotten the dog she planned on adopting sooner.
No. You should get a grip. The guy’s wearing a cowboy hat, for Pete’s sake. A black one, true, but good-guy white probably got dirty too quickly in this country.
At the sound of boots on the porch, she pulled the door open and attempted a cool smile. Not an easy thing to accomplish with her heart hammering.
Just a local cowboy. No big deal. She’d just hear him out, then send him on his way and see about getting another lock for the rear of her property.
“Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”
He took a moment to study her face before he answered, making her wonder what he saw. A nervous woman who didn’t want strangers lurking about? Or a confident woman who could hold her own if push came to shove?
She knew what she saw. One good-looking guy with an almost straight nose that had obviously been broken, an amazing jawline and dark, unreadable eyes. And he looked...nervous.
Huh.
Nervous because he was planning something?
Before she got too far down that track, he said, “Hi. I’m Nick Callahan. I live next door.”
Alex frowned. “I didn’t know there was a next door.”
“Well, two miles next door.”
“Two miles isn’t next door.”
He gave her an odd look, telling her that she was coming off like a city girl. “I know you just arrived and are settling in, but there’s a matter that’s kind of important that I need to discuss with you.”
Alex politely lifted her eyebrows, clueless as to what he might want to talk about, but relieved that he seemed harmless. So far. “What’s that?”
“The bridge to our ranch washed out last month. The only easy access to our place is through your ranch, and I’m here to ask permission—”
“To drive through my...place?” She couldn’t exactly call it a ranch. For one thing, she wasn’t the ranch type. For another, it would never be a ranch again.
“Exactly.”
Alex pulled in a breath, telling herself to get more information before she panicked. “Who would be driving through?” The road went directly between her house and the barn. It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t notice the traffic.
“Me and my family. The ranch hands. When bridge construction begins, the bridge builders.”
“For how long?”
“The way things are moving, I’d say six months. Maybe a few months more.”
Alex’s cheeks tingled as the blood left her face. Six months or more of strangers driving through her property? Six months of not knowing who was on her property?
No. She didn’t see that happening. Not when she was still uncertain as to whether the people who so desperately wanted the money Jason absconded with were going to follow her across the country.
He seemed to sense her uncertainty. “It wouldn’t be a lot of traffic.”
“You must have another means of access.”
“Almost ten miles of unmaintained road.”
“Which I assume you’ve been using to this point.”
“Yes.”
“And could continue to use. It’s not like I’m locking you out of your property. It’s more like I’m saving you time if I granted access.”
“Time is an important commodity.” He shifted his weight, pressed his very nice lips together and stared down at his boots. When he looked up again, she read the light of challenge in his gaze and steeled herself. “It isn’t like everyone and his uncle would drive through. It would just be my family and me. If you want to keep the gate locked, we could share a key.”
“What about the bridge builders?”
“They would need to share the key, too. Otherwise, I’ll be paying them extra to travel the unmaintained road.”
Alex shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I moved here for privacy.” She instantly kicked herself for saying that. What if he did an online search for her? Even though she was going by her first and middle names, it might be enough to pin down her identity, given the coverage Jason’s story had received when he first skipped town with all that money.
“It’s not like we’re going to stop and chat as we drive through.”
“I don’t want people driving through my place, even temporarily.” The next few months were crucial to her as she determined whether or not she was going to continue to be targeted as Jason’s accomplice. “I don’t think that’s unreasonable, given what I spent to buy the property.”
Something shifted in his expression. Something she couldn’t read...and then it struck her. “Were you the other bidder?”
He gave a nod.
She didn’t even think about saying sorry for outbidding him. This was the way business worked—sometimes people got outbid and had to live with the consequences—but there was no way she was voicing that thought to the guy standing in front of her. Once again, she wished she had a big threatening dog standing beside her. Something to kind of hurry this man on his way.
“I apologize for not being able to help you, but I can’t have open access to my property.”
Once again, his mouth tightened, as if he was making an effort to hold back words. As far as Alex was concerned, he could let them out. It wasn’t like it would hurt her feelings or cause her to change her mind.
“We’ll pay for access. Write up a contract.”
“No.” She gripped the edge of the door more tightly. At any other time in her life she would have said yes. But not now, while she was still jumping at shadows. Another apology teetered on her lips, but she held it in. This was her property. Her right.
“Fine.” He pushed the brim of his hat up, allowing her a better look at his chocolate-brown eyes. “If you change your mind and want to discuss matters...” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet and handed over a card. “That’s my cell number.”
Alex took the card and palmed it without looking at it. “I don’t want to be a bad neighbor.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Excellent goal. Poor execution.” The man turned and walked down the uneven sidewalk toward his truck.
Despite a desperate
need to have him leave her property—now—Alex lifted her chin and called after him. “Do not judge me when you don’t know my circumstances.”
He swung around. “Lady, we all have circumstances. If I could help you with yours, I would.” He curled his lips into an ironic smile before adding, “You have my number. Call anytime.”
Copyright © 2020 by Jeannie Steinman
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ISBN: 9781488061875
The Firefighter’s Vow
Copyright © 2020 by Amie Denman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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