by Lauren Canan
After Sondra’s infidelities, he made certain his relationships stayed free of emotional entanglements. The women he chose knew the score. It was sex, mutually enjoyable, nothing more. With Shea, her claims to hate him one minute then passionately respond to his kiss the next affected him in ways he neither liked nor knew how to deal with. She was pretending. Acting. She had to be. She couldn’t possibly be as naive as she was letting on.
A glimmer of speculation made him question if she could be for real. He hated that glimmer. He hated not knowing. But most of all, he hated the idea that he cared either way.
Sondra had acted completely innocent when she’d just come from the bed of another man. She’d shown him what she’d wanted him to see until the end when she’d displayed her true colors. He knew what women were capable of when they wanted something badly enough. Shea wanted this land. And, like Sondra, there were no rules as far as she was concerned. Nothing was out of bounds. Nothing off-limits. No holds barred until she got her way.
And he’d be every kind of fool if he didn’t keep that at the forefront of his mind.
Seven
When Shea awoke in the predawn hours, the birds sang outside the window and for the first time in her life she scoffed at the sound.
Raising her head, she was shocked to realize she’d used Alec for a pillow. Immediately rolling away from him, she eased over to her side of the bed. Holding her breath in the hope her actions wouldn’t wake him, she lifted the covers and swung her legs to the floor. His light snoring continued as she made her way to the door. Unable to resist she spared a quick glance at Alec. Even relaxed in sleep, he was an intimidating presence. She had to be strong. There was too much to lose if she didn’t find a way to send him packing.
Entering her old room, she grabbed a clean shirt and a pair of jeans and made her way to the bathroom. Her right shoulder screamed as she pushed her arm through the sleeve of the fresh T-shirt. Her head felt as muddled as it had the night she’d tried to sleep in the barn. This was going to be a very long day.
She trudged to the kitchen, needing a strong cup of coffee. When she opened the pantry door to grab the coffee tin, she saw the jar of Yolanda’s homemade hot sauce sitting on the same shelf. A smile kicked up the corners of her mouth as she grabbed both the coffee and the jar of liquid fire.
An hour later she sat sipping her coffee while the biscuits finished baking. Scotty had joined her and was busy eating his stack of pancakes. Her mind had finally cleared and was focused on any strategy that would get rid of her unwanted houseguest. She’d just stood to refill her cup when the subject of her thoughts walked into the room.
“Hi, Daddy!”
“G’morning, son. Shea. How’d you sleep?” Alec looked directly at his son.
“Good!”
Alec had anticipated Scotty waking him at least once due to the new and unfamiliar surroundings, but apparently he’d slept through the night. The tantalizing aroma of bacon and freshly brewed coffee stirred his appetite. He poured a cup and let his gaze settle on Shea, who was busy pulling a tray of golden-brown biscuits from the antique oven in the corner. Did she believe the old saying about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach? He smiled. If that’s what she believed, who was he to correct her?
“Smells good. I never pictured you as Little Miss Homemaker.” He smiled. “I think I could get used to this.”
“Have a seat.”
Pulling out the chair next to Scotty, Alec sat down. Within minutes, Shea set a plate of eggs and bacon on the table in front of him, followed by a basket of the biscuits.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Already have.” She nodded to his plate. “You go ahead. Enjoy your breakfast.”
With a brief nod of thanks, he dug in with relish. Shea stood to the side.
The first mouthful tasted as good as it looked. She was a damned fine cook. He shoveled a second helping of the spicy eggs into his mouth, but just as he swallowed, an odd sensation brought his chewing to a halt.
It wasn’t the taste that gave him the first hint he’d been had. It was the pure liquid lava that scorched his mouth and throat and continued to burn all the way down to his toes that gave him his first clue.
His vision clouded with tears as he reached for his glass. An instant of surprised horror raced through his mind at the realization the glass was empty.
“Oops,” Shea said in a bored tone. “I forgot to give you any juice. So sorry.”
Grabbing one of the biscuits, still warm from the oven, he quickly bit down and almost broke a tooth in the process. One slam of the biscuit on the table told him he’d have done better biting into a rock.
And his mouth continued to burn.
“Are the biscuits hard?” She leaned over and lifted one out of the basket. “Huh. Guess I had the oven temperature too low.”
He glowered at Shea, who still stood, a picture of innocence beside the table, before he ran for the sink.
Turning on the faucet, Alec leaned over and gulped at the cool tap. But instead of relieving the scalding sensation, the water actually increased the burning.
“Are you finished with your plate?” she asked from behind him, her tone indicating she saw nothing odd about her husband gulping water from the kitchen faucet while smoke had to be billowing out of his ears. “You didn’t eat much of your eggs. I guess you weren’t very hungry.”
He could only glare at her, his tongue singed to numbness. She picked up the plate and dumped the remains into the sink. “I’ve got some errands to run. Jason needs some help with a couple of chores. I told him you’d meet him behind the main barn right after breakfast.”
“Chores?” he asked, looking at her suspiciously, before reaching for a napkin to wipe his watery eyes and running nose. “Like what?”
“Some fences need mending. Stalls have to be cleaned. A couple of old trees, downed during the last storm, are blocking the north gate. They’ll need to be chopped, split for firewood, hauled to the house and stacked.”
“Anything else?”
She smiled. “Jason has a list.”
* * *
The sound of steady clicking challenged the silence in the old house as Shea stepped into the kitchen. She’d intended to start supper as soon as she got home, but curiosity made her set the sack of green beans and new potatoes—a gift from Leona—on the table. A frown crossed her face as she followed the sound out of the kitchen and down the hall. Pushing open the door to her office, she was dumbstruck at the sight of Alec sitting behind the old desk typing on a laptop, his files and papers strewn all over, her ledgers and ranch records pushed to one side. Immediately her temper flared.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He spared her a quick glance. “Working.”
“You’re in my office.”
“There wasn’t another one.”
“You can’t just barge in here and—”
“I have my own work to do. I’m not here solely to be your hired hand.” He glanced at his palm and she couldn’t miss seeing the multitude of blisters. He grimaced and then pulled open the drawer with his fingers. “I need a ruler.”
She crossed her arms in a defensive gesture and refused to respond.
Alec shut the drawer. “Look. My own work can’t come to a crashing halt simply because I’ve changed my address.”
“Well, neither can mine! I can’t work around you. You’ve buried my ledger underneath your junk!”
With a barely concealed sigh of frustration, he nodded his head. “All right, dear,” he said sarcastically. “If you’re going to work in your ledger, may I please set you up at the kitchen table long enough for me to send some emails?”
Emails? She relaxed her stance. His sarcasm was about to change into something much more enthralling and she had a front row sea
t.
“Emails?” She saw him nod as he stood and began to gather her books. “How are you going to send emails?”
“What do you mean, how am I going to send...?” he began, his words dying in his mouth as realization settled in. “Tell me you have an internet connection.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Well, this is just great.” He sat back, rubbed his neck and then flinched from the blisters on his palms. “My cell is useless out here. I can’t get through to my office on your landline until some talker named Ms. Hoover finishes the call to her sister.”
“That would be Gladys.”
“And now no internet.”
He tossed the pencil onto the desk and stood up. “This is the twenty-first century and you people are still using stone knives and bear skins. It’s amazing old Gladys doesn’t break out the drums.”
“Hey, if you don’t like it...”
Muttering under his breath, Alec stomped past her and limped out of the room, the soreness in his body apparent. Score two points for her side.
* * *
The next few days were a repeat of the same routine. After Alec carefully tested the food before eating his breakfast, he and Jason would leave to complete the multitude of tasks needing to be done around the ranch. Because Shea had so much to do to prepare for the roundup—decisions only she could make—Hank had slowly transitioned to the role of part-time babysitter, a job both he and little Scotty seemed to enjoy.
Alec had taken time out to arrange for a wireless internet service. She’d seen the work trucks go up and down the main road indicating the installation of a new communications tower. She didn’t even want to guess how he’d pulled that off. Or how much it had cost. He’d commandeered one of the unused bedrooms upstairs for his office. A new desk and chair had been delivered. After a long day of physical labor with Jason, he would often spend hours in his new office, sometimes working well into the night. Phone calls came in at all hours to his cell phone. If Alec wasn’t there, the call would transfer to an answering service somewhere. Shea often went to sleep listening to him speak in various languages and wondered if he worked with people all over the world. She had to admit, having him at the Bar H was not turning out to be the total nightmare she’d feared. At least not yet.
A couple of weeks after Alec began working with Jason, Shea spotted the younger ranch hand as he walked toward his truck to go home at the end of the day. She’d been curious if Alec had been making an honest effort to lend a hand. She ran to catch up with Jason before he pulled out of the driveway.
“He’s awesome,” Jason replied to her question, grinning. “Alec works as hard as I do. No breaks. No hesitation to take on any job that needs doing. He’s a great guy. You should have married him a long time ago.”
“Thanks.” She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her tone. “See you tomorrow.”
As Jason backed his truck out of the gravel parking area, Shea wondered what Alec was up to. Why would he work so hard to make repairs on a ranch he wanted to level?
She rounded the corner and walked in through the back door of the old farmhouse. She found the subject of her thoughts standing in the kitchen, a bunch of wildflowers clutched in his fist. Her eyebrows shot up at the sight of the big, powerful man clutching a handful of wilting flowers.
“I picked these just before we headed back to the barn.” He held the bouquet out to her. “I thought...well, maybe they might look nice on the table.” She heard a touch of awkwardness in his voice, which was completely out of character for Alec. That surprised her as much as the offering of flowers. “The west pasture was full of them,” he added. “Like a multicolored blanket almost as far as the eye could see. It was amazing. Anyway...”
Stunned, she accepted the offering. She looked from the blooms to Alec and couldn’t stop the smile that widened her lips. It was a thoughtful gesture and one she never would have expected from him.
“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “And you’re right—the flowers are remarkable this time of year. You might want to stay clear of the blue ones. They’re the state flower and I don’t think we’re supposed to pick them.”
“Ah,” Alec nodded his head, indicating message received. “Okay. Well, I need a shower.”
As he left the room, Shea looked at the colorful bouquet. The mixed colors of yellow, orange, pink and blue would indeed make a pretty table setting. She selected a crystal glass from the cabinet, added water and arranged the blooms before placing the small arrangement in the center of the table.
Alec Morreston had brought her flowers.
He probably had a hidden agenda in there somewhere, but that thought couldn’t diminish the delight she felt receiving the small gift. She’d be wise to keep up her guard and watch him like a starving hawk would a mouse. He had to be up to something. But for now, she would enjoy the flowers and consider this nothing more than a thoughtful gesture.
Later, when they all sat down for dinner, Alec spoke with enthusiasm about what they’d accomplished that day, asking her questions about the ranch setup or the livestock, but stopping just short of making any suggestions. Why try to improve something that, if he had his way, wouldn’t be here in a year? But it let her see more of the man he was beneath the business suit. Locked away inside her where no one could see, a seed of respect for him had begun to take root and grow.
As she gathered the empty plates from the table and placed them in the soapy water, Shea was suddenly overcome with an intense wave of sadness. Between the gestures of kindness, the unspoken treaty between them for Scotty’s sake and the camaraderie that had developed among Alec, Hank and the other ranch hands, it gave the illusion of one big happy family. The evening meals were a time of friendly banter, sharing humorous stories of the past and ideas for a future that possibly would never be. Even little Scotty played into the role of her loving son. And she was beginning to love him. She couldn’t keep herself from forming a bond with such an adorable, bright child.
Each day seemed to intensify the illusion and it was becoming more difficult to remember that this was not a family. It was not a time for joking. There should be no camaraderie. This was not a game of pretend. It was war. And it was very real. A mandatory sentence forcing two opposing, equally determined individuals into a life-changing competition requiring constant stamina and strength of mind to win the grand prize, all within preposterous directives set up two hundred years ago by individuals unknown and for reasons she couldn’t fathom. It was clearly a chapter out of a Stephen King novel.
At times she felt herself slipping into the illusion, letting it envelop her, as though something deep inside wanted it to become real with a desperation that was off the scale. The dangers of this were obvious. She had to remain focused. She had to remember that this illusion of a happy home with a handsome, caring husband and loving child was not reality. And never would be.
* * *
The ledger remained open awaiting a final calculation, but it was just a closing formality. She already knew the profit margin, while small, was clearly there. As long as the beef prices didn’t take a sudden plunge before they shipped, the ranch would have a profitable year.
A soft knocking from the open doorway pulled her attention from the columns of figures. She glanced up to see Alec stroll into the room. His gaze rested first on her, then shifted to the collage of framed photographs hanging neatly on the wall to his left.
“Mind if I just look around?”
She shrugged. “Go ahead.”
She tried to return her attention to the ledger but his presence presented a distraction she couldn’t easily ignore.
“I noticed these right after I arrived.” He scanned the wall of framed photographs. “Some of these pictures are really old.”
“I think the oldest ones are from the mid-1800s.”
; Pictures of cowboys with their horses, branding operations, women dressed in styles portraying Western fashion almost two hundred years ago.
“Is this your father?” He pointed to a picture in the upper right corner of the grouping.
“Yes.”
“Who are the two men with the longhorn?”
“My grandfather and his brother,” she answered, never taking her eyes from the computer screen. She didn’t need to. She knew the snapshots by heart. “They were one of seven families credited with bringing the longhorn back from near extinction.”
Alec moved farther down the wall. “There’s a kid on a horse getting some kind of award,” he said, observing another picture. “Is it you?”
“Yeah.” She saw no reason to elaborate.
“And what about this one?”
Shea glanced at the wall. He pointed to picture of a child astride a large dapple-gray thoroughbred. “That’s me on Sir Raleigh at the hunter-jumper competition at Fair Park in Dallas. I was about twelve.” She nodded to the next picture. “You might recognize the person in that one.”
Alec leaned toward the picture. “Leona?”
She nodded, unable to restrain a smile. “It was taken several years ago during a Fourth of July party.”
“She looks...different.”
“She was smashed. Somebody spiked her watermelon punch.”
Alec grinned. “These are fascinating pictures. I feel as though I’m looking at a wall in a cowboy history museum.”
He glanced at Shea. In surprising contrast to the usual glare she sent in his direction, she was smiling. He walked over to the old leather wing-backed chair that faced the massive oak desk and sat down.
“When I was a teenager, there was a fairly large stable a few miles from our summer house in Saratoga County in upstate New York,” he said, leaning back and resting one booted ankle on the other knee. “The Tall Pine Stables.” He shook his head. “I haven’t thought about it in years. My dad was determined his sons would learn the value of a dollar. I was given the choice of working in his office during the summer—” Alec nodded at the ledger “—which meant sitting behind a desk. Or I could find my own job. Most of my friends got summer work flipping burgers, sacking groceries or caddying at the country club. I was lucky enough to find work mucking out horse stalls.”