Once the door closed behind her, she slid down it and cried.
Chapter 10
Dylan left the house, and after checking on Aurora, retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the bunkhouse. For the rest of the night, he sat on a bale of hay in the breezeway of the stable with the horses. When a storm came up, he listened to rain hit the tin roof and the wind howl around the corners. What he wouldn’t do to get rip-roaring drunk.
All he could think of were Charli’s parting words last Friday night about her respecting him. He lifted the bottle to his lips and snorted. “I doubt you have an ounce of respect for me now.”
Hell, he didn’t have that much for himself. He had no right to lash out at her. Their blunder affected her as much as him, if she turned up pregnant. Even if she didn’t conceive, how could she ever forgive him for the way he’d treated her afterward? Instead of holding her and telling her that he loved her, he’d become a coward.
Afraid of fatherhood. Afraid of love. Afraid of rejection.
When the horses started to stir with the wakening of a new day, he checked on Aurora again. She was restless, and from the trace of blood on her tail, it was a safe bet she’d aborted. Ironic how one life could be lost, while he and Charli might have created another.
Not wanting her to see the evidence of the loss of her first foal, he fetched some warm water from the tack room sink and a rag.
After he cleaned the blood from Aurora’s tail, he made sure the mares had the fresh hay Zack had brought, and water. Working hadn’t prevented the same question from circling around in his head.
Why would he accuse her of sleeping with Leon?
Although she’d been on a date with him, she had left with Dylan. She’d come on to him.
In his only defense, he’d been scared shitless by what could come of his moment of recklessness. He didn’t want kids. His constant postponing of having a family was a major reason his marriage fell apart.
So, what do you do if she’s pregnant, hotshot?
He didn’t know the answer.
When the veterinarian arrived around six AM, he called Charli on his cellphone rather than facing her.
He couldn’t, not yet, but when he did, he intended to tell her somehow they’d make things work.
The bay she’d named Athena showed signs of poisoning. After the vet checked her out and gave her a shot, Dylan led the mare out into the corral to walk her.
Charli made her way out to the stables and took over walking the sick horse. Not more than a few words passed between them, before he headed back into the stable.
Zack and his men had gathered the contaminated hay into sacks. He planned to destroy them, but the same gut feeling of something being wrong grated on him like desert sand in a combat boot. He tied the sacks closed and grabbed two more to gather some chunks from unopened bales he chose at random.
Afterward, he headed to check on the calves in the barnyard. He stood under the short overhang of the barn with the vet. “How’re they doing, Doc?”
Evans pushed back his beat-up straw hat over his white hair. As long as Dylan could recall, the older man had never worn anything but jeans, a fringed leather jacket over a Western shirt and worn shit-kickers.
Doc squinted at him over his shoulder. “They aren’t out of the woods, and this damned rain isn’t helping, but I think they’ll make it.” The vet patted him on the shoulder. “You did right fine, Dylan. If you’d waited ’til morning to ride out into that pasture, you’d’ve found them dead. But I can’t imagine why on God’s green Earth you were riding around in the dark.”
He couldn’t tell the veterinarian the only reason he’d been riding out on the range was jealousy. He swallowed and nodded. “Thanks, sir.”
Charli checked on the sick calves and spent most of the day in the stable with her horses. They spoke with Evans before he left, but they hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to each other. However, he knew they had to talk.
The rain had turned the day gray, damp and dismal. With the collar of his old M65 field jacket turned up, he tilted his hat over his forehead against the mist. He headed for the house after she left the stable later that afternoon. When the flashy black Porsche cut off his path, he wasn’t surprised as much as angry.
Leon got out and looked around. “I’m surprised you haven’t resigned–or been fired.”
“Go to hell.”
Leon buried his hands deep into the pockets of a custom-tooled leather jacket. If only Dylan could wipe the cocky smirk off his face. “You are responsible for Charli’s livestock losses.”
He clenched his hands into fists at his sides and worked at unclamping his jaw. “We haven’t determined where the poison came from. Besides, she hasn’t lost anything. Fortunately, I’m a hands-on kind of manager.”
Yeah, right. He’d had his hands all over his boss.
Leon shrugged and looked around again. “When you aren’t too drunk to stand up, maybe you are. But I can smell the whiskey from here.”
Dylan pushed by him, but he hadn’t gone two steps before Leon said, “A woman like Charli may be attracted to someone like you. Hell, she may even have a fling with you, but she’ll never settle for a broken down drunk with murder on his hands.” He moved in behind him and spoke near his shoulder. “You can’t win against me. I want her, and I’ll have her. She left with you last night, but she called me today.”
He jerked at the news.
“What can you give her? You’re penniless and a drunk.” Leon provided the answer already echoing through his head. “Nothing. Just remember that, Quinn. Not a damned thing but heartache.”
Dylan had to work at unclenching his hands and back teeth long after he’d left the ranch.
* * * *
“Leon.” Charli opened the door on the first knock, hoping it was Dylan.
“Hello.” He stepped through the opening into the kitchen. She looked past him as Dylan sped by in his truck. She sighed and closed the door.
The molding was partially stripped of coats of old paint, and boxes sat on the counter where she’d been wrapping dishes that previous morning. She caught him looking and said, “We started the remodel in here on Thursday. My new floor and cabinets are coming next week.”
Leon took her hands, and she relaxed into his gentle touch. “I wanted to see how you were doing, not your house.”
He peered at her with intense brown eyes as dark as his hair. Why hadn’t she fallen for him? Leon obviously cared for her. She sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I’m okay.” She stepped away toward the coffee maker on the counter. “Want some coffee?”
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
After she served coffee, she led him into the living room. She couldn’t sit at the same table where she and Dylan had had sex, especially not with Leon. Not the morning after.
He settled on the couch beside her. “I’m hoping we can have dinner again.”
She looked into the coffee mug she had both hands wrapped around. She’d spent hours crying. Although she could be pregnant with a child Dylan obviously didn’t want, he also didn’t want her. Not once had he tried to talk to her about what had happened. He’d avoided her all morning by calling her when Dr. Evans arrived. She hoped he’d come to her. Her speech was all planned out. She’d lay her heart out there for him. But it never happened.
Instead, he’d left, no doubt, to drown his sorrows in a damned bottle of whiskey.
She pasted on a smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t go out with you. Not now. But, I could really use a friend. I don’t have many.”
Leon reached over and ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. Angling his head, he looked into her eyes. “I am your friend. I’m here for you. What are you going to do now?”
“I guess we wait and see what happens.” She almost laughed at the double entendre.
Leon leaned back into the couch and sipped his coffee. “If I may give you some advice...”
“Yes?”
He set h
is cup on the end table. His expression solemn, he folded his hands in his lap. “Dylan failed you. I just saw him outside. He reeked from that swill he drinks. If you continue to rely on him, he’ll lead you to ruin.”
She bristled so fast she wasn’t sure of what to make of her own response. Squaring her shoulders, she shook her head. “No, he hasn’t. If he hadn’t called the vet when he did, my calves and horses would be dead. Yes, he purchased the hay, but anyone could have done that.” She took a deep breath. “Dylan is also my friend, and I need him right now as much as I need you.”
* * * *
Dylan sat in his usual corner of the Longhorn and nursed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. No matter how much he drank, like the broken George Jones track playing on the jukebox, Leon’s parting words played over and over in his mind.
What can you give her? Not a damned thing but heartache.
Would Charli turn to Leon now? He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank. The thought that she’d choose the oilman made him not only fighting jealous, but sick to his gut.
The bastard could end up raising his child.
He would fight him with everything he had before he let that happen, even if Charli had slept with Leon and paternity was called into question. The son-of-a-bitch had taken Oak Springs from him, but he’d fry in hell before he’d let Leon take anything else from him.
Did that include Charli? She’d come to him; did she feel something more than lust for him?
But it wasn’t him she’d called.
“If she wants Leon, let her have him.” He winced and clenched a fist against the painful twist to his heart.
She’d never want a failure like him. She had beauty, both inside and out, she was admirable, smart, funny and classy–in her own fashion magazine way.
He wasn’t good enough for her. He’d never be the man she deserved, especially since he was to blame for the poisonings.
“What a way to totally fuck up, Quinn,” he muttered and took a long draw on the bottle, hoping for oblivion.
“Captain, when are you gonna realize you can’t drown your sorrows in a bottle of Jack?”
He leveled the man standing beside his booth with a glower. “Cartwright, if you weren’t wearing that tinfoil star, I’d–”
Zack chuckled and slid into the booth across from him. “What? Deck me? Bring it on. You special ops types think you’re so damned tough.” Zack’s laugh turned into a shit-faced grin. “I could kick your ass any day of the week.”
He set his bottle on the table with a thud. “To what do I owe this displeasure? Aren’t you supposed to be wasting taxpayer money somehow?”
“I am. Your sister called, and I’m here checking out her complaint. Tracy saw your truck out front and couldn’t stop because she had her boy with her. She’s been trying to get a hold of you since this morning.”
“You can tell her I was too busy to answer.”
“A little early to be drinking, isn’t it?”
He picked up the bottle and sloshed some of the amber liquid into a shot glass. “It’s never too early.”
Zack leaned back and whistled low between his teeth. “I’m almost afraid to ask how things are out on the ranch.”
After throwing back the shot, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Then you have no reason to ask.”
Cartwright just sat there waiting with his arms crossed over his chest.
He huffed. “Charli hasn’t lost any calves. The sorrel aborted early this morning, but seems to be doing better, however, twenty more calves and the bay mare are now sick.” He wasn’t telling him the real reason he was here.
Zack finally lost the stupid smirk. “How’s Miss Monroe holding up?”
He shrugged and lied. “She’s okay.” Charli wasn’t okay; she was scared and vulnerable. Just the way Leon wanted her.
Whose fault was that?
“Let me take you home. I think you’re probably needed more there than here.” Zack stood and waited. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Dylan dragged himself out of the booth. “You know, Zack, you’re a royal pain in my ass.”
“Yeah, yeah. And dealing with you isn’t a day in the park either.”
As they moved through the sparsely occupied bar, he swallowed hard. He didn’t have many friends, but Zack was probably the closest thing he had to a best friend. “I wanted to thank you again for helping out last night.”
Zack pushed open the door. He squinted against the bright late afternoon sun. “No problem. Someday you can return the favor.” He held out his hand. “Give me your keys. I’ll drive you back to the ranch. Dawn’s on patrol out your way, I’ll call her and have her pick me up.”
He dug for his keys. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask.”
“Yeah?” Zack took the keys and opened the passenger side door for him.
He probably should have taken offense to the way Zack was taking over, like a damned mother hen, he thought belatedly as he climbed in. “You and my baby sister aren’t tryin’ to get me on the straight and narrow, are ya? ’Cause you both should know it ain’t gonna work.”
Laughing, Zack closed Dylan’s door and got in on the driver’s side. “Tracy and me conspiring on something like that? Now I know you don’t have any brain cells left.”
As Zack pulled away from the curb, Dylan shook his head. “Nah. You’re right. Hell would freeze over first.”
Zack glanced at him. “Speaking of hell suffering a cold snap, are you going to speak at my banquet in two weeks?”
“I may be drunk, but I’m not drunk enough to be coerced into saying yes to your dinner. That’s one favor I won’t repay you with.”
* * * *
On Monday morning, Charli sat at the table and sipped a cup of coffee, waiting for Dylan to come work on the kitchen. She’d seen very little of him since Friday night.
He’d only spoken to her when it was necessary, and said very little. She didn’t have to have a minor in psychology to know he blamed himself for what was happening to her animals. His total avoidance of her did surprise her. They had to talk about what had happened between them.
Did he now think she’d expect him to marry her if she turned up pregnant? He didn’t love her, his actions afterward and the way he avoided her clearly proved that. If it was his fear of marriage keeping him away, he needn’t worry. She had no intention of ever getting married. One farce of a marriage was enough for anyone.
When she answered the soft knock on the back door, Dylan wasn’t on the other side. Tom Miller shuffled his feet with a shy smile pasted on his round face.
She moved to let the bear-like man in. “Where’s Dylan?”
After taking off his cowboy hat, he hung it on the hook beside the door. “Quinn’s gonna mow one of the hay fields today. He wants to make sure you have good hay. Told me to finish up in here.”
She stared at the former sailor for a moment before she realized what he’d meant. Tom passed her, heading toward the doorway leading into the dining room. He began assessing what needed done to the door molding. “He’s giving me a break from the weather for a while.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave her another shy smile. “And Uncle Jesse. His cantankerousness could test the nerves of a saint.”
The only thing she could do was nod. Dylan didn’t want anything to do with her. She pressed a hand to the center of her chest and wrapped her other arm around her middle, but the pain in her heart was still unbearable.
When Tom reached for a dust mask on his tool belt, she finally found her voice. “What would you like me to do?”
Tom paused, looked at her and shook his head. “Dylan said you’d probably want to help. You don’t have to. I’m used to working alone.” He picked up the electric sander Dylan had placed by the wall, and glanced at her. “I’m going to sand this old paint off.”
Taking the hidden suggestion within the comment, she nodded and forced herself to move away. Tom didn’t want her around either.
She wanted to get as far
away from her ranch as she possibly could. After dismissing the idea of calling Leon, she found Tracy’s number and gave her a call.
* * * *
“Where the hell have you been all weekend?” Dylan asked the moment Kyle McPherson exited his classic Mustang.
Kyle looked around, pushing his hat back over his shaggy sandy blond hair. “I had things to do, people to see, cuz. I was off, remember?” His grin turned cocky. “If it’d been the boss callin’, I’d’ve paid attention.”
Heat raged up Dylan’s neck as fast as fire in dry brush. He struggled to unclamp his back teeth. “I called you. Several times, in fact. And the last time I checked, I’m still running this place. Next time I call, you’d damn well better pay attention.”
Kyle squared his shoulders and his scruffy jaw twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind. So, any of the calves die?”
“No. And I want to keep it that way. They are, under no circumstances, to be fed any hay. There’s enough pasture for them and the sick ones are under the care of Doc Evans. I’ll take care of the horses.”
Kyle’s blue eyes narrowed. “Are you implying I’m responsible for this?”
“As far as I’m concerned no one is responsible, but I don’t want any more to get sick, and I sure as hell don’t want any of them to die.”
He ordered Kyle to clear out the storage barn of all the hay. He’d hired a truck to haul it away, and when Kyle finished, he could have the rest of the day off. He didn’t want to deal with the kid.
As he passed the barn, Dylan went inside. The roof had been replaced, the walls fixed and the inside gutted. Charli hoped to buy more horses, but the stables could only hold eight at most. The barn had room for twenty horses, plus a large tack room, and special areas for foaling.
“Howdy.” Jesse Riley, Tom’s wizened uncle, bent over a stall door in the breezeway, glanced at him and continued to hammer in nails. Several more stalls remained to be built.
“Jesse, I need to ask you a question.” He had long ago learned Jesse Riley was as nosy as Winnie Cartwright and not much got past him, but unlike the mayor’s wife, Jesse usually kept what he knew under his hat–key being usually.
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