by Zuri Day
“Yah!”
He eased up on the reins, applying gentle pressure to Coal’s sides with his thighs and calves. Coal lunged forward, dirt churning beneath his powerful strides. Charli was an exceptional rider. This he knew. He also respected the beautiful palomino that she rode, admired its smooth gait and steely determination. Perhaps this was why he held Coal back just enough to keep her hopes up, just enough to let her believe that there might actually be a chance that she’d win. But when the fence to his property came into view about a hundred yards away, he leaned forward, applied the slightest pressure to the horse’s sides with his thighs and uttered a simple command: “Go!”
Coal did just that. Raising his head as if sensing the wind and his owner’s desire to win, the horse bolted forward in long, smooth strides. His front legs curled back and his back legs reached forward in a choreographed movement that for anyone watching was a sight to behold. It took Warren fifty yards to catch her, ten yards for them to exchange glances (his of confidence, hers of resignation mixed with chagrin), and forty yards to finish the impromptu race, both slowing down their mounts as they neared the fence. The gate had been installed and the men had left. Warren reached it first, pulling Coal’s reins to the left and leading the horse in a wide semicircle for a quick cooldown.
“Good boy,” he whispered to the majestic creature, rubbing his mane as he did so. “Whoa, boy, we’re done for now,” he added, when the horse kept prancing even after he pulled the reins.
After cooling down her mount in a similar fashion, Charli rode up beside Warren. “That’s a beautiful horse.”
“Thank you.”
“Racehorse?”
“They’re often used as such. I’ve bred him with a couple mares whose owners have that goal.”
“I didn’t know that you were a horseman.”
“There are a lot of things about me that you don’t know.”
Their eyes locked and held, even as both of their animals tossed their manes as though engaged as well in conversation.
“You were right back there. I’ve been rude. I apologize.”
He removed his sunglasses, looked her squarely in the eye and saw sincerity, among other less definable emotions. “I accept it.”
A myriad of questions whirled around in Warren’s head but something told him now was not the time to ask them. Instead, he dismounted and walked over to the fence post between the fence and gate joints. There was a small box attached to the top of it with a number pad displayed. Warren keyed in the four-digit access code he’d created and the gates eased open.
“Nice,” she said, passing by him and walking to the gate. Her hands ran lightly over the steel as she checked out the installation and mechanics. “Looks expensive.”
“I believe in paying for quality when it’s warranted. When it comes to this ranch I only install the best.”
She looked at him. “You didn’t have to put in this gate. I really do appreciate it.”
He nodded even as he took in the sheen on her skin and the curve of her neck. The temperature was in the seventies, but like Griff, Charli wore a red plaid flannel shirt and Levi’s. The scuffed boots were the ones he’d seen her in last week. Obviously her favorites. She shifted and at that moment the sun caught the jewels in her ear, bringing to Warren’s attention that she wore earrings. They were bright red stones, with a dangling gold chain sporting an identical red stone on the end. They were dainty and feminine and seemingly incongruent with the tough veneer Charli chose to portray. It hinted at a softer, vulnerable side, Warren thought. The side he’d seen in her eyes just before she shot the cow, and last week at the dance, when the man had approached with her aunt. Each thought brought more questions, exposed more layers to this woman before him. Layers that intrigued him. Layers that he wanted to examine, learn why they were there and then help peel away.
“What did he say back there?”
Charli’s head shot up. “What? Who?”
“Your worker. Before you shot the cow. What did he say?”
“Oh, Bobby. He offered a prayer for the life of the animal, sending its spirit back to where it began and thanking the earth for the sustenance that will now be ours through the animal’s unavoidable sacrifice.”
“Do you lose a lot of animals that way?”
“Not many.”
“I could tell it wasn’t easy, but you steeled yourself and did what you had to do.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“I could also tell that that wasn’t your first time with a gun. Remind me not to ever become your target.”
“I’d say you’re safe, neighbor. For now.” There it was again. That almost smile, more of a smirk, really, that he’d seen blossom across her face on occasion. Once she realized it was showing, that joy had been let loose, she hid it away.
He walked toward her, reaching into his pocket. “In that case...” He pulled out the gate key that he’d offered earlier. She reached for it and when she touched his hand...as had happened before...their world shifted.
She would have pulled away, but he enveloped her small hand inside his much larger one, his almost black orbs boring into her lighter brown ones. His finger rubbed across her wrist, and he felt her rapid pulse. It reminded Warren of a summer in New Orleans, when he’d found and cornered a small rabbit in his grandfather’s barn. The rabbit had cowered in the corner, eyes wide with alarm, body shivering from fear. Warren remembered feeling bad that the hare was so afraid. He’d felt like the big bad wolf and while some of his friends would have relished ending its life, he’d wanted to make the rabbit feel safe, to let it know that everything would be all right.
Charli was now that bunny that he wanted to reassure. So as he’d done that summer when he was twelve he began to soothe Charli. Slowly, methodically, he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her wrist, finally releasing her hand and sliding his up her arm. His pressure was light, reassuring. He purposely avoided eye contact, focusing on his hand and her skin.
He felt her shiver and since the sun beamed down on them both, knew it was not from cold. Without a word, he took her in his arms. She was stiff at first, but as he rubbed his hand over her shoulders and across her back she relaxed, placed her arms around him and rested her head against his chest.
Warren sensed that something somewhere inside her—the tiniest edge of one of her layers—had just separated from the staunch shell of the survivalist ego to which it was attached, and was starting to peel.
While Warren was busy sensing all that was happening with Charli, there was something that he was missing. That something inside himself was also shifting, a movement so subtle yet so significant that it would change both of their lives...and others’, too.
Chapter 12
When was the last time that she’d felt this way? Safe. Protected. Beloved. She couldn’t remember. Oh, yes, she could. Last weekend. At the dance. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His body soothed her. She could feel her shoulders relax, could imagine the coil of tension that was almost always in the pit of her stomach starting to unwind.
Then other feelings in other places started to emerge. Tender feelings, womanly feelings, that hadn’t been stirred up since two years ago when life, with the help of her then fiancé, taught her that men were not to be trusted. The only man she’d believed in and who hadn’t let her down was her grandfather. And Griff. So at least two men of their word had walked the earth.
Grandpa. Yes, those times with him I felt safe and secure. My head against his chest as we both lay on the afghan-covered sofa, watching reruns of Bonanza. But Grandpa’s gone. And I’m here with...a Drake...a relative of the man that Pa despised!
Charli jerked away from Warren and stumbled out of his embrace.
“Charli!” Warren reached to grab her but she held up her hand. “Charli, it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. I lost myself for a moment. It’s been a long and...trying day.” She looked at him with wide, bright eyes, took a deep,
calming breath and replaced this look with one of control. “Thanks again for everything.”
Warren hadn’t missed the emotional shifts: from calm and authentic to being fake and resigned. But as an astute businessman and an intuitive human, he knew how to play the game as well as she. He reached into his shirt pocket. “Here, I want to give you this.”
Charli crossed her arms in front of her. “What’s that?”
“My cell phone number.”
“And I need it because...?”
“Um, because phones tend to be more reliable than smoke signals.”
Her look said she wasn’t buying it.
“It’s the twenty-first century. We’re neighbors. A phone call is faster than horsepower...or a ride on a horse, like what I had to do when my worker asked a simple question about how many cattle would be drinking at the stream. Turns out he didn’t need the answer to finish the job, but it still made me realize having each other’s number might come in handy.”
Cynicism continued to trump common sense.
“As independent as you are, there might come a day when you find that you need someone outside your circle. Someone close by. A neighbor. That would be me.”
When she replaced the look of disbelief with a blank stare, Warren walked over to her horse, placed the business card containing his cell phone number into her saddlebag and mounted his horse. This time it was he who rode away without a backward glance.
He reached the stables. It appeared that all of the construction workers were gone. He walked Coal inside, took off the saddle and rubbed him down. Coal’s ears pricked up in alert just before Warren heard the crunch of gravel.
He turned around. “Richard. Where are you coming from? I thought everyone was gone.”
Richard pulled off his sunglasses as he entered the stables. “I told Jackson’s superintendent that I’d finish stacking up the rest of the wood they delivered this afternoon. Man, you’re building a mansion. This place is going to be huge!”
“You think so?”
“If the amount of wood we’re using is any indication, it’s definitely going to be one of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen.”
“So how is this job working out for you, Richard?”
Richard walked over to Coal, who reared away from him when he reached out to pet his mane, and seemed to look at him with a skeptical eye. “Okay, dude. Guess you don’t want to be petted.” He looked at Warren. “It’s a job. But through this process I’m learning that I’m not really cut out for manual labor.”
“I hear you, Rich. But I guess we all can handle anything for six or seven weeks, right?”
“I guess.”
Knowing that the stable hand had seen him return and would finish wiping down the horse, clean the stall and spread feed later, Warren threw a few pitchforks full of fresh hay into Coal’s stall and made sure there was a good amount of water in the trough. Then he headed out.
Richard followed him. “But I think this is going to be my first and only construction job.”
They reached the temporary parking area, where Warren now noticed a truck parked next to his car. Upon closer inspection, he realized it belonged to Anthony, the stable hand. The car that Richard proudly drove, a classic, fully restored and customized 1972 Cadillac Eldorado, was parked farther down the drive.
“So how soon after the house is completed do you plan on returning to New Orleans?”
“I’m not sure I’ll be going back.”
“Really?” Warren ran his hand down the smooth lines of Richard’s classic ride. Not one for old cars himself, he still admired how this one had been restored and how clean Richard kept it. Upon first seeing the car Warren had wondered how a newly released felon had been able to purchase and restore such a vehicle. But his mother had assured him it was all aboveboard. “He worked temporarily at a Cadillac dealership and became friends with the owner,” she’d said. But then he’d become even friendlier with the owner’s blonde-haired, blue-eyed daughter and that was when he’d no longer been welcome at the used-car lot.
“I like California,” Richard said. “The weather is nice and the women are classy. Especially that neighbor of yours.”
This got Warren’s attention—immediately.
“When have you seen her? Except for the one time she came over about the fence?”
“A brother gets around,” was Richard’s vague answer.
Warren tried to keep his face blank, his feelings hidden.
“What, do you two have something going on?”
So much for keeping feelings hidden; he’d obviously failed in his attempt. “Not at all. I just wondered if she’d been by here when I was elsewhere. That’s all.”
“Well, she’s kind of rough around the edges,” Richard continued, totally unaware of how close he was to getting punched in the face. “But I could tame her, and have a good time doing it, too.”
Warren barely kept from grinding his teeth with the effort it took to remain silent. Richard had always been quite the ladies’ man. During the summers of his high school years, there wasn’t a girl who would have turned down a date, and few who Richard didn’t ask out at one time or other. It was a wonder he didn’t have children from Oregon to Maine but as far as Warren knew, Richard just had one child, a daughter, back in New Orleans.
“How’s Chloe?” he asked. If they were going to talk about females, Warren much preferred to switch the topic to one who was a child.
“She’s a sweetheart,” Richard replied, instantly smiling at the mention of his little girl. “Growing up too fast. Smart as a whip.”
“Do you see her often?”
“Not as much as I’d like. Her mother is always tripping about child support, and uses the child as a bargaining chip.”
Again, Warren had to bite his tongue. Some of the little girl’s child support might have been spent on that premium leather upholstery in the car that he was now leaning against.
“I pay it, you know.”
“Pay what?”
“Child support. Even give her more than is required by the courts. It’s not the money Chloe’s mother wants. It’s me.”
Warren felt bad about his assumption and vowed to be less judgmental about his friend. After all, there was a good side to Richard, the side that his child’s mother probably wanted back in her life. He looked at his watch and pushed off. “I’m going to get out of here. If you don’t have plans tonight, you’re welcome to my parents for their nightly roundtable, otherwise known as the evening meal.”
“Thanks, man, but I think I’m going to hit this club I heard about, the new one just outside Paradise Cove.”
“The Groove?”
“Yes, that’s it. Met a woman the other night who told me their happy hours are pretty good.”
“All right, then, Rich. I’ll see you sometime next week.”
“Not on Monday?”
“No. Now that the harvest is underway and Jackson’s men have the house building under control, I’ll more than likely spend most of next week at the realty office.”
“Hey, where exactly does your neighbor live? I might need to check in on her next week, see if she needs any help with anything.”
“She more than likely should run away from any type of help you’re offering,” Warren said, a smile and light tone belying the seriousness of his statement. “You’re here to work, not chase skirts.”
“A brother like me has to do both,” Richard countered, opening his car door to get in. “But no worries. You know the deal. You’re talking to Richard Cunningham. The cunning man. There’s never been a woman that I’ve set in my sights and then not spent the night!”
“On that note...” Warren shook his head and got into his newly purchased SUV, the other piece of business that he’d handled this week after deciding against using his sports car to do regular jaunts in this bumpy terrain.
The men waved as they each took off down the gravel drive, one that would be smooth concrete once finished. Warren tr
ied not to think about them, but Richard’s parting words continued to play in his head. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Richard was interested in Charli. After all, she was female and breathing. And he didn’t even try and figure out why the thought bothered him so. He just knew that it did.
Before Warren reached Paradise Cove’s city limits, he knew something else. For his playboy friend Richard to get to Charli, he’d have to come through him.
Chapter 13
Charli didn’t head straight home after her encounter with Warren. With her feelings roiling and her body still reeling from his touch, she headed for the open prairie, where both her horse and her thoughts could run wild. She knew Griff was waiting on her, that supper was probably ready. But she also knew that in the presence of the man who’d known her since she wore pigtails and patent leather she wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that she was flummoxed. And that was putting it mildly.
She reached the far end of her property and dismounted, leaving Butterscotch to munch on grass and daisies. She meandered toward a copse of trees, her hands in her back pockets, trying to figure out how to reconcile her opposing thoughts. She shouldn’t like Warren. He was a Drake. Her grandfather had never had anything good to say about them. Had said that they were condescending and highfalutin. Bourgie was another description he’d use, his mouth often twisted in a scowl as he said it. Once, when she had asked why he didn’t like them, he’d responded, Because they don’t think their feces has an odor. Except he’d used other, more direct yet equally descriptive words. She’d worshipped the ground that Charles Reed walked on. So if he hadn’t liked them, how could she? Yet how could she deny the feelings that were evoked just now when Warren had held her? In his arms, she’d experienced a feeling that she’d never felt before. Not even with her ex-fiancé. Not with her first crush back in high school. Not with anyone.
Looking up, she noticed the sun sinking. It was time to head home. Her cell phone was in her saddlebag. Undoubtedly it held a missed call and perhaps a message from Griff, inquiring as to her whereabouts. Sometimes she teased that he was worse than a mother hen when it came to her safety. She couldn’t imagine life without him.