Driftwood Creek

by Roxanne Snopek

  Jamie walked to the refrigerator, took down one of the pill bottles, then another. “Some of these are for you. What’s your problem?”

  “Get out.” He shook his head and rubbed his thigh. “I’ve got no time for this.”

  “Fine.” She replaced the pill bottle, went to Sadie, and stroked her ears. “Sorry you’re not feeling well, girl. I wish I could help.”

  “You owe me an apology.” He poked his index finger at her. “I don’t mistreat my animals. Never have. Never will. You understand?”

  She shrugged. “If you say so. Remind me, why were they running loose in the woods, without you?”

  “Look at me!” He gritted his teeth and lowered his voice. “You don’t think I’m trying? The pup’s a freaking escape artist. He gets out, Sadie goes after him, and I follow. You got there ahead of me, that’s all. I saw it and thought good riddance. I can’t handle the bugger. He needs more than I can give him. So get off your high horse. You got anything else against me, I don’t want to hear it. You can show yourself out.”

  She went to the kitchen, found a glass, and filled it with water. Then she took several pill vials off the top of the refrigerator and brought them to him.

  “Where’s Sadie’s food?”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t think. He reached out, loathing himself for needing her. “Help me to the couch.”

  She was stronger than she looked. And gentler, too.

  “Better?” she asked, after he tossed back his dose.

  “Not yet.” He pointed to the cupboard. “Kibble’s in there. There’s canned food in the fridge. Put her pills in that.”

  He lay back while she got Sadie’s meal ready, waiting for the pain to ease. He didn’t know this girl from Eve. Where she came from. Why she cared. If she had some other motive. But right now, he didn’t care.

  Jon wouldn’t be happy that a stranger had been inside. Or maybe he would be. He was always pestering Roman to make friends with the neighbors.

  The microwave dinged and suddenly Roman smelled food.

  “Here,” Jamie said, setting a bowl on the coffee table. “Found this in the fridge. Didn’t see any mold so hopefully it won’t kill you.”

  His stomach growled. “You’re kind of a busybody, aren’t you?”

  “You’re welcome.” She walked to the door. “I’ll be back in the morning with your pup.”

  “Keep him.”

  “I saw all the toys and treats in the cupboard. That’s a heavy investment in a pup you don’t want.” Beneath the attitude, ink, and hardware, she had a pretty smile.

  “Aw, hell in a handbasket. My son bought me the mutt so I guess I’ll have to learn to live with him.” The task of training Chaos to take over for Sadie felt like asking a small engine to haul a long train up a steep mountain. He didn’t have the steam to do it again. But he had to do something with the mutt, didn’t he?

  Jamie pursed her lips, bit at the corner. “I could help you train him. If you wanted, I mean. I’m, uh, pretty good with dogs.”

  Roman hesitated. He was probably going to kick himself later for this. But there was something waifish about her that made him long to see her smile again. She didn’t back down, and he liked that. And she cared enough about Sadie and the pup to come in despite his security measures.

  He cleared his throat. “How about you keep him a few more days, knock some sense into him for me.”

  There it was again: joy, washing over her elfin features like a time-lapse sunrise. Something broke through his pain-hardened heart, like a bud unfurling through rough bark after a long, cold winter.

  “Really?” she said.

  “Don’t mess him up,” he said, waving her out the door. “And don’t get attached. He’s a little asshole, but he’s still mine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Venus–Jupiter and Venus–Neptune are openhearted

  and loving but they both have trouble with

  boundaries.

  —Jamie’s horoscope

  Jamie was in the garden with Abby, pulling baby carrots for Daphne’s stew, when a strange vehicle pulled up on the yard, and she was too busy feeling inadequate to notice immediately. The pup was more of a challenge than she’d expected, and she wished she’d been upfront with Haylee about it from the beginning. She could use the help. Plus, the subterfuge was eating at her. She had a sneaking suspicion Haylee knew about the pup but was waiting for Jamie to come to her about it.

  She didn’t normally play into open secrets. She was the one people counted on to blurt it, spill it, spit it on the wall so they could read it. Now look at her.

  Abby straightened and pushed the chestnut braid over her shoulder, letting it swing onto her back, making Jamie painfully aware of her unruly hair. Now that she was letting the bootblack color grow out, it looked worse than ever.

  “Are we expecting anyone?” Abby said with a frown. A light sheen of perspiration brightened her brow. Small freckles dotted her arms and nose.

  “How can you spend all morning digging in the dirt and end up cuter than when you started?” Jamie swiped a dirty hand over her cheek. “You look like Perky Cheerleader Barbie. Which makes me Street Rat Barbie, I guess. Which is kind of my vibe, so never mind.”

  “Jamie. Do you recognize that car?”

  The anxiety in her tone caught Jamie’s attention. She looked up to see a fully loaded import SUV, dark maroon with tinted windows, sparkling clean.

  “Nope. Why? You expecting someone?”

  “Here.” Abby pushed the basket into Jamie’s arms and slipped to the shade of the apple trees lining the garden. “I need to find Quinn.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” Abby tugged a wide-brimmed sunhat low on her head. “I just remembered I have to tell her something.”

  She disappeared through the back gate, to the little path that led to the cabins where Quinn was likely changing sheets and scrubbing toilets.

  The driver of the SUV opened the door and stepped out. A man, well-dressed, a hair under six feet, Jamie guessed. He took off designer sunglasses, glanced around the deserted yard, spied her in the garden, and waved.

  “Good morning,” he called. He looked like Timothy Olyphant, lean and lanky, all smiles and aw-shucks swagger that immediately put Jamie on alert.

  “Morning.” She slung the basket of vegetables higher onto her arm and approached him, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Welcome to Sanctuary Ranch. What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Elliot Hudson.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m looking for Gideon Low. I understand he works here.”

  “He does. I’m Jamie. Is he expecting you?” He had a good, firm grip, but something about the way he glanced around the yard made her nervous.

  He hesitated. “Um. Not really.”

  She gestured for him to follow her to the main house. “You can have a seat here while I find him for you.”

  Jamie led him up the porch steps to the small front office. He politely took his boots off at the door and followed her inside.

  “Smells good in here,” Hudson said, peering toward the kitchen.

  She steered him into the room and pointed at the love seat across from the desk.

  “Always does. Would you like some coffee while you wait?”

  “That’d be great.” His smile was one you’d give a doctor who was bringing bad news.

  “You got it.” She pulled the door shut. She hated this part of the job, the sales and service part that made her feel like a waitress. She didn’t work for tips. She didn’t make a commission on bringing in guests. In fact, she’d prefer that they didn’t take guests at all.

  “Who’s the rock star?” Daphne wiped her hands on a dishtowel, nodding toward the office. She took the basket from Jamie’s hand, nodding in approval.

  According to the smell, her stew was already well under way, tender home-grown beef simmering in her own concoction of stout and deep, rich broth she made in huge vats and jarred for the pantry. The fr
eshly dug baby potatoes and carrots, plus the tiny sweet green peas she’d add at the end, would turn it into a masterpiece. Like all Daphne’s meals.

  Jamie rolled her eyes. “Drove up in a sixty-thousand-dollar vehicle, has no idea what we do here, or what he wants. Something’s fishy.”

  “You were born suspicious, Jamie-girl.” Daphne set a cup of coffee on a tray with creamer and sugar.

  Then she peered more closely into the basket. “There’s no rosemary or curly parsley in here. Where’s Abby?”

  “She was in the garden but left when he arrived. Said something about needing to find Quinn.”

  Daphne looked up sharply, her eyes cutting toward the office. “She did, did she?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  The cook exhaled and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “Those two spook like wild horses. Never mind. You go find Gideon. I’ll keep our guest company while you do. Go.”

  * * *

  “Who?” Gideon’s head snapped up so fast he almost lost his hat.

  She’d found him in the back of the tack room, where he was bent over something that looked like an old saddle. He’d pulled a tarp over it when she came in as if embarrassed at his workmanship.

  “He said his name was Elliot Hudson. Seemed a little nervous.”

  “I’ll bet he did.” Gideon yanked his gloves off and threw them down on the workbench. “Where is he?”

  He strode out of the tack room on long legs, and Jamie had to jog to catch up.

  “Probably in the kitchen, eating his weight in carbs, if Daphne has her way. Why? What’s wrong, Gideon?”

  He was muttering under his breath, and suddenly Jamie became alarmed.

  “Gideon!” She yanked at the back of his shirt. “What the hell?”

  He stopped short, then slowly turned to face her, his expression like an off-shore storm.

  “I’m going to the music room. Alone. Tell him to meet me there.”

  He turned back and continued his path, but now his movements were controlled, his steps even. Whatever was going on, he wouldn’t lose his shit.

  She hoped.

  He disappeared around the side of the main house, choosing to enter via the lower-level door. He really didn’t want witnesses.

  She hurried into the house and found Elliot Hudson popping the last of a cinnamon bun into his mouth. He got to his feet, dropping the conversation with Daphne mid-word.

  “Did you find him?” he asked.

  “He’s in the music room. I’ll take you,” Jamie said, beckoning.

  It was merely a wide-windowed room on the lower walkout level of the sprawling ranch house, containing an ancient upright piano and a couple of guitars. Daphne and Huck both played a little, though it was mostly used by guests.

  Its main feature was that it allowed privacy from the great rooms above, which was undoubtedly why Gideon had chosen it.

  “How do you know Gideon, Mr. Hudson?” she asked as they walked down the spiral staircase. Her curiosity was almost unbearable.

  The man gave her a quick look. “He and my fiancée used to be together, years ago.”

  Oh. The first thing she felt was relief. The lovely Lana was no longer available then. Gideon had no reason to feel obligated toward her, and she had no need to try and get him back.

  “That’s great. Well, here you go.” She pushed open the door and ushered Elliot inside.

  Gideon stood at the piano, leaning one elbow on the top, like a squire just waiting for a cigar. But she could tell his casual confidence was an act, his posture too perfect and at odds with the tight set of his jaw.

  “Have a good visit,” she added, inanely. “If you need anything—”

  Gideon strode toward her, took the doorknob, and gently pushed her out. “Thank you, Jamie.”

  She waited on the other side for a moment, then remembered she was an adult and ran up the stairs back to the kitchen.

  “It’s Gideon’s ex’s next,” she explained breathlessly to Daphne, who stood in the doorway, flexing her fingers. “What do you think it’s about?”

  The cook’s face darkened. “Nothing good. I’m hoping it doesn’t come to blows because there’ll only be one left standing and I guaran-damn-tee you it won’t be either of them.”

  Daphne didn’t tolerate violence. Unless she was doling it out herself.

  Olivia slipped into a chair by the island. “We’ve all had our share of incidents. It’s Gideon’s turn, I guess.”

  Jamie shot her a glance. “You know about . . . ?”

  Olivia just smiled. “I know everything, Jamie.”

  She had no right to feel annoyed. It was Olivia’s ranch. Of course she knew everything. She couldn’t run the place otherwise.

  But she wanted to be the one who knew everything about Gideon.

  And it seemed there was much he’d kept hidden.

  Suddenly they heard a door open below. As one, the women rushed to the window, where they saw the two men walking up the path to the parking lot.

  Gideon held the man by the elbow, and for someone known for the tight rein he kept on his temper, he sure looked like his rivets were loosening.

  Jamie ran out the door and caught up with them by the hedges. Olivia and Daphne followed, but at a reasonable pace.

  “What’s up, bros?” Jamie asked, bouncing to a halt.

  “Mr. Hudson is leaving.” Gideon’s expression brooked no argument.

  “Thank you for the coffee, Jamie.” Hudson nodded at Daphne. “Ma’am. I’ll be in touch,” he said to Gideon.

  “No, you won’t,” Gideon said, slamming the car door. Hudson gunned the engine and drove off in a flurry of gravel.

  “That was interesting,” Jamie said, after the reverberation stopped and the dust settled, leaving them in silence. Gideon stood with his back to them, as if he were made of granite.

  They quietly walked away from him, back to the kitchen, where they found Abby peeking out from around the corner.

  “I already brought in the veggies,” Jamie told her. “You owe me a foot rub.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Who was that guy?”

  “Some guy named Elliot Hudson.” Daphne’s face was like a thundercloud. “Gideon knows him. It’s not a friendly situation. Why?”

  Abby gave a short little laugh. “No reason. Just curious. What did he want?”

  Jamie snorted. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

  “Slick as snot on a glass doorknob.” Daphne used a deep Texas drawl as she picked up the spoon to stir her stew. Accents came and went with her, like viruses in a doctor’s office.

  Gideon slammed back into the house and went straight to Olivia. “I apologize about that. May I speak with you in private for a moment?”

  Jamie’s jaw dropped. “No way, man. Whatever’s going on with you, I think the rest of us have a right to know.”

  Gideon’s nostrils flared. A tendon in his throat twitched. He opened his mouth to speak, but Olivia stopped him.

  “Not now, Jamie.” Her voice was gentle. “Come, Gideon.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Big upheavals on the horizon. Hold on tight.

  —Gideon’s horoscope

  The goddamn nerve of the man, showing up out of the blue to do some kind of ad hoc surprise inspection.

  Jamie’s outrage had bolstered his conviction. He was within his rights to request time with Blake. He knew he was Blake’s biological father. The only reason Lana hadn’t demanded a paternity test was because she knew it would prove his case. She had no reason to doubt his fitness, or question his occupation or the safety of his home.

  “Breathe, Gideon,” Olivia said. “Let’s talk in the stables. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Apollo anyway.”

  Olivia walked ahead of him, her long legs even thinner than usual in her customary blue jeans. He fell in with her gait, glad to head back under cover, to the soothing company of the animals.

  He’d been ready to deck Hudson, seeing red,
and his veins and arteries and nerves and muscles were still singing with adrenaline, his skin barely registering the cool air laden with mist.

  The sky had a heavy, sullen greyness that warned of a summer storm. He ought to be used to the Oregon weather here by now, but he still found his spirits dipping after too many days in a row without sunshine.

  “Sorry about that.” He bit the words off and spat them out.

  “We’ll discuss it in a minute.” Olivia’s voice was low and even, not reacting to him. “How’s Apollo’s appetite?”

  He forced his attention to the aging stallion. She’d found him at an auction where he’d been one bid away from going to a meat-packing plant. He was a patchy rib-sprung chestnut brindle with four high socks, a wide, white face, a sway back, and a balding tail. He’d likely been used for stud—no other reason to keep him uncut—but it wouldn’t have been for his genetics.

  According to his teeth, he was at least twenty years old. Olivia guessed he’d spent most of his years at a PMU farm, impregnating mares so their urine could be harvested for hormone treatment for menopausal women.

  She opened the stall door and walked in. Apollo lifted his head from where he’d been dozing in the corner, resting his weight on one bony hip. “Hey there, old man. How you doing?”

  If she wanted to wait, there was no point in rushing her. He forced his breathing to slow, inhaling deep into his lungs the way Quinn taught them in her yoga classes. Hudson had caught him off guard. Had Lana agreed to this? The thought of being checked out like this sent his blood pressure soaring.

  “He’s not gaining weight the way I’d hoped,” Olivia commented. “What do you think?”

  Gideon took a clipboard off the hook in the wall, blinked to make the words come into focus. “Uh, let’s see. Tyler’s been on stable duty this week. He’s feeding him the way you asked, according to this.”

  “Good kid, Tyler,” Olivia smiled. “When he’s not spending his work time playing with kittens, at least.”

  “I heard that,” called a voice from the far end of the breezeway. Tyler came into view, backing out of the last stall with a wheelbarrow full of soiled straw.