Un-Hitched: A Camden Ranch Novel

by Jillian Neal

  As she dropped the ruined gown to the floor in a puddle of satin, lace, and water, she let a few of her more recent fantasies enliven her body and soothe her weary soul.

  Chapter Five

  Dammit, Pops, what are you doing? Grant sprinted out the back door of his grandfather’s home.

  His grandfather had himself wedged between two downed trees in the backyard. “I would’ve helped you move ‘em, and waitin’ ‘til daylight would make this easier.” Gripping the tangle of branches Pops had been trying to clear, he tore them away and then knelt down to slide the massive trunk out of the way.

  “I was trying to give you and Ms. Sommerville a little time alone in case she let you make her day a little better. Slipped on the mud moving that one.” He pointed to a third tree he’d successfully pushed to the tool shed that was currently missing most of its shingles.

  “Yeah, well, Ms. Sommerville and I just met and I need you to keep them shit stories away from me. I’m putting three carts before the horse.”

  Before Pops could respond, Kaitlyn made an appearance. “Can I help?”

  Grant instinctively spun towards her. Now she was wearing a University of Nebraska t-shirt and some of those tight black pants that clung to every feminine curve between her hips and her calves. She looked good enough to eat. As soon as he rescued his granddaddy, Grant was going to have to go take a long, cold shower. She’d pulled her hair up in a wet ponytail and was running around in flip-flops. He supposed that was better than heels, but only a little.

  With another few moves, he shimmied the largest tree out of the way so Pops could lift his leg out. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Rancher’s always fine. Let’s get you two back inside. I’ll save the rest for morning.”

  “Since we’re out here, do you want me to pull them trunks out of the driveway with my truck?”

  “Nah, the ground’s too wet. That’s how I got caught up. Let’s wait.”

  “Looks like you’re two for two in the savior department today, cowboy.” Kaitlyn gave Grant a grin that he swore was prettier than any sunrise he’d ever encountered. And damn if the admiring tone in her voice didn’t swell his ego as much as his cock. What the hell was she doing to him? He resisted the urge to perform more feats of strength or to try to find kittens he could rescue or something, just so she’d keep staring up at him with that look of wonder in her eyes. Before he allowed a smirk to form on his face from thinking of one little sex kitten in particular he’d like to keep right on saving, he scoffed. “I’m sure as hell not a savior.”

  “Well, you do kind of have a dirty mouth to be a savior,” she challenged with an impish grin.

  Pops chuckled to himself. “You hear that, boy? She’s gone try to save your sorry soul from yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, I wish her luck with that. You should’a waited ‘til I could help you.”

  “I hear ya. I could of done it. Just got a little stuck.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Grant rolled his eyes. He worried over his grandfather. He’d moved to the city so his grandmother would be near her doctors and ultimately so she could be moved into a facility to treat her COPD. He still attempted to do the work of a man half his age and there was no telling him not to.

  “So, Kaitlyn, sweetheart, where do you work?” Granddaddy Camden inquired as Kaitlyn leaned over a cast iron pot Grant had hung over the fire. At least that’s what she thought he’d said. She’d taken over chili preparations when Grant seemed lost.

  Unable to focus on his mouth while she stirred, Kaitlyn turned her good ear towards him. “Hmm?”

  “I was asking where you worked, darlin’.”

  “Baylor, Holsten, and Brown,” she replied automatically. Regret immediately plunged through her. Embarrassment scalded her cheeks. Living outright lies was difficult to undo.

  “You’re a lawyer?” Grant sounded offended. Kaitlyn didn’t blame him.

  “No. I’m sorry. It’s just that … well, that’s where I tell people I work. I actually work at the Iron Skillet out in Wahoo.”

  Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she attempted to ignore the concerned glance Grant and his grandfather shared.

  “So, you tell people you work for that fancy law firm on the TV, but you really work out at Chully’s Iron Skillet?” Grant demanded.

  “You know Mr. Chully?” Kaitlyn hoped that would somehow make them forget her first response.

  “Yeah, Chully’s a friend of the family, but that don’t answer my question.”

  “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “Uh, Chully makes ‘bout the best brisket I ever had,” Granddaddy Camden vowed in what Kaitlyn assumed was an attempt to rescue her from Grant’s interrogation.

  “Thank you.” Despite the inner monologue in her head assuring her that she was an idiot and just as much a liar as Seth was, it always made Kaitlyn happy when someone genuinely loved her cooking. Since the Camdens had no idea she was the cook for Mr. Chully, the compliment was obviously sincere.

  Confusion furrowed Granddaddy Camden’s brow adding to the wrinkles on his distinguished face.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to be cryptic. I’m actually the cook for Chully’s, so … I make the brisket. It’s not hard. The flavor comes from the dry rub I make and a chicory coffee sauce. I could show you sometime if you’d like.”

  “I ain’t much of a cook, darlin’, but I’d be more than happy to let you make me some.”

  “Geez, Pops.” Grant rolled his eyes. “She’s already making you chili.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all, Mr. Camden. I owe both of you for taking me in tonight.”

  “You don’t owe us nothin’,” Grant vowed.

  “That’s right. ‘Sides, you vastly improve the scenery. Grant ain’t much to look at,” Granddaddy Camden’s wink made Kaitlyn laugh. The sound was so odd. She wondered how long it had been since she’d been genuinely humored.

  “Oh, I can’t say I agree with that at all, Mr. Camden,” she tried. Her gaze wandered to Grant’s seated form. She offered him a mischievous grin. God, she wanted to flirt. She missed flirting so much.

  The old Kaitlyn, the one who existed fully in her own body, who’d had opinions, and spunk, and soul, the one who still let her parents run her life but at least argued with them about it occasionally made a hesitant showing.

  Like she was surfacing from a drowning deluge after far too many years, breath rushed to her lungs. Bliss stirred beneath her skin. A butterfly or two might’ve even fluttered in her stomach. The new Kaitlyn, the one she’d become to try to give her parents what they’d had with Keith, would never have said that. The new Kaitlyn needed to go.

  And if she wasn’t mistaken, the glow of the firelight said her flirtatious comment elicited a sexy half-grin from her rescuing cowboy. His grandfather was still chuckling, but she didn’t care. Life itself flowed through her veins.

  Tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot, sweat tracked down her spine as she stood. Whether it was from the heat of the fire or the embarrassment she didn’t know. “It’s about ready. Just tell me where the bowls are, and I’ll make everyone some.”

  “You kidding me? You cooked supper. I’ll fix bowls.” The spurs on Grant’s boots jangled along the linoleum flooring as he made his way into the kitchen. Kaitlyn’s heart timed itself to the metallic beat.

  Watching Grant inhale her chili was oddly fulfilling. He had four bowls, continually commented on how good it was, and made no apologies about enjoying eating in general. One of the many tasks Kaitlyn had taken over when she’d moved home from New York was preparing dinner as her mother, crippled with grief, was unable and her father refused. Each night was a practice in playacting, a fabrication of a family meal.

  Her father would storm in from the precinct after phoning Kaitlyn three to four times to determine the exact time food would appear on the table. He didn’t want to leave work any earlier than he had to.

  Making as little noise as possible, her mother would leave t
he master bedroom and seat herself at the dining room table only to return to her previous post after eating barely enough to sustain her meager existence.

  The only conversation was about the upcoming wedding. It was the only topic that successfully jolted Kaitlyn’s parents into the present. Seth would come over for dinner once a week or so. In the presence of company or when she was at the club, her mother put on a mask of her former self, never allowing anyone outside the family to know how she was barely surviving. It always slid away as soon as she was back home.

  Setting the chili bowl down on the coffee table, Kaitlyn fought the nausea that tidal waved over her. She’d always been pleased for Seth to be there, excited even. In that moment with only the glow of the firelight to navigate her thoughts, she knew she’d been happy to have him there because her parents would make an effort to at least appear normal. She’d allowed Seth to be her savior for no other reason that he was a reluctant barrier between Kaitlyn and her parents’ all-consuming depression. He’d become her normal. How sick was that?

  “I told you I always shoot straight and I’ll say this, that was the best damned chili I’ve ever had. Much obliged,” Grant vowed.

  Happiness chased away the impending doom for a moment. Forcefully ripping her thoughts away from dinners at her family’s mansion and the terror over what would happen now that Seth wouldn’t be coming over and there would be no talk of weddings, Kaitlyn managed a smile.

  “Boy, you best never let your mama hear you say that,” Granddaddy Camden teased.

  “Does your mother like to cook?” The hope Kaitlyn heard in her own voice levied another round of sadness in her soul. How pathetic to desperately need to know that somewhere outside the walls of the home that had become her cage, people cooked, and ate, and enjoyed a simple meal as a family without the weight of grief as the centerpiece of the table.

  “I never really thought to ask her if she likes to cook. Probably should’a. She seems happy when she’s doing it so I assumed, but that’s generally a bad idea. She had six youngins to feed every night and all us had been out working a ranch most of the day so we were hungry. All us are grown now and we still eat up there most every night.”

  “That’s nice.” Kaitlyn tried not to feel the sting of jealousy, but she still hadn’t regained any control over her feelings.

  “Trust me, she loves to cook. My daughter-in-law is a sweetheart and a spitfire. She and my wife used to go head to head occasionally on who was gonna cook what for who. ‘Fore Grant was even here on this earth the two of ‘em would start bickering over who was gonna cook Thanksgiving supper and Christmas breakfast in July. Got so Ev used to eat six times on both days so as not to get his britches caught on his own pitchfork.”

  “Ev’s my daddy,” Grant explained. “I never knew about that, Pops. I always remember Gran and Mama cookin’ together for the holidays.”

  “Yeah, well, see that’s how life works. We raise up kids telling ‘em to think. Then they get to thinkin’ and wanting to change things. Generation that told ‘em to think gets to feeling a little bit replaced with their new way of doing things. Like two bulls that go horn to horn, they go back and forth ‘til one gains a little ground then the other pushes back harder. Only two outcomes—they either lock each other up and nobody gets nowhere or they both decide it ain’t worth losing a horn over. Eventually, they figure there’s plenty of pasture for everyone involved. I mighta suggested to your gran that she should go on and admit she was a little tired of cookin’ for all us every night and she was just bein’ stubborn, and maybe Jessie did know what she was doing in a kitchen. And your daddy mighta mentioned to your mama that his mama was feelin’ a little replaced. You can make a lotta headway when you try to see something from the other side of the fence between ya.”

  “Sometimes the fence is more like an impenetrable wall,” Kaitlyn commented to herself.

  Grant studied the way the firelight danced in those gorgeous blue eyes and lit the flecks of orange in her auburn curls. She was spinning them around her index finger over and over again. Nervous habit she didn’t even seem aware she had.

  Girl was a puzzle if she was anything at all. Why in God’s name did she tell people she worked for a lawyer’s office? What was wrong with being a cook? Was that not a good enough profession for her? His gut said that wasn’t it, but every word that fell out of those pretty pink lips produced ten questions for every answer.

  Keeping the question locked up tight in his mind instead of demanding to know why she lied about her work while they did dishes together proved difficult.

  “Just ask me,” she finally demanded.

  “Ask you what?”

  “Whatever it is you want to know. You keep looking at me like I’m a ticking time bomb set to explode.”

  “That ain’t it exactly.” It was true, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her. Running his hand under the faucet, he jerked back as the freezing cold water splashed on his t-shirt. Damn it all to hell, he had to pay attention to something other than Kaitlyn.

  “I am either stupid or I pay so little attention that my fiancé was able to have an affair with one of my closest friends without me noticing. Trust me, I’m paying attention now. You want to know something.”

  “I told you, you ain’t stupid for not knowing he was cheating. He’s the dumbass for doing it. But fine, why the hell do you lie about where you work?”

  “I knew that’s what you wanted to know.”

  Grant didn’t respond. She was more nervous than a Junebug in July. If he kept his trap shut, she’d keep talking. He would have bet the profits from half his stalks on it. Silence ticked between them.

  A huff of hot breath preceded, “I lie about where I work so my parents won’t know I quit the job at the law firm.”

  Interesting. “So, why did you quit?”

  “One, I don’t want to be a lawyer. Two, one of the partners informed me on my first day that I would get further faster if my skirts were shorter and I showed off more of my assets. He also wanted me to extend my hours with him. Three, I don’t put up with stuff like that. Four, I want to be a chef, but I can’t, so being a cook is as close as I can get.”

  The white-hot rage that bubbled in his gut had Grant white-knuckling a dish towel like it was the lawyer’s neck in his grip.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally managed, though he barely recognized his infuriated growl as his own voice.

  Skepticism hardened her gaze as she shrugged. “Thanks. I used the sexual harassment in my favor. Threatened to go public and tell my dad. The lawyer agreed to have his admin assistant tell people I was with a client if anyone ever calls there asking for me in exchange for me keeping my mouth shut.”

  “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have to trade your silence for his piss-poor behavior.”

  Setting a bowl down she’d been drying, she offered him another one of those genuine smiles, the one that made that sexy little dimple appear on her left cheek. The anger in his gut mixed oddly with the heat sizzling in his veins. What the hell was this girl doing to him? He’d never wanted to beat the shit out of some asshole while laying her out and showing her how real men treat women simultaneously.

  “You really believe that?”

  “Believe what?”

  “That I shouldn’t have had to make a deal like that?”

  “Hell yeah, peaches.”

  “Seth said I should just keep quiet about it. Told me that was the way it worked in law. He said I was stupid to have quit and that I should have considered his offer. But since I didn’t, he told me I should keep my word and never say anything.”

  “Am I allowed to ask why you can’t just be a chef?” If I ever meet your ex, I’ll shove his own head so far up his ass he’ll be able to lick his own tonsils.

  “No.” She shook head and tried to hide a harsh swallow. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Grant. I know I keep saying that, but it means more than you know.” Well, that was a subject change if ever there
was one.

  “Pops thinks there’s something to all this.” He gestured between them using the wet spoon he was holding in his hands. Water splattered all over the linoleum floor.

  Laughing at him, Kaitlyn knelt to dry the flooring. Grant stared unabashedly at her plump ass caught up in those yoga pants. His heart thundered out its adamant approval. Damn. Damn. Damn. She was gonna kill him before the night was over.

  “Your grandfather is so sweet. I guess it is a little crazy how we ended up here, but I probably shouldn’t be ready to date or whatever. I haven’t even spoken to Seth yet. Not that you asked me out. I’m a mess.”

  An irritated grunt vaulted from Grant’s throat. Every time she spoke that fucker’s name he wanted to level somebody. The sheer number of asses he wanted to whip on her behalf was concerning. He hadn’t even known her twenty-four hours. He cursed himself for alluding to them going out sometime even if he had blamed his granddaddy for it. However, she hadn’t said she wasn’t ready to date, just that she didn’t think she should be ready. Interesting.

  “You ain’t a mess,” was all he offered.

  “Trust me, I am. Would you mind if I took a shower?”

  “Water heater’s electric. You’re welcome to bathe, but it’s gonna be colder than a witch’s tit.” Course, I could always get in with you and keep you nice and warm. Grant tried unsuccessfully to order his thoughts from that idea.

  Do not look at her tits. Do not look at her tits. She’s been surrounded by nothing but assholes lately and you acted like a horny plowboy on his first root with the dress. Show her how cattle ranchers treat a lady.

  Rather proud of himself for following his own directives, Grant fought not to verbally congratulate himself.

  “Oh,” she wrinkled her adorable nose. “Maybe I’ll wait and see if the power comes back on soon.”

  Sinking his teeth into his tongue to keep himself from offering to heat her up after a cold shower, he managed a slight nod.