“I am a mid-level drug dealer,” he finally said.
“Cisco—”
“Or at least that’s been my cover on and off for the last decade. Among other things.” His fingers tightened on hers. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, Easton. It’s too dangerous.”
“You haven’t told me anything yet.”
He sighed reluctantly. “I’m an undercover federal agent. Narcoterrorism, mostly.”
Of course. She closed her eyes. Of course!
So many things made sense now. His secrecy, the haunted shadows in his gaze, the difficulty she and the others had in finding him in an emergency. She should have realized long ago and she felt supremely stupid for not picking up all the clues.
Her mind sorted through details of the past and she realized Brant and Quinn probably suspected something of the sort all along.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered. “All these years Jo and I were sick with worry for you. You seemed to drift farther away from here with every passing year.”
“You were right to worry.” His voice was hard, cold. “It’s a hell of a life. A good agent becomes his cover. Yeah, you can cloak it in high and mighty words like the greater good and all that bull. But the harsh truth is, I’m a drug dealer. An arms dealer. And sometimes worse. Whatever I need to be. I’ve had to do…terrible things. The end result might get a few higher-level thugs out of the game, but good people are usually hurt in the process. People like John and Socorro Moore. Like Belle, who now has to grow up without her parents.”
Her heart ached for the little girl with the huge eyes and the happy smile.
“Her parents worked with you?”
Something harsh and bleak swept over his features like a January canyon wind. “John did, anyway. He was one of the best. Smart, resourceful, intuitive. Until a cocaine cartel boss named El Cuchillo got hold of him and started to suspect he wasn’t all he pretended to be. Before he finally died, John was tortured for a week by that psychopath, but he refused to give up his partner. Me.”
She twisted her fingers around his and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
“And Soqui?”
“They were so in love. John secretly married her when he found out she was pregnant with Belle, even though it compromised everything we knew and broke about a dozen agency rules. They were happy together in whatever tiny furtive minute they could steal together.”
He paused. “I used to hate seeing them together. Nothing makes you feel more alone than being with two people who are crazy about each other.”
She flashed him a quick look, but he appeared to regret the revealing words because he quickly continued. “I knew it couldn’t end well. John knew it, too, I think. In his distraction, he started to get a little careless. Somehow he slipped up and Cuchillo began to suspect he was wrong.”
His hand curled into a fist. “After John died, Soqui insisted on playing a part in taking down the man who killed him. I tried to tell her it wasn’t a good idea. She had Belle to think about. But she was determined and since she already had an in because she was childhood friends with Cuchillo’s woman, my concerns were overruled by…others.”
He sighed. “We worked together for several months while Belle was hidden away in a safehouse outside Bogotá. We had enough evidence a hundredfold to extradite Cuchillo, but we were working on the players in the level above him.”
“What happened?”
“Somehow our cover was blown. I still don’t know how. Maybe the girlfriend, maybe Soqui let something slip. I just know on the night I was supposed to be there for a huge buy, El Cuchillo and three of his soldiers ambushed us at the warehouse. I took out the thugs but not before one of them gut-shot Soqui. I went to help her, but El Cuchillo turned on me with a knife, his trademark calling card. That’s what cuchillo means. Knife. He carried a ten-inch blade in this stupid little scabbard on his belt. I was expecting him to come at me, but because I was concerned for Soqui, I moved a hair too slowly.”
He was silent, gazing out at the lake, where the trout and arctic graylings were beginning to jump for their evening meal.
“What happened to him?” she finally asked.
He slanted her a long, dark look and she would have shivered if not for the warmth of his body next to hers. The man was dead. She didn’t need Cisco to answer for her to understand clearly.
So many things made sense now, she thought again. No wonder he slept with a handgun under his pillow, why he seemed alert and ready at all times, as dangerous as a crouched mountain lion. Because he had to be.
“You feel responsible for Soqui’s death. That’s why you brought Belle back to John’s family.”
“I am responsible.”
“How? You just said yourself that you fought against her being involved in the investigation in the first place.”
“But I didn’t try hard enough to stop it. I knew we could get deeper in with her help than without, so I used her, just like everyone else. I…sensed something was off that night, but I was too blinded by the chase. I wanted it over, so she could go back to being a mother to Belle. I was so invested in taking down Cuchillo and the bastards who pulled his strings that I lost all perspective, didn’t trust my gut.”
She couldn’t imagine his world, the pressure and the tension and the danger. Her life here running a busy cattle ranch seemed staid and pale in comparison. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked again.
He absently scratched at Jack’s ears. “I just gave you a tiny portion of what my life is like. It’s ugly and dark. Better that you think I’m some irresponsible drunken beach bum. Safer for you.”
She stared at him. “In what alternate universe would that possibly be better? You’re a hero, Cisco.”
“I’m no hero,” he growled. “I lie, I steal, I sell drugs that ruin people’s lives. Didn’t you hear me? I kill people.”
He truly believed that, she realized. He could only see the ugliness, not the end result of what he did.
“You’re walking directly into the darkness so you can push it back a little for the rest of us, Cisco. To make the world a little safer for people like me. What else would you call someone willing to do that but a hero?”
He said nothing for a long moment, but she could tell by the stunned look in his eyes that her words had struck something inside him.
Sensing he needed time to absorb her words and her faith in him, she squeezed his fingers again and stood up,
“I suppose we had better start heading back,” she said, though she wanted nothing so much as to stay here in the quiet peace of the alpine lake. “My animals will be hungry for dinner. We never did get to the picnic you spent so much time fixing.”
“Right.”
He rose and helped her gather the blankets and return them to the trunk inside the shelter. A short time later, they headed down the trail with Jack in the lead, scouting for any small mammals unlucky enough to choose that particular afternoon to cross his path.
Cisco rode behind her on the narrow trail and said little. She imagined that, like her, he was wrung out by the emotional storm of the afternoon.
Trace’s words echoed in her head. Tell him how you feel. See if he might feel the same.
She was going to have to do it, to hand him everything in her heart. How would she ever find the courage? she wondered, then was ashamed of herself. If he had the courage to face what he did day after day, couldn’t she swallow her fears to utter a few simple words?
The image of Jo riding up this trail in the moonlight with Quinn and Tess, seizing every moment of her life even as her strength dwindled, flashed through her mind. Jo had found the courage for this, for one last chance to see a place she loved.
Easton felt the strangest sense of urgency, as if—like Jo seeing her last harvest moon—she had one final chance to help Cisco preserve whatever pieces of himself he had left after ten years of pretending to be something and someone else.
He desperately needed the peace o
f the ranch and, perhaps, of her love. She owed it to both of them to do everything she could to provide that to him.
No matter how terrifying she found it to tell him everything in her heart.
One more night.
He would allow himself one last gift of a few precious hours with her before he slithered back to the lies and the ugliness.
Yeah, it was selfish of him, he knew. He had already hurt her, more than he could ever have imagined. He thought of that plaque on the tree, of her slender form growing larger with a child she would never hold.
An altruistic, noble guy—somebody like Brant, for instance—would just keep riding, would probably go straight from unsaddling Russ to climbing into his rental car so he could drive out of her life for good.
But he was a selfish son of a bitch and he wanted a few more hours with the woman he…
With Easton.
He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even think of it. She was Easton, his center, his touchstone, his heart. He didn’t deserve to love her, not after all he had done.
He touched his thumb to the E on his compass rose tattoo as he rode, barely aware he was even doing it. The trees opened up as they neared the ranch and he could see it there in the long shadows of late afternoon. The sprawling ranch house, the neat fence lines, the barn and outbuildings.
The tug inside him had nothing to do with his knife wound. He might still be afraid to face his true feelings for her after all these years, but he would readily admit how he felt about this place. He loved Winder Ranch and had a deep and powerful yearning for the peace and serenity he found here.
When they reached the barn, Suzy came out to greet them. Well, to greet Jack, anyway. She barked a greeting, tail wagging, then rushed to lick her mate’s snout like he was a soldier returning from war.
He saw Easton give the pair a soft smile as she slid down from her horse.
“Want to help me with chores?” she asked him.
He wanted to spend every moment with her that he could until he left again, even if that meant mucking out stables and hauling hay around a knife injury.
“Sure,” he answered. “I’ll start with the horses.”
For the next hour, they worked together feeding and watering the stock. After the thick emotions of the day—the sadness of saying goodbye to Belle and then the shock and grief he still hadn’t fully absorbed at learning of the baby they had lost and, of course, the sweet tenderness of having her in his arms again—he would never have expected they could be so relaxed together.
She made him laugh a half-dozen times when their paths would cross as they worked, with her funny observations about the animals, about her ranchhands, about her memories of all the ways he and the other boys found to avoid an excess expenditure of energy on labor whenever they could.
She made the work fun and inspired him to try harder, which he had always considered one of her particular gifts.
When he finished the list of embarrassingly mild chores she gave him, he realized he was alone in the barn. When he went in search of her, he found her with her crossed arms propped on the top fence railing around the horse pasture, watching the half-dozen animals graze in the soft, backlit glow of gathering twilight.
“I love this time of day,” she said, sensing his presence even before he reached her side. “When the work is almost done and the animals are all settling down and everything is quiet and still.”
She lifted her face to the lavender sunset edging the mountains. She was so beautiful, like sunshine and wildflowers, and she made his throat ache.
“You’re lucky to be able to see it every day,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Trust me, there are very few places on earth that compare to the peace here.”
She gave him a long, steady look before she shifted her attention back to the horses. “Why don’t you stay, then?”
“Easton…”
“Just shut up for a minute, would you, and listen to me. Really listen. Before you give me all the noble reasons why you have to go, why you have obligations, why your work is important, blah blah blah, think about it. You’re happier here than anywhere else. This is your home, Cisco. You’ve given years of your life. Don’t you deserve a little peace?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is. Whoever you work for can get by without you. You’re not singlehandedly holding back the darkness, Cisco. Can’t you trust the job to someone else for a while?”
Chapter Twelve
She held her breath, unable to read anything in his eyes. Was he shocked, angry, exasperated? She couldn’t tell from his expression and it took every ounce of courage she could summon to turn to him, to raise her arms and wrap them around his neck.
“Stay here with me, Cisco. Help me run the ranch.”
Now she saw emotion in his eyes. They were dark, anguished and soaked with regret. “I ca—”
She couldn’t bear his answer. Not now, after all that they had shared. To stop the words, she pressed her mouth to his and swallowed them inside her. He stood frozen for a heartbeat and then he kissed her back with a fierceness that bordered on desperation.
She didn’t know whether to be afraid at his response or heartened. He cared for her. She knew he did. If he didn’t, would he kiss her as if she were his very salvation?
The sun was sliding over the crest of the mountains when she eased away from him. The air seemed to have already turned cooler. A couple of the younger horses raced through the pasture, manes and tails flying, and a pair of meadowlarks trilled their evening tune.
He was so warm, she wanted to burrow in and stay there forever, but she forced herself to ease away. “Before you make any decision about…about the future, you need to know something else. Something I should have told you years ago.”
He watched her silently, warily, and she drew in a shaky breath with a last prayer for courage.
“I’m in love with you,” she whispered.
His eyes widened with shock even as his jaw hardened. “You’re not.”
“Wanna bet?” She tilted her head and studied him, wondering if his surprise could actually be genuine. “Come on, Cisco. You must have had some idea. I was a virgin five years ago. Why did you think I waited if it wasn’t for you?”
She rarely saw him at a loss for words, even when he was a kid, but just now her fast-talking, smooth Cisco looked completely disconcerted. “I don’t know. I just…I guess I figured you just hadn’t been that serious with anybody yet. Not for lack of trying on the guys’ part, I’m sure.”
“I dated other guys. But none of them was you,” she said simply. “I’ve been in love with you since the day you showed up at Winder Ranch, Cisco. You were skinny and ragged and I could see you were scared, but you grinned at us all like you owned the place and that was it for me. I knew you were it for me.”
She didn’t miss the flare of panic on his features, the almost imperceptible distance he moved away from her. In her secret fantasies, she supposed she had hoped he would sweep her into his arms, declare his undying love and his wish never to be separated from her.
But life wasn’t a fairy tale. She had learned that in a hospital delivery room in Denver as she held the tiny, blanket-wrapped form of their child.
She should stop now, before she ruined everything between them, but she had come this far. She wouldn’t back down now.
“I love you, Cisco. Not the way I love Brant and Quinn. They were always like big brothers to me. My feelings for you were always different. Somewhere inside you, I know you sensed that and felt the same.”
He had felt the sparks between them. She knew he had. Even before her uncle’s funeral, heat had simmered between them and he would have to be lying if he tried to deny it.
“I love you,” she repeated, praying if she said it enough times he might start believing her. “I loved being pregnant with Chance. Even though I was alone and afraid, it was…a magical time, knowing I would have part of you, no matter what.”
His fe
atures were stony and remote. She might have thought he was unmoved by what she said, except for the death grip he had on the top railing of the pasture fence.
“Easton, I…” His voice trailed off and her heart sank. She had lost him. Even when he said nothing else, she knew he was firmly closing the door she had tried so hard to open.
Tears stung her eyes, but she focused on the horses until she could regain some semblance of control.
She could be tough. She had survived a mother’s ultimate pain—losing her child. She could survive losing her baby’s father, too, although right at this moment she wasn’t entirely certain of that.
Still, she forced a smile. “You don’t have to say anything right now, Cisco. Just think about what I’ve said, okay? Ask yourself if you’re really happy where you are. You’ve done this for a long time. Maybe it’s time to let somebody else carry that burden for a while.”
She decided not to wait for him to answer, since she was almost certain she wouldn’t like what he had to say.
“We never did get those sandwiches,” she said quickly. “I haven’t eaten all day and I’m starving. Let’s go find some dinner.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but she didn’t give him a chance, simply hurried back to the house.
He didn’t come into the house until she had nearly finished broiling a couple of salmon fillets she’d taken out of the freezer a few days earlier and tossing a salad to go with them. Even though she knew it was only delaying the inevitable, she threw a determined effort into being cheerful during dinner, distracting him whenever he looked as if he wanted to say something serious.
After they finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen together, he suggested they go out to Jo’s porch swing.
When she was seven years old, before any of the boys came, Easton broke her arm falling out of the big apple tree down behind the foreman’s cottage. She had hid her pain from everyone, had pretended for two days that nothing was wrong because she didn’t want to miss out on a planned camping trip up to the high country with her dad and Uncle Guff, until finally her mother had caught her crying in her room and she had finally confessed all.
A Cold Creek Baby Page 15