Bad Boy, Big Heart (Heart of the Boy Book 1)

by Andrea Downing

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t want to worry my parents—you’ve seen what they’re like. Only—”

  “I understand, but, for future reference, it was the wrong thing to do. We’ve had our eye on Forrest for some time—he’s had various drug-dealings and so on we were trying to pin on him. Your evidence could have helped.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Bob, Chay, you think of anything else you want to add, you know where to find me. By the way, Chay, how’s your dad doing these days?”

  Chay hesitated, studying his dressed hand. “He’s…about as well as could be expected.”

  “I hear the Bantries are looking to extend their lease another few years. I imagine that’ll help you out some.”

  “Yes, sir. I just have to think it through.”

  “Well, you tell your dad I asked after him and wish him well from me, will you. I’ll see if I can stop by sometime.”

  “He’d appreciate that, I’m sure.”

  As the screen banged shut, Breezy gave K.C. another pat. “Well, if I’m not needed here, there’s plenty of cleaning up to do in the kitchen. And I know we’ve at least got a full house for breakfast, if not longer.”

  A heavy quiet followed her leaving before Bob took a deep breath. “I expect, K.C., there may be some folks wanting to leave tomorrow before their week is up. Don’t give them any argument; just smile and credit their cards back and apologize for what happened, tell them something like it could have happened anywhere—but lightly, just as a reminder—and we’ll hope for the best. The owners, Mr. and Mrs. Settler, will have to be notified, of course, and I’ll do that. And then we just have to pray the following week’s guests and others don’t hear about this and start demanding to pull out. The one thing in our favor is there’s really no place else to go; these folks, most of them, fly in and they won’t be able to change those flights, and getting alternate accommodation is nigh on impossible—”

  “My parents did.”

  “Yes, well, luckily for us, not everyone can afford The Four Seasons or the Amangani.”

  The three glanced at one another before Bob asked, “Do you think you can handle this? If you can’t, of course, I’ll understand.”

  “No. I’m fine. Really.” Her gaze met Chay’s.

  Bob looked from one to the other. “Right, then. I’m going from cabin to cabin, where I see a light still on, to apologize and make sure everyone is all right. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  K.C. sat there limply. She felt like such an idiot, such a mama’s girl in front of Chay. “I’m sorry,” she spoke quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” Chay came round the desk and squatted to look into her eyes. He reached up and turned her face toward him. “It wasn’t your fault, K.C. None of this was your fault. Most likely they’re going to find he was high on drugs or something. The guy had a screw loose somewhere, you know that.”

  “Yes, but…. I don’t know. I should have told the sheriff. And if I hadn’t been so concerned about what my parents would say, things might have turned out differently.”

  “Things would be just the same. He wanted vengeance, wanted retribution against me for beating him up, that’s all. It had nothing to do with you. Really.”

  K.C. sighed. “How’s your hand? Your poor shoulder? Gosh, what did it feel like, being shot?”

  Chay laughed. “K.C., I wasn’t shot; the guy couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, the state he was in. It’s a graze, nothing more than a graze. I could probably take this stupid bandage off, for all it’s worth, but I’m playing my sympathy card with you. I’m intent on getting a huge amount of sympathy.”

  “A huge amount, huh? I guess you really are my hero; you saved my life. Gee! For the second time!”

  “Hmmm. Okay. What do heroes get for being heroes?”

  “I could think of a few different rewards, but I think the one you’re going to get right now is the pleasure of walking me back to my bunkhouse and kissing me good-night.”

  “I’ll settle for that, all things considered.” He held up his wounded hand. “And I’ll collect the other rewards…in due course.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Well, thank goodness this week is over,” K.C. greeted Chay as he let the screen door slam behind him. Outside, the usual four p.m. downpour had guests and staff scurrying for cover as a flicker of lightening was followed by the whiplash of thunder ricocheting overhead.

  “Another bad week?” He tipped his hat slightly before shaking off his slicker and stomping his boots on a mat by the door. Then he showed her his bandage-free arm.

  “Oh, yay for you. As for bad, I thought last week, when only one family left for fear of their young children being murdered, that would be the end of it. But with that dumb reporter blowing everything out of proportion, and the way things get spread all over the Internet, there have been more cancellations. Not enough to have Bob worried, he says, but enough to make things a little uncomfortable.”

  “What did the Settlers say? Do you know?”

  “Que sera was apparently their attitude after they asked if anyone had been hurt.”

  “Well, that’s something.”

  “Are you worried about your job?”

  Chay ran a hand across his face and sighed. “I don’t think so. My job isn’t really dependent on the guests—I don’t think. Might be difficult for them to keep me on full time though if things get worse.” He spotted a newspaper lying open on K.C.’s desk. “What’s this, then?”

  The newspaper had a two-page spread on the shooting, photos of Jamie Forrest mixed with snaps of his luxury home and the Lazy S as well. “Love Triangle Ends in Tragedy” the headline screamed; “Local Boy Loses Head Over New York Beauty.”

  Chay burst out laughing. “Well, the one thing I’ll agree with here is ‘New York Beauty.’ As for the rest of it….”

  “It’s so embarrassing! And what ‘love triangle’? Who the hell told them that?”

  Chay brought his wide smile under control. “Well, I didn’t say anything. The only thing I told them…ah. It’s a cover-up, K.C. His parents must’ve paid them off or something. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leaned across her desk to steal a kiss as a drop of rain found its way down the length of his nose.

  K.C. ran her finger over it. “So what are we doing this weekend? Hopefully not getting shot again.”

  “Hopefully not.” Chay straightened up. “I thought maybe you would like to drive out to my place. My father’s place. I thought you might enjoy that, seeing a real old homestead, seeing where I was brought up.”

  “I’d love it! When?”

  “As soon as you’re off tomorrow, noonish, okay?”

  * * *

  Low grey clouds wound like baroque pearls around the distant peaks while an inky sky spoke more of night than day. Chay pulled K.C. close as the pickup rattled over the dirt road leading to the Ridgway Ranch. It was a long drive, the road winding through knots of pine, across a creek and then out onto a flat plain where a cluster of buildings sat like cruets on a table. He knew K.C. would be shocked by the condition of some of those buildings, tumbledown and left to rot while implements rusted.

  “I tried to keep it up,” he suddenly explained as if she had spoken. “But it was no use. Either I had to work and bring in cash, or I had to do the upkeep on the ranch—without money. The taxes are just too high, everything got too much for me. When my mother left, my dad started drinking heavily and just let things go. For a while I tried, leaving school and working here, but it was obvious that wasn’t going to be possible.”

  “So you sold out?”

  “We sold the livestock and a load else. It was like everything I had counted on, going to agricultural college, coming back to ranch, my whole life plan just went out the window. And all because of my mother….”

  “What was she like?”

  Chay turned and looked at K.C. before facing the road once more. “I don’t know. I wonder if we ever really know our parents. Eve
ryone has secret lives and she had hers, I guess. She loved parties, going out, was always finding an excuse to go into town. She probably never should have married my father, never come to live on a ranch, and I guess that’s why they only had one child.”

  He pulled to a stop outside the barn as rain pattered down on the windshield. Chay sat looking out, the weather reflecting his mood. “I wonder if I should have brought you here?” he said suddenly. “I wonder—”

  “Of course, you should. I want to know everything about you. I want to know what makes you tick, who you are.”

  “Who I am? I’m a two-bit cowboy with a job that may get cut and a load of debts to meet.”

  “But you’re meeting them.”

  “Yes. Now. As long as the Bantries continue to rent, as long as I have a job. It’s so precarious. My father’s medical bills….”

  “I….” K.C. obviously caught herself.

  Chay realized he had never mentioned his father’s illness.

  “Come on.” He swung out of the cab. “Let’s have a look around before I take you to meet the old man.”

  He put his arm around K.C. as she came to meet him, picking her way through the puddles. Odd rusting cans lay about, a hay fork leaned against the barn, the dislodged seat of a tractor. There were spaces between the planks of the barn where wood had rotted, light filtering from one side to the other. He remembered the low nickers of horses stabled there, the good feel of pitching feed to them or watching them in the corrals. He recalled deep-snow days when they ran a rope from the house to the barn in case there was a blizzard, or joining his dad to ride out and check the stock. Gone now. All gone.

  They strode out the back where the series of corrals spread like a maze through the dirt. Chay stood hearing the shouts of his childhood as horses were broke, the lowing of cattle in the distance, not theirs anymore, but owned by others now. He rubbed the bristle on his chin and moved K.C. on.

  “The old bunk house,” he said, creaking open the door and entering. Single cots lined the wall, one or two as fresh as if they’d been used yesterday, others with sagging, lumpy mattresses showing the signs of years.

  K.C. gently pushed the door closed behind her and faced him.

  He couldn’t read what she was thinking, her face a blank canvas, waiting to be written on. He took that face between his calloused hands, feeling the soft curves of it, and bent to kiss her, take possession, free himself from the burden of loving her without knowing her, body and soul. K.C.’s hands came up over his and gently took them. She led him to one of the cleaner cots, her open gaze searching his. As she let his hands go, she started to undo her rain jacket before Chay clasped her hands once more.

  His gaze combed her face. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” It was a firm answer, a positive acceptance of what would come to pass between them.

  He pushed back the rain jacket from her shoulders, nuzzling and kissing her neck as his hands found the buttons of her shirt. A deep sigh came from his throat as his hands ran over her breasts before reaching around to release her bra.

  K.C. slowly found the snaps to Chay’s shirt as he shrugged out of his slicker, letting it fall to the floor. She stretched to push the shirt back but he was too tall, and he reached behind himself awkwardly, and yanked the sleeves free so it fell away. Then they each pulled off their boots and socks.

  Chay bent and threw his slicker on the bed. “It’s all I have,” he whispered. “It’s…it’s sort of gross.” When she didn’t reply, he looked around, and was struck by the cupboard in the far corner. Gingerly picking his way over, barefoot, he unlatched it and found a stack of yellowing sheets and moth-eaten blankets. “Aha!” he exclaimed, pulling two of the blankets out as if they were trophies. He came back with them in his arms.

  K.C. pulled the slicker off the bed as Chay spread the dusty blankets on the cot. Then she unzipped her jeans and stepped out of them, pushing her panties off before slipping under the top blanket.

  Chay’s groin tightened with the sight of her, and a hot flood came through his veins. He pulled a condom from his back pocket and then undressed. K.C. took the condom and slid it on him, before Chay slipped into the bed and took K.C. in his arms. He wrapped those limbs around her as his kisses found the curve of her neck and traveled down to her breasts, circling the areolas. As his mouth found the hard buttons of K.C.’s nipples, his hands found the moist center of her desire while her hands took his hardness and stroked its length. Chay let out a long breath, pushing himself up on his elbows to gaze at her.

  “I love you,” he sighed. “You know that, don’t you?”

  * * *

  K.C. ran her hand down the length of his erection, feeling the tightness over the heartbeat of his yearning. She wanted to know that yearning, wanted that heart beat within her and guided him there. “Stop,” she said quietly as he began to slowly move. “I want to feel you there.”

  Chay arched to kiss her, to be joined with her in all possible places, his arms now tight about her as he began to move once more, a low moan escaping him as his need grew.

  She clasped her legs around him, feeling his skin on hers, the comfort of it, the slight friction of his face against her own. His body continued on its journey to blend them into one being, and somewhere inside her, as if the strings of an instrument had been played, she felt herself sink into oblivion, a release of everything she held, her own voice calling out so distant, it could have been among the stars.

  * * *

  Chay lay there offering only his profile to K.C. as she nestled against him dozing. He loved this girl so much, but where could it go?

  On the tin roof, the sound of the rain tapered off, a timpani orchestra beating out his thoughts as they marched on. Chay knew that, only a short distance away in the main ranch house, his father struggled for each breath, waited for his son.

  He gently rolled on top of her, pecking her face with kisses as her eyes fluttered open and she smiled.

  “Guess I fell asleep, huh?”

  “Guess you did.” He smiled and tapped a final kiss on her lips before he swung one leg off and then the other, grabbed his clothes and pulled them on. He was aware of her lying there, propped on one elbow, admiring him, so he flexed his muscles.

  K.C. giggled. “Show off. Those your roping muscles, cowboy?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And I’m gonna rope you right out of bed now and take you over to the house. Rain seems to be stopping.”

  He watched as she swung out of bed and pulled each bit of clothing back on, reaching behind her to do up her bra, covering the soft curves of her breasts he had so recently caressed. He wanted her again, but held himself back, knowing there would be other days they could steal away, even nights they could come out here. Two more weeks of July lay before them and then August, plus time ’til Labor Day. And then what, Chay asked himself. Then what?

  * * *

  As they walked across the muddy ground, avoiding puddles, arms about each other, K.C. could only wonder how the place had become so rundown and what it would take to build it up once more. Afraid to ask Chay lest she sound too critical of the way things were, she envisaged using whatever money came to her to make the place what it had been once. But there were two years at least between that idea and this moment, two years in which, if this relationship continued, they would mostly be apart. And she knew the difficulties facing long-distance romances.

  Chay was quiet, withdrawn into himself as he reached out and pulled open the door, nodding to K.C. to go in.

  “Dad!” Chay called. “I’ve brought someone to meet you.”

  K.C. followed him through the kitchen they had entered, cracked linoleum tiling and an old-fashioned stone sink giving away how long it had been since the place was last updated. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes and Chay stopped a moment to light the gas heater above, to warm some water. Outside, a feeble sun lit the distant hills.

  He guided her into the next room where his father sat in a corner, oxygen ta
nk by his side, stacks of magazines and old newspapers on a table near him. The room smelled of a strange mixture of antiseptic and age—musty, tangy sweat and greasy hair. The man almost blended into the dark room until Chay started pulling curtains open, dust motes dancing in the weak light.

  “I don’t know why you keep these shut. Can’t you open them in the morning?”

  A cough was the answer as Chay’s father eyed K.C. up and down. His voice was low, phlegm-filled, and critical as he cast his glance over K.C. “Who’s this, then?”

  “Dad, this is…Kirsten. She’s working at the Lazy S. Kirsten, this is my Dad.” Chay stood, expressionless, his thumbs hooked into his back pockets waiting for her reaction.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ridgway.” She went over and extended her hand, which he met with a weak, momentary clasp.

  “Your latest then, huh.” Ridgway tried to laugh, but it ended in prolonged coughing and slapping the oxygen mask over his mouth.

  Chay grimaced. “Or my last,” he threw back.

  K.C. stood lost in the middle of this gloomy room, trying to envisage it in happier times. But her gaze came back to rest on Ridgway. Unshaven, grizzled, his eyes seemed to be sunken so deep into his head, he was almost skeletal. He wore a flannel shirt with a button missing and a hole near the shoulder, workingman’s jeans and cracked leather slippers close to falling apart. It was too much, that Chay had all this to handle on his own—the ranch, his father, his job. Was loving her a burden, too?

  “I’ll go and do the dishes for you while you visit with your dad,” she offered, blinking back the emotion that started to well.

  “K.C., it’s all right. I’ll….”

  She felt his gaze on her as she got to the kitchen, tears beginning to stream down her face. She gently closed the door between the rooms, grabbed the old dish brush, and started to clean up.

  * * *

  The door opened and Chay leaned back against the wall, watching her for a moment. He spoke quietly, the sound of the water heater marking his words. “Not what you expected, huh?”