by Maisey Yates
“But I’ve lived. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Indeed.”
“STFU, jackass,” Lark said.
He put his hand on her forehead. “You’re starting to speak lolcats. Get off the computer once in a while.”
“You don’t even know what lolcats is.”
“Something to do with cats and cheeseburgers. Amber texts me crap like that all the time.”
“At least she tries to modernize you,” Lark said, shaking her head.
“How did this become a commentary on me? At least I come out into the light every day.”
“Look,” Lark said, holding her—admittedly pale—arm out in a shaft of sunlight. “I don’t even sparkle!”
“Suspicious. I’m suspicious. Seriously,” Cade said, “I worry about you, in your cave all the time. You’ve got to live life, Lark, or it’s going to pass you by.”
“Are you seriously giving me advice?” she asked. “Name one thing in your life that’s organized, or settled, or . . . aspirant.”
“Fun, Lark, I have fun. With real people. Outside. Look around you; it’s in high-def.”
“You’re an idiot, and also, I have a life.”
“Virtually.”
And if that didn’t count as having a life she was screwed. She bit the inside of her cheek. “Annnnd?”
“And maybe you should get hungover, is all I’m saying.”
“But maybe have enough class not to go drinking all the champagne at a wedding to accomplish it,” Amber said, somewhat pointedly.
Yeah, if Lark did that here she really would look lovelorn and pathetic.
“Then I’ll hold off. Anyway, you don’t know everything about me, Cade.”
“Beg to differ.”
“You don’t.”
“If I checked your browser history I would.”
“Nuh-uh.” No one touched her computer but her, but even so, she didn’t leave certain things lying around on it. Secret shame was secret.
“Witty comeback,” he said. “Witty indeed. Why don’t you go talk to someone? Meet a guy.”
“Right. Meet a guy. Cole would be interrogating him before a full greeting exited my mouth.”
Cade shrugged. “You take the good with the bad.”
“You’re both mostly bad,” she said, not meaning it at all.
Amber rolled her eyes. “Have fun,” she said to Lark. “And catch up with us later maybe? You can help me haul his drunken ass to his room.”
“I say we leave him on the lawn.”
“Fair enough,” Amber said, turning and following Cade down to the table laden with drinks.
Lark bent back down and took her phone from her bag, trying not to think too much about her brother and his comments. Look what “living” had gotten him. And anyway, a hangover was hardly her definition of living.
She didn’t have to drink herself into a stupor to feel like she’d reached the heights.
She opened up her mail app and saw another one from Longhorn HR. She opened up the message.
The money offer had doubled, and the length of the contract was for six weeks, with the possibility of extension. And attached was the contract, to be returned as soon as possible.
She knew exactly what her answer was.
She fired off a quick reply and the promise to fax the signed contract over that night.
There. It wasn’t much. It was a local contract, and she would still be able to live at home while she fulfilled it. But it was something. A decision made on her own. A step toward meaningful independence.
She put her phone back in her bag and stood up, taking a deep breath. Then she headed over toward where the bride and groom were standing, by the cake.
She was going to offer her congratulations and sincerest well wishes. She wasn’t feeling quite so left behind anymore.
Chapter Two
Quinn Parker was mean when he was pissed. Okay, he was mean most of the time, but especially when he was pissed.
And he was currently pretty pissed.
“You don’t have anything?” Quinn asked Sam, his right-hand man and basically the only person who could put up with his shit.
“Nothing concrete. It’s pretty tough to prove you didn’t do something, Quinn, barring a confession from someone else.”
“Beat a confession out of someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” Quinn rested his elbows on the granite countertop and stared across the bar at the empty living area. The cabin was almost completely done now. Though “cabin” seemed like a misleading word for the place.
Five thousand square feet. Huge kitchen, a dining room big enough to seat twenty. A living room made for the same number. And a section of private living space for himself.
The rest of the grounds had a kitchen that stood alone, along with outdoor dining. Classrooms. And cabins that were much more like actual cabins. Small and rustic. Just right for boys who needed to get their heads on straight.
His new role as philanthropist didn’t sit too well with him. Especially because a few local news outlets were wanting to do a piece on the ranch, and that was the last thing Quinn wanted.
Because if they started looking at his present, they’d look into his past too. And that was a minefield. It would start with his family background and move on to his arrest record, straight down to being barred from the Rodeo Association.
No way in hell was he issuing an invitation for someone to open that Pandora’s box.
But he could just keep hanging up on reporters. The important thing was the ranch. And messing with Cade Mitchell’s head.
“I was thinking Cade was the guy we might nail, in truth.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I don’t know. You think he’s as injured as he said he was?”
“He got trampled pretty good. I saw the video.”
“Yeah, he got the hell beat out of him, that’s for sure.”
It had been an ugly sight. Quinn had been there, watching from the gates, when Cade had taken a fall off his horse, who had been spooked beyond reason, stomping and bucking. And unfortunately, Cade had been trapped beneath the animal at the time.
It was the worst injury he’d seen in his years on the circuit. It had left everyone there with a sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs.
But Quinn’s sick feeling had stayed. Because when the spike was found beneath the horse’s saddle, and when inquiries were made, Cade had pointed his finger at Quinn.
True, he’d never liked the bastard. Cade was the golden boy on the circuit. Mr. Good Time. Every buckle bunny was on him after events, every sponsor was after him for an endorsement. And all that was fine, because Quinn attracted his own women. The all-American good-time boy was nice for some. But some women liked dark and dangerous, and he wasn’t above catering to that. And as for endorsements, he frankly had a fortune on his hands now that his father was dead.
The man commonly billed as his father, anyway. Though Quinn, and everyone else in his family, knew differently. Whether they’d ever speak it out loud or not.
He didn’t need any of what Cade Mitchell had, no matter what anyone thought. And while Quinn had never been a particularly nice son of a bitch, even he had his limits. If Cade had taken a swing at him in a bar fight, Quinn would have knocked teeth out of his head and made that million-dollar face a lot less valuable.
Even he had enough . . . pride? Conscience? Something. He wouldn’t just ambush a man, especially when the move would injure an animal like this one had. The horse was fine, but it had been reacting to pure, biting pain.
Quinn might not like Cade, but he had no beef with the horse he was riding.
Bottom line, Quinn was a bastard. Cade knew it, the Rodeo Association knew it. Hell, the man commonly called his father knew it too, though he m
eant bastard in the more traditional sense of the word. Everyone else just thought he was a prick. But not matter how big of a prick he was, he wouldn’t do what he’d been accused of.
And the accusation had damn well ruined his life. Taken his credibility, taken the only thing he’d ever cared about.
Barred from competition. For life.
Damn it to hell, he had to fix that. He had to prove it wasn’t his fault. All of his appeals so far had been denied. Apparently, he needed evidence. He closed his eyes and felt a cold sweat on his back, the memory of his last hearing playing through his mind, more terrifying than the times he’d stood trial in court as a teenager.
I need evidence? Show me your evidence.
This ain’t a court a law, Mr. Parker. We don’t need evidence. All these men here, bein’ of sound mind, have come to a unanimous decision based on the testimony of Mr. Cade Mitchell.
He opened his eyes again and looked around at the cabin. Things were definitely starting to come together. A whole lot of things.
“I’m going to have a little job for you coming up, Sam,” he said.
“Oh, really?” The other man straightened and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“You and Jill, actually.”
Sam’s expression tightened. “All right.”
“I’m going to send you on all-expenses-paid vacation to Elk Haven Stables.”
“That’s the Mitchell ranch, yeah?”
“Yessir. If Cade Mitchell has exaggerated his injuries in any way, it will be pretty clear pretty quick. If I show my face over there, he won’t drop his guard.”
“I thought you wanted him to know you were here.”
“I do. And he will. But he doesn’t need to know you work for me. And on his ranch he’s bound to be relaxed. Just for the first week, at least, I want you and Jill there pretending you’re on an anniversary trip.”
“Won’t we need a reservation?”
“You have one. Mark called it in.”
“He’s a helpful sumbitch, ain’t he?”
Sam was obviously irritated with the directive, but Quinn couldn’t figure out why. A little all-expenses-paid alone time with his wife should make Sam happy. Although, Quinn couldn’t see the appeal, personally, since he had no intention of ever having a wife. Though Jill was a nice enough woman. Not his biggest fan, but he did monopolize a lot of her husband’s time, and even more of it since Sam had been in Silver Creek helping him get things together.
“Yes, he is. He’s also arranged a contract for me that will prove very useful indeed.”
“Aw, shit, man, what did you do?” The lines on Sam’s face looked more drawn.
“You say that like you think I did something bad, buddy. I think I’m offended.”
“Did you?”
“Depends on your perspective.”
Sam shook his head and pulled his cell phone out of the front pocket of his shirt. “I’ll have to call Jill and see if she’s up for this. Otherwise it’ll be me staying in that cabin by myself, looking like a nut job.”
“Mark might be willing to come down and stay with you.”
Sam flipped him off on his way out of the room, grumbling as he dialed his wife.
Quinn braced himself on the counter, palms flat on the granite surface. Yeah, he was pretty sure Sam would think what he’d done was a very bad thing.
Cade would think so too.
And that made Quinn feel nothing but good. Because Lark Mitchell had signed a contract to come and work for him for the next six weeks.
It was a good thing to keep your enemies close. But it was better to keep their little sisters closer.
Because there was nothing on God’s green earth that would piss Cade off more than having Lark in close proximity to Quinn. Like sending your lamb to bunk with a wolf.
Quinn smiled and pushed off from the counter. Oh, yeah, if Cade Mitchell had secrets, Quinn would find them. If Cade had a weakness, Quinn would damn well exploit it.
Quinn Parker was mean when he was pissed. And Cade had sure as hell pissed him off.
***
“Die, zombie bastards! Die!” Lark took another sip of her Rockstar and set it back down on her desk, clicking her mouse button furiously and unleashing a a hellish rain of shotgun fire on the army of undead monsters schlepping their way across her computer screen.
Today she was starting her new job, and she was determined to start it right. Some people chanted little mantras about their personal success and being good enough and smart enough. Lark just wanted to blow the hell out of Nazi zombies.
And of course she’d had an energy drink, the breakfast of gaming champions. She was ready to take on her new job as head tech goddess of the Longhorn Ranch, part of the Longhorn Properties family.
She fought the urge to crush her can against her head like a frat boy. Mainly she resisted because she’d tried it once and had succeeded only in smacking herself in the head, but also, she was self-conscious enough to know what a douche move that was.
She pushed away from her desk, the chair rolling smoothly across the floor, then she stood up, brushing her hands over her black pants and black top. It was her most professional outfit: a button-up shirt and some dress pants. She looked a little like she was ready to wait tables at the local diner, but hey, she was used to working at home and rocking jeans and t-shirts.
But this was a real job with a contract, and she wasn’t doing that. She walked out of her bedroom and out into the hallway that overlooked the main living area of the house.
Crossbeams made from logs ran across the vaulted ceiling, and a panel of windows took up the whole far wall, giving a view of the family ranch. Their legacy. The only thing they had left of their parents.
Lark took a deep breath and continued on down the stairs. She still felt the sadness of losing them like a weight on her chest. She’d grown used to it resting there; she didn’t think it had ever gotten any lighter.
It was hard for her to remember her mom, which was its own kind of pain. But their dad? She remembered everything. The way he smelled, the way he laughed, the way he talked. He was gruff, but he was loving. And sometimes she wanted to ask him a question, or just tell him about her day, so bad that the realization she couldn’t was like having a hole punched in her chest.
Even after six years. It seemed so much longer and so much shorter at the same time.
Cole walked out of the kitchen just as she descended into the living area. “Hi,” she said.
“Where are you headed?”
“Uhm . . . I have a job to go to.”
“An interview?”
“No, like an actual job. I got the job already.”
“You what?”
“I got the job already.”
“When?”
“Like a month ago,” she mumbled, looking down at her black shoes.
“And you didn’t . . . tell us?”
“Well . . . here’s the thing, Cole . . .”
“Who are you working for?”
“Longhorn Properties? They just bought a ranch out here for—”
“Well, who the hell is that? That name is supposed to mean something to me? How do you even know it’s legitimate?”
“Google-fu.”
“What?”
“I have mad Google skills, which, in this case, means I typed it into a search engine and got information,” she said dryly. “And this is why I didn’t tell you.”
“Because you could Google it you didn’t tell me? How the hell am I supposed to check this . . . company, guy, whatever, out?”
“Not because I could Google it, Cole; because you’re an overprotective nut job who would dress me in a roll of bubble wrap before I went anywhere if you could. Because you think it’s your job to check this out for me, when I can do it for myself.”
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“And?”
“Legit. Cattle ranch in Texas, dairy up north. Lots of things that are dusty and involve farm implements. I have no reason to fear what I’m walking into.”
“But I . . . I . . .”
“I know. I know. But Cole, why don’t you channel some of your overprotective angst into imagining how you’ll deal with Maddy’s first dates, huh?”
“Since he’s never had to deal with one of yours.” Cade walked out of the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. “Because you’ve never had one.” He continued on by and out the front door. She shot a dirty sneer at his retreating figure and then turned back to Cole.
“Worry about him,” she said. “He needs . . . something. Focus, direction. He’s just a snarly, sarcastic buttmonkey and he’s starting to piss me off. He’s around all the time.”
“He does live here.”
“And I don’t really think he should.”
“It’s the family ranch. You live here.”
“But you don’t share control,” she said. “I don’t want it. I want a cave filled with computers. I don’t want to ride the range, or whatever. Cade, on the other hand, would probably appreciate a little more control.”
“Like I’d give it to him.”
“My point exactly. Anyway, since you and Cade clearly have things to talk about . . .” She turned and headed for the door.
“Nice try. We’ll walk about this later.”
She turned back to face him. “I love you, Cole. You’ve been the best big brother ever. You took care of me . . . You’ve just always taken care of me. After mom died. And then even more after dad died. But you have Kelsey and you have Maddy. And I’m twenty-two. I don’t need you to be so . . . on all the time.”
He shifted uncomfortably, pushing his hat back on his head. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. But I love you,” he said, “and your safety and well-being are really important to me. Just because I have Kelsey . . . it doesn’t change that. I love my wife, but you’re my sister. And you’ll always be . . . that little girl who blew her nose on my t-shirt when she cried.”