Ordinarily, he’d have accepted her words. If a lady said good-bye, a gentleman accepted that. But the woman he’d come to know, with the voice that never failed to turn him on, had said a whole lot of other things. They’d built slowly, from online only to casual short calls to late night conversations, with both of the in bed and…. Well, they hadn’t had phone sex because he refused to let their first time be voice only.
He’d wanted extra gentleman-credit for restraint. No woman could have a voice that sexy and not make a man want to climb through the phone line, rip her clothes off, and make love to her all night.
Each evening around nine, he’d crawl into bed, fluff the pillows, turn off the light, and hit her name on his phone. Although it was early for him, the two hour time difference made it late for a ranching lady, and he loved the idea they were in bed…together. They shared things about their day and their dreams for the future and planned a time when she’d come to visit. While he’d offered many times to make the trip, she’d continued to demur, giving various reasons why it wouldn’t work out. Finally, he’d suggested she come to Cedar Valley. She’d thought perhaps she could make it sometime in winter when things slowed down on the ranch, and he’d begun to press her for a date so he could send her a ticket. Corbin wanted her to understand that he didn’t want her for her money, and, being a little old-fashioned, he took pleasure in paying for a date, showing a girl he valued the time they spent together and enjoyed treating her to a nice time when he could.
Libby had to have quite a bit of money if she had a ranch, right? Or maybe she was just rich in cattle. He didn’t care if she didn’t have a dime to her name. Her responsibilities held her in Texas. And his roots were firmly planted in the Western Sierra foothills. The MacKays were all over the area; sometimes he wondered how many of them there actually were. Family parties often had to be staged in auditoriums and, with so many of his generation growing up and getting married, babies would be on the way soon. The family grew exponentially.
There was the nursery, of course, which stretched on forever over the hills, but a couple of young adult MacKay cousins from Portland ruined that for everyone by getting into the wine cellar and drinking several thousand dollars’ worth of the best wine—then getting into a fight and breaking the bottles containing another ten thousand dollars’ worth.
The drinking could be forgiven, but the breakage… James might be a billionaire, but he didn’t tolerate disrespect of the vintages he and Sarabeth had been cultivating in their minimal leisure time since their marriage.
Luckily, Mac, the patriarch of the family and the chief of Cedar Valley Fire, who threatened to retire every year and never did, often volunteered his spacious backyard for events. And nobody was going to make a mess there. Not under Chief Mac’s watchful eye. Corbin had often imagined bringing Libby to a barbecue or a holiday get-together there.
Mac’s wisdom had been passed on to just about all of them, but it was Grandma Tina who he’d gone to when he received the text from Libby. Because he’d heard the stories about how she’d held Chief Mac at bay at one point in their love story and wanted to know if she thought Libby was trying to get rid of him for real or not. To his great embarrassment, she’d insisted on seeing more of their communications—just to have a better idea of what was going on. He’d stood in the cheery, neat blue-and-white kitchen and shuffled from foot to foot while she read one message after another, got up and poured a glass of iced tea, and shoved it toward him.
“Well?” He closed his hand around the sweating glass, unable to take even a sip until he got her thoughts. “Should I walk away or run to Texas and find out what happened?”
Aunt Tina’s brow creased. “I want to tell you to walk away. That last response was so out of character, I’m afraid there might be something very wrong on that ranch. Maybe even dangerous. Have you tried to call?”
“Only a hundred or so times.” He shrugged. “If I could hear her say it, I would be sad, maybe even heartbroken, but I’d let it go. The thing is, I don’t think she’s the kind of person to break things off in a text. You know?”
“Corbin, you didn’t have to come to me, did you?” She pushed the plate of oatmeal raisin jumbles toward him. “Now, drink you tea and have some cookies while you check and see when the next flight to Texas leaves out of Sacramento. You won’t have a moment’s peace until you find that girl and have it out face to face.”
He blew out a breath and a small measure of the tension he held. Enough to sip his tea, eat some crunchy, cinnamony cookies, and do what he needed to. After a quick call to his captain, the trail-riding firefighter booked a flight to San Antonio.
Chapter Two
Corbin MacKay checked the address before turning down the long drive to Tebow Ranch. The prosperous spread stretched out in all directions in true Texas fashion. No wonder Libby said she was busy. Being the owner of such a place must allow little time for anything else. Maybe she’d realized she needed another rancher in her life instead of just a former rodeo rider who spent his days on horseback on mountain trails, looking for signs of fire.
During his years on the circuit, he’d known many people from areas like this. And he understood ranching to be a family business. Odd how she’d never given him a lot of details, though. Because even the sons of places like this, and the sons of their hands, talked constantly about what went on there. Vaccinating and branding and chasing down strays and all the jobs that needed to be done…never vague.
But those rodeo conversations, mostly either in the barns while grooming their horses or in some bar late at night, comprised his entire knowledge of managing a large spread. Unlike so many of the others, he had grown up in the city. Sacramento was not exactly a metropolis, but he didn’t get up with the chickens and ride the range. At least, he assumed they had chickens out here. Or did they buy eggs at the store? Maybe from Amazon?
Taking in the many outbuildings and herds of cattle in the distance, the situation jelled in his mind. Sure, they had an attraction. The picture of the gorgeous blonde never failed to get him “riled up,” as he thought they might say out here. And she was so young to run a business like this. He lifted his foot from the gas pedal and considered his options.
The most obvious was turn around and leave. After all, she’d been very clear. It’s over between us. Don’t contact me again.
Cold, maybe, and surprising from the woman whose warmth and humor and consideration had matched her beauty. But maybe once she realized her mistake, that she needed someone who was ready to be her partner in business as well as life, she’d needed to do it fast. Cut ties right away.
Still, she’d never struck him as cowardly, and refusing to answer her phone just didn’t ring true. He’d called again, since he landed…texted, too, but the calls still went to voice mail and the texts remained unanswered.
Now that he’d had a chance to see the ranch, he understood better what he faced. No way could she walk away from this place. And he couldn’t ask her to.
He also had to consider, if he did manage to get “unbroken up,” what would they do? He could be a firefighter in Texas, but it would likely be a more regular job, and he loved his days alone in the mountains. If he’d wanted to be in the firehouse, he would have done that years ago. If they got back together, he could move here. He could learn to be an asset to the ranch and become a volunteer firefighter at one of the little houses he’d seen along the way. The firefighter grapevine had it that the Hill Country had a real shortage of volunteers. He’d be filling a real need. But that was all assuming he could convince her to reconsider.
Corbin had to be ready for the worst case scenario. Maybe she’d met someone else. No, he wouldn’t even think on that unless it turned out to be true.
Everything about the ranch was neat and tidy and spoke of quiet prosperity. In the near distance, two cowboys rode away on prancing horses. From one of the big barns, he heard the ringing of a blacksmith’s hammer and, over it, all the lowing of cattle.
>
This was not looking good, but he could never be accused of cowardice. If Libby truly did want to say good-bye—as it seemed she did—she’d have to do it in person. He’d have seen her once at least, and, secure in the knowledge he’d done all he could, he’d head home to California to lick his wounds.
If she wanted him to move here—he’d consider that. But, despite how close he’d thought they’d become, he didn’t think they were to the point where they had to make decisions like that. Life-changing decisions. They should be talking about where to have dinner or what movie to go to. Easier to do if they lived in the same state.
Parking in front of the ranch house, Corbin turned off the engine and sat up straight. Time to face the music, or the ranch lady as the case may be. He took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Whatever happened, happened, and at least he’d achieve what his mother, Ida, a psychotherapist, called “closure.” There was a reason he’d gone to Aunt Tina instead of her for advice. By the time she’d finished with the psychobabble, he wouldn’t have known what he wanted to do and probably would have just dug a hole in the ground and stuck his head in it. She meant well, and her patients adored her, but good old Mom did not seem to have the gift to therapize her son as she did others.
And, for reasons of her own, she’d have been horrified to see him stepping out of his rental Jeep and onto the soil of a Texas ranch.
Before he reached the door to the house, it opened to reveal a woman, but not his woman. This one had dark curly hair and violet eyes. Her smile lit up her whole face. Whoever he gazed at, she rivaled his sweetie in looks. “Hi there,” she said. “Are you looking for Aron or one of his brothers?”
How many men lived in this house, anyway? “No,” he said, extending a hand toward her. “I’m Corbin MacKay, here to see Libby McCoy. Is she home?”
As the woman’s smooth brow crinkled, a tall man came to stand behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on, Libby?”
“I’m not sure, Aron.” She leaned against the broad chest behind her and tilted her face up toward the fellow’s. “This man is here to see me.” Facing Corbin again, she shook her head. “I’m Libby McCoy, and this is my husband, Aron. What can we do for you?”
Corbin fumbled in his pocket for his phone. “Is there another Libby?” He thumbed open his contacts and brought up a picture then handed the device to the man facing him. “This is the Libby I am looking for.” A sinking feeling in his gut told him there would be no second Libby McCoy. He’d come all the way to Texas to find out whoever he’d been talking to had not only dumped him, she’d been an identity thief. Kind of surprising she hadn’t sent a pic of the woman whose name she’d stolen. Had it even been of her?
Aron held up the phone and studied the picture then passed it to his wife. “Look at this, Libby.”
She frowned and handed it back to Corbin, holding her husband’s gaze.
Biting his lip, he waited to see what they would say as if it would determine the course his life would take from this point forward. As it probably would.
“Do you recognize her, Libby?” Aron asked. “Is it who I think it is?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “Mr. MacKay…”
“Corbin, please,” he said, a hint of anxiety slipping out to roughen his voice.
“Corbin.” Libby McCoy—the real Libby McCoy—stepped back, her husband along with her, and extended a hand. Taking his, she led him inside the house. “Come in and sit down. We’ll have some refreshments while Aron and I explain some things to you.”
He stepped over the threshold and inside the gracious home. “Thank you. I take it you know who the subject of this photo is?”
“Yes.” She offered him a sad smile. “But it’s complicated.”
Complicated. That did not sound good. He tried to take comfort in the fact they at least knew the woman who’d presented herself as Libby, but nothing about this situation eased his distress.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…or not the ranch. Rather, wherever the heck she was being held against her will, the woman of his dreams was running out of options. She’d had the phone in her possession for a couple of hours, but she couldn’t unlock it. Nearly frantic, she punched buttons and shook it and even talked to the damn thing as if her wishes could be conveyed to a hunk of plastic and whatever the hell they made these things out of.
Her father-in-law-to-be-over-her-dead-body had made clear that if any law enforcement showed up, he’d just kill her and bury her somewhere on the property she’d never be found. She wasn’t sure he could do that fast enough if they were beating on the door, but finding her body was the least of her worries. She wanted to live!
But nothing she did made a difference. It might as well have been a rock for all her attempts succeeded. She wasn’t likely to get another chance to place a call, so she had to make it count.
The darn thing was password protected.
Time to think. She tried every basic combination she could think of, praying she wouldn’t trigger something that would shut her out after too many attempts. No-brainers like 12345 and “password,” “login,” and “qwerty.” Trying to remember the others she’d heard of as common took time, as well, but finally she’d used up every one she could think of and realized she’d have to be cleverer.
Sinking into a chair by the window, Cicely considered the likelihood that if she failed to resolve her dilemma in the next few minutes, Hamilton would probably realize he’d “misplaced” his phone and come looking for her.
Dammit, Daddy. Why can’t you have a regular job like doctor or mechanic or garbage collector? I could be proud of you if you did. Instead, she’d turned away from her family, stepped out of their lives, and made a new one for herself. Unfortunately, in doing so, she’d made some mistakes.
Dabbling in Internet romance had been her biggest goof. One she’d remedied by ending the relationship before she could hurt Corbin any further. Libby would never know she’d taken her name in vain, and Corbin would move on with his life and meet someone better, someone who didn’t come from one of the biggest crime families in the Southwest.
But it killed her to think of it. She’d never intended their online flirtation to go beyond a few minutes of chitchat. It wasn’t, after all, the only time she’d chatted with someone there. Online offered anonymity, something she required if she hoped to have anything remotely like a normal life.
In the Texas Hill Country, at least their end of it, people knew about her. No matter how she tried to prove herself, from good grades in high school to topping them in college, everyone always saw her as Hans Shoemaker’s daughter. Even those who were not fully aware of his activities knew he was less than wholesome in his endeavors. A fair number knew more than that. Halfway through her college classes, she’d switched her coursework to online. The highway convenience store where she worked got more travelers than locals, so at least those she made change for rarely knew she was the daughter of a criminal.
Even as a little girl, Cicely had been treated as a sort of princess. Not the person likely to take over the family business, though. No, her father had been very relieved when her brother was born. A male to inherit his empire. Their home was bigger than the main house at Tebow Ranch, with more elaborate, verging-on-gaudy, décor. Gold faucets in every bathroom. Persian carpets with more pedigree than the Arabian horses in the stables—whose faucets by their troughs were also very nice. She’d had a nanny and a maid. A cook prepared their meals. They did not have a butler because her mother felt it was too showy. Which, considering their home was fronted by enough columns to star in any plantation movie ever made, held a certain irony. They dressed her in beautiful clothes for every occasion, most of which were spent with members of other branches of the family. She also had a trust fund from her grandmother.
If she could get to it, perhaps she could bribe her captors or one of their servants, but she didn’t suppose anyone would drive her to the bank to pick up the money to do that.
The phone she clutched in her hand remained her only out. Her only possibility of escape. If she could just make it work. What was she missing? Hamilton was too old-school to be very tech savvy, unless she missed her guess. So maybe someone else had set up the phone for him.
And if it was, say, his boss, what might he use as a password.
Of course.
Butler.
She was in. Now, who to call?
Chapter Three
She’d lied. Everything the woman said was a lie. So…he should go home, then. Wherever Libby, that is, Cicely, had gone, she’d clearly done it to avoid facing up to her untruths. But why right then? What had triggered her leaving when she did? After all, he’d only talked her into coming to visit him. A visit to Cedar Valley would have brought no problems at all, would it?
He’d even offered to pay for the ticket like a chump, trying to prove he wasn’t after her money. Not that he had much himself, but he got by. His work was seasonal, or had been until very recently when he’d managed to get hired on the full-time, year-round crew. So she had to know he didn’t have a lot of money to offer.
Why the scam? What had she been hoping to achieve? Certainly he had nothing the daughter of a man like Hans Shoemaker would want. Neither money nor property nor political influence. He had a truck and a small house, purchased when he hired on year-round, and a dog. His mother was no doubt trying to psychoanalyze the dog even now. She and Scampers had an odd relationship, but a good one.
Turning back onto the highway, he headed for San Antonio and the airport. He’d taken the week off, but why waste the vacation time here all by himself? What purpose would that serve? He had to forget her, but it hurt. The second he’d seen the dark-haired Libby McCoy, he’d known he had a problem. Even before he confirmed who she was. And in the two hours he’d sat in their living room and then joined the extended family for dinner, he’d learned a great deal about the family of Cicely Shoemaker. About the woman herself, not so much.
Hell Yeah!: Saving Cicely (Kindle Worlds Novella) (MacKay Destiny Book 9) Page 2