The air’s chill infused energy into her blood as Ruby tromped from her parking spot behind the Walker Mountain Ranch, lugging along a cloth market bag that held her very own personal set of stainless-steel measuring cups and a marble rolling pin. Elsie Walker, her boss and the head chef at the ranch, kept a set at in the kitchen, but she preferred to use her own for baking. Then she’d take them home each night to polish them and bring them back the next morning. It was something akin to having a briefcase—she imagined—except instead of a laptop and a cell phone and whatever other devices were popular at the moment, her briefcase was filled with kitchen utensils. They were the best ones she could find at that gourmet kitchen store in town, solid and unbendable, the highest-quality materials for baking. And this morning she had to do her best baking because their best clients would be coming off the trail later this afternoon, and everything had to be perfect.
Each year in the spring, before things got busy, the Walker Mountain Ranch welcomed a group of foster kids from other towns in the area. They came to stay for free. They went on a backpacking trip. They went whitewater rafting. They did the ropes course and zip line and had the chance to just be kids without a care, for once in their lives.
She would’ve given anything for that chance back when she was being carted to foster home after foster home. So when Elsie had told her about the group—when they’d started planning—Ruby had decided she would do everything she could to make this week at the ranch the best of these kids’ lives, cooking for them, volunteering to help out while they were at the ranch—anything to make them feel wanted and accepted and free.
She approached the lodge’s back door, the familiar scent of wood stain greeting her. The massive logs stacked one on top of each other always reminded her of the Lincoln Logs she and her brother Grady used to play with before Mama went to prison. They’d build structures almost exactly like the one that stood in front of her, grand mountain palaces where magical things happened—where families gathered around fireplaces and drank hot chocolate. Where there were no drugs and no cops and no fears. They’d set up the fences and add in small plastic farm animals they’d shoplifted from the drugstore, pigs and cows and chickens, and even a crotchety rooster they’d called Slim.
Back then, she’d believed things could turn around for them. She’d believed Mama would go to rehab like she always said, and then things would be normal. Once, she’d even shoplifted an apron for Mama—a frilly thing that looked handmade. As if when Mama put it on, she’d be magically transformed into the woman Ruby had always dreamed she would become. The mom who made chocolate chip cookies and drove the car pool and cut her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in funny shapes that’d make her giggle at school.
But Ruby didn’t believe in magic anymore.
Shaking her head at herself, she paused to study the Walker Mountain Ranch’s lovely façade. Maybe that’s why she’d ended up here. When she’d gotten in the car, she didn’t know where to go. She’d never had a place, and god knew Aspen, Colorado, was worlds away from Cherryville, North Carolina. But it was either stay there with Derek and live with the bruises that always splotched her skin, or go. Disappear. Build a new life, a new name, a new future for herself.
So she’d chased freedom. As she’d worked her way west, the mountains had called her name. She’d seen mountains before, of course, but nothing like the Rocky Mountains. Instead of mounded green hills, they were massive and sharp, lovely but impenetrable. Exactly the refuge she was seeking. While there was a certain fragility to her new life—her new identity—this was the first time she’d felt rooted since before Mama’d been put away.
As always, that thought burrowed deep in the tomb where she normally kept all of those memories vaulted. That was where they belonged. Stashed away. ’Course with Mama’s birthday being today, those crushed hopes and dreams were getting restless, feeling almost uncontainable. Was she still in jail? Had Derek contacted her mother after Ruby had run away? Cold dread washed over her, and she plowed through the ranch’s kitchen door before the tide of fear dragged her back into the currents of the past.
The kitchen was dim with only the under-cabinet lighting turned on, but it was warm, too, scented with cinnamon and yeast. Inhaling the familiarity soothed the tremble out of her hands. No one here knew a lick of anything about her past, and she had to keep it that way. She couldn’t risk Derek tracking her down, not after the threats he’d made the last time he’d beat her up.
Holding her breath, she willed her heart to stop pounding so hard. She had to calm herself down. Derek couldn’t find her here, she’d made sure of that. She’d been sad to hear of her old neighbor’s passing, but Ruby James’s death had given her the perfect opportunity to escape.
The woman hadn’t had any children of her own, and she’d always had a soft spot for Ruby. Still she’d been surprised to hear that Miss James had left her everything. Her house and her car. She’d never told Derek. She’d simply sold off everything, except the Civic, and used the proceeds to fund her trip out west, paying cash for absolutely everything.
As a cop, Derek would have the means to look for her, to watch for a ping on her credit card, to scan reports from all over the country. That’s why she’d been so careful. That’s why she’d used Ruby James’s name. That’s why she’d cut up all of her credit cards.
No. He wouldn’t find her, she told herself again as she marched to the other side of the room and set down her bag. It was time to stop thinking about him. About Mama. A new day. A new life. And she had cinnamon rolls to bake.
Bryce and Avery Walker didn’t open the ranch until nine during the slow season, but Ruby and Elsie made all the baked good from scratch, which meant Ruby had to get an early start every morning. She preferred it, anyway. Being alone. It was easier because she didn’t have to pretend. She didn’t have to watch herself so closely, to guard every word and every thought so she wouldn’t risk confusing her new identity with her old life. When she was alone, she could let down her guard, turn on some tunes, and put her hands to work, rolling out scones and cinnamon roll dough and whatever else was on the menu for the morning.
Just the thought of that therapeutic process of kneading and rolling and mixing was enough to set her emotions right. Even though she’d left it behind, her old life was always there in the dreams, in the memories. Sometimes they leaked out, spilling over into the present, but she could usually outrun ’em as long as she stayed busy.
And speaking of busy…she shimmied out of her fleece coat and hung it on the hook behind the pantry…she had a whole mess of baked goods planned for those kids—gooey chocolate chip cookies as big as their heads, fat, fluffy cinnamon rolls that would melt in their mouths. Smiling at the thought, she started to unpack her supplies. First, the heavy marble rolling pin that had cost her a small fortune. Admiring the swirled gray and white stone, she pulled it out of the bag and—
Crash!
The jarring sound stilled her. A breath lodged in her throat. She strained her ears, listening.
A series of thuds and rumbles sounded again from the pantry.
Oh, god. A swallow tangled her windpipe. Something was in there. Her grip tightened on the rolling pin’s handle. Was it a bear fresh out of hibernation? Scenes from that damn grizzly bear documentary she’d watched two days ago flashed like a horror flick, the bear towering over her on its hind legs, teeth gnashing, claws slashing through the air. Aspen had a major bear problem. They broke into restaurants and homes, raiding the kitchens, rummaging through the trash…
God. Oh, dear god. Her heart catapulted into an arrhythmia. Perspiration beaded on her skin. She stared longingly at the kitchen door, all the way on the other side of the room. It might as well have been Antarctica! There was no way she’d get over there without the thing hearing her! The pantry’s half-open door stood between her and a clean escape…
More clatters cinched tension into her neck.
“Damn it!”
Ruby inhaled a ga
sp. Not a bear! Definitely not a bear. A muffled string of curses edged her back against the wall. A man. There was a man in the pantry! Except there were no other cars outside. Bryce and Shooter, the ranch’s other guide, had gone on a backpacking trip with the kids…
Wait a minute. She jerked her head and squinted in a futile effort to examine the kitchen door she’d walked through not five minutes ago. It hadn’t been locked. Holy Moses, it was always locked! If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the past, she would’ve noticed. Someone had broken in!
An icy sensation spread over her shoulders and locked them tight, the remnants of past trauma seeping into her.
Derek?
No, no. He couldn’t have found her.
Another crash seemed to shake the floor.
Panic came in wrenching gasps, clouding her vision, prickling her skin. 911. She had to call 911 before the man came out and saw her.
Still gripping the rolling pin, she reached her other clammy hand into the market bag and fished for her cell phone.
The pantry door creaked, then cranked open all the way.
It was dark inside, but a man’s silhouette stood under the doorjamb. A large man. Tall, broad shoulders. The hood of a black sweatshirt obscured his face.
“Freeze, dirtbag!” Arm stiff with fear, Ruby held out the rolling pin, brandishing it as if it was a gun.
“What the hell?” The man took a step toward her.
“I said freeze,” she squeaked, because technically, there wasn’t much she could do if he decided not to obey.
“Easy,” the guy murmured in a patronizing voice, like he was trying to lure a scared puppy or something.
“You hold it right there, asshole!” She waved the rolling pin again. “I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“Take it easy.” Slowly, the man held up one hand while the other took down his hood. “It’s me, Ruby,” he said. But me who? All she could see were the bright lights of fear, shooting holes through her vision. Because she’d never been able to fight back. When Derek came at her, when he laced his fingers around her neck and reminded her he could squeeze the life out of her, she’d never been able to fight back…
Gasping for a breath, she realized her fingertips were tingling with numbness. Oh god! How would she fight back with a rolling pin?
“Ruby!” The man shuffled a step closer. “Lower the weapon.”
How? Her arms seemed locked in place. Her lungs heaved and gasped. No! Not here! Not now! She hadn’t had a panic attack since she’d come to the Walker Mountain Ranch. But sure enough, her heart pounded so hard her head got light. It felt like her lungs were filling with water. She had to fight for a breath.
“Hey.” A hand enclosed hers.
Fire roared through her. “Don’t touch me!” She ripped free and swung the rolling pin as hard as she could, feeling a thud as it collided with the man’s body.
A winded groan punched out of his mouth and he sank slowly to the floor, clutching his groin.
“Holy Moses,” she whimpered. She’d taken the guy down. What now? What the hell should she do now? Frozen, she stood over him, still clutching the rolling pin.
“You hit me with that again, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to walk for a week,” the man said. “Kids’ll probably be out of the question, too.”
A joke? The perp was joking with her?
Ruby’s vision cleared. She gazed down at him and stared into eyes so blue they put the Colorado sky to shame. “Sawyer,” she panted. Realizing who he was didn’t do much to curb the panic. Sawyer was Bryce’s cousin! A cop! She’d nailed a cop in the balls with a marble rolling pin!
“I’m so sorry!” She dropped to her knees next to him. “Are you okay? I thought you were an intruder!”
“Obviously,” he mumbled as he gingerly sat up and hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees. He shifted slightly with a wince.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” Yes, it was perhaps a bit unsympathetic for her to ask that question when the man’s voice was still cracking like a preteen’s, but what the hell? With all of those bulging muscles of his, he could’ve immobilized her with one maneuver. He could’ve taken away the rolling pin and they wouldn’t be in this situation, now, would they?
“Didn’t want to scare you,” Sawyer mumbled. “You already seemed pretty freaked out.”
Humiliation soaked her face. This was not good, him seeing her have a panic attack. Really not good. Out of everyone here, she’d avoided Sawyer the most. He was a cop. A little research and the man could bring down her entire fabricated life…
“You want to tell me why you didn’t recognize me?” His tenor had settled back into the deep, gravelly lovemaking voice she’d heard before. A tingle raced up her spine. It was like having a conversation with Keith Urban.
“Because you looked right at me,” he continued, locking his gaze on hers.
Oh lordy, those eyes. So gorgeous. His face wasn’t bad, either. Straight nose, strong, square jaw stubbled with a few days of growth. And there was an adorable faint line running down the center of his chin. Her heart started a traitorous flutter until she realized he was waiting for an answer, then the flutter turned violent.
“Um.” She studied her hands, worry boiling up. “I saw you. Of course I saw you. I was just…a little panicked, that’s all.” If she told him the truth, that she couldn’t control the panic, that it crashed over her and dragged her into a riptide of confusion, he’d start asking more questions.
“A little panicked?” Sawyer shot back.
“Well, can you blame me?” Her heart thumped in her ears. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be hiding in the pantry—”
“Hiding?” Sawyer laughed. “Why would I be hiding in the pantry? Bryce asked me to fix the shelves while he was gone.”
She shot to her feet. “At five o’clock in the morning?”
He was slower to get up but at least he wasn’t grimacing anymore. “I’m on shift at eight.”
Panic started to pump through her again, but this time it had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way he looked at her, the way his gaze drifted down her body. She crossed her arms so he couldn’t guess her cup size. “How’d you get in here, anyway?”
Sawyer casually leaned against the kitchen counter, still looking her over like he appreciated what he saw. “I have a key. I’m staying here.”
The room whirled. Not what she’d hoped to hear. That was bad. Very, very bad. It was hard enough to avoid him before, but if he stayed there, it’d be impossible! “I thought you were moving to Denver,” she said, going for a casual, conversational tone. Damn the squeak of panic.
He shrugged. “The house sold faster than I thought. I still have a month left at work.”
Fabulous. That was just her luck. The last thing she needed was a cop poking around the Walker Mountain Ranch.
“So what’s with the panic attack?” he asked again, sounding more like a cop this time.
She busied herself with unpacking the rest of the kitchen utensils from her bag. “Whadda you mean?”
“You know what I mean. I know what a panic attack looks like, Ruby.”
“It wasn’t a panic attack,” she insisted, then focused on lining up her measuring cups so he couldn’t read the flush on her face. “I was surprised. That’s all. No big deal.” She peeked over at him.
His eyes were narrowed into skepticism. “Do you hyperventilate every time you’re surprised?”
No. But she was about to hyperventilate right now. “Why do I feel like you’re interrogating me?” she demanded in case he could see how weak she felt. Now that the adrenaline had drained away, her legs and arms felt unstable. The memories were closer, breathing down her neck. If she would’ve hit Derek with a rolling pin, he would’ve broken her jaw…
“Ruby? Is everything okay?” Sawyer asked quietly.
Crumpling the market bag in her shaky hands, she turned and smiled. “Everything’s great.” She’d learned how to lie
, how to cover up the truth a smile. “I’m so sorry about your…” The blush made a strong comeback. “Um…do you want ice or anything?”
A smirk made him look less guarded. “Do I want to walk around with an icepack on my crotch? No thanks. I’ll live.”
“Okay.” She sashayed past him like nothing had happened, like her stomach hadn’t tightened into a painful knot. “I should get to work, then.”
“You’re sure everything’s okay?” Sawyer called behind her.
“Of course.” She unstacked the stainless mixing bowls from the shelf above the sink.
“All right, then. Guess I’ll get back to work, too,” he said slowly. The pantry door opened then clicked shut.
But something told her that wasn’t the end of the conversation.
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Something Like Love Page 30