Hideaway

by Roberts, Nora

  He scowled over as Cate ran full out on hers. “Show-off.”

  “Oh yeah, and after this, it’s strength training day. Fifteen minutes with the weights.”

  He scowled again, but she knew he enjoyed it—at least when she kept him company.

  “We polish it off”—she had to pause to gulp down water—“with a good stretch, and Consuela, who is definitely one of Lily’s spies—can report we did our duty.”

  “She can see for herself when I fly out to New York next week. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

  “Gotta work.”

  When they hit the thirty, both reached for towels and water.

  For the next fifteen, he used the weight machines, and she hit the free weights. She had to admit the side benefit of keeping an eye on him, keeping him company bled over into making her feel stronger. And sleep better.

  Not just because February had, finally, whipped into March, but because she just moved more.

  When they polished it off with stretches, she had to shake her head. “You’re still Gumby, Grandpa.”

  With a grin, he looked over as they both did wide-legged forward folds. “Passed it on to you.”

  “For which I’m grateful.”

  “I’m going to be in top shape when I start shooting.”

  She angled over to her right leg. “You took the part.”

  “Signed on this morning.”

  “When do you start?”

  “The first table read’s in a couple of weeks. I can fly back whenever I’m not on call. Comedy jewel,” he reminded her.

  She angled to the left. “What does the boss say?”

  “I knew you’d ask that. Lily’s fine with it.” He straightened, showed off his excellent balance as well as flexibility with a quad stretch.

  “Now how about we get a nice little snack?”

  “It’s going to be fruit and yogurt. Consuela.”

  Sorrow covered him. “We deserve so much more. You got any ice cream at your place?”

  “I might.” They started up together.

  “Maybe I’ll come visit you later. If you’re working, I’ll just, you know, make myself at home.”

  “One scoop, no toppings.”

  “What sort of toppings?”

  She shook her head at him as they turned toward the kitchen.

  The dogs ran out to greet them.

  “Look who’s here!” Delight in his voice, Hugh bent down to rub. “Did you bring your boy or drive over yourself?”

  The boy sat in the kitchen with a big mug of coffee and a plate—a whole plate—of cookies.

  “I want some of those.”

  “You get one.” Consuela eyed Hugh, held up a single finger. “With skim milk.”

  “I just did an hour in the gym. Who’s the boss around here?”

  “Miss Lily is the boss. You sit. One cookie, skim milk. Two cookies for you,” she told Cate. “And milk.”

  “Can I have it in a latte? You know I don’t really—”

  “A latte,” Consuela said quickly, remembering.

  Dillon lifted his hands as Consuela poured skim milk for Hugh. “I had some errands. I dropped off some of the things Consuela ordered while I was out. Don’t blame me.”

  “Didn’t even know we had cookies,” Hugh grumbled as Consuela set one on a small plate in front of him.

  “I baked while you were in the gym because my young man said he would come see me.” Consuela fluttered her lashes at Dillon. “And tonight, you can have one more cookie. And you’ll have steak because my handsome boy came. Some red meat is good for your blood.”

  “I hear that.”

  “The hour in the gym looks good on you. Both of you.”

  “This one? He doesn’t need the gym. He is a working man.” To prove it, Consuela squeezed Dillon’s biceps. “Such arms!”

  “Made to hold you, Consuela.”

  She giggled like a girl, had Cate staring after her as she walked to the coffee machine to make the latte.

  Dillon only grinned. “Haven’t seen you around the ranch in a while,” he said to Cate.

  “I had two big jobs back-to-back.” Since they were there, she took a cookie. “I was actually thinking I’d come by later today.”

  “My ladies would love to see you.”

  “You go. You take your cookie, your latte, and go take a shower, make yourself pretty.” Decision made, Consuela switched the latte to a go-cup. “You don’t go out enough. Young girls should go out. Why don’t you take my girl dancing?” she demanded of Dillon.

  “I—” It only threw him off stride for a beat. “I’ve been saving my dances for you, amor mío.”

  Nice save, Cate thought as Consuela giggled again.

  “Go, go.” Consuela waved at Cate. “I have my eye on this one.”

  “Okay, all right.” She grabbed up the latte. “I’ll go clean up. I’ll be over soon.”

  She didn’t take long. Still, it surprised her to find Dillon just getting in his truck when she got back to the house.

  “I stretched out the time. I haven’t hung out with Hugh in a while.”

  She paused on her way to the garage. “I think that’s an excuse for you to flirt with Consuela.”

  “Who needs an excuse?” He climbed in. “See you in a few.”

  Now he had another picture, he thought as he drove. Cate in a warm-up jacket open to one of those sports bra deals—blue like her eyes—and tight pants covered with blue flowers that stopped midcalf, and left a lot of midsection exposed.

  Oh, well, what was one more?

  He had had errands, and had wanted to see how Hugh was doing—plus, what guy wouldn’t enjoy having a sweetheart like Consuela fussing over him?

  And he’d hoped, maybe, to catch a couple minutes with Cate. Done and doomed, Dil, he thought. You are done and doomed.

  He parked at the ranch, waited for her to pull up beside him. Took the container of cookies out of the truck.

  “These are mine, so don’t get any ideas. I’m just going to drop them off at my place. You can go right on in.”

  “I’ve never seen your place.”

  “Oh. Sure. Well, come on over. But these are still my cookies.”

  “You’re not the only one who can sweet-talk Consuela out of cookies.”

  “So. Busy?”

  “Yeah.” It smelled so good here, she thought. Different from the flowers and spice and sea of Sullivan’s Rest, but so good. “Plus, I’m spending a lot of time with Grandpa.”

  “He looks great.”

  “He really does. You wouldn’t know he’d been laid up last year. He’s heading back to L.A. in a couple weeks.”

  “He told me. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”

  “Which one?”

  “He didn’t specify.”

  When Dillon opened the door, Cate stepped in, took stock.

  “This is so nice.”

  A big Navajo-style rug accented dark, wide-planked floors. Paintings of rising mountains, of sheep-dotted hills, of wild orange poppies smothering a meadow hung on walls of dark honey.

  He kept it tidy, she thought, and no-fuss male. No frilly throws or fancy pillows on the navy sofa or dark gray chairs. No fancy bits on tables other than a few photos, a polished wood bowl filled with interesting rocks, a few arrowheads.

  “You never know what you’re going to find,” he said.

  “I guess not. Terrific view, too. The paddock and the sea out the front.”

  She wandered over to the open kitchen—glossy white appliances, roomy counters that mixed the navy and gray. “Fields, hills, horses, and all the rest out here. It was smart to angle the house so you didn’t end up looking at the side of the barn.”

  “Stables.”

  “Right.”

  He’d set up a little office space, the workstation facing the wall dominated by a calendar and holding a computer, some files, a mug full of pens and pencils.

  A floor-to-ceiling set of iron shelves held books, lot
s of books, with a few more photos interspersed and what she supposed he saw as acceptable ornaments.

  An old spur, some sort of odd tool, some X-Men action figures.

  “No TV for you?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m a guy.” He gestured her over.

  “It’s two bedrooms. I sleep on that side. Planning for way into the future, my women wanted everything on one level, with each bedroom having its own bathroom. So if and when we ever switch houses they won’t kill each other.”

  He led her in. “They figured I’d use this as a guest room—who for, I don’t know—and office space. I had other ideas.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She supposed it qualified as a man cave, though there was nothing cave-like with the views of the ranch out the windows.

  He had a beer/wine fridge, a big chocolate leather couch, a pair of recliners. The enormous flat screen on the wall dominated everything.

  She circled, noticed he had both an Xbox and a Nintendo Switch. And another floor-to-ceiling shelving unit holding—very, very organized—video games and DVDs.

  “A gamer, are you?”

  “Not like I tried to be as a kid, but if you don’t make time for fun, what’s the point? Especially on long winter nights. Anyway, I’ve got a couple of pals who game when we have a chance. Leo’s got a kid coming in a few months, so he may fall out for a while. The other’s actually a game programmer. Dave kicks our asses regularly. Always did,” he added, “even when we were kids.”

  “You’ve known them that long?”

  “Since first grade, yeah.”

  Something to envy, she thought, those roots, that continuity.

  She trailed a finger over the games. “You play Sword of Astara?”

  “Hot warrior babe, swords and battles and magic spells. What’s not to like?”

  “I voiced her.”

  “You did what? Shalla? Warrior Queen? She doesn’t sound like you.”

  “No. But I can sound like her.”

  Turning, face suddenly fierce, Cate mimed drawing a sword, lifting it high. “My sword for Astara!” Her voice went as fierce as her face, deeper than her own and with a hint of the Highlands. “My life for Astara!”

  He wasn’t sure what it said about him that hearing that voice come out of her made him want to just grab her and dive in.

  He tried restraint. “Well, holy shit. I’ve played you dozens of times. I didn’t know you did games. What else have I got?”

  “Let’s see. Yeah, the bubbly fairy in this one, the wicked sorcerer queen in this, and, ah, the stalwart soldier here, the smart-ass street kid here.”

  She turned back, amused at the way he just stared. “One of the jobs I just finished was Sword of Astara: The Next Battle. I might be able to get you an early copy.”

  He finally found his voice. “I don’t suppose you want to get married?”

  “It’s so nice of you to ask, but we haven’t even been dancing. Instead, maybe I haven’t missed the afternoon milking. I really would like to see how it’s done. Who knows? I may need to voice a milkmaid one of these days.”

  “I can help with that.” He started out with her. “Does Baltar the Conqueror come back?”

  “He does.”

  “I knew it.”

  She milked cows. Well, the machines milked them, she admitted, but humans played a part. She hadn’t been up close and personal with a cow since childhood, and only really to watch. She judged that washing and drying udders ranked about as personal as it got.

  “Good work,” Dillon told her. He took off his hat, plopped it on her head. “Next step is stripping before the machines take over.”

  Adjusting the hat, she gave him a long look. “I’m supposed to get naked to milk cows?”

  “No. But now that’s an image in my head. We prime the pump, let’s say. ‘Stripping’ just means we help them let down the milk. Like this.”

  He closed a lubricated hand over one of the cow’s teats, drew down. “Gently. Smooth. Anything that hurts her’s wrong.”

  She watched with delight when milk squirted into the pail.

  “How do you know if it hurts?”

  “Oh, she’d let you know. Here.”

  Taking Cate’s hand, he guided it, kept his over hers. Gentle, she thought, smooth.

  A little thrill fluttered inside her as the milk squirted.

  Maybe several little thrills, she realized, as he crouched beside her milking stool, his body close and warm, his cheek nearly pressed to hers.

  He had strong hands, she thought. Strong, hard-palmed, calloused hands. Sure ones.

  Mixed with the delight of a new experience twined the surprise of finding out a milking parlor that smelled of hay and grain and cow and raw milk could, in any way, be sexy.

  “You’ve got a good touch.”

  Testing both of them, Cate turned her head so their faces were barely a whisper apart. “Thanks.”

  She saw his gaze flick down to her mouth—just for an instant, but she saw it—before he eased back. “You’re good to go. Do you want to strip her other two?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  He’d felt it, too, no question. And wasn’t that interesting? Wasn’t that fascinating?

  He’d stripped the other two cows by the time she finished the one, showed her how to attach the machines. The cows seemed largely bored by the process. One buried her head in a bucket of grain.

  “They tend to get hungry after a milking.”

  “How do you know when they’re done?”

  On cue, suckers released and dropped from one of the cows. “Oh, okay, that’s how. And that was fast.”

  “Definitely a time saver, but we’re not done. Now we wash and dry the udders again, clean and sterilize the machines.”

  “And all that three times a day. What happens if you miss a milking?”

  “You’re going to have unhappy cows,” he said as he worked. “They’d be uncomfortable, even start hurting. They can get mastitic. If you’re going to have milk cows, goats, it’s your job to look out for them. It’s your duty.”

  “Anything that hurts is wrong.”

  “There you go.”

  “It’s a lot of work, what you do.” She washed udders as he’d shown her—a completely different feel after milking. “Even just this part of it. Then there’s the beef cattle, the horses, and all the rest. Doesn’t leave you much time for recreation.”

  “There’s always time.”

  Once he’d stored the tanks, he got to work cleaning the machines. Methodically, she thought. The man was definitely methodical.

  “Since Red retired, he pitches in, and it takes some of the load off. I’m a decent mechanic, and so are my ladies. He’s better than all three of us. He’s damn handy in the dairy kitchen, too, so I mostly get a pass there.”

  “But you know how to make butter, cheese, and all that.”

  “Sure.”

  “No gender bias on a ranch?”

  “Not on this one. We’ve got a system that works. The day starts early, but once the stock’s fed and bedded down for the night, there’s time for whatever.”

  Methodical, she thought again as he stored equipment, noted something down on a hanging clipboard. He led the cows back through the parlor door, back into the pasture.

  “The Roadhouse just this side of Monterey’s got a live band on the weekends. Dancing.”

  Oh yeah, he’d felt it, too. She kept her smile internal, just glanced up at him with mild curiosity. “Do you dance?”

  “I grew up in a house with two women. What do you think?”

  “I think you can probably hold your own.”

  “Dave can’t dance worth dick, but he likes to think he can. He’s seeing someone. Leo and Hailey might like to have a night out before the baby comes. Would you be up for that?”

  “I could be. What’s the dress code?”

  “It’s not fancy.”

  Amused, she took off his hat, rose to her toes, and dropped it back
on his head. “I just helped milk cows, so I’d think you’d see fancy isn’t one of my requirements.”

  “Good. I can come by, pick you up about seven-thirty.”

  “That’ll work.”

  He walked her around to the mudroom rather than the front, and spotted his mother hoeing a row in the family garden. “She’s tireless.”

  She had her hair bundled up under a wide-brimmed hat, a half apron with deep pockets over baggy jeans. The faded T-shirt showed the muscles in her arms rippling and flexing as the sun washed down over her and the turned earth, the tidy rows of vegetables.

  “She’s wonderful. I know you know how lucky you are because I see it. I envy it.”

  Following instinct, Dillon stepped back. “She’d like some company if you’ve got a few minutes. I’ve got some things I need to see to. I’ll see you Friday.”

  “All right. I bet I can teach your friend to dance.”

  With a shake of his head, Dillon walked away. “Not a chance.”

  “Challenge accepted,” Cate murmured, then walked toward the garden and the mother she wished she had.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cate considered her choices of not-fancy attire on Friday. She’d considered them on Thursday, and maybe looked them over, briefly, on Wednesday.

  She’d dated plenty, she reminded herself. But in New York, and that was just different. And she hadn’t had a date in months. Or wanted one.

  She couldn’t be absolutely positive Dillon termed it a date-date. More of a night out with friends? That worked, too, because she wanted the room to decide if she wanted it to be a date-date.

  Relationships were so damn fraught, she thought as she looked over her choices yet again. At least hers ended up that way.

  The Coopers were too important in her life to turn this into something fraught. That, she decided as she took out one of her go-to black dresses—not fancy—hit number one in the against column.

  She discarded the black dress. Not fancy, but too New York.

  Balancing out the number one against? That moment in the milking barn. Definitely a moment, she thought as she considered black jeans. If you didn’t test the waters, you never got to swim.

  Problem there? Every time she decided to swim, really swim, she ended up sinking.

  She grabbed the dress she kept coming back to, one she’d bought on impulse before she’d left New York because the orange poppies that covered it made her think of Big Sur.