by Alex van Tol
Knifepoint
Knifepoint
Alex Van Tol
orca soundings
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2010 Alex Van Tol
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Van Tol, Alex
Knifepoint / written by Alex Van Tol.
(Orca soundings)
Issued also in an electronic format.
ISBN 978-1-55469-306-1 (bound).--ISBN 978-1-55469-305-4 (pbk.)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings
PS8643.A63K53 2010 JC813’.6 C2010-903604-2
First published in the United States, 2010
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010929071
Summary: Jill is enduring a brutal summer job on a mountain ranch, guiding wannabe-cowboys on trail rides. On a solo ride with a handsome stranger she ends up in a fight for her life with no one to help her.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover design by Teresa Bubela
Cover photography by Getty Images
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
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VICTORIA, BC Canada
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ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
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Printed and bound in Canada.
13 12 11 10 • 4 3 2 1
For Barb and Jan,
who reminded me I was a writer.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Voices, sudden and loud, jolt me out of my dream. Confused, I try to sit up. But I can’t. It feels like I’ve been tied to the bed with a million tiny threads. I force one eye open. Turn my head. The clock radio says 6:44. The voices keep shouting. They’re coming from the radio. The same radio I’ve woken up to for the past thirty-five days, at the same ungodly hour.
Except every morning it gets harder.
I raise my head and look at the wooden walls. A million tiny daggers shoot through my skull. Ugh. I prop myself on one elbow and hit Snooze. The daggers turn into hammers and spread out across my body. About a thousand go to work on the soles of my feet. I swing my feet out of bed, careful not to touch them to the floor. I can’t face that agony yet. Yawning, I reach for some socks. I’ve got to start going to bed earlier. I can’t keep functioning on five hours of sleep a night. Not when my job beats the crap out of me every day.
The metal bedframe squeaks as I heave myself up. Owww, ow. I could die right about now. If a serial killer poked his head into my room and offered to stab me at this exact moment,
I’d tell him to go right ahead. I wonder if it’s normal for my feet to hurt this much.
Well, yeah, maybe. When you spend fourteen hours working and then another five dancing nonstop. But it’s so fun!
I glance at the clock again. 6:53. I shove my screaming feet into my cowboy boots. I look at them. They’re filthy, caked in horseshit after the July rains. I’m not supposed to wear them inside the bunkhouse, but whatever. I can’t scrub the crap off either. I’ve tried. It’s all over the bottom of my chaps too. That’s a bummer. I spent a lot to have those custom made. That was back when I thought I’d be making $12.50 an hour.
Back before I found out that what James really meant was $1250 a month.
Slave labor, that’s what it is. Kristi and I calculated it a few weeks ago— a couple of days before she ditched the ranch to go find a decent-paying job in the city. Turns out I make about $4.46 an hour. It’s hard work, too, being a wrangler: chucking hay bales, hefting saddles, dragging buckets of grain, pushing and pulling around 1500-pound animals all day long.
Thinking of the horses gets me moving. The first barn shift starts at seven, and being late sucks. If you start your morning late, you spend all day playing catch-up.
I leave the rest of the bunkhouse sleeping, closing the door softly behind me.The cold morning air stings my throat as I hobble across the grass to the main lodge. My feet are killing me.
Heavy dew darkens my boots. God, it feels like winter’s coming already.
I shiver, wishing I’d dug around to find my gloves.
I push open the screen door leading to the kitchen. Steve, the morning cook, hands me a muffin on my way through.
He’s nice enough but looks like he just escaped maximum-security prison.
Who knows, maybe he did. They’re not particularly strict with their hiring practices around here. Steve has so many tattoos it’s hard to see any un-inked flesh on his arms. I like him though. He feeds me for free. The other cooks make you punch a meal card if you want so much as a package of saltines.
“You look like shit, Jill,” he says pleasantly.
“Kiss my chaps, kitchen boy,” I snarl over my shoulder.
Steve laughs, then growls at me.
“With pleasure.”
Pit stop at the coffee machine. Then straight out to the barn. Hopefully there won’t be a nine o’clock ride. If there isn’t, I’ll be able to come back into the restaurant and eat a proper breakfast after I get the horses saddled.
No one’s at the barn when I get there.
I figured as much. Carrie and Laura downed a whole lot of beer last night.
It’s not the first time they haven’t shown up for their shift. And I’m certain it won’t be the last either. They get away with murder, those two. Jerks. If I ever overslept and missed the start of my shift, I’d sure as hell hear about it. But they’re the queen bees, so I keep my head down and my mouth shut.
Whiskey snorts in recognition when she sees me. I give her a quick brush, pitch a blanket and saddle onto her back and sling a bridle over her soft face.
Where’s Kim? I’d almost be glad to see her grumpy butt marching around the corral this morning, swearing at random horses and kicking any that looked at her the wrong way. She’s a total cow. But I gotta say, she gets stuff done around the barn. If she was here, she’d have dragged Carrie and Laura out of bed by their long sexy hair. She’s the only one who’d dare.
Now I remember. It’s Kim’s day off.
Damn. No Kim, no Carrie, no Laura.
No one else on the schedule. I’ll have to round up the horses on my own.
All sixty of them.
I swallow my butterflies and swing up onto Whiskey’s back. I turn her head toward the night pasture.
I have no idea whether I’ll be able to gather up five dozen horses and herd them in one tidy bunch toward the barn. I’m not a born-and-raised cowhand by any stretch. As far as I know, nobody has ever rounded up on their own. Lucky me. But what else can I do? I can’t wait until one of the beautiful dr
unkards staggers in for her shift.
That could be hours. By then there’ll be guests lined up along the corral fences, waiting for their trail rides.
I’ve got to do it.
When we get there, Whiskey and I run a quick perimeter check around the night pasture. I crack the whip and get them all moving toward the gate.
I wait until every horse is crammed up against the fence, noses, necks and bums all crowded together in a warm shifting mass. Whiskey and I wedge our way along the fence to the gate.
I hold my breath and flip the latch off the gatepost. The gate groans open, powered by a dozen hungry horses.
I crack the whip. “Hyaaaaagh! Let’s go, boys!
”
Startled, the horses bolt straight out of the gate and pound along the road leading to the barn.
Right on. Go, Jill! I give Whiskey a kick and we lurch away, chasing the heels of the horses at the back.
“Hyaaagh!” Over and over I shout and crack the whip. The horses thunder along the road, kicking up dust in the morning sunlight. They hammer into the main corral and spread out along the fences, content to be hemmed in again.
I close the corral gate behind them and slide to the ground, surprised that my shaking knees hold me up.
“Nice work,” says an appreciative voice. I spin around. A guy I don’t recognize is leaning against the fence.
He’s maybe in his mid-twenties. Dark hair. Red shirt. He flashes a grin at me.
Oh. And he’s gorgeous. Was he watching that whole time? I feel myself flush.
Stupid.
“Thanks.” I can’t think of anything else to say, so I tie Whiskey to a fencepost and loosen her saddle. I jerk a halter off a peg and walk out into the corral. I slide it over Ace’s head and lead him into the barn. I grab another halter.
“I’m Darren Parker. From Bar G,” he says. His voice is friendly. I know that ranch. It’s just up the valley, about twenty minutes away. “You guys do adventure rides?”
I swallow. An adventure ride? Yeah, we do them. But I sure hope that’s not what he’s after. A trail ride is one thing.
The horses just line up and follow each other’s butts through the forest for a couple of hours. But adventure rides?
Crashing through rivers, pelting down hills and racing through meadows?
I hate taking out adventure rides.
Don’t get me wrong. I love running my horse fast and taking crazy chances. But I don’t like being responsible for other people during a fast, risky ride. I don’t have the same kind of horse background that the other wranglers have.
Nope, adventure rides aren’t my thing. It’s hard enough for me to hang on to my own damn horse, let alone look after someone else’s.
But I don’t say any of this. Maybe this guy will be able to handle himself.
Being a wrangler and all.
“Rides start at nine o’clock.” I glance at him. “You might as well go in and have breakfast while you wait.”
With that, I turn back to the work of catching horses. And I hope to hell that he can’t hear my heart as it tries to pound its way through my chest.
Chapter Two
I work like a fiend. By a quarter to nine I’ve got ten horses fed, brushed and saddled. I stand in the middle of the barn, wiping my brow with my sleeve. It’s going to be a hot day.
The horses rustle and munch their way through the hay I’ve forked up into their feed baskets. I’m even more tired than I was when I first woke up. My throat is dry and my stomach is rumbling. But I don’t have time to eat. Not yet, anyway.
I unscrew the cap on my water bottle and take a long drink. I cast a quick glance toward the bunkhouse, hoping that Carrie and Laura are on their way over. Please, please let someone show up before this adventure ride goes out. As cute as Mr. Bar G is, I still don’t feel like racing across ridgetops with him.
God, I feel like such a chicken sometimes. I hate it. I wish I could be as comfortable and brave on a horse as Carrie is. She’s just totally dialed in to what it means to ride. She and her horse are, like, one. Thinking and acting in tandem. I can’t help but feel envious.
I’m still trying to figure out how to run with my reins in one hand instead of grabbing onto the saddle horn to keep from bouncing off. It’s a wonder James hired me at all.
But I know why he did. It was obvious when we met last April that there was some pretty good chemistry between us. He put me up on a horse and asked me to ride around in a circle. Walk, trot, canter. When I didn’t fall off, I guess he figured I was good enough for the job.
James’s parents own the ranch.
And he hired all the summer barn staff. Not surprisingly, we’re all girls around the same age. Long hair. Long legs. James likes his ladies. I could tell he liked looking at me. Not that I minded. He has the hugest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. And the way he wears his black hat pulled low on his brow… he’s all dark and broodingly handsome.
I still get a shiver when I think of him.
Even now that things aren’t so good between us.
James got pretty huffy a few weeks back when he found out I have a boyfriend back in the city. Tyler.
But it’s pretty casual between Ty and me. Actually, it’s kind of on hold. I’m the one who decided to leave town for the summer. But whatever. When James found out, he got really mad. It was like he thought I’d tricked him by not telling him about Tyler right away. He gave me the silent treatment for, like, a week. I thought that was pretty lame, especially for a guy who’s nineteen.
Eventually he came out of his funk and we started talking again. But he stopped spending time with me. And he stopped taking rides out with me. He started hanging around with Carrie and Laura instead.
Yeah, and we all know how much work Carrie and Laura do around the ranch.
That was a couple of weeks ago.
Nowadays, it’s pretty much me and a couple of other wranglers—Martin and Roxanne—who take out all the rides. James stays back at the barn to flirt with Laura and Carrie. I guess he figures the ranch is kind of his, which gives him permission to be lazy and duck responsibility. And that pisses me right off.
Yesterday, James and I finally had a blowout. It was bound to happen. I had just come back from a half-day ride.
I was hot. Thirsty. My knees hurt after sitting astride a horse’s barrel for three hours. I hadn’t eaten since 6:45 that morning, and I was starving.
I figured I’d be able to go in and have lunch before taking another ride out.
But when I arrived at the barn, four guests were leaning against the corral fence, waiting to go out on a two-hour ride. Groan.
Roxanne and Martin were on their days off, so they weren’t around. Carrie, Laura and James were in the back corral, just out of sight. I could hear them goofing around and cracking the whip. Ignoring the customers.
I dismounted and started helping my guests get off their horses. One guy gave me five bucks, which was cool. I took my time removing the horses’ bridles and loosening their saddles. I made a big deal of looking busy. I hoped that James and the others would start to get the waiting group ready. When they kept screwing around, I finally went over to the corral.
“Hey,” I said. Laura and Carrie smiled at me. Pretty smiles. All crystal and sharp edges.
“How was your ride?” Laura asked sweetly.
“Nice,” I said. “I’m hungry now though. I’m going in for lunch.”
“Yeah,” said Carrie. “We’re going to go eat too, as soon as we give Pepper a bath. We’re braiding his mane and tail for the parade tomorrow.” She pointed toward the dark-coated Clydesdale.
“Yeah,” agreed Laura. She eyed the people standing along the corral fence.
“Guess we should get started, huh, Carrie?”
Carrie sighed delicately. She handed the whip to James. “Sure. Let’s go. See you guys later.” And they were gone.
Slouching in disappointment, James hung the whip on a hook. I could almost see the black
thundercloud forming over his head as he walked toward the tack room. I followed, starting to feel my own anger simmering. Why the hell was he going inside when he could clearly see people waiting? It was his turn to take a ride out.
“The string horses aren’t in the tack room,” I said coolly. “They’re out in the corral. Where the next ride’s waiting.”
James spun around and faced me.
“Pardon?” Acid dripped from his voice.
I was suddenly tired of his stupid games. Tired of tiptoeing around his dark moods. I pushed past him and stepped inside the tack room. “This is your ride,” I said, nodding my head toward the corral. “I’ve just come off a half-day, James. And I opened this morning. I’m going in to have lunch.”
And just like that, James flipped.
Fuh-lipped. With two quick steps, he was in my face. His eyes blazed and his lips tightened as they turned down.
He looked ugly.
I took a step backward.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” he snarled through gritted teeth. His breath stank of cigarettes and coffee. His voice rose. “This is my ranch. You work for me.”
I squashed the urge to point out that, in fact, it wasn’t his ranch. At least, not yet. But he was so worked up I was afraid that he’d clock me if I opened my mouth in argument.
James pointed outside, through the open door. I’m certain the people standing along the corral fence heard his every word. His eyes narrowed. “That’s your ride. You’re going to take those people out.” He jabbed his finger against my breastbone as he spat the words.
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
I stared at him. Was he serious? My mind reeled as I tried to figure out how a person could go from nasty to downright demonic in fewer than ten seconds.
James stared right back, challenging me. When I didn’t move, he gave me a sour little smile.
My mind scrambled to form cohesive thoughts. The blood boiled as it rushed to my head. My lower jaw tightened.
I was so angry I wanted to cry. But I ground my teeth together and bit the tears back. Crying was the last thing I’d let James see me do. I cleared my throat.