by Jeannie Watt
Shae trotted down the steps, keeping an eye out for Miss—or Mr.—Piggy as she headed for the round pen. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to say once she got there, but was unable to stop herself from braving the pig and confronting Jordan. If nothing else, she was going to assume that the animal was not a man-eater.
Jordan looked up from where he was leaning on a drill, screwing a plank back on, and Shae instantly blanked out her expression. “You have horses,” she said, stating the obvious and wondering if he’d seen her hundred-yard dash from her truck to the porch...or if he was aware she’d been in the house.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said past the long screws he held between his lips. He picked up the old-fashioned bit-and-brace drill and used it to put another hole through the plank into the fence post, holding the brace steady with the palm of his injured hand while turning the drill with his other. It was slow going and once finished, he set the drill on the ground and put the plank in place, holding it with his knee as he took a long screw from his mouth.
“And a pig.” The word was barely out of her mouth when an earsplitting cry came from behind her. Shae jumped a mile, then whirled to see a peacock strutting along the edge of the corral, its tail dragging in the dust behind it. “What the hell?” she muttered before turning back to glare at Jordan. “Do I have one bit of color left in my face?” she demanded.
His expression shifted, as if she’d amused him and he was fighting a smile, which he no doubt was.
“Peacocks?”
“Great for snakes,” he said.
“I didn’t realize we had a snake problem,” Shae said, fighting to get her heart rate back to normal. “Where’d you get the horses?” And is your pig as dangerous as it looks?
“I called around to see if anyone had any horses that needed the kinks taken out of them.”
“Because...?”
“Because,” he said, speaking slowly, as if she’d have difficulty understanding, “that’s how I plan to make my living.”
“Taking the kinks out of horses.”
“Claiborne horses have a lot of kinks.”
“Claiborne horses?” Oh, yeah. It would be lovely having those nasty-tempered yellow horses cohabitating with her nice, gentle trail horses. Wasn’t going to happen, but that wasn’t something she was going to fight about now.
“Ah.” Shae approached the pasture gate and the horses’ heads instantly came up. The biggest horse, a palomino mare, snorted and stamped her foot. Shae closed her eyes, willed herself not to react. “Aren’t you worried about that pig eating your dog?” she asked.
“No. She’s more of a people person.”
“And you don’t think having her around is going to interfere with what I have to do?”
“She’s friendly and has no teeth.”
“No teeth?”
Jordan shrugged and picked up the battery-powered drill that lay beside the bit-and-brace. “By the way, I had my lawyer check over the contract,” he said as he put the bit into the top of the screw and squeezed the trigger. The drill whined. Shae clenched her teeth, waiting for him to tell her the rest. He finished with the screw and then let the hand with the drill fall to his side, smiling a little as he did so. It was the first time she’d seen him smile, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression, being more predatory than friendly. “You can’t make changes to the buildings without my permission.”
“Miranda—”
“You can clean, repair and use them. You can’t make significant changes without my permission.”
Shae felt blood beating in her temples. “That’s what your lawyer told you?”
“Unless Miranda managed to change the contract, which she couldn’t have done without my consent, I’d say that the bunkhouse is going to get a good scrubbing and that’s it.”
She started to speak, then stopped. What the hell could she say?
“Anything else?” she asked, just to have the last word.
“Yeah,” he said. “Give Miranda my love when you talk to her.”
Oh, she’d give Miranda his love all right. Choking back a growl, Shae stalked away from the round pen. He was lying. Miranda would have looked into this before letting Shae onto the property. Of course she would have.
But Shae still felt a little sick as she walked toward the bunkhouse and the four cabins nestled behind it. If he wasn’t lying, then she’d wasted a couple days of her contracted time making plans for the bunkhouse that would never come to fruition. Time she couldn’t afford to waste. And they were great plans. She was going to knock out walls, changing the tiny cells into much larger bedrooms. The rest of the building would be a comfortable dining and meeting area with a centrally located wood-burning stove as the focal point. The setup would be rustic and unique—just as Miranda had ordered.
He had to be lying.
Shae yanked at a tall weed as she walked by it, then instead of going to the bunkhouse, she walked straight to Killer. The pig charged as she approached the truck, but Shae didn’t slow down. “No!” she commanded, pointing a finger at the beast.
The pig slid to a halt, but Shae barely noticed. She got into the truck, fired it up and after checking to make sure the pig was far enough away, put it in gear. Miranda needed to know what was going on, which meant she had to get into cell reception range. Hopefully in an hour or so, she’d have a better idea as to how to proceed.
* * *
“NOW, LET ME get this straight,” Miranda said. “Jordan says that we can only use the buildings in their current condition?”
“He said we could repair existing conditions, but can’t improve or renovate.”
“Repair, but not renovate.”
“Exactly.” She’d gone over the conversation enough times in her head as she’d driven to the cattle guard, where her phone finally showed some bars, that she probably could have repeated it verbatim. “Before I go forward, I thought clarification was in order.”
“Just assume he’s lying,” Miranda said.
“I’ve already done that,” Shae said drily.
“I’ll contact Noel, but until you hear from me, continue as if we have full rights to do whatever we want.”
“But what if we don’t have full rights?”
“Was I not clear?” Miranda asked mildly.
“You were clear,” Shae replied, wishing she’d said nothing. “Continue as if we have rights.” That was going to be interesting.
“Make your presence felt. Do not let him buffalo you. Trust me, once it’s settled, Jordan will play ball.”
“All right,” Shae said, more hesitation in her tone than she’d intended. “I’ll do my best.”
Miranda let out a soft sigh then, as if realizing how harsh it sounded to be strong-arming her injured stepson. “You need to understand, Shae...there’s so much more to this situation than I can tell you about. Old history I don’t want to dig up. Suffice it to say that if Jordan had really wanted this ranch so badly, he would have come home sooner. He had the option and turned it down. It wasn’t until Hank died and I was left alone that suddenly the ranch became all-important to him.” She paused as if searching for words, then said, “He blames me for a lot of things I had no control over and he wants to make me suffer. But once he realizes I won’t back down like his father always did, I think he’ll give up. It’s time to prove to him that I won’t keep rolling over. That’s where I need your help and I know you’re capable.”
“I’ll make my presence felt,” Shae promised. Somehow she was going to have to establish dominance. It was apparent her boss expected no less.
“Excellent,” Miranda said, even though she still had shades of doubt in her voice, as if wondering if Shae was the right person for this job. “And I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear from Noel.”
* * *
JO
RDAN SPENT THE day working on the round pen in relative peace, reinforcing and replacing boards. Shae had driven away shortly after he’d broken the bad news to her—off to see Miranda, no doubt, to get counsel—and had not returned. Jordan enjoyed the respite, even though he knew it meant Miranda was gearing up for the next assault.
How many battles would they fight before this was settled one way or another?
Even if she ended up getting her way, Jordan was going to make her pay for every small piece of her victory.
The sun was setting when he finally put his tools away and then came back out of the barn to lean his arms on his newly repaired fence and watched his horses graze in the south pasture—the one that Miranda would probably soon lay claim to, forcing him to move the horses to the north pasture. But until then he was keeping the horses there, close to the barn and his tack. Every movement, every small noise brought their heads up and they were still spooking every time Clyde trotted through on his hourly rounds. Oh, yeah. He had his work cut out for him, but at least he had something to do.
The pig came out from behind the house, saw him and came running. Clyde hugged closer to Jordan’s legs, still uncertain about his new playmate, and Jordan reached down and scooped up the dog. The pig honestly had no teeth and when Jordan had borrowed him, Claiborne—who allegedly hated the animal—had given careful instructions for making mash that a toothless pig could choke down.
It was a pain in the ass, but it was worth making mash to torture Shae. He pushed open the rickety back gate and started for the house, wanting to light the lanterns before it got dark, only to stop when he saw headlights cutting through the deepening twilight.
Really?
Someone from Cedar Creek? Perhaps the queen herself, Miranda, there to confront him about this new legal wrinkle? He couldn’t help but think that not being able to transform the buildings had to put some kind of kink into her master plan.
But it wasn’t Miranda. Shae’s old Chevy truck drove past her usual parking place next to his Subaru to the rear of the bunkhouse, where she parked out of sight. With a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jordan started toward the bunkhouse, getting there just as Shae climbed out of the vehicle. She reached inside to pull out a couple of duffel bags and an electric lantern, and then the headlights went out.
No.
She ignored him and headed for the door of the dark bunkhouse. Fast. As if avoiding a pig or something. The lantern clicked on once she got inside and closed the door, leaving him standing alone. A few seconds later he exercised his right of access and pulled the door open.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He knew what she was doing, but hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking the question. Or maybe he hoped he only thought he knew what she was doing and was way off base.
Shae sent him a blank look. “I think it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing.”
“You’re going to stay here.” Jordan glanced around the room. She’d tidied it up so that she could work there, but the place was still a shambles. Even he wouldn’t want to sleep there with the thick dirt and spider webs, and he’d lived in the Kuwaiti desert.
“I have some work ahead of me,” Shae agreed, following his thoughts. “Feel free to dive in and help. It’s your place, after all.” She dropped her duffels on either side of her, raising small clouds of dust that swirled in the bright lantern light, challenging him with her eyes as she waited for the clouds to settle. Jordan wasn’t biting.
He turned and walked out the door. What now?
“Watch out for pigs,” Shae called.
Jordan yanked the door shut behind him with a satisfying bang.
* * *
SHAE WENT BACK to the truck and got out the second electric lantern she’d brought and the cot she’d borrowed from her brother. She carried in a bucket and mop and broom, her iPod and headphones. Tonight she was going to do as much cleaning as possible without water, set up her cot, then sleep in the truck. There was no way she was risking a night with mice and since she’d parked on the far side of the bunkhouse, out of view of the house, Jordan didn’t need to know where she slept.
Slowly she started sweeping by the light of the lantern, concentrating on cleaning the floor without raising a cloud. There were no mouse droppings to be seen, which made Shae feel better. It was one thing to make a point and another to dash shrieking out into the night because something small and furry was running across the sheets.
Make your presence felt. She smiled grimly as she moved the broom. Miranda had loved the idea of her moving onto the ranch.
Shae set up the cot, positioning the bed against the wall, then stood back to study her new home. It was...rugged. The closed doors of the twelve cell-like rooms she’d hoped to make into four bedrooms by knocking out walls were downright creepy in the night, and unlike Jordan, she didn’t have a poodle—or a pig—for protection. She wished she hadn’t shut all the doors the last time she’d been in the building.
Time for bed, as in time to get out of there. She shut off the lanterns and pulled the small Maglite out of her pocket, feeling an even more urgent need to get out of the building once the room fell dark.
You’re not eight years old and afraid of the dark.
No, she was twenty-nine years old and leery of the dark.
Shae crept out around the bunkhouse. She already had her sleeping bag laid out on the backseat, so she shucked out of her jeans, planning to sleep in her T-shirt, opened the truck door and slipped inside, tossing her jeans and moccasins onto the front seat. One of the blessings of being short was that one could sleep on a truck seat fairly comfortably—she’d done it a time or two during the rodeo season. Regardless of what people thought about her, Shae was capable of roughing it. To a point. As long as there were no mice or major discomforts involved.
As soon as she was convinced there were no mice in residence, she’d sleep in the bunkhouse—but the doors to those twelve tiny rooms where the miners had once slept were going to be wide-open.
* * *
JORDAN WOKE UP feeling as if he hadn’t slept—mainly because he hadn’t. The nightmare had come early, before midnight, despite taking his last pill, and he’d woken up thrashing. As far as he knew, he hadn’t shouted out—if he had, and Shae had heard him, she hadn’t felt the need to come to his rescue. No surprise there. Clyde had crept up onto his chest and lain there, offering comfort, and eventually Jordan had fallen back to sleep in the early-morning hours, only to wake up feeling like shit.
He took the path to the ponds and had a quick wash in the cold water, then headed back to the house for coffee and cold cereal, fully aware that he might run into Shae at any time. He hated having her there, hated losing his morning solitude, but he was going to roll with it. Focus on making his ranch a home for himself and Clyde.
A peacock screamed as he headed for the pastures to separate out the dun filly he was going to start working that morning. Emery was correct—peacocks were the most annoying bird on the planet. Nice to look at, hell to listen to. He rounded the corner of the bunkhouse, intent on his mission, then skidded to a stop when he found himself face-to-face with Shae standing next to the truck clutching a pair of jeans to her midsection. Her mouth opened and closed and then she snapped her back straight and gave him that haughty Shae expression, which lost some of its impact, what with her having no pants on. And then it struck him—she’d slept in the truck.
“Jordan,” she said.
“Shae.” He felt like smiling as he continued to regard her, rather enjoying the stains of color on her cheeks. Being a guy, he noted that she was wearing a bra under her T-shirt, but that still left him facing a woman with miles of leg and the remnants of a stunned expression on her face. “Sleep well?”
Still holding the pants in front of her with one hand, she brushed back her tousled hair with the other. “Fine, thank you.”
“The bunkhouse wasn’t comfortable?”
“I wanted to mop before spending the night,” she said with a faint sniff.
“Ah.” He smiled. “That makes sense.” He touched his hat and walked on, whistling lightly. He’d never been a big whistler, but the occasion seemed to call for it.
* * *
SHAE LET OUT a frustrated breath as Jordan walked away whistling. The bastard. Catching her in her panties had not been on the agenda...and neither had the way he’d looked her up and down as if he’d suddenly realized that she was a woman. News flash, Jordan.
Why did nothing she did around this guy work out?
Grumbling under her breath, she pulled on her pants, shoved her feet into her moccasins and headed for the outhouse—the existence of which she was pretty certain was a violation of EPA regulations. She’d have to look into that—just as soon as she didn’t need it anymore.
When Shae had come up with her brilliant plan to make her presence felt, she hadn’t counted on just how uncomfortable it was to start a morning without running water. Until the power was turned on, the pump wouldn’t operate and there was no water in the lines. Jordan had at least ten gallon-size jugs stored in the kitchen while Shae had two, which she’d planned to drink and use to brush her teeth.
But there was the old hand pump at the trough behind the bathhouse.
Shae walked around the building, hoping she wouldn’t bump into Jordan just yet, and started pumping the handle. Nothing. Then she remembered priming—they’d had to prime the old pump at Mel’s place. Grabbing the galvanized bucket next to the trough, she scooped water out and poured it into the top of the pump. Success. Freezing-cold water started to flow after a few pumps—enough to wash her hands and face. She pulled the towel off her shoulder and patted her face dry, wondering just where it was that Jordan bathed. Surely he didn’t soap up here at the trough. But if he did, he might well have an audience in the future, which again made her wonder what the extent of his injuries was. Was his arm the worst of it?