by Kat Martin
A silver-haired woman walked toward her, smiling as she climbed the steps with plenty of vigor for a lady Tory guessed to be in her late sixties.
“I’m Clara Thompson. Josh phoned last night and asked me to stop by this morning. He said you had a sweet little girl. He thought you might need a sitter for a couple of days.”
Clara Thompson had kindly blue eyes and a warm, sincere smile. She looked like the grandmother Ivy had never had. She’d been a baby when Tory’s mom had died in the same car accident that had killed her husband. Unfortunately for Ivy, Jamie’s mother had no interest in kids.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d love to have you sit with Ivy, but the truth is, until I get paid, I can’t afford—”
“Oh, no, dear, I don’t expect you to pay me. I love children and now that my three are grown and moved away, that big house gets mighty lonely.”
A sitter would be the answer to her prayers, and Mrs. Thompson seemed really nice. With the exception of Damon, Tory had always had good instincts about people, and Josh seemed to trust the lady.
She glanced up at the sky. Yesterday had been perfect weather, but clouds were drifting in, hinting at rain.
Just then Ivy opened the door. “Aren’t you going to work, Mama?”
“Ivy, honey, this is Mrs. Thompson. She’s a neighbor.”
Mrs. Thompson smiled down at the little girl. “Hello, Ivy. It’s nice to meet you. I have two great-granddaughters about your age, but they live in Houston so I don’t get to see them very often.”
“You’re a grandma?”
“That’s right.”
“Mrs. Thompson is going to sit with you, sweetie. I saw some cookie mix in the pantry. Maybe you two could make a batch of chocolate chips. They’re your favorite.” She flicked a glance at the older woman.
Mrs. Thompson smiled at Ivy. “That sounds like fun. You like to bake, Ivy?”
“I do!” Ivy grinned and jumped up and down. “We get to bake cookies!”
Mrs. Thompson turned back to Tory. “I brought some toys and games, things my great-granddaughters like to play with when they visit. We’ll have all sorts of fun things to do.”
Tory was torn. She really needed the woman’s help, but she didn’t want to take advantage. “Are you sure, Mrs. Thompson?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’m just glad Josh called me.”
Tory looked at Josh. It had been so long since anyone had helped her. She blinked back the unexpected sting of tears and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Thank you.”
Josh gave a faint nod, tugged his hat down on his forehead, turned, and strode off down the steps.
Tory led the woman into the house, showed her around, and got her and Ivy settled. “There are books and crayons on the table and Ivy’s always been good at entertaining herself.”
“We’ll have fun,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Don’t you worry.”
Kissing the top of her daughter’s head, Tory left the house and headed for the barn, her mind turning to the job she’d been hired to do.
The way the stable was laid out, each stall had a short fenced-in run that allowed the horses to move inside and out. Their stalls had to be cleaned every day, but it wasn’t too big a problem since they were outside a lot of the time.
She was halfway there when she spotted Josh, but he was no longer alone. It took a moment to realize the two men he was talking to were both disabled, one a double amputee fitted with metal prostheses, the other a man with only one arm.
Both men were good-looking, not as tall as Josh, but lean and wide-shouldered, with biceps bulging from the sleeves of their T-shirts. She wondered if they might be soldiers wounded in the war, wondered if maybe Josh was former military, too.
She had noticed a scar on his right side that first day when he’d had his shirt off. He certainly looked tough enough to have been a soldier, though his several days’ growth of beard was gone today.
Tory kept walking, hoping to avoid him. The less she talked to him, the less chance he’d find an excuse to fire her.
He strode into the barn a few minutes later, while she was shoveling out her first stall. She could sense his presence even before she saw him, a shift in the air like an electrical pulse. It made her heart speed up a little.
“You don’t need to do that today,” he said as he approached. “I’ll find something else for you to do.”
She set the shovel down and leaned on the handle. “If I don’t do it, who will? You?”
He shrugged those wide shoulders. “It’s no big deal. I was shoveling manure before you got here. I can do it again. Like I said, I’ll find you something else to do.”
No way, Tory thought. Stable hand was the job she had applied for. It was the job he needed done. “I’m fine right here. Three days. That was our deal. I’ll find you when I’m finished. Okay?”
He looked like he wanted to argue. Instead he clenched his jaw and shook his head. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
“I’ll do a good job for you, just like I promised.”
Those cool blue eyes ran over her, making the inside of her stomach lift.
“Fine. Suit yourself.” Turning, he walked out of the barn, and Tory breathed a sigh of relief. If she proved herself, maybe he would let her stay. She already found herself liking the ranch, the wide-open spaces and fresh air, horses and cattle roaming the pastures. Maybe she could pay Mrs. Thompson enough to get her to sit on the workdays.
She walked over and picked up the shovel. Her hands were sore, but the salve Josh had brought over had helped, and gloves made the job a lot easier. Of course, they didn’t keep her back from hurting.
She’d get used to it, she told herself. She was tough and she was determined. She had Damon Bridger to thank for that.
Chapter Five
“Sir, you can’t go in there. Mr. Phillips is on the phone.”
“Yeah, well, if he wants his paycheck, he’ll get off the fucking phone.” Damon clamped down on his temper and softened his tone, along with his expression. He flashed the receptionist one of his most disarming smiles. “Sorry, I’m a little frustrated. You’re just doing your job. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
She smiled back a little shyly. “It’s okay.” She stood up. “I’ll just tell him you’re here.”
He kept his smile in place, softened it even more, kept his eyes on her face, making her blush. He had skills when it came to women. He was good-looking and he knew how to be charming. Add to that, he had money and plenty of it. Women fell all over him. As long as he stayed in control, he knew exactly how to handle them.
He checked her name on the sign on her desk. “I appreciate that, Amy. But I’ll just tell him myself.” Before she could stop him, he’d pulled open the frosted half-glass door and walked into private investigator Marvin Phillips’s office.
Phillips swung his feet down from the top of the desk. He was about the same height as Damon, a little over six feet, but older, in his midforties. He was balding, while Damon had a thick head of wavy black hair. He preferred hiring people who were physically inferior. It gave him a little edge.
“Get off the phone,” Damon demanded.
The detective’s features tightened. “I’ll have to call you back.” Phillips hung up, but didn’t rise from behind his desk. “I thought you were coming in this afternoon.”
“I’m tired of waiting. I want results. Where is she?”
“I don’t know where she is. Not yet. I told you that when you called. I’ve found her for you twice already. I can do it again—if you’re sure that’s what you want.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means chasing this woman all over the country is not a good idea. Surely by now, you realize she isn’t coming back to you.”
“What the hell do you know? She’ll come back. It’s just a matter of time.” He didn’t tell the detective he didn’t plan to give her any choice. Victoria belonged to him. He’d bring her back whether she wanted to go with
him or not.
“She was in Carlsbad a little over three weeks ago,” Damon said. “You must have found something since then.” He didn’t mention what had happened to him in New Mexico. Every time he thought about how Tory had tricked him, humiliated him, made a fool of him, he wanted to wrap his hands around her pretty neck and squeeze.
It had taken him hours to drag himself into the kitchen, get his bound hands on a butcher knife, and cut himself free. When he found her, she’d pay for that, along with everything else she had done.
“Did you talk to Lisa Shane?” he asked. “They were best friends. She must know where Tory is.”
“I talked to her. She hasn’t heard from Victoria since she left Phoenix. I’m working a couple of other angles. Sooner or later she’ll turn up again.”
“I’m paying you a small fortune. The longer it takes, the more money you make. That better not be what’s going on here.”
Phillips rose from his chair. “I said I’d come up with something and I will. Sooner or later everyone makes mistakes. She’ll turn up somewhere and I’ll find her.”
“I’m tired of waiting.” Damon strode to the door and pulled it open. “You’ve got a week. Then I’m done with you.” Turning, he stormed out of the office.
A week. Then he’d do it his way.
The thought sent a rush of adrenaline through him. He wouldn’t waste time. He’d do what had to be done to get the answers he needed.
He almost hoped the detective failed.
* * *
Josh worked the rest of the afternoon. One of the mares was ready to foal. He had brought her in from the pasture and put her in the barn, then gone back to work on the cow barn, which, as the oldest structure on the ranch, was practically falling down.
He was gutting the interior, knocking out the old rotted boards that made up the stalls. As he slammed the hammer against the wood, splintering it and sending pieces flying, he thought of his encounter with the redhead working in the other barn.
She was a handful, that was for sure. Stubborn to a fault, and prickly even when he was trying to help her. Since she was only going to be there one more day, he’d wanted to make things a little easier, give her a less difficult job, something that wouldn’t make her hands bleed and her back ache.
He shook his head. Bullheaded woman. If she weren’t such a pain in his ass, he might admire her. At least her word was good. She’d said she’d give him three days’ work as a stable hand and she was determined to do it.
The hell of it was, it wasn’t going to matter. The last thing he needed was a sexy little redhead distracting him from the goals he’d set for himself. And Tory Ford was a definite distraction. Soft curves in all the right places, high full breasts, lips the color of strawberries.
Every time he thought of her, he remembered the way she looked in those blue denim stretch jeans, bending over to shovel out the stall. The rhinestones on her back pockets flashed like beacons, pointing to her perfect little ass.
He’d wanted to move up behind her, drag those fancy jeans down over her hips, wrap his hands around that narrow waist, and—
Josh clamped down on the thought. Tory was a nice young woman, the mother of a sweet little girl. She deserved to be treated with respect.
But the fact was, he was a man, and though he hadn’t been celibate since his return to Texas, he’d been too busy to make up for all the months he’d been deployed in the Middle East. He needed her gone before he took advantage, and he intended to make that happen tomorrow.
He sighed as he picked up the hammer. At least with Mrs. Thompson here, he didn’t have to worry about the little girl and neither did Tory. In the meantime, he had plenty to do.
Working off a little of his frustration, Josh slammed the hammer against the rotted wood.
* * *
The hours slid past. When Tory checked on Ivy, she found Mrs. Thompson teaching her to play Candy Land. They both seemed to be having fun.
Earlier Josh had suggested Tory bring Ivy out to the barn after lunch to visit the litter of kittens one of the feral cats had recently birthed. Ivy was excited to see them. The little girl ran all the way there.
“Where are they, Mama?”
“In that last stall, sweetheart. They’re curled up in the straw.”
Ivy whirled around, blond ponytail flying, and raced ahead, then slowed to walk quietly into the stall. “Oh, Mama, aren’t they cute?”
Tory smiled. “They’re having their lunch, same as you just did.”
A few feet away, Ivy sank down in the straw to watch them nurse. The mother was gray with white fur on her chest. There were two gray kittens, two orange. Tory had noticed a big orange tom prowling around the barn.
“There’s four of them, Mama.”
“They’re too little to handle yet,” a deep voice said. “But they grow up fast.” Josh stood outside the stall, his arms folded on the top board as he looked down at them.
The grin slid off Ivy’s face. She reached for Tory’s hand. “I wanna go back in,” she said, sinking into herself the way she had begun to do whenever there was a man around. Especially a big man like Josh.
He looked from the little girl to Tory, must have read the concern on her face. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “I was just getting ready to saddle Sunshine and give her a ride. Enjoy the kittens.”
He turned and walked off and Tory could hear him talking in that soft way of his to the palomino mare in the second stall. Leading the horse out of the stall, he began to groom her, his brushstrokes swishing through the air. It didn’t take long before the mare was saddled and ready.
Josh slid a boot into the stirrup and swung aboard, settling himself with impressive ease. As he reined the horse out of the barn, the man looked like every woman’s cowboy fantasy. Every woman but her, she told herself.
Tory glanced over at Ivy, who seemed to be fascinated by the kittens. “We need go back to the house, sweetheart. I have to get to work again.”
The day passed swiftly with so much to do. That night, Tory fell into another exhausted slumber, but she wasn’t as sore as she had been the night before.
She awoke anxious and unsettled the morning of the third day. She knew she’d been doing a decent job, but it might not be enough. A man doing the same work wouldn’t have a child to worry about. A man could have helped Josh stack the heavy straw bales that had arrived from town, or helped him dig postholes where he was putting in new fencing around one of the training rings.
The good news was Clara Thompson showed up again that morning just as she’d promised.
“You’re a lifesaver, Mrs. Thompson. I’ll never be able to repay your kindness.”
“Everyone needs a little help once in a while, dear.”
Not wanting to be late, Tory kissed Ivy good-bye and headed out to the barn. She had almost reached the wide double doors when a dark red Dodge pickup rolled to a stop in front, throwing up a cloud of dust. The two men she had noticed yesterday climbed out of the truck and Josh strode toward them.
When the men spotted her, they stopped and turned, forcing Josh to introduce them, though clearly, he didn’t want to.
“Guys, this is Tory Ford. She’s been working here the last couple of days. Tory, meet Cole Wyman and Noah Beal.”
Tory silently prayed she would still be working there tomorrow and the day after that. “Hello,” she said.
“I’m Noah.” The dark-haired man extended his right hand, the only one he had, which she shook. “That’s Cole,” he said. “He’s not nearly as friendly, but he’s harmless.”
“Thanks,” Cole said darkly. He tipped his blue-and-white Dallas Cowboys’ baseball cap in greeting, then settled it back over his gleaming blond hair. “Nice meeting you, Tory.”
“It’s nice to meet you both. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to work.” As she walked away, she could hear Josh handing out orders and prayed one of the men wouldn’t wind up getting her job.
Instead the hours slipp
ed past. She broke for lunch at noon, went inside to find Mrs. Thompson had used the rest of the Spam to make sandwiches, ate, and headed back to work.
When she finished with the morning chores, she went in search of Josh, but he was nowhere to be found. Wandering out to one of the pastures where she had seen him working, she walked along the fence in search of him, stopping at the sight of the most beautiful jet-black stallion she had ever seen.
He was breathtaking, tall and powerfully built, with a long black mane and tail and a white spot in the middle of his forehead. He snorted when he saw her, stopped stock-still to watch her. He snorted again and lifted his magnificent head.
“Hello, pretty boy. Aren’t you just a beautiful thing? I wonder what your name is.” She loved horses, though she had only ridden a couple of times, short, paid-for trail rides among the saguaro cactus north of Scottsdale on a very tame horse. She hadn’t seen the stallion in the barn, but then, keeping such a free-spirited creature confined would have definitely been a crime.
“I wonder if you would let me pet you.” He seemed to be drawn to the sound of her voice. He nickered and started walking toward the fence, stopped a few feet away, looking at her with big, watchful brown eyes. She ducked through the fence and walked a little closer. Blowing out a breath, he lowered his head and plodded up to her, stopped right in front of her.
“What a good horse. I wish I knew your name.” Stroking her hand over his powerful neck, she ran her fingers through his coarse black mane. The animal closed its eyes and rested his head on her shoulder.
“Oh, you are so sweet. I bet you’d like your ears rubbed.” She patted his neck and straightened his topknot, gently rubbed his ears. He made a sound that was almost a sigh.
“Tory . . .” Josh’s deep voice drifted softly toward her. “I need you to listen to me. I need you to do exactly what I tell you.”
The horse’s head shot up and he snorted.
“I want you to slowly back up, one step at a time, until you’re out of the pasture. Okay?”
There was something in his voice that put her on alert. She looked back at the stallion, whose ears now lay flat against his head. He stomped his front hoof and bared his teeth.