‘The door on the left,’ the woman on the lane had said. I stood in front of it for a long second, then knocked, timidly at first. The second time I knocked, I knocked so hard that I was horrified as I watched the entire door vibrate in its frame.
I should go. I knew I should go. But even as my feet were slowly responding to my brain’s commands, the door was wrenched open.
“What’s wrong?” a woman, blurry eyed by sleep, demanded. She was petite, a little too full in the hips, but beautiful in her own, earthy way. She tugged a bathrobe over a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt that barely covered her midriff, eyeing me with friendly confusion in her eyes. “Who are you?”
I didn’t know what to say, especially when a young girl of about ten or eleven came wandering out of a doorway behind her.
“Mom?”
“Go back to bed, Cassidy.”
My heart sank. He had a kid?
And then the door behind me opened. I felt so lightheaded I was a little concerned I might pass out, like I’d stood too quickly after sitting for too long. He was standing there—behind the door on the right, not the left—naked from the waist up. From the waist down, he was wearing a pair of shorts that left very little to the imagination. Even in my state, I couldn’t help but appreciate the muscles that were suddenly on display, the wide chest, the narrow hips, and the impressive thighs. I had to consciously clasp my hands together to keep from reaching out to touch him.
“Go back to bed, Becky. I believe this is for me.”
The woman’s eyes brightened with curiosity, but Hank was clearly not interested in fueling the local gossip. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his place before either the woman or her child could ask the questions we could both clearly see forming on the tips of their tongues.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, trapping me against the back of his door.
“I… I…”
He didn’t wait for me to stop stuttering. He left me there, crossing to the crude kitchenette toward the back of the room, slamming cupboard doors as he pulled a jar of instant coffee out and began running water into an old-fashioned tea kettle. It gave me a chance to look around, a deep blush burning my cheeks when I saw the sleep-worn sheets mussed on the low bed in the far corner. It was just one large room, the furniture simple but nice, the whole place neat and organized. It struck me more as a place suited to a young executive than a cowhand, thought I wasn’t sure why that was. I guess I sort of expected him to have little concern for neatness and organization.
I really didn’t know him very well.
Once the kettle was on the stove, he went to a narrow closet and removed a pair of jeans, sliding them on over his shorts. I watched him move, admiring the easy agility of his incredibly fit body. It crossed my mind that if my mother could see what working a ranch could do for a person’s body, she might make it her new cardio… and that made me bite back a little giggle.
“You find it amusing to disturb people’s sleep?”
“No,” I said quickly, a blush of embarrassment burning my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to wake anyone. This woman on the lane told me the wrong door.”
“Then you only meant to wake me?”
I cocked my head slightly, finding it hard to argue with that logic.
“It was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been apologizing to me quite often.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I thought I saw a little amusement in his eyes as he padded back to the kitchen to check the water. I sighed, struggling to remember what it was I’d come here to say.
“Look, I know I offended you earlier. I couldn’t sleep because I needed to make it right.”
“It could have waited until morning.”
I nodded. “Please tell your neighbor I’m really sorry.”
“You can tell her yourself. She’ll go down to work in an hour or so.”
Did that mean he expected me to stay that long? That idea made my heart soar a little.
“Is she a cowhand, too?”
“No. She’s a veterinarian student. She takes care of the horses.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah? More interesting than simply being a cowhand?” There was a touch of bitterness to his words.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a cowhand. It’s actually kind of noble.”
“How’s that?”
I wasn’t sure what I meant by that. But I had to say something, so I sort of winged it. “It’s noble to work with your hands, to work with animals. I always sort of admired the stable boys at the place where I took riding lessons as a kid. They always seemed busy.”
“Of course, they were. They were making less than minimum wage, I’m sure.”
I’d clearly said the wrong thing again.
“Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was trying to get to know you, trying to share my passion with you because I thought you were interested. I didn’t mean to make you think I was looking down on you.”
He didn’t respond right away. He busied himself pouring boiling water into mugs filled with instant coffee crystals. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I couldn’t stand instant coffee. It had a bitterness that was offensive to my taste buds. But I’d rather offend my taste buds than offend him again.
He walked over and handed me one of the mugs. As he did, I found my eyes drawn to several small tattoos he had on his upper arm and chest. The one on his upper arm was the emblem of the Green Berets. The one above his left pec was a date. I was pretty sure it was the day Mitchell Knight was killed in Afghanistan. And the other, a woman’s name, was printed across his ribs.
My curiosity burned at full intensity now. I wanted to touch the letters, wanted to run my fingers over those places that were important enough to him to have been permanently etched onto his skin. I wanted to know the stories behind them, to know what was at work in his mind when he chose to have them done.
“It’s not the best,” he said, handing me the mug of coffee.
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
He watched me lift the mug to my lips and struggle not to make a face as the first taste of bitterness touched my tongue. I think he smiled as he took his own sip of his coffee.
“Look,” he said slowly, “I understand that we come from two different backgrounds. You thought you were being polite, that what you said wasn’t meant to offend. I get that. You didn’t have to come all the way out here to apologize again.”
“I don’t think our backgrounds are all that different.”
He snorted a little. “I didn’t grow up in a fancy house in the middle of a big city, attending tea parties and book clubs, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous.”
“What makes you think I did?”
“Didn’t you?”
I blushed, because he was right. My father was a corporate lawyer in Austin, the kind of guy politicians liked to have on their side when it came to their business investments. My father was friends with all the governors who’d held office in the past thirty years, including Ann Richards. He didn’t just rub elbows with the rich and famous, he rubbed elbows with men who had the potential to be our future presidents.
But I’d always resisted that side of my upbringing. I didn’t like being defined by my parents’ chosen lifestyle. That was part of the reason I’d chosen to move to Wyoming. It meant escaping that life and the expectations that came with it. It meant escaping the young lawyer in my father’s firm who’d been my fiancé.
“My childhood doesn’t define me.”
“No. And my job doesn’t define me.”
“I know that. That’s why I’m here.”
He took another long sip of his coffee, his eyes moving slowly over my face. He had really nice eyes. Kind eyes. They made me feel almost as if he was caressing my face with warm fingers.
“Maybe we should start over,” he suggested. He held out his hand. “I’m Hank Stratton.”
“Jonnie Frakes.”
“Jonnie, please.”
“Only if you call me Hank.”
I smiled, pleased with his sense of humor. I forgot what was in the mug I was holding and took another sip simply to give myself something to do that didn’t involve openly checking him out once again. The bitterness hit my tongue, and my gag reflex threatened to embarrass me. I caught myself just in time, biting my tongue as I forced myself to swallow. He laughed as he slipped the coffee out of my hands and carried it back to the kitchen.
“Sorry. I forget that most people don’t appreciate how strong cowboys tend to make their coffee.”
“It wasn’t bad, it was just—”
“It’s bad. I know.”
I sighed, a little giggle slipping out. “It was really bad.”
“There you go. The truth slips out.” He winked to take the sting from his words.
“I’m not a bad person. I just… maybe I’m a little bit of a snob, but only when it comes to literature. I’m just really passionate about good books.”
“It makes you a good teacher.”
I felt a bit of a blush wash over my cheeks. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “We should all do what we’re passionate about.”
“Are you? Are you passionate about your work?”
He looked down at the mugs sitting in the sink, his hands resting on the edge of the counter. “I’m doing the one thing I know better than anything else. I grew up on a ranch. Running cattle and caring for horses is the only thing I’ve ever done. When I got out of the military, it just seemed natural to return to this way of life.”
“How long were you in the military?”
“Eight years.”
That was impressive. I tried to imagine the things he’d seen in that amount of time, but I couldn’t. My privileged upbringing made it impossible for me to relate to such a thing.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe my childhood did define me.
“We’re you always with the Green Berets?”
“Not the whole time. The first year or so I was in the infantry.”
“That’s really impressive.”
He shook his head. “No, I was just doing my job.”
He came back out of the kitchen, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. He almost looked like one of my students, the bashful way in which he came toward me. I wanted to touch his face, to wipe away the little frown that darkened his brow.
I wanted to know him, wanted to know what caused that frown. I wanted to know why he went into the military and why he felt compelled to deny his accomplishments. I wanted to know if he was always this humble or if it was just the violence and the horror he saw in his service that caused him to downplay it all.
I wanted to know him.
“Can I ask how long you’ve been here?”
“On MidKnight?” He shrugged. “A little over a year.”
“Is that how long you’ve been out of the military?”
“No. I’ve been out for three years.”
“I guess your family was happy to have you back.”
“My parents are gone now.” He moved around me, walking toward the door like he was trying to hint that I should leave. But then he picked up a photograph I hadn’t noticed that sat on a low shelf there by the door. He handed it to me. “My parents a few years before the bank foreclosed on the ranch.”
It was a picture of a somber looking couple, an older man with white hair, but a jaw that was very much like Hank’s. The woman was tall and slender, willowy, with dark hair and deep blue eyes much like her son’s.
“They’re handsome.”
He took the picture and looked at it almost as if he was trying to confirm what I’d said. There was grief in his eyes.
“They weren’t cut out for life off the ranch. Living in an apartment, working minimum wage jobs… it was just too much, too insulting.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Some people just aren’t meant for an urban lifestyle.” He took the photo back to its low shelf and turned to look at me. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here to apologize again, but it wasn’t necessary. I was offended because of me, not because of you.”
“I would never suggest that you were less just because of your choices. And if I did, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “You should go. I imagine you have to be up soon for class.”
I nodded, crossing to the door to stand beside him.
“I’d like to get to know you, Hank. I think I could learn a lot from you.”
“I doubt that.”
But he seemed pleased by the idea. His eyes brightened, and he bit back a smile. I touched his arm, no longer able to resist the desire that burned inside of me every time I was near him. And that changed the look in his eyes, made the pleasure turn to something else, something almost like desire. It excited me to a degree I could never define.
He brushed a piece of loose hair out of my face, his fingers lingering on the edge of my jaw. And then his fingertips danced along my jaw to the curve of my neck, slipping into my hair and tilting my head up, pulling me closer to him. We lost ourselves in each other’s eyes for a long moment, and he stared at me intently for such a long time I could almost taste him just from the scent and closeness of him. He might have kissed me if I’d given him enough time, but I grew impatient. I stepped into him and pressed my lips to his, sliding my hand over the center of his chest, touching heated flesh that seemed to burn my palm. He responded, his mouth softening against mine, his lips parting slightly. And then his tongue—just the tip—slipped out to taste me. The feel and taste of it made my bones melt. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep my body upright against his and to keep my knees from buckling completely.
He pushed me backward, invading me as his hands moved down over my back and down my ass. His kiss was rough, a determination pushing to take everything all at once. And I was so willing to give it to him, so willing to give him everything his touch asked for. I slid my fingers into his hair, drawing him tight against me, not wanting to let him go. For a long moment, I was pretty sure he felt the same way. His hands moved under my t-shirt, searching for the bottom edge of my bra, the top edge of my yoga pants. He pressed his body hard against mine and I knew he wanted me and that just added fuel to my need. He pushed his mouth against my lips and my chin, moving slowly down over my throat, nibbling softly all along my neck.
But then he pressed his face against my shoulder, his breath heavy and hot against my skin.
“You should go,” he said softly.
“Hank, I—”
He pulled away, holding out his hands like he wanted to show me he meant no harm.
“You should go,” he repeated. And then he turned and walked away.
I was crushed. I’d thought… I don’t know what I’d thought. I wasn’t really thinking at all. But I knew this wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted him. He was the first man I’d wanted since my life imploded the moment I called my wedding off. He was the first man whose touch felt right since… well, since ever. And he was walking away from me.
I turned and let myself out. His neighbor was coming out of her apartment at that same exact moment, a curious smile turning into something like regret as she met my eye.
“Going down to check the horses. Colic.”
I just nodded, not even sure I understood what she was talking about. I didn’t belong here. As much as I wanted to believe I was well-rounded enough to fit in anywhere, I now knew that I wasn’t. He didn’t want me because I was too different; I was too wrong.
I never should have come here.
Chapter 6
At the Ranch
Sutherland leaned against the counter and watched Becky come into the room, exhaustion dark under her eyes.
“I would ask how things are going, but I’m afraid to hear the answer.”
Becky fell into a chair at the long kitchen table and sighed. “The
y’re improving. I don’t think we’ll have any long-term effects, but it’ll be a few days before we know for sure.”
Sutherland nodded. Six of their ten horses had come down with colic over the last week. Their feed was mildewed because someone had stored it improperly, causing it to get wet. They hadn’t been able to figure out who’d done it because everyone denied it, of course. But it was a blow to their bottom line, especially since the horses hadn’t competed this season due to various minor ailments that made them ineligible. Ten horses that were not earning their room and board. Ten horses that, if not for Elizabeth and the potential earnings, Sutherland would probably just sell to cover the upcoming balloon payment she owed on a loan she’d taken out on the ranch.
Selling just two of the horses would cover it easily. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“I talked to the foreman over at Circle B. He said that they’re still interested in stud services for their mare, if you’re still interested.”
Sutherland nodded. “I got a letter from them. They’re selling the ranch, everything included. Selling out to some Hollywood starlet or something, just like everyone else in this valley.”
“I hadn’t heard that.” Becky sat back and crossed her leg over her knee. “I didn’t think the Reynolds would ever sell.”
“Yes, well, it’s been a hard couple of years for everyone around here.”
Becky’s eyes widened a little with sympathy. She knew the struggle Sutherland had suffered these last few years; she knew what a blow every set back with the horses was. There was no hiding it. But there was also no one in a position to help with it, either. It all landed squarely on Sutherland’s shoulders, including Becky’s job, her salary, and her apartment. If the ranch were to fall, she’d be out on the street just like everyone else.
“Are they keeping their cowhands?”
Sutherland nodded. “Jane Reynolds told me that was part of the contract. The new owner had to keep the current employees on for at least a year and give them ninety days’ notice before he let them go after that year.”
“That was smart.”
“Smarter than what the Jensens did. I still see a couple of those guys around town. One of them works at the Dairy Queen on Main Street.”
Gray Wolf Security: Wyoming Page 5