Her irritated growl didn’t match her smile. “Thank you.” She took his warm hand and allowed him to help her out of the truck. “Next time I’ll get out in time, though. Maybe fast enough to open your door. What would you say then?”
“I would say, thank you, since you’d bested me in the gentleman department. Of course, you’ll never do that, because I am awesome, so you should just give up and take it like a chick.” He shut the door behind her. “Hear that? Take it.”
“Jerk.” Christie laughed and fished her keys out of her handbag. She felt his presence behind her and rolled her eyes. “Our deal doesn’t extend to the door.”
“Take it.” He waited beside her as she fit the key in the lock of the tiny, one bedroom house. Technically, it was an unused shed poorly turned into a house while illegally ignoring all the building codes, but it was cheap and it did the job. It was hers – until the rental agreement was up – and that was more than she could say about any other place she’d ever lived.
She took her key out of the lock and pushed open the door. Turning to Greg, she opened her arms so he would lean down for a hug. His big arms dwarfed her waist and his warmth made her shiver, realizing how chilled the weather had become.
“How are you not freezing?” she asked, leaning back and waiting for him to do the same. The skin on his arm felt cool to her touch. She put her hand in the middle of his chest, then laughed as his pecs turned into boulders. “Easy, killer. Just trying to figure out the cause of your genetic enhancement. Are you made of lava? Or, I know—” She snapped. “You’re a shape shifter, right? Like from Twilight.”
“Admitting I knew what you were talking about would make me a laughing stock of this county.” Greg smirked and stepped away. He put his hands into his pockets and glanced past her. Inside.
“Okay. Well, thanks for the ride!” Christie threw him a wave and tramped into her house. Without a backward glance, she pushed the door shut. Then paused.
Blowing out a breath, she braced both palms against the worn wood, then leaned against the barrier for a moment, getting her bearings. Emotions, past and present, sifted down and settled around her, pushing and pulling. Warring with each other.
She turned and fell back against the door, breathing deeply and searching for that balance. She needed to find the calm of solitude. The safety of it. To shed the fear.
Greg blew out a breath and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. That hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. New job, new truck, more money, and just about ready to put an offer on his dream house—didn’t girls love all that stuff?
Or maybe she didn’t know about the house. He needed to be better at sharing his achievements.
Still, shiny new truck with an extended cab for kids or sex or a drum set—whatever.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and scuffed his shoe against the ground.
Good thing she didn’t have a peephole. She’d be able to see him standing there like a goon, trying to summon up the courage to knock on the door.
Hell with it.
He took three steps and raised his fist, ready to knock. Tense arm braced, he slightly leaned in and…dropped his hand with an exhale.
She’d say no. He knew she would. She didn’t let people into her home for some reason. It was like Fort Knox, protecting the most beautiful, pleasantly witty woman in the world. She’d say no, and he’d give away that he wanted more than friendship. That was the kiss of death. When a girl got a whiff that her guy-friend wanted to knock boots, she hiked up her skirts and ran for the hills. That was getting a girl 101.
Although, in a year of pursuing on the sly, he still hadn’t gotten any closer than a hug, a handshake, or a punch in the arm. He shouldn’t have asked her on a date those couple times. It had put her on to him. Women had long memories. Like elephants.
They could stomp on a man like an elephant, too.
He turned toward the truck and stared off into the distance. An image of her smile drifted into his memory, then the feel of her body as she pressed against him in that tight hug. Warmth seeped into his middle as other parts stiffened.
She really was a beauty. Those brilliant blue eyes, mischievous and kindhearted, sparkled right before she made him feel like a dummy. He liked smart women. She was funny, too. Perky and upbeat. She always had a quip to lighten anyone’s day.
For the millionth time, he wondered why she was so closed off. Was it him?
Another memory surfaced -- her outside Sara’s hospital room nearly a year ago after the…incident. Christie had stopped, stared at nothing for a second with glistening eyes, and scowled. Then she’d swallowed, taken a deep breath, and shook herself out. After that, she was like an archangel, handling Sara and those around her with a practiced hand and a knowing, haunted look in her eye while working with Jake on how to get the best revenge. A woman didn't know how to do all that off the top of her head. She must've lived through something terrible. Life changing.
Greg climbed into the truck and layered the top of the steering wheel with his forearms. The raspy bark of a raven sounded from a tree to the right. The great bird studied his truck with a beady, black eye.
The girl even had attack birds. Fort Knox mixed with Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. Horrifying stuff.
Greg turned the key with a shake of his head. Whatever had happened to her, she hadn’t explained, not even to Sara. From what Greg had heard, the few times Christie had broken down, she quickly wiped her face, and a moment later found a smile to beam at the world. She didn’t stay down for long.
Before he pulled out of the shoddy excuse for a driveway, Greg sent a last glance at that broken, disheveled door. Maybe she didn’t let anyone in her house because it was too like letting someone into her soul. She hid behind that old, decaying door, praying it held up through winter, never asking or accepting help to fix it, and never allowing anyone to pass through to the girl inside.
Greg knocked the gear into reverse.
Or maybe it was just him.
Chapter 2
With a hop in her step and a smile on her face, Christie bounded down the bus steps and then turned back. James, the bus driver, followed with a folded up wagon. He set the item on the ground and scowled at it. “I don’t know what you need with one of these.”
Christie looked over his shoulder to her oversized duffle laying on the floor next to the driver’s seat. “I’ll just get—”
“No, no, don’t you worry. I got it.” He moved back up the steps and then bent down slowly before grabbing hold of the thick, canvas straps. If he were a piece of machinery, he would’ve squeaked and groaned with each movement.
“I can—” she stepped up onto the first step and reached for the bag.
“No, no, I got it.” Slow but not steady, the older man clunked down the stairs carrying the heavy duffle bag.
“Thanks,” she said, directing the bag to the ground next to the folded up wagon. She glanced at the bus and smile-grimaced at Mable, the most ordinary woman in town, whose two painted eyebrows formed a “V” across her forehead. She did not like a tardy bus. Currently, Christie was not her favorite person.
“I got it, Mr. Jameson. Thank you.”
“Now…” James scratched his head and looked out in the direction of the distant dude ranch. “You ain’t gonna be able to carry that. All that way?”
“No, see—” With a glance at Mable again, Christie yanked on two sides of the wagon so it flopped outward. She then locked the two longer sides in place. She hefted the pack and dropped it into the wagon. “No sweat.”
“But…” James put his hands way back on his hips, and looked out at the ranch again. He pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose and showed his teeth as he squinted at the distance. The man was more animated than a cartoon. “That is an awfully long way. Don’t you have someone that can drive you?”
“Nope. I’m good. Really. I’m fine.” Christie noticed Mable shifting and her lips crinkling. Christie knew from experience that she was ab
out to launch into a tirade,. “I’ll be okay, Mr. Jameson, really. Thank you.” She bent to capture the handle and started walking. The large, soft rubber tires with outdoor tread dug in, easily traversing the rocky ground. It had been a tough hundred dollars to part with, but oh-so-worth it in the end. Groceries, household items, and the occasional small child in town had made a trip in that wagon at one time or another.
“Well, okay then. But I still think you shoulda got some help,” James called after her.
“Bah,” Christie said to herself, conjuring up a steady pace. “It’s just a walk and I’m a long distance runner. What’s the big deal?”
She changed her tune half-way through.
Feet on fire and her hand feeling worse, she leaned forward and huffed rhythmically as she dragged the stubborn wagon up the hill to the ranch. All told the trek was five or six miles. With nothing more than a pair of sneakers and a sunny day, she could handle it. With a heavy pack, a loaded wagon, and gravity…
“What was I thinking?” she whined as she stopped. The wagon pulled at her arm, trying to slip back down the hill. She yanked to the side, turning the tires across the slope. It still tried to escape.
“Come on.” Her nail bent back on the hard ground as she snatched up a rock. “Ow!” She dropped the rock behind the tire and squeezed her fist around her injured finger. “Dang it.” After shaking out her hand, the pain hadn’t gone away. It actually chorused the pain sounding off in her back, legs, arms, neck…
“What was I thinking?”
She delicately placed the handle of the wagon down, then braced for it to race off. Nothing happened. Finally straightening up, she kneaded her lower back. The hill—mountain, actually—rose steeply in front of her for probably another mile. One mile left. That wasn’t very far.
She glowered at the wagon.
Yes it was.
Her exhale was loud as she crossed the pavement. Ten feet beyond the edge of the road the land dropped away into a steep slide. The valley stretched out below, housing a glimmering stream winding through into the distance.
It could’ve been worse. She could’ve started from way down there. Thank God for buses.
Her back popped as she swung her arms side-to-side. The rest of her body made her groan.
“One more mile.” She looked up the hill. Then at her wagon.
She could do it. She could make it. She’d done worse in harder conditions. If something had to be done, it was just a question of gritting her teeth and bearing it.
Stealing her resolve, she crossed to the wagon and picked up the handle. Moses moved mountains, she could climb one.
Or was it someone else who moved the mountains…
After another ten minutes of anguish, the hum of a distant truck caught her attention. She slowed in her trudge and looked back. The sound grew louder, growling now. This road was narrow and it led to only one place. If someone was traveling up here, they were going to the ranch.
In that moment, she decided to throw out a thumb. She hadn’t wanted to disturb someone’s day by asking for a ride, but if they were already en route, what was the harm in going with them?
The growl turned into the sound of a small jet plane. It roared up the road behind her until it crawled around the bend. Faded gray and beaten to hell, Jake’s truck lumbered along.
If Greg was right, and taking care of a truck was like taking care of a lady, Jake was a keeper. His truck should’ve died a long time ago—it must’ve taken serious tenacity to keep that thing on the road. That, or it took magic and unicorn farts as the gasoline.
“Jake!” Christie waved one of her arms, jerking too far right. Her tired fingers pulled loose from the wagon handle.
It took one moment for the wagon to realize its freedom, and one more moment to break for it. It started rolling back down the hill.
“Oh shit!” She lurched after it on exhausted legs, her speed gone and grace nonexistent. It gave a few small bounces as it picked up speed, then gave a hop. The wheels jumped in their course, found a new route, and rolled for it like the devil. It was heading over the side!
It bounced again. The duffle shook in its grasp, but didn’t abandon ship. She was going to lose them both!
The roar of Jake’s truck sounded like a turbine. It sped up and veered dangerously close to the edge of the road, hitting the wagon with a sickening crunch.
“Oh…no,” Christie said as she stumbled to a stop, breathing heavy. Mangled metal and canvas peeked out from under Jake’s truck. Her duffle was smushed between the bumper and the remnants of $100.
“It’s ruined,” she said softly, knowing that if Jake hadn’t been there, it would’ve been lost and her clothes with it. He’d probably saved her money in the end, but she needed a moment to mourn.
The passenger door opened and Jake stepped out, not able to leave by the driver’s side because of the steep cliff. He walked to the front and looked down at the death of her wagon. Bending, he reached under, grabbed it, and then strained. Her wagon wasn’t budging. Without a word, he climbed back into his truck, slid across the bench seat to the driver’s side, and backed the truck up slowly. Metal squealed as aluminum twisted and bent. Frayed canvas tickled the blotchy duffle bag.
“Is that…oil?” Christie groaned as she tiptoed closer. Black drips splashed the blue.
Jake’s footsteps scuffed the ground next to her. He picked up the duffle in one hand and the murdered wagon in the other. She followed, as silent as he always was, he set one item into the truck bed and tossed the other in.
He had no respect for the dead.
“Can I have a ride?” she asked in a small voice.
Jake crossed to his side, it being accessible once he had reversed the truck, before climbing in. He made a small gesture with his index finger. Climb in.
The door banged off the frame.
“Gotta slam it,” Jake said.
“Right.” Christie put her frustration into it, but with all her energy sapped from the walk, the door just banged again. One more try, with two hands and a precarious lean, she pulled with everything she had, finally lodging the door and shaking the truck. “Got it.”
“You walk from…” Jake’s opened-ended question hung in the air.
“The bus stop. I got the bus.”
The truck lurched to a start and began to crawl up the hill. He grunted and then braced a hand on his leg.
She knew that a lot of the permanent employees could read Jake from his small actions and mannerisms. A grunt meant one thing, and a head-tilt and the same grunt meant something else. A word might as well have been a shout.
She knew him, but didn’t know him, and had no idea what he was trying to convey. She bet it wasn’t: “Great thinking. More people should walk five miles, up hill, with heavy luggage, and then get so tired they almost lose everything over the side of the road. Well done!”
Feeling the need to defend herself, she said, “I’ve walked five miles plenty of times. In the snow.”
“Seven.”
“What’s that?”
He shifted in a way that suggested he was uncomfortable speaking.
Or maybe he was annoyed.
“Seven miles from that bus stop. You got five.”
“Oh.” Christie looked at the steep road in front of them and tried to imagine doing another two miles. Confidence covered her uncertainty like a threadbare rug. “I would’ve made it.”
Jake grunted and glanced off to the side. “Prob’ly.”
That surprised her. Not many people had faith in her harebrained ideas, even though she usually came through.
Today, though…
“Honestly, I was about out of steam. I might’ve called for help,” she admitted.
“Doubt it. Hard headed.”
Christie frowned at him. She looked back at the road, seeing the wooden archway reading “Triple T Ranch.”
“So what’s the season look like?” she asked. “We going to have any openings?”
�
��Nope. Full.”
She nodded as the grouping of squatting log buildings came into view. Out in front, stretching across the ground in an elegant settler style abode, was the main house and restaurant where she would be spending most of her working time.
“I heard Greg got prompted,” Christie said as the truck wound around to the right and headed to a parking area for the ranch trucks.
“He’s smart. Talented.”
“Speak of the devil…” She nodded as they stopped next to Greg’s shiny new truck.
“Patient,” Jake said in a grunt as he got out of the truck.
“Who, him or me?” She climbed out after him and sagged. “I really don’t know that I would’ve lasted another two miles.” Her neck popped as she rolled it. Her back muscles screamed at her.
Aside from the splatters of oil, large wet patches soaked through her duffle. She had a sneaking suspicion they were her bath products. She’d have to wring the canvas to get conditioner. Or wring out her clothes.
“Him.” Jake scratched at one of the black splotches, then he walked to the front of his truck and looked under. His grunt didn’t tell her much, but his action meant she’d pointed out a leak he didn’t know about.
You’re welcome. She put out her hand for the duffle. “Thanks, Jake. I owe you.”
He straightened, didn’t look at her, and walked toward the stables.
“Uh…” She followed, grimacing when he emitted a long, shrill whistle. A moment later a guy of about her age jogged in their direction.
“Noah,” she said, smiling.
“Ah, hey, Christie.” Noah brushed back his mop of brown hair to reveal a splash of freckles across his nose and cheeks, giving a boyish cuteness to a strong jaw and otherwise chiseled appearance. “Back for the season, huh?”
He smiled at her, showing mostly straight teeth. “Hey Christie. I’m permanent now, actually.”
Jake pushed the duffle bag at him.
“Oh, no—I can get it.” Christie moved to intercept the exchange.
“This going to the main house?” Noah asked Jake. He didn’t get an answer. Jake just stalked off.
Conquering Love Page 2