by Stasia Black
But then she forced her eyes shut as she shoved the check into her pocket. She’d already been over this a thousand times. Even if she didn’t need the money to live on, she couldn’t afford the boarding fees and all the other costs that came along with owning a horse. There was no way to justify spending six to seven hundred dollars a month when it wasn’t an absolute necessity. Not if she wanted Dad to stay in the best nursing home around. It was the same reason she’d sold her truck earlier in the week.
So she squared her shoulders. “Could you drop me in town? I need to deposit this.”
And then go get a stiff drink. Or ten.
She’d gone to the bank, then walked down to Bubba’s where she’d been warming a barstool all night.
Calla stood up straight and swiped at her eyes when she saw Carl pulling up in his Honda Odyssey. Lord, she couldn’t believe she’d let herself stand here in the dark and wallow like a little baby. So she’d had a crap run of luck lately. So what? Plenty folks had it harder.
She was young. Healthy, at least for now. And she had a place to stay and a good job for the foreseeable future.
No more pity parties. She took one more deep breath and jogged over to the back seat of the van.
“Where to?” Carl asked after she pulled open the back door and got inside. He was a bald guy in his late fifties who used to play poker with her dad.
“The Kent ranch.”
Carl nodded and pulled onto Main Street. “I heard you was gonna go work out there after losing your dad’s place.” Carl was also one of the prime movers of gossip in Hawthorne. She’d often thought he might be a driver for the gossip as much as for the extra income.
Calla’s mouth went tight but she nodded as Carl went on.
“Kent’s a good man. None of us was too sure about him when he bought up the old resort and moved here. What with his face all mangled like it is.”
Calla looked out the window, hoping to dissuade conversation but Carl wasn’t put off.
“But he and that wife of his are good folks. Just look at ‘em helping you out.” Carl nodded, glancing back toward Calla. “Good folks.”
Calla kept her gaze trained out the window. “It’s been a long day. I’m just going to close my eyes till we get there.”
“I bet. Heard you even had to sell your horse to the Mendoza boy. Awful sad. I remember seeing your picture in the paper with her when you won those first-place ribbons back in high school. Your daddy was so proud he carried a cutout from the Gazette and showed anybody who would give him five minutes.”
Okay, Carl was clearly getting up there in years if he thought that had been her dad bragging on her. Yeah she and Prissy had won ribbons—first place in the regional rodeo her senior year— but Carl must be mixing her up with someone else’s daughter. If her dad ever had anything to say about her, it was complaining how she wasn’t keeping up with chores, no matter how hard she worked her butt off. It was never enough for him.
She leaned back into the seat and shut her eyes. Carl eventually got the picture and stopped talking.
She must have actually fallen asleep because it felt like only moments later when the car was pulling to a stop.
Calla sat up, looking around. The big ranch house was dark. Little wonder since most ranchers woke up before dawn. She pulled out her phone and glanced down. It was ten-forty-five going on eleven.
She tipped Carl and then got out. She’d moved her stuff in and gotten the key yesterday. It was probably foolhardy and sentimental to have gone back to her own place last night. But she hadn’t been able to say goodbye knowing she could have one more night there. It wasn’t any easier to do it today, though, so she might as well have gotten it over with yesterday.
She shook her head at herself as she pulled her keys out of her pocket and unlocked the front door. Carl waited until she was inside before driving off.
There were a couple of nightlights that lit up the central staircase and she went up as quiet as she could. She didn’t want anyone waking up on her account. Mel and Xavier had three little boys all under six years old.
To her relief she made it to her room at the end of the hall without her encountering anyone. She flipped on her light. And then groaned when she saw all her still-packed boxes. The bed looked inviting. First, a shower, though.
Calla paused on her way to the attached bathroom, noticing a note lying on the pillow. She leaned over and picked it up.
Left a plate of food for you in the fridge in case you’re hungry. So glad you’ll be staying here. There was a little heart and then Mel.
Calla smiled. She didn’t know Mel very well, but from the few times Calla had interacted with her, she seemed pretty great. Food sounded good but still—shower. If ever she’d needed to wash a day off, it was this one.
She paused when she got in the bathroom, looking at her reflection. She pulled her hair out of the stubby little ponytail and ran her fingers through it. It was almost long enough to touch her shoulders.
She’d worn it short since she was a little kid. When Mom left, Dad started cutting her hair and gave her the same cut he did himself—he slapped a one-inch guard on the trimmers and mowed everything else off. In her late teens she’d started going over to Betty’s to get it cut there, but she’d still kept it short. What did she know about having girly hair? Nothing, that’s what.
She tugged on the ends and frowned at herself. She still didn’t know a damn thing about it, which was why she kept it tied back under the cap she always wore.
But maybe she could wear it down sometimes. When she wasn’t doing ranch work anyway. She frowned and turned away, turning the shower to hot and then stepping in.
The steam loosened her muscles but fifteen minutes later after shampooing and shaving, her mind wasn’t any quieter.
Maybe if she…
Her hand dropped down her stomach. And then lower.
But her usual fantasies weren’t quite—
Hey man, wrong bathroom. This is the ladies.
“Ugh!” She slammed the shower knob to the off position and stepped out, toweling herself brusquely.
She wrapped a towel around herself and then paused for her nightly ritual. She lifted up her left leg. And waited, concentrating hard to see if there was even the slightest tremor in the limb. Yeah, her dad’s Huntington’s hadn’t developed until he was forty-three, but plenty people experienced early onset. She dropped her left leg and lifted her right, going through the process all over again. Then her left and right arm.
She breathed out and leaned back against the bathroom door. And recited the alphabet backwards three times.
“E, D, C, B, A,” she whispered, lifting a hand to her forehead. Safe for one more day. She shook her head and pushed back out into the bedroom.
She grabbed her overalls off the ground and the fortune cookie fell out of the pocket. She went to throw it in the little trash by the toilet but then paused.
Rolling her eyes at herself, she ripped the little package and pulled out the cookie. Cracking it in half, she slid the little paper out and read the message.
Live every day like it’s your last.
She couldn’t help but laugh. Wow. Spot on, fortune cookie gods. Considering any day could be the beginning of the end for her.
As shitty as today had been, what the hell would she do if tomorrow she detected a tremor?
She rolled her eyes again. God, she was being an idiot, letting a goddamned fortune cookie get to her. It was just a stupid gimmick. Bubba had probably ordered the damn things from Fortune Cookies R Us.
Popping the stale cookie in her mouth, she munched on it while she gathered her dirty clothes and tossed them in her laundry bag. She pulled on an oversized University of Wyoming t-shirt.
Then her stomach rumbled. Hmm. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Probably not the best idea to eat at eleven-fifteen.
But Mel had gone through all the trouble of making her a plate. Who was she to deny the woman the opportunity to be
hospitable?
Calla headed back downstairs. Mel had showed her around yesterday so she knew where the kitchen was.
She flipped on the light and went for the fridge. She was leaning over to look for the plate Mel had left her.
And only remembered she was just in a T-shirt that skimmed the top of her thighs when a low, masculine voice said, “Well hello, gorgeous.”
Chapter 4
MACK
The first thing Mack knew was that he wanted her.
Whoever the woman with the sweetly curved ass currently pawing through the refrigerator was, he wanted her. Which made no damn sense because one, he didn’t know her from Adam and two, he didn’t go for that shit anymore.
He’d made it his business a long time ago not to want anybody ever again. Some people in this world were shit. They were born shit, and they’d die shit. He was one of those people. It had taken him a long time to accept it. He’d even tried going to college and pretending to be something other than he was. Lasted a whole four months. ‘Cause fuck it. Truth was truth.
He tried not to spread his shit around too much. Kept to himself.
So wanting someone, anyone, but especially the owner of that particular sweet ass was a problem.
Then again, maybe this was just a dream. Maybe he was still upstairs, face down on his bed.
His sleep had been restless all week. It got like that sometimes. Too many ghosts came out at night. You didn’t spend eight years in lock-up without getting jumpy when the lights went out.
He’d come down to the kitchen to do what he always did when he couldn’t sleep. He plotted. He went through, step by step, his plan to take revenge when the time was right.
“Well hello, gorgeous,” he said, still half-convinced he was talking to a dream.
The way she squealed and jumped about a foot in the air sure seemed fucking real, though.
Shit. Mack hadn’t meant to scare her. He sat back in his chair at the little table near the bay window and held up his hands.
She gasped and spun around.
Mack expected her to recoil once she saw him. Covered in tattoos from his neck to his wrists, he knew he could be an intimidating bastard. That was generally the point—but never when it came to women.
Her body relaxed when she saw him though and she let out a shaky laugh. “I didn’t see you.”
“Sorry,” Mack said, still eyeing her up and down and waiting for her to flinch away from his gaze.
Instead she let the refrigerator door fall shut and she walked toward him, hand extended. “Hi there, I’m Cal. I’ve seen you around but I guess we’ve never officially met.”
Chicks usually reacted to him one of two ways. Either they took one look at his tattoos and reacted like he was about to steal their shit and murder them. Or they saw him and thought sex. Couldn’t say he minded either reaction, generally.
But Calla didn’t flash him a smile or flip her hair or any of the other shit women of the second persuasion usually did. She just looked friendly, hand still held out.
Mack stared for a moment, then took her hand and gave it a shake. What was her deal? “Mack.”
“Good to meet ya, Mack.” Then she tilted her head and stared at him more intently. “So, you regularly sit in dark rooms ready to scare the bejesus out of people?”
He cracked a smile at that. She was cute. He held up his empty glass. “A glass of milk helps me sleep sometimes.”
“Milk?” The edge of her mouth quirked up.
He shrugged. “Ran out of tequila.”
She shook her head, the slight smile still in place. “Well good luck with that.”
Then she turned back to the fridge and resumed hunting for whatever it was she’d been after in the first place. He watched her as she pulled out a plate that had aluminum foil covering it with a little post-it.
For Calla ONLY. He’d seen it earlier when he got his milk and smirked because Mel and everybody else knew that anything in the fridge was fair game unless marked. Which meant most the time the fridge was running on empty except right after the weekly groceries. Having six grown men on the property would do that.
Calla didn’t look at him again as she pulled off the foil and then went over to the microwave, popping in the plate of meatloaf, potatoes and beans. It took her a couple tries to figure out the settings, but soon it was whirring and lit up as it reheated her food. She kept her body toward the counter, back to him.
Was she just pretending to ignore him? If there was one thing Mack could say about himself, it was that he provoked reaction in people. It was a little disconcerting to have her be so oblivious to him.
Unless it was an act. Chicks did that sometimes. At least the ones that were trying to play it cool.
Curious, he stood up, grabbing his milk glass and taking it to the sink. His path led him right by her.
She glanced his way and gave him a polite nod but then went back to watching her food cook.
All right, either this woman was the best actress he’d ever met or she genuinely didn’t give a damn if he was there or not.
He should have walked away right then. Man he was, plans he had, he should have given her the silent treatment he did everyone else and forgot her existence. Forgot how her apple-bottomed ass had looked when she bent over to look in the fridge. He shoulda forgot how her clear, pale skin and moon eyes had looked at him so huge and innocent as she held out her hand to him.
But Mack was shit. Always had been and always would be. And if there was one truth about shit, it was that shit liked to stick. To dirty up clean things. To befoul them.
A thought which again, shoulda had him running the other direction.
One problem kept popping up in the way of sane, rational thought, though.
He wanted her.
He’d been feeling restless lately. He’d come out to this little patch of nowhere to kill time until… well, until he did what needed doing.
He thought he’d come out here and pass a few years under the radar. Wait it out.
It shoulda been enough just to live. To be a free man living in the world. When he first came to the ranch a couple years ago, just getting away from all the shit back in Jersey had been enough. He could go hang out with the horses when he got sick of people. The manual labor of the ranch was usually enough to clear his mind. He liked working with his hands.
It had been peaceful. Sort of. Until night came anyway. Then his hands were still and there was nothing to do except think.
Like tonight. He’d jolted awake with his fists clenched and his heart racing. Bone’s goddamned voice ringing in his head. When he looked at the clock, he saw he’d barely been asleep for half an hour.
Losing himself in a woman could be just what he needed. Right after he got out, he’d fucked any woman that gave him half a glance. You didn’t go without pussy for that long and not want to drown yourself cock-deep for a few weeks.
He’d needed to prove to himself he was normal, maybe. So there, he’d proved he could screw a chick no problem. Meant he hadn’t been fucked up by all the shit that went down inside, right? Not permanently anyway.
But easy pussy got tiresome real quick. Plus, what did any of it mean except confirming he could still stick his cock in a hole, shut off his brain, and fuck till he came?
Great, his dick wasn’t broken.
That had never been the problem though, had it? It was his head that had gotten fucked ten ways from Sunday in that place.
He moved out here and hadn’t gone chasing tail since. His right hand worked just fine. Plans he had, he didn’t need any woman getting caught up in his shit. Even if he was tempted, the town was so small and insular, well, he knew better than to shit where he ate.
Hadn’t been a problem.
At least until now.
The woman said she’d seen him around and he wondered where the fuck she meant because surely, he would have noticed her.
He washed out his cup, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
She had a square face and strong features for a woman. Sharp cheekbones and an angular jaw. Pale, pink lips. Her chin-length hair fell over one half of her face and she tucked it behind her ear before looking over at him.
“You’re staring,” she said bluntly.
Mack cracked a grin. She was interesting. Mack couldn’t remember the last time anything had interested him. “I am.” He continued staring.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s rude to stare.” The microwave beeped and she reached to pull the plate out but Mack beat her to the punch.
“Let me get that for you. Don’t want you to burn yourself on the plate. They’re ceramic. They get hot.”
He tagged a kitchen towel from the oven beside the sink and popped the microwave door. He had to lean into her side to do it. An intentional move. His chest brushed up against her side as he pulled the steaming plate from the microwave. He didn’t miss her quick intake of breath. So she wasn’t completely unaffected by him.
She kept her head down while he set the plate on the counter in front of her. He didn’t move away, though. He stayed right where he was, intruding on her personal space. It was a dick move but if she told him to back off, he wouldn’t push it.
The devil in him was too curious to see how she’d react.
She finally turned her face his way. Her eyes were a golden hazel and they flashed at him in a way that had his cock stirring to life.
“Am I in your way or something?” she asked. She started to slide to the left but Mack moved with her.
“No. You’re not in my way.”
She paused at his words, her head tilted toward him and her eyebrows furrowing like she was confused.
“I’m right where I mean to be,” he clarified. When she didn’t try to pull away again, he dropped his hands to the counter on either side of her, caging her in.
That got him another little breathy inhale as her eyes searched his. Fuck, but it made his balls tight when she did that.
“You are?” Her eyebrows went up slightly. Her surprise seemed genuine. Then her eyes dropped to his mouth.
“Fuck yes I am,” he all but growled. Her eyes flicked between his and then again to his mouth, like she couldn’t stop looking at it.