by Linda Turner
“All set,” he told Lise as the mailman waved at Lise and drove off in a cloud of dust. “Lead the way, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously at that. “It’s Lise,” she corrected him. “Just Lise. We don’t stand on ceremony around here.”
He’d already figured as much, but he could see that pushing her buttons was going to be an enjoyable pastime he hadn’t expected. “Whatever you say, ma’am. Your father told me I’d get along fine here as long as I followed orders. Where is he, by the way? I’d like to thank him in person for the job.”
He glanced around casually, but inside, every nerve ending was standing at full alert. He’d been on the move nonstop for the last twenty-four hours in hopes of catching Simon unaware on his own turf. One phone call to Belinda, his contact at SPEAR, and he could have backup there in fifteen minutes or less.
Any hope of capturing the bastard that easily, however, died a swift death when Lise said just as casually, “You could if he was here, but he had to leave early this morning for a business meeting in London. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”
Yeah, right, Steve thought cynically. Who the hell did she think she was fooling? She might appear to be as honest and straightforward as Mother Teresa, but only a fool bought into that act. And Steve was nobody’s fool. She was Simon’s daughter, for God’s sake, and probably the only person in the world he really trusted completely. Of course she knew when the bastard was coming back. She was just protecting him. Steve couldn’t allow himself to forget that she would, no doubt, continue to do that at all cost.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to thank him another time,” he said easily, and silently promised himself it wouldn’t be long.
They reached the bunkhouse, and she preceded him inside. Far from disappointed that things at the station weren’t quite as he’d expected, Steve glanced around his new home and decided that this wasn’t going to be so bad. Granted, there was little privacy, but he could find a way to work around that. Especially if it meant uncovering Simon’s dirty little secrets. This was the one place in the world where the traitor felt safe. With any luck, he kept records here not only of his illegal activities, but also of the network of contacts he used around the world to carry out his evil plans. If Steve could uncover that kind of information, SPEAR could not only finally capture Simon, but finally shut down his entire operation worldwide.
“It’s not the Ritz,” Lise said stiffly, “but I haven’t heard any of my men complaining. They have their own space, and they eat good. I make sure of that. The cook here is one of the best in the country.”
Realizing he was frowning in concentration and she’d taken that for disapproval of the accommodations, he blinked, and just that quickly flashed a grin at her. “Now you’re talking, boss lady. I think I’m going to like it here.”
She bristled at the title he’d labeled her with, and it was all he could do not to chuckle. He wasn’t teasing—he only had to look around to know that he really was going to like it there. As a kid, he hadn’t been able to wait until the day he could leave the dairy farm he’d grown up on in Wisconsin, but deep down inside, he’d been missing the place ever since. Lately, he’d been thinking maybe it was time to go back. He’d worked for SPEAR a long time, and the world of intrigue and adventure could be addictive, but there was a part of his soul that ached to get back to his roots, to a place where he could relax and get back to nature. For now, this just might be that place. Granted, he still had to be on guard, and the outback wasn’t Wisconsin, but there was something about the whisper of the wind across the dry, parched, endless land that called to him. It wasn’t home, but it felt like it.
He didn’t fool himself into thinking his mission—or the cover he’d adopted—would be easy. On a station the size of the Pear Tree, there was a lot of work to be done and never enough time in the day to do it all. The men put in a long day, and if Steve needed proof of just how hard the work was, he got it later that evening when the rest of the crew returned to the bunkhouse when their shift was over.
Straggling in, their faces baked as brown as the land by the hot, unforgiving desert sun, they were dirty and sweaty and sporting various cuts and bruises. They wanted a shower and food, in that order, and nothing was getting in their way. Taking time only to greet Steve and introduce themselves, they headed for the showers, then the dining hall.
Far from offended, Steve knew they would loosen up some after they had a chance to clean up and fill their bellies, and he was right. The long table in the dining hall of the bunkhouse had barely been cleared off before Nate, the oldest of the six cowboys, pulled out a deck of cards. Thin and wiry and weathered from years spent working in the elements, he had the kind of face that didn’t give away his age. With a thatch of gray at his temples and brown hair that was naturally thin, he could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty.
His faded blue eyes twinkling with a challenge, he held the pack of cards to Steve. “You up to a game of poker, mate?”
Liking him immediately, Steve grinned. “Well, now, that depends. I’m not much of a gambler. How about you?”
He shrugged. “I lose more than I win, but I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”
Steve watched smothered grins spread through the rest of the cowboys and knew he was being set up. Not bothering to hide his grin, he’d expected as much. He was the odd man out and a Yank, to boot, and if he’d been in their shoes, he would have done the same thing. The way a man played poker said a hell of a lot about him.
Pulling out a chair across the table from the older man, he said, “I’m in. Name your stakes.”
Chairs scraped on the old wooden floor as the others quickly joined in, someone pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and the game was on.
It didn’t take long for his companions to figure out that Steve was no slouch when it came to cards—or for him to realize that they could hold their own with him when it came to bluffing. Especially Nate. He could be holding everything from a royal flush to nothing but a pair of deuces, but you’d never know it from the easygoing grin on his face.
And that made him a very dangerous man indeed, Steve acknowledged. When you couldn’t tell what someone was thinking, you didn’t dare turn your back on him. He knew that, accepted it and didn’t intend to forget it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t thoroughly enjoy pitting his wits against Nate and every other man there. From the way things were looking, first with the daughter, then Nate and the rest of the hands, this mission was going to be a hell of a lot more fun than he’d expected.
Losing his second hand in a row to the older man, Steve watched him rake in winnings that at the outset of the hand he’d been sure were his, and he could do nothing but swear good-naturedly. “You’ve got a hell of a way of losing there, mate. You ever let anyone else lose?”
“Not if I can help it.” He chuckled. “I kind of like it this way.”
“I can see why you would,” Steve drawled, amused. “Just don’t get too comfortable. Things are about to change.”
Far from perturbed, Nate only grinned. “I wouldn’t go spending my winnings just yet, if I were you. From where I’m sitting, you haven’t got any.”
“The night’s not over yet,” Steve retorted, his own grin wide. “Deal.”
With nothing more than that, the challenge was issued and the stakes were raised. Enjoying himself, Steve won the next two hands, then lost three. But he couldn’t complain. The game stayed friendly, and it gave him a chance to learn more about Lise and her elusive father.
Tossing his ante into the middle of the table for the next game, he said with studied casualness, “I guess things are pretty easy around here when the boss is away, huh? How long’s he going to be gone?”
In the process of taking a sip of his whiskey, Chuck, the youngest of the group, nearly choked. “What are you talking about? The old man doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what’s going on around here. He’s not here half the time. Lise is the one who keeps this plac
e going.”
“And she does a damn good job of it,” Preston, the quiet one of the group, said proudly.
The others nodded in agreement, and there was no question that Lise was respected by all of them. “She’s a good boss,” Nate said. “I never worked for a better one.”
“No kidding?” Steve said. “This place must be half the size of Texas. You sure her boyfriend’s not helping her? That’s an awful lot of responsibility for a woman alone.”
Fishing for more information, Steve threw the bait out and didn’t have to wait long for a response. “Lise ain’t got no boyfriend,” Frankie, a big, balding hulk of a cowboy, said with a crooked grin. “Never has, as far as I remember.”
“Wait a minute,” Barney said. A short, husky man with a tattoo of a mermaid on his arm, he had a wicked grin and the very devil in his eyes. “Don’t go forgetting old man McEnnis. He was sweet on her there for a while.”
“Sweet, my eye,” Nate retorted. “The old geezer didn’t have any teeth! And he died the next week! That ain’t no boyfriend. That’s a nightmare!”
Everyone laughed at that, including Steve, even as he filed away the information for future use. So Lise didn’t have a man in her life, and from the sound of it, never had. That would make romancing her a hell of a lot easier, if that’s what he had to do to find out more information about her father.
In her father’s study in the main house, Lise sat at his oversize desk and was frowning at the ranch books when there was a knock at the study door. Glancing up, she smiled at the sight of Tuck standing on the threshold with his hat in his hand, looking for all the world like an overgrown kid being called on the carpet before the schoolmaster. He was a big man, nearly as tall as she, with a round face and an easygoing nature that made him a favorite with just about everyone. That didn’t, however, mean he was soft. Far from it, in fact. He could be tough as nails when he had to, and knew the cattle business inside and out. Which was why he was her right-hand man. She could always depend on him to tell it to her straight when it came to anything concerning the station.
Closing the station books, she sat back in her chair and motioned him inside. “Have a seat. Is that the list of supplies we need for the roundup?”
“Yeah. Sorry it’s so late. I meant to have it to you by this afternoon, but I couldn’t get Cookie to give me a list of the provisions he wanted to take. You know how he is. He never can make up his mind until the last minute.” Handing over the list to her, he took the seat across from her desk and sighed in relief as the cool air of the air-conditioning washed over him. “Damn, that feels good! The heat’s really been getting to me this year. I don’t know how I’m going to stand the roundup. It’s going to be hotter than hell out there in the bush.”
Making no attempt to hold back a grin, Lise had to laugh. For as long as she could remember, the fall roundup was held the same time every year. And every year, Tuck complained about the heat. Anyone listening to him would think he was a whiny baby who didn’t have a bit of stamina, but every year, he toughed it out with the best of them and weathered the heat just fine.
“You love it and you know it,” she teased. “What about the rest of the men? Are they all ready? How’s Frankie’s foot? He didn’t seem to be favoring it as much today as he has been.”
Just last week, Frankie’s horse had stepped on his foot and he’d been hobbling around ever since. “It’s better than it was,” Tuck replied, “but it’s still tender. It should be better by next week. Even if it’s not, we’ve got the Yank to pick up the slack, so we should do fine.”
Her pulse kicking into high gear just at the memory of how he’d made her feel, Lise frowned. “You think he’ll be able to handle the work?”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? He’s big as a house! And from what you told me about the way he hauled you out from under Thunder’s hooves, he’s not only strong, he keeps his head in an emergency. You must have thought so, too, or you wouldn’t have hired him.”
She couldn’t deny it. Like Tuck, she’d thought he was just what she needed in a cowboy. Now she wasn’t so sure. There was something about the man that disturbed her, and she couldn’t for the life of her say what it was. For now, though, she was reserving judgment on Steve Trace, though she had no intention of admitting that to Tuck.
“It’s not like we’ve got a flood of cowboys beating a path to our door in search of a job,” she said dryly. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Sometimes, you’ve got to take what you get till something better comes along. Not that he’s not going to work out,” she amended quickly. “At this point, it’s too soon to tell. But at least we’ve got another hand for the roundup, and right now, that’s our main concern.”
If he didn’t work out after that, she thought, she’d send him packing. They’d be shorthanded again, but somebody would come along eventually. They always did.
The next day started early. Long before daylight, the men were up and dressed and wolfing down bacon and eggs and homemade biscuits in the dining hall. Feeling like he was back home again in his mother’s kitchen, Steve bit into his first biscuit of the morning and groaned in appreciation. Lise hadn’t been kidding when she said she fed her cowboys well. His mother was an excellent cook, but even she never made biscuits like this. “Damn, this is great!”
Looking up from the four biscuits he was slathering with real butter, Frankie grinned. “If you think this is good, wait till the roundup starts. You’re not going to believe what Cookie can do on a campfire.”
In the process of taking another bite of his biscuit, Steve stiffened slightly. “What roundup?”
“The one that starts a week from Monday,” he retorted. “Didn’t Lise tell you about it yesterday when she hired you? The summers are so hot, we have a roundup every year at the beginning of fall to check out the cattle and watering holes. The whole crew goes.”
“Including Lise?”
He nodded. “Yep. We load the horses up in trailers, along with all the gear, and head out for a couple of weeks in the bush. It’s just like being in the Old West. It’s great!”
Steve didn’t doubt that it was. But he wasn’t ready to leave the compound yet, dammit. Certainly not for two or three weeks! He had to get inside the house and search it, and he couldn’t do that if he was miles away, traipsing around the bush playing cowboy.
There wasn’t, however, a hell of a lot he could do about it without blowing his cover. He’d come there pretending to be down and out and in need of the job Simon had promised him, and when the boss said you had to go out in the bush, you went without complaint. Damn. Now what was he supposed to do?
“Hey, that’s my biscuit!” Chuck bellowed when Barney snatched the last one in the pan right out from under his nose. “You’ve already had five, you pig! Gimme that!”
“Not on your life, junior. You just ate four, yourself. This one’s mine.”
Furious, the younger man looked ready to punch him, and Steve wasn’t sure if it was because Barney had stolen the last biscuit or because he’d called him junior. Either way, Steve knew an opportunity when he saw one. Grinning at the two men, he drawled, “Geez, fellas, they’re damn good biscuits, but you don’t have to fight over them. Here, Chuck, take mine.” Tossing him the last one on his plate, he rose to his feet and grabbed the empty biscuit pan. “I’ll get a hot one from the kitchen. Anybody else want one?”
When five hands went up, including Chuck and Barney’s, he had to laugh. “If Cookie can keep up with you guys, he must be some cook. I’ll be right back.”
Chuckling, he strode out, but his smile died the second the door to the dining hall closed behind him and he headed for the house thirty yards away. He was taking a chance, making a move when Lise and the cook were both there, but what other choice did he have? With the roundup starting in a matter of days, he was running out of time.
Another agent would, in all likelihood, have had a game plan in place before he even thought about stepping into the house, but Steve had never
operated that way. He was a roll-with-the-punches, fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy, which was what made him a damn good agent. He didn’t act—he reacted—and nine times out of ten, his instincts were right on the money.
That didn’t mean the old ticker wasn’t pumping out the adrenaline as he approached the door. Every nerve ending was on alert, his muscles tense, though he liked to think he hid it well. His gait easy and relaxed, he opened the back door as if he had every right in the world to be there.
Not sure what to expect, he stepped inside and found himself in a small back hall. Stairs directly in front of him gave access to the upstairs, and to the right, a swinging door obviously led to the kitchen. Through the door, he could hear pots and pans rattling as Cookie sang to himself in an off-key baritone.
So he hadn’t heard him come in, he thought with a soundless sigh of relief. Now, where the hell was Lise?
Standing perfectly still, he cocked his head and thought he caught the faint strains of what sounded like the weather channel coming from a television upstairs. Pleased, he smiled slowly, his gray eyes glinting with satisfaction. So Cookie was tied up in the kitchen with the dishes, and Lise was upstairs. He couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried. He couldn’t do a search now, not when either one of them could walk in on him at any second, but at least he could discover the floor plan. Then if he had to search the place in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t run into a lamp or something and wake the household.
The question was, which way did he go first? Hesitating, he stared down the hall, then to his left, and wondered which led to the study. He knew there was one—last night when Tuck had returned to the bunkhouse and joined the poker game, he’d mentioned that he’d been talking to Lise in the study. It was there, no doubt, that Simon had concealed records of his illegal activities.
Five minutes, Steve thought grimly. He didn’t care how well the bastard had hid them, give him five minutes and he felt sure he could find them.