by Linda Howard
And here at the ranch, she was relaxed, and every day she could feel herself settling in more. Never mind that Zeke was a never-ending irritant, an itch she refused to let herself scratch—she liked the job, she liked most of the men, she liked having her own little suite to herself. There was nothing extra special about the two rooms, but they were downright luxurious compared to some of the places she’d lived in while she was on the run. And come to think of it, there was something a little special about them, because they’d been remodeled out of love. Sure, it was love for the perfect Libby, but Carlin was still benefiting from that care and consideration.
“The list is on the table,” she said as she placed the last stack of clean, white dishes in the cupboard. “Look it over and see if I’ve forgotten anything.”
Carlin immediately headed down the hallway, toward her rooms, and after a couple of beats Spencer called after her. “Broccoli? Do we really have to have broccoli?”
She laughed easily, something she could do these days. “Yes!”
Observation—and the recently discovered Food Network, which she’d been watching regularly lately—had taught her that when it came to food and men, keeping it simple was the best strategy. Zeke and his ranch hands would gladly live on meat and potatoes, so she made sure to provide plenty of both. However, she also felt it was her duty as cook—and as the lone woman in the group—to sneak a vegetable onto the menu now and then. If she covered the veggies in cheese or disguised them in some other sort of sauce, she could usually slip something green past the guys a couple of days a week.
In her room she grabbed her jacket, cap, and sunglasses, in preparation for the trip. She’d stop by The Pie Hole while she was in town, say hello to Kat, and pick up the pies she’d ordered. Pie sometimes improved Zeke’s mood … temporarily. There probably wasn’t enough pie in the state of Wyoming to turn him into a bearable human being. He seemed to be in a perpetual state of disgruntlement. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t care. Having him that way was easier on her own state of well-being.
If he spoke to her, it was usually to growl something that she might or might not bother to interpret. He was pretty much leaving her alone these days, but when he came home at night he was, well, grumpy. Spencer said getting ready for the October market was stressful, and once that was done everyone would be in a better mood. A few of the hands would leave the ranch soon, and come back when calving season arrived. Some would go home; a couple of them rodeoed. Walt, Kenneth, and Micah—the foreman and the two married hands—were year-round employees. Even Spencer went home for a week or two, though he came back before the others, he said. He liked it here. This ranch felt more like home to him than his family home.
Carlin wondered what Spencer’s family was like, if it was an entire enclave of Pollyannas. Spencer was Zeke’s opposite in personality. He smiled, made jokes, and dealt with the handicap of an out-of-commission arm as if it were truly no big deal. Maybe he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was the kind of man who would go out of his way to help a friend, something she deeply appreciated. He had certainly gone out of his way to make her feel welcome here.
They’d spent a lot of time together since she’d arrived here on the ranch. He couldn’t do much in the way of physical labor since his accident, but he’d been great about helping her learn her way around the house and answering the gajillion questions she had about the way things were done. Because he’d cooked for the crowd himself, before his injury, he knew where the spices were stored, what the guys liked to drink, and what foods they hated (vegetable lasagna topped the list). He also shared Zeke’s view that the previous housekeeper—the apparently perfect and angelic Libby—had made the best chocolate cake ever. Damn, sometimes she thought she could really get a hate on for this Libby person. Well, not really, because she didn’t know her. But she could definitely feel jealous of Libby’s prowess in the kitchen.
What with Libby and her chocolate cake, and Kat’s gift with pies, and the disaster with the white cake, Carlin knew it was a waste of time to try anything fancy in the dessert department. She picked up pies from The Pie Hole when she went to town to buy groceries, and she bought lots of ice cream. Who didn’t like ice cream? Brownies made from a mix were also popular, and easy. One of these days she was going to try the white cake again, but she kept finding reasons not to. Failure was never pleasant, and abject failure was humiliating. Kat had told her she’d probably just overmixed the batter, but Carlin didn’t see how that could turn what should’ve been cake into an inedible spongelike substance. She did find a recipe for corn bread cake that—surprise—didn’t have a lick of cornmeal in it, and it had turned out really well, but it was a sheet cake and somehow that didn’t count. Layer cakes, the bastards, were what counted.
Spencer had adapted to the sling that immobilized his left arm well, and probably could’ve continued to work as a ranch hand in some capacity, but Zeke had insisted that he help her until he was healed. She wondered: was it a job meant to make things easy on the young hand, or did Zeke trust her so little that he wanted someone he did trust to keep an eye on her? There had been a time when she would’ve been insulted, but she now understood lack of trust all too well.
As they drove down the long and winding road—no joke—that eventually led to the road that led to the road that led to Battle Ridge, Carlin glanced at Spencer and asked—not for the first time in the past couple of weeks—“When are you going to tell me exactly how you hurt your shoulder?”
His cheeks went red. He was barely twenty-one, all but a baby. “That’s not something a man wants to tell a woman, Miss Carly. It was bad. That’s all you need to know.”
“I know it has something to do with collecting bull semen,” she said. “I just can’t quite get the picture in my head …”
“Ma’am, you don’t want that picture in your head,” he said earnestly. “I don’t either, but since I was there I don’t have a choice. I’m just glad it’s my left shoulder and not the right one. I’d have a heck of a time doing anything if I couldn’t use my right arm.”
She didn’t think the nine-year difference in their ages made her a ma’am, but it was a habit she hadn’t been able to break him of. She was either ma’am or Miss Carly, not just to him but to every man on the ranch … except Zeke.
She’d even done some research on the library computer, and knew there were several ways to collect bull semen. Some of the methods seemed almost cruel to her, but apparently the bull didn’t usually mind being electrically jacked off.
“Usually” being the operative word here, since obviously with Spencer’s last attempt something had gone wrong.
“I have a question for you,” Spencer said. He pointed at her hat and sunglasses, which were sitting on the seat between them. “Why is it that every time you go into town you put on a disguise? It’s almost like you’re a movie star or a singer going inflagrante.”
Carlin bit back a laugh. It would be rude, and she didn’t want to make Spencer feel stupid. He did have a habit of using the wrong word, now and then. “Incognito,” she said.
“What?”
“Not inflagrante. Incognito.”
“Well, whatever the right word is, why?”
Kat and Zeke were the only two who knew part of her story; as far as she was concerned, no one else needed to know a single detail, and they knew only because she had to be paid in cash. The more people who were in on her secret, the less safe she’d feel. For a while she’d let her guard down in Battle Ridge, and not taken the precaution of sunglasses and hat, though she’d always made sure her TEC jacket was with her. But since that heart-stopping moment in the grocery store … damn it, she was going to have to let that go, sooner rather than later. Learn from it, and let it go. But maybe not right now. Maybe the next trip.
But Spencer had asked, and he’d keep asking, so she tried to come up with a girly-girl answer that would throw him off track. “I can never get my hair to behave like I want it to, yo
u know? The ball cap hides all the flyaways.”
“I like your hair,” he said with complete seriousness. “I think it’s real pretty and soft. And blond,” he added, as if that made up for any flaws she saw in her own hair. He seemed to have a weakness for blondes, though she suspected he had a soft spot for all women, period.
“And flyaway, on occasion,” she said.
“What about the sunglasses?”
“My eyes are sensitive.” That made sense.
“But you’re not wearing them now, while you’re driving,” he argued.
“The sun isn’t in my eyes.” It wasn’t, but the excuse was a weak one and she knew it.
He shook his head and said, “All right, all right. You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. You know, if you’re a pop singer hiding out, or if you were the star of some reality show, you’re safe from me. I only listen to country music, and I don’t watch much TV. Don’t have time to. You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”
“Of course not.”
“I never watch the news. It’s just too depressing.” For someone of his disposition, she could see why the news would be a downer. “You could’ve killed your whole family and everyone in the country could be looking for you, and I wouldn’t know it.” The thought didn’t seem to bother him much. “You don’t seem like the type, though. And besides, Zeke watches the news and he never would’ve hired you if you were wanted by the cops. Well, if he knew about it.”
“I’m not wanted by the cops,” Carlin assured him. One cop, yeah, but as far as she knew Brad hadn’t gone so far as to come up with a fake charge and set the whole country to looking for her.
No, he didn’t want anyone else around when he found her the next time. She shuddered, remembered Jina, and reminded herself of all the reasons why she couldn’t share the details of her life with a nice, simple guy like Spencer.
“I didn’t figure you were,” he said. “But I swear, your hair is just fine.”
Before they hit the grocery store Spencer had a physical therapy session. Carlin took the opportunity to run into the library first, then visited Kat to pick up the pies she’d ordered. The breakfast crowd had left and the lunch crowd hadn’t started arriving yet, and her baking had been done for the day, so Kat wasn’t busy. She smiled when Carlin came through the door, her pleasure evident.
It struck Carlin hard, realizing how long it had been since someone had genuinely smiled just because she’d walked in a door.
“Hey, girl. How’s it going?” Kat asked.
“Good.”
“How’s Zeke been treating you?”
Carlin sat at the counter. “Like a chief cook and bottle washer he tolerates because he has no other choice.” That wasn’t completely true, but close enough.
“So, like a wife without the benefits.”
“Benefits?” Carlin kept her tone deadpan. She didn’t want even Kat to see where her mind had taken her. Zeke was a pain in her ass; he was grouchy and evidently didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. But he was a real man, tough and hard, and if her mind occasionally—several times a day, maybe—went where it shouldn’t, well, no one needed to know about it.
But Kat’s witch-eyes saw too much, as usual. “Honey, do not—I repeat, do not—get suckered in by the way Zeke Decker looks. He’s the kind of man some women dream of taking on and fixing, but he is who he is and he can’t be fixed.”
“Fixed, how?” Carlin asked, because he sure didn’t seem broken. Bullheaded, stubborn, and a lot of other things—sexy as hell among them—but not broken. “He’s your cousin. Shouldn’t you be singing his praises, or something?”
“He’s my cousin, so I know him too well.”
“Well, the last thing I need or want right now is a man, fixable or not.” She needed to be free, free to run, free to start over at any moment. She kept telling herself the same thing over and over: any kind of relationship—even the one she’d developed with Kat—might tempt her to stay in one place too long. She had to be willing to run, to leave everything behind and not look back. The fact that she had to keep reminding herself was downright scary.
“Too bad Spencer is so young and addle-brained,” Kat said. “Well, not addled, but you know what I mean. He has a couple of plusses. He’s cute, and he’s got that hard, young body.”
“Kat!”
“But he’s a cowboy,” Kat blithely continued, “and you know how I feel about cowboys. Besides, I think he’s a virgin who’ll probably feel he has to marry the first woman he sleeps with. It’s a real chore to take on a lover who needs instruction, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a man I sleep with to be that grateful. Blown away and ecstatically happy, yes, but not ‘I can’t live without you’ grateful. That’s such a burden. Even if he does have a nice ass.”
Carlin laughed. “Stop it! I have to work with Spencer every day. I don’t want to know if he’s a virgin or not, and I do not want to hear about his ass. He’s like … a puppy.”
“Sorry, but there’s a dearth of suitable men around here, and a girl’s mind does wander.” Tapping her hand on the counter, Kat stood up. “Your pies are ready. Do you want to go ahead and order for next week?”
Carlin placed her order for the following week, throwing in a request for a piece of apple pie right now simply because it was apple pie day and she wanted one. As Kat poured a cup of coffee to go with that pie it crossed Carlin’s mind that if Spencer was a puppy, Zeke Decker was a wolf. Given a chance he’d eat her alive.
No, thanks.
Wait. Rewind. She thought about those words and felt her heartbeat pick up, felt a tingle deep inside. Crap, she needed to concentrate on her pie and stop speculating about Zeke’s oral skills.
“So.” Kat leaned on the counter and watched Carlin dig into her dessert. “You’re going to stay, right?”
“Until spring.” Unless something went wrong.
“In that case, you’re going to need a warmer coat.” Kat grimaced at the TEC jacket. “And boots.”
“I know.” It had been getting colder with every passing day, and Carlin had given some thought to those things she’d need before winter arrived. Zeke had a ton of heavy coats; she could borrow one of them when she needed it. All she’d have to do was roll up the sleeves. She’d look like a homeless woman, but she didn’t see the sense in spending good money on a coat when she didn’t know if she’d need it next year.
Next winter she might be in Florida, or some other warm place, and she wanted to save every dime she could. She had the money, she’d been squirreling away every dime she was paid, but she was hoarding it like a miser.
The coat situation she could handle, but she couldn’t very well borrow Zeke’s boots. “Where’s the best place around here to find what I’ll need?”
“Tillman’s, right down the street. They’ll have everything you need to get through the winter.”
That taken care of, Kat asked Carlin if she’d tried to make the accursed Never Fail White Cake. Carlin told her no, and again Kat listed all the things she might’ve done wrong. The wrong kind of flour, old ingredients, and her favorite—overmixing. Carlin wasn’t a big fan of “might’ve.” She wanted to know exactly what had gone wrong so she wouldn’t make the same mistakes over and over.
Maybe it was time to try again, though. She’d add cake flour to her grocery list and pick up one bag. Just one. She didn’t see what the difference could be. Flour was flour, right? But she didn’t share that thought with Kat, because as a baker she assumed Kat would think differently.
A couple of customers came in. Kat tried to refuse Carlin’s payment, but she insisted. She said goodbye, took the pies, and headed for the truck, where she put the pies on the narrow floorboard of the tiny backseat.
Spencer wasn’t back yet, so Carlin walked down the sidewalk to Tillman’s. Her TEC jacket was sufficient for weather that was simply chilly, but the nip in the air was a warning. If it was this cold in October, what would December and January
be like in Wyoming?
When she entered Tillman’s store, a bell overhead rang, announcing her presence to the older woman behind the counter. There were no other customers, not at that moment, and Carlin wondered how a business like this one survived in a shrinking town. She smiled, said she was just looking, and then a coat caught her eye. Oh, that would look so much better than an oversized throwaway! She picked up the coat, checked the price … and immediately returned it to the rack.
So that’s how this place stayed in business. One sale, and they’d be set for the month! There were other, less expensive coats on the rack, but none of them were what she’d call cheap. Good thing she’d decided to make do with Zeke’s old coats, because no way was she paying that much for a coat, no matter how luxurious the shearling felt. She headed for the shoe section, wondering if she should even bother to look. Maybe the general store would have something. Or Goodwill. Did Battle Ridge have a Goodwill?
There was a small “sale” section, and in it she found a pair of boots in her size. They weren’t all that expensive to begin with, and they were marked down to half price. It didn’t matter than she didn’t like the color—who’d thought it was a good idea to manufacture boots in that particular shade of green?—or that the material didn’t look all that sturdy. She just needed a pair of boots to get her through one winter. They’d be okay, as long as she had nice, thick socks.
She paid for the boots, but as she left the store, she eyed the overpriced coat. Man, it was gorgeous. And it looked so wonderfully warm.
But if she had to run, the price of that coat would cover a month in a cheap hotel. Make that two months. She wanted the money in her pocket, not in a coat.
Her stomach turned at the thought. She didn’t want to run again; didn’t want to face the uncertainty of another off-the-books job. Maybe something would happen and she could stay—
No. She didn’t dare let herself hope, not for that. She had to stay aware, stay ready, and go on the assumption that in a few months she’d be on the road again.