by Linda Howard
She had to. Accepting such a gift would tie her to him, to this place, and damn it she was tied down enough as it was. “It’s too much. I can’t accept …”
“If it makes you feel better, call it a Christmas present,” he barked.
“Christmas is two months away!”
“Damn it, can’t you just say thank you like a normal woman? I don’t want you to fall walking to the garage because the soles of those cheap boots are too slick. I don’t want you freezing to death walking from The Pie Hole to the library. Since when do safety concerns about an employee make me the bad guy?”
“There’s no need to yell,” she said in a calm voice that she knew would annoy him.
“I’m not yelling!”
“Actually, you are.” She sighed. “The thought was very nice, but it’s not like I’m going to freeze this winter. I was just going to borrow one of your old coats when I needed to, and there are a hundred pairs of gloves and twice as many hats in this house. The boots I bought will do. I’ll just be extra careful when it’s slick outside. That coat … it’s very nice, it really is, but it’s too much.”
“Fine,” Zeke snapped. At least he was no longer yelling. “The boots and the coat come with the job. When you quit in the spring you can leave them here for the next cook, if that makes you feel better.”
“It does, actually.”
“Good.” He headed toward the door, a bit of anger in his step and in his voice. “I’m going to get a shower before supper.”
As he stepped into the dining room, on his way to the stairs near the front door, Carlin stopped him with a softly spoken, “Zeke?”
He stopped instantly when she spoke his name, turned slowly to face her. Her heart was racing again. What on earth had she gotten herself into? A coat and a pair of boots wouldn’t hold her here, no matter how expensive they were, so she might as well face it. It wasn’t the stuff. It was him. It was the deep down, undeniable sense that Zeke needed her that held her here. Not the kiss, not the physical attraction. Those things should send her running, not make her determined to stay. Zeke Decker, tough guy with a chip on his shoulder, needed her. For a while, at least.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He turned and walked away, and while she was still within earshot he added, in a slightly raised voice. “Now really, was that so hard?”
Chapter Eighteen
CARLIN HAD SEEN snow before, kind of, but not like this. She’d seen flurries, a dusting, but mostly her experience with snow was of the television variety.
The snow began to fall, and it kept coming down. She’d looked out her bedroom window a time or two, during the night, entranced by the sight and how it made everything take on a soft glow. It came down hard, and then soft, silent and beautiful. By morning, there was at least a foot of the white stuff, probably more. As far as she could see, out that same window, was an untouched white blanket that covered everything.
She threw together a breakfast casserole and popped it into the oven. One-dish meals had become her best friend since she’d started working here. She rarely turned to them for breakfast, but this morning was different. Feeling a little bit like a child—and not minding at all—she wanted to be the first to put her mark in the snow. She wanted to see that white blanket stretching before her, unmarked and unbroken.
Instead of pulling on the new coat Zeke had bought for her, she snagged a heavy coat off the rack—one she’d never seen him wear so surely he wouldn’t complain if she put it to use—and pulled it on. It was much too big, but with the sleeves folded back it would do. The new boots he’d bought her were perfect; she needed waterproof, at the moment. She also pulled on the knit hat and gloves he’d bought, bundling herself up good.
The cold wind hit her in the face the minute she stepped out on the front porch. It was crisp and clean and made her shudder, but she ignored it and kept going, stepping down the stairs, carefully, since she didn’t know if the steps under that snow would be slick with ice or not. One step, then another, feeling as if she were an infant just learning how to walk. She pulled the hood of the borrowed coat up to protect her cheeks as she finally reached ground level, and measured the depth of the snow. Yes, at least a foot. Every step was an effort; she had to pick her feet straight up with every step, like someone in a marching band. The wind stilled, and abruptly the temperature was much more comfortable.
For a long minute she stood there, scanning the horizon, wondering if she had ever seen anything so beautiful in her entire life. She’d always loved the beach, and there had been a time when she’d been certain nothing could be as breathtaking as the ocean stretching endlessly before her. But now … this beauty was different, but just as awe inspiring.
If she didn’t have to be so careful, if she didn’t need to stay on the move … this place could be home. It had been such a long time since she’d thought of anyplace as anything more than a temporary stop along the way. Even before Brad, she’d simply been moving from one job to the next, waiting for her life to restart, waiting for a place, anyplace, to feel like home.
She was so damned tired of waiting. Battle Ridge—this ranch—they were different. And she was different here.
Like it or not, Zeke was a big part of the unexpected feeling of home.
Bad idea. Come spring she’d be on the move again. She had to keep that foremost in her mind. Until she could think of something to do about Brad, or he overplayed his hand in some other way and got caught, everything in her life was transitional. This was a temporary stop, a detour along the way. It wasn’t home. Acknowledging that made her heart ache and she stared at the beauty before her to imprint it in her mind, so she wouldn’t forget it. Yes, it was terribly cold, but that was a small price to pay for … this.
She walked toward the nearest pasture, watching the way her feet made deep tracks in the snow. Giddy was too strong a word, and she’d never let anyone see that something as simple as a good snow could make her feel this way, but right now, at this moment, she was … happy. Content. When she was halfway between the house and the fence line, she dropped down and grabbed a handful of snow. It was powdery, light, and as a cloud moved by and the early-morning sun shone down, it seemed to sparkle.
With the sun on the snow, the world was so bright and clean she had to squint. The next time she came out, she’d wear her sunglasses. She shook the snow out of her hand, watched it fall as she’d watched it fall during the night.
Everything was so quiet she heard the door open and close, even though it was obvious Zeke was trying to be quiet. She turned to face the house, and him. Like her, he was bundled up against the cold.
He strode straight for her—maybe stomping was a better word—and he wasn’t smiling.
“Why aren’t you wearing your new coat?”
So much for contentment. “I didn’t want to get it dirty.”
He sighed at that. “Coats are supposed to be worn. They’re supposed to get dirty!”
“When they cost as much as that one did, they should be framed and hung on the wall for display!”
“Your new coat is …”
“You mean the cook’s coat. It’s not actually mine.”
His jaw clenched, and then he said, “Fine, the damned cook’s coat would be much warmer than that one.”
“I’m fine,” she responded. “Perfectly warm, in fact. I’d like to point out that I’m wearing one of your old coats. Why did you buy it if it isn’t warm enough? Huh?” Satisfied that she’d won that exchange, she didn’t want to look at him anymore. The man made her antsy in so many ways. He stirred her temper and she always ended up getting defensive. He knew exactly how to push her buttons—every single one of them—and he turned her on. She didn’t need any of that, not on this peaceful morning, so she turned to face the mountains again. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” The anger was gone from Zeke’s voice, in that one simple word. Did he still see it the way she did, even though he’
d lived with it all his life? He walked past her, continued on toward the barn. His footsteps crunched softly in the snow, and he left marks as she had, only his footsteps were much farther apart. “This is beautiful, but don’t let it fool you. Just wait until we have a big snow.”
For a moment, Carlin watched him walk away, which had never been an onerous sight. Man, there was a lot to be said for cowboy butt. Then she called after him. “What do you mean big. This isn’t big? There’s at least a foot of snow!”
Zeke laughed. “Rookie.”
“Tell the guys, breakfast in thirty minutes,” she called.
He waved his hand to indicate he’d heard. She sighed and turned her back on him and the snow-covered pastures and mountains. “I’m nothing but a kitchen slave,” she muttered, then grinned to herself as she headed back to the house.
BRAD STOOD AT attention at the new police chief’s desk. Inside he seethed, but he didn’t let his anger show. There was no upside to jumping over the desk and throttling his new boss.
It had been easier when the police chief of this small municipality just outside Houston had been old, lazy, and trusting. Brad had been able to talk his way out of almost anything. But the new chief was a stickler for the rules, and he didn’t trust anyone.
“Officer Henderson, this is the second complaint against you I’ve seen in less than three months. Both cite excessive violence. Would you care to explain?”
The scumbags pissed me off. Who cares about a drugged-up thief or a skanky hooker? They had it coming. All true, but he couldn’t say that and expect to keep his job. He also couldn’t explain that his frustration at not being able to find Carlin had his temper simmering barely beneath the surface. He lost his temper too easily these days. If every criminal he’d given a beat down to in the past three months came forward, there would be no talking his way out of this.
“In both cases, I believed myself to be in imminent danger.”
It sounded good, even if it wasn’t true. The chief had a skeptical look on his face—he wasn’t buying it at all. “I don’t have any choice. You’re on administrative leave, effective immediately, while we conduct a full investigation.”
Brad didn’t move, but his mind was several steps ahead. A full investigation would pull up Carlin’s complaint from the previous year, as well as the Dallas police inquiry into a murder for which he had an alibi. An alibi that would fall apart if anyone who knew what they were doing got into his personal computer and found the program that made it look as if he’d been chatting when in fact he’d been in Dallas, killing the wrong woman. Damn red raincoat.
The old chief had bought his explanation that Carlin was a nutcase, that she’d been the one obsessed with him. This one wasn’t going to buy anything.
He nodded his head. “I’ll cooperate in every way possible,” he said stiffly, because to say anything else would make him sound guilty. He turned in his service weapon—not that that made any difference, because he had other weapons, and even if he didn’t, he could always buy one on the street—and left the building, his steps long but casual. To hurry would look bad. He couldn’t run. He pushed through the outer door and headed for his car. The weather was a bit chilly today, smelling of fall, of a winter that hadn’t yet arrived, not that south Texas ever had that much of a winter. Sometimes it got pretty cold, but that was about it.
For a moment he thought about turning, going back inside, and shooting the new chief just for chuckles, but there were too many people around, too many cameras. He wasn’t sure when or how the investigation would begin. He had time, he thought, but maybe not. Something was making him feel as if he didn’t have any time at all.
He’d run by the house, grab his computer and some cash, and hit the road. He’d stop by the bank on his way out of town and clean out his account there. He had to get on the move before the chief put two and two together. Carlin was one matter, and he might be able to explain that away. But Dallas … if the police there got another heads-up they might look harder at him, maybe hard enough that they pulled in a forensic computer guy … he had to make sure they never got their hands on his hard drive. He would dump it, but God damn it he’d put a lot of time and effort into that setup, and he didn’t want to destroy it.
Brad sped toward home, his mind spinning, feeling oddly off-balance. He’d loved his job, and he figured he might as well kiss it goodbye. Even if the chief didn’t dig deep enough this time around, he’d be at the top of the list to be shit-canned at the least little complaint or infraction. He knew how it worked. Once you got the label of troublemaker, they got rid of you.
This was all Carlin’s fault. No police force in the country would hire him after this. If he wasn’t very careful, he’d end up in jail for murdering the wrong damn woman. For a few minutes he was close to panic, his breath shallow, his heart beating too fast. He’d always been the hunter, not the hunted. He didn’t like being on the wrong side of that equation.
But soon his heartbeat slowed and he breathed deep. As bad as things were, there was an upside to this new development.
He could now devote twenty-four hours a day to finding Carlin. Tracking her down was no longer a hobby … it had just become his life.
ZEKE HATED TO admit it, but Libby had been right. Her comment about him finding a wife, as she’d left, had been a line she’d thrown at him to put him on the defensive, and she probably hadn’t thought twice about it again after making her escape.
But now and then, he remembered those words. He could hear them, the tone of her voice, the pitch. He even experienced that feeling of sheer frustration again.
He worked hard; he loved the land. If he wasn’t ever going to marry and have a family, then why keep at it? So he could grow old alone, until he couldn’t keep up with the work anymore and he’d have to sell off and move to an assisted-living facility somewhere? His sisters weren’t interested in the ranch. They’d run far and fast and married professional men who wouldn’t know one end of a horse from the other. They weren’t coming back for anything more than a quick visit. His mom was the same. She’d been a good rancher’s wife because she’d loved the rancher, not because she loved the place.
If the Rocking D was going to survive and thrive, he needed kids who could work beside him and love the land the way he did. Sure, maybe none of them would like ranch life, but he’d bet at least one would, son or daughter, didn’t matter. He needed a wife.
Not someone like Rachel, who’d been pretty but spoiled and worthless everywhere except in the bedroom. He’d let his dick choose his first wife. Next time around, he intended to let his brain have a say.
His dick was pointing toward Carlin Hunt, even though his brain knew she wasn’t going to stay. He couldn’t be certain she’d be here from one morning to the next, even though she’d said she’d “do her best” to stay until spring. So why did Libby’s words come back to haunt him whenever Carlin was around?
She walked into the kitchen from the mudroom, shaking off the cold. When she saw him standing by the coffeepot, she didn’t hesitate the way she had in the beginning. Instead, she smiled and tilted her head toward the outdoors. “It’s not so pretty anymore,” she said. “Just a few hours, and it’s turned from pretty white into gray mush.” She wrinkled her nose and headed for him. More accurately, she headed for the coffeepot. He stepped out of the way as she reached for a mug.
“Chili for supper,” she said without looking at him. “Chili and corn bread. That sounds like a perfect cold weather meal to me.”
“This isn’t really cold, you know.”
“What?” She turned, leaned against the counter, and took a sip of her coffee. “It’s freezing out there!”
“Wait until it gets twenty or thirty degrees below zero.”
“You’re just trying to scare me,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “I know it gets cold here, but below zero?”
“Damn right.”
She gave this news some thought, then said, “Well, I’ll just stay insi
de when it gets that cold. I’ll cook and do laundry and sit by the fire and watch television.”
“Who’s supposed to do the shopping while you’re warming yourself by the fire?”
“Spencer, or Walt, or—hey, here’s a thought—you!” She was teasing him, trying to get a rise out of him. These days, that wasn’t hard to do. She took another sip. “I’m pretty sure going outdoors when it’s below zero isn’t in my job description.”
Sleeping with the boss wasn’t in her job description, either, but if she stayed here until spring …
He had time to find a wife. Later, much later, when Carlin was just a memory.
“Maybe I should make biscuits instead of corn bread. I need the practice.”
“Corn bread, please,” Zeke said. “I could’ve pounded nails with that last batch of biscuits.”
The sound she made was a sigh and a grunt rolled into one. “Well, I won’t get any better if I don’t keep trying. Remember the white cake.”
It sounded like a battle cry, Carlin’s own Remember the Alamo. “I’ll make you a deal. You make it corn bread and save the concrete—I mean biscuits—for another day, and I’ll give you your first self-defense lesson.”
“Does that mean I get to hit you?”
Zeke smiled. “You can try.”
Carlin had serious problems and wouldn’t let him help, at least not in the way he wanted. He wanted a lot of things he wasn’t going to get. But he could, by God, teach her how to protect herself.
Chapter Nineteen
ZEKE OPENED THE door into the mudroom and yelled, “Carly!”
She was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher; if he’d stepped inside, he’d have seen her. “I’m right here,” she called back. Someone must be within hearing distance, otherwise he’d have called her Carlin. He never messed up; when they were alone he said Carlin, when anyone else was around he invariably said Carly. Considering how her own mouth was sometimes two steps ahead of her brain, she had to be impressed by his precise control.