by Helen Lacey
Big jerk.
It was one of his annoying qualities.
Like the way he didn’t talk much. Annie was sure she regularly spoke ten words for each one he said. Over the years she’d become accustomed to his silences, or the way he could concentrate so effortlessly and give things his complete attention. He had a charitable nature, generously giving to several local organizations, including a sizable donation to the local veterans’ home every year. So, he had his flaws, but David James Culhane McCall was generally a good man.
Once Bubbles and all the kittens settled, Annie left the stables and headed back to the house and made her way to her suite. She liked to call it the West Wing. A long hallway with a lockable door that offered a little distance between the rest of the house, with a bedroom, bathroom, lounge and small kitchenette. Not that she ever locked the door, nor did she cook on the stove much. But she had a good stock of fragrant teas and a box of Oreos at hand for those times when she needed to be alone. The combined living and dining areas had a lovely view overlooking the back meadow and small orchard, and she’d placed a few pieces of her own furniture around so it felt more like her own home, rather than a few rooms in someone else’s house.
She put the kettle on, popped an herbal tea bag into a mug then grabbed her cell to check for messages. There was one from her sister asking if she was free for coffee the following day, and she replied with a thumbs-up emoji. Now that Tess was remarried to Mitch and had a baby, she was busy being a wife and mom, but always made time for family. Annie adored her sister and was forever grateful their parents had fallen in love so many years ago. Annie’s mother had died when she was a child, much like Tess’s dad, and she knew her sister was equally grateful that their parents had made them all a family.
Annie sat by the window and sipped her tea, looking out to the meadow beyond the garden and experienced a feeling of wistful yearning for everything she longed for but didn’t have. Love. Children. Sex. A home to truly call her own. Perhaps one day. Once she left the ranch and her old life behind. But it would be hard. The thought of leaving the kids tore her up inside.
Still, she knew she had to do it.
Otherwise, she’d stay forever. Or until the day David remarried and she was replaced in the children’s lives. For a while, Annie had imagined his old girlfriend was a prime candidate. And truthfully, she hadn’t liked Rachel. What David saw in her, besides the obvious great legs and pretty face, Annie had no idea. She remembered Jayne McCall, on the few occasions they’d met, as warm and friendly with a deep love for her family and friends. Rachel seemed like the polar opposite. Totally career driven, and never at all interested in being involved in David’s family. Not that Annie believed there was anything wrong with someone pursuing the career they loved—but she’d never been one to think that a job and career were everything. She’d spent three years at college, then got a job in Rapid City working as an admin for a member of the city council, but the hours had been long and relentless. At twenty-six, after five years in the same role, she realized she needed to make some changes in her life.
She went back to college to study education, getting her teaching degree while she worked part-time in childcare. Three years later Jayne McCall was killed, and six months after that Annie began working for David. She hadn’t planned on having a career as a nanny, but when her friend Connie O’Sullivan, whose family were David’s clients, mentioned that he had been unsuccessfully trying to find a nanny since his wife’s death, something tripped inside her. She applied, thinking that their complicated family connection might muddy the waters, but David didn’t appear bothered by the fact her sister had recently divorced his best friend and cousin.
Annie sighed, got to her feet and headed for the bedroom. She stripped off the sheets and piled them onto the floor, grabbing the clean linens she’d placed on the dresser the day before. She made the bed, plumping out the cushions and straightening the pale mauve duvet. It was a nice room. And a comfy bed. Pity she’d never had anyone in it, she thought wryly, other than Scarlett and Jasper when they jumped on her some mornings. They never intruded though. David was a stickler for doing the right thing. He gave her space, and insisted the kids do the same. But there were times when she couldn’t resist the kids’ pleas to curl up beside her as she read them a book or told them a story.
David, of course, rarely entered her space. The rooms were hers—he’d made that clear to her on day one. Not that he’d ever said as much, but she knew he was a stickler about appropriate behavior. He’d fixed a faucet, repaired a sticking window and occasionally wrestled a giant arachnid from the bathroom—but that was it.
Byron, she knew, didn’t do spiders. He could run into a burning building, but a spider left him in a panic. It made her smile. And although it probably wasn’t true, the idea made him rather adorable.
He genuinely seemed to like her. He’d been engaged once, a few years ago, but it hadn’t lasted, and since then he hadn’t had a serious girlfriend. She should have been jumping out of her skin over the idea of him.
Should have...
She walked past the mirror and took a long look at herself, patting her hips, thinking about the extra pounds she’d added to her frame in the past couple of months. She’d always been curvy, especially on top. When she was in high school and college her assets had garnered her way more attention than she was prepared for, or wanted, since she was something of an introvert. She’d spent most of her time on campus hiding her body behind baggy sweaters and ill-fitting clothes, avoiding the attention of horny college freshmen, who all seemed to be drawn to skinny blonde sorority girls anyway. Even now, old habits died hard—she tended to dress for comfort over high fashion.
Looking down at her worn jeans, long shirt and stretched-out sweater, she sighed. She really did need a makeover. Once she left, maybe she’d spend some of her savings on a new look. Maybe a new haircut, some more stylish clothes. And a vacation. Somewhere warm and where she could relax and read and decompress. Somewhere far away from David McCall and his adorable children.
Annie sighed and quickly changed into her riding jeans, a checked shirt and sheepskin-lined jacket and cowboy boots, grabbed her Stetson and returned to the stables. Rudy was still there, watching over the kittens, but David and the kids were gone.
“I’m taking Star out for a while,” she said and took a headstall and lead from the peg near the tack room door. “Just for an hour or so.”
The old man nodded, mentioned something about the weather looking ominous, and said he’d get the gear while Annie headed to the pasture behind the stables. Star, her thirteen-year-old buckskin gelding, raised his head the moment he caught her whistle on the wind, and whinnied as he loped to the gate. The tall gelding had been part of her life for two years; after a successful career as a cutting horse, Mitch had saved him from the slaughterhouse. His previous owner discarded him after an injury that was fixable, but costly. Annie’s connection to Mitch was unavoidable since he was David’s cousin and closest friend, but since he and Tess were divorced, her step-sister was never mentioned when their paths crossed. Annie had always wanted her own horse, and after a year of riding one of David’s reliable mounts, decided to make Star her own. He was a sweet-natured animal, a little lazy but trustworthy and patient. His warm muzzle touched her face and she slipped on the headstall easily, then brought him through the gate and led him into the stable. She had him brushed down and tacked up quickly and then sprang onto the saddle, heeding Rudy’s warning about the gray sky and how a thunderstorm was predicted.
She took the trail she usually did, around the back meadow and toward the creek that bordered the ranch and the place next door. The ranch sat on close to two hundred acres, smaller than some places in the area, but the land was good grazing. David wasn’t interested in raising cattle, so he allowed Mitch to run some of his Angus herd on the place.
About a hundred feet from the creek was an old s
plit-log cabin. It was the original homestead, built generations ago by David’s great-grandparents. Rudy kept the place neat and tidy and she’d been in the cabin many times, mostly to show Jasper and Scarlett the old photographs on the mantel and tell stories about their ancestors. About David’s parents –James McCall, who’d married seventeen-year old Sandra Culhane, sister to the notorious Billie-Jack Culhane—the man who’d run out on his kids when his wife had died and left his eldest son, eighteen-year-old Mitch, to raise his five younger siblings. Not that she talked about Billie-Jack. No one did, not even the Culhanes. But he was a part of the town’s folklore, with his drinking and womanizing ways. James McCall, on the other hand, had been a pillar of the community, much like his only son.
Annie sighed, dismounting and tethering Star to the hitching rail outside the cabin. The creek beckoned and she headed for it, noticing a couple of birds swooping along the water. She loved hanging by the water’s edge. She’d picnicked with the kids at the creek countless times. Jasper was a competent rider and had his own pony, while Star always knew when she rode double with Scarlett, as though he was well aware there was precious cargo on board. The kids loved the creek and the cabin and Annie knew it would be one of the things she would miss about being on the ranch. Just one...but there were so many more.
Thunder rumbled overhead and she looked to the sky, noticing the dark, curdling clouds. Rain spotted her shirt and she tilted her hat downward as she turned and headed for the cabin. Star was moving about, clearly agitated as the rain increased and another clap of thunder roared. Annie flinched, reaching into her side pocket for her cell to call Rudy and say she’d be staying at the cabin until the rain cleared, and then realized she’d left it in the tack bucket back at the stables. The rain increased, followed by several large rounds of thunder and lightning. Star whinnied and she heard another horse unexpectedly respond in the distance. There were no horses loose on this part of the ranch. She looked toward the trail and spotted a rider coming toward her, astride King, his tall dappled-gray gelding.
Her heart skipped a beat.
David...
She would recognize the way he sat in the saddle anywhere. He might not be a typical cowboy, but he certainly rode like one. The rain quickly fell heavier, and Annie suspected she should head for the cabin, but watching him ride through the storm, his swagger so familiar, nothing could make her drag her gaze away. He wore a raincoat and the tail flapped as the horse jogged toward her.
He came to a halt about ten feet away, his expression as dark and thunderous as the sky above them. And then he spoke. Well, more like he yelled.
“What the hell are you doing?”
* * *
The moment David saw Annie heading off on her horse, he realized she would get stuck in the rainstorm. He knew enough about the South Dakota weather to suspect the storm would be a bad one. And he certainly didn’t want Annie stuck out alone on a trail ride while a storm raged on around her. She should have known better. As should Rudy have, something he said to the older man when he’d barked out the instruction to saddle up King so he could follow her and bring her back to the stables before the storm hit. But too late.
He spotted her racing back from the creek, her hand on her hat to stop it blowing off her head. Of course, he knew she’d head for the old cabin. She made no secret of the fact that it was her favorite place on the ranch. His too, once a upon a time, but he rarely got down to the place anymore. There were too many memories, too many reminders of the woman he’d loved and lost.
“I’ve been riding,” she yelled over the rain now pelting over them.
David dismounted, grabbed King’s reins in one hand and strode toward Star, then quickly untied the horse. “Get up to the cabin,” he shouted and led the horses toward the small barn at the side of the house. He tethered the horses inside two stalls and quickly raced back toward the cabin.
She was on the porch, hat off, her hair plastered to her head, her chest heaving and hands on her hips. “What are—”
“Exactly,” he shot back as he took the steps and stood in front of her. “Why on earth would you go riding when you knew there was a storm coming?”
“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” she said quickly, her blue eyes flashing. “And I’ve ridden in the rain before. Star doesn’t spook in bad weather.”
Thunder clapped loudly and she flinched. “Remember the rule, Annie?” he reminded her.
“I left my cell back at the stables.”
The rule. His only stipulation, really. Call someone when things go wrong. Like, if the car breaks down on the side of the road. If a date goes awry. If a headache turns into a migraine. If you get stuck in a thunderstorm. If the airplane you’re in has unexpected mechanical failure.
The memory struck him deep down. And as always, he wondered what he would have said had he the chance to say some final words to his wife and also to his mother. I love you. I’ll miss you. I can’t do this without you.
David ran his gaze over the woman in front of him. “You’re soaked through.”
“I’m fine,” she said as wind whipped across the porch and she shivered.
David pointed to the door. “Let’s go inside until the rain clears.”
He extracted the hidden key from its spot and unlocked the door. The scent of cedar hit him immediately and he opened the door wide to allow her to pass. She hesitated for a moment, then took off her boots and crossed the threshold. David did the same and shrugged out of the raincoat, then hung it on a peg near the door. The cabin was small and open-plan, with only a separate bedroom and tiny bathroom, which relied on a septic tank out the back. It was sparsely furnished, but there was still a table and chairs in the kitchen, and old brocade sofa near the fireplace in the living area and a few rugs scattered over the floor in various places.
“I’m sorry I barked at you before,” he said flatly. “I was worried, that’s all.”
She shrugged fractionally. “I know, but I can take care of myself. And I love it here. I always feel safe in this cabin.” She sighed. “I’m sorry though, for making you worry. I just needed to get away.”
“From me?”
She nodded. “This place always helps me think.”
David understood. The cabin held some great memories. He’d spent time with Jayne in the cabin when they were first dating. It was part of the reason he ensured the place was kept clean and tidy. The memories were not something he wanted to fade away. The cabin meant a lot to him, and he realized it was the first time he’d been inside the place, alone, with a woman since Jayne had died. Not that he thought of Annie as a woman. Well, of course she was a woman. He might need glasses or contact lenses, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see the obvious. She was, in fact, incredibly attractive. She had flawless skin, for starters, and her hair was the color of warm treacle, and her eyes were vivid, cornflower blue. She had curves, for sure, and since he wasn’t made of stone it was impossible at times to not notice the way she moved or the way her hips swayed when she walked. It was just that he’d successfully programmed himself to ignore those thoughts because she worked for him, and it was inappropriate to think of her as anything other than the nanny.
And he never, ever crossed the line.
Once the door was closed, he figured he’d light a fire to warm them up. Heading to the fireplace, he pulled together the kindling, got the fire started, then turned and found Annie standing by the kitchen table, her wet clothes dripping water onto the floor.
“I think there are a few towels in the bathroom,” he said, suddenly struck by the way her shirt clung to her curves, the thin cotton almost seeming translucent and clearly outlining her breasts. It kicked at something low in his gut, creating a kind of hazy awareness that somehow made him suck in a sharp breath. David quickly shook the feeling off and frowned. “And a few of Leah’s clothes in the wardrobe. No point in you catching a cold.”
Her hand came to her throat and she pulled the shirt collar together. “Sure.”
He watched as she scurried toward the bathroom and waited until she was out of sight before he took another breath. Something didn’t feel right. He usually knew exactly what he was feeling and thinking. But in the last few hours his thought processes had become uncharacteristically skewed. No doubt because he was mad with her for the way she’d disrupted his day, and potentially his children’s lives—and his—with her plan to leave the ranch.
David pressed a palm to his chest, felt his heart thundering behind his ribs and took a few long and calming breaths. The rain on the metal roof was usually a sound that relaxed him. But now, he felt agitated and restless.
He grabbed his coat and headed back outside, quickly pulling on his boots before racing across the yard to the small shed. He cranked up the temperamental generator so they at least had some light. By the time he was back in the house, the rain was heavier and he quickly ditched his coat and shoes again and shut the front door. He spotted a couple of his sister Leah’s pottery mugs on the draining board in the kitchen and smiled. The mugs were molded in the shape of farm animals and he had an entire set of them up at the main house. His sister often spent time in the cabin and had a small workshop and kiln out the back where she created her art. Mostly she sculpted pieces from metal, but she also dabbled in clay and ceramics. She was incredibly talented and he was immensely proud of her.
Perhaps Leah would be able to talk some sense into Annie, since they were friends. Or maybe he could prevail on Tess to set her straight. There was no one’s opinion that mattered more to Annie than her sister’s. Whoever it turned out to be, the situation clearly required an intervention.