Carol led me up the staircase, keeping a firm hold on my arm, as we made it to the first landing, rounded the corner and started up flight two. If she noticed my shaking fingers, she didn’t show it.
“Katherine runs the resort side of things these days. We kept promoting her from job to job, and when we finally ran out of rungs on the ladder for her to climb, we just made her the boss.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
Katherine might not have had my bold ambition, but she’d always been smart and incredibly hardworking. Like me, she’d stopped going to school once she’d come to live in the junkyard. Instead, she’d worked. During the day, she’d had a job with a landscaping company. And at night, she’d washed dishes for a restaurant. Both had paid cash under the table.
The two of us had been more than friends. We’d been roommates. She’d shared my tent—though tent had never been the right word. It had started as a tent, with a tarp strung between two piles of junk to keep the rain away. Then I’d added sheet-metal walls and eventually separate bedrooms, one for me and another for Katherine. Our makeshift living room had become the common area for meals and games.
That tent had been my pride and joy, much like the empire I’d built in Boston.
An empire I’d built by leaving Katherine behind.
My shoes and Carol’s boots echoed on the floor’s wooden planks as we reached the second story and started down a long hallway, lined with doors.
I hadn’t spent much time in this wing of the lodge since it was where the offices were located. The other wing was much larger and held all the guest rooms. I’d spent plenty of time in that wing as a housekeeper.
The Greer Ranch and Mountain Resort had become one of Montana’s premier guest ranches, offering a traditional western experience. I’d done some googling in my hotel room last night and had been impressed by the website. The resort had always been nice, but over the past decade, they’d built five different chalets for guests to rent. They’d added more guest experiences and the meals were five-star. Prices weren’t listed on the website because this place catered to celebrities and the uber-rich.
“Is she happy here?” I asked Carol.
She reached a door, rapped on it once with her knuckles.
“Come in,” a voice I hadn’t heard in years called from the other side.
My palms began to sweat.
Carol nodded for me to go on in. “Ask her yourself. I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen. Come find me when you’re ready to haul in your luggage.”
“Okay,” I breathed and turned the knob. Here goes. With my shoulders squared, I pushed the door open and took one step inside.
Katherine, beautiful as ever, sat behind a wide oak desk. She looked up from her computer screen and her entire body stiffened. “Gemma?”
“Hi.” I lifted my hand for an awkward wave and braved another step.
Her eyebrows came together. “W-what are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.” I sucked in some oxygen. Breathe. “May I?” I asked, coming into the room and motioning to one of the leather club chairs positioned in front of her desk.
She nodded but otherwise sat perfectly still in her high-backed chair.
Her corner office was enormous, as big as the one I’d had in Boston. The interior walls had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the others were lined with windows. A couch and two loveseats angled toward the view occupied half of the room.
It was classy yet comfortable. Inviting and clean. The entire setup suited her completely.
Though Katherine had always fit here.
From the day we’d stepped off the bus, it had seemed like she’d found the place where she’d fit. Today, she looked even more at home, sitting at a fancy desk, wearing jeans and boots, with a picture window at her back and the mountains in the distance.
Her dark hair hung straight and sleek past her shoulders. Its natural shine was something I’d envied as a teenager—adult too. And I had yet to meet a person on earth with bluer eyes than Katherine Gates. They were almost exactly the color of the cloudless sky through the window.
She folded her hands together, leaning on the papers scattered on her desk. Her expression was neutral but there was a wariness in her gaze.
Katherine was six inches shorter than my five seven. She had a petite frame and trim figure. But sitting behind that desk, she was a force of her own. She was the boss and this was her throne.
It was a good look for her.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Good, thanks.” Her tone was polite. Cautious. “You?”
“I’m good.” I crossed my legs, trying to appear relaxed when I was the furthest thing from it. “Carol told me you’re running the resort. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
The silence that followed was excruciating.
What felt like an hour was likely seconds, but the message was clear. Katherine didn’t want me here, so I gave myself a mental shove to get this over with.
Sorry. That was all I had to say. I’m sorry.
So what the hell are you waiting for, Gemma?
“I wanted to—”
The phone on Katherine’s desk rang. She pushed a button to shut it off, but not one second after it quieted, her cell phone began to vibrate. She silenced it too. “What were you saying?”
The confidence I’d summoned evaporated. The last thing I wanted was to fumble through this and risk coming across as hurried and insincere.
“I’m interrupting.” I stood from the chair. “I’ll let you get back to work. Maybe we could meet for coffee later.”
“Today’s crazy. I, um . . . maybe I could take a late lunch around one. But I’d only have thirty minutes.”
I’d dodged many people with the late, short lunch before.
Which meant this was my chance to say my peace and then get the hell off the Greer Ranch.
I recognized when I wasn’t welcome.
“It’s okay.” I gave her a sad smile. “Mostly, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. You were my friend and how I left, what I did, it wasn’t okay.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
Katherine stared at me, her expression unreadable. Then slowly, it softened. Warmth spread into her eyes and her hands unclasped. “Are you staying?”
“If you don’t mind.” No matter what Carol said, if Katherine had a problem with me being here, I’d leave.
“No, I don’t mind. I do have a crazy day. I was going to eat lunch at my desk. But maybe we could meet for dinner. In the dining room around six?”
“That would be wonderful.” I let myself out, holding my smile until I was in the hallway. Then I let it stretch as years of regret and guilt vanished.
She doesn’t hate me.
I could leave right this minute and feel like this trip had been valuable. But I wasn’t going to leave. I was going to have dinner with my friend and hopefully rekindle a relationship I’d once held dear. My feet were practically floating as I descended the stairs.
Carol wasn’t at the front desk, so I opted to head outside and collect my suitcase. I opened the door, a smile still on my face, and collided, headfirst, with a wall of muscle.
“Oh, sorry.” I looked up and my heart stopped.
The smell of leather and aftershave filled my nose. I looked up to see a pair of dark brown eyes hooded by long, onyx lashes. I took in the straight nose, the sharp jaw and strong chin. My gaze dropped to the full lips I’d tasted once, on a night eleven years ago.
I’d never seen a face as symmetrical and so beautifully masculine as Easton Greer’s.
Even when he scowled, like he was now, it was a wonder.
He’d gotten even more handsome. How was that possible? He’d transformed from a young man to just a man, man. Rugged and rough and sexy.
“Gemma.” My name came out as a growl in his deep voice and I tore my gaze away from his mouth, taking a step back.
He took a step away, then another, his glare unwavering.
Easton cast his scowl over his shoulder and spotted the Cadillac. “That yours?”
“Yes.”
“You’re staying here.” Not a question. An accusation. If he had it his way, I’d be uninvited.
I lifted my chin. “Yes, I came to see Katherine.”
His jaw ticked. “I thought we’d gotten rid of you years ago.”
Ouch. I guess he was still pissed about that whole sex in his room and waking up to find me gone.
But, good or bad, he hadn’t forgotten me.
Chapter Three
Easton
What the fuck was she doing here?
I stormed through the wide, open barn door and kicked a clump of dirt. “And who the fuck is bringing dirt into my barn?”
I looked around, spotting a four-wheeler parked in the middle of the space that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago. Its wheels were caked with mud. Someone—my grandfather—had probably been driving it around the lower meadow. We’d had a good rain last night and the ground was soggy.
Sure enough, Granddad emerged from behind the tractor at the far end of the building. He had a travel mug in one hand and a wrench in the other. “What’s crawled up your ass this morning?”
“We just swept out this floor.” I pointed to the four-wheeler. “Maybe next time you could park it outside. Save my crew from doing cleanup twice.”
“It’s a barn, Easton.” He frowned. “And in my day, the crews didn’t have much time to sweep.”
My day. For fuck’s sake. The last thing I needed this morning was a lecture about how this ranch had been run in his day.
I clenched my fists and kept my mouth shut before we got into a fight that would have my father playing mediator, my mother reminding me to have patience and Grandma lecturing me about respect.
The bottom line? I’d been put in charge of this ranch but Granddad hadn’t read the memo.
He reminded me daily of how he’d done things in my day. He’d done the same to Dad when Dad had been running the show, though it had never bothered my father the way it irked me. Maybe because Dad and Granddad usually were of the same mind.
They both questioned my decisions. Yet we were thriving because I’d pushed and pushed and pushed to do things differently.
Neither of them had cared if the barn was clean. Granddad was right, he hadn’t had staff to tidy up because both he and Dad had run with a skeleton crew for so damn long that we’d gotten the reputation for burning out ranch hands faster than we could hire their replacements.
According to Granddad, I’d overstaffed the ranch. But I liked to keep my guys for longer than one season. And I liked to have a clean barn, clean horses and clean equipment.
The tractor he’d been tinkering with had lasted seven years longer than any he’d had in his day. Maybe it was because he was a good mechanic. Or maybe it was because I had insisted on both servicing it before it broke down and keeping it inside, out of the elements.
“What are you doing?” I asked, looking over his shoulder to the John Deere.
“I’m checking the hydraulics on the tractor. If that’s all right with you.”
“Fine,” I gritted out, turned and walked away.
I loved my grandfather, but damn it, working with the man was exhausting.
I couldn’t assign him work. I couldn’t hold him responsible for doing something on a regular basis because he was retired. And because Jake Greer Sr. reported to no one but his wife.
The problem was Granddad didn’t want to be retired. He’d pop in and take over jobs while I was in the middle of them. He’d take work from one of my hands without letting me know. He’d give orders to my staff, sending them in the wrong direction, all because he was bored—something he’d never admit.
Like the hydraulics. I’d already planned on checking them this afternoon. He knew I was going to do it myself because I’d told him yesterday. But did he ask if there was something else I could use his help on? No.
I walked out of the barn and stalked to the stables, my sanctuary. It was twice as big as the barn, and everyone, even Granddad, knew this was my domain. The floors were swept out regularly and every horse’s stall was mucked daily. We kept this place spotless, not only for the animals and my mental state, but because unlike the barn, guests roamed in here often.
As I made my way down the long center aisle, I counted the empty stalls. Most of the animals were out on guest excursions except for three young mares that had been left behind. They didn’t spare me so much as a glance, too busy munching on the grain they’d been given this morning.
Above me, the lofts were full of bales and the florescent lights were shining bright. It smelled like all stables should in my opinion, of horses, hay and hard work.
My gelding Jigsaw popped his head out of his stall the moment he heard my boots on the cement floor. I walked to him, putting my hand on his cheek. “How do you feel about doing some work today?”
He nuzzled my shoulder, anxious to get outside.
Jigsaw had been my horse since I was eleven. He stood nearly sixteen hands and was a beast of an animal. He was fast and not afraid to work. He’d gotten his name from the puzzle-piece-shaped spot on his right shoulder. Besides that white mark, he was as black as the midnight sky.
I could always count on Jigsaw. He’d never let me down. He never meddled with my schedule. He never talked back.
He never disappeared, only to return out of the blue eleven years later.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” I asked my horse.
He flicked up his nose, butting against my head.
“Yeah, we’ll get going soon.” I stroked the bridge of his nose and left him to get myself ready.
My office was located in the stables, beside the tack room. Dad had suggested I use the corner office in the lodge, the one opposite Katherine’s, because more and more, I found myself behind a desk.
It would make things more efficient if I was sitting inside where I could talk to Katherine in person rather than call her twelve times a day. But I liked my cramped office in the stables. I liked that I could watch the trainers and the hands interact with the horses and the guests. I could witness who had the patience to take groups out on trail rides and who would be better suited for ranch maintenance.
And I liked working with the smell of horses and leather and dirt in the air.
But it meant when I needed to talk to Katherine, I had to call. When she didn’t answer, I’d trek to the lodge for a cup of coffee and pop by her office.
Running into Gemma Lane had nearly knocked me on my ass.
I swiped my phone from my desk and shoved it into a jeans pocket. Then I grabbed a pair of leather gloves from the top of a file cabinet and took my Stetson off the set of deer antlers I used as a hat hook. I needed to get out of here and get some air. Think this over.
“Hey, boss.” Rory appeared in the doorway, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Hey.” I put the hat on my head. “What’s up?”
“I’m all done with the stalls for the day, and I’m ready to help on the tractor.”
Rory was the son of one of our longtime housekeepers. As a single mom, she’d worked hard to provide for her son. He’d just turned eighteen and had graduated from high school this past spring. His mom’s dream was for him to go to college. Rory’s was to work on this ranch.
So I’d hired him. The kid soaked up everything we could teach him. He didn’t bitch about the shit—literal—jobs. And if there was a chance for him to do something with the equipment, he was all over it.
I’d promised him yesterday he could shadow me as I worked on the tractor.
“Change of plan. Jake is working on the tractor today. He said he’d love to have your help.”
“Okay, cool. Thanks.”
“When you’re done, take lunch. Then we’ll wait for the trail rides
to get back in. I’m going to check the fence on the south side. Just hang out and help the guys with the horses when they get back.”
“Will do.” He jogged out the door.
Rory jogged everywhere. His energy was impossible to contain and he always had a slew of questions.
Those questions would drive Granddad, a guy who preferred to work in silence, nuts.
I chuckled.
“What are you laughing about?” My brother, Cash, strode into the office.
“I sent Rory to help Granddad service the tractor.”
He laughed too. “You’ll pay for that later.”
“Worth it.” I grinned. “I thought Katherine had you out with the guests this morning.”
“The folks staying in the Beartooth Chalet canceled their ride. They decided to hike up the ridge and take some pictures since the weather’s good. We’ll ride tomorrow.”
I swiped another pair of gloves from the pile of my spares. “Good. Then you can help me.”
“What are we doing?” he asked as I slapped the gloves into his chest and eased past him out the door.
“Fencing.”
“I knew I should have gone to see Grandma instead of coming out here.”
I walked to the wall where my saddle was draped over a thick wooden post. I pulled off a saddle blanket and grabbed a currycomb, then went to Jigsaw’s stall. I’d planned on just taking a survey and noting damage today, but if Cash was free, we’d tackle the repairs too.
“Do you want to ride or take the truck?” I asked.
“I’ll take the truck,” he grumbled. “Since obviously you’re going to ride.”
I didn’t feel bad for making Cash drive. He spent three times as long as I did on horseback, and he could be behind the wheel for a change.
It didn’t take me long to get Jigsaw saddled and outside. The crisp fall air filled my lungs and he pranced on his feet, anxious to get out in the open. My horse loved to run, but he’d been trained to wait. When I left him standing in a spot, his reins not secured, he stood and waited.
Because he was a damn good horse.
Cash pulled up with the fencing truck, the blue Ford we kept stocked with a pile of steel fence posts and a roll of barbed wire. On a thirteen-thousand-acre ranch there was always fencing to do.
Wild Highway: Runaway Series - Book 2 Page 3