by Elle James
RJ hadn’t wanted to go, but JoJo had insisted, dragging her along. And she’d actually danced with a couple of the local men. Though Gunny hadn’t taught her much about being a girl, he’d been sure to teach her how to two-step.
At the time, RJ hadn’t understood the importance of knowing her way around a dance floor. Thankfully, her father had taught her how to dance, and she was able to keep up even with the best dancers. It had been the first time since she’d left college that she’d dared to do anything that wasn’t related to the ranch or the bar.
Gunny had tried to get her to go out with friends, but she’d let her friends from high school and college slide out of her life. They had all moved on, gotten married and had children. The drive out to the ranch was too far for most to consider, even if she’d invited them.
And RJ didn’t have time to drive into Colorado Springs. Between her and her father, they had more than enough work to do for four or five people.
RJ pulled the blue sweater over her head, slipped out of her work boots and faded jeans and reached for a less faded pair of jeans. Her hand paused in mid-air as she spotted the jean skirt JoJo had given her along with the sweater.
On impulse, she stepped into the skirt, pulled it up over her hips and zipped the front. It fit the curve of her hips perfectly. JoJo would be glad to see her finally wear it. And her friend would see it when she came in to help wait on tables at the bar in… RJ glanced down at her watch.
Damn, she’d been gone for ten minutes. The bar was due to open now. If the two men had shown up already, her father wouldn’t have time to meet with them. JoJo wouldn’t get there for another thirty minutes.
Standing in her socks, she glanced at the bottom of her closet. She owned two pairs of boots, tennis shoes and a pair of low-heeled black shoes she’d worn with the black dress to the funeral.
With a sigh, she pulled on her best cowboy boots and grabbed her brush from the top of her dresser.
One glance in the mirror made her yelp.
Striker whimpered and nuzzled her hand.
“Sorry. I forget you’re a little skittish with sudden noises.” She rubbed a hand over his head. “It’s okay. Well, you’re okay, but my hair looks like something the cat dragged in.”
Striker whimpered again.
“Don’t like cats?” RJ asked. “Shhh. Don’t tell Tiger he’s a cat. He’s already a freeloader out in the barn. He might get a complex if other cats find out he’s a terrible mouser.”
Several thick strands of her silky hair had slipped out of the elastic band. With no time to spare, she pulled the band free, swiped at the tangles with the brush and called it done.
RJ darted down the stairs. Striker took the stairs a bit slower, not too bothered by the fact he had only three legs to balance on. RJ burst out of the lodge, passing the older couple who were regulars, coming out to stay with them every summer for the past five years. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Pendergast.”
Mrs. Pendergast’s eyebrows rose up her forehead. “RJ?”
RJ slowed so fast Striker ran into the backs of her legs. “Sorry, I can’t stop and chat. Gotta work the bar tonight.”
Mr. Pendergast gave her a thumbs up. “Looking good, RJ.”
“Yes, you are,” Mrs. Pendergast said. “That color suits you, as does the skirt. And I like your hair down.”
Unused to compliments, RJ pushed a hand through her hair. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Pendergast touched her arm. “You’re a beautiful young woman, RJ. You should be proud.”
RJ shook her head. “My mother was beautiful. I take after my father.”
“No matter who you take after, you’re lovely,” Mr. Pendergast said. “We’ll be by after our afternoon constitutional.”
“See ya then,” RJ said and scooted to the bar, Striker following. They entered through the front door.
She stood for a moment, letting her vision adjust to the dim lighting in the bar after being out in the afternoon sunshine.
A hand gripped her arm and dragged her through the room. “RJ, where have you been, Chica?” JoJo demanded. Josephina Angelica Barrera-Rodriguez stood all of five feet tall in her shoes. She made up for her small stature in fierceness. When she got mad or excited, her Latina heritage came out in a flurry of Spanish. “Your father is busy with those men, and I need some drink orders filled.”
“On it,” RJ said, hurrying toward the bar. She walked around to the other side and glanced across at her friend. “What do you need?”
JoJo grinned. “I need to know what the occasion is that got you into a skirt.”
Her face heating, RJ grabbed a rag and swiped at the counter. “Gunny told me to wear something clean.”
“And that’s all you had?” JoJo laughed.
Her cheeks burning hotter, RJ glanced up. “I didn’t say that. And this outfit is really nice. If I didn’t say it already, thank you.”
JoJo cursed in Spanish. “De nada. But I wasn’t looking for gratitude. Not that it’s any of my business, I just want to know what’s going on.” She jerked her head toward the back door. “For starters, who were the two big guys with Gunny. Do I need to call in some of my cousins to protect the old man?”
RJ frowned. “Did they look like they’d hurt him?” She started for the rear exit.
“No, really, RJ, it’s okay,” JoJo said.
RJ turned back to her friend. “Are you sure?”
The petite Hispanic woman nodded her dark head. “They shook hands and smiled when they came into the bar.” Her brow wrinkled. “At least, one of them did. And he was the one doing all the talking.”
“Maybe I need to see for myself.” Again, she started to turn.
“I’m sure they’re all right.”
A man shouted from the far corner of the barroom. “Hey, JoJo, you gonna bring us our drinks, or do we have to come get them?”
JoJo pulled a page off her order book and slapped it on the counter. “That’s our cue. We have some thirsty customers tonight. You’d better get cracking. Gunny is a grown man. He can handle those two guys.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to hear what they were saying,” she grumbled as she filled the order, disappointed that they hadn’t included her in their conversation.
“I’m sure he’ll fill you in when all is said and done.” JoJo lifted the heavy tray of drinks. “Gunny tells you everything.”
“Not everything,” RJ muttered. “He didn’t tell me he’d had a call from this Hank person who sent those goons out here.”
JoJo didn’t hear her words. She was already halfway across the floor to deliver drinks to the thirsty patrons of the Watering Hole.
It was just as well RJ wasn’t included in the conversation among the three men. If they were people her father had served with in the military, he’d have more in common with them than she would.
Again, she wished she’d been accepted into the Army when she and JoJo had gone through the Military Entry Processing Station right after high school.
While JoJo sailed through with no problems, RJ had been medically screened and disqualified for a heart murmur she’d never known she had.
Their plans to see the world and serve their country together had all been crushed. JoJo had to go on without her.
RJ had remained in Colorado with her father.
Gunny had sunk his entire life savings into buying the Lost Valley Ranch. He and RJ spent the next ten years fixing it up, repairing fences and running cattle. When the cattle wasn’t enough to keep up with the mortgage payments, they’d opened up the bar and the ranch to tourists eager to get a taste of high mountain living.
JoJo returned with empty mugs and bottles.
RJ quickly cleared her tray and filled it again. As she walked away with the filled tray, RJ studied her friend.
JoJo had served eight years in the Army and had come back a different person. Someone or something had hurt her while she’d been on active duty. The dark circles beneath her eyes reflected a lingering sadness or inability to sleep.
<
br /> RJ couldn’t get her to talk about it. JoJo said she didn’t want RJ to get involved.
Being her best friend, RJ hadn’t been able to stand back and do nothing. She’d introduced JoJo to another friend, Emily Strayhorn, who happened to be a therapist and a stray Gunny had taken in during hard times and let live at the ranch until she’d completed her degree and the hours required to attain her certification.
“Hey, JoJo.” RJ took the order sheet from JoJo on her next pass back to the bar. “How have your sessions with Emily been going?”
JoJo shrugged. “Okay, I guess. She’s just someone to talk to when I’m feeling down.”
“You know you can talk to me, too.”
JoJo reached a hand across the bar and touched RJ’s arm. “I know. And I appreciate your concern. But I’ve known you most of my life. Strange as it seems, I feel more comfortable talking to someone I don’t really know.”
“I guess I get that.” RJ’s lips twisted. “As long as you know I’d do anything for you. I’ve got your back.” On a softer tone, she added, “Wish I could have been with you in the Army.”
JoJo’s jaw hardened, and the shadows deepened in her eyes. “I’m glad you weren’t.”
Before RJ could dig deeper into JoJo’s comment, a customer shouted, “JoJo! Where’s my drink?”
“Duty calls.” JoJo grabbed the tray of drinks and hurried to deliver.
RJ glanced at her watch. She’d been tending bar for two hours and still no sign of Gunny and the two men who’d left with him. What could be taking them so long? The lodge, barn and bar weren’t that big. Surely, there wasn’t that much to talk about? You want to rent space? How much? Hell, they could have the entire ranch for what Hank Patterson was willing to pay. Only thing Gunny needed to do was lock them into a contract for no less than a year.
If they could continue to run their dude ranch operations and the bar at the same time, it would be icing on the cake.
RJ lifted a bottle from the back shelf.
“RJ?” JoJo called out.
Bottle in hand, RJ turned quickly. The bottle hit the countertop at just the right angle and broke, sending shards of glass and a spray of alcohol all over the floor. “Damn!”
“Are you all right?” JoJo appeared on the other side of the counter.
“I’m fine. I just wasted half a bottle of our best tequila.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled out your name.” JoJo sighed. “Take it out of my paycheck. I insist.”
RJ frowned. “No way. I was the clumsy one. Think you can hold off the thirsty camels while I clean up this mess?”
“I’ve got this.” JoJo grabbed a couple bowls of pretzels from the counter and spun toward a table where a pale-faced, lone man sat nursing a glass of whiskey.
RJ bent and gingerly picked up the largest shards of the bottle and dumped them into a waste basket. When she had all the big pieces of glass cleaned up, she hurried to the back supply room for the items she’d need to complete the cleanup. If she left the tequila on the floor, it would be slippery for a while and then turn sticky. Not an option, either way.
Gunny kept the bar area clean. He expected the same from her. And potential customers didn’t need to see the mess.
When she started for the back rooms, Striker rose from where he’d been sleeping on a padded dog bed behind the bar.
“No, Striker,” she said. “Stay.”
The Malinois whimpered.
“I’ll be right back.” She didn’t want the dog to cross over the tequila mess and broken glass. His paws could be cut in the process. “Stay,” she repeated and left him behind the bar while she headed for the back rooms.
In the supply closet, she found the broom, dustpan and mop bucket but no mop. Then she remembered she’d left it out on the back porch to dry the night before.
RJ stepped through the rear door and reached for the mop. Darkness had settled over the bar and ranch. The single yellow light glowing over the back porch lit her way. A sound startled her and made her turn toward the large trash container.
A shadowy form shifted back and forth in the darkness. After a second, RJ recognized it as two men in a scuffle. Nothing unusual for a Saturday night in the mountains. But she didn’t want it to reflect badly on the Watering Hole or the Lost Valley Ranch when Gunny was attempting to sell the new guys on renting a quiet place in the country.
Punches flew between them, one guy staggering backward to hit the steel corner of the trash bin with a resounding thud. Then he slid to the ground. The other guy approached him with his arm cocked, his hand balled into a fist. He was going to hit the man while he was obviously down.
“Hey!” RJ called out as she flew off the porch and raced toward the last man standing. “Leave him alone!”
The guy spun and faced her, a ski mask covering his face.
The cold hand of dread clenched around RJ’s chest. This wasn’t a typical barfight. A guy wearing a ski mask had something to hide.
Anger surged through RJ, and she lost her grip on caution. Charging forward, she reached for the man’s ski mask.
Before he could knock her hand away, she sank her fingers into the black knit threads and tugged it free of his head.
At the same time, a fist came out and crashed into her temple, knocking her backward.
RJ lost her balance and fell flat on her back, her hard landing knocking the wind from her lungs.
Shocked by the fall, she couldn’t move for several seconds and could only see the stars swirling around her head.
A dark shadow fell over her, and her attacker reached down, grabbed the ski mask from her hands and slipped it over his head and face. Then he smashed his palm over RJ’s mouth and nose, leaned his body over hers and trapped her arms and legs with his weight.
RJ, already breathless from her fall, couldn’t draw in air. She fought with all her might, but the man was heavier and had the advantage.
Her vision, already compromised by her fall, blurred further, the gray turning to black around the edges until her strength waned and fight seeped out of her limbs. With no air to recharge her brain and muscles, she went limp, fading into a black abyss.
Suddenly, the weight jerked off her.
In the darkness, as if from far away, she heard scuffling and several thumping sounds and grunts.
RJ could do nothing. Her hearing seemed to return, but she wasn’t really there. It was as if she’d left her body and hovered over the scene in a haze of gloom.
Footsteps crunched in the gravel, and someone was speaking.
“Hey, lady,” a deep resonant voice called out as if at the end of a long tunnel.
RJ couldn’t answer, couldn’t move, couldn’t open her eyes.
Then something soft and warm covered her lips. Fuzz tickled the skin on her cheek. If she could feel that, she wasn’t dead, was she?
Air filled her mouth and pushed down her throat into her lungs. It left as quickly as it came but more followed. Two, three, four times, air pushed into her.
The haze of darkness drifted away. Soft, yellow light peeked between her eyelids.
People were talking. A little closer this time.
“What the hell?” a man’s familiar voice sounded near her. “RJ? RJ, baby?”
Gunny. She thought she spoke it, but no sound came from her mouth. Her lips were still covered, and air was being forced into her lungs.
As the fog cleared in her mind, her body took over. Tingling began in her fingers and toes and spread up her arms and legs. Then her lungs engaged, and she gasped.
“There you are,” that deep resonant voice sounded, warm breath feathering across her cheek.
RJ’s eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at the dark silhouette of a man with a heavy beard and dark eyes.
“RJ? Oh, baby, are you okay?” her father called out.
“I…think…so,” she said, suddenly aware of hands on her arms. Warm, large hands.
When she tried to sit up, those hands held her
back. “Lie still. We don’t know if you have other injuries we can’t see.”
“Injuries?” RJ said, her mind returning function but not with memories intact. “Why….what…?” She stared at the man holding her arms. “Who are you?”
“Jake,” he said. “And you are?”
“Rucker Juliet Tate,” she whispered automatically. “You can call me RJ.”
He gave her a hint of a smile. “RJ. Nice to meet you.” Then he turned to address someone nearby. “Kujo, did you check the other guy?”
Another unfamiliar voice answered. “Too late for him. He’s dead.”
Gunny’s face appeared beside Jake’s. “Thank goodness you were here, or my baby girl would be the same.” His hand touched Jake’s shoulder as he stared into RJ’s eyes. “What happened?”
RJ lay on the hard ground, gravel digging into her back, and shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
“I just put in a call to 911,” the other man said. “An ambulance is on its way.”
RJ moved her arms and legs, one by one, checking for any abnormalities. When she found none, she tried again to sit up.
Jake’s hands held her down. “You could have a spinal injury. Moving could make it worse.”
She frowned. “Let me up. I’m okay. I don’t need an ambulance.” She reached up and shoved his hands aside.
Jake pushed to his feet, favoring one leg. He swayed a bit before he straightened and held out a hand to her. “If you’re sure…”
She didn’t want to accept his help, but still didn’t feel completely in control of her own body. Laying her hand in his, she let him help her to her feet.
Jake pulled with enough force, she came off the ground and pitched forward into his chest.
His arms rose around her, his hands finding her hips, steadying her against him.
He took an awkward step backward, again, favoring his left leg.
RJ stood with her hands pressed to his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath her fingertips, glad for his strength when she felt like a bowl of limp noodles.
Since he and his friend were with Gunny, they had to be the men who’d come to check out Lost Valley Ranch as a potential business location.
And she’d just made a great first impression by failing to keep a customer alive and getting knocked out herself.