Ranger Pride

by Layla Chase

  Bootsteps on the entry tile behind her drew closer and stopped.

  The hair on Caitlyn’s neck prickled, as if her body was attuned to the cowboy’s presence. From the corner of her eye, she spotted her oldest cousin, Tilda, waving over Rhys.

  He heeded the beckoning wave and crossed the room then leaned close to confer for several moments before disappearing around the corner toward the kitchen.

  Only after he left did she realize he carried her silver suitcase. She wondered what the discussion was about, denying the stab in her chest could possibly be jealousy. Over a guy she’d known less than an hour? Then she focused on the conversation buzzing around her. “Of course, I want to go riding. Can’t wait to change into my jeans and boots.”

  A glance around told her redecorating had been made inside the lodge. “Whoa. Who’s responsible for the designer additions?” The main sitting room had always held massive leather couches and armchairs, with the requisite elk or moose antlers hung high on a couple walls. The geometric Native American-influence woven rugs and pillows really set the western tone. On the wooden end tables stood small lamps with pierced tin shades. She ran a finger over the random designs. “I love these.”

  “I have a friend who makes them. Isn’t Gabe talented?” Jude’s cheeks reddened.

  Caitlyn giggled. “Will I be hearing more about him this weekend?”

  “Maybe.”

  Tilda rushed into the room. “Caitlyn, hello and welcome. I’m not being rude. Just coordinating some last-minute room shuffling is all.” She gave a hug, and then held Caitlyn at arm’s length and crinkled her nose. “Cuz, your clothes are hanging off your body.”

  Maybe I’ve lost a few pounds. Caitlyn resisted glanced down at herself which would only lend credence to Tilda’s and Jude’s comments. But they hadn’t seen her in months and shouldn’t have even noticed. She lifted what she hoped looked like a nonchalant shrug. “They’re not hanging. I like a looser fit.” What she really wanted to know was what Tilda and Rhys had been whispering about. “So, you’re hosting a wedding this weekend. Sounds exciting.”

  Eyes wide, Tilda clamped both hands to her head and shook it. Her loose cornsilk-yellow waves swayed around her cheeks. “Originally, I capped the event at fifty people, but now I’ve been told to expect seventy. Those are the overnight guests. Catering order was for a hundred. Now, I’m concerned that won’t be sufficient. At least a dozen have already arrived.” She clasped Caitlyn’s hands and squeezed. “I really wanted seclusion from the main house, and I held out from renting the lower floor of Gallatin Cabin for as long as I could. But, when the bride begged for more beds, I couldn’t pass up the rental fees.”

  “Til even rented out our studio cabins. Strangers will be invading our personal spaces.” Malin slapped a hand on her cheek and affected a stern frown. “We spent yesterday boxing up all our personal stuff. The hands stuffed them into the rafters over the garage.”

  Tilda scoffed and shook a finger. “You’ll be thanking me when we can shut down for the season on schedule with reserves in the bank to last the winter. Otherwise, we’ll have to develop programs for sleigh rides and ice fishing.”

  Malin gave Tilda a one-arm hug. “I’m only teasing. Believe me, I’m happy to conduct our giant slumber party anywhere.”

  “Oh no.” Guilt descended on Caitlyn. Maybe she should have considered all the wedding activity before fleeing to the ranch as her sanctuary. “This all sounds very chaotic…and crowded. Should I go to Ruby’s in town?”

  “Not Ruby’s anymore.” Jude sat on one end of a sofa. “Now the place is called Crazy Mountain Bed and Breakfast and has new owners. But all their rooms are booked. I checked yesterday.” She grinned. “I told you this wedding was a big deal. A major event for this region of only a thousand or so citizens.”

  “Mal’s right. Who cares about being inconvenienced for a couple of days? We gained a three-day visit with our favorite cousin.” Tilda stepped forward and linked her arm in Caitlyn’s. “Don’t worry. I saved the modular unit for our use. A couple of us will have to sleep together, but we’ve done that lots of times before.” She laughed. “We’ll have everything we need. Not that we’ll do much more than sleep and hang our clothes there. This weekend, everyone pitches in—employees on the payroll and family, who do it for love.”

  Inwardly, Caitlyn cringed. This wedding was more involved and potentially time-consuming than she imagined. Of course, when she’d booked her ticket, she was only concerned with getting away from St. Paul. Montana had shone like a beacon of safety.. But without the privacy of her own room, when would she find time to complete her work? “When is the ceremony scheduled? Sunday early afternoon?”

  “Oh no, that would be too logical and sensible.” Wincing, Tilda ducked her head and glanced around. “Don’t want to badmouth the couple’s plans in earshot of any guests.” She huffed out a breath. “Sunset on Sunday, with the vows timed so the happy couple says ‘I do’ as the sun slips out of sight.”

  For whatever silly reason, her eyes burned. Caitlyn tucked her hands under her chin. “That’s kind of romantic.” Then she glanced around at three shocked expressions. Or not.

  “Yeah, maybe, but totally impractical from a host’s perspective.” Jude jumped up and waved her hands. “How many weddings have you attended that played out as scheduled? We are really counting on good reviews of this weekend’s event to spread the word about our destination wedding locale.”

  A throat cleared. “Excuse me, Miss Langstrom.”

  Three blonde heads turned toward the raspy voice. “Yes?” Then the sisters looked at one another and laughed.

  Caitlyn shifted her stance until she spotted the speaker. How did he make cotton clothing look so good?

  “Rhys.” Tilda flashed a smile and took a step toward the doorway where he stood. “If you don’t want that confusing response each time, use our first names.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Uh, Tilda. I took care of that task we discussed.” His gaze flicked toward Caitlyn and then returned to his boss. “If my work here is done, I’ll head out to the barn.”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.”

  He lifted his hat then turned and walked through the dining room to the side door. His boots echoed on the plank flooring.

  Caitlyn watched until he rounded a corner and moved out of sight. Her heart pounded a bit faster at the swagger of the confident male. Aware the room had gone quiet, she turned to see her cousins staring with raised eyebrows.

  “See something you like, Katydid?” Jude pointed to where Rhys disappeared and then laughed. “You should go for it.”

  Hoping her cheeks didn’t flush bright red, she shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s not my type at all. What could I possibly have in common with a cowboy?” With her hidden hand, she crossed fingers against the lie. What did having anything in common have to do with being hot for his body?

  “Ah, she protests too much.” Malin grinned and wagged a forefinger back and forth.

  Maybe their paths wouldn’t cross again, and her resolve wouldn’t be tested much further. She let out a sigh through barely opened lips. Even she didn’t believe that hogwash. What was the fun in not having another go at practicing her flirting skills?

  Chapter Three

  For a few moments after stepping outside, Rhys stood on the lodge’s back deck, his gaze unfocused as he mentally reviewed the changes he’d had to make within the last ten minutes. Something nagged his conscience, like he’d overlooked an important feature. He hated being rushed. That’s when mistakes were made—mistakes that sometimes resulted in team members getting hurt. Unwilling to rehash the incident that plagued his nightmares, he paced a few feet away and then returned.

  Yesterday, he’d spent ninety minutes analyzing the best angles for the microphones he’d placed in the ground level of the Gallatin Cabin. The open layout and Tilda’s assurance that Caitlyn would be assigned the single bedroom helped his placement. But this last-minute c
hange to place the listening devices in the double-wide modular containing three bedrooms stretched both his abilities and his supplies.

  As the warm mid-day breeze wafted over him, he rolled his shoulders and walked toward the bunkhouse. A scan to check broadcast strength needed to be run before he could relax with the knowledge the coverage was complete. The known threat against the named subject occurred more than a thousand miles away. Probably he’d been assigned to maintain situational awareness solely to assuage the worries of a fat-cat CEO somewhere in the Midwest. The equipment he’d placed would get the job done.

  Approaching the rough-planked building, he fished out the door key from his jeans pocket. From the sideways glances he received at morning chow, he suspected someone had been booted from a private room to the upstairs dormitory to accommodate his need for privacy. Or maybe the regulars were suspicious of the newest hire being tasked with transporting guests. As long as no one got in the way of him performing his duties, he’d put up with their stand-offish attitudes for the remaining eighty-four-hour duration.

  Rhys opened the door to the bunkhouse common area and paused to listen for anyone else’s presence. Hearing nothing, he turned right toward his room. Giving the immediate area one more visual check over his shoulder, he unlocked the door and slipped inside. Every inch of the built-in desk and a small table he found in the garage storage were covered with his array of laptops, tablets, and receivers for the microphones he’d hidden.

  He scanned the room to make sure everything looked the same as when he’d left. Satisfied nothing was amiss, he pulled on a headset and activated the program collecting the audio feeds, hitting the back arrow until he heard his own voice test. On another laptop, he noted the time in the microphone spreadsheet that the devices were verified as active, and then settled back to listen.

  Glancing at the laptop clock, he figured the women would move to the modular soon to get the new arrival settled. As he waited, he reflected on the scene in the airport. Having the thin beautiful woman dressed in flowing clothes that hugged her curves approach his location had thrown him. This poised woman who looked like she belonged in a fashion magazine only vaguely resembled the photo in the client file. The way her reddish-blonde hair floated in waves around her face and shoulders distracted him. Then, like a fool, he’d blurted out his first thought uncensored.

  The city girl’s surprised reaction was almost worth having to cover his gaff. Her cool blue eyes shot wide, and her pink lips pursed in a kissable pout. Even hours later, the memory of that pout was enough to set his blood thrumming double-time.

  A clatter sounded in his earphones. He sat forward, staring at the tip of his scuffed boot as he heard a burst of conversation. Four women talking over each other’s words picked up from the four corners of the common space didn’t allow for discerning much of what they actually said.

  Then the chatter slowed as they called out who had claimed what living space.

  He analyzed the cadence, breathing pattern, and vocabulary of each so he could readily identify Caitlyn when she spoke. At first, the task was easy because questions were tossed her way. Then he didn’t hear her voice but instead heard the slide of drawers being opened and closed. Unpacking. The swish of clothes and clinking rattle of something unidentifiable felt like a shared personal experience.

  “So, Caitlyn, I saw you couldn’t drag your gaze from the dreamy hand’s butt.”

  “Oh, Jude, you’re seeing things. Probably because of your new friend, Gabe.”

  Rhys sat up, a grin spreading his lips. The lanky blonde had checked him out? Interesting.

  “Don’t go changing the subject. Whoa, you are tense. What’s going on?” The bed springs squeaked.

  “Jude, I appreciate your concern, but really, I have nothing to share. I expect a good long ride on my favorite horse will reduce my tension. I was up at the crack of dawn and fought cross-town traffic to get to the airport in time to board the early flight.”

  “Yeah, right. I’ll ask again after you’ve had a couple glasses of wine.”

  “Okay.” A sigh sounded. “But now I can’t wait to gallop across the prairie.”

  This city girl on a horse? He bet her jeans were brand new, and her boots didn’t have a single scuff mark.

  “Hey, sis, give Caitlyn a few minutes to herself. We need to get back to the lodge.”

  A chorus of goodbyes sounded followed by a few seconds of quiet. Then just a soft lyrical humming and the swishing of cloth came through the earpiece.

  Rhys imagined the white silky blouse and flowered skirt slipping across her body. He closed his eyes and wondered what her skin felt like. In the photo, the color had looked pale but, in real life, her skin appeared creamy. A few freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Would she have freckles in other places? The front of his jeans bulged, and he straightened his leg to relieve the pressure. That thoughts of freckled skin got him hot was a sign he’d been too long without a woman. One nighters with females met in New Mexican cantinas didn’t count, because only his body had been involved in those encounters.

  Breathy gasps, throaty grunts, and a steady buzz drew his attention to the audio monitor. He adjusted the volume which only confirmed what he heard was the thin blonde using another method to relieve her tension. A pleasurable way that was always better shared with another. His conscience warred with his work ethic. Did he give her privacy, or did he ensure her safety?

  Safety won, and he had to grit his teeth as he paced the restricted length of the earpiece cord and back. Because he was primed and aching—and knew his focus would not be sharp if this condition continued—he ripped off the earpiece and stalked to the bathroom. Holding the image of the strawberry-blonde’s face in his mind, he needed only a dozen firm strokes along his rock-hard cock to come with a muffled shout.

  Giving the small sink a quick rinse, he splashed water on his face and over his hair. A quick cold shower was what he really needed. But that relief would have to wait until his subject was bedded down for the night. A groan emitted through his clenched jaw. Why did he have to put that image into his still-aroused thoughts?

  After checking the equipment, he straightened his clothes, set his hat back on his head, and left the bedroom. He pocketed the key and double-checked the door was locked. Moments later, Rhys entered the shadowy barn and inhaled the earthy scents of hay and animals. Sunbeams slanted across the interior from the windows high in the hay loft. Walking down the middle aisle, he passed several empty stalls—each with a name placard. His boots crunched against stray pieces of straw on the concrete floors.

  At the far end near the tack room, a few of the stalls were occupied. He stopped and looked over the backs of three horses—a roan with black tail, a creamy buckskin with long mane, and a dappled gray who changed position and stuck its head over the gate.

  “Curious, are you?” He reached out a hand and scratched under the mare’s whiskery chin. “Hang tight. I need to get a brush.” With quick moves, he moved a free-standing stand near the stall gate and topped it with a saddle and blanket. Standing next to it, he judged the stirrups were a close fit.

  Then, he collected the tools to curry and brush the horse. Long strokes of the brush over the horse’s shoulders and back soothed him probably more than they did the horse. Sliding the hoof pick from his back pocket, he made quick work of cleaning the gray’s hooves and checking the horseshoes. His mellow state of mind continued as he grabbed a pitchfork and wheelbarrow before starting to muck out the stall.

  On the lobbyist assignment, he’d been on the clock during fourteen- to fifteen-hour days. The grueling schedule hadn’t allowed enough time for the type of comprehensive workouts he preferred on the hotel’s exercise equipment. He leaned the pitchfork against a nearby stall and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. What he’d really like was to shed his shirt entirely but suspected employees here didn’t work bare-chested like he had in New Mexico. Moving to the next stall, he scooped and pitched, enjoying the strain on his shoul
ders, slowing only when his scar ached.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught movement at the doorway. Instinct took over. His chest hitched, and he dropped to a crouch, reaching toward his left ankle. Before he cleared the Glock 23 from the holster, he heard a sweet voice crooning, “Aren’t you a big beautiful boy?”

  After lowering his pant leg over the compact weapon, Rhys straightened and rested a forearm along the top rail of the stall. “Why, thank you, ma’am. You’re right pretty yourself.”

  The city girl gasped and whirled, her reddish-blonde braid whipping over her shoulder. Under a beige Stetson, her eyes narrowed to a slit. “I’m talking to Big Red here.”

  Seeing her cheeks blush pink conjured thoughts of what she must have looked like while satisfying her intimate needs. How he wished he’d been inside that tidy bedroom. He would have handled the situation to wring satisfaction from them both. Unable to stop the gesture, he gave her a wide grin. “Anything I can do to assist you, ma’am?”

  “Yeah, stop calling me ‘ma’am’.” She scratched the roan’s nose and shot Rhys sideways glances. “I keep remembering that’s how you addressed Mrs. Greenville.”

  He dipped his chin, taking the opportunity to gaze at her long legs accented by faded slim jeans. Her boots held plenty of scuff marks. At his error in judgment, he bit back a smile. The lady had just displayed some interesting contrasts. “Do you prefer Miss Auliffe or Caitlyn?”

  “I hear Miss Auliffe enough in my professional life. Besides, I suspect we’re only a couple years apart in age.” She looked up and met his gaze. “You may call me Caitlyn.” She reached toward a post at the edge of the stall and removed a lead rope from a hook. After unlatching the gate, she led the horse into the aisle and over to the tack room.