by Carly Bloom
Coco halted in a cloud of dust, and for about five seconds Claire and Ford just stared at each other.
She tried to read his face and couldn’t. Was he happy to see her?
Ford shook his shoulders and dismounted, slapping at his chaps, which were wet and coated with mud.
Nobody looked as hot in a pair of chaps as Ford.
Ford nodded at her. “Claire.”
Claire’s pulse was pounding, but she nodded her head right back and said, “Ford.”
She hoped it sounded formal and clipped and somewhat sarcastic because, seriously? They were nodding-and-naming now? But she probably sounded breathy and desperate. Because that’s how she felt around him. Desperate and out of breath.
Her mind was made up about Ford. But her body hadn’t gotten the memo and was responding like a full-blown traitor.
Ford removed his hat, wiped his hand on his shirt, and held it out to Casey. “Sheriff.”
Casey smiled. “How does it feel to be a television star?”
“Pardon?”
“Your treacherous crossing at Wailing Woman,” Casey said. His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled.
“There was a camera on me?”
“Yep. Good thing you didn’t decide to stop and take a piss.”
That got half a grin out of Ford. “Maybe I should have.”
“Would have served them right,” Casey added.
Ford’s face melted back into its usual seriousness. “Anybody missing?”
Casey slumped and sighed. “A sixteen-year-old girl. Last seen at her friend’s house wearing red shorts with white polka dots.”
Ford went pale. “Oh, Jesus.”
“We’re searching the banks of the Rio Verde and the creeks,” Casey said.
Ford’s head snapped up. “I’ll help.”
“Figured you would,” Casey said. “We need someone with a good horse to get down to the dam. Neither Beau nor Bryce wanted to try it. Said to wait for you and Coco.”
Ford nodded. “Is Gerome around?”
“Yes, and he wants to see you,” Claire said. “He’s in his study.”
Ford looked at his chaps. “I’d better get these off before I go in the house.”
He quickly removed the chaps and draped them over the porch railing. There was a definite squishing sound as he walked up the steps.
“Are you harboring any fish in those boots?” Claire asked.
“Maybe,” Ford said, pulling one off and turning it upside down. Water poured out (no fish). Next, he peeled off his socks, wrung them out, and hung them on the railing next to his chaps.
Beau and Bryce stepped onto the porch. “Hey, Ford. Saw you on TV. Can we have your autograph?” Bryce asked.
“Shut up,” Ford said.
“It was like watching Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible,” Beau said.
“We were really biting our nails,” Bryce added.
Ford ignored them both and looked at Claire. “Am I okay to go in like this?”
“Yes, you’re…”
Fine. Perfectly acceptable. Incredibly hot.
“There’s the outdoor shower if you want to strip down to your skivvies,” Beau said. “Claire’s super familiar with it.”
Good grief! The twins were irritating. And now they were going to tell one of their favorite stories—
“We had a Peeping Tom case here on the ranch a few years back,” Beau said.
“Many years back,” Claire said. “And Ford’s not interested in a shower so—”
“I might be,” Ford said with a glint in his eye. “Are you talking about the shower behind the bunkhouse? The one next to the pump shed?”
Sometimes, when the cowboys were particularly filthy, they showered off before going inside. The shower was private and enclosed, but they occasionally exited the dang thing completely nude, dirty clothes in hand, and walked the ten or so yards to the back door of the bunkhouse. Anybody standing at the alcove window on the second floor of the ranch house had a clear view, a fact Claire had discovered when she was a teenager.
“I never leave that shower without waving at the window,” Bryce said.
“Just in case Claire’s watching,” Beau added.
“I am not ever watching.”
Beau laughed. “That’s only because your mama had a shutter put up.”
“I’ll pass on the shower,” Ford said, opening the screen door. He looked at Claire. “After you.”
Claire stepped through the door, cheeks aflame. “Thank you.”
“Pervs first,” he added softly, causing Beau and Bryce to break into raucous laughter.
* * *
The stairs creaked beneath Ford’s bare feet as he followed Claire up to Gerome’s study.
When they got to the second floor, he glanced at the shuttered window at the end of the hall and grinned. Claire caught him and rolled her eyes.
“Come on,” she said, yanking on his sleeve.
They stopped outside an ornate wooden door, and Claire knocked firmly. Ford automatically straightened up and squared his shoulders.
Gerome’s voice came from the other side. “Come in.”
Claire opened the door, and there stood Gerome, behind his desk.
Gerome was an intimidating presence, even if you hadn’t slept with his daughter. Which Ford had. On numerous occasions.
Ford entered the room and shook Gerome’s large hand.
“Have a seat,” Gerome said. Then he looked at Claire. “We’re just going to talk rotation schedules. It’ll bore you.”
“I should probably listen. Especially now that I’m going to be helping out more.”
That sounded like a good idea to Ford.
“Later, sweetheart. I’ve got a lot to discuss with Ford, and not much time to answer questions.”
Claire’s mouth fell open. She clearly wasn’t used to being shut down by her father, and frankly, Ford was surprised by it too. He squirmed in his seat while Claire and Gerome stared at each other with identical stubborn chins and furrowed brows.
Claire blinked first. “Okay,” she said, almost managing a smile. “I look forward to talking to you later then.”
She didn’t even glance at Ford before leaving the room. Maybe she was embarrassed. Maybe Ford was just so insignificant that she’d forgotten he was even there.
She was embarrassed.
Ford crossed his arms. He had nothing but respect for Gerome Kowalski, but he shouldn’t embarrass his daughter that way. Claire was smart. She was strong. And she didn’t deserve to be dismissed from the room like hired help.
Hell, he was the hired help.
Gerome’s face relaxed ever so slightly at Claire’s exit. Ford only noticed because he tended to control his features in the same strict manner. Just a lessening of tension around the eyes…
“We’re going to have quite a bit of fence work to do…” Gerome said hoarsely. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then cleared his throat before adding, “I’m going to let you do most of the talking. Tell me what you got.”
Gerome made a circular motion with his hand that indicated Ford should start talking, so he did.
“All the fences in the low areas are down. I’m guessing we’ve got cows over at Happy Trails and vice versa. We’re missing quite a bit of the herd in the back quadrant, but they could be up in the hills.”
“They might be in the state park too,” Gerome said.
Ford sure hoped not. It would be easier to get them down from the hills.
“Lots of gates are down. Roads are washed out or impassable from debris. Don’t have a final tally on cattle loss.”
Gerome nodded. “That’s about what I expected.”
The old rancher leaned back in his chair and sighed. Put a hand over his eyes.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Ford said. “But we can knock it out. We might need to hire a few more hands to get the fences up in a timely manner. That’s top priority.”
“It’s going to take longer than
six weeks.”
That was probably true. “I’m committed to a roundup at the Sun-Barre in six weeks,” Ford reminded Gerome. “Have you put some more feelers out for a permanent foreman?”
“What are you doing after the roundup?”
So, no, Gerome hadn’t put any feelers out.
“I’m not quite sure. But there are a ton of ranches in West Texas. I figure I’ll be on one of them.”
Because none of them were surrounded by water or had a problematic redhead.
Gerome didn’t say anything, so Ford decided to add a definitive statement. “I plan to summer in the desert.”
The bone-dry and redhead-less desert.
“That sounds godawful,” Gerome said. “Why would you want to cook in the Chihuahua Desert if you could spend the summer along the banks of the Rio Verde?”
That was a good question, and he couldn’t answer it truthfully. Because the gist of it was, his heart was floundering around Claire. Fluttering like a damn butterfly. And on top of it, he seemed to be having a hard time keeping his pants on.
He’d broken her heart once, and it had gutted him. He wasn’t going to do it again. Because even if he stayed through the summer—even if he stayed through the fall—he was not staying forever. And Claire was looking for forever.
“The money’s good,” Ford said weakly.
It was. The West Texas ranches paid more because everything cost more. It was hard living.
“You think I’m not paying you enough?” Gerome snapped.
It was very unlike Gerome to argue or beg. It made Ford uncomfortable, and a thick silence hung in the air while Ford considered what to say.
“I’m sick,” Gerome finally said.
It was obvious that Gerome had a cold. And it was bad timing with so much going on, but that was no excuse for him to bully Ford into coming back to Rancho Cañada Verde. Ford couldn’t extend his stay past the six weeks. The brush between Claire’s mouth and his dick was proof of that. “I hope you feel better soon,” he offered.
Gerome crossed his arms. Stared angrily at his desk, face blushing furiously, as if being ill were something to be ashamed of. “I’ve got throat cancer.”
It took a second for it to register. And when it did, Ford felt as if the air had been knocked out of him. Damn.
“I’m having surgery shortly after you head out to West Texas. And there will be radiation after that.”
“I don’t know what to say, Gerome. I’m sorry to hear that you’re ill.”
“You don’t need to say a thing. Words won’t make the cancer go away. But I need you to get the ranch in order, so I can get my affairs in order. Understand?”
Ford nodded. Then he cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t crack. Because Gerome Kowalski was talking about getting his fucking affairs in order.
“I’m facing my mortality, son. I was hoping that at the end of six weeks with you as foreman, this place would be in pretty decent shape. And that depending on what the surgeon finds, I’d be able to make a clear decision. But now we’ve suffered this setback—”
“Decision about what?” Ford asked.
“Beef prices are down, and I don’t think they’re coming back up. Folks are eating less red meat. Claire already saved our asses once—”
“Claire?”
“Hell, yes. Something called branding. And it’s not the kind of branding that involves an iron. It has to do with marketing. She’s carved out what they call a niche. Because of her, when folks think of organic grass-fed beef, they think of Rancho Cañada Verde.”
Ford couldn’t help it. Pride swelled in his chest, and from the look on Gerome’s face, he felt the same way. It was like having a cocky marching band stomping around in your rib cage.
“And there’s that other stuff,” Ford said. “The salsas and whatnot. I can’t get used to seeing it in the store.”
Gerome grinned and shook his head. “Me either. I don’t think we’ll make a profit on them, but they probably won’t sink us.”
“I don’t think anything can sink Rancho Cañada Verde, Gerome.”
“That’s what they said about the Titanic, and we all know how that turned out.”
“But—”
“I’m a poor man sitting on a gold mine,” Gerome said. “We limp along just fine, skirting back and forth between black and red lines. But it’s a lot of work, and it’s too much for Lilly and Claire to handle by themselves. I’m not leaving them with a burden.”
“What are you saying?”
“Look, son. I’m not going to be around forever. It might be time to sell the ranch.”
Ford could hardly pay attention to the rest of the conversation, and by the time he came downstairs, his heart felt like a concrete brick.
He was met by a lot of activity in the kitchen. Miss Lilly and another woman he didn’t know were at the stove. Claire’s friend Maggie was peeling potatoes, and all of them were chattering a mile a minute.
He attempted to scoot past the doorway without being seen.
Failed.
“Well, hey there, Ford,” Maggie Blake said.
Ford didn’t know Maggie very well, but whenever she said his name, she stretched it out to two syllables in that particular way Southern women had. It had a slight flirtatious edge to it, but coming from Maggie, it was more of a tease. As if she were struggling not to laugh.
As if Claire had told her about him running buck naked through the cabin in pursuit of a cat.
“Hi, Maggie. It’s good to see you again.” She was either pregnant or had developed a beer belly. Ford had been raised by his mom, grannie, and Aunt Lucy, so he knew better than to ask.
Maggie grinned a grin that said I have heard every last detail of your sex life and went back to the potatoes. A kitchen chair moved, but nobody was sitting in it. Ford looked under the table and there sat a little boy, playing with a mess of toy horses.
“I’m Henry,” he said. “And I’m bored.”
“Did I hear somebody say he’s bored?” Maggie asked without turning around.
“No ma’am,” Henry sighed. He looked right at Ford and whispered, “If you tell ’em you’re bored, they’ll find some shit for you to do that’s worse than being bored.”
“Travis!” Maggie bellowed.
Travis came running into the room, eyes wide in panic. “Is everything okay?”
Maggie grinned. “The baby fell out while I was standing here peeling potatoes.”
Travis paled and actually looked at the ground between Maggie’s feet.
“Oh, good grief!” Maggie said. “I called you in here because your son just said shit. Again.”
Travis ran a hand over his face. “Aw, shit, Henry. What did I tell you about that?”
“And therein lies the problem,” said the other lady. She was probably in her mid to late sixties, and she wore skin-tight jeans with rhinestones on the pockets. She whipped around to face Travis. “Don’t you think for one second that I won’t wash that mouth out with soap, mijo.”
“Ford,” said Miss Lilly. “Have you met Lupe Garza?”
“She’s Travis’s nanny,” Maggie muttered.
“Lord, isn’t that the truth,” said Lupe. “I also look after Henry, and I help out at Happy Trails.”
“Couldn’t live without her,” Maggie said. “Especially now that I’m about to have my third child.”
Third? Ford remembered that Maggie and Travis had adopted Henry. And now Maggie was pregnant. Had they had another baby while he was gone?
Travis smacked Maggie lightly on her rear. “Watch it, mama. I’m a fully grown man.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And you know it.”
“This doesn’t need to go one bit further,” Lupe said. “There is an actual child in the room.”
Ford grinned. Maggie had meant Travis.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Ford said to Lupe.
“This is Ford Jarvis,” Miss Lilly said. “He’s our new foreman.”
“Oh, I’ve heard
all about Mr. Jarvis,” Lupe said, stepping toward him with a raised eyebrow.
Ford held out a hand, but Lupe bypassed that and gave him a hug. Then she touched his cheek. “So handsome. A devil though, at least that’s what I hear.”
“Lupe,” Maggie said in a warning tone.
“What? It’s the truth.”
She gave Ford a little pat on the cheek, followed by a wink, and went back to the stove.
Ford was left standing there, cheeks warm, watching the assembly line and wondering where Claire was.
Travis kissed Maggie on top of her head and put his hat on. “If you gals have everything under control here in the kitchen—”
“Hey! I’m in the kitchen, and I’m not a gal,” Henry said.
“You’re not actually doing any work,” Travis said. “And if I were you, I’d focus on being invisible or they’re going to give you something to do.”
“Where are you headed?” Ford asked.
“Casey told me to ride up the creek. It should only take me a couple of hours, give or take. Beau and Bryce hit the riverbanks again, and Claire is headed out to the dam.”
Miss Lilly spun around with a gasp. “The dam?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miss Lilly sighed. “And she’s riding Cinder?”
“Is that a bad thing?” Maggie asked, her voice edged with concern.
“None of the cowboys wanted to try and get their horses down there,” Miss Lilly said. “They were waiting for Ford—”
“Don’t worry, Miss Lilly,” Travis said. “Claire’s good on a horse, and she won’t do anything risky.”
Miss Lilly cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “She’s risk on wheels.”
“That was Friday,” Maggie said. “Right now, she’s risk on hooves, and somebody better go after her.”
Maggie looked at Ford, and he didn’t need to be told twice. He was already halfway out the door.
Chapter Eleven
Claire rode Cinder fast and hard, and it felt good. She couldn’t believe her father had kicked her out of his study. Right in front of Ford, too, as if they had “man things” to discuss.
