Sweet Nothings

by Catherine Anderson

  Molly stared after him, wishing there were a screen door. With the weather so warm, she’d enjoy a fresh breeze, and she’d be afraid to leave the door open for fear of a snake getting inside. She wasn’t sure she could do this.

  Rubbing her aching eyes, she once again considered leaving. Only what would become of Sunset? She blinked and stared out the doorway. From where she stood, she could see the stallion in the corral, the bloody stripes on his once beautiful black coat glistening in the sunlight. What kind of person could abandon him?

  A loud thump resounded through the cabin. She nearly parted company with her shoes before she determined it was only Jake throwing logs into the wood box.

  Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders. She could have collapsed right where she stood. When her employer’s looming shape finally filled the doorway, she just stared at him, so depleted of energy that she didn’t even feel self-conscious. He brushed back his sagging shirtsleeve to check his watch. “Supper is at six, sharp. Grab yourself a nap, and I’ll see you then. Don’t bother to knock. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

  News bulletin of the century. “I can whip up something to eat here,” she said scratchily. “I’ve a few groceries.”

  He smiled slightly. “Nevertheless, I’ll expect you for supper.

  She nearly asked if that was an order, then remembered she worked for the man and bit back the question. Sarcasm had its place, and this wasn’t it. She had Sunset to think about. If she tested Jake Coulter’s patience, he might tell her to leave.

  He touched the brim of his hat. “It’ll be canned chili and crackers again tonight with antacid tablets for dessert, but joining us will give you a chance to meet all the men. They’ll be rolling in shortly, still hung over and grumpy as bears from Saturday night on the town. It’ll cheer them up considerably to know we’ve finally got a cook.”

  All the men? He made it sound as if an army was due to arrive. For some reason, she had assumed she’d be cooking for only him and his brother. “How many men are there?”

  “Nine full-timers. Eleven, counting me and Hank.”

  “Will I be expected to cook for all of them?”

  “Of course.”

  Molly had never cooked for more than four people in her life. Rodney had always insisted on having meals catered when they entertained because she was so inept in the kitchen. “I can’t possibly prepare food for that many men. I don’t even—”

  “Sure you can. We’re a patient lot. You’ll get the hang of it with practice.” He backed away from the door. “The hired hands stay in the bunkhouse.” He hooked a thumb toward a long log building adjacent to the house. “You won’t be responsible for cleaning over there, and they’ve got their own laundry facilities. Your only worry will be to keep their bellies full. They have weekends off. They generally head for town Saturday morning and roll back in here late Sunday afternoon, hungry for supper. After dinner on Friday nights, you’ll be free to leave until Sunday evening if you like. Or you can hang around here, your choice. As long as you’re back in time to fix dinner on Sunday, it makes no difference to me. Hank and I are usually here. If one of us leaves, the other one tries to stick around. You should never be alone out here.”

  “That’s good to know.” Her mind was stalled on the fact that he expected her to cook for eleven people—twelve, including herself. Oh, God. She never should have agreed to this.

  “Supper, six sharp,” he said with another tip of his hat. “Don’t forget. We wait for latecomers like one pig waits on another one. We don’t dress for dinner, by the way.” His grin hinted that he’d just made a joke and found it amusing. “Just come as you are.”

  Chapter Four

  As Jake walked toward the house, he watched the dust billows that rose around his boots with every step, thinking they resembled miniature mushroom clouds. A fitting comparison. If his suspicions were correct, he had just made a decision that could blow up in his face.

  Near the exercise corral, he lifted his gaze to the stallion in the six-foot-high enclosure. Never in all his thirty-two years had he seen a more cruelly abused animal. Those lash marks ran mighty deep. While inside the pen, Jake had visually examined them as best he could, and as near as he could tell, none of them would require stitches, but more than a few would leave scars.

  What kind of man could do such a thing?

  Resting his elbows on a rail of the pen, Jake rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking that he needed four ibuprofen chased with whiskey. As a rule, he didn’t turn to drink when he felt stressed, but tonight he might make an exception. Sometimes, when a man found answers nowhere else, he could stumble across a few at the bottom of a bottle.

  “Holy hell, what happened to that horse?”

  Jake jumped at the sound of his younger brother’s voice. He whipped around, his thoughts tangling like wet rope as he tried to think how he meant to explain this situation. The prospect was so daunting, he wanted to pull his hat down over his eyes and say he had a headache. It wouldn’t really be a lie, given the fact that he had two, one behind his eyes and another taking up residence in the cabin along the creek.

  “Howdy, Hank.”

  “Is that all you’ve got to say?” Startled by Hank’s approach, Sunset reared and shrieked. Hank stopped dead in his tracks. “Ah, Lord, Jake. Where did he come from?”

  A tight, choking sensation crawled up Jake’s throat. “I’m not real sure where he’s from yet. Portland, possibly. Then again, maybe from somewhere down south.”

  Turning to rest a shoulder against the fence, he watched his brother cautiously close the remaining distance between them. Recently turned twenty-nine, Hank looked enough like their old man to be a clone, his skin tanned as dark as molasses by the sun, his tousled hair lying over his brow like swirls of chocolate. His sweat-dampened T-shirt was smeared with dirt, a result of wrestling with sick calves to give them injections, and the cotton knit clung to his chest like a second skin. His blue eyes fairly snapped as he shoved up the brim of his Stetson to search Jake’s expression.

  “If you’re not sure where he came from, how the hell did he get in our corral?”

  “There’s a good question.”

  Hank’s jaw muscle ticked. “Looks like somebody whipped the poor bastard.”

  Jake nodded, noting as he did that Hank had balled his hands into fists.

  “Who owns him? Not many things put me in a mood to kick ass, but seeing that sure as hell does.”

  Jake pointed over his shoulder. “His owner is over at the cabin. Tip your hat before you start kicking ass, or I’ll have to kick yours for not minding your manners.”

  “A lady?”

  “Ringer.”

  Hank’s eyes narrowed. “No woman could mark a horse like that, not unless she’s built like an Amazon.”

  “She isn’t.” Jake almost smiled at the picture of Molly that flashed through his mind. Amazon definitely wasn’t a word to describe her. “I guess her to be about five two. It’s hard to judge. She’s wearing those newfangled shoes with soles as thick as two-by-fours.” He curled a thumb over his belt. “Never have figured out what women see in those damned things. Good way to bust an ankle if you ask me.”

  Hank frowned. “What does her taste in shoes have to do with anything?”

  “Doesn’t. I was just making conversation.”

  Hank started to say something, then pressed his lips closed, his gaze sharp on Jake’s face. He folded his arms on the fence rail and hooked a boot heel over the bottom rung, spending the next little while watching the stallion.

  The silence gave Jake a chance to gather his thoughts, which undoubtedly was Hank’s intent. If anyone understood him, it was his youngest brother.

  Jake’s voice had gone gravelly when he spoke. “I’ve done a hell of a thing, Hank. You’re going to be royally pissed, and I can’t say I’ll blame you.”

  Hank shifted, then resettled in much the same position, one hip cocked, one leg thrust behind him. “I can see your ta
il’s tied in a knot about something.”

  Jake tried to think of a way to cast the situation in a good light. He was tempted to gloss over a few of the facts. Unfortunately, in his book, that would be lying by omission, and he wasn’t a man who dealt in falsehoods, not for any reason. He took a bracing breath, slowly released it, and said, “I think the lady stole the horse.”

  “You think she what?”

  Jake winced at the loud pitch of his brother’s voice. He felt as if cymbals were crashing in his temples. “Given the fact that she doesn’t strike me as the criminal type, my guess is she had no alternative.”

  “There are always alternatives to breaking the law. Why would anyone do such a harebrained thing as to steal a horse?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. I assume she had her reasons. She seems like an intelligent woman, and you can tell by looking at her that she’s got a kind heart.” Jake rubbed the bridge of his nose again. “She claims her name’s Molly Houston.”

  “Claims?”

  “The first name fits. I think she plucked the last one out of a hat.” Jake thought for a moment before he continued. “She’s a puzzle, Hank, one of those people who’s really hard to read.” In his mind’s eye, he once again conjured an image of her, soft and well rounded in all the right places, with whiskey-colored hair, huge butterscotch-brown eyes, and a wealth of flawless ivory skin. All his adult life, he’d gone for tall, long-legged women, barely giving the short, generously endowed ones a second look. But there was something different about Molly—an indefinable something that had caught his attention the instant he saw her. He guessed maybe it was her eyes, so wide and wary and dark with suspicion. He couldn’t look into them without wanting to hug and reassure her. “She’s a pretty little thing, if you like the type and look past all the camouflage.”

  Hank shot him another sharp glance. “What camouflage?”

  Jake tried to think how he might explain. “Have you ever met a woman who does her damnedest to look homely?”

  Hank smiled thoughtfully. “A few.”

  “That’s Molly, only she’s fighting a losing battle. It’d take a sack over her head to hide that face.” Jake thought of the way she wore her hair skinned back in a braid. “She doesn’t bother with a lick of makeup, and her clothes are so baggy they’d fit a woman twice her size with room left over for one small girl.” He sent his brother a questioning look. “What makes an attractive woman try so hard to downplay her appearance?”

  Hank shifted again, then scratched his jaw. “Beats me all to hell. To avoid attention, maybe? Could be she’s timid of men.”

  Jake remembered how nervous she’d seemed around him and decided that explanation had some merit. “Maybe,” he conceded. “Overall, she doesn’t really strike me as the timid type, though. It took guts to get that horse here. Most people would have gotten spooked and turned back when they reached the first steep grade.”

  Hank glanced off at the Toyota parked in front of the cabin and then studied the huge trailer. “Where are you going with this, Jake?”

  “Well, now, that’s the part you’re not going to like, so I’m working up to it.”

  “Just cut to the chase.”

  Jake took another bracing breath. “I said I’d work with the horse, and I gave her a job so she can pay my rates.”

  “You what?” Hank’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Please tell me I didn’t hear you right. A job doing what?”

  “Housekeeper and cook. We’re looking for someone, and she needs a job and a place to stay. It seemed like the perfect solution.”

  Hank laughed incredulously. “You hired a horse thief? Jake, this is partly a horse ranch. What the hell makes you think she won’t steal our horses?”

  “I’m not claiming it makes sense. I’m just recounting to you what I’ve done. I couldn’t tell her to go.” Jake stared at his palms. “I know I should have discussed it with you first. But I just couldn’t turn my back on her. She looked so lost, and I couldn’t shake the feeling—hell, I don’t know—that we were her only hope, I guess.”

  Hank just shook his head, looking more incredulous with each passing second. “If she stole that horse, the cops are probably looking for her. You could take the rap for horse theft. That’s a serious offense.” He jabbed a finger at the stallion. “He looks like a racer to me. They don’t come cheap. We’re talking grand larceny.”

  “I’ve thought of all that.”

  “We could lose the ranch,” Hank pointed out. “Have you thought of that? People won’t bring their horses to me if my brother’s doing time for horse theft. Right now, the training program is all that’s keeping us alive.”

  Jake couldn’t think of a single argument in his own defense. “I know,” he said hollowly.

  “And you’re still bent on helping her? Damn, Jake. How do you know the cops aren’t looking for her as we speak?”

  Jake swallowed and met his brother’s gaze. “I have a feeling about her, Hank. I can’t explain it, can’t rationalize my way past it. I just couldn’t turn her away.”

  Hank puffed air into his cheeks and bent his head. “All right,” he finally said. “If it’s something you have to do, there’s no point arguing about it. It was your money we invested, not mine. What real say do I have?”

  “You know better than that. This is Coulter land. We’re partners. My money, your money. I’ve never made a distinction.”

  “Until now.”

  Jake bit down hard on his back teeth and met his brother’s gaze dead on. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Just what I said. We’ve sweat blood to get this place back on its feet.” He swung his hand to encompass the land. “Maybe I didn’t have the money to match you dollar for dollar, but I worked beside you in the bitter cold to rebuild the house, and I waded through mud and snow up to my ass all winter to repair the fences and tend the stock. Now, first crack out of the bag, you put it all at risk without so much as a word to me?”

  Jake winced because everything his brother said was true. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “You’re right, Hank. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry won’t pay the mortgage if your ass gets tossed in jail.” Hank lowered his arm back to the fence rail and bent his head. “Damn. I’m all for doing good deeds, but where do we draw the line? This isn’t just any piece of land. We were lucky to get it back. Now you’re taking a gamble that could end with our losing it again.”

  Jake sighed and closed his eyes. “You’re right. Guilty as charged. I’m sorry, Hank. I’ll tell her I’ve changed my mind and ask her to leave.”

  Silence. Jake waited for his brother to speak. When no words were forthcoming, he lifted his lashes. Blue eyes stormy with anger, his mouth drawn into a grim line, Hank was staring at the stallion. When he felt Jake’s gaze on him, he shot him a glare.

  “That’s just great. Dump it all on me.”

  “I’m not dumping anything on you. You’ve argued a good case, I know you’re absolutely right, and there’s nothing else to be done. The ranch has to come first. Like you said, we were damned lucky to get it back in the family.”

  Hank resumed staring at the horse. After a long moment, he shook his head. “What kind of man can turn his back on that? The poor bastard. Just look at him.”

  Jake had looked his fill already. The sight was testimony to the depravity and mercilessness of humankind, and it made him feel slightly sick. Even worse, he had a bad feeling that the horse hadn’t been the only one to suffer. Molly bore no physical scars that he’d been able to see, but not all wounds were inflicted on the flesh. Straightening away from the fence, Jake shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  At his movement, Hank jerked his head around. “Don’t go jumping the gun.”

  Jake smothered a smile. Not quite four years Hank’s senior, he’d always felt much older, undoubtedly the result of being firstborn in a family of five rowdy boys who’d looked to him to set an example. He’d watched Hank grow from a gangly, mischievous teenager i
nto a serious-minded college student, but somehow he’d failed to note his brother’s final passage into adulthood. This was no boy who frowned at him now, but a fine young man who did their father and the Coulter name proud.

  “Sometimes I just get to wondering what it’s all about, is all,” Hank said in a low voice. “Other people know where to draw the line. Watching them, it’s easy to start thinking that’s a smart way to be.”

  Jake tugged his hands from his pockets and relaxed against the fence again. “If you’re bent on it, I’ll ask her to leave.”

  Hank laughed humorlessly. “Nah. I’m as nuts as you are.” He looked out over the ranch, his mouth twisting in a sad smile. “When you boil it all down, as much as we love this place, Jake, it’s only a patch of dirt.”

  Jake chuckled in spite of himself. “Coulter dirt. It’s special to us in a way no other spread will ever be.”

  “Only because three generations of Coulters worked it and raised their families here.” Hank gazed at the forest-land that encroached on all sides. “What do you reckon our great-grandfather would do in this situation?” He slanted an inquiring glance at Jake. “You think he would turn his back on that horse?”

  “It’s hard to say. I never knew the man.”

  “We knew Grandpa, and we sure as hell know our father well enough. Remember the time Dad took the quirt away from that cowboy who was beating his horse out at the fairgrounds?”

  Jake remembered the incident well.

  Hank grinned. “He gave the son of a bitch a taste of his own medicine, and Mom had to bail him out of jail.”

  “More temper than common sense, that’s our dad.”

  Hank shook his head, his expression growing suddenly solemn again. “Common sense had nothing to do with it. He was setting a wrong right and teaching the bastard a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.”

  “What’s your point, Hank?”

  “That we’re Coulters, and with the name comes a responsibility to live up to it.” He sighed and shrugged. “To hell with the ranch. If we lose it, we can always buy more dirt, but we can’t buy back our decency. Comes a time in life when a man can’t turn a blind eye, not if he wants to like himself. I reckon this qualifies.” He nodded at the horse. “Neither one of us would be worth the powder it’d take to blow us to hell if we could turn our backs on him.”