“Okay,” she said. “Whatever you say. Where’s that puppy?”
Chaos, deciding it was time to play, darted away. She faked him out, pounced, and scooped him into her arms, toy and all. “Got you, you little rotter.”
She was skilled at putting on a tough face. He’d seen it before, and he recognized it now. He hated that he’d been the one to make her pull it out. Would they be able to go back to their usual easy friendship, or would there always be an awkward undercurrent now?
Gideon sighed. “Put him down, Jamie. Let’s go. I’ve got chores waiting.”
“Then go.” All business, no sign of awkwardness, but definitely an edge to her voice. “I don’t need your help. I’ll ride up to that place on the ridge. If that’s where this little guy belongs, I’ll give them a little lesson on puppy safety and say good-bye. If he’s not theirs, I’ll bring him back to the ranch and figure it out in the morning.”
“Fine. But if you’re not back in an hour—”
“I know, I know, you’ll track me down and hog-tie me to the back of your horse. Spare me the lecture.”
Perhaps anger was the best he could hope for. “You’ll be okay carrying him on Nash?”
“Yes, Gideon. I’ll be okay carrying him on Nash.” Pulling her jacket tight around the dog’s torso, she gathered Nash’s reins and swung up into the saddle. The pup, likely tired from his adventure, relaxed against her comfortably, his toy tucked in beside him.
Nash danced and skittered, quivering at the smell of blood. She tightened the reins to let him know she was in charge, then nudged him with her heel and started up the path, leaving Gideon watching the softly muscled curves of her derriere shifting in the saddle.
A beam of dappled sunlight broke through the canopy just then, making her eyes sparkle and her skin glow like a ripe peach, even with the smear of blood on her cheek.
He swallowed. She had a natural beauty about her that was all the more striking for being unadorned. She was impulsive and stubborn and . . . fresh and full of joy and hope and . . . young.
So young.
She turned in the saddle, glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching her.
“Take a picture, cowboy,” she called with a grin. “It’ll last longer.”
A month ago, he’d have laughed it off. Now, it was like she was issuing a challenge.
Chapter Four
Romance begun during a decreasing moon tends
to transform the participants.
—Jamie’s horoscope
A screen of sword fern growing from the ancient Sitka spruce hid Roman Byers as he watched the girl take his pup away. Woman, he supposed, not girl, but at his age, they were all kids.
A fresh spasm slid a stiletto of pain through his hip. He pressed back against the great tree supporting him, gritted his teeth, and turned his gaze upward, willing the pain away. The great horned owl he’d been observing for months also watched, but from much higher up, blinking saucer-like eyes in irritation. He empathized with the owl. The girl and the cowboy and the horses were noisy intruders, and while she undoubtedly believed she’d run across a crisis in need of a Good Samaritan, the only reason Chaos hadn’t scrambled out of the pool on his own was that he hadn’t yet retrieved the damn toy he’d dropped into a crevice in the ledge. Damn Squeaky Worm.
The pup would have gotten out in his own good time. He’d have been tired and hungry, and he’d have learned a valuable lesson.
Well, he’d be tired and hungry.
Roman blew the whistle again, the high-pitched hiss inaudible to human ears, but a clarion call to Sadie. He hoped she could help him to his feet before the damp earth set a bone-deep chill aching all the way to his toes.
Or that girl happened onto him. He didn’t require rescuing any more than either of the dogs did, but there was always a bleeding heart somewhere ready to butt in with well-meant but unwelcome advice.
He hissed out a breath as lancing heat drilled down to his knee. It always amazed him how the pain continued, even all these years later. He tried not to fight it, tried to let it flow over and through him, let it take its course and burn out. There was no winning that battle, and fighting only made it worse, so as long as he could still hobble into the woods, grow a few vegetables in the summer, and put up enough cordwood for the winter, he accepted that his days would always flow good and bad, in and out. Like the tide.
Everything had been going fine until Jonathan had foisted the pup on him. Roman needed another dog like he needed a hole in his head. Sadie wasn’t done yet. So she was a little thin—old age did things to a body. So her sight and hearing weren’t what they once were; neither were his. They made a good pair.
The pup was cute, no argument there. But Roman was too old to be dealing with piss and shit in the house again, not to mention the chewed-up socks and remote controls.
And that goddamn Squeaky Worm.
“Dad,” Jonathan had argued, “you can’t live out here in the boonies all alone. Not at your age. Maybe you won’t get him trained to the capacity of Sadie, but at least he’ll be company for you. Maybe he’ll even make you laugh now and then. You spend too much time alone.”
That had made Roman laugh. The whole reason he’d built this place was for privacy, to escape. To be alone. One more interview and he’d lose what was left of his mind.
Roman wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t infirm. He just wanted to live out his days in peace.
And now, thanks to Jonathan, he spent half his days chasing a stupid pup all over hell’s half acre. Jon worked with him when he could, but so far, there’d been no visible improvement in the pup’s recall. At least, he didn’t come back to Roman. Or rather, he’d return, grab the piece of hot dog, and disappear again.
Worse, on the days when Roman wasn’t up for a hike, he still ended up limping over the mountain, waving hot dogs and yelling his fool head off. No matter how many boards he nailed to the low areas of the fence, Chaos still managed to wiggle past them.
Chaos. At least Jon had named the mutt properly.
A jolt ran down his sciatic nerve, sending another bolt of lightning into his knee. Roman squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to inhale slowly, and pushed harder against the wide tree trunk, waiting for it to pass. Sweat prickled between his shoulder blades. He had to get home. He could see the back gate. Only a few steps to his couch and his pills, but it might as well have been a mile.
When he opened his eyes, Sadie was peering up at him, her grizzled forehead wrinkled with concern.
Relief washed over him. He reached out to stroke her ear, but the movement sent another spasm through his hip and he pressed his back against the tree.
“Ah, my poor girl,” he said, seeing the blood. She followed that damn pup through anything, and today, it looked like they may have tangled with some barbed wire. In her condition, she ought to be lying next to him on the deck, enjoying the last of the season’s warmth before the rain set in. Taking care of him and the puppy was too much for her.
Then he heard a voice. From somewhere on his property.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered. It was the girl.
“Hello?” she called. “Is anyone there?”
“Stay,” whispered Roman.
But it was too late. Sadie bounded off, ready to meet her new friend.
* * *
The fence had once been painted white but was now streaked with years of rust. Nailed to one of the posts was a wooden sign with no name, just a number stencilled onto it. A sagging three-string barbed-wire fence bisected the property from the ditch, connecting to the posts that stood sentry over the entrance.
On the left, about ten meters down, a second wooden sign was nailed to a post: PRIVATE PROPERTY. Ten meters to the right was a third: BEWARE OF DOG.
Jamie slipped out of the saddle, set the pup on the ground, and tied Nash to the post. This had to be the place.
Farther to the left, blackberry reached thorny arms into a dip that likely led to the creek. On the other si
de stood pockets of alder, oak, and vine maple, the pasture between densely underscored by salmonberry and wild grasses.
Private, yes. Fort Knox, no. And if the man was rich, you certainly couldn’t tell from here.
She kicked the gate lightly with her boot. It creaked loudly and swung open about six inches before catching on a padlocked chain.
Jamie cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
A bird scolded her from high up in the trees and wind soughed through the grass, but there was no other response. She climbed over the gate and beckoned to the pup to follow, which he did. She was certain this was where the old dog had gone, but as she walked down the narrow driveway, scraggly weeds and scrub brush caught at her pants as if to warn her off.
“Hello?” she called again. “Anyone home?”
Nothing but the scolding chatter of a couple of starlings in the pine tree above her.
The narrow driveway opened onto a weedy yard. The cabin of weathered shingle and cedar shakes looked tidy enough, but had an air of desertion and neglect about it.
“Is this your place?” she asked the puppy. He scrambled up the porch, pawed at the door, and whined.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Let’s see if anyone’s home.”
She knocked, three quick raps.
A clatter of nails on wood sounded from inside. The pup jumped up, barking excitedly.
Jamie lifted onto her tiptoes and peered inside the dusty half-circle of smoked glass at the top of the door. A muffled woof sounded inside, and a brown, dog-shaped mass shifted into view.
“Hey, girl.” Jamie knocked again. “Is that you? Where’s your person?”
The dog barked. Outside, the puppy howled in reply, then scratched and scrabbled at the door.
She thought about that wound on the old dog’s leg and how thin she was.
Then she stepped off the porch and went around the side of the cabin. “Hello? Is someone there? Don’t shoot me. I think I found your dog.”
She reached another tall fence, but the gate leading to the back had a simple hook closure. Whoever lived here wasn’t likely to welcome her intrusion. But then again, it wasn’t razor wire. A gate like this was more of a . . . suggestion.
As soon as she went through, she was met by the brown dog, limping badly but still wagging her tail.
“Hey, whoa!” Jamie bent to pat the friendly animal. “I guess you have a doggie door, huh? Want to show me?”
The brown dog led her to an expansive back deck that faced west and would have a wonderful view of the sunsets, then stepped through the flap in the wall and disappeared inside.
“Okay, clearly I’ve found the place.” She gave Chaos a nudge. “I guess this is good-bye.”
The puppy balked.
“Go on,” she urged him.
He sat down and whined, batting beautiful chocolate-brown eyes up at her.
“God, you are trouble in a fur coat, aren’t you?”
She went to the back door, knocked again, and peered through the window. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
Nothing but the chocolate Lab, pawing awkwardly at the door.
Jamie turned the knob, just in case.
Locked.
She peered inside again. “Hello?”
She glanced around the yard. No one was around. The dog inside was definitely the same one she’d met at the creek. The puppy almost certainly lived here. But if she left him here, with no one around, what’s to say he wouldn’t just take off into the woods again? Did the dogs have food? Water?
Then another thought struck her. Was someone inside hurt or injured?
She banged on the door, hard. “Hello! Do you need help?”
She looked at the knob again. It was a simple pin tumbler lock. Jamie had learned to scrub these babies when she was twelve, hungry, and pissed off about the chain on her foster mother’s refrigerator.
Discovering how easily a few simple tools and even simpler knowledge could breach all but the toughest locks had terrified her at the time. But it had spurred her to become the one with those tools and that knowledge, rather than remain at their mercy.
She pulled a slender leather case off her belt, took out her beloved Bogota rake, and inserted it in the lock, feeling her way gently and carefully.
“I’m not a bad person,” she told the pup as she worked. “I have reason to believe that someone may be in danger.”
With a soft click, the tumblers fell into place. It was a fast and dirty trick that always gave her a rush of power. The fact that more people weren’t burgled every day was actually rather heartwarming, when you considered how simple it was.
She pushed open the door and greeted the older dog, then stood up and looked around.
“Houston,” she said. “We have a problem.”
Chapter Five
Venus, the goddess of love and marriage, is giving
you a big thumbs-up today.
—Jamie’s horoscope
Jamie trotted up to the gate welcoming newcomers to Sanctuary Ranch, leaned over the still-sleeping puppy, and pulled up the latch. Nash, eager to get back to his pals, pushed through before it was fully open, and Jamie had to lift her knee to prevent it from being smashed against the fence post.
Daphne emerged from the shadows, and even from Nash’s back, Jamie could feel the murky energy pouring off her.
“Where’ve you been?” the cook demanded, her hands on her hips. “I said you could take a break, not a two-week vacation.” Then she saw Chaos. “Is that a puppy? I swear, if you landed on the moon, you’d find a stray alien to bring home with you. Bad enough to miss your prep shift, you had to come back with another mouth to feed.”
Like that had ever been a problem for Daphne.
“Maybe the universe sent me an early birthday present, huh?” She nuzzled the puppy. He smelled like freshwater and greenery, clean soil and new, perfect dog. When she was in grade one, a classmate of hers had gotten a puppy for her birthday. Jamie had run home and told Grandma Ellen about it, so excited she could hardly get the words out fast enough. It was her dearest wish, to get a puppy of her own.
She’d gotten new underwear and a Bible.
“No need to hint,” Daphne said. “I think everyone this side of the Pacific knows your birthday is coming.”
“Harsh, Daff. Harsh. Don’t worry, Chaos is temporary.”
Probably.
But the cabin she’d found, if that was his home, was no place for a puppy. Choking and chewing hazards all around, that unsecured doggy door, an empty water bowl that she’d filled for the brown dog, and no sign of a human.
She’d go back tomorrow to check it out, see if she could find the owner. Until then, Chaos stayed with her. Where he was safe.
“Chaos is never temporary in your world,” Daphne said.
Jamie smiled. “That’s his name. Cute, huh?”
“It’s a warning. Wait.” She peered more closely, frowning. “What happened to your face?”
A rush of heat rose to Jamie’s cheeks. “Nothing. Bumped my nose. No big deal.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me.” The lines in her forehead deepened. “And why are you all wet? Jamie?”
She could almost feel Gideon’s arms around her again, smell the scent of him, hear the heavy thud of his heart in his chest next to hers.
“I found the pup stuck in the creek.”
“Uh-huh.” Daphne stared at her. Then she sighed. “The slavering horde left us a mass of dishes, and I’m an old woman. I had to peel the potatoes myself, and you know what that does to my arthritis. You were supposed to come back with Gideon. Did he tell you there’s a bear out there? That’s right. Can’t spare a thought for my feelings, can you? Just go gallivanting to your heart’s content, no matter that I’m stuck back here worrying myself into an ulcer. I’m too old and frail to handle everything on my own.”
Daphne had neither arthritis nor an ulcer and, with her kickboxing routine and various martial arts be
lts, was anything but frail.
“Sorry I scared you, Daff. And I’m sorry I’m late.” Jamie flipped her leg over the saddle horn and jumped down, trying not to jostle the pup sleeping inside her jacket. Her damp denim squeaked as it slid over the leather.
With one hand, she clipped Nash’s halter to a mounting station, undid his bridle, and loosened the girth of the saddle.
Daphne came closer, pursed her lips, and shook her head. “That’s no flea-market pup. Someone’ll be looking for him.”
“So maybe I’ll get a reward.”
First Gideon, now Daphne. Aside from trespassing and that bit of light breaking and entering, she’d done a good deed. So why was everyone jumping down her throat about it?
“You’d best get him out of sight.” The cook leaned in to pat the pup. “He’s darn cute. But Haylee was very clear: no more rescue dogs until after the baby.”
“Haylee won’t even know he’s here,” she said. “I bow to the wisdom of Daphne. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
“Five.”
Inside her little studio cabin, Jamie used a folding exercise pen to wall off the kitchen area, spread out a sheet of newspapers, then made him a bed in an unused crate. She quickly cleaned the small cut on the pad of his sweet, soft, unblemished puppy foot, set him into his temporary home, and closed the metal door of the pen. She’d about stretched the limits of Daphne’s patience. Plus, she was hungry.
“See you in a bit, Bear Bait,” she whispered.
The puppy sat down on his little behind, lifted his muzzle, and howled.
* * *
When Gideon had gotten back last night, he’d had barely enough time to check on the livestock and devour the plate of stew and dumplings Daphne had left in the warming oven for him, while Jamie worked through a mountain of pots and pans.
They needed to talk, he thought, drawing crisp morning air deep into his lungs. He owed her the truth. But how much, and when, he wasn’t yet sure.
He found her in the barn, shovelling manure. A faded brown bandana held back her shaggy hair, and a snug, sleeveless tank top showed off her toned, muscular arms. He remembered how she’d looked the day before, how he’d come upon her rising from the water like a seal, her slender legs dripping, the curves of hips and thighs gleaming white and wet, and him frantic enough to bargain his soul for her safety, not knowing whether to weep with relief or throw her to the ground and punish her with kisses.
Driftwood Creek Page 4
