Bad Boy, Big Heart (Heart of the Boy Book 1)

by Andrea Downing

  “Well. Welcome to Wyoming and welcome to the Double F Ranch. I hope this’ll be the first of many visits for you.”

  “Thanks.” She clicked glasses with him and took a sip. “Nice.”

  “Reisling.” He put down his glass and made his way to one of the fridges, opened the door, and reached in.

  “What are you doing working at the Lazy S when you have such a fabulous ranch here? If you don’t mind my asking….”

  “Oh, I don’t mind.” He brought out an egg box and a few vegetables. “I want to set up my own dude ranch operation—”

  “Here in Jackson Hole?”

  “Maybe. Not sure. I’d have to find a place I can afford, and that’s not easy hereabouts. In the meantime, it’s best to learn the ropes. Don’t you think?”

  “Well, of course. But I’d have thought you know the ropes if you were brought up on a ranch. I mean, it can’t be all that different. Can it?”

  “It can, and it is. Dealing with guests who want to ride and have various amusements is a world away from dealing with cattle.”

  “But the Lazy S does both so—”

  “I don’t want to do both. I want to do the guest ranch.” He started breaking eggs into a bowl and then grabbed a fork from a drawer to scramble them.

  “I see, so—”

  “Look!” Jamie’s voice suddenly turned harsh, a note of finality in it. “That’s what I want.”

  K.C. sank a bit on the barstool. Absently, she tapped her cellphone inside the purse. “Are you sure I can’t help?” she asked at last.

  He gave her a smile that was anything but real. “I’m sure.” Then, as an afterthought, “Thanks.”

  The display of cooking skills continued with admirable knife work on the vegetables, the pouring of olive oil from a great height into a waiting frying pan on the hob, and the shaking and stirring of the prepared vegetables followed by pouring the scrambled eggs in. K.C. watched as the eggs began to set and then, from some drawer near the hob, Jamie pulled out a bag of what looked like herbs.

  “What’s that?”

  “Herbs, of course. Why?”

  “No, stop. Jamie, please! It’s pot, isn’t it? I don’t want that. Please!”

  He stared at her, letting out a long breath of disbelief. “Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a twist. Just thought you might enjoy a little light relaxation after a hard week.” He tucked it back into the drawer and held his empty hands up to her. “All gone. Though I’m a bit disappointed in you.”

  “I tried it once and got sick. It’s not a particularly moral disapproval. Though I have to say I don’t really see the point.”

  “The point, my dear K.C.,” he spoke quietly as he moved over to her, reaching back to turn down the heat on the eggs, “is to have fun. Isn’t it?” He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips, then attempted to go deeper.

  K.C. tried to respond without giving him cause for concern but found him suddenly intolerable.

  “Hmm.” He straightened up. “Well, I think we could do better than that. No? After dinner maybe?” He turned back to his eggs.

  “I….” She tried to make conversation, tried to think straight now about stringing this along until she could ask to go back to the ranch. “So, where did you learn to cook? This looks good.” She attempted to put an upbeat note in her voice as he flipped the finished omelet and slid it from the pan onto a now waiting plate, then divided it between two more plates.

  He slid onto the bar stool next to her and pushed one plate her way.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure…or part of it.”

  “Sorry?”

  His gaze was very direct. “Well. It’s only part of my pleasure.” There was a container of cutlery on the counter and he lifted out a fork and knife and handed them to her before taking his own. “You seem slightly nervous,” he said as he took his first mouthful.

  “No,” she lied. “Is there some reason why I should be?” She tried to nonchalantly get the food in her mouth but thought she would choke as she chewed.

  “Good?”

  “Umm.” K.C. tried to swallow. “Lovely.” A sip of wine helped get it down, but it also brought her glass to Jamie’s attention.

  He topped it up. “Not a big drinker?”

  “No, I like wine. I’m just a slow drinker.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll mix something up for dessert that’s absolutely delicious. Bailey’s and other good things. It’s a secret recipe.”

  K.C. dreaded to think.

  The meal was slow and painful to sit through, with long silences punctuated by chewing, as if Jamie had other things on his mind, somewhere to get to, something to do.

  She kept her eye on him as he cleared the dishes, loaded the dishwasher, and left it waiting for more plates. Then his arm encircled her and led her back to the hall.

  “So what is this dessert you promised?”

  “In the media room, or man cave as my mother calls it. We have a bar there.”

  It was the interior, windowless room she had spied on her way to the kitchen. Definitely a man cave, with a mirrored wall behind a long leather sofa, a shelf of family photographs, and a marble coffee table in front of the couch. A giant television screen was fixed on the wall opposite. Underneath was a long set of drink cabinets, at the end of which was a wet bar with assorted glasses.

  K.C. turned to study the photos. Jamie fishing; Jamie and someone, probably his brother, riding, roping, and at rodeo; the two of them standing by a dead elk, guns aloft. His parents smiling from palm-tree climes.

  “Now close your eyes,” Jamie directed her. “I don’t want you to see my secret formula.”

  K.C. obediently shut her eyes listening to the clink of bottles and glasses coming out. Then she peeped through her lashes into the mirror and watched as he alternated swigs from the bottles with pouring this and that. He turned back to her to check if her eyes were closed, which she hurriedly shut. Waiting a couple of moments, she opened her eyes again…just in time to see him shaking drops of something from a small bottle into one of the glasses.

  Bastard, she thought. You awful creep, you bastard.

  “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

  Jamie came toward her with the two drinks. He held out the one meant for her.

  Now what? How was she going to get out of drinking that crap? And, just as important, how was she going to get out of here and back to the ranch?

  “Thanks,” she mustered in a voice that belied her fears.

  “Drink up! Tell me how much you like it.”

  Chapter Five

  K.C. stood with the drink in her hand and glanced at the couch behind her. “Think I’ll sit, if you don’t mind.” She caught Jamie’s disapproval out of the corner of her eye; he was obviously hoping to make his play by beginning with a kiss. She started toward the sofa, then neatly tripped on a bit of the rug on which the coffee table stood. Seeming to stop herself from falling on the hard edge of the table, she flicked her wrist to overturn the entire drink.

  “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry, Jamie! Your special drink! What a mess. Let me wipe it up. Quick. Have you got a cloth?”

  Jamie didn’t say a word. There was deathly silence as he went to the wet bar and grabbed a cloth and wiped the mess on the granite coffee table.

  K.C. straightened up, her heart beating erratically. “I’m so sorry, Jamie. How clumsy of me, I—”

  “Shut up!” he said, standing and facing her. “Just shut the hell up. You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You think I’m an idiot?”

  “I…I….”

  Suddenly, Jamie shoved her down onto the sofa, gripping the back of it as he came down on top of her, the hard bulge in his jeans pounding into her as he tried to pin her down. She struggled against him, squirming away from his face as he tried to force his mouth on hers before grabbing her arms and wrenching them above her head.

  “Stop it! Stop it! You’re hurting me! Let me go!”

  “You frigid littl
e bitch.” His hot breath panted liquor-fuelled onto her face.

  Bile rose in her mouth as she twisted from him. He tried to free one hand while holding both of hers, and his body loosened away enough for K.C. to knee him in the groin, but it wasn’t hard enough.

  “Bitch. You goddamn bitch.” His grip on her wrists tightened as he ripped her shirt open. “Stop struggling; I won’t hurt you. You can’t be a damn virgin, you bitch.” He wrestled to unzip her jeans. Then, as he let go to free himself, K.C. arched, bending her knees and jabbing his crotch as she swung out from under him.

  Landing on the floor, she hurriedly pulled herself up and clambered for the door, Jamie right behind her. He managed to grab her by the hair and pull her around, but her fist with the ring went right for his eye.

  “Owww!” Jamie doubled over clutching his head.

  K.C. sped for the front door and out into the night, stopping momentarily to get her bearings. Straight through the grass was the direct way to the road and the easiest way to avoid Jamie if he came after her. Behind her, a door banged inside the house. With no time to lose, she started running, running through the long grass as the sourness came to her mouth once more. She bent over and vomited, then continued to retch as she held her stomach, her hair damp and tangled against her face, a stream of wet starting from her nose. But behind her, the path of light that had emanated from the front door became a thin line, and she knew Jamie was now after her as his boots crunched on the gravel.

  Dashing again toward the main road, tall grass pulled at her legs, sage branches causing her to falter and trip as she ran. She could hear Jamie somewhere nearby, calling as if she were lost, as if she would answer, but she raced on. A large finger of sagebrush tripped her and she landed on her hands, her forehead just grazing the dirt. She squatted for a moment to catch her breath, brush the minute stones from her hands, before rising again and making the sprint to the road. Jamie was closing in, and she wondered how far he would chase her, if once she got to the road he would pick up speed and catch her. Maybe it was better to hide in the sage until she heard a car? Behind her a branch snapped and her decision was made—she ran on to the point where the prairie met the pavement and slid down onto the blacktop.

  A car’s headlights came from the direction of town and she waved madly, but the car didn’t even slow. K.C. took off in the direction of the Lazy S, every muscle in her body now aching, her heart pounding in her chest as if it wanted to escape. She stopped and hung her head to try to catch a breath, hugging her knees, as another car came toward her, slowed slightly at her wave but drove on. Hopeless, the road seemed to stretch for miles, how many to the Lazy S she couldn’t figure. A vehicle was now approaching toward the direction she needed to go. She stopped and turned toward the lights as it slowed and then pulled over. Chay, it was Chay. Just as Jamie appeared on the verge.

  * * *

  Chay’s heart stopped as he realized the woman was K.C. He slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the truck, and slammed the door behind him. K.C. resembled a wounded animal, standing in the glare of the headlights, shaking and disheveled.

  “Get in the truck,” he said quietly, hands up and open. “It’ll be okay.” He turned just in time to see Jamie stepping back into the scrub as if the bastard could hide there.

  Without thinking, Chay was down on him in several strides, crashing into the brush as his right fist met Jamie’s jaw. Jamie managed to roll, avoiding a second punch, and then twisted back to sock Chay in the chest. Chay pulled himself to a squat while yanking Jamie by his collar to lift him as he rose. His sore arm hurt like hell, but he managed to pull back and punch him on the chin once more.

  “Stop it! Stop it, Chay!” K.C.’s screams were hoarse and rasping. “Leave him alone. Just take me home, take me back! Please!”

  Chay held Jamie by the front of his collar as the other man sagged, head back to avoid a further hit, but Chay glanced at K.C. and knew she was right. He shoved Jamie to the ground and gave him a half-hearted kick.

  “Don’t bother coming back to work, you bastard. I see you within one hundred feet of that place, I swear I’ll have your balls fried up for supper.” He dusted down his hands and headed for the pickup.

  As he walked toward K.C. he realized she was shaking, possibly in shock, but most likely wouldn’t welcome any comforting from him right now. “Get in the truck,” he said quietly. “It’ll be fine.”

  K.C. only hesitated half a second before tugging open the passenger door and slipping in beside Chay. He pulled his door closed and drove off.

  Behind them, Jamie’s shouts were carried on the wind. “I’ll get you for this, you bastard! I’ll get you!”

  In the truck, K.C.’s ragged breathing was the only sound as darkness blanketed whatever emotion she felt. Then the sniffles changed to sobs.

  “Do you want me to stop?” A quick glance told him she shook her head ‘no.’ “Should I take you to a doctor? Did he—?”

  “No! No, he didn’t get that far, and I don’t need a doctor.”

  Chay reached behind his neck, tugged off his bandana, and handed it to her. The fight hadn’t done his shoulder any good, that was certain. “Sorry—I haven’t got a handkerchief, but this is reasonably clean.”

  As she took it, a glance told him she was nodding her thanks. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered out between snuffles, dabbing at her face. “I was so stupid. I never thought….”

  “Jesus, it’s not your fault. That guy is just a real scumbag, K.C. You couldn’t have known.”

  “Yes, but I…I should have asked to leave. When…when I saw we were alone and figured what he wanted, I….”

  “It’s over now. Put it behind you,” he said gently.

  “I left my purse there. And my phone! My parents will go berserk.”

  Chay pulled over and ran his hands down his face, then steered the truck into a U-turn and started back in the direction they had come.

  “Are you insane?” K.C. demanded. “We can’t go back. What are you doing?”

  “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  Chay turned up the same paved road that turned into gravel, which K.C. now knew led to Jamie’s home. He parked in front of the house leaving the motor running, got out but he ducked back in and said, “Stay here with the doors locked until I come back out. Where is the purse?”

  “On the kitchen counter if he hasn’t moved it, but Chay—”

  “Just do what I say. It’ll be okay.”

  He went to the back of his truck and released one of his rifles from the rack, cocked it, then headed for the door. Swinging it open, he marched down the hall and was greeted by the vision of Jamie just emerging from the kitchen with an ice pack on his head.

  Jamie’s jaw hung open, or about as open as it could be with the swelling now apparent. “What the f…?”

  Chay pointed the rifle at him. “Just hand me her purse. She left it on the counter.”

  Stupefied more than anything, Jamie backed into the kitchen, lifted the purse from the counter and handed it over. “You little bastard, you no good, worthless piece of shit. I’ll get you for this.”

  Chay backed to the door, purse in one hand, rifle in the other, then managed to pull the door shut behind him, hightailing it to the truck. He could hear the click as K.C. unlocked the truck doors once more. He threw the unloaded gun in the rear, and jumped in, practically throwing the purse at K.C. Dirt and stones flew as he backed up and then out of the Double F Ranch.

  “Geesh,” she finally breathed, turning the purse over in her hands. She almost managed a laugh. “You really are something.”

  “I’m really something? I’m really something? What in the devil do you mean by that? I just managed to get—”

  “Yes! Yes, thank you! That was an incredibly brave thing to do. Your bad shoulder and all….”

  “Oh.”

  “As well as an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

  His glance left the road and took her in for a moment. Blouse still han
ging open, hair in total disarray plastered on her face, shaking hands turning the purse over and over. His heart jumped. He wanted so bad to take her in his arms, to just hold her and tell her everything would be all right, but he knew his advances, although meant to comfort, wouldn’t be welcome. “Well, I’m a stupid sort of guy,” he got out at last. “Remember?”

  “Impetuous?”

  “I suppose.” He paused before adding, “I heard rumors about Jamie but nothing more than…well, nothing that would have prompted me to warn you.”

  “And would you have if you knew?”

  “Would you have believed me if I had?”

  K.C. put the purse in her lap and played with the bandana. At last she asked, “Do you live down that road as well?”

  “My father does.” He kept his lips tight, as if the rest of the story would stay locked in.

  “Your mother?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Left us. Took off. When I was sixteen.”

  K.C. faced straight ahead giving Chay a good look at her profile before he turned back to the road. “So you quit high school,” she whispered after a long silence.

  “Got it.”

  “But didn’t stop studying, star pupil that you must have been.”

  He didn’t bother to answer. He listened to the long breath she finally let out as she began to relax, and waited for the next question, the next piece of his puzzle she would find. But it wasn’t what he was expecting.

  “You didn’t know Jamie? You weren’t in the same class, same school?”

  “Nope. He went to some fancy boarding school over in Utah. I knew him, of course, but we didn’t—what would you say—move in the same circles?” He stole another look at her. “What happened—and don’t tell me if you don’t want to, I can imagine well enough—but what happened wasn’t your fault. You know that.”

  “He tried to drug my drink. I caught him at it, and he attacked me anyway. I socked him in the eye with my ring.” She held up her hand with the champion ring.

  Chay glanced down at her little fist, ring protruding from her right hand, and laughed. “I wouldn’t want to meet you down a dark alley.” He was pleased to hear K.C.’s small giggle. “Poor bastard. You almost have to feel sorry for the jerk.”