Dory chuckled loudly. “That just proves it right there, girl. When was the last time you made hot monkey love with the likes of Mr. McDreamy out there?” Her gaze skewered Rachel, demanding an answer.
Dory Sullivan was about as cute as they came. Two years older than Rachel, with a petite figure that could stop traffic, she had no trouble getting dates. She also had no qualms about dispensing advice to those less fortunate, a position Rachel had found herself in more times than she cared to count.
“We’ve talked about this, Dory. Still not interested.” Rachel sidestepped the question, but couldn’t escape the shiver that feathered along her spine. So she didn’t trust men easily. What was so wrong with that? There’d been a time, many years ago, when she’d given her heart, soul, and body to the man of her dreams. Those dreams had somehow turned into a living nightmare. She was happier and safer on her own, despite what Dory thought.
Dory straightened, and her blonde head wagged back and forth. “You’re not getting any younger you know, Rach.”
They both laughed. “Yeah, well, the last time I checked, twenty-eight was still too young for assisted living.” Rachel grabbed an apron from the hangers beside the refrigerator and tied it around her as she stepped forward.
“It all depends on who’s doing the assisting, in my opinion.” Dory’s grin widened.
Rachel rolled her eyes and grimaced. “Would you stop, please? Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Set the table. And then stir the gravy while I whip up my famous broccoli salad.” Dory handed Rachel a wooden stirring spoon as she passed her on the way to the refrigerator. With one hand on the door handle, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Are you still getting those calls?”
Rachel stiffened even as she pasted a phony smile on her face. If only she hadn’t confided in Dory last week after her friend had witnessed her answer three calls in a row with either heavy breathing or silence on the line. Thank goodness she’d sworn her to secrecy so Rachel didn’t have to worry about Peg finding out. “No. Must have just been kids playing pranks.” She grabbed plates and silverware and headed toward the dining room, hoping Dory would buy her lie.
After making quick work of the table settings, she folded simple place cards and put one at each seat. It would be foolish to deny her friend’s suggestion completely when it was within her power to ensure that Garrett sat as far away from her as possible. Upon returning to the kitchen, Dory was occupied with last-minute preparations, and Rachel was relieved to tend to the gravy without any further questions.
A few minutes later, she and Dory carried the food dishes into the dining room table as Peg, Jonathan, and the guests started filing in. Dory went back to the kitchen, while Rachel turned toward her seat.
Peg sat at the head of the table with the Taylors, a couple from Colorado, on her left, but Jonathan sat on her right . . . where Rachel’s place card should have been. A quick glance revealed the worst-case scenario. Her name was on the placard next to Jonathan . . . and Garrett was already seated on her right. Dory. Oh, how her friend was going to pay for this.
As she circled the table to take her place, she caught a smug grin from Jonathan, which shot him to the top of her most likely culprits list. She should have known he wouldn’t want to make small talk with Garrett any more than she did. Still, it was unforgiveable, and she narrowed her eyes, hoping he’d understand that she would get even.
Just as she reached her seat, Garrett jumped up, pulled her chair out, and smiled as he waited for her to sit. She slid onto the seat and allowed him to push her in while her stomach did a little flip-flop, which she assured herself was only hunger.
Mr. Taylor, Alan, paused in the conversation he’d been having with Peg to watch curiously as Garrett seated her. Realizing that everyone had now fallen silent, Rachel felt the smoldering heat of embarrassment. If only a hole would open in the floor, she would gladly disappear through it. Alan exchanged a glance with his wife, then studied Rachel for a moment before he grinned.
“You’re making the rest of us look bad, son.” A good ten years Garrett’s senior and considerably smaller in stature, Alan’s low, raspy voice vibrated with humor as he extended his hand toward Garrett. “Alan Taylor, and this is my wife, Linda.”
Garrett shook hands and introduced himself. “I’ve been in the military for the last fourteen years. Women are rare. Pretty ones are even harder to come by. You learn to make an impression any way you can.”
Everyone but Rachel laughed—even the traitor, Jonathan. Was that what Garrett was trying to do—make an impression? Well, he’d have to pull out the big guns to impress her.
“I understand completely. And it’s nice to see that chivalry is still alive and well.” Alan winked at Rachel. “In spite of what they’ll tell you, women like their men to make them feel special. Sure . . . today’s woman can fend for herself just fine, but that doesn’t mean she’d object to being set up on that pedestal now and then. Right, honey?” Alan turned to his wife, the slant of his lips forming a crooked smile.
Linda’s gaze swept to her husband, and Rachel was surprised at the vacant stare that made her seem miles away. Then, as though Linda suddenly realized where she was, she laughed softly, wrapped her hand around Alan’s forearm, and looked around the table. “That’s what I love about Alan. He’s always coming up with new ways to show me I’m the only woman in his life.” She leaned toward him and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
Alan smiled proudly, but Rachel was struck by how quickly Linda detached emotionally from the conversation, apparently resuming whatever internal thoughts had occupied her before her husband pulled her into the discussion. Was there trouble up on that pedestal? Rachel sincerely hoped not. They’d seemed so happy together whenever they’d come to stay at the lodge. Rachel hadn’t analyzed their marriage before . . . and it would be best if she didn’t start now.
Rachel usually enjoyed these dinners with travelers from across the country, learning where they were from and where they’d been. The Taylors were almost always the first to arrive each spring. This was the sixth year in a row they’d been guests of the lodge for the early bear hunts. For all intents and purposes, they were practically family. They’d grown to know the area and many of the local people.
Hanging on their guests’ every word was normally the high spot of each day for Rachel, but today’s dinner seemed to drag on forever. All too aware of Garrett’s imposing form beside her, she found it nearly impossible to concentrate on the conversation. Instead, her attention focused on her food, which she shuffled around her plate. On the other hand, Garrett was apparently completely comfortable, joining in the discussion as though he’d sat around this same table all his life, much to Rachel’s annoyance.
Alan Taylor leaned his elbows on the table, his rapt attention evident in the bobbing of his head and the consideration in his penetrating gaze. Linda looked from speaker to speaker, her shoulder-length red hair flipping against one side of her collar and then the other. Their words all blurred together for Rachel—until Alan mentioned that he’d grown up in Texas and still had family there.
She jumped as though electricity had zapped her nerve endings, then went rigid, her arms braced on the edge of the table, hoping it hadn’t been as noticeable as she feared. Her skin tingled beneath Garrett’s curious stare, and she could feel Alan’s gaze on her as well. That answered the question. Even Peg eyed her with concern etched in the lines around her mouth. Rachel made a conscious effort to relax, which failed big-time. Sad when the mere mention of Texas, her home when her stalker began threatening her, could send her into full-fledged panic.
As though he knew the reason for her tension, Garrett turned the subject away from Texas. The Taylors had a winter residence in Garrett’s home state of California, so the discussion moved to the housing problems, the economy, and politics. With an uneasy glance toward Peg, Garrett admitted that his father was a US senator from the Golden State.
“You don’t say
. Well, hell, I didn’t vote for him,” Alan said.
Everyone chuckled except Garrett. Rachel studied him from beneath her lashes, immediately picking up on his discomfort and animosity. Was this a chink in his armor? Something she could use to hasten his departure? In the next breath, a tiny sprout of sympathy unsettled her as red splotches appeared on his face.
Anger? Was there trouble in paradise? Or was Garrett embarrassed by something about his old man?
When Amanda had mentioned that her ex-husband was now a US senator and worth a lot of money, Rachel hadn’t given it much thought. Now, however, she could imagine growing up in that household, where the only parental figure had spent most of his time in Washington, DC, and when he’d been home, was probably more concerned about his image than his sons.
Oh no. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be feeling sorry for Garrett next. The Taylors finally excused themselves, and Rachel immediately began gathering empty dishes, unable to wait another minute to make her escape.
“Rachel, I’d like you to show Garrett around our mountain while he’s here.” Peg’s words wrapped around Rachel’s thoughts, and for a moment she forgot to breathe.
“What? What about the Watering Hole? We’re opening in two weeks. I have to take inventory and order supplies.” She glanced at Garrett, and to his credit, he seemed as curious about the answer to her question as she was.
“There’s plenty of time for all that. And Jonathan said he’d check for needed repairs, so that will take quite a bit off your plate, dear. Garrett isn’t sure how long he’ll be staying yet, but I know Amanda would want him to see as much of the mountain and countryside as possible. I’d give him the grand tour myself, but I just can’t get away right now.” The sadness in Peg’s eyes implored her.
Rachel bit back the refusal poised on the tip of her tongue, because Peg’s wistful smile told the real story. She was asking for Amanda . . . for her son’s visit to be all that Amanda would have made it if she’d been there. No matter how unfair life became, no matter how angry Rachel was, it didn’t matter. There or not, these were Amanda’s two days. And since when wouldn’t she cut off her right arm for either Peg or Amanda?
Rachel had agreed to Garrett’s deal thinking Peg would refuse his request. She should have known Peg would likely grant him anything within reason. She’d walked right into that one and now she was stuck, but she didn’t have to like it.
Rachel breathed deeply and straightened, tamping down her desire to storm out of the room. She smiled, probably a wobbly, pathetic stretching of her lips. “Of course, Peg. I’ll be happy to show Mr. Harding around.” She turned toward Garrett, wishing looks really could kill. “What time would you like to start?”
One corner of his lip twitched slightly, and his eyes shone with amusement . . . at her expense. “That’s really nice of you, Rachel. Is oh-eight-hundred too early?”
“Not at all. I’ll have time to get my run in before we start.” Rachel lifted the pile of dishes she’d accumulated and started to push her chair out.
Garrett was instantly behind her, moving her chair away from the table. As she brushed by him he laid a hand lightly on her arm, and that same pulse of energy that had leaped between them earlier in the Jeep hit her full force again. “You run? I’d like to get a few miles in myself. Would you mind if I joined you? Especially after what happened at the bar today. It might not hurt for you to have some company.”
Oh no! Rachel closed her eyes and waited for it.
“What happened at the bar today?”
She turned to face Peg’s questioning gaze. Jonathan scowled blackly in Garrett’s direction and leaned back in his chair, looking as though he’d like to disappear right along with her. She and Jonathan had an unspoken agreement—they didn’t worry Peg unnecessarily. Too bad Rachel hadn’t taken into consideration the likelihood that Garrett would mention the events of the day.
“It was nothing, Peg. Riley and his brothers had a little too much to drink and were out having fun.” Rachel forced a smile.
Peg nodded, and the whole darn thing would have gone away if Rachel could only have found a way to shut Garrett up. She whirled on him as soon as he started to speak.
“Wait a minute. It was a hell of a lot more than that. Those hoodlums were intent on taking Rachel somewhere without her consent. Where I come from, that’s called kidnapping. And they were having fun with two sawed-off shotguns.” His gaze swept from Peg, to Jonathan, to Rachel.
When his eyes turned to her, his oh-shit moment was obvious, but it was too late.
Peg left her seat and strode toward her. “Are you all right, dear?”
“Of course. I’m fine, and there’s nothing to worry about. Jonathan had a talk with them, and I’m sure they won’t do anything like that again.” Rachel glared at Jonathan, hoping he’d back her up, but he remained silent.
“Jonathan knew about this, too, and neither of you thought to tell me? Well, thank goodness for Garrett.” She smiled fondly at him. “Riley’s bunch has gotten out of hand. Something needs to be done about them. I think it’s time to have a talk with the sheriff. For now, Rachel, I don’t want you outside the lodge alone until the sheriff has had a chance to check into this.” Peg waited for Rachel’s dutiful nod before she dropped her napkin on the table and started for the door. “Jonathan, may I have a word, please?”
Jonathan groaned and glowered at Rachel as he stood and pushed his chair back. “You’re going to be the death of me, girl.”
“It wasn’t my fault. It was . . . ”
“He didn’t know we were keeping that information from Peg, did he? I’m afraid this one’s on you, Rachel.” Jonathan nodded briefly at Garrett and followed Peg’s path from the room.
Okay, so maybe she was at fault, and if she ever got Riley in her sights again, she was going to shoot the worthless vermin, but why was Jonathan suddenly siding with her least favorite person?
Garrett stepped in front of her, raising his hands as though in supplication. “I’m sorry, but even if I’d known, I still would have told her. Someone needs to take this seriously.”
Rachel let out the breath she’d been holding, and with her next inhale, she choked on a bitter laugh. “Jonathan’s right. It’s not your fault—it’s mine. I should have told Peg myself. And if I get my wish for a total do-over for today, everything will go back to normal in the morning.” She tried a smile as her gaze met his, but had a feeling it turned out completely cheesy.
Regret clouded his eyes for an instant as he studied her. “I apologize for my part. Obviously, I’m the last person you wanted to have show up here. I’m hoping to change your mind about that, but if not, I want you to know that I’ll keep my word and be out of here come Tuesday.”
Rachel had the perfect retort, but for some reason, she couldn’t force the words out. Maybe his apology was too genuine, or perhaps the sadness that had fallen over him in an instant had stolen her derision. The longer she stared into his eyes, the less she wanted to own the hatred she’d held on to for so long.
Garrett’s steel-gray eyes darkened as his gaze swept over her face and lingered on her lips. Self-consciously, Rachel turned to take the stack of dishes to the kitchen, but was stopped when his hand gripped her elbow. The strength and warmth of his gentle grasp made her breath hitch as she met his eyes again. No humor waited there now . . . no sadness . . . only longing.
Unexpectedly, a shiver engulfed her, and an ache of something long forgotten flared to life deep inside. For endless seconds, she couldn’t look away from his eyes, until the rattling of the dishes she held between them broke the spell. Rachel pulled from his touch, but it was another second before she broke eye contact, feeling strangely weak and shaky. Afraid her voice would give her away, she let the silence stretch for a moment. No one moved. “Six thirty in the morning . . . if you still want to run. Don’t be late,” Rachel said, then turned and hurried from the room.
Chapter Five
THE ALARM WENT off on the bedside
table, and he slammed his hand down on the button to cut the annoying sound. Cowboy rose from his bedroll on the floor and stuck his nose in Garrett’s face.
“At least one of us slept, huh, boy?” It wasn’t Garrett. Between his mother’s unanswered letters, his father’s probable deception, and Rachel’s enigmatic pull on emotions that hadn’t been heard from in a while, he’d tossed and turned most of the night.
He’d been crazy to make that ridiculous deal with her. On a scale of one to ten, Garrett’s chances of getting Rachel to change her mind about him sat pretty close to zero. Right now, he’d settle for her merely tolerating him. From divulging the information to Peg that Rachel had intended to keep to herself, to mistakenly concluding she would abide his touch, he’d managed to lessen his odds considerably in the space of only a few hours. He should probably leave now and save himself the humiliation.
But he wouldn’t, even though his original plan had been to get in and out of here the same day with answers to his questions about his mother and with no emotional commitment to Aunt Peg. So why did he care what Rachel thought of him?
Fact was, he’d drawn his first totally peaceful breath in as long as he could remember after walking out of Peg’s office yesterday. It was a feeling he wouldn’t mind holding on to for a while. Plus he hadn’t quite gotten out without a scratch in the emotional commitment department. Irrational though it might be, he felt he owed Peg something. He didn’t need Rachel’s permission to stay, but it would make things easier on both of them if she didn’t hate his guts.
Rescued by the Ranger Page 6
