by Maisey Yates
Yes, her beauty had been a shock.
“Through here,” he said, pushing open a door that led to one of the large outbuildings. It was more rough-hewn in looks than the main house. Wood left natural, unfinished. There were chairs in the front room, and desks, and through the entryway, into the back, there was a big room with tables that were, for now, empty. And the wall was lined with boxes. Computer boxes. “And this is where you can start.”
“Nothing is even plugged in,” she said.
He shrugged. “Yeah, I figured you could handle most of it. It is what you’re being paid to do, after all. Get everything set up. Start with opening the boxes.”
She gave him an evil glare. “Really? Seems outside of my jurisdiction.”
“Until you form a union, I’m not going to worry much about that.”
“I could use the boxes to make some protest signs.”
“I think going on strike might be considered a violation of your contract, in which case, I’ll be knocking on your brother’s door and asking him to help settle up your debts.”
“Okay,” she said, hands planted on shapely hips. “Let’s get one thing straight here and now. This is between you and me.”
He almost laughed. Of course it wasn’t between the two of them. It never had been. He would have hired the guy who’d set up his ranch in Texas if he hadn’t seen an opportunity to get a foothold in Cade’s world via his much-doted-on sister.
Now, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do with her, but the fact that he had her, at his mercy in many ways, for the next six weeks was enough for now.
“Sure,” he said, instead of voicing the truth. “But if that’s the case, it cuts both ways. This is between you and me, and Cade has nothing to do with it.”
“That’s not . . . I can’t . . .”
“Then I can’t.”
“If I default on the contract, Cole and Cade have nothing to do with it. I don’t want you showing up at their door and making my problems their problems.”
“You strike me as the kind of girl who hasn’t had very many problems, honey. And I bet the ones you have had were taken care of by daddy or by your brothers.”
“Oh, you think that?” she asked, one delicate brow arching. “You don’t have anything but hair under that hat, do you, cowboy?”
“Don’t tell me your brothers wouldn’t jump to protect you if you needed it.”
“Sure they would. But you have no idea what I’ve been through. Don’t make assumptions.”
“Is that any way to talk to your boss?”
“You gonna fire me? Because then you can’t hold anything over my head.”
“Nope. Not going to fire you.”
“What do you want?” she asked. “Because no matter what you say, I don’t believe any of this has to do with me being awesome at tech and you wanting to pick up someone local. I don’t even think it’s a coincidence you’re here.”
“It doesn’t concern you, because as you just pointed out, what happens here is between you and me, and no one else. Why I’m here? Not your damn business.”
Her dark brown eyes assessed him, her brows drawn tightly together. She didn’t trust him. She was smart. And he was going to have to work hard to get past that. Because she shouldn’t trust him.
But it was in his best interest that she did.
“Fine. I’m just going to be your tech monkey. Oooh ooh ah ah. Get me a freaking box cutter and I’ll get to work.”
He walked over to the counter that lined the back of the room and riffled through a box that was sitting on top of it, digging for her requested item. He walked over to where she was standing and held out the cutter, the blade not extended.
She took it from him and pressed the button, pushing the blade up. Then she bent down and sliced the top of the first box. “All-in-one,” she said. “Sweet. Unless you need to pull one apart to repair it. Easy to set up, though, so I won’t complain.”
“Maybe I should return them and get something that will challenge you.”
“Don’t you have horses to shoe? Cattle to prod? Lives to ruin?”
“Am I ruining yours a little by standing here? If so, I think I might just hang out.”
“No. I find your presence therapeutic. You’re a living, breathing, shirtless Zen fountain.”
“Then maybe I’ll stay.”
She shot him a deadly glare and took the cutter to the top of the next box. “This is going to be really boring.”
He shrugged, giving her ass a once-over when she bent down to dig through the box. No, this wasn’t boring at all. He didn’t want to think about how long it had been since he’d gotten laid. He’d had too much on his mind lately to even think about that.
“Suit yourself. This might take you a while—if you want to stay for dinner, you’re welcome to. I have a chef, and he’ll be cooking for everyone in the mess hall.”
“Mess hall? Is this a boot camp?”
“Something like it.” He tipped his hat. “See you at dinner.”
“No, you won’t!” she called after him as he exited the room and the building. Right when he went out into the warm, dusty afternoon, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen and hit the accept button. “What’s up, Sam?”
“Jill agreed. So when are the reservations for?”
“Tomorrow.”
Sam swore. “Thanks, Quinn, might have given us some notice.”
“Why? She’s gonna be pissed about a vacation?”
“This isn’t a vacation so much as espionage for my boss. Who she thinks is kind of a dick.”
“Jill doesn’t like me?”
“Not much.”
“Well. All right then. Anyway, she can just relax and enjoy. I just need you to keep your eyes open for anything I might be able to use to build a case against him.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Look, Lark is here, so that means you can’t be. You can’t be associated with me, and neither can Jill. Not until after the week is up.”
“I’m not comfortable with this giddy-up spy ring thing you have going on. That’s not what I do, man.”
“No, you and I travel the circuit. We’re rodeo men, Sam, unless I stay barred. For life. Then I’m not anymore.” He took a deep breath. “You could go back. Find someone else you can assist on the circuit.”
“You know I won’t.”
“Then you have to be part of the giddy-up spy ring. I’ll get you a deputy badge if you want.”
“I’m flipping you off.”
“Not as powerful when I can’t see your middle finger.”
“Just trust me. It’s up there.”
“I do.”
“So, Lark is there. And what exactly do you plan on doing with her?”
“What do you think?” Quinn asked. He genuinely wanted to know. It might give him some ideas.
“Are you going to seduce her?”
An uncomfortable rush of heat assaulted him, his stomach tightening. “No.”
“I thought—”
“You think I’m a bigger jackass than I am, Sam.”
“No, I think you’re angry, and you’re just on this side of desperate, Quinn, and at this point, I wouldn’t put much past you. I don’t blame you, but I will remind you, she’s about four years older than my own daughter, which means that as much as I like you . . . if you’re going to use her? Hell, bro, you won’t have to worry about the Mitchell brothers kicking your ass. I’ll do it for them.”
“Noted,” Quinn said, gritting his teeth. He didn’t like Sam’s assessment of his character or his state of mind. He wasn’t above making Cade think he might seduce the other man’s sister; he wasn’t even above manipulating her emotional loyalty just to screw with Cade; but he sure as hell wouldn’t do anything as sick as screwing her just to screw Mitchell.
Even he had his limits.
“Good. Well, I’d better tell my wife to go and pack her things.”
“Great, I hope you enjoy it.”
“A week alone with Jill in a tiny cabin? The jury’s out.”
“What’s going on with you two?” He’d always seen Jill and Sam as solid. Sam had been married ever since he’d met the guy fourteen years earlier. But the tone had definitely been changing over the past few years. He talked about her less.
He smiled less in general.
“Nothing,” Sam said. “That’s the thing. All right, buddy, talk to you later.”
“Yep.” Quinn hung up the phone and took another look at the outbuilding. And he thought about the woman inside. Yeah, she was hot. And in other circumstances . . . hey, maybe they could have tangled the sheets. But he had a hard line, and that was it.
He wasn’t mixing sex and revenge.
It was time to forget about Lark and her curves and think about how he was going to clear his name—and make sure Cade Mitchell paid for all of the false accusations.
Vengeance was best executed with singular focus.
Chapter Three
Lark finished getting the last computer plugged in and online, then stood up straight, surveying her work. Not bad. You know, except that she was working for Beelzebub himself and the cost would undoubtedly be her eternal soul—but other than that, it was good work.
She let out a breath and pulled her purse off the counter, digging around for her keys before heading outside. It was nearly dark. She’d been too absorbed in her work to notice how late it had gotten.
That meant avoiding that dinner invite might be stickier than she’d imagined. Oh, except no. She might be working for the devil, but she didn’t have to eat his food. There was some kind of epic biblical metaphor in there somewhere, she was sure of it.
She just needed to get home and get in front of her computer and try to decompress from this insane day.
She walked back up the bark-covered path and toward the main house, then paused in the open space where her car was parked. Did she have to clock out or . . . was she good since she was contracted for a specific amount? Oh, grrr. She didn’t know. Which meant tracking Quinn down again.
She didn’t want to track him down. Unless it was to punch him in the face.
She sighed and headed toward the building he’d mentioned was the kitchen, then stood by the front door for a minute before raising her hand to knock.
A woman answered the door, in her late thirties, dressed in a very plain t-shirt and jeans. Was she Quinn’s girlfriend? She didn’t look flashy enough to be Quinn’s girlfriend. Because if he was anything like Cade had been back in his rodeo days, he went for girls who went through a can of hair spray and a pallet of blush every week. Big hair, big lips, big boobs. Men like him took a Texas mentality to the women they went after. Everything bigger. Of course, they had those little waists that practically looked corseted, so not everything bigger.
This woman didn’t have that look at all, but she was answering the door.
And why should she care if the woman was Quinn’s girlfriend? It didn’t matter.
“Hi,” Lark said. “I just need to speak to Quinn for a moment?”
“He just sat down to eat.”
“Oh, well . . . it’s urgent. I was working on the computers, and . . .”
“Come in and eat.”
She looked past the woman at the door and saw Quinn, along with about twenty other people, sitting at a long table with big wooden bowls set in a line across it. Pasta, salad and bread seemed to be what was on the menu, and Lark’s stomach growled, a reminder she hadn’t stopped for lunch.
“I should go. Home. Which was . . . actually what I—”
“Fifteen minutes to eat; it’ll round out the hour. Now come on in,” Quinn said.
Lark stepped inside reluctantly, feeling like she was violating some kind of sacred blood covenant with Cade by breaking bread with his mortal enemy. But . . . the bread was already cut, so there would be no literal breaking of bread. Just chewing of it. And she was hungry.
“Fine. For a minute.”
She came in and smiled at everyone, realizing belatedly that she probably seemed like an ungrateful Bitchy McNasty since she was, in their eyes, turning down a free meal offered by their boss, who seemed to repel none of them.
“I mean”—she smiled wider—“thank you so much, Mr. Parker, I would love to.”
The quality of his smile changed, and she could tell he really enjoyed having her call him Mr. Parker. Having to be nice.
She could just announce what a horrible person he was to everyone in the room, but something stopped her.
I’m the only one who knows for sure . . .
She hated that. Hated that his words had managed to take root somewhere inside of her. Hated that it all made her pause.
So instead of saying anything, she sat down at the far end of the table from him and started to fill her plate up with food.
Quinn made introductions around the table. The woman who’d answered the door was Sandy, a woman hired on to teach the boys. Everyone there was a teacher of some kind, specially trained to handle difficult children.
“Coke?” he asked.
She arched her brow. “Coke, huh?”
“Not a drop of anything harder on the premises,” he said. “We have a lot of boys coming here who have a tendency to get in some serious trouble. I’m not bringing trouble to the grounds.” He picked up his glass and took a sip of what looked like water, then set it back on the table. “Plus, I’m an asshole when I’m drunk, so it’s good to keep it away from me too.”
Her lips twitched. She was tempted to ask if he’d been drunk the day he’d screwed up her brother’s life, but again, she held back.
“Yes, I’ll have a Coke. Diet if you have it.”
“That we do have. Diet pairs nicely with pasta.”
She laughed reluctantly, and everyone at the table chuckled. After that she kept quiet and listened to everyone else talk. About the plans for the ranch, the boys who would be coming soon, how the teachers were going to handle particular situations.
She had to hand it to Quinn. He’d brought on a team of serious experts, and he himself was clearly pretty well-researched in ways to handle troubled youth. She hadn’t thought for a second about the implications of having beer on the premises, but everything Quinn was doing with the property was exceptionally cautious.
Damn him. She couldn’t fault him on this. Or the project at all. It was shockingly decent for a man who’d supposedly deliberately sabotaged a competitor’s ride.
Although, there had been no way of knowing the extent of the damage a spike under a saddle might do. The idea had been to shorten Cade’s ride, she was certain, not to shorten his career, and nearly his life along with it.
No, she knew that. But it didn’t take away the fact that that was what had happened. That Cade’s career was over, and that he was in pain every day of his life.
Her spaghetti suddenly tasted like glue.
She put her fork down and stood. “Thanks for dinner,” she said. “It was really nice to meet all of you. Really nice. See you tomorrow.”
She stood and walked out of the building, knowing she seemed abrupt and weird and maybe even rude, but not caring so much right then.
She started fishing for her car keys, lost somewhere in the bottom of her purse, muttering curses as she did.
“Hey, what the hell?”
She whirled around and saw Quinn standing there. “Oh, what the hell? Sorry, I just realized I was eating with a man who nearly killed my older brother.”
Quinn’s head jerked to the side like she’d slapped him, the impression of her words as clear on his face as a red handprint. “Killed him?”
“He almost died. Did you not
know? He lost almost half of his blood because that damned horse ripped through all that muscle and took out an artery in his leg. He broke four disks in his back and three vertebrae. He’s as stiff as seventy-year-old man on a cold morning—do you know what that does to his pride? He won’t say that, but it does. It kills him inside whenever he has to ask for help, or when he can’t finish a day of ranch chores. He hates it when Cole gives him easier stuff, but can’t say no because he knows he has to take it. That’s what you’ve done to him. That’s what you did. All for a win. Was it worth it? Did the top spot on the leaderboard feel good? I hope it did, because it was the last one for you. Fitting, since it was the last one for him too.”
“Hey, look, that’s shit. I’m sorry if that’s how bad off he is, but I didn’t do it. There’s no proof now, there was no proof then.”
“Then why are you barred for life?”
“Because, honey, I’m bad blood, or did you not get the memo?” He stepped out of the pale light coming from the porch and into the shadow. “I’m not one of them. I never was, I never will be. Cade Mitchell is, though. Golden boy. And it’s much easier to believe his word than mine.”
“What makes you bad blood?” she asked.
“Some people are just born with it. They can never be good enough. They can never belong. Born to screw up. Born to take the least honorable path, that’s me. It’s always been me. Ask my family about it sometime. I walked onto the rodeo circuit, a nobody from the East Coast who wasn’t a part of any family anyone had heard of. Dark skin and a bad attitude. Hell, baby, they didn’t want me around. They never did. This was all very convenient for them, and I am a popular scapegoat.”
“I don’t think any of that’s true.”
“What? You don’t think they made any prejudgments about me? You’re wrong there. Whether it is my skin, or my criminal record—and I do have one, I won’t lie—they did. And I was the most popular guy to hang out to dry.”
“That’s not why Cade never liked you. He said you were an arrogant, mean son of a bitch with an attitude problem that wouldn’t quit and . . . well, he said you probably have a . . . a”—her cheeks burned, but she forced the rest out anyway—“a small dick under that big belt buckle. So there.”
