Accidental Agent (River's End Ranch Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “No, I guess not. So what if I told you that I used to do dressage?” She looked at him in challenge.

  His brain completely blanked out. “I’d be impressed, if I could remember what that is. I’m guessing it has to do with horses and not with salad dressing.”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m sure you’ve seen it on TV—it’s where you guide your horse through several exercises and show them to their best advantage.”

  “Oh, right. And you wear those . . . grasshoppers . . .”

  She gave him an odd look, and he felt his ears burn. “What?”

  “You know. The pants.”

  She laughed. “You mean jodhpurs?”

  “I guess. I don’t know—I don’t do horses.”

  She was still laughing. “How did you get grasshoppers from the word jodhpurs?”

  “I don’t know. Hey, let’s just go for a nice horseback ride, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  A few minutes later, Jack was up on Nellie’s back, feeling more awkward than he ever had in his life. He didn’t think humans were supposed to ride on animals like this. If they were, wouldn’t both of them be shaped differently or something?

  Liz led them out in a slow trot. Jack could tell she was trying to go easy on him, but still, he felt every single step the horse took.

  “You can press some of your weight into your feet to take off the pressure,” she called over to him. “Makes it less bouncy.”

  He tried that, and it did help some, but he could tell that either way, his legs were going to be exhausted by the end of their ride.

  As they moved toward the mountains, though, the scenery helped take his mind off some of his discomfort. They had gone a different direction than they had for their hike, and if he’d ever been foolish enough to think that all mountains were the same, he was proven wrong. This view was entirely different from what he’d enjoyed before, and he took in several deep breaths of appreciation. This was the life. Well, he’d prefer not to be on the back of an animal that weighed roughly a thousand pounds and could crush him like a grape if she so chose, but as long as he didn’t think about that, all was well.

  They rode for about half an hour, following a trail along the base of the mountains. Jack didn’t know if they were still on ranch property or were now visiting someone else’s land, but he didn’t suppose it mattered—Liz wouldn’t take him trespassing. She might be trying to dispose of a body, but she was no trespasser.

  Speaking of which . . . what on earth was she hiding?

  “Hey,” he called out. “You seem a little quiet. Is everything okay?”

  “Sure. It’s just hard to talk on horseback sometimes.” She slowed her pace until she was nearer to him. “That’s better. So, what do you think? Are you and Nellie getting along all right?”

  “We are. She’s being very patient with me, but I’d love to hear her thoughts. She’s probably rolling her eyes at me right now.”

  Liz looked at the horse with contemplation. “She might be, but she’s hiding it well. You know, if you loosened up your shoulders a little bit, your back might hurt less.”

  How did she know he was getting a knot in the center of his back? He supposed he was bringing it on himself, but it was so hard to stay upright when the horse kept swaying from side to side. This was an ab workout and a leg workout and an everything-else workout all at the same time.

  He rolled his shoulders, wanting to do as she said. “So, I don’t mean to pry, but that letter had you pretty upset earlier. Is there anything I can do?”

  She looked ahead for a moment. “No, it’s fine. I just need to think some things over and make some decisions. It’s not something I can have someone else do, you know? I need to take care of it myself.”

  “Sure, sure.” Like dumping a body, he supposed . . . “But let me know, okay? I mean, you were so great with me yesterday when I was spilling my guts—I just want to return the favor.”

  She gave him a warm smile. “No problem. So, hey, Quantico, right? That’s so cool. Tell me about it.”

  He couldn’t go into every detail, of course, but he told her what he could of his training, and then he gave her the highlights of some of his trickiest cases. He focused on the “stupid criminal” stories, like the one of the guy who’d kidnapped the wrong person, let her go, and then went after her roommate—of course he’d been caught almost immediately. It had helped their investigation quite a lot that he’d told the girl exactly what he was planning to do before he released her. Liz couldn’t stop laughing at that.

  “Oh, dear,” she said at last, wiping her eyes. “I’d hope that I’d be a smarter criminal than that.”

  Hmm. An interesting thought indeed. “If you were a criminal, what kind would you be? Are you more of a murderer, or more of a petty thief?”

  Liz seemed to consider that. “Not a murderer, definitely. I can’t even kill a spider, as much as I hate them—Joni has to do that for me. Except for the time when I had Bob come over—Joni was out of town, and honestly, what was I supposed to do? Live with a spider for the whole weekend? I don’t think so.”

  Jack found himself suddenly and irrationally jealous of Bob. “Does he live nearby, then?”

  “Yeah, he’s in our apartment complex. A lot of the ranch employees live there, actually. I really think the Westons should build one on site—they could hold rent out of our paychecks if we chose to live there, which would be handy, and it would be closer. Not that I’m complaining—not everything has to revolve around the ranch, and sometimes it’s good to get away from it.”

  “So, you’re not a murderer,” Jack said, deciding to loop back around to his original question. If he didn’t change the subject, he’d obsess over how close Bob lived to the girls, and that wasn’t going to do anyone any good. “You sure?”

  “Why? Are you picking up some kind of murderer vibe from me? I know they teach you how to do stuff like that at FBI school—see who’s lying and whatnot.”

  “No, no murderer vibe—just the opposite, in fact. I just want to make sure my skills are still sharp.” He had to smile, though, at her term “FBI school.”

  “You can totally practice on me all you want. What do you do? Stare in my eyes or listen to the tone of my voice or watch my body language? How do you know when someone’s lying?”

  Jack had to think about that for a second. How did he know? And for that matter, did he always know? Of course not—he’d been fooled more times than he cared to count. The trick was rectifying it as soon as he could. “I guess it’s a combination of all of the above,” he said at last. “And it’s not foolproof. I get bamboozled fairly regularly, but the facts of the case usually bear out the truth.”

  “Bamboozled. What a fun word. Reminds me of bamboo.” She flicked a glance his way. “Bamboozled . . . grasshoppers . . . hanging out with you is fun.”

  “I’m glad you think so because I want to do lots of it before I leave.”

  He wondered if he’d pushed her boundary a little too far. She’d told him she didn’t want to get involved, but here she was now, taking him on a horseback ride of her own free will and choice, seeking him out. Just exactly what were her boundaries? He was more than happy to let her keep deciding the rules, but he hoped she made them very clear. He was ready to see this through to a relationship, and he didn’t want to scare her off by suggesting it before she was ready too.

  “I do have to work from time to time, you know.” Her tone of voice was light, and he guessed that she wasn’t too offended by what he’d just said.

  “I’ll just be sure to eat in the diner those days,” he replied.

  She replied with a smile, then nudged her horse to move up ahead of him because the trail was becoming too narrow for them to ride side by side.

  Jack reached out and touched the leaves on the trees they rode between, enjoying their crisp greenness on his fingertips and the way they smelled like spring. Everything around him was fresh and new, brilliant green, pushing away the old dead debris of wint
er. A resurrection of life. Symbolic, really, and it reminded him why he was here—to find himself.

  Jaclyn came back into his mind, and he had to laugh.

  After passing through the narrow portion of the trail, they entered a clearing, and Liz brought her horse to a stop and slid off. “Picnic time,” she said.

  “Are you always this prepared?” Jack asked, imitating her movements and trying to get Nellie to pull up next to Thunder. The horse had a mind of her own and didn’t want to be anywhere near the other beast, but she did stop, which was good.

  “When it comes to food, yes. There must always be food.”

  Jack grabbed the saddle horn and swung his leg over Nellie’s side, but just then, she took a step, and he slid all the way to the ground, landing on his backside. He expected Liz to either laugh or come running over to help him up, but she did neither. Instead, she said, “Good thing you aren’t wearing your FBI pants,” and started to undo the buckles on her saddlebags.

  He stood up and dusted himself off, then walked over to Thunder and took some sacks from Liz’s hands. “Where do you want these?”

  “Over by that fallen log.” She motioned with her head.

  “You know, that’s one thing I never knew about the woods. They’re so accommodating—providing all these fallen logs for people to use as benches.”

  “It’s not that there’s a fallen log everywhere we go,” Liz explained. “I’m taking us to places where I know there’s a fallen log. There’s a difference.”

  “I see. What about the one across the trail on our hike?”

  “Well, that one was different. It was a conveniently placed fallen log.”

  “So out of the two fallen logs where we’ve eaten, one was on purpose, and the other was coincidental. Meaning that you’ve only led us to a fallen log once.”

  “Are you always this nitpicky?” Liz asked, sitting down and opening her water bottle.

  “Always. Notoriously. Precision of language is very important. It makes all the difference, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know. Like jodhpurs.”

  “Of course.”

  Liz concentrated on the label on her bottle for a minute. “Have you made any decisions yet about what you’re going to do?”

  Jack straddled the log, facing her. He stretched out his legs, feeling the muscles object to everything he’d put them through so far that day. “I’ve been thinking about it almost nonstop, especially while I’m in my room,” he said. “It’s too quiet in there—gives me too much time to get caught up in my head. I ought to move my bed to the center of the diner. That would keep me distracted.”

  “Definitely.” Liz set down her water bottle and rummaged around in one of her sacks. “Peanut butter and jelly, or peanut butter and honey?”

  “Honey,” he said automatically. That had been his favorite as a boy, and always brought back fond memories of a dog with lopsided ears and making mud pies.

  She handed it over. “Cheetos or Lay’s?”

  “Cheetos.”

  “Root beer or Sprite?”

  “Root beer.”

  “Not fair.”

  “What? Why?”

  She pulled a face at him. “You’re taking all the good stuff.”

  “I am? I can give some back—what do you want?” He gestured to the small pile of food on his lap.

  “No, it’s all right. I’ll survive.” Liz popped the top on her can of Sprite and took a long swallow.

  “Jaclyn tells me you make the best Sprite.”

  “She’s right—I do.” Liz covered her mouth as she gave a little carbonation burp. “Sorry about that. Anyway, the trick is getting the right ice-to-soda ratio.”

  “You know, I did notice that my Coke seemed especially nice. You do have a way with soda.”

  “It’s a gift,” she said airily, and he smiled. He could spend every day out here in the woods, eating peanut butter and honey, watching the sunlight bounce off Liz’s hair. He could change his life, learn how to guide riders on trails, work on the ranch, and be happy forever.

  He could . . . if he wouldn’t miss the FBI so much.

  He loved being on the hunt. He loved gathering clues and rearranging them like puzzle pieces until they all fit. He loved looking at a family across the courtroom and knowing that for their son or their daughter, justice had been served and they could sleep better that night. Could he give that all up, even for mountain breezes and this girl who was fast becoming so very important to him?

  He didn’t know. And he needed to know, because he had a decision to make.

  Chapter Nine

  Liz was now quite thoroughly convinced that Jack really was an FBI agent. She wondered why she’d let May and Kaya throw her, but she realized that she’d been looking for any reason not to like him, any reason at all. If he was lying to her, that was an automatic out, and she could tell him good-bye forever without any guilt at all. But everything he said, every story he told . . . either he was FBI, or he was really good at telling long strings of lies for hours on end without any break in his façade. Yes, some people could do that, but she thought it was a lot more likely that he was who he said he was. She probably wouldn’t even call his office to verify his existence. Well, she hadn’t taken that off the table entirely, but she’d save that for another day.

  She watched him as he chewed his sandwich. He was still tense through his shoulders, probably because he was worried about falling off the horse. Like he had when he dismounted. It had been so hard not to laugh at him, but she didn’t want to make him feel bad.

  A glance at her saddlebags sent her mind zooming right back to the letter from Fingerprint, not that it had ever really left. It had taken all her concentration to steer the conversation away from her dilemma when what she really wanted was to spill her guts and see what Jack thought, but she wasn’t ready to tell him about that part of her yet. So many rejections, so many unbelieving people in her life, so many disappointments. Aside from Joni, the only ranch people who knew about her writing were Kelsi and Bob, and that’s because they worked with her every day. Her mom believed in her maybe a little too much, and her dad thought she was cute for trying, but didn’t take her seriously. She needed to be taken seriously—she needed to know that this was something she could really do, and not in her mother’s overdone way.

  Thank goodness for May and Kaya and Joni, her stalwarts.

  “I realize I made a horrible mistake,” she said as she wadded up her Lay’s bag. “I asked for peanut butter brownies in our lunches.”

  “Why is this a horrible mistake?”

  “Well, we just had peanut butter sandwiches. And I don’t even know if you’re allergic to nuts. That should have been one of the very first things I ever asked you. You could be dying of a horrible peanut allergy reaction right now and it would be all my fault because I wouldn’t even know.”

  Jack smirked. “If I had a horrible peanut allergy, it would be my responsibility to tell you that right up front, before you ever served me food. For the record, I do not. The only things I’m allergic to are polyester suits and Barry Manilow.”

  “What about Barry Manilow in a polyester suit?”

  “You might as well just bury me. No point in even calling the paramedics.”

  Liz pulled out the brownies and contemplated them. “So you don’t think eating this much peanut butter in one meal is a bad thing?”

  “I don’t think eating this much peanut butter in any combination of meals is a bad thing. Hand it over.”

  She passed over his portion, and he unwrapped it and took a big bite. “See, this is perfect,” he said, having a hard time speaking because of the peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth. “We just need one thing.”

  She reached back into the bag and pulled out two small cartons of milk. “Like this?”

  He blinked several times. “Are you for real? Like, honestly, are you? Or did someone send you here to pretend to be everything I’ve ever looked for and wanted, and this
is some kind of trick and there are TV cameras hiding in the bushes and I’m on a reality show of some kind?”

  “That’s a pretty over-the-top reaction to have about milk,” Liz said, a little taken aback.

  He drank down several swallows, then wiped his mouth. “No, I’m serious. It’s like you read my mind.”

  “Milk and peanut butter together aren’t exactly uncommon,” she replied. “I didn’t read your mind or stalk you to find out all your favorite food combinations.”

  “I guess you’re right.” He finished off his brownie, then downed the rest of his milk. “You are pretty amazing, though. Except I’m not going to tell you that because you don’t want to get involved, so I’ll very politely thank you for this wonderful, nostalgic meal and leave it at that.”

  “Thank you. That’s very polite of you.” She gathered up all her bags and wrappers and tucked them inside a larger bag. “Should we keep going, or do you want to stick around here for a while?”

  “I’m good to keep going.”

  They stowed all their trash in her saddlebags, then remounted. Jack seemed to be gaining more confidence, which was good, and the rest of their ride went smoothly. He did get his hair caught in a low-hanging branch and he yelped when it pulled free, but he remained upright on the horse, and she considered that progress.

  When they reached the stable, they handed the horses over to Glen to brush down, and leaned against the fence that circled the building. “I had a great time,” Jack said softly. “I think I need to soak in a hot tub for about three hours, but I’ll risk the pruney toes because I got to spend time with you.”

  “You keep saying that,” she teased. “Whatever peril you have to endure, it was worth it because you got to bask in my beauty.”

  “Yeah, something like that.” He made a move as though to touch her hand where it lay on the fence, but then he pulled back. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “What, you haven’t had enough of me today?”

  “No, not really.”

  Liz thought about it. She could spend the evening with him, but what she really needed was some time alone to read over her letter from Fingerprint, and also to write. She was grateful for the words she’d been able to get in that morning, but it was like a gnawing need, never satisfied, and she didn’t feel like herself unless she was feeding that need. And she badly needed to feel like herself—between Jack and now this contract offer, she didn’t know whether she was coming or going.