Expelled

by Claire Adams

  “I could knock you right off that horse right about now,” I said to him, but in a disinterested tone, my eyes moving over the landscape as we rode along.

  “What?” Eric sounded surprised. “Why?”

  “You managed to find the biggest slob on the face of this good earth and brought her to live in my damned house. I can’t even explain the mess in that guest room, and I didn’t even see the half of it. Just her being in my house is throwing off my daily routine.”

  Eric had a good old-fashioned belly laugh at that, leaning over so his forehead was almost grazing Lettie’s neck. It reminded me of Hailey and her too-loud voice. I shifted a little on the saddle while I waited for him to shut the hell up enough to get to whatever had struck him so damned funny.

  “Your routine?” he asked, and laughed again, shaking his blond head. “You act like you got to report to a factory or something. You work on a ranch that you own. It’s not like you got a hardass boss you have to answer to. You get started a little late on something, that must mean you finish late too.”

  “I don’t know why I bother to bring shit up to you,” I said, shooting a nasty look his way before continuing to take in the sweeping terrain. I had my eye out for rattlers in particular. I’d run across another one during my trail ride the other day. That made two in less than a month, which had never happened before. Usually, it was rare to see them in this part of the county.

  “And besides,” Eric said, continuing like I hadn’t said a damned word. “Everyone’s a slob compared to you. I never seen anybody else scrub a place that’s already clean the way you do.”

  “Cleanliness is next to godliness, Eric,” I reminded him, and he chuckled again, this time more quietly.

  “If that’s true, you’ll be the first guy they let in at the pearly gates.” He spit into the dirt. “I swear you are living proof that reincarnation is real.”

  “How’s that?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

  “You must’ve been one a them maître ‘ds at some snobby, fancy pants restaurant with the way you keep things so tidy.”

  I just shrugged my shoulders. I wasn’t about to apologize for being neat. There wasn’t a thing wrong with it, and anyone who thought there was could go straight to hell. I was a grown man who was going to live his life, conduct his business, and run his house however I damn well pleased.

  “Don’t you have nothing else to say about that girl except she’s a slob?” he asked, still smiling, but all the laughter had drained out of his voice, so I knew he was being serious.

  “I don’t really know that much about her,” I admitted, and was shocked to realize that was the truth considering she’d been staying in my house for more than a week. “She asks me things about the ranch or the animals, and I answer, but that doesn’t happen very often. She watches me do my chores, scribbling all kinds of notes in her notebook. We don’t really spend that much time together or chat about our lives. She’s here because she has research to do and had money to pay upfront, money I needed, or I wouldn’t have allowed this shit to continue past the first day.”

  Eric looked at me for a long time, his dark eyes narrowed. It got damned uncomfortable, to the point that I had to cut my eyes away, focusing instead on the mountains in the distance. Sometimes I wanted to ride out there, past the mountains, and just keep riding. It had always been my dream as a kid, though I knew there was more civilization on the other side, I pretended there wasn’t, that I’d find nothing but open land with buffalo roaming the way they did hundreds of years ago.

  “Hailey’s here for the next several months. I know you won’t throw her out now that she’s paid, no matter how messy she is. And if you want to be an asshole to her, that’s up to you and well within your right as a red-blooded American. But the woman makes her living writing books, and maybe, given the reader that you are and always have been, you might be able to find something that y’all have in common. But you’re not really even trying right now. Maybe you don’t want to. I ain’t gonna force you. I think you should get to know Hailey. She was funny and smart in the emails she sent me. It doesn’t hurt that she’s a looker, too.”

  I chewed long and hard on the words just he’d launched my way. I couldn’t really argue with a damned thing he’d said. He was right, which was rare for him. I’d never even tried reaching out to Hailey once since she arrived. I begrudgingly let her tail me sometimes while I went about my tasks here on the ranch, but she stayed well back, and I never invited her to actually see and understand what I was doing. We hadn’t shared a meal or a conversation that took more than a few sentences, most of my end forced. I felt ashamed of the way I’d treated her up to this point. My mama had taught me much better about how to act around guests. She’d be damned disappointed if she knew how I’d treated this girl, slob or not.

  “I see your point,” I said, and Eric smiled at me, knowing he’d put me exactly where he’d wanted me to be all along. “I haven’t been the best host.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” he agreed. “Another way is to say you’ve been an asshole.”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded once, allowing that. I had been less than gentlemanly, so I deserved that. “I can try reaching out to her more. I haven’t really shown her around the ranch or given her a real idea of what goes on here.”

  “That would be a good start. I think she would enjoy learning more about what you do. It’s why she came out here to begin with.” His grin turned sly. “And if something were to happen while you were showing her around, that’d be even better.”

  Now it was my turn to chuckle, and I did it low in my throat. “I won’t be going that far. Despite what you think, I’m just fine living life as a bachelor. There’s less complications that way.”

  “There’s less sex, too.”

  “That ain’t the only important thing in life.”

  “Maybe not,” Eric said but didn’t sound convinced. “But I sure as hell don’t want to go months and years without it.”

  I had to laugh at that too. Eric and I might have been friends for years, but we just weren’t ever going to see eye to eye when it came to anything to do with women.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Ten

  Hailey

  Same Day, Evening

  I’d been putting off driving into Jackson to hit the grocery store since I arrived, but I finally ran out of my stash of quick meals and prepackaged crap foods and had to replenish. I took the opportunity of being out and about to drive around the small town about a half hour away from the Ogden Ranch. There wasn’t a ton to see—not like in New York City—but at least there were people everywhere, which was a welcome relief. And the grocery store was better than decent, thousands of square feet of food and drinks. So much variety compared to the stores in the city. I could stay in there walking around for hours.

  I bought enough to tide me over for several weeks, not just crap food, but fresh stuff too. I needed to detox a little from the pure shit I’d been eating since I arrived. I might even be able to offer Cash a home-cooked meal one night after he came in from a hard day’s work. Despite how much I loved some primo takeout, I actually did know how to cook quite well. And all the experts said that the quickest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Not that I wanted to get to his heart, but it would be nice to do more than just grunt at each other whenever we passed on the porch.

  On my way back out to my car, I decided to just go for it tonight and cook a huge meal and hope it would do its magic and bring us over the obstacle that had been stuck between us since the day I arrived. If Cash said no to the meal I prepared, then I knew where we stood. But if he said yes, maybe that meant we could move forward into an actual friendship. I didn’t know why that mattered so much to me, but it did. There was something more to that cowboy than his rough edges and smolder. The library room told me that.

  I lugged the groceries into the house myself, not seeing any sign of Cash or Eric. They’d just been heading o
ut for a ride when I was on my way to the store. I waved at them, and they waved back, but that was about it. If earlier rides were any indication, I knew they could be gone for hours.

  Once I had everything put away—I only kept the perishable items in the kitchen, the rest I threw in a pile in my room, not wanting to mess up whatever order Cash surely had in the large pantry—I set out all the ingredients for my favorite dish: bouillabaisse. I’d learned to make it when a French exchange student lived with us for a year while I was in high school. She taught Paige and me all sorts of fun recipes from her country, and we did the same for her—showing her how to make things like meatloaf, which she didn’t like, and mashed potatoes, which she loved. This was one of her favorite dishes, and she taught me a few different variations of it. Hopefully, it would be able to bridge yet another cultural divide, this one between East and West instead of America and France.

  I tied my hair back, started some music streaming on my cell phone, washed my hands, and jumped in, chopping vegetables and fish before getting the broth started. I knew this recipe like the back of my hand, and it didn’t take long to get things going, the soup bubbling on the stove as the luscious smell filled the air. My stomach was growling in anticipation. I hadn’t had a good home-cooked meal since the night before I left home. I was going to have to do this more often, grouchy landlord be damned.

  I turned to put another dish in the sink to find Cash frozen in the doorway, his eyes surveying the damage in the kitchen. There was quite a bit of it. I was a tornado just about everywhere—why would the kitchen be any different? It was most of the reason I didn’t cook that much at home anymore. I loved to do it but hated the mess it left behind.

  Cash seemed afraid to enter the room, not that I blamed him. There were spices, a cutting board, utensils, waste from chopped up veggies and fish all over the counters, the sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and music was pumping from my phone’s impressive speakers. After fully taking in the mess, he looked at me, and I could see the horror in his eyes. I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting out laughing. The kitchen being in this state of upheaval was clearly this man’s worst nightmare. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but I jumped in before he could say anything, pressing pause on my music so he could hear my voice.

  “I know it’s a mess, but I’ll clean it up before the end of the night, I promise.”

  He closed his mouth but didn’t seem convinced.

  “I’ve been eating nothing but crap food since I arrived and needed something homemade,” I explained. “And I really wanted some seafood.”

  “What is it?” he asked, motioning to the stew bubbling on the stovetop.

  “It’s called bouillabaisse. It’s a fish stew.”

  His face scrunched into a light scowl, his pretty eyes narrowing. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a fish stew before.” His voice didn’t give me any clue as to whether he considered this a good or a bad thing. I’d served this dish to just about every friend I’d had between junior year of high school when Marie-Laure stayed with us and now, and they’d all loved it. Maybe it could help bridge the gap between Cash and me too. Food was magical like that.

  “It always makes a ton like this. There’s really no way to make a single serving of this recipe. If you’re hungry, there’s more than enough for two people.”

  He thought about my offer, his dark eyebrows still scrunched slightly together, and just when I thought he was going to say no, he nodded his head. “I appreciate that, Hailey. Yeah, I’ll join you for dinner.”

  “That’s great! I’ll set the table.” I started pulling dishes out of the cupboards before he could change his mind.

  “I’m not really much of a fish guy, but I’ve recently been told I need to loosen up.” Cash leaned against the doorframe, a small smile curling the edges of his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Trying a new meal might be a good first step.”

  I laughed as I put the bowls down on the table, followed by the silverware and a plate of French bread cut into thick slices.

  “Trying new foods is a great way to start getting out of a rut,” I said. My heart was racing for no good reason, and excitement was making my hands shake. Why was I freaking out so much at the thought of sitting down to a meal with him? I tried to redirect that overexcited energy to the task of getting dinner on the table.

  There were only a few more things to do with the stew before I could serve it. I cut off the stove, now that it had simmered enough, and put it onto a cold burner to let it rest.

  “What made you want to be a writer?” Cash asked, still in his place in the doorframe. He looked hesitant to enter the steamy, fragrant chaos in which I felt so comfortable.

  “I really just wanted to travel the world and experience as much of it as I can.” I didn’t look away from the food to glance at him. “And writing has always come somewhat easily for me. It seemed like a good fit.” I shook my head as I heaved the pot of bouillabaisse off the stove and brought it over to the table, setting it down on the waiting trivet. Yes, this man actually had trivets, as well as every other obscure kitchen gadget I’d needed to make this food. First the library, now this. I was impressed all over again. He did cook for himself every night, which was impressive all by itself. But I guess he didn’t really have a choice living all the way out here in the boonies. Now that my interest was piqued, I couldn’t stop wondering what kind of dishes he made for himself. My imagination was both an asset and a liability. I wasted so much time going over things that really didn’t matter.

  “But it turns out I just don’t have the right kind of style and personality for nonfiction travel writing. You really have to have a specific voice, and I just don’t have that. But I do have a great voice when it comes to fiction writing, and I’ve been able to travel a bit for research purposes. Like this.” I grinned at him, and he actually smiled back as he moved to his seat at the table, allowing me to relish just how handsome he was up close, that trail of freckles going from one side of his nose to the other driving me slowly insane. “So, all in all, it worked out pretty well for me.”

  “And you do well at that?” he asked, looking up at me. As soon as he took his seat, he removed the cowboy hat from his head, freeing his light brown hair. He looked softer now, more open, as though he’d removed some vital piece of armor. I chalked it up to the fact that I didn’t see him much without the hat on.

  I shrugged. “I’m not setting the New York Times Bestsellers List on fire or anything, but I’m making a comfortable living. That’s really all I want.” That was mostly true. I also wanted to set the New York Times Bestsellers List on fire.

  “Being rich ain’t the be all and end all,” he remarked. “At least that’s what I heard, since I ain’t never been rich.”

  I laughed at that, not just what he said, but the way he said it, scrunching his face like being rich was one of the worst things that could happen to a person.

  “There’s a lot more important things in life than grabbing as much money as you can get your hands on,” he added.

  “I agree,” I said with another smile as our eyes met, allowing me to appreciate how green his were. “Are you ready to eat?”

  He nodded, smiling shyly, his dark eyes sparkling with a liveliness I’d not seen before. He seemed to have a playfulness to him that he didn’t let out very often. I was just now seeing the barest traces of it, and I liked what I saw.

  “I been ready since I stepped inside and smelled what you had cooking,” he said. “I thought if I loitered long enough, I might get an invitation.”

  My smile grew at those words—considering my exact plan was to draw him in by use of a tasty dish—and I dished out the stew, serving the fish and broth in the same bowl the way Marie-Laure had done it all those years ago. Once we both had plenty to start with, I sat down, grabbed a piece of French bread for soaking up the juice, and dug in. Across from me, Cash did the same, not hesitating to tear a chunk of bread off the loaf with his han
ds after seeing me do it.

  “What about you?” I asked in between mouthfuls of soup and bread. “Have you traveled much?” When he didn’t answer right away, I added, “Or do you want to?”

  He shook his head, waiting to finish what was in his mouth before he answered. “Nah, I don’t really feel too comfortable off my land. You might’ve noticed that I like a strict routine and to have control over my surroundings. I wouldn’t feel right traveling anywhere that I couldn’t be sure to have that order.”

  None of that really surprised me, given what I’d seen of Cash over the last few weeks, but I didn’t want to interrupt him now that I finally had him here in front of me and talking. I’d been looking for a way to do exactly this since I arrived. Cash was the toughest nut to crack in all the nuts I’d met during my travels. But it was good to confirm that food really was the key that unlocked everything.

  “But that don’t mean I’m completely ignorant of the world and what goes on in it,” he continued. “I’ve managed to get to hundreds of places by reading about them. I love falling headfirst into a book and not coming out again ‘til I’m good and ready. It’s most of the reason I love nonfiction a bit more than fiction, but I’ll read any old thing if the writing’s good.”

  I smiled even wider at hearing those words and answered while still nodding. “I noticed your love of books on my first day here. I’ve never seen such an impressive private library. I fell in love with books at a young age, which is what made me want to be a writer.”