by Cora Seton
At last, the park ranger turned off the projector. Everyone rose and made their way to the board where team assignments were listed.
She waited patiently while being jostled—probably deliberately. At last, she scanned the list.
Her name was listed on a team of ten—and led by Jeremiah McCord. Shit.
Jeremiah stood near the doors, ready to nab Carly before she could skulk away. Blake Thacker, the local fire chief, stood next to him. “You put her on my team.” Jeremiah muttered.
Blake’s mouth twitched. “You’ve been so vocal about what a hazard she is to have around, so I thought you’d rest easier keeping her close.”
Jeremiah grunted.
“It’s been seven years,” Blake said, slapping his shoulder. “She hasn’t burned up a canyon or set a house on fire.”
“Not that we know of.”
Blake shook his head. “Don’t you think the time has come to give her a little slack? She’s a grown woman now, not a rebellious teenager.”
Eyeing Carly as she moved away from the board, he couldn’t help but note the fact she was a woman now. Still skinny, but taller and with an interesting bit of flare to her hips. “She’s a menace. Nearly cost me my ranch.”
Blake gave him a baleful glance. “And walking up to the front of the room had to have taken a lot of courage, knowing no one wants her here.”
Jeremiah didn’t like the pang of doubt that struck his chest. He’d aimed a pretty mean stare her way. Not that she’d seemed the least bit put off. Her chin had inched up, and she’d kept her gaze averted, watching those images of flames spreading across brush.
He hadn’t missed the one real moment of emotion that had crossed her face. The picture of the fire had held her captive. No, she hadn’t changed a bit. Maybe she’d simply gotten better at hiding her firebug proclivities.
“Play nice,” Blake said, under his breath as people filed out of the building. “Judge Sessions says this’ll happen, whether you want it to or not. I’ve given you a way to control the situation. You can thank me later.”
Blake gave him another pat and walked away, just as Carly, who was almost the last person out the door came abreast. Her glance landed on him then darted to the door. So she was nervous around him. Good. “Don’t be late for training,” he bit out.
She halted, and her glance crashed with his. “I won’t,” she said, her mouth crimping into a straight line, and her brow furrowing.
Jeremiah felt a little thrill of attraction tingle in his balls. Oh, hell no. But before he could stem the impulse, he blurted, “Where you staying?”
“At the Prickly Pear Motel.”
He slowly shook his head, dreading what he was about to say. But he knew he wouldn’t rest easy if he didn’t have her under his thumb, twenty-four/seven for the next four days. Keep your enemies close and all… “I’ll follow you there and wait for you to check out.”
Her chin shot higher. “I’m not going away. This is the last task I have to complete to clear my name.”
“I’m not having you roaming free until this is done.”
She stuck her hand on her hip. “Gonna ask your buddy the sheriff to lock me up when I’m not with you?”
Jeremiah nearly growled. “Sweetheart, you’ve got a choice—you’re either sitting in lock-up, or you’re coming home with me.”
“The hell I am.” Her smoky gray eyes rounded.
He liked the flush of pink that crept across her cheeks. He noted, not for the first time, that she was pretty. But her beauty was likely a honey trap. The judge had taken one look at her slim body and pretty blonde looks, and let her off lightly—giving her a short stint in a juvenile detention facility, a fine she’d never pay off, and community service, rather than sending her to a women’s prison where she belonged.
Sure, she looked like an angel, but he knew better. He’d seen the excitement glinting in her eyes when the picture of brushfire had popped on the screen. She hadn’t changed. No, Carly Lohan was a danger to him and every ranch rimming the canyon. “I’ll follow you to the motel.”
“Don’t you think we ought to at least be on first-name basis before you invite me home?” At his next glare, she blew out an exasperated breath that billowed her cheeks. “Fine, it’s just five days, and you saved me the expense of a hotel. You have to feed me, too.”
“Oh, you’ll earn your room and board, Carly,” he drawled, warming to the thought of how he’d keep her busy for the next few days. She wouldn’t be so saucy after mucking out horseshit in the barn. And then an image popped into his mind of other forms of service she might provide…
He clamped down on his attraction. Don’t go there. She was trouble with a capital T, and the sooner she was gone, the better.
Carly turned on a heel, marched through the doors and down the steps, him following close behind. Her car wasn’t much to look at. Paint was peeling. The rear fender was missing.
Looked like she’d had hard times. Again, his chest tightened, wondering where she’d been all this time, and what hardships she’d faced.
Not his problem, he reminded himself, setting his jaw as he climbed into his truck and followed her taillights a mile down the highway.
The Prickly Pear was the worst sort of dive, serving long-haul truckers and tawdry trysts. He parked beside her POS car and waited in his truck as she disappeared into a room. When she came out a moment later, she carried one suitcase. Obviously, she hadn’t unpacked.
She dumped the case in her trunk and stomped to the office. He watched through the dusty glass as she paid her bill.
The kid behind the counter darted a glance out the window, and his eyes widened on Jeremiah’s truck. Kevin Twomey. Ah hell. The whole town would know he’d been waiting for her outside a motel. Just what he needed. Kevin’s mama was the biggest gossip in the county.
At last, she made her way out and stopped beside his window. “I’ll follow you. Maybe he won’t think you’re a stalker.”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond, simply turned as neatly as a soldier and marched to her car. By the time he heard the engine, a smile was tugging at his mouth. She might be a firebug, and have no business participating in a controlled burn, but the girl had grit.
Chapter Two
‡
With the moon high in a cloudless sky, Carly pulled up into the driveway next to Jeremiah’s house. Lights shone beneath the eaves of the porch and from the many windows of the house.
Jeremiah’s home wasn’t what she’d expected. For one thing, there were lovely filigree cornices beneath the porch that wrapped around the two-story structure, and it was painted a pretty sky blue, not uncommon to Victorian houses of the era in Texas.
The house and what she could see of the flower beds and landscaping were too feminine for the ornery rancher. Which caused her stomach to cramp just a little bit. She hadn’t thought of him as married. Not the way his gaze had slid over her frame back at the community center. So maybe he wasn’t the straight-arrow she’d always pegged him as.
Then she wondered what female he’d convinced to put up with his high-handed attitude. She almost felt sorry for the woman. Almost. Mostly, she felt a deep, aching envy. Puzzling, since she was sure she didn’t like Jeremiah very much.
Carly shook her head and opened her door, giving it a hard shove because the door’s rusted hinges always gave her crap. Outside, she shivered, because now that the night had fallen, the temperature had taken a steep dip.
Jeremiah was already out of his truck and looking at her with that same dark furrow shading his ice-cold blue eyes.
Her chin shot up. So her car was a rust bucket. It was hers. She didn’t have a debt in the world other than the one that hit her bank account once a month—her court-ordered restitution to this man. Carly grabbed her suitcase from her trunk and followed him as he turned and led the way up the porch steps and into his home. “I assume I’ll be staying in the bunkhouse…?”
“No, we don’t allow any females the
re. They’d be too much of a distraction.” He didn’t look back, tromping through the foyer and up the steps, which turned a corner at a landing midway up as the stairs changed direction. At the top, he took a left, the soft beige, Berber carpeting muffling his boot heels. At the second doorway down, he stopped, twisted the knob, and stood back.
He didn’t give her a gesture or a word to invite her in, so she frowned, passing him and stepping inside. The room wasn’t the cell she’d half-expected: sage-green wallpaper with white flowers, and an unfussy, but lovely, cherry wood bed and dresser, filmy white curtains. “It’s nice,” she said, begrudgingly.
“Don’t get too comfortable.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
His jaw ground tight, and then he took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “Ms. Lohan—”
“Carly. No one calls me that.” She shrugged. “Seeing as I’ll be sharing a roof with your family.”
“Just me.”
In this big house? She blinked, and then schooled her expression to hide her surprise. “The missus away?”
“I’m not married. Anymore.” And his frown deepened.
So she’d touched a nerve. Good to know. Don’t discuss the ex.
“Cook comes in every morning. There’s always something in the fridge if we miss meals.”
And because she didn’t have a clue what his plans for her were, she said casually, “We’ll be missing meals?”
His mouth curved slightly. “You’ll be busy with chores. Everyone on the ranch works, Carly.”
Not that she minded working, but he might have mentioned that before he’d had her give up her room in town. “I missed dinner,” she said, her tone a little belligerent because she was annoyed and didn’t mind him knowing.
“Bathroom’s at the end of the hallway. Get washed up. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
When the door closed, she took a deep breath, not realizing she’d been breathing so shallowly—not until he was gone.
Swallowing hard, she glanced around the room then went to the closet. Empty, but there were hangars. Not that she’d need many. Most of what she owned was in the suitcase and wouldn’t take long to hang. But she’d settle in later. Her stomach rumbled, so she headed back out the door and to the end of the hallway.
The bathroom was nicer than any she’d ever been inside. A large, old-fashioned claw foot tub dominated the room. A white curtain hung from a circular ring above it, so she could shower, although she knew she’d take advantage of the luxury of that deep tub at least once before she left. The walls were white wainscoting below, more of the sage and white wallpaper above. Fluffy white towels were rolled and stored in an iron baker’s rack. She went to the white porcelain pedestal sink and washed her hands. Where the rest of the house hadn’t intimidated her, this pristine room did. A woman like her didn’t belong here. She’d leave smudges and dirt.
What was he thinking bringing her here? Was he really that worried she might start a fire?
She guessed from his point of view, she was every bit as foreign as this place was to her. She hadn’t been born to wealth. Had lived a hard-scrabble life, even before the fire—in and out of foster homes. What had his life been like being raised here? Where the walls felt as though they were soaked in family and history. She’d bet every one of his ancestors knew where they came from.
The thought was sobering, and one that was tinged again with, if not outright envy, a grudging understanding. Her actions had threatened this piece of history. Something that would have been irretrievable. Shame pushed her shoulders lower. She owed him more than just the monetary debt she paid every single month. If her responsibility was to work while she was here, she wouldn’t give him any sass.
Mind made up she’d try to get along and not deliberately rile him again, she left the bathroom and made her way downstairs, following the lovely aromas that set her mouth watering and led her to the big kitchen in the back of the house.
He stood in front of the microwave. Already, he’d set plastic-wrapped dishes on the counter filled with fluffy potatoes and salad.
There was a loaf of fresh-baked bread that smelled heavenly. “Shall I set the table?”
He gave her a quick glance over his shoulder. “Drawer next to the fridge.”
She suppressed a sigh. He hadn’t made any similar commitment to get along. These five days were going to be long.
She made herself busy, gathering plates, silver ware and condiments, and pouring ice tea from a pitcher she found in the refrigerator.
When he’d finished heating the food, they sat across from each other at the kitchen table, quietly passing dishes. After she had her plate filled, she glanced up.
His gaze was on her plate. She couldn’t stop her frown. “I’m hungry.” No need to reveal her last meal was ramen noodles at lunchtime back in her apartment in Two Mule.
“So I can gather,” he said, his voice gruff. “There’s more in the fridge.”
Her cheeks burned. “This’ll be fine.” At her first bite of the pot roast, she groaned. “Better than fine.”
He gave a soft grunt.
A masculine sound she found oddly appealing.
“Mayra’s a good cook. She’s been working for our family since before I was born.”
“You’re lucky to have her,” Carly said, taking a bite of the buttery potatoes.
Again, he made that soft chuffing sound.
She glanced up.
Eyebrows lowered, his gaze bored into hers.
Her back stiffened, and she gripped her fork tighter. “I’m just trying to make nice.”
“Well, don’t.”
Her eyes prickled. And she realized with a start that they were filling. She glanced back down at her plate, determined to get through the meal and not say another word. Whatever was going on with her was probably due to stress. For weeks, she’d been dreading this day. Hadn’t she known things would go awry?
“I’m sorry.”
Again, she looked at him. His expression was no less fierce, but there was something different in his eyes, perhaps a little melting of their icy chill.
“Accepted,” she said softly. “Food’s good. Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Lunch. I eat,” she said, defensively. So she had to budget her meals. Make them stretch. She’d gotten herself through community college living on boiled eggs, peanut butter, and ramen. Definitely nothing as delicious as this meal.
“There’s pie for desert.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Really?” She loved pie.
“Apple and peach. Too much for just one person. I usually have to send leftovers to the bunkhouse. I’ll keep them in the pie safe,” he said, pointing toward a box on the counter. “In case you need a snack.”
“Thanks.”
Apple and peach pie. Not something deep-fried and in a box from a drive-thru. Maybe staying here a few days wouldn’t be so bad. At least she’d save money on meals. “So, what sort of chores do you need help with?”
“The men aren’t fond of mucking out stalls or milking goats.”
Barely able to keep her jaw from dropping, she lowered her fork. “You milk goats?”
“Mayra makes cheese.”
“Seriously? You want me to milk goats?”
The corners of his mouth twitched.
Was he going to smile? Her insides knotted at the thought. Please don’t, Jeremiah. You’re already too good-looking for my piece of mind. “Fine, I’ll milk goats. Anything else?”
He cleared his throat and leaned back. “Do you know your way around a horse?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t spend much time with horses growing up.”
“But you lived with the Sandersons.”
Irritation flashed, and she lifted her chin. “Horses were for their kids. I helped Mrs. Sanderson when I wasn’t in school.”
He was quiet for a moment, just looking at her. “So, you know how to cl
ean house?”
She snorted. Housecleaning had been one of her jobs while she’d been in college. “Yeah. I can help Mayra.”
He nodded, and then his gaze narrowed. “Saturday’s training day. You’ll stay close to me.”
“Of course,” she said, although again, her anger nearly made her choke on the words. “You know, you don’t have to worry. I’m not the same person.” I’m not that stupid anymore.
“Glad to hear it. But you’ll still stick to me like glue.”
His distrust hung in his words. She nodded then glanced down at her plate again. The food had lost its appeal. She pushed back her plate. “Guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” she muttered. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“You need to eat. You’re too skinny.”
How dare he. She gave him the look she knew he expected. The same one she’d given him seven years ago when he’d sat behind the prosecutor at her trial. Slowly, she rose, took her plate to the trash bin, and scraped it clean. He could keep his good food. She didn’t need it. Didn’t need a damn thing except to just get through the next few days. Then she’d be free and clear. Her money would come and go, but she wouldn’t give Jeremiah McCord and his fancy house and handsome face another thought.
Jeremiah sat in the silence that followed her exit and wondered why he felt like he’d kicked a kitten.
Up close and personal for the very first time, certain things didn’t feel right about his long-held view of Carly Lohan.
Sure, she’d acted the way he’d expected from the moment they’d collided at the community center—confrontational and quick-tempered. He’d been prepared for any wobbler the little firebug threw.
He’d fallen into an old pattern. One he’d regretted a time or two. Quick judgments were something he cautioned himself against nearly every day, because his father had ridden him about his temper and stubbornness.
All it had taken was one look at the tilt of her chin, and he’d felt the same way he had seven years earlier, staring at her inside the sheriff’s office after she’d been arrested. He’d been tired after fighting a wildfire all night, and sick to his stomach that he’d nearly lost everything—and she’d had the nerve to raise her chin and pin him with a look that said she didn’t give a damn about his inconvenience or loss.
