The Gentrys: Cinco

by Linda Conrad

  Meredith snatched them from his grip, narrowing her eyes in defiance. Her hands curled into fists, and Cinco was amused to see she seemed ready for a fight.

  All in all, she surely did look fine. Every furious inch of her long, lean body. Not too lean, mind you. The curves he figured were hidden underneath that starched, khaki outfit would be a perfect match for him. He just knew it.

  Uh-oh. Where did that come from? He was supposed to be her guardian. Her protector. He never figured he'd have to protect her from himself.

  As he stood there, speechless and breathless from the mere nearness of this spectacular woman, she turned and continued cramming the underwear and some T-shirts into a drawer.

  He stepped back and tried to get a grip on his racing hormones. He needed to think of her as a client. Or a sister. Or a buddy he could pal around with while they bided their time. He could do that.

  Cinco swallowed hard and moved to open the drapes covering the big picture window on the east wall. The sun quickly filled all the dark corners of the room, and he felt a lot steadier.

  "So. What do you like to do for fun, Meredith?" he asked while still gazing out the window. "Do you ride … or have you ever done any line dancing?"

  "The only things I ride are propelled by horsepower not horse meat," she muttered. "And the only lines I've ever danced around were ones thrown by superior officers who decided it might be worth their stripes to try coming on to me."

  Meredith slammed the drawer shut on the last of her things. Then she hefted the duffel into a far corner of the closet. Returning shortly to her comfortable prison cell, she faced her slow-talking jailer who still stood in front of the window.

  She hated the way her heart pounded when he came into view. Nor had she been at all prepared for the thick honey that seemed to replace the blood pulsing in her veins as his low voice sent heat trembling up her spine.

  "I don't think you'll find anything out here in the wilderness that will keep me occupied, Gentry. That is, unless you have a plane hidden around somewhere." She didn't like the sarcastic tone in her voice, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Her world was slowing, turning on its side.

  "As a matter of fact, we do have a few planes on the spread," he said softly. "No fighter jets or fancy jumbos that can haul around generals, mind you. But we do have a couple of single-engine prop planes that we use for ranch work, and a small Learjet we use for corporate…"

  He stopped midsentence like a person who'd just remembered he hadn't turned off the stove's burner when his car was a mile down the road. "Oh, no. Don't go getting any ideas about flying while you're on the ranch. As it is, we have to think up a cover story about who you are and what you're doing here. Having a gorgeous lady pilot turn up on the ranch might be a bit too suspicious. We don't want any speculation going around. It wouldn't take long for word to get out and your security would be compromised."

  His fatherly concern suddenly seemed more like the obsessive control she'd always hated coming from her father or from her sole, onetime romantic interest. She gritted her teeth and tried to choke down the urge to smash him and run for her life. How in God's name would she manage to last even one day out here in no man's land with this … this … cowboy?

  Meredith took a breath and plopped into the easy chair. "I don't suppose you have a good bookstore or a workout gym in this rinky-dink dust bowl?"

  She eased back into a patch of sunlight that lit her hair with golden sparkles. Cinco's breath caught at the sight of the dusty halo around her head. She looked like a glittering angel.

  His mind was suddenly wiped clean, kinda like a PC that crashed with no warning. When he found his voice again, he forgot she was as prickly and skittery as a unbroken filly. He forgot it was his job to keep her safe and sound, and away from bad influences. He forgot that he'd promised himself to only think of her as a client or a pal.

  He forgot everything except how absolutely beautiful she looked. And how, in this light, she suddenly resembled a fragile, china doll more than an icy Amazon queen.

  He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and gave her a slow smile. "No bookstores or gyms, I'm afraid. But don't you worry, sugar. We'll work something out."

  * * *

  Three

  « ^ »

  After forty-eight hours of solitude on the ranch, Meredith felt a little more like her old self. Composed, well-rested and … simply bored right out of her mind. She'd thought she might bump into Cinco, or that he might want to search her out and show her around. But she hadn't seen much of him in almost two days.

  Finally able to get the cadence right, she jogged in the crisp, early-morning light. The dusty country roads leading to and from the main house offered a less than perfect avenue for a run. But she had them conquered now and picked up her speed.

  No one was around at this early hour to bother her. In fact, she was exceedingly grateful not to have to dodge cars or be faced with making small talk to other runners the way she did on an air base or in the city.

  She inhaled a deep breath as she jogged and instantly regretted it. She'd caught the familiar scents of sage and clover earlier, but now something else overpowered them. Was that the smell of cow manure? Whew! She supposed it could have been worse. Maybe she'd smelled something more rank at some point, but she couldn't exactly remember when.

  Right this minute she couldn't remember a time in her whole life when she could lounge around, doing nothing but breathe in fresh air and read books all day. The freedom should've been luxurious, but she'd been so close to grabbing the ultimate freedom—of being allowed to decide her own fate.

  Meredith actually sighed. She'd come so close to a new life.

  The thought of what she'd been forced to forgo caused a sharp pain in her lungs. She slowed to a stop and leaned over. Placing her hands on her knees, she breathed deeply.

  She needed—no, she absolutely lived—to control her own world. To be in charge of every situation and be able to walk away whenever she wanted.

  All her life she'd been in a prison of one kind or another, controlled by someone who'd claimed only to care about her best interests. And when the clear air of freedom had been almost within her grasp … she'd found herself forced back into the stale air of a prison, even though it was beautiful countryside. And once again guarded by someone else who claimed to care only about her protection.

  Meredith wanted to assume total responsibility for her own life, and had for as long as she could remember. She had no doubt that she could protect herself, either. Her current impossible situation made that whole dream feel like a nightmare.

  Logically she knew the ranch was the best, perhaps the only, place for her at this point. But her heart wasn't buying logic right now.

  Meredith glanced around at the acres of fenced land surrounding her. For miles—literally miles in every direction—nothing but sparse brown grasses and an occasional clump of stubby trees appeared on the landscape.

  During the past couple of days when she'd been outdoors like this, she'd seen a few horses with riders on them in the distance. And once or twice a cow or two had wandered within yards of the road where she ran. She didn't care for the way her skin crawled and stomach lurched at the nearness of them, but the animals never looked up at her. Anyway, this was no time to let that old weakness of hers out of the box in her mind where she'd relegated it.

  The ranch had a feudal character. Sort of like a bygone era. It gave her the creeps. Nothing should be this laid-back and boring. Where was all the action?

  The minute she'd thought the word laid-back, the one thing she didn't find particularly boring around here came clearly into her mind. Cinco.

  Despite not having enough time to figure him out, Meredith thought he must really be a kind person to take her in this way. That first day, after he'd shown her the family's personal library and told her to help herself, he'd surprised her by also leading her to a makeshift weight room located in the far reaches of the ranch house. He'd explaine
d that in the dead of winter even cowboys need some exercise.

  She'd found herself starting to like him—a little. He was easy and funny, even if he was committed to controlling her actions and her life for the near future.

  All things considered, for a jailer, he wasn't half-bad.

  She started to run again in earnest. Cinco had made himself scarce for the past two days. He'd left her breakfast and dinner on the kitchen counter with notes saying he'd be tied up for a while and for her to make herself at home. The ranch could never feel like a home, but it was nice of him to offer. Perhaps he'd be in the kitchen when she returned this time. They could talk.

  As she rounded the last bend in the road, leading into the yard surrounding the house, she saw a man standing on the wide porch. Meredith couldn't make out his features yet, but she knew it was Cinco by the way he filled out the denim shirt and jeans he was wearing.

  The closer she came, the slower she ran. His black felt cowboy hat cast a threatening shadow across his eyes, as he sipped a cup of coffee. Silhouetted above her at the porch railing, he seemed big, tough and unfriendly.

  Her forward progress slowed to a crawl. He looked mad. Whatever had possessed her to want to talk to him? And what right did he have to be angry?

  She was the one who had every right to be mad at her situation. It wasn't fair. She hadn't asked for this mess. She hadn't wanted to be brought out to some distant and uncivilized backcountry. She hadn't needed his damn protection in the first place.

  By the time she'd stopped moving, she was fairly shimmering with livid energy. While she tried to catch her breath, his gaze skimmed up her bare legs, over her thighs and heaving chest, and upward on a long, lazy journey to her eyes.

  "'Bout time you finally decided to get back here," he growled. "Where've you been, Meredith?"

  "Running," she answered automatically. She'd almost complained about feeling like a caged animal, but thought better about it. Did she owe him any explanations?

  He wasn't her superior officer. He wasn't her father. He hadn't even bothered to check on her welfare at all in two days. She didn't owe him any answers.

  "What's gotten into you this morning, Gentry?" she shot back at him. "You said it'd be all right for me to exercise. That's what I've been doing."

  Cinco tamped down on his rising panic. Ever since he'd realized Meredith wasn't in the house when he'd gotten home from his morning rounds, the insidious worry grew like wild mesquite on the range.

  He'd had very little sleep in the past couple of days, trying to finish up the latest security program he'd promised another Cyber-Investigations client. Going at it straight through so he could spend more time keeping Meredith entertained, he was tired and not just a little edgy.

  "I didn't say you could go out of the house without leaving me word. I was about to organize a search party when I saw you coming down the road." He looked at his hand—the one holding the coffee mug—and realized it was shaking. "Don't do that again."

  Meredith bristled, bounding past him up the stairs and into the kitchen. "I can't stay cooped up in this house for days, no matter how big and nice it is. Just what do you expect me to do?"

  Cinco closed the door and took a deep breath. She was okay.

  "Well, we could always try wrestling," he drawled slowly … for effect. "Kyle tells me you're really quite good."

  That did the trick. She stopped dead in her tracks, her skin turning the spectacular sunrise-pink color he'd noted the other day. He was starting to love that particular shade. No longer angry, she looked downright embarrassed. Served her right for scaring the good sense right out of him.

  "I'm sorry to be so out of sorts." Meredith managed a mumbled apology, then looked up at him with those huge blue eyes. "But us wrestling … might not be such a bad idea. Do you think?"

  He could scarcely believe it, but her eyes were twinkling with both chagrin and mischief. The more he got to know this uptight pilot, the more he found to like about her.

  An assignment to protect a witness for the U.S. Marshal's Office should remain impersonal. Despite his attempts, however, he was finding it harder and harder to keep their relationship on that level.

  He urged himself to keep on trying.

  "Look. I've made time today to show you around the spread and try to find a few things you might enjoy doing while you're here. Why don't you change into something…" He glanced at her long legs topped by the shortest of running shorts and tried to remember to breathe.

  He forced his gaze up to latch on to hers. "Go put on some jeans and get into leather-soled shoes with a heel," he ground out through clenched teeth.

  Another few seconds of looking at those legs—the ones going on forever, the ones designed to make a man forget his own name—and it would be the end of him. He headed toward the staircase, putting distance between his libido and the sight of all that skin.

  Meredith felt the flush of her anger begin to replace the crawl of embarrassment from a few minutes ago. "If that's an order, Mr. Gentry, I respectfully … request that you shove it. You're not my commander." She headed for the coffeepot. "I don't own a pair of blue jeans, anyway."

  Cinco halted midstride and spun around. She braced herself to hear a barrage of reasons why she should heed his demands in order to ensure her own safety.

  He quickly moved toward her and placed his huge hands on her shoulders, gripping them firmly but tenderly. "I didn't mean for it to sound like an order. I'm only trying to make you feel more comfortable around the ranch." Instead of sounding stern, his voice turned soft … almost pleading. "And to make you aware of how dangerous a ranch can be. This is no place to run around half-dressed. You could get hurt … or worse."

  Looking up into his chocolate-colored eyes, she felt her knees turn to heated butter. Impossible. She was strong, tough. Cold as ice. After all, hadn't people told her so often enough?

  She resented her own thudding pulse. This was no time for a breakdown of some sort. No time to become all vulnerable and mushy.

  Meredith pulled herself free from his grip. "I usually run in shorts. Most civilized people don't consider that half-dressed. But if it makes you happy, I'll change to sweats."

  He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "Did you mean it when you said you didn't own any jeans?"

  "Yes. I've never had any use for a pair. Never thought they looked regulation … or terribly comfortable."

  Cinco's expression was stunned for a second, but he recovered quickly. "Well now, darlin'. Why don't you … please … go put on warmer clothes. I think we've just found ourselves a little chore to do today." He headed toward the stairs once more. "You're going to get a real kick out of this."

  About an hour later Meredith wanted to kick something, all right.

  They'd been bouncing along the bumpy, gravel roads in one of the ranch's fleet of pickups for what seemed like forever. Didn't the man believe in shock absorbers?

  She stared out the window, hoping to see something that looked more like civilization than the endless vistas of scrub and stubby trees. Trying not to think about the huge man sitting next to her, taking up most of the bench front seat, she struggled to regulate her breathing.

  Within the confinement of the truck cab, it was hard not to dwell on the bolt-action Weatherby rifle hanging on pegs in the window behind her head. She supposed she could fire one as well as the next guy, but it seemed rather barbaric to carry a firearm of any sort inside the passenger compartment.

  If going to Gentry Wells to buy a pair of jeans was Cinco's idea of fun, she'd have to set him straight on a few things. Just then, the truck ran over some kind of metal grate placed flat in the road, and she wondered if she'd need her teeth straightened first.

  "What did we just run over? It sounded like it did some damage to the pickup." She noticed he hadn't even flinched at the clanking noise or jarring bumps.

  "What?" He looked over at her as if she'd just asked whether the moon was green. "Oh, that." He smil
ed—a little grin, and his face was transformed. "That's a cattle guard. Don't want any steers out roaming the main roads, now do we?"

  He slowed the truck, coming to a stop at a blacktop road with printed road signs, a white stripe painted down the middle and … everything civilized.

  "You mean a little grate thing will keep them in?"

  Cinco nodded. "Yep. That and about a thousand miles of wire fencing."

  Think of that. She shivered slightly. Those huge beasts would be afraid of a little metal. So, they really weren't very bright, just as her father had always told her. They'd surely be impossible to reason with, like all animals … and probably like the man sitting next to her as well.

  After looking both ways down long, empty stretches of road, Cinco pulled out onto the blessedly smooth blacktop. They hadn't traveled more than a mile when they passed a road sign announcing the speed limit at fifty-five and then another sign announcing that Gentry Wells would be ten miles farther along.

  "What are the holes in those signs designed to do?" she asked, as they whizzed by.

  With a grin as wide as a four-lane highway, Cinco turned to her. "Those aren't designer holes. They're bullet holes. Rifle-shot for the most part."

  "What on earth for?"

  "Not for anything. That's just where the teenagers around here practice their aim after they've had a few beers. I doubt there's a sign in the entire county that doesn't have them."

  She stayed quiet a second, picturing rowdy teens—with guns. "Did you do that when you were a teenager?"

  He kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. "Well now, darlin'. I suppose I might've. There's nothing wrong with letting off a little steam, as long as it's directed toward inanimate objects. Especially out here where no one will be injured."

  This guy was sure a puzzle. He spoke with a twang and had some funny ideas about things, but he also used language the way a man of letters might. Odd and a little dangerous, but definitely compelling, Meredith mused.