by Jill Shalvis
“Oh, I know how to return a phone call. When I get one.” Lazy as can be, Jake sprawled his long body out in one of the lounge chairs. Only Callie seemed to see how carefully he really moved, clearly not using his right arm or shoulder.
Tucker stepped closer, his hands fisted. “You saying she lied?”
“I’m saying she’s doing what she does best. Stretching the truth.”
Callie stepped between them, mostly because she recognized that look dawning in Tucker’s eyes. Trouble. She didn’t want it here. “Let’s stick to the bigger issue, boys. We’re booked in the big house,” she said to Tucker. “We need a place for Jake to stay.”
Tucker stared at her.
She stared back.
“Fine. Damn it.” Muttering to himself, he headed back inside.
“Tuck, wait,” Callie said. “I forgot to ask you. Who fed the pigs this morning?”
“Me.”
“You left the latch open.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, someone did. They were running loose and enjoying themselves when I got outside. Took me an hour to catch them all.”
He turned to look at her. He eyed her hair, which she knew probably still held some mud, readily visible in the long, strawberry red strands, but at least he was wise enough not to mention it. “Couldn’t be,” he said. “I always wait for the latch to click because they like to push at the gate as I walk away. I’m going to go have a look.” With one last annoyed glance shot in Jake’s direction, he stalked off.
The slider shut hard.
In the silence, Jake lay on the lounge, suddenly beyond exhausted. “Well, that was a touching family reunion.”
“Yeah.” Callie stepped to his side. She was frowning, a little pucker appearing between her wide green eyes. She had a spec of mud there, too, which had made Jake want to laugh earlier.
Now he didn’t have enough energy to laugh. Flying into Tucson, then driving eighty-five miles into this godforsaken middle of nowhere had taxed him. It used to be he could run five miles a day and wear sixty-five pounds of gear for hours upon hours in relentless, dangerous conditions, but ever since the roof incident and subsequent surgery, he’d been a worthless piece of shit. His physical therapy had been brutal but he was on his own now, with a list of exercises he had to do every day to work his shoulder. He’d been doing that for a month and could still hardly do a damn thing on his own.
God, how he hated to admit that.
And now to be here, on his father’s land…Jake tried not to think about Richard often. The man had been just one of a slew of short-lived marriages in his mother’s life, and the only one Mary Ann Mooney hadn’t managed to con. Because Jake had lived with his mother, a woman who hated the Arizona desert more than she hated being single—and that was saying something—she’d moved with Jake to LA after his birth. Richard had called Jake once a year on his birthday until his twelfth, when Jake had told his father he didn’t want to be a cowboy, but a firefighter. After that, the annual calls stopped, as if Richard had decided he hadn’t had a kid after all.
And yet he’d left his entire legacy to Jake. The idea of it only added to his exhaustion.
Idly he wondered if he could just sleep right there in the lounge so he wouldn’t have to muster the energy to get up. Callie, of average height and average weight—and perfectly sized curves, he had reason to know—probably had more strength in her little pinkie than he had in his entire body, and if that didn’t rankle…
She still looked hot in the whole cowgirl setup, he couldn’t help but notice. Long fiery red hair braided down her back, brilliant green eyes that flashed her every emotion, heart out on her sleeve for the world to see.
They’d once spent an unforgettable evening with a bottle of whiskey in her cabin, sharing confidences and shots, talking about much more than either of them would have if they’d been sober. He’d had some timing that night, when it came to talking about his father. He still regretted not waiting until after they’d done the deed to tell her he thought Richard Rawlins had been a selfish, thoughtless asshole and an even worse father. But no. Callie had addled his brain with her big, expressive eyes, her warmth and compassion, the sexy little sounds she made when he touched and kissed her—
But then they’d stopped for another shot, and had started talking. Big mistake, talking to a woman while naked. She’d kicked him out of bed and her life in one fell swoop.
Now she might look at him, she might even want to touch, but she was far too stubborn to ever admit she’d acted hastily. He figured some of that stubbornness came naturally to her. With all that red hair, she probably couldn’t help it.
“What happened to you, Jake?” She gestured to his shoulder.
“A tumble through a roof.”
She gaped and moved closer. “You fell through a roof?”
Three stories. Into flames. “No big deal.”
She pointed to his scar, her finger nearly touching him. In her eyes and voice was a new softness that made him wonder if they shared another bottle of whiskey now, if she’d—
“It looks like a big deal.”
Uncomfortable with what he was afraid was pity, he shrugged, a movement that caused not a little shaft of pain. “Worried? ’Cause we could get comfy and…talk about it.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Hell, no, he didn’t want to talk about it. “I’d rather you kiss it better.”
“Don’t be a jerk.” A little hesitant, she kneeled at his side. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Sure.”
“Really?” She lifted her gaze from his scar to his face. Studied him. “Because it looks bad.”
Apparently he was far more tired than he’d thought, because he would have sworn she was actually concerned. That touched him, when he hadn’t planned on being touched at all. Not knowing what to do with that, he laughed. “You want to play nurse, Callie? Because I’m game.”
She let out what could only be called a growl and surged to her feet. “For your father, I would have.”
A strange feeling filled his chest, and he was afraid it was jealousy. His father had treasured her as an employee, while pretending he didn’t have a son because that son had dared to have different hopes and dreams than his.
“I’d also play nurse for any of your animals,” she said. “Anytime.”
But not for him. Yeah, he got that loud and clear. He just didn’t know why he’d hoped for something else. Or why, for that matter, he’d never been able to forget her. Jesus, he was crazy to be here, on his father’s land, near his brother, with the daily reminder that no one, no one who shared his blood gave a shit about him.
“Do you really intend to stay for three or four months?”
“Maybe.” What he didn’t intend to do was tell that he had nowhere else to go and no one else who cared. That he needed help with even opening a damn can of soup, never mind reaching up into a cabinet for a bowl to dump it into.
Or that he could really get behind selling this place for the money to pay down his mortgage, get the best attorney he could to fight this whole Billy thing, and maybe even take that cruise Troy had suggested.
“I don’t get it.” She sounded bewildered and unsettled. “Why would you want to stay so long?”
He stretched out his legs even further in preparation for the nice nap he intended to take.
“Don’t you have to get back to work?”
He wished.
She was close again, her knees brushing the lounge. Her gaze ran over his body. If he hadn’t been so dead…
“Jake? No work?”
“Not for a while.” When he was on the job, he willingly risked life and limb. And when he wasn’t on the job, he still risked life and limb, just not his heart. Never his heart. So it really needed to stop thudding uncomfortably at the way she was looking at him. Had he thought her annoyed? Maybe mildly curious on top of that? And then, finally, concerned?
Where, then, had that
heat in her gaze suddenly come from?
“Why would you stay,” she repeated softly, once again hunkering down so they were eye to eye, “when you don’t like being here? Is it because you can’t work?”
He wasn’t ready to admit that, but she was searching for the answer in his words, his face, and he didn’t know what exactly she thought she’d find in either. She knew this place wasn’t his thing. They were out in the boondocks, with no nightlife, no city sophistication, nothing to do except ride horses and feed the pigs, and possibly try to enjoy the long, endless nights, which is why he’d brought a woman with him on his last two visits.
But he doubted his body could handle that kind of enjoyment now, humiliating as that was to admit. Not that she was offering. “I told you, it’s time to work on this place, give it some value.”
“It has value.”
“Not resale it doesn’t.”
“So you are selling.”
He closed his eyes because he didn’t have the energy to do anything else. He understood she had to be concerned about her own livelihood, and that of her crew, but he wasn’t a heartless bastard. At least not entirely. He needed to get out from beneath the ranch and the financial obligation, but he also would do his best to make sure the people here were cared for. “I’ll make sure you and Tucker get to keep your jobs. Don’t worry, that will be an important contingency about selling. You won’t be affected, other than getting someone new to report to, someone better suited than me, I’m sure.”
She didn’t say anything, and he no longer could even think about opening his eyes. His shoulder was aching again, reminding him he hadn’t taken a painkiller that day. Knowing he’d be driving, and also that he’d need a clear mind, he’d kicked the pain pills cold turkey.
Now he wished he’d at least brought them.
“Does it hurt?”
With his eyes closed, Callie’s voice sounded sweet, warm…caring…
She ran a finger over his scar, from the shoulder tip down to the sensitive skin of his armpit.
Jake’s flesh flinched.
She jerked her hand back. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” He wanted to grab her hand back and place it over the healing incisions. “It’s okay, the area just isn’t used to touch.” He rubbed his own hand over it, and grimaced. “The nerve endings keep misfiring or something as they regenerate, shooting random points of fire. It’s driving me crazy.”
Lightly, she took over, running her finger down the scar. “You need to reintroduce it to stimulation,” she whispered. She hesitated, as if daring him to make a sexual innuendo, but he didn’t want her to move away so he didn’t say a word.
And with that same light, almost unbearable touch, she glided her finger from the top of his shoulder, downward, to the crux of his arm. “Like this…”
Then back again.
“Callie.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Or like this…” She leaned in for a kiss—
And he jerked awake, sitting straight up so fast he winced and grabbed his shoulder.
He was alone in the chair by the hot tub, and given the new slant of the sun, had been for quite a while. Someone had covered him in a light blanket.
Callie.
She’d not touched him. She’d not leaned in close for a kiss, and he had to laugh at himself for even dreaming it.
Amy Wheeler thought she might never get used to how quickly night fell out in the high Arizona desert. One minute the sun shone brilliantly, and then the next dusk fell hard, followed by sudden and total darkness.
She stepped inside the cabin she’d been given when she’d hired on at the Blue Flame, and locked herself in. She turned on every light, which in the one-room cabin consisted of the kitchen and bathroom lights, and a floor lamp by the futon. Then she pulled a small bag out of her backpack, the purchase she’d just made in Three Rocks at the hardware store with her last few bucks.
A deadbolt.
No stranger to tools, she spent the next few moments installing it with a drill and screwdriver she kept in her pack. When she had the lock on and in place, she backed to the small couch in the center of the room and sat.
And let out her first breath in what felt like forever.
She took a long look around her. The cabin’s small kitchen and living space opened to each other, and the bathroom was smaller than a postage stamp. She liked that. She liked that a lot. She could take in the whole place with one sweep of her eyes. There was an old oak table and two chairs by the even older refrigerator. There was a fireplace with the logs neatly stacked to one side and a rug in front of it. Then there was the futon on which she sat right now, covered with a quilt. The self-standing armoire in the corner was for her things, not that she unpacked. She never unpacked.
Everything was small, neat and tidy. She liked that, too.
There were a lot of things she liked today, which was a pleasant surprise, given her life and all she’d experienced in her short eighteen years. She had a job, one she actually enjoyed. She worked for a woman she thought she could respect if not actually trust. Amy didn’t do trust. And she had a place to lay her head at night, where she could let herself fall into a real sleep—her first real sleep in too long.
Things hadn’t been this good since…well, ever. With all her tentative heart, she just hoped they’d stay that way.
3
The dry ground crunched beneath Jake’s feet as he walked through the black night from the big house to the row of cabins across the yard.
His father’s first and only love, his legacy. And here Jake was hating it. The night was chilly enough that his breath crystallized as he breathed, and he hunched his good shoulder, trying to stay warm in just his T-shirt. He hadn’t expected the altitude to affect him, either, but it did, shortening his already too short breath. As he walked, he glanced around, wondering what kind of wild animals roamed the desert at night.
The place had a rather eerie glow to it with the pale blue light from the moon dancing over the rocky hills around him, casting shadows, flickering on the landscape like blue flames, and he wondered if that’s where his father had gotten the name for the place. He tried to take it all in but he couldn’t; it all seemed too big.
What if he’d come sooner, when Richard had still been alive? What if he’d tried harder to understand the father he’d never known, would he then feel something for this land? Something more than the disconcerting nothing he felt now?
The utter silence around him was abruptly broken by the lonely bellowing of a range bull, the wind sighing through the hills. And then, thundering hooves. Jake tensed and searched the darkness. There, about a hundred yards to the north of the barn, came a galloping horse. Its rider had a stream of long deep garnet hair blowing behind her, and she rode as if one with her horse.
Callie.
Since the last time he’d seen her had been in his dream, he had a little trouble separating the sweet warm soft woman who’d kissed him from the tough impenetrable woman racing across the rough desert floor. He supposed this was her idea of relaxation time, which seemed crazy to him. Bouncing on a horse in the night across the hard, unforgiving ground seemed as much fun as a physical therapy session.
And still he watched, mesmerized in spite of himself. She rode as if she’d been born to it, leaning over her horse a little, her body fluid with the horse’s every movement. The moment seemed so intimate, he felt as if he were trespassing, and he nearly stepped back, but then she let out a heart-stopping scream.
The hair rose on the back of his neck. Was her horse racing out of control and she couldn’t stop it? If so she could fall and break her neck. That was all he could think as he started running, gritting his teeth against the jarring his shoulder took with each step. He got to the corral as her horse came thundering in.
“Hang on,” he yelled, and leapt up onto the fencing, not sure if he could catch a rein or Callie herself, or what the hell he thought he was going to do, only knowing he had to do som
ething. “Callie, hang on!”
But then, about fifteen feet from his perch on the corral fence, the horse suddenly pulled up, slowed to a trot, then a walk, and then right before him, stopped entirely.
“Jake?” Callie blinked down at him. “What are you doing?”
“Uh…”
The horse snorted its displeasure at the fun being over, and pranced around restlessly until Callie’s softly uttered, “Whoa” calmed her. Perfectly in control now, the horse stilled. Callie looked at Jake. “Why are you up there like that?”
“You screamed.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I heard you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “It felt so good to be out, I might have let out a little ‘woo-hoo’ or something.”
“Yeah.” His breathing was still choppy from his run, proving that a good fall and surgery played hell on a man’s conditioning. And his balance on the fence wasn’t so good, either. He didn’t dare jump down; his shoulder was leaping in pain with every heartbeat. Carefully he climbed down, gritting his teeth so hard he thought he just might grind them down to nothing, but hell if he’d show her he wanted to drop to the ground and whimper like a baby. “Just a little woo-hoo.”
“What did you think I—” She stared at him as her horse snorted again, stomping a long leg and hoof uncomfortably close to Jake’s foot. “Did you think I needed help? On a horse?”
The insulted tone was there in her voice, but with the adrenaline—not to mention pain—pumping through his blood, he didn’t much care. “You shouldn’t scream like that. I thought you were in trouble.”
“You thought wrong. Jake, you’re not at work. You’re not the hero out here.”
Right. He wasn’t the hero anywhere.
She bent over the horse’s neck, embracing the huge animal. Then, with one last pat, she hopped down. “And even if I had been in trouble, I can handle myself.” She grabbed the reins and led the horse toward the barn, sending him one last long, hard look over her shoulder.
Great, she could handle herself. “Good to know,” he muttered and rubbed his shoulder. He was an idiot. He wished he was in San Diego; at the station playing cards waiting for the fire bell; at his small house with a good hot pizza and cable TV; at a bar sharing drinks with a woman…anywhere but here.
