by BJ Wane
Father Joe had been Shawn’s dad’s best friend and was the one he, Shawn, and Dakota had gone to when they had run away from their foster home. If the good priest hadn’t insisted they relocate to the Coopers’ ranch from Phoenix, there was no telling how the three of them would have turned out given their rebelliousness since each had lost his parents in a tragic way.
“What do you say? Will you follow me into town and take me up on my offer? No strings attached.” He could swear he saw a shimmer of disappointment cross her face before she nodded, her hands loosening from the tight fists she’d clenched them into when this discussion started.
“Yes, for a few days. Thank you.”
“I’m on Main, catty-corner to the library, in case you lose me on the drive. Give me a minute to let Shawn know I’m leaving.”
“Okay.”
Clayton would question his relief later, when he figured out how far out on a limb he would go for someone who, thus far, proved unwilling to reveal anything about herself or her circumstances.
Chapter Five
Skye gripped the steering wheel to keep from turning around and driving away from Clayton rather than following him and taking him up on his enticing offer. With her nipples still tingling and her body humming with low-simmering arousal from his touch, she hadn’t been thinking straight when he’d mentioned the room she could stay in. Add in the sleepless nights she’d spent this past week in her car, and his proposal had sounded like a gift from heaven. At least in the privacy of an empty building at night she wouldn’t have to worry about someone accosting her in her car or questioning why she hadn’t rented a cabin or traveled with a camper like everyone else staying at the campsite.
If she decided to bunk above his office, all she had to worry about was a case of amnesia, a murdered husband, and why everything at Spurs had seemed familiar, yet when he had bound her, she’d experienced a shiver of uncertainty. It was the oddest contradiction, and she couldn’t come up with a viable reason for the two different reactions. She could admit with a certain degree of surety that she’d never responded to anything as simple as a man’s hand on her breast over her top and bra. Biting her lip, she recalled the way he’d tormented her nipples, the squeeze of his fingers as electrifying through her clothes as the vague remembrance of other male hands on her bare skin. She couldn’t put a name or even a face with those other hands, but the memory of them was there, another oddity of her amnesia.
It appeared Mountain Bend shut down this late at night. Other than a few street lights, Main Street was dark and void of cars and pedestrians when she followed Clayton behind the renovated buildings to park. Once they cut their headlights, they were shrouded in darkness, the only illumination coming from a single bulb above the back door.
Funny, she mused, getting out of her car, she wasn’t afraid, or even uneasy about being alone with him in this eerie setting. From their first encounter, she’d sensed she could trust him, maybe not with the truth about the circumstances that had put her in this untenable position, but with her safety. He’d exhibited nothing but well-meaning concern – okay, maybe with a touch of dominant assertion – something she’d found herself responding to despite how he could rub her the wrong way at times.
Clayton paused at the door to sift through his keys then inserted one in the lock before turning to Skye. “You might want to grab your pillow and blanket to save you a trip down the stairs. There’s no elevator. I can get your bag.”
“Are you sure this is okay with the landlord?” The last thing she needed was to get embroiled in another legal problem.
“I’m sure. The city owns the property, and I work for the county.” He pushed the door open then joined her where she still stood by her car. Nudging her chin up with his knuckles, he held her there with his eyes boring into hers. “Trust me, Skye. You’ll be fine here.”
Skye’s abdomen quivered from his intense stare and his light-but-nonetheless-forceful touch. Considering how badly she wanted to continue in private where they’d left off at the club, it wasn’t wise to spend much time alone with him upstairs. That didn’t stop her from saying, “Okay, thank you,” or from allowing him to retrieve her tote and following him up a back staircase to a small break room, clutching her pillow and blanket.
The space was a big step up from staying in her car and using the public restrooms and showers at the campsite, but a far cry from the house she’d fled in Boise. A long couch sat under the only window, in front of the wall-mounted television. On the opposite wall, a counter held a microwave and coffee pot with storage underneath, a mini fridge next to it. Through the only open door, she saw a full bath and looked forward to using the facilities in private.
Clayton set her bag on the couch and pointed to the closed door. “That’s storage. Under the counter are paper products, coffee, and creamers. Feel free to use the refrigerator. My staff has drinks and snacks in there, but there’s still room.” He pulled the key off and handed it to her. “I’ve got an extra downstairs. I’ll be downstairs Monday morning, if you decide to take my job offer.”
Skye was surprised by how much she didn’t want him to leave just yet. The thought of being alone again with no clear memory of who she was, her past, or what the future held both scared and depressed her. She couldn’t afford to lean on him, or anyone else, she knew that. That didn’t prevent her from longing otherwise or the cramping uncertainty tightening her muscles as he walked to the door.
“Clayton.”
She had no idea what she wanted to say as he turned to face her with one of those probing looks. Balling her hands into fists, she welcomed the prick of her nails against her palm as she sucked in a deep breath.
“Thanks again. I promise I won’t stay long or be a burden, at least to the point where I’ll need to accept your job offer.”
Cocking his head, he regarded her with a small smile, a hint of boyish charm replacing the intense expression of his more dominant side. Her heart thudded as he stalked toward her, stopping close enough for his muscled thighs to touch hers, his hands to rest on her hips and pull her into contact with his pelvis and the rigid outline of his erection.
His smile never slipped as he leaned down and nipped her chin. “You, sweetheart, could never be a burden. Here.” He released her, took a card out of his back pocket, and handed it to her. “That’s my cell. Call anytime, for any reason. I’ll lock up when I leave. Good night.”
This time she let him walk out without stopping him, willing her hormones to tone it down. Had she always responded to men with such a high degree of instant lust and quivering need, or were her senses heightened due to her stressful circumstances? One more unanswerable question to add to the growing list.
Skye blew out a breath and looked at the card with a Rolling Hills Ranch logo and Clayton’s name, along with Shawn McDuff and Dakota Smith as co-owners offering cattle and crops for sale. One thing she did retain memory of was Idaho’s vast, profitable resources from both crops and beef. It didn’t surprise her to learn Clayton was a rancher. He had that rugged, outdoor look about him, his lean, roped muscles earned from manual labor rather than a gym. But she did wonder how he found the time to work his ranch and a job with the county.
No matter how much he appealed to her on a purely physical level, it still wouldn’t do to fantasize about a repeat of tonight that went even further. As much as she could benefit from and longed for one night of mind-numbing sexual excess with him, she didn’t think he would appreciate her using him that way or getting involved with the mess her life had become. She doubted he would have made such a generous offer if he’d been aware of her husband’s suspicious death and her true mental state.
Tomorrow, Skye vowed with tiredness dragging her down, she would try again to get answers, somehow, someway.
Clayton opened his Bronco’s door, looking up at the window where he’d left Skye. It wasn’t like him to get pushy with concern over a woman. That was more Shawn’s style. He’d always saved his getting involv
ed energy for the victims of people he prosecuted. Ensuring those who caused harm and grief to others paid the highest price for their wrongdoing went a long way to appease the injured parties. With each successful case, he came closer to letting go of his past.
His rage and disbelief when the drunk driver who had killed his parents got off on a technicality had stuck with him those first few years of finding himself orphaned at the age of fifteen. Buck had encouraged him to channel those negative feelings into doing something good for other victims. Witnessing his and Miss Betty’s close relationship had reminded him of his parents’ love for each other and made him determined to put on a cheerful façade for the couple who had given him a home and second chance.
He liked the even balance of his life now. His work as a prosecutor kept bitterness over losing his parents and watching the man who was responsible walk away without consequences from consuming him. The ranch satisfied his craving for outdoor, physical labor he couldn’t get in the courtroom. And now, as part owner of Spurs, he could indulge his penchant for sexual dominance and casual relationships. Setting the bar for a permanent relationship as high as his parents’ and the Coopers’ commitments practically guaranteed he would remain single and content for a long time.
Clayton had been quite happy with that flow until he’d come across a stranger sleeping in her car on his land. His chance encounters with Skye kept ensnaring his time and curiosity, her evasions and the uncertainty and worry reflected on her face tugged at his conscience. She had victim written all over her, and he’d appointed himself an advocate of victims’ defense years ago.
The only reason he didn’t resent the upset to his status quo was because he found himself enjoying the challenge of Skye’s intrusion in his life and his attraction to the first woman who wasn’t jumping through hoops to get and hold his attention. Part of his interest, he admitted, came from a bruised ego. The women he socialized with had spoiled him with their fawning and determination to become his one and only. Even annoying chits like Sharon who refused to accept the end of their association managed to pump up his self-confidence.
Laughing at himself, Clayton slid behind the wheel and sat there for another thirty minutes, until the light went out and he felt better leaving knowing Skye was relaxed enough to try and sleep. Instead of returning to the club and ending the night with a willing partner, he drove back to the ranch, preferring some quiet time before calling it a day. That deviation from his norm ought to alarm him, but as he drove through the wide gates to the Rolling Hills, he couldn’t conjure up any misgivings over that oddity. He wasn’t worried his coveted bachelorhood was at risk. It would take more than an interest in a new face and a desire to help someone who appeared in trouble to threaten his preferred single status.
He passed Shawn’s log home before arriving at his more modern sprawling ranch. Parking in the circle drive out front, he could see the lights on the barns and stables closer to the old farmhouse Dakota had taken residence in after Miss Betty moved to the retirement community with her friends. As he got out, he heard Phantom, Dakota’s massive Morgan’s distinct agitated neigh. Curious as to why the stallion was out and upset, he resumed his seat and drove the half mile to the main hub of ranch housing.
Clayton was surprised to see Dakota’s Jeep in front of the stable and parked next to it, catching sight of his friend at the rail of the rear corral in the back exit lighting.
“Why aren’t you at the club?” Dakota asked without turning around.
Used to Dakota’s uncanny hearing and quiet movements, Clayton joined him at the rail with a shrug. “Why aren’t you?”
“Poppy was tired.”
The terse reply drew Clayton’s grin. Sometimes it was easy to read Dakota, not often, but occasionally. “You mean you thought she’d had enough and insisted on cutting out early.”
Lifting his hat, Dakota scraped his shoulder-length hair back then yanked his Stetson on, lowering the brim. “If you’re going to be irritating, go back to what’s her name, Skye?”
“Shawn must have told you that, and she’s ensconced in the break room above my office for the night. What’s wrong with your boy?”
The dappled-gray stallion paced along the fence, tossing his big head and pawing the ground. Dakota sighed and shook his head. Clayton and Shawn had thought he was nuts for adding breeding Morgans to his agenda but had to admit they were both excited when they heard Breeze would produce the first foal. Poppy’s little mare had taken to Phantom as fast as Poppy had to Dakota.
“Fuck if I know. I separated him from the mares when I brought them in, like every night, but tonight he was itching to bed down with one of them. He’s turned into a possessive son of a bitch,” Dakota replied with disgust.
Clayton chuckled. “Like his owner, I’d say. You haven’t shared Poppy since that one time with me.” He knew better than to goad his surly friend, but at times, he couldn’t help himself.
“Clayton.”
“Okay, you don’t have to use that dark tone with me. Do I need to go back and help Shawn? There’s still an hour until closing.”
“No. Ben and Simon were hanging, and a few others, so he’s good. And so am I, so don’t feel like you have to stick around.”
Clayton wasn’t so sure about that. Dakota had been obsessed with Poppy’s health since her successful bone marrow transplant several months ago. Granted, recovery could take a year, but the girl was as resilient in bouncing back from that grueling procedure as she had been in dealing with Hodgkin’s Disease for over a year.
“I’d tell you to relax, she’s fine, but you won’t listen. She looks good, and her last checkup went well.”
“I know, but she pushes herself. What’s with the newcomer staying at your office?”
Clayton got the hint to change the subject, but that was okay because it gave him an opening for a possible future request. “She was sleeping in her car.” Dakota looked at him with a tight expression. “I know, it worried me too, enough to offer the room. If I can’t get her to open up about what’s going on, I might ask for your help in researching her.” Dakota was a whiz at online research.
“Just let me know when.”
“Thanks. I’ll leave you to your unruly kid.”
Returning to his vehicle, Clayton drove back to his place, pulled into the attached garage, and entered through the mudroom. In the kitchen, he set his expresso machine to brew his morning coffee then poured himself a scotch at the corner bar in the great room. As much as he usually enjoyed his quiet, alone downtime after a busy week and an evening at Spurs, tonight he was restless, thinking about Skye Marshall alone above his office, and the strain on her face every time he’d run across her. Her evasive remarks never added up, and though he despised being lied to, there were certain instances where he could understand a person’s need to withhold the truth, especially from someone who was a stranger.
Sipping his drink, he leaned against the bar and gazed out the bank of windows into the pitch-black night. He knew the view by heart, the spread of pasture where his horse, Sienna, enjoyed grazing when he wasn’t riding her and helping with the ranch chores. He couldn’t help but wonder where Skye was from and how she’d ended up around here.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered before downing the rest of his scotch in one swallow. He’d never obsessed over a woman, had never even found one appealing enough to think about for long once they parted company. Telling himself he was just concerned about her welfare, he showered and turned in, vowing not to give her another thought until he checked on her Monday morning.
Saturday he spent helping with the ranch chores and Sundays used to be his day to hang around the ranch with Shawn and Dakota after any chores were completed, usually riding, fishing, or, in the colder months, getting up a poker game with some of the hands. But their relationships with Lisa and Poppy in recent months had changed all that, and he’d been happy for them so hadn’t minded. It wasn’t as if Lisa and Poppy had impacted his lifestyle.
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br /> Except now Clayton blamed his friends’ recent commitments for why he gave up on trying to get to sleep at midnight and rolled out of bed with worry over a woman he barely knew. First, he’d witnessed how Lisa might have been killed by her stalker without Shawn stepping in to protect her. Then, not more than a few weeks later, Dakota had surprised the hell out of him when he’d saved Poppy from an unknown threat then set aside his twenty-year vow to avenge his mother’s death to be there for her second bone marrow transplant. Hell, if the two people he knew best and was closest to could reap such contentment from coming to the aid of a damsel in distress, he figured he could do his fair share and see about helping Skye, especially since he’d spent Saturday and Sunday getting little done because he couldn’t quit thinking and worrying about her. That didn’t mean he had any intention of going the extra mile and getting involved, or, God forbid, into a committed relationship.
It was the desperate, almost panicked look in Skye’s eyes she didn’t seem to realize she revealed that got to him. He figured once he offered advice or aid with whatever she was trying to deal with alone, he would quit obsessing over her welfare. Maybe focusing on ensuring she wasn’t victimized further, if that were the case, would ease his conscience regarding his recent failure with Louise Campbell. He didn’t know how many more beatings that woman could withstand, or when her husband would snap and kill her, hoping to God Chester’s violence never escalated to that end.
With no idea what he planned to do at this time of night, he got dressed and drove into town, something pushing him to check on his temporary guest. Clayton could always bunk a few hours in his office after he assured himself Skye was okay, since that was about the only way he would get any sleep tonight.
The downtown hub of Mountain Bend was as empty and quiet as usual for this time of night, the light upstairs in his building was off, her car still parked in the rear. He let himself in through the back door and, when he didn’t hear anything from upstairs, called himself a fool and strode toward his office. Just as he reached the door, a muffled cry of pain or terror echoed from upstairs, and he spun around to dash back down the hallway.
