by Jeannie Watt
“Uh, hi,” the guy said as soon as it became obvious that she wasn’t opening the door any wider. The corners of his mouth tilted up slowly, as if he had to remind himself to smile, but the end result was rather breathtaking. In another time or place Tess could have appreciated a man like this. Blue eyes, incredible angles to his face, dark hair showing from under his cowboy hat.
But not at this time. She did not smile back. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m Zach Nolan. I called yesterday about the pasture.”
Tess stared at him, a slight frown drawing her eyebrows together. So what was he doing here? The last thing she needed was a persistent neighbor. “Was there something about my answer yesterday that you didn’t understand?”
“I thought maybe you didn’t understand.”
“Really,” she said coolly, calmly adjusting her glasses, which were still slightly crooked from banging the door.
“I would pay for the use of the pasture and the cows wouldn’t be anywhere near your place. Having the animals here wouldn’t be much different than not having them here. They’re not noisy or anything. Plus, you get the rental money.”
“Would they be in that field over there?” Tess nodded toward the field on the other side of her driveway.
“That would be one of the pastures.”
“And you have to do things with the cattle, right?”
“I move them around. Check on them.”
Which meant someone coming and going at times she had no control over. Which meant the dogs getting used to the sounds of someone being around.
Which seemed like a good way to compromise her safety.
Tess drew herself up, her face still angled away from him, even though she felt odd looking at him with one eye. “Listen. I know this sounds cold, but no. I...I don’t like cattle and I don’t want to lease my pastures.”
“You don’t like cattle.”
“Is there some reason I should?” she asked stiffly.
He gave a slow shake of his head, then peered at her from under the brim of his hat. “You might have moved to the wrong part of the country.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not interested in leasing and I’d appreciate it if you’d consider this matter closed. Now if there’s nothing else?” She started closing the door without waiting for an answer.
Zach Nolan stared at her in seeming disbelief as she pushed the door shut and then snapped the dead bolt in place.
Believe it, cowboy.
Tess snapped her fingers and the dogs fell in behind her as she walked through the living room back to the kitchen, wondering if Zach was still watching her through the window. A few seconds later she heard his footsteps on the porch followed a minute later by the roar of a powerful truck engine. Only then did she allow herself to sit on one of the kitchen chairs, the gun that weighed down her hoodie pocket clunking against the metal leg.
She pushed her fingers through her hair, keeping them far away from her scars and simply held them there as she breathed in and out. In and out.
* * *
ZACH GROUND THE gears as he shifted down at the end of Tess O’Neil’s driveway. He tried to remember if anyone had ever closed a door in his face before.
Nope. Not once.
Definitely something off about this woman.
She’d tried hard to hide the injured side of her face as they spoke, but hadn’t quite succeeded. The scars across her cheek were relatively fresh, jagged and ugly. Must have been one hell of a car wreck.
But beyond the scars, Zach had been struck by the uninjured side of her face—the wide, green, wary eyes behind the clunky-looking glasses, the full lips and high cheekbones. Practically flawless beauty juxtaposed against stark injury and inexcusable behavior.
He drove across the county road that separated his property from hers and into his own driveway, pissed that he’d hit such a brick wall. There didn’t seem to be much else he could do, considering who he was dealing with, other than to take the loss of the pastures like a man and figure out how to pay for hay. Obviously there would be no dealing with a person who’d closed a door in his face.
Zach pulled the truck to a stop in front of the workshop and got out. Benny, whom he’d left at home because he didn’t trust him in the good truck alone yet, came bounding out and proceeded to demonstrate exactly why he wasn’t allowed out in polite company.
“Off,” Zach scolded as the young collie jumped up on him, chewing and tugging at his sleeve. The teenage pup bounced backward, ready to play. “Behave or I’ll turn the girls loose on you.”
The pup grinned.
“Come on,” Zach said, starting for the bull pen. The pup fell in beside him. Benny was going to be a good dog as soon as he got through his adolescence...and then Zach only had three more adolescences to go through after that.
Darcy would be an official teen on her next birthday.
It didn’t seem possible. The years since Karen had died had in some ways crept by so slowly that Zach sometimes felt as if he’d never be able to fight his way through one day and into the next. But in other ways the time had sped by and it seemed as if he’d missed so much.
It wouldn’t be long before Darcy was out of the house and on her own—probably before he had a chance to do all the things he’d wanted to do, provide all the stuff he wanted to provide.
He hadn’t even taken his girls on a real vacation yet.
Zach lifted the gate latch, felt cool metal through the hole in the glove he hadn’t bothered to tape up the night before. He was too young to feel this damned old.
* * *
TEN MINUTES AFTER the cowboy left, Tess collected her box of refinishing supplies and headed out to the barn. There was no reason that a neighbor’s visit—business-related at that—should be so upsetting. Although, upon reflection, maybe the upsetting part was that she’d assumed when she moved to a rural area, people would leave her alone. She hadn’t counted on them calling her and showing up at her door. No. That hadn’t been in the game plan at all.
It was just one guy with a legitimate reason for being there.
Tess doubted the cowboy would be back. He hadn’t seemed too impressed with her manners.
Once outside, the dogs barely sniffed the air before putting their heads down and investigating scents along the path to the barn, obviously at ease. Tess set the box on top of an old rabbit hutch and then rolled the heavy barn door open. It squeaked and protested until she had it wide enough to give light to her project.
The barn had electricity, but the lightbulbs were all burned out or broken, so Tess simply left the door open as she worked. She didn’t really want to be closed up in the barn, peaceful as it was with the old farming implements stored along one wall and dim light filtering in through the dusty windows. She felt vulnerable closed up in a place where she couldn’t lock the doors. Besides, she enjoyed the sight of the mountains rising up behind the small town on the other side of her largest field.
Tess opened the cardboard box and took out the package of dust masks. She broke open the plastic, snapped on a mask and adjusted the plastic string. She felt a bit like Darth Vader and the stiff cellulose put pressure on the tender part of her injury, but it beat sucking in sawdust.
Mac and Blossom settled outside the door in the grass, Blossom rolling over onto her back and letting her tongue loll out, looking nothing like the lethal weapon she was supposed to be. Tess picked up a piece of sandpaper, rolling it ar
ound the pencil in order to get into the nooks and crannies of the scroll work on the legs of the table.
She’d finished sanding the top and sides of the table yesterday, having eventually worked her way through four coats of different colored enamels—white, red, green and then white again—before she’d hit the gorgeous oak below.
Tess was in no hurry because once she finished, she had little to do except sketch. Sketching had been her escape since her teen years when she’d lain in her bed—shutting out the sounds of Eddie and her mother sniping at each other, or her stepbrother’s overly loud music—and created beautiful people wearing beautiful clothing.
But one could only sketch so much, and Tess planned on tackling more pieces once she finished her table. In addition to the table, she’d found three grimy oak chairs and a bureau. The bureau was, quite frankly, gross, since many generations of mice had taken up residence in it, but the chairs were salvageable. They reminded her of chairs her grandmother had treasured. Chairs she’d inherited from her own mother. Jared, Tess’s jerk of a stepbrother and Eddie’s oldest son, had sold them after her grandmother died to settle a debt.
If only that’d been the only thing he’d done to her. It wasn’t. When Tess had moved back in with her mother and Eddie after her grandmother’s death, Jared had subtly terrorized her, making sexual innuendos, brushing up against her whenever they were alone. Tess had had a buffer while Mikey, her younger stepbrother, had lived there, but after he’d left home, at the ripe old age of fifteen, Tess had been on her own.
She was still amazed she’d escaped without being sexually assaulted. But it had been a narrow escape—no thanks to her mother, who was too caught up in her drug use to notice or care.
Tess pushed the bitter thought out of her head, focused again on the rhythm of the sanding, which was oddly calming.
Eventually she would have to come up with some other way to spend her time—preferably something that allowed her to earn a living at home. She had a decent nest egg, since she’d chosen to save her money rather than party it away. No matter how steadily she worked, Tess had never ever been able to believe her modeling career would last for longer than the next contracted job, because nothing else in her life, other than her grandmother’s steadfast love, had ever lasted.
How wise she’d been.
Decent as it was, though, what was left of her nest egg after leasing the ranch wouldn’t last for the rest of her life.
* * *
IT WAS PAST two o’clock when Tess finally finished the first table leg and sat back on the grass to admire her handiwork. Why on earth had someone stuck such a gorgeous table in a barn?
Because someone else had painted it white, then green, then red, then white and it had been pretty ugly, that’s why.
The dog closest to her sneezed, an open plea for attention and Tess reached out to ruffle Mac’s ears. He lazily rolled over on his back, giving her access to his itchy belly. She patted him a few times and he sneezed again.
“Come on, guys,” she said as she got to her feet. “I need to hit the shower.”
She rolled the barn door shut and headed to the house, wondering if talking to her dogs as if they were people made her the canine equivalent of a crazy cat lady. Somehow crazy dog lady just didn’t have the same ring.
Tess had never had a dog of her own, but had once shared a house with Demon, her grandmother’s sausage-shaped Chihuahua. Demon had put her off dogs, but after the attack she’d changed her mind and told William she wanted to find a guard dog—or four—to live with her. Lethal killing machines if possible. She was a scared woman who needed protection.
William had lined up the deal for her, finding not lethal killing machines, but two retired personal protection dogs in need of a home. Tess hadn’t been certain that, despite their fearsome appearance, two older dogs would fit the bill, but she’d since changed her mind. Blossom and Mac knew their jobs. They stuck to her like glue, alerted her when anything new appeared on the scene and followed her commands instantly. Plus she’d seen them attack a guy in a padded suit when she and William went to pick them up. Close enough to lethal for her.
“Who wants a snack?” she asked after locking the back door. Two canine butts instantly hit the floor. Tess gave each dog a giant rawhide chew toy and then double-checked the lock on the front door before heading toward the bathroom, pulling off her dusty clothing as she went.
She’d barely gotten into the shower when the dogs went into a barking frenzy, making her jerk so hard she hit her elbow on the faucet. And it wasn’t the UPS-man-is-here-again barking. It was the this-is-something-we-aren’t-familiar-with barking.
Not again...
Tess cranked off the shower and got out, heart pounding. She wrapped a towel around herself and stood for a moment on the bath rug, her hair dripping, listening.
The dogs were at the back door, not the front. Growling now instead of barking.
Crap. That wasn’t good. Tess let the towel drop and yanked her robe off the hook next to the shower. She struggled into the robe and stood still again, heart hammering. And then she heard it.
Laughter.
Happy kid laughter.
The blood that had been pounding in her temples drained away, leaving her feeling oddly light-headed. Just kids.
What were kids doing on her property?
Tess tried to swallow, but it was impossible because her mouth was dry. She moved cautiously to the window. There, not fifty feet from her house, three girls walked along the path next to the overgrown creek, pushing bicycles and talking.
Tess stepped away from the window as the tallest girl, who pushed the smallest bike, looked over at the house.
Did they know they were trespassing?
Tess tightened the belt around her waist and headed for the kitchen, where the dogs scratched at the door, anxious to get out and deal with this threat.
“Nee. Af,” Tess said and they both obediently dropped to their bellies. She watched the girls disappear behind the barn, then reappear on the other side. They followed the creek to the road, then pulled the bikes under the wire fence.
Tess slowly sat on a kitchen chair and rubbed her hand over her forehead. She’d just had the crap scared out of her by children. Something had to give. She couldn’t live the rest of her life like this. Afraid of little girls and cowboys.
CHAPTER THREE
“HEY, DAD?”
Zach looked up from the PVC pipe he was measuring. Darcy and Emma stood in the doorway of the shop. “Yeah?”
“Lizzie’s bike got a goat head in the tire on the way home today.”
Well, that explained why they were late. “Where’s the bike?”
“The front yard.”
“Where’s Lizzie?”
“Riding my bike. Her feet can barely touch the pedals.”
Zach set down the pipe, wiping his hands on a rag as he walked toward the door. “I don’t think I have another repair patch.” Goat heads were the round seedpod of a ground covering weed, hard as nails with a couple nasty tire-puncturing prongs sticking out. They were hell on bike tires.
“Maybe Tia can bring one home from town.”
“You can text her,” Zach said. Emma immediately headed off to the house. “But she may not get done with her class before the store closes,” Zach called after her.
“Wal-Mart doesn’t close,” Darcy said.
Zach kept forgetting that. “Well, once upon a time stores di
d close,” he said.
Darcy cocked her head. “And you remember those days? Man, Dad. You’re old.” Zach grinned as they walked toward the lawn where Lizzie’s bike lay on its side.
“Yeah, and I feel it every year.”
“Is that a gray hair there?” she asked.
“You should know,” Zach replied. “You probably put it there.”
“So how’d the pasture thing work out?” Darcy asked casually, hooking her thumbs in her front jeans pockets.
“What pasture thing?” Zach asked slowly.
“You know...the pasture across the road. The one the lady wouldn’t let you rent.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Tia was talking to Mrs. Bishop about it.”
“Did Beth Ann or Mrs. Bishop know you were there?”
Darcy shook her head. “If they know I’m there, then I don’t hear any good stuff.”
Lizzie came wobbling around the corner of the house before he could answer, perched on Darcy’s bike, the tips of her toes barely reaching the pedals. Benny the collie bounded alongside her.
“Don’t wave,” Zach said as her little hand lifted a few inches off the handlebar. She immediately clamped it back down as the bike wobbled dangerously. Both he and Darcy took a quick step forward, but Lizzie regained control and pedaled on, Benny right behind her. Zach hoped they had some Band-Aids on hand.
“She thinks she’s so cool now that she’s in the first grade,” Darcy said.
“Yeah. I don’t know anyone else who ever felt that way.”
“Come on, Dad. I was a serious student. Lizzie is all about having a good time.” Darcy’s eyes twinkled behind her glasses as she glanced sideways at her father. He shook his head and then picked up Lizzie’s bike from where it lay in the grass and tipped it upside down so he could take off the tire.
“I think this is beyond a patch kit,” Zach said. “We’ll have to get another tube.”
