by Jeannie Watt
“Enough to keep me on the wagon.”
There was an awkward lull as they watched the bartender pour Cole’s draft and uncap Jordan’s Kaliber and then Jordan broke the silence.
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. Cole shifted his gaze from the bartender back to him, a questioning frown drawing his eyebrows together. “That you wasted that plane ticket. When I was in the hospital.”
“I understand,” Cole said. “I might have done the same.” He smiled at the bartender as she set the drinks in front of them. “Nobody knows how they’ll react in a situation like that.”
“Yeah. But all the same... Shae mentioned your trip once when we were talking—” arguing “—and I realized I never apologized.”
“You getting along all right with Shae?” Cole asked, seeming glad to have a new topic to grab onto.
Jordan shrugged with more nonchalance than he felt. “We’re doing okay, considering.”
“Considering what?” Cole asked with a half smile.
“Considering how I dumped her off my lap in the bar that time.”
Cole laughed. “I forgot about that.”
“She didn’t.”
“Yeah. She’s probably sensitive about the word dumped right now.”
Jordan felt his throat close a little, but it didn’t keep him from asking, “What exactly happened there?”
“Well,” Cole said slowly, “Shae was engaged to a real nice guy, spent about two years planning the wedding of the century, even had a deal for a regional magazine spread, and then he called it off.” Cole took a drink and wiped the foam off his upper lip. “Guess old Reed wanted a wife more than a wedding.”
“Shae never was a halfway sort.”
“Recall how she once managed to get all of the rodeo royalty decked out in lights for the grand entry of the state finals?”
Jordan nodded. He recalled. At the time he’d disgustedly thought it was another look-at-me tactic on Shae’s part, as it might well have been, but he’d never thought about why she needed people to look at her. Approval of others had never seemed to matter to her—she’d always been supremely confident—so he had to assume now that it had had something to do with approving of herself.
Deep shit, this. They were a pair.
“What’s going on with Miranda?” Cole asked after once again pulling his gaze away from the bartender.
“Where to begin,” Jordan said with a soft snort. Then, as he slowly sipped the beer that wasn’t quite a beer, he described the situation, starting with Shae making the proposal and then Miranda following through with a vengeance, determined to develop something on a property she hadn’t cared about until he showed up again.
“Sounds like she’s skating on thin ice with some of this. Renovating the cabins?”
“Right now Emery says there’s not much I can do as long as she’s merely repairing the property.” He settled his elbows on the bar. “What screwed me was Dad putting in that recreational clause so he and his buddies could still hunt there if...you know...something happened to me overseas and Becky inherited.”
“What screwed you was letting Miranda inherit.”
Cole’s words stayed with him as he drove home.
His dad had screwed him. And then he’d died.
* * *
“I HAVE ESTIMATES for the windows,” Ashley said as soon as she stepped into the bunkhouse, where Shae was halfheartedly marking trails on a map as part of the permitting process and wondering where Jordan was.
“I didn’t realize you were getting the estimates,” Shae said coolly.
“Miranda’s idea,” Ashley said. “When we went over the notebook, she suggested that I handle the windows and doors.” She walked over to the map and stared down at it. “Permitting?”
“Yes.”
“I could do that,” Ashley said. “Free you up to do something else.”
Like what? This was pretty much a one-man operation. “No. Thank you.”
“Then what shall I do?”
Shae barely stopped herself from saying, Go home. Instead she said, “When I’m done with this I’m going to ride one of the trails. Perhaps you could come up with a use for these...useless cells?” she said, gesturing at the doors that lined the far wall. “Something unique. Miranda’s all about unique.”
“All right,” Ashley said slowly, pulling out her notepad. Shae continued to mark trails. Ashley paced, paused, paced. Shae felt herself going quietly nuts. Finally she put down her pen.
“Done?” Ashley asked.
“Yes. Are you?”
“How about small retail and rental areas? We could have local souvenirs and products in one. Fishing equipment rentals in another.” She started pointing at doors. “Locally made fishing rods for sale. Artwork. Maybe some outdoor gear, gloves and hats, things people might not realize they need in another. It shouldn’t be too hard to come up with a theme for each one.”
Shae stared at her. Great. Just great. She should have kept her mouth shut. Now Ashley was the hero.
“Yes. Work that up to present, okay? I’m going out to check the trail.” She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Jordan still wasn’t back from wherever he was, but when he got back, he was going to have to deal with Ashley alone.
* * *
WHEN JORDAN GOT back to the High Camp, Ashley’s truck was gone and Shae’s mare was not in the corral. Jordan went to the pasture and caught the dun, thinking that after groundwork he might saddle up and see if he could find her. He’d just started putting the dun through her paces when Clyde alerted and he turned to see Shae dismounting at the barn. She led her horse inside and Jordan turned his attention back to the filly, but he kept an eye on the barn.
Several minutes later the mare ambled out into the corral, but Shae didn’t reappear. She still hadn’t come out by the time he’d finished the round pen work, so he tied up the dun and headed to the barn.
The building felt empty when he walked inside. He stood, listening, then a small bit of dust filtered down from the rafters above him and he glanced up. The hayloft. He walked over to the ladder, reached for the rung just above his head and started to climb.
“Hey,” Shae said softly when he poked his head up through the opening. He couldn’t tell from the tone of her voice if she was okay with him disturbing her, so he took a chance and climbed the rest of the way up. She sat in the window with her back against the frame, the late-afternoon sun streaming over her, making the reddish highlights in her dark hair gleam. Awkwardly he stood, balancing on the loose boards covering the joists. As kids they’d never been allowed in the loft unless there was hay—too much potential for slipping through a crack and falling—and there hadn’t been hay in the loft for years. His father had kept it outside, under tarps where it was easier to get at with the squeeze.
“Ruminating?” he asked as he made his way over to the window and sat beside her, his back against the wall.
“Going over a few things.”
“Ashley’s gone.”
“I’m not hiding,” she said with exaggerated innocence.
He cocked a knee up and rested his arm on it. “It was late when you left last night.”
“I had some things to do in town and, well, I sensed that you might like some space.” She met his eyes, her expression candid. “Did you have a nightmare last night?”
“Yeah,” he said, surprising her by being equally candid. “I think I talked myself into it during the day.”
Shae ran a hand over her knee. “What are they like? The nightmares?”
He felt his barriers start to rise, but she was honestly trying to understand, so he did his best to push them back down again. “They were flashbacks in the beginning. I’d be there, you know? Everything happening in slow motion.” He swallowed. “I’d try to get awa
y before the explosion, but my feet wouldn’t move.”
“Did that really happen?”
“No. One minute I was walking with two of my buddies and the next I’d been knocked down by flying debris. The weird thing was that I recall the colors and images, but no sound.” He reached down to pull a cocklebur off his pant leg. “But in my dreams I hear sound and it surprises me. Every time. When I wake up, I’m the one making the sound.”
“What happened to your buddies?” she asked softly.
“One was killed. One had only minor injuries. I was the middle guy.”
“I’m sorry,” she said automatically.
“It was bad,” he admitted. “I had issues. But I thought I’d worked through most of them in therapy. It got to where I was going months at a time without having a nightmare. But I was still damned unhappy at my job and felt so disoriented and empty. So...I headed home. Then, like I told you before, the dreams started again on the trip. Stress, I guess, but...” He hesitated before confessing, “I hate backtracking.”
“And feeling that it could get worse?”
“Feeling that I have no control. I want to be back in control.”
Shae nodded then turned her head to look out across the meadows, the sunlight casting shadows under her cheekbones. What had happened, he wondered, to make her so pensive? Had Miranda attacked again?
But he didn’t want to bring up Miranda. Not now. So instead he reached out with his boot to nudge the toe of her shoe. “You said you had nightmares,” he said when she looked up.
She nodded, her forehead knit into a frown. He wondered if she was going to answer after the way he’d shot her down before, but after a few silent seconds, she said, “For a couple years after my mom died. She had cancer, and we knew she was dying, and it was so damn hard, but I didn’t have the dreams until after she went, so I don’t know what I was dreaming about.” She looked off toward the horizon. “But I was angry, you know?”
“Angry?”
“She left me. I couldn’t help it, and I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t get over my outrage that she would...die on me, instead of somehow fighting and carrying on.”
Jordan wanted to reach out and touch her, but instead he curled his good hand into a loose fist on his knee. “My dad compensated by always giving me whatever I wanted,” she said. “And my stepmother...she went overboard. So I would accept her, I guess. I pretty much only had to ask and wish granted.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t think that was the best strategy.”
“How so?”
She gave a short laugh. “Nothing makes people hate you like getting whatever you want. Being spoiled.” She leaned her head back against the window frame, looking up. “I’ve always been confident, so I didn’t really care. Or told myself I didn’t care. I think it was more that I didn’t understand.” One corner of her mouth tightened. “Being spoiled doesn’t help a person develop a lot of empathy for others...but I’m working on it.”
“I’d say you’re moving forward.”
She smiled at him with a touch of self-consciousness. “I know this sounds minor compared to what you went through, but...”
“It’s not minor if it eats at you.” And he could see that this bothered her—being hated for having it all. Or at least appearing to have it all.
“It does eat at me,” Shae said, once again leaning her head back and staring at the window frame above her. “As does the fact that I never thought that much about the effect I had on other people.” She bit her lip as she continued to stare upward. “Pretty damned callous, eh?”
“We can all be callous, Shae.”
“But I made it an art form.”
“No,” he said softly, catching her attention once again. “My ex-stepmother has made it an art form.”
“I don’t want to talk about Miranda,” she said abruptly.
“Neither do I.” Their gazes connected then and Jordan became very aware of the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her. He didn’t want to look away from her. He wanted to reach out and touch her.
“Once upon a time,” Shae said slowly, her expression intent, “you dumped me on my ass.”
“I remember that.”
She raised her chin a little as she said, “Would you do that now?”
Hell, no. “A lot has changed since then.”
“Other than your accident?”
His throat felt dry as he said, “Yes. Other than the accident.”
For another long moment their eyes held and Jordan could see she was debating about saying more, but instead she got to her feet, brushing herself off.
“I need to go and see what trouble Ashley has caused me,” she said before making her way across the boards toward the ladder. She didn’t look back as she started to climb down, escaping, leaving Jordan alone in the loft.
Alone wasn’t working.
* * *
SHAE COULDN’T BRING herself to go back to the bunkhouse, so she headed down the trail that Jordan walked every evening, the trail that led to the place where Clyde had gotten his curly self into trouble and thus brought the situation between herself and Jordan to a head.
Her attraction to the man was troubling, as was her situation there at the ranch. Could she stay and continue as she was, actively working to make Jordan’s life uncomfortable?
How could she not? She had a contract to fulfill, whether Miranda was going to ax her eventually or not. At this point she felt she almost needed to be at the ranch for damage control. To see if she could deflect some of the impact of what she’d started.
The bunkhouse was getting dark by the time she returned from the walk, no clearer on a strategy than when she’d left, but Shae couldn’t bring herself to turn on the light. If she did, then she’d have to face the cost analysis that she’d been halfheartedly working on before she’d abandoned it to go for a ride on Belinda. And after the ride she’d gone to the loft to escape her demons—and discovered even more.
She had to deal with the cost analysis and she had to deal with Jordan...or at the very least commit to keeping her distance, for both their sakes.
She walked to the window, stared out into the twilight, then gave a start as a shadow went past. A second later there was a knock on the door. She crossed the room to open it, stepping back without a word to let Jordan walk into the room. Even in the semidarkness she could see the tension in his expression and had to stop herself from reaching up to touch his face, smooth her fingers over the harsh lines there. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she’d get the lights, but before she got a word out Jordan leaned in, covered her mouth with his, pulling her close, kissing her long and hard.
Shae stiffened for all of a nanosecond, then as his tongue demanded a response, she pressed against him, her hands sliding up around his neck, pressing into him, kissing him back. Too soon, he took a couple steps back and she could see the conflict in his face.
He wanted her, but he wasn’t sure. She could only imagine what it had taken for him to come here, do this.
He rubbed a hand over his forehead, glancing away for an instant. “I...uh...”
“I get it,” she said softly. And part of her was relieved. The other part was beating her with fists, demanding that she get some more of what she’d just experienced.
* * *
SHAE EASED BACK another step, her hands sliding down his arms until they reached his hands, both of them. And Jordan wished with all of his heart that he was still whole. That he could touch her with two good hands without wondering if she was turned off by what he had to offer her.
It’d been so long since he’d touched a woman in an intimate way. Been touched. He wanted to grab her, haul her off to his bed... He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready because he didn’t know what he could give and he didn’t know what Shae
needed.
He didn’t know what he needed.
And she knew that. He could see it in her face. She understood and it rocked him.
“Go to bed,” she said softly.
“Would you come with me if I asked you?”
“Probably.” For one long moment they stood, neither able to move. “Definitely. But you’re not going to ask me, are you?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to say that she was right—he hadn’t yet moved past his insecurities. He didn’t have to. Shae reached out to touch the scarred side of his face, her palm flat against the damaged skin, her fingertips grazing his temple, where the nerves still worked. “Go to bed, Jordan.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHAE HUGGED HER arms around herself as Jordan walked out the door. How damned hard had that been?
She walked to her cot and sat down on the edge, her arms still wrapped around her chest. Her heart was beating low and slow against her ribs; her lips felt swollen even though they’d only kissed once. She wanted him, but maybe for the first time ever, she knew better than to push. It wasn’t about having her way. It was about waiting for the right time.
Delayed gratification.
The door scraped back open and Shae jumped to her feet, heart pounding as Jordan stepped back inside.
“Shae?”
She was barely aware of moving until she was back in his arms.
“Come to my place with me?” he asked roughly.
“Why? Mine isn’t good enough?”
“Bed’s too narrow.”
Shae laughed and was struck by how nervous it sounded. She realized that it was because this mattered in a way things hadn’t mattered before. She nodded and took his hand, gripping it tightly as they crossed the distance to his house, woke the pig, who jumped to her feet with a snorking grunt, and safely shut themselves inside.
Jordan tugged her hand, pulling her behind him down the narrow hallway to his bedroom. The lights were out, but by moonlight so bright it cast shadows, she could easily make out the old-fashioned bureau, the metal-framed bed, the single night stand.
