by Carol Devine
Libraries were an important part of a town's character and she was glad to have found a way to honor how much Violet and her large and varied offerings of books had helped Mariah overcome many challenges springing from Bird's neglect of her in her younger years.
Shane supported her attempts to reach out to other people within their circle of friends, too. She liked getting people together to go to high-brow entertainment in Aspen or play trivia games at the Tavern. She made an effort to learn the names of the various people who worked for him, his crew of old cowhands, of course, but also the equine specialists like the vet and the farrier, and the older teenagers he'd hired for the summer when he needed extra help with trail rides during the tourist season.
Mariah didn't shy away from schmoozing some of his more difficult horse owners and buyers, either. Many of them had more wealth that they knew what to do with, accompanied by the sense of entitlement that made them particularly hard-to-please. Her knack for blunting obnoxious characters and discouraging excessive demands, gave him and Ana a break from sweating the small stuff.
Perhaps that was why her continued reluctance to treat his house like her home bothered him. Even two months in, she still made the effort pay for every morsel she ate, buying the exact same boxes of flour, sugar and cereal for her side of the kitchen as he had in his.
That's why when she came to him with what she said was a 'giant' personal favor having to do with his house, Shane made sure he sat down and listened.
It was Monday and he'd come in for lunch. She had opted to take the opportunity to sleep in, a rare treat, given the amount of hours she worked. She met him at the door, dressed in new Levi's and one of her silky blouses, yin and yang, the latest in Mariah style. She was armed with a thick sandwich, an apple and his favorite iced tea.
"This must be quite a favor," he said, taking the plate.
"I know better than to have a discussion with you when it's time for a meal."
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"I had a granola bar an hour ago."
Maybe her lack of appetite had something to do with this favor. He wolfed down lunch, anxious to hear what she had to say.
"Okay, Mariah. Let's hear it."
She turned off her phone. "Let's talk in the living room."
Living room was female-speak for you're in big trouble, buddy. He decided he better turn off his phone, too.
"Fine by me," he said. She perched on the sofa and gestured for him to sit down next to her. He complied and lounged against the cushions, encouraging her to relax.
Nothing doing.
She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle on her jeans, lady-fied in her deep turquoise blouse. Bright colors were rare for her and he'd told her this morning that it brought out the green in her eyes.
He was tempted to say it again. But she had recently confessed compliments irritated her. They made her feel like she was being manipulated, like he was buttering her up because he wanted her to do something for him.
Shane had to admit, there was a grain of truth in her claim. But he didn't expect her to fawn over him. He simply wanted her to know he was paying attention, that he loved her, that she was special to him and that he was proud to be her man. But what she heard in her head was different than what he said. She distrusted everyone's motives, even his, but especially Bird's. Her troubles originated with him. He was one of the worst alcoholics Shane had ever seen, a broken down shadow of a man loitering the streets, panhandling or scrounging through junk. Word was, he'd succumbed the hour of Mariah's birth, the hour her mother died.
She once said he was like a bomb ready to go off. It didn't help that her FBI career had left such a bitter taste in her mouth. Although exonerated, it had taken years for the wheels of justice to grind over her and spit her out. In the end she had triumphed, but it had been at great cost.
Shane wanted to make it up to her. If it meant delivering a big favor, so be it.
"I'm glad you're in a good mood," she said, a line of concern marking her brow.
"Don't worry. Ask away."
"Here it is. I have a client who's scared to be seen with me. She won't come to the storefront any more. She won't even tell me her real name. But she's in trouble and I was thinking if she signed up for one of the trail rides, she could park in your lot and it would provide an excuse for her to come into the house. She could meet with me here. What do you think? Would that be okay with you?"
It was such a simple request, Shane battled the urge to tell her how ridiculous it was that she felt like she needed permission. But her decision to come to him was telling. The most amazing thing was that she'd done it consciously, without any prompting. Unlike the shitheads at the FBI, he would have her back on this case, no matter what. He scrubbed his jaw, giving the impression that he was mulling it over.
"Why is she scared?" he asked.
"It's something to do with her boss. She first came to my office months ago. She has a bookkeeping job in Aspen. She's in her early '50s and she's worked for the guy for over 20 years. The scaredy-cat routine strikes me as strange. Office jobs don't usually rank high on the fear-inducing list. I need her comfortable enough to confide in me but that won't happen unless I can find a neutral place where her comings and goings won't attract attention."
"There are plenty of comings and goings around here. She'll blend right in. I take it you'll have her park in the regular lot and spirit her in through the back door?"
"If she'll let me. I wanted to run it by you first. It is your house, after all."
"Mi casa es su casa. But give me a heads up before she comes in. I wouldn't want to stumble in on some kind of mafia informant running off her mouth about a top secret gambling organization being operated out of an office in Aspen, Colorado."
Mariah wagged a finger at him. "I think you've been reading too many of my private eye novels. The truth is, the bulk of my work is about sitting in front of a computer searching databases or sitting in my car, following scumbags around. Her problem may be as simple as her boss is cheating on his wife and she's sick and tired of lying for him."
He caught her wagging finger and kissed it. "Am I ever going to break your stereotypical view of the male of our species?"
"I'm not a complete cynic. For every male cheater, there's got to be a female cheating with him. I freely admit you males get a bum rap."
"Finally, a woman on our side."
"I like your side. All your sides."
She hugged him as though he'd done the extraordinary by letting her use the house for one of her client consults.
"Now I have a favor to ask of you," he said.
She went into full cuddly mode, weaving her arms around his waist. "I'm prepared to do whatever your heart desires. Mi casa es su casa, except you can substitute the use of my body for the use of su casa."
"Much as I love that idea, this is a huge favor, certainly as huge as the one you asked of me."
She scowled at him. "Please don't tell me you're expecting me to ride at the trot while keeping my feet in the stirrups."
"This is an even bigger favor than that. I want us to get a joint bank account. I want to put a percentage of our incomes into one pot and pay for household expenses out of it."
"I don't know, Shane. Seems like the way we're doing it now is working well enough."
"There's too much effort involved. It would be easier if we didn't have to split each bill and payment into two parts. Plus one account makes it easier to bank online. But as I see it, the main problem is, I'm running out of kitchen space."
"What? Your kitchen is gi-normous."
"You're taking up too much of it. Do we really need two identical boxes of mini-wheat cereal?"
She blinked. "This is about cereal boxes?"
"We also have two boxes of flour, sugar and rice. I mean, if you liked white rice and I didn't, I could see making room for two kinds of rice. But the duplication… it's out of hand." He skimmed a finger down her sweet nose. "I thought you understood.
I need plenty of cookies and cakes and trail mix around. How can I keep in an adequate supply when there's not enough room to store what I need?"
He felt rewarded when he caught her suppressing a tiny smile. "How indeed," she said.
Feigning shock, he splayed a hand across his chest. "Are you mocking me?"
"How can I mock you for wanting to eat? It's essential to life."
"You understand?"
"I understand why you called it a huge favor. Food security is a basic right. But all I have to do is load a box with our duplicate items and take it to the food bank."
"And go to the real bank."
"Yes, of course. And go to the real bank. You may recall the local branch is a client of mine. Seems to me it's past time they get my business."
"They'll get my business, too. It's a win/win all around."
"I like win/wins. I especially like winning with you." She traced a wandering path across his thighs, ready to steal her way into his lap. "Are you sure you don't have anything else you want me to do?"
"Let me think." He drew a line from her neck to the V of her blouse, dipping between her breasts, skimming each curve with slow, obvious purpose.
Her skin flushed beneath his fingers. Shivering, she closed her eyes. "Please don't think too long."
He didn't.
THE END
…the saga picks up where MARIAH leaves off in Book Two: SHANE…on sale now at Amazon.com.
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EXCERPT from SHANE:
CHAPTER ONE
Shane Youngblood steered his pickup truck onto Highway 61 and checked his side mirrors. He was hauling a one-horse trailer and the horse inside was worth more than fifty thousand dollars.
The highway had originally been built as a two lane road, connecting his small Colorado hometown to the county line, where the next county was expected to fund and build a connecting road to Aspen. But a rich real estate developer came on the scene and claimed he needed a paved, four lane highway to bring buyers to his five acre ranchettes on the far outskirts of Aspen. The far outskirts turned out to be halfway to his hometown of Grizzly Springs.
For years, the small town's Mayor had struggled to fund better feeder roads to downtown Grizzly Springs. In its heyday more than a century before, the town had been a railroad hub, part of the bustling trade resulting from Colorado's 1859 Gold Rush. The riches from mining allowed brick and stone buildings to spring up, including an Opera House turned into a four star hotel, and a General Store that was well-run enough to prevent encroachment from the big box stores like Walmart. Unfortunately, like many towns in rural America, attracting tourists was hit or miss once the railroad closed down. Hunters and fishermen were more commonplace since Grizzly Springs was nestled in the center of the Red River valley, surrounded by mountains and State and National Forestland.
As the founder of the town stables, Shane heard about the highway improvement and joined the cause, reasoning that a fast track to Aspen would serve his horse breeding and training operation in a number of ways, bringing trail riders and buyers in and make transporting across country considerably easier.
As an eight time winner of the World Championship of Rodeo and owner of the most profitable business in town, he'd wielded considerable juice with the local county commissioners. Strategic donations to his local representatives in the State House helped advance his quest to improve the road.
Next, he scheduled a trip to Denver, did a week's worth of his famous Horse Whisperer Clinics, and during his free hours, did the schmoozing necessary to open doors and gain access to the Governor and more influential members of the State House. A year later, the money to extend the highway thirty-five miles was appropriated. Two years later, the newly built highway connected Aspen to Grizzly Springs.
Now, Highway 61 was a seventy five mile straight shot to Aspen, one he found not only convenient, but necessary to move his livestock from his end of the county to the rarefied atmosphere of the other. One of those five acre ranchettes was his destination today.
He'd traveled about seven miles out of town when he spotted a lone figure walking along the side of the road. It was Sunday morning and traffic was nonexistent.
His first thought was that it was the town drunk, Bird McBride. He liked to scrounge bottles and cans wherever and whenever. But as Shane drew closer, he saw waist-length brown hair, blowing in the breeze. She had long legs, too, bare legs in itty bitty shorts. Pink sneakers and an oversized sweatshirt confirmed his suspicion that he was definitely a she. A young she.
He slowed down, hoping to recognize her. For fifteen years, he'd been giving riding lessons and trail rides to lots of kids in town. His rodeo star status and the fact that he was a Grizzly Springs native guaranteed a certain infamy. Most people around here knew him on sight.
She must have heard his rig chugging behind her. She swerved to the road's far edge, where pavement gave way to weeds. She ducked as he passed, hiding her face. No purse, no backpack, nothing that would lead to an ID.
It wasn't safe for a lone woman to be out here, much less a teen-aged girl. Her hips hadn't filled out yet. She had breasts but they were barely starting to show. Her sweatshirt was several sizes too big and the sleeves flapped past her hands.
He pulled over, mindful of the trailer, the rig ending up about a hundred feet ahead of her. She stopped, cocked her head in his direction, looking unsure. Wherever she was going, he was offering her a ride. He didn't want to alarm her, though, make her think he was a pervert looking to take advantage.
He removed his hat, raked a hand through his unruly hair. The black felt Stetson was kinda intimidating when worn by a six foot two cowboy who weighed over 200 pounds.
He checked her status one more time. She stuck her hands inside the front pockets of her sweatshirt in a protective way, poised on her toes, watchfulness bleeding into clear distrust. Already he'd scared her, merely sitting in his truck. If he made a wrong move, she'd run. There was no place to go, with empty fenced pasture on both sides of the highway.
He stabbed his cell phone, connecting with the PI office of his girlfriend, Mariah McBride. He needed backup just in case the young lady in question decided he was a kidnapper or something. Mariah would know whether the Sheriff should be involved, too. She was former FBI with a masters degree in criminal justice and a PhD in Psychology, wise and wonderful, the opposite of her dad, drunken Bird McBride. If the girl needed calming, Doc was the one who could provide it. She'd be able to call the Sheriff's office, too.
She picked up on the third ring, her tone brisk.
"Sorry, Shane, but I'm in a bit of a situation. Can I call you back?"
"Don't hang up. I'm in a situation myself. There's a girl walking down 61 by her lonesome. She's too young to be out here by herself."
"You found a… what? A girl?"
"I'm guessing she's about the same age as Ana's oldest. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. Skinny as a rail but tall like you."
"Describe what she's wearing."
"Really short shorts. Too short, if you catch my drift."
"Purple sweatshirt?"
Shane stuck his head out the truck to be certain. The sweatshirt had a logo he recognized and block letters in front. Minnesota Vikings. "How did you know?"
"Believe it or not, I have her father in my office with me. He's desperate to find her. Long story. Where are you, exactly?"
He told her, then started asking what the hell was going on. She hung up.
"Dammit, Mariah."
She hadn't given him the girl's name. He started to call back, then decided, fuck it, he didn't need her name. He needed to keep her occupied until Mariah arrived.
Shane exited the truck. The girl stutter-stepped in alarm and looked over her shoulder at the road behind her. Like a doe-eyed deer scenting trouble, ready to spring the fence. A
barbed wire fence.
Not good for her. Him, either.
He left the cab door hanging open in case Mariah called, buttoned his shirt to his neck, trying to look respectable, and strolled towards her. His horse, Jukebox, stomped his hooves and neighed. The gelding wasn't named Jukebox for nothing.
"Hey," he called. "You need a ride?"
"Don't call the police!" she screamed.
Her overreaction told him two things. First, this was Sheriff Country, so she probably came from somewhere else. Secondly, her voice was shrill, scared. Scared of him, or maybe scared of being found. If she recognized him, she didn't show it. World Rodeo Champion and Horse Whisperer of the Rockies came in handy sometimes.
"No reason to call anybody," he said. "Where're you headed? I can give you a ride. I'm going both directions today."
She retreated, heading back the way she'd come, swiveling every few feet to keep an eye on him. Shane checked his watch. Five minutes since he talked to Mariah. She needed at least ten more minutes to get here. He had to keep the girl within sight for those ten minutes.
Shane jogged, closing the gap. "I'm doing the neighborly thing here. I'll give you a ride home, see that you get there safe, no questions asked."
She raised her hand, palm flattened and facing him in the universal stop sign. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."
He halted about ten feet away. "My name is Kellen Shane Youngblood. I go by Shane. Own the Grizzly Springs Stables. Got my initials on the side of my truck and trailer if you want proof."
Her eyes flickered, unsure whether to believe him or not.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"I can't talk to strangers. I told you already."
