Mariah (MARIAH and SHANE Series Book 1)

by Carol Devine

  They were standing with Mariah at the end of the stable block, where Shane shared an office with his business manager, Ana Garcia, who ran the virtual and accounting side of Shane's KSY ranch and stable, trail rides, and breeding and training operation.

  "Ana, I have to speak to Shane for a minute. Could you show Caitlyn the foaling barn? Show her what a pregnant mare looks like."

  As a mother of two teen-aged girls and Mariah's best friend, Ana knew what to say to pique Caitlyn's interest. "Jukebox has a sister. Would you like to see her?"

  Caitlyn could be very agreeable when properly motivated.

  Mariah met Shane at the door of the snack room that adjoined his office. He was crunching on a handful of trail mix. "Well, Doc? What's the diagnosis?"

  "She's not suffering from a disorder, if that's what you're asking. It's more a combination of factors; a girl coming of age, learning who she is." Mariah described Caitlyn's accident and subsequent injury." Her emotional problem is hard to put into words but I have an idea and your help is definitely what's needed."

  "Sounds like a tall order. I'll do what I can."

  "You know those wrappings that you put on your horses' forelegs? What are they for?"

  Shane rubbed his jaw. That came from out of nowhere. "Protects from injuries mostly. Supports ligaments. What are you thinking?"

  "Some wrappers look like the protective casts that are used to mobilize a broken arm. Do you think you have the right materials to create a similar look for Caitlyn? I want it to look like she's wearing a regular cast on her arm, like you'd see on someone who's broken a wrist or a bone on her forearm. The cast needs to wrap around her hand and cover her wrist up to the elbow, without interfering with her ability to use her fingers."

  Shane considered Mariah for a moment before his eyes gleamed with understanding. "I think I get where you're going with this. You want her to look as normal as possible. No scars, just a regular arm that's temporarily out of commission, nothing that folks will see and feel sorry about. Not sure if I can make it work, though. You want an arm cast that will last for the time she's at camp: three weeks. It has to withstand her participation in various group activities. I can mix some stiffeners and binding agents in the layers of wrap but if she gets it wet over and over again…"

  "I'll make sure she understands she has to treat it like any other cast. People at the camp will support that if the cast looks real."

  "It will look real. I'll make sure of it. But I'm still worried. What if something unforeseen happens? What if it gets ruined? I don't want Caitlyn upset like she was today. She might run away again."

  "I think I can get around that. Roger can make me his local contact for minor medical problems. Caitlyn can phone me if the cast starts falling apart. I'll drive her here and we'll go through making another cast again. To her camp counselors, it will look like I took her to the doctor to get it fixed."

  Shane rocked back on his boot heels as if blown away, gazing at Mariah in wonder. "Sherlock Holmes, I think you've thought of everything."

  "I'm simply a master of disguise, a homegrown PI doing her job."

  "You're a heckuva psychologist is what I'm thinking. But what if Caitlyn won't go for it?"

  "She'll be no worse off than she is now. It really is up to her. I'll speak to her privately, see if I can get her to agree. If she does, Roger will agree, too. What he wants is to get her to the camp. Once she realizes she'll be seen as a girl with a broken arm rather than one with a permanent disability, I think she'll start feeling more comfortable. What she wants are people to see her as she really is, not feel sorry for her or think she's a saint because she manages life well. It's three weeks of being with other girls her age, who will see her the way she sees herself, no better or worse than anybody else. Plus there's the simple pleasure of being on vacation for awhile, getting away from those pesky parents. Teenagers need that experience as well."

  * * * * *

  The entrance to Camp Bristlecone was at the end of a mile long, winding, bumpy dirt road. It looked like it led to the middle of nowhere. But as the camp buildings and layout came into view, Mariah could understand why it had such a good reputation. It was rustic, yes, but the small log cabins looked well-kept. There was a main house overlooking the cabins and throughout the grounds, there were gaggles of girls in small groups, girls Caitlyn's age, interacting easily with each other. All were involved in various activities, four or five girls for every uniformed counselor.

  Kayaks lined the shore of the lake. A water instructor sat in one, demonstrating paddling technique. There was an open air pavilion where two real-live bald eagles roosted on pedestals. A uniformed Forest Ranger was speaking on a mike, detailing facts about endangered species. A woman wearing several cameras around her neck was pointing at enlarged photographs on easels, picturing animals in the wild.

  "What do you think, Caitlyn?" Mariah asked, rolling down the windows of the SUV.

  "Am I the last one to arrive?" Her voice sounded anxious.

  "No, I checked," Mariah said. "There's one other girl who can't get here until tonight. I called ahead to let your counselors know we were on the way."

  Roger exited the SUV and opened Caitlyn's door. "I think I see a couple of counselors in Bristlecone uniforms waving at us."

  Mariah stayed in the car with Caitlyn. "I bet those are your resident leaders. There are two for each cabin."

  Caitlyn set her jaw and spoke quietly. "If this thing is going to work, I want to try it on them first."

  "That's my girl." Roger opened her car door wider. "You're about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime."

  Caitlyn rolled her eyes but scrambled out like she'd gathered her courage. Mariah joined her and raised the rear hatch where Caitlyn's gear was stored. A silver-haired woman in khakis was trotting towards them, waving a clipboard and sheaf of papers.

  Mariah signaled Roger, nodding in the woman's direction. "Time to sign the medical release, Roger."

  He cocked a speculative eye at Caitlyn. "Well? What do you think? You're not going to run away again, are you?"

  "Da-ad! They'll hear you! Of course not! Sheesh."

  Mariah bit her lip to maintain her composure. She felt like she was watching the sitcom Daddy Dearest or Father Knows Best. "Caitlyn," she said blandly. "Would you help me and your dad unload your luggage?"

  Caitlyn shook her head, focused on the two college-aged women in their camp uniforms. "Let me meet the counselors first."

  Roger started unloading, muttering about bossy females. Meanwhile, as the counselors approached, Caitlyn tentatively waved her cast-covered arm in greeting.

  Shane had chosen a vivid fluorescent yellow for the final outside wrapping. Caitlyn had declared it the perfect color. Everyone would know her as the girl with the cast on her arm, not the girl with a withered and disfigured hand that could, especially among sensitive teens, cause revulsion and pitying stares.

  "You must be Caitlyn," one counselor said. "I'm Bridget. This is Stacy. Welcome to Camp Bristlecone. We call it C.C., short for Camp Cone. Your group is the one that's learning about wild life photography. We'll take you over once you get settled into our cabin."

  "I need to say bye to my dad."

  Caitlyn surprised Roger with a grateful hug. Mariah was next. "Thank you." Using her good hand, she saluted her dad. "I'll see you and Mom in three weeks," she said confidently.

  Mariah knocked her knuckles on the cast. "Call if you need me, Caitlyn."

  "I will. But I think it's going to be good." She snagged her backpack with the two fingers extending from her cast.

  "How'd you hurt your arm?" asked Stacy as she and Bridget scooped Caitlyn's sleeping bag and duffel bag off the ground.

  "Car accident," Caitlyn said. "I have to wear the cast the whole time I'm here."

  "Did you break your arm or your wrist? It doesn't look that bad."

  Caitlyn nodded. "You're right, it's not a bad break. I got lucky. Two fingers sticking out to do stuff with. The
other ones had to be covered up to heal."

  One of the counselors peered closely at it. "I don't see this keeping you from doing much. We can wrap plastic around it for water sports. In fact some of the girls might be jealous. That cast looks like it glows in the dark. When we tell ghost stories, you can scare people with it. Like the story The Man with the Golden Arm."

  Caitlyn skipped sideways, brightening. "I know that one! I've heard it at sleepovers. I almost crapped my pants."

  Laughing, Stacy juggled Caitlyn's belongings and tucked the sleeping bag under her arm. She put her other arm around Caitlyn. "I think you're going to like it here."

  That was Mariah's last view of Caitlyn, coltish with her long legs and swinging braids, ambling away arm-and-arm with her counselor. The fluorescent yellow cast created a bright stripe against the back of Stacy's uniform.

  For Mariah, the most satisfying part was that Caitlyn never looked back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mariah waited for Shane in the fenced backyard of his home. It was one of her favorite places to relax now that they were living together again. The half acre of space felt very private to her despite the fact that his main horse barns, corrals and indoor arena were but a stone's throw away, beyond the fence but convenient to the back door of his house. He prized the freedom of being able to walk between his home and business, coming and going as he pleased.

  When he built the house, he hired a landscape designer who'd created a series of grassy outdoor rooms, perfect for socializing and the big parties he was known for. A open-air gazebo centered the space and surrounding it were groups of redwood chairs and tables, which also were used in conjunction to a state-of-the-art outdoor kitchen and a gas-fueled fireplace. Benches curved around a circular fire pit. To enhance the feeling of privacy, 15 foot junipers lined the inside of the fence, creating a windbreak and pockets of shade reliable enough that she was actually able to do computer work there in summer.

  Today it was plenty warm enough. After Caitlyn's successful launch at camp, Mariah had plenty of other work to finish and she was the type of disciplined person who stayed at the office until the job was done. But lately she'd built more flexibility into her schedule in order to make Shane the priority in her life, rather than the career that had provided her with financial security, but had also been hellish at times and betrayed her in many ways.

  The gate that led from the backyard to the parking lot opened and Shane poke his head inside. He grinned when he saw her. "Is it interlude time?"

  "You betcha." Mariah met him at the gate, kissed his cheek, and once he crossed the threshold, made sure the gate was locked.

  Noticing, Shane was glad he'd spent the bulk of the day either inside a pleasant-smelling truck or a leather-smelling tack room where he'd created a human arm cast with horse wraps and fluorescent gauze.

  He also noticed that Mariah had set up a small ice chest full of soft drinks and beer, and there was a bowl of pretzels nearby. He helped himself to a fistful. "Caitlyn's drop off go okay?"

  "Very well. I'll be surprised if we hear from her. She was a little nervous at first but she played it cool, told the staff that she was lucky to sustain a break that left her with two good fingers to use. Everybody there thinks it's the real deal. I heard them say they'd prevent it from getting exposed to the elements."

  "I layered a lot more hardeners in her wraps than I do with my horses. It should last."

  Mariah slipped her arms around his waist and propped her chin on his chest. "Shane, you did good today. Caitlyn could have been seriously hurt walking that highway. A truck or car could have side-swiped her. It's the beginning of bear season and mountain lion are on the hunt. Not to mention the worst predators of all. Sexual offenders are everywhere, even Grizzly Springs."

  "I had that in mind when I pulled over. Took off my hat, buttoned my shirt. Didn't want to get her thinking I might be a pervert or kidnapper."

  "Nope, you're definitely more the serial killer type."

  He frowned, half offended, half believing she had to be pulling his leg. With Mariah's poker detective face, it was hard to tell sometimes. "Hey, I resent that. Take that back."

  She hung her head, acting super sorry. "My apologies. I should have said serial charmer. You're a charming, rather roguish cowboy who is ripped as an Olympian, of superior intelligence and beautiful beyond belief."

  That mollified him. He flexed his biceps in a show of strength. "I could have been an Olympian if they'd had rodeo events. But beautiful? I'm good-looking as all git out, but beautiful I ain't."

  Her smile teased. "Your male ego cannot be contained."

  He played the this-ole-country-boy role to the max. "Aw, shucks, Mariah. Tell me my head's not too big. You're a doctor. I'll believe you. You're the holder of my heart."

  "Holder of your heart? Where do you find this corny stuff?"

  "Cowboys are poets, too. There's Slim Kite, Waddie Mitchell, Apache Adams, Chuck Milner and Hallie, Bob Campbell, Three Hands High, Audrey Hankins…"

  Mariah covered her ears with her hands until his square jaw stopped moving. "Okay, okay. I'll concede the truth. You're the Jedi knight of poetry. A nonsensical John Wayne master."

  "Yep, my grandma used to say so, too. Incorrigible was another one. Now there's a word you don't hear anymore. And fring-frong. And nincompoop. I was that when I was a little kid, definitely. Couldn't sit still. Knocked over her collection of Hummels."

  "What are Hummels?"

  "Heck if I know. Collectibles. Little statues. Kids mostly. Cute ones. The tables in her house were covered with them. I broke one and was banished outside, laughing my head off."

  "Laughing?"

  "She scolded me, called me nincompoop. Do you know what that sounds like to a five year-old boy? Poop jokes. What's funnier to a five year-old than poop?"

  Since it was a rhetorical question, Mariah busied herself elsewhere, focusing on more important matters. She boldly removed his hat and played with his hair like she had earlier in the day. Except now she did it as freely and wantonly as possible, ready to get to the interlude she'd planned. "Sometimes I want to pop inside your mind and experience what it's like to be you," she said.

  He played with her hair in return, clearly distracted, guiding her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder, sifting the ends through his fingers. "Experiment on me?"

  "No, experience you in your purest form."

  He wrapped the length of her hair around his fist, tugging firmly, drawing her close, murmuring in her ear. "You're talking dirty, Mariah. My purest form is making love to you. It's what I think about. All. The. Time."

  "You are incorrigible."

  He let her hair go, cascading from his fingers like a waterfall. "No doubt about it. Whatever the subject. Hell, I tell poop jokes in some of my riding classes, the young ones, especially. Kids love poop jokes. It's an ice-breaker."

  "It won't break ice with me. Getting a former FBI Agent like me to laugh is a real challenge. It takes action, not jokes."

  "Like tickling?" He fluttered his fingers in front of her face.

  She leapt away, giggling like a schoolgirl. That was her signal, the invitation he needed. He chased her around the yard like the nincompoop he was.

  She darted among the patio furniture, chair to table to chair. She was fast but he was faster. He caught her waist and tickled her underarms but good. She squealed, jumped and attacked him, tickling between his shoulder blades, the most vulnerable spot he had.

  He guffawed like a jackass. She jumped on his back. He caught her wrists and spun in a circle, making her laugh deep in her belly. He loved that sound.

  Her hair swung free, flying from the broken rubber band. Blinded by blonde, he took no chances and dropped to the grass on his knees, tackled by the tickling monster named Mariah.

  He soon gave up and she straddled him, triumphant. He adored her like this, wildly mussed and proudly female, lording over him. Talk about a turn-on. His cock was like an iron bar. She wiggled her bu
tt and sat on his hard-on. It hurt, hurt good. He'd take her right here if she let him, outside in front of God and country.

  He hooked her blouse at the hem, pulling it free from her waistband. Before she drew another breath, he'd unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans.

  She pinned his wrists on either side of his head and used her weight to keep him still, like that was possible. "Not so fast, cowboy."

  Her hair fell straight down, surrounded them like a curtain. It was long and tickled his ears. She rocked her hips and his breath caught in agony. Ecstasy, too.

  He relaxed his biceps, pretended he couldn't break her hold. She leaned in, brushed her breasts across his chest. She kissed him with plump lips, soft like their very first kiss but, this time, unhesitating.

  He copied her sweetness, gentle-like, exploring minutely. She mewled, kittenish, high at the back of her throat. His noises were low and growly. She released his wrists and groped behind her back, under her blouse, frantically trying to unhook her bra, but she was in too much of a hurry. Giving up, she ripped off her blouse, instead. Buttons flew.

  He rolled her then, flat on her back, and straddled her. He kept his weight on his knees to prevent crushing her. It was his turn to leash her wrists, one hand pinning them over her head. Her low-cut bra barely contained her heaving breasts. She panted, quick and shallow, the glitter of challenge in her eyes.

  He used his free hand to pleasure her, stroking from neck to navel. She bucked her body, writhing and wicked. He unleashed her hands but hovered over her, unbuttoned his jeans, freeing his cock.

  Underneath him, her panties were being discarded along with her jeans. She shoved them down, freeing one leg, kicking and shaking the bunched fabric off. In her frenzy, he unhooked her bra, tossing it aside, intent on thrusting his way inside her.

  He widened her thighs, holding them open, gauging her readiness. Her skin was velvet smooth, sunlit from above, centered by peeks of pink amid glinting gold hair. Restless, she twisted at the waist, made mute by her hurried need, seeking intimate contact.