Beyond Control

by Kat Martin

  And from the look on his face, he was clearly hoping she would fail. Hell, maybe she would.

  She managed a fake smile. “Okay, it’s a deal.” She stuck out her hand to seal the bargain, for a moment didn’t think he was going to shake. Then he sighed and took hold of her hand, not too hard, just firm enough to let her know he was in charge.

  “You start tomorrow morning. Six A.M. sharp. There’s enough food in the trailer to last a few days. I’ll bring you a quart of milk. After that, board’s on you. If you’re still here, you’ll need to make a trip into town for groceries.”

  Relief filtered through her, so strong it made her head swim. She had a place to stay where no one would look for her. She had a job, which meant food and money for necessities. If he kept her on, she’d find a sitter to watch Ivy. She’d have time to figure things out, make a new plan.

  She took a step back, set an arm around her little girl’s shoulders, and drew her forward. “This is my daughter, Ivy. Ivy, this is Mr. Cain.”

  “Hello, Ivy,” he said. He had an unusual voice, deep and resonant, but at the same time soft and oddly compelling.

  Ivy shrank back.

  “Say hello, honey,” Tory said.

  “I don’t want to stay. I want to go.” Clinging to Tory’s waist, she burrowed into her.

  “She’s shy,” Tory said.

  “The trailer’s unlocked,” Cain said. “It’s clean and ready to go.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned and started striding back to the barn. She probably should have been at least a little afraid of him. Oddly, she wasn’t.

  Then again, she hadn’t been afraid of Damon, either.

  * * *

  At six A.M. the next morning, Josh checked his watch. Time to go to work and no sign of the woman.

  Hell, he was an idiot. Now he had a woman and her kid living in his trailer. No way could he expect her to do a man’s work. She could stay a couple of days; then she had to go.

  He just hoped to hell she kept her word and left without giving him any more trouble.

  Carrying his empty plate of bacon and overcooked eggs to the sink, he turned on the water and rinsed off the plate and his utensils as heavy footfalls sounded on the porch.

  Not the woman, the wranglers who’d just started working for him. Noah Beal and Cole Wyman were former marines, disabled vets whose abilities were often underestimated, guys who needed the work and took pride in doing a good job. Josh felt lucky to have them.

  He grabbed his battered straw hat, opened the front door, and stepped out on the porch. “Morning. You guys want a cup of coffee before you head out?”

  “I’m good,” Cole said.

  “Me, too,” said Noah.

  Both men were in their late twenties, two or three years younger than Josh’s thirty-one. Cole, who had lost both legs just below the knee to an IED, had dark blond hair and a face women loved. He wore metal lower limb prostheses, and he could do damn near anything any other man could do.

  Noah had brown hair and more rugged features. He’d lost an arm in Kabul, but it didn’t slow him down. Determined to live their lives to the fullest, both men managed to get in a workout at the gym most days and had the hard bodies to prove it.

  Noah was married to a smart and pretty young woman who suited him perfectly. Cole, whose girl had broken up with him when she discovered he had lost his legs, was resentful and unsure of himself when it came to women, still finding his way with the opposite sex.

  They all headed off to the vehicle shed where he kept a pair of four-wheel ATVs, a UTV side-by-side, and his white Ford F-150.

  “How much longer till you finish the east pasture, you think?” he asked.

  “We’ve got at least four more days,” Cole said.

  “You’re actually ahead of schedule,” Josh told them. “When you’re finished, you can start on the pasture to the north. Whole ranch needs new fencing. Ought to keep you busy for a while.”

  The men climbed onto the ATVs, one of which towed a trailer loaded with fencing materials, and they took off down the two-track lane into the fields.

  Josh glanced around. Still no sign of the woman. He’d thought she would at least show up on time the first day. But then he’d never been a good judge of women.

  Heading into the barn, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye as he stepped into the shadowy interior. The smell of hay and horses drifted on the slight morning breeze, and dust motes hung in the air.

  He strode forward, heard the scrape of a shovel against hard-packed earth, paused in front of one of the empty stalls, stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his new hire shoveling horse manure into a wheelbarrow.

  He blinked, felt like rubbing his eyes to make sure he was really seeing what he was seeing. She was a pretty little thing—he’d noticed that yesterday. About five-four, small-boned but curvy, probably in her late twenties. She hadn’t heard him approach, which gave him a moment to watch her.

  As she bent over to shovel another load, formfitting stretch jeans with jewels on the pockets outlined a fine little ass he did his best to ignore. When she straightened, her T-shirt stretched over a pair of full breasts that sent a slice of heat straight into his groin. She must have heard his softly muttered curse because she stopped working and turned.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly. “I thought I’d get an early start. I hope I’m doing it right. I figured any way that worked was probably okay.”

  He hooked a thumb in the pocket of his jeans. “Shoveling is shoveling. Looks like you’re doing just fine.”

  She had big green eyes in a heart-shaped face, freckles across the bridge of a small, very nice nose. Shiny copper curls fell softly around her face almost to her shoulders. He felt an unwelcome urge to run his fingers through them, see if they were as silky as they looked.

  “Where’s your daughter?” he asked.

  “She’s coloring in the yard. I just have to walk to the barn door to see her.”

  He hadn’t thought to look. Was it okay to leave a kid outside all day? Hell, he had no idea. He’d pretty much raised himself, so he figured she’d probably be fine as long as the weather was good. And he’d keep an eye on her himself. It was only three days.

  “When you finish, come find me. I’ll give you something else to do.”

  Since he didn’t want her there and wasn’t thrilled that she was actually doing the work, he put her out of his mind as best he could. That he found her attractive only made him more certain she should leave.

  An hour later, he was working a little bay filly on a lunge line in the training ring when he saw her walking toward him, a smile on her face. He didn’t like the little kick he felt, not one bit.

  “I’m done with the stalls,” she said. “I dumped the wheelbarrow into the pile out in back. I hope that was okay.” She wiped her hands on the front of her stretch jeans, not exactly work clothes, but she was obviously new to this. Most likely she couldn’t afford to buy the kind of clothes that would be more appropriate.

  If she kept working, at least she’d collect some pay before she left.

  “Follow me.” He led her back into the barn, over to the tack room. Half a dozen saddles sat on sawhorses and twice that many bridles hung on the walls.

  “There’s a stack of rags next to the door, saddle soap and brushes in the cupboard, whatever else you need. None of this stuff’s been cleaned since I bought the ranch, probably not for years.”

  “When did you buy it?”

  “End of February.”

  She walked over and opened the cupboard. He wished he hadn’t noticed the blisters on her hands. Dammit, he’d known she wasn’t cut out for hard labor the minute he’d laid eyes on her. The woman had City Girl stamped all over her.

  Still, a deal was a deal. She could stay there three days.

  He wondered what her story was. Clearly, she’d run into trouble. He hoped that trouble didn’t follow her here. He’d had enough of it already.

>   “Is it okay if I take this stuff outside where I can see Ivy?”

  “Fine with me. Let me know when you’re done.” He left her there and went back to the two-year-old filly he was training. He’d get a good price for the horse when he was finished, a good price for all of them with any luck.

  He thought of Satan. The horse had been on the ranch when he’d bought the place. He was a gorgeous animal, pure black with a white star on his forehead, a sixteen-hand papered quarter horse with great confirmation. He’d be the perfect stud for the broodmares he’d bought.

  Too bad the stallion was as wild as a peach orchard boar, completely unmanageable and more than a little dangerous. He’d give it a little more time, but if Satan didn’t start making some progress soon, he would have to put the animal down.

  No way could he sell him. Sooner or later a horse that crazy wound up badly hurting or killing someone.

  He wondered what had turned the stallion into such a demon, or if the animal had been born that way. Whatever the case, he didn’t have time to worry about it now. Josh untied the rope, tugged the filly into the middle of the arena, and went back to work.

  Chapter Four

  Tory had never been more exhausted in her life. As she stood at the kitchen sink, every bone in her body ached. She had blisters on her hands, and the back of her neck was sunburned from raking up straw outside the barn.

  Tomorrow she’d wear a hat and sunscreen, and the gloves Josh had loaned her. In what she called her past life in Phoenix, her job as an advertising executive had put her in charge of a whole team of marketers, men and women who came up with commercials, jingles, and slogans that could make or break a company.

  She’d been a dedicated career woman who had worked long hours, had jogged and done yoga to stay in shape, or exercised at the gym. She’d worked hard, but it was nothing like the backbreaking labor she had done today.

  The last job Josh had given her had been a little easier—putting the tool shed into some kind of order. He’d let Ivy sit by the door while she worked. Since she was detail-oriented by nature, organizing people and projects was one of the things she did best. She thought he’d been pleased with the job she had done.

  And her hands hadn’t suffered any more damage.

  An image of her new employer popped into her head. He’d looked good the first time she had seen him, with his amazing body, dark blue eyes, and square-jawed, handsome face. Slap a worn-out cowboy hat on his head to go with those snug jeans and big boots, and he could stop hearts in half the women in Texas.

  Fortunately for both of them, he didn’t seem attracted to her. This was good, she told herself. The last thing she needed was another man. Any man, and especially not one who would draw every feminine eye within fifty miles.

  Something tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. Tory looked down to see Ivy staring up at her. “When are we eating, Mama?”

  Inwardly she groaned. The thought of standing on her feet another hour while she fixed supper was enough to make her weep. “I have to look in the pantry, sweetie, see what I can find.” And pray there was actually something she could make edible. This morning, she had made do with cereal, then fixed sandwiches for lunch from a can of Spam she had found.

  She trudged across a kitchen painted butter yellow with walnut cabinets and Formica countertops. Like the rest of the trailer, it was neat and clean, a simply furnished two-bedroom, two-bath unit. A brown plush sofa sat in front of an older TV against the wall in the living room, and there was a queen-size bed in the master bedroom covered with a handmade blue-and-peach-colored quilt.

  She winced as she opened the door to the pantry, breaking one of the blisters on her hands. She had Band-Aids in the medicine kit she carried with her. She just needed the energy to get them.

  She glanced into the pantry. A big can of Hormel chili sat beside ajar of Newman’s Own spaghetti sauce and a couple of packages of pasta. Assorted canned vegetables and fruits, and the box of Honey Nut Cheerios she had discovered that morning rounded out the inventory.

  Josh had been right. There was enough in the house to last at least three days.

  Ivy walked up beside her. “SpaghettiOs!” Spotting one of her favorite meals, she grabbed the can off the shelf and started jumping up and down. “I want SpaghettiOs!”

  There is a God, Tory thought as she stretched her back and tried to work a kink out of her neck, and He had her sincere thanks. Along with the can of biscuits she had seen in the fridge, supper was a done deal.

  She wondered why the food was still in the trailer, had a hunch Josh had lived there until recently. Some of his shirts still hung in the back bedroom closet. She could tell from the outside that he’d done extensive work on the barn. The house looked like something built in the forties, so it had probably needed plenty of work, as well.

  She figured he was moving his things into the main house a little at a time. She’d be happy to help him if he’d just let her stay.

  She turned on the oven and opened the can of biscuits while Ivy set the table. A knock at the door had her head coming up. A little shiver of apprehension chased down her spine.

  Surely Damon couldn’t have found her again. Perspiration dampened the palms of her sore hands. She carefully wiped them on the front of her jeans.

  “Stay here.”

  Making her way to the door, she checked the peephole, then breathed a sigh of relief to see Josh standing on the porch. An instant later, her relief disappeared. What was he doing there? What did he want? She thought of the fat little bald owner of City Cleaners in Albuquerque who had expected fringe benefits, and prayed Joshua Cain didn’t expect more from her than the grueling hours she had already put in today.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door. “Hi. Did you . . . umm . . . need something?”

  He must have read the worry in her face for he took a step back, giving her plenty of room. “I don’t need anything, but I thought you might.” He held up a jar with something thick, dark, and gooey inside. “For your blisters. My mother used to make it for me. I did ranch work in the summers when I was a kid.”

  The feeling of relief returned. Tory took the jar from his big, calloused hand. “Thank you.”

  “I should have brought some Band-Aids. I wasn’t thinking. If you need some—”

  “I have some. Thank you.” She wondered if she should ask him to come inside, but she didn’t really know him, and when she looked up, he had already taken a few more steps back from the door.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She nodded. “Good night.”

  She tried not to watch him walk away, but with that tight behind, a clean white T-shirt stretched over the muscles in his back and biceps, she couldn’t resist. Thank God Damon hadn’t completely destroyed her feminine instincts.

  “I don’t like that man, Mama. He looks mean.”

  Ivy’s words snapped Tory back to sanity. Closing the door, she walked over to her daughter. “He’s my boss, sweetheart. He was just being nice.” She held up the jar of salve. “His mother used to make this for his blisters. Wasn’t it nice of him to bring it over?”

  Ivy ignored her. “I’m hungry. When are we having our SpaghettiOs?”

  “I’m going to fix them right now.”

  Supper didn’t take long and she had Ivy in bed soon after they had finished their meager meal. Tory took a couple of Advil, curled up on the sofa, opened a book, and read for a while. But it didn’t take long before fatigue settled in and her eyelids began to droop.

  Closing the book, she headed for bed, grateful to be sleeping on a mattress instead of the seat of the car.

  * * *

  Morning came way too early. Rolling out of bed with a groan, Tory showered and dressed, then got Ivy up and ready for the day. She was determined to keep this job. Iron Springs, the nearest town, wasn’t a place Damon would ever look for her.

  She wondered what had happened to him after she’d left him tied up that night. He’d always be
en resourceful. She was sure he’d found some way to escape before too long.

  She had driven for hours that night, finally pulling into a cheap motel. After that, they had moved from one town to another, always searching for someplace safe, never satisfied they had found it.

  Now she was back in Texas, figuring Damon wouldn’t think she’d return to a place he had found her before, and this time she was way off the grid. She paid everything with cash, not credit cards. The cell phones she used were disposable. The only person she ever called was her best friend, Lisa Shane, whom she phoned about once a week.

  At first she had missed the techno world of texting, email, Facebook, and Twitter, but little by little, she had accepted the loss as a necessity. Going one step further, when she finished talking to Lisa, she tossed the cheap plastic phone so even if Damon somehow got hold of Lisa’s cell, he wouldn’t be able to find her.

  It was costly, but Lisa was her last connection to the life she had left behind. They were best friends and Tory was desperately in need of a friend. Her greatest hope was that sooner or later Damon would get tired of looking for her. He’d give up and go back to his life in Phoenix. Sooner or later she and Ivy would be safe.

  Which reminded her how much she needed to keep this job.

  The morning was still early, but she needed to get going. She glanced up at a knock on the door. Tory walked over and looked through the peephole, saw Josh on the porch. She pulled open the door.

  “You got a minute?” he asked.

  She glanced over to where Ivy sat at the kitchen table. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” Walking out on the porch, she closed the door. “What is it?”

  “I have a neighbor friend, an older lady named Clara Thompson. She loves kids. I was thinking maybe she could stay with Ivy while you were working . . . you know, just for the next couple of days.”

  “I don’t know her. I can’t leave Ivy with someone I don’t know.”

  “I figured you’d say that.” He stepped back. “Mrs. T., come say hello to Tory.”