by Maisey Yates
Something that wouldn’t take her too far from the safety of her bedroom.
She had a little bit of a complex. She could admit that.
But she’d lost her mother so early, and then her father. Cole, Cade, the ranch, they might drive her nuts but they were all she had. All she knew. Life felt horribly insecure outside of that. Terribly fragile.
Life was safe in games. When you had armor and you could collect health right from the ground. Along with an AK to take care of anyone or anything that might threaten you.
She skimmed the email and typed in a hasty reply, asking for more details on timeframe and payment then hit send.
“Is that thing welded to your hand?”
Cade walked over to her table and sat on the edge of it, his friend Amber in tow. Amber gave her an apologetic look. She would be annoyed with Cade silently, but Lark knew if push came to shove, Amber’s allegiance was with Lark’s obnoxious brother.
That was one relationship she had no desire to ever figure out.
“Nope, detachable,” she tossed the phone down into her purse. “Unlike your stupid face, which you’re sadly stuck with.”
“Very few people have a problem with my face.”
“Oh dear, the tone of this conversation is lowering already,” Amber said.
He turned to Amber. “Women really like my face.”
Amber’s forehead wrinkled, her brows drawing together. “Do they?”
“If not my face they like my . . .”
“No!” This came from both Amber and Lark in unison.
“My personality,” Cade said. “Sick people. You are sick people.”
“Yeah, we all believe that was going to be the next word out of your mouth, Cadence,” she said, using a name she’d assigned to Cade in childhood to piss him off.
Her brother hopped down from the edge of the table, wincing when his foot mad contact with the grass, freezing, a pained expression on his face as he waited for, what Lark assumed was, a wave of pain to pass through him.
“Hey,” she said. “I didn’t think your leg was bothering you as much now.”
“It’s not,” he said.
“Lies. Dirty lies. What’s up?”
Cade gave her a hard look. But she knew he’d tell her, because he knew she had no problem harassing him until he did. “Nothing,” he said, his tone hard. “It’s nothing new. Just the same shit. It’s like there’s this nice little highway of pain that goes from my knee up to my spine. Not any worse.”
Just not any better. Not really.
She hated that. Hated that Cade couldn’t ride anymore. Hated that he hurt all the time. That day had scared years off of her life. She’d been convinced, when they’d gotten the call about Cade’s fall, that he was going to die too.
That she was really destined to lose everyone she loved. All of her family. That she would be left alone.
She blinked and tried to pull her mind back into the present. Cade wasn’t dead. He might be surly, and he might have a limp, and he couldn’t compete in the circuit, but he wasn’t dead. She really appreciated that since, as much as he drove her crazy, she needed him.
“Well, glad it’s not any worse.”
“Me too.”
“So, want to get hammered?” she asked, not that she made a practice of getting hammered but it seemed like it might be a good idea.
“Hell yeah,” he said. “And Cole bought a lot of booze. His wedding gift to the newlyweds.”
Amber’s lips twitched. “You’re going to get hammered drinking champagne? Because Cole bought champagne. For the toast.”
“I have a talent where alcohol is concerned.”
“I know,” Amber said dryly. “I’ve held you hair, so to speak, while you puked off a hangover or ten.”
Lark made a face. “Sick. I’ve never had a hangover.”
Cade shrugged. “That’s because you live timid. I don’t.”
“And you’re all busted up to prove it,” she said, knowing Cade would rather joke about his condition than say anything weighty about it.
“But I’ve lived. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Indeed.”
“STFU, jackass,” Lark said.
He put his hand on her forehead. “You’re starting to speak lolcats, get off the computer once in a while.”
“You don’t even know what lolcats is.”
“Something to do with cats and cheeseburgers. Amber texts me crap like that all the time.”
“At least she tries to modernize you,” Lark said, shaking her head.
“How did this become a commentary on me? At least I come out into the light every day.”
“Look,” Lark said, holding her, admittedly, pale arm out in a shaft of sunlight, “I don’t even sparkle!”
“Suspicious. I’m suspicious. Seriously,” Cade said, “I worry about you, in your cave all the time. You’ve got to live life, Lark, or it’s going to pass you by.”
“Are you seriously giving me advice?” she asked. “Name one thing in your life that’s organized, or settled, or . . . aspirant.”
“Fun, Lark, I have fun. With real people. Outside. Look around you, it’s in hi-def.”
“You’re an idiot, and also, I have a life.”
“Virtually.”
And if that didn’t count as having a life she was screwed. She bit the inside of her cheek. “Annnnd?”
“And maybe you should get hungover, is all I’m saying.”
“But maybe have enough class not to go drinking all the champagne at a wedding to accomplish it,” Amber said, somewhat pointedly.
Yeah, if Lark did that here she really would look lovelorn and pathetic.
“Then I’ll hold off. Anyway, you don’t know everything about me, Cade.”
“Beg to differ.”
“You don’t.”
“If I checked your browser history I would.”
“Nuh-uh.” No one touched her computer but her, but even so, she didn’t leave certain things lying around on it. Secret shame was secret.
“Witty comeback,” he said. “Witty indeed. Why don’t you go talk to someone? Meet a guy.”
“Right. Meet a guy. Cole would be interrogating him before a full greeting exited my mouth.”
Cade shrugged. “You take the good with the bad.”
“You’re both mostly bad,” she said, not meaning it at all.
Amber rolled her eyes. “Have fun,” she said to Lark. “And catch up with us later maybe? You help me haul his drunken ass to his room.”
“I say we leave him on the lawn.”
“Fair enough,” Amber said, turning and following Cade down to the table laden with drinks.
Lark bent back down and took her phone from her bag, trying not to think too much about her brother and his comments. Look what ‘living’ had gotten him. And anyway, a hangover was hardly her definition of living.
She didn’t have to drink herself into a stupor to feel like she’d reached the heights.
She opened up her mail app, and saw another one from Longhorn HR. She opened up the message.
The money offer had double, the length of the contract was for six weeks, with the possibility of extension. And attached contract, to be returned as soon as possible.
She knew exactly what her answer was.
She fired off a quick reply and the promise to fax the signed contract over that night.
There. It wasn’t much. It was a local contract, and she would still be able to live at home while she fulfilled it. But it was something. A decision made on her own. A step toward meaningful independence.
She put her phone back in her bag and stood up, taking a deep breath. Then she headed over toward where the bride and groom were standing, by the cake.
She was going to offer her congratulations and sincerest well wishes. She wasn’t feeling quite so left behind any more.
Chapter Two
Quinn Parker was mean when he was pissed. Okay, he was mean most of the time, but especially when
he was pissed.
And he was currently pretty pissed.
“You don’t have anything?” Quinn asked Sam, his right hand man and basically the only person who could put up with his shit.
“Nothing concrete. It’s pretty tough to prove you didn’t do something, Quinn, barring a confession from someone else.”
“Beat a confession out of someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” Quinn rested his elbows on the granite countertop and stared across the bar at the empty living area. The cabin was almost completely done now. Though, cabin seemed like a misleading word for the place.
Five thousand square feet. Huge kitchen, a dining room big enough to seat twenty. A living room made for the same number. And a section of private living space for himself.
The rest of the grounds had a kitchen that stood alone, along with outdoor dining. Classrooms. And cabins that were much more like actual cabins. Small and rustic. Just right for boys who needed to get their heads on straight.
His new role as philanthropist didn’t sit too well with him. Especially because a few local news outlets were wanting to do a piece on the ranch, and that was the last thing Quinn wanted.
Because if they started looking at his present, they’d look into his past too. And that was a minefield. It would start with his family background, onto his arrest record, straight down to being barred from the Rodeo Association.
No way in hell was issuing an invitation for someone to open that Pandora’s box.
But he could just keep hanging up on reporters. The important thing was the ranch. And messing with Cade Mitchell’s head.
“I was thinking Cade was the guy we might nail, in truth.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I don’t know. You think he’s as injured as he said he was?”
“He got trampled pretty good. I saw the video.”
“Yeah, he got the hell beat out of him, that’s for sure.”
It had been an ugly sight. Quinn had been there, watching from the gates, when Cade had taken a fall on his horse, who had been spooked beyond reason, stomping and bucking. And unfortunately, Cade had been trapped beneath the animal at the time.
It was the worst injury he’d seen in his years on the circuit. It had left everyone there with a sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs.
But Quinn’s had stayed. Because when the spike was found beneath the horse’s saddle, and when inquiries were made, Cade pointed his finger at Quinn.
True, he’d never like the bastard. Cade was the golden boy on the circuit. Mr. Good Time. Every buckle bunny was on him after events, every sponsor was after him for an endorsement. And all that was fine, because Quinn attracted his own women. The All-American good time boy was nice for some. But some women liked dark and dangerous, and he wasn’t above catering to that. And as for endorsements, he frankly had a fortune on his hands now that his father was dead.
The man commonly billed as his father, anyway. Though, Quinn, and everyone else in his family knew differently. Whether they’d ever speak it out loud or not.
He didn’t need any of what Cade Mitchell had, not matter what anyone thought. And while he’d never been a particularly nice son of a bitch even he had his limits. If Cade had taken a swing at him in a bar fight, Quinn would have knocked teeth out of his head and made that million dollar face a lot less valuable.
Even he had enough . . . pride? Conscience? Something. He wouldn’t just ambush a man, especially when the move would injure an animal like this one had. The horse was fine, but it had been reacting to pure, biting pain.
Quinn might not like Cade, but he had no beef with the horse he was riding.
Bottom line, Quinn was a bastard. Cade knew it, the Rodeo Association knew it. Hell, the man commonly called his father knew it too, though he meant bastard in the more traditional sense of the word. Everyone else just thought he was a prick. But not matter how big of a prick he was, he wouldn’t do what he’d been accused of.
And the accusation had damn well ruined his life. Taken his credibility, taken the only thing he’d ever cared about.
Barred from competition. For life.
Damn it to hell, he had to fix that. He had to prove it wasn’t his fault. All of his appeals so far had been denied. Apparently, he needed evidence. He closed his eyes and felt a cold sweat on his back, the memory of his last hearing playing through his mind, more terrifying than the times he’d stood trial in court as a teenager.
I need evidence? Show me your evidence.
This ain’t a court a law, Mr. Parker. We don’t need evidence. All these men here, bein’ of sound mind, have come to a unanimous decision based on the testimony of Mr. Cade Mitchell.
He opened his eyes again and looked around at the cabin. Things were definitely starting to come together. A whole lot of things.
“I’m going to have a little job for you coming up, Sam,” he said.
“Oh really?” The other man straightened and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“You and Jill, actually.”
Sam’s expression tightened. “All right.”
“I’m going to send you on all-expenses paid vacation to Elk Haven Stables.”
“That’s the Mitchell ranch, yeah?”
“Yessir. If Cade Mitchell has exaggerated his injuries in any way, it will be pretty clear pretty quick. If I show my face over there, he won’t drop his guard.”
“I thought you wanted him to know you were here.”
“I do. And he will. But he doesn’t need to know you work for me. And on his ranch he’s bound to be relaxed. Just for the first week, at least, I want you and Jill there pretending you’re on an anniversary trip.”
“Won’t we need a reservation.”
“You have one. Mark called it in.”
“He’s a helpful son bitch, ain’t he?”
Sam was obviously irritated with the directive, but Quinn couldn’t figure out why. A little all expenses paid along time with his wife should make Sam happy. Although,Quinn couldn’t see the appeal, personally, since he had no intention of ever having a wife. Though, Jill was a nice enough woman. Not his biggest fan, but he did monopolize a lot of her husband’s time, and even more of it since Sam had been in Silver Creek helping him get things together.
“Yes, he is. He’s also arranged a contract for me that will prove very useful indeed.”
“Aw, shit man, what did you do?” The lines on Sam’s face looked more drawn.
“You say that like you think I did something bad, buddy, I think I’m offended.”
“Did you?”
“Depends on your perspective.”
Sam shook his head and pulled his cellphone out of the front pocket of his shirt. “I’ll have to call Jill and see if she’s up for this. Otherwise it’ll be me staying in that cabin, by myself, looking like a nut job.”
“Mark might be willing to come down and stay with you.”
Sam flipped him off on his way out of the room, grumbling as he dialed his wife.
Quinn braced himself on the counter, palms flat on the granite surface. Yeah, he was pretty sure Sam would think what he’d done was a very bad thing.
Cade would think so too.
And that made Quinn feel nothing but good. Because Lark Mitchell had signed a contract to come and work for him for the next six weeks.
It was a good thing to keep your enemies close. But it was better to keep their little sisters closer.
Because there was nothing on God’s green earth that would piss Cade off more than having Lark in close proximity to Quinn. Like sending your lamb to bunk with a wolf.
Quinn smiled and pushed off from the counter. Oh yeah, if Cade Mitchell had secrets, Quinn would find them. If Cade had a weakness, Quinn would damn well exploit it.
Quinn Parker was mean when he was pissed. And Cade had sure as hell pissed him off.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe huge thanks, as always, to my wonderf
ul agent Helen Breitwieser. To my editor Katherine Pelz for her insight and enthusiasm. My critique partner and soother of my neuroses Jackie Ashenden. The makers of Lucky Charms for providing me with the sugar rush I so desperately need. And huge thanks to Lisa Hendrix & katz who pushed me to write these books in the first place.
Maisey Yates is a USA Today bestselling author who divides her time between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light, sexy contemporary romances set practically in her backyard. She lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon.
