by Jill Shalvis
She shivered at the edgy, underlying danger in his voice. “I’ll find out.”
“Maybe you’re forgetting whose place this is.”
“Trust me, I have never forgotten whose place this is.” She shrugged her shirt back on, buttoned it. Then moved to her front door and opened it, hinting for him to leave.
“Callie—”
“I’ll meet you at the big house.”
He came close, put a hand over hers on the handle. “You’re ready to get rid of me. I get that. We rub each other the wrong way. I get that, too. Just…don’t go to sleep, okay?”
“Of course not.” She straightened her spine. “I know what time it is, and what has to be done—”
“I don’t mean—Jesus, you’re hard-headed. I meant because of your head. I don’t think you have a concussion, but sleeping isn’t a good idea.”
“Oh. Right. Jake—”
But he was already walking away.
She stripped in private this time, showered gingerly, and dressed carefully, already feeling as if she’d been hit by a Mack truck. She couldn’t find any aspirin, so she went to Marge and Lou’s cabin.
Marge had two boys, both grown and on the rodeo circuit, but she’d always pined for girls, and loved to mother Callie. She was of average height and build, her long brown hair streaked with gray always in a ponytail. She wore jeans and T-shirts that hid the fact she was built enough to lift a calf and budge the most stubborn of horses. When she heard what had happened, she smothered Callie in affection, clucking worriedly as she doled out aspirin. By the time Callie escaped the older woman’s clutches, another half hour had gone by. She had until noon before their guests arrived, but mornings on a ranch were never idle, not even a dude ranch.
And she still had to figure out what the hell had happened to Sierra last night. She checked on the horse, and found Eddie with her. The twenty-five-year-old led all their hiking and camping expeditions, and assisted with the animals when needed. He had the build of someone who’d spent his entire life working hard outside, and the good fortune to be as pretty as a cover model, which only added to his playful, charismatic persona. Hands down, he received the most fan mail from their guests. It amused the rest of them, who teased him mercilessly about it, not that he cared. He liked his reputation, and in fact, spent a lot of money to keep it. Fancy truck, fancy horse and gear, expensive exotic dates with a variety of women…
The laid-back guy rarely got too riled over anything, but he whirled on her now, eyes flashing with a fury she’d never seen from him. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to Sierra’s bloody flanks. “Jake said someone did this on purpose.”
“Looks that way.” She entered Sierra’s stall and, ignoring her aching ribs, hugged the horse tight. Sierra set her big head on Callie’s shoulder and huffed a soft, welcoming breath in her ear. Her throat closed as she held on.
“No one here is that stupid or cruel,” Eddie said. “No one.”
“I don’t want to think so, either.”
Eddie ran an aggravated hand through his hair, then touched her arm. “Jake also said you got knocked around some. You okay?”
Reluctantly, she pulled away from Sierra. Her head throbbed. “Nothing a good soak in the hot tub won’t fix.” She kissed the horse’s forehead, then left her to Eddie’s care. She made her way to the big house and let herself in the front door. Normally the first thing she did was make a huge pot of coffee. The scent would draw in her crew one by one as they went about their own chores. Several times over the past week since Kathy had left, she’d even attempted breakfast. Everyone ate, but they finally begged her to stick with coffee. She’d happily complied.
But today as she walked down the wide hallway toward the kitchen, the scent of coffee already filled the air. Coffee and something…cinnamony. Mouth watering, she pushed open the double swinging doors.
Amy stood in front of the stove stirring something, but when the double doors swung shut behind Callie, clanking together, the young woman jumped as if she’d been shot.
Callie’s easy smile faded. Had that been guilt flashing across Amy’s face? She moved closer. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Amy mumbled, turning back to the stove.
“You okay?”
“Sure.” Barely eighteen, Amy had shown up on the ranch in much the same way Callie herself had.
Poor and homeless.
And, Callie guessed, apparently afraid of her own shadow. Callie looked at the petite, dark-headed, skinny girl with the most wounded eyes she’d ever seen and tried to picture her as someone who could hurt a horse. She couldn’t. “Something smells heavenly.”
“Yeah. Cinnamon rolls.” Amy wiped her hands on a towel she had slung over her shoulder. Her jeans were threadbare and had holes in the knees that had nothing to do with being fashionable. She wore a T-shirt that invited the general public to GO TO HELL.
Callie looked at it and grimaced. They hadn’t discussed suitable attire for the ranch when they had guests; she hadn’t thought to. “How long have you been up?”
“A while.”
“Have you been in the barn?”
“What?” Amy looked at her in surprise. “No, why?”
“Someone went in there late last night, or early this morning, and put on Sierra’s saddle.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but it really spooked her. She rubbed her sides raw—”
The oven buzzer went off. Amy pulled out a large glass dish, her face red from the heat, her thin arms bulging with surprising strength as she lifted the dish. Blowing a loose strand of dark hair out of her face, she set the dish on the stove top and stared at it as if looking for flaws. “It’s an egg and sausage and potato casserole, but we didn’t have potatoes, all we had was frozen Tater Tots…”
The scent alone drew Callie close. “I love Tater Tots. Listen, about Sierra. I’ve got to figure out what happened—”
“I never went in there, I swear.”
Callie looked into Amy’s uneasy face, and managed a reassuring smile. “Okay.”
“I was in here until late last night, getting used to where you keep everything, and making lists and stuff, and then I went straight to my cabin. Is Sierra going to be okay?”
“Yes.”
Nodding, Amy took out a serving spoon, set it in the casserole. In spite of herself and her aches and bruises, Callie’s stomach leapt with anticipation. She’d tested Amy’s cooking abilities the other day when she’d first hired her and had been excited at the stew she’d whipped up on the spot with what they’d had in the pantry. “You know you didn’t have to cook until tonight.”
“I know.” Amy bit her lower lip. “But I noticed yesterday everyone just grabbed junk for breakfast, and I thought you guys might want something better—”
The kitchen doors opened. “God-almighty,” Tucker exclaimed. “I’ve died and gone to a ranch where someone knows how to cook.” He followed his wriggling nose to the steaming casserole dish. “Man, that’s going to make up for a really bad morning.”
Amy, who barely came up to his shoulder, started to back away but he snagged her wrist in his hand.
That was all he did before Amy grabbed his arm with her free hand, whipped around, and with a grunt, tossed him right over her shoulder.
Callie gasped.
Tucker landed with an oomph on his back on the kitchen floor, blinking somewhat confusedly up at the ceiling.
“Ohmigod,” Amy said, and clasped her hands over her mouth.
Callie leaned over Tucker lying there, all gawky and long-limbed, and offered him a hand. “I think it’s safe to say, hands off the cook at all times.”
“Yeah.” Tucker carefully got to his feet, then glanced over at Amy, who’d backed herself against the oven, hands still over her mouth. Above her hands, her eyes were wide as saucers. She looked sick.
Any flash of amusement fled Callie’s chest. When she glanced over at Tucker, she could tell he felt the same.
&n
bsp; “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I smelled the food and lost my head. I was just going to say that you’re my new best friend.”
“You grabbed me.” The words were muffled behind Amy’s fingers.
“Yeah. I was going to hug and kiss you, actually. Good food does that to me.” He tried a grin that tugged at Callie’s heart because she realized she didn’t see him smile all that often.
Amy nodded, looking like she wished a hole would swallow her up. “I’m sorry.”
“We can put a bell around his neck,” Callie offered, trying to lighten the tension for Amy’s sake. She hated the pink glow of humiliation on the girl’s cheeks. “I’ve been tempted before now to do so, believe me.”
“A bell would be good.” Amy turned her back and studied the casserole dish steaming right in front of her. “Did I hurt you, Tucker?”
He rubbed his jaw and eyed the petite Amy. Clearly he couldn’t figure out how to proceed. If he said she hadn’t hurt him, she might doubt herself next time when it came to self-defense. But if he admitted to being hurt, that would stab at his stupid male pride, and maybe make Amy feel even worse.
Plus, the “sorry” had been uttered through Amy’s teeth, and sounded so insincere it might have been funny, if anything about this had been funny.
“Don’t worry, Amy.” Callie looked at Tucker. “I don’t think you could hurt this lug.” To show it, she knocked her knuckles against his head. “See? Hard as a brick.”
“Which I heard yours is as well.” Tucker muttered at her beneath his breath.
Amy’s shoulders remained rigid.
“I’m sure if you feed him quick,” Callie said. “He’ll forget all about it.”
Tucker nodded. “The key is the quick part.”
Amy let out a sound that so perfectly conveyed her disgust with the entire male race, Callie laughed.
Happy just to get fed, Tucker reached for a plate and a fork, which he handed over to Callie. Then he grabbed a platter for himself, blinking innocently when Amy finally turned to him with a spatula. She gave his huge makeshift plate the once over.
He smiled hopefully.
Without a word she gave him a heaping serving.
“Thanks.” But he waited until she looked up into his face to move aside. “Thanks,” he said again softly, smiling.
Amy didn’t smile back.
Apparently undisturbed, Tucker waited for Callie to get a plateful, then gestured her outside. “I need to talk to you.” He held open the back door for her.
“Jake told you what happened,” she said when they sat on the small porch step.
“Yeah. You okay?”
Sure, if she discounted a mother of a headache. “Better than poor Sierra. Who did it, Tucker? Who would have done such a thing?”
“I haven’t a clue, but it wasn’t that girl in there. No way.” Tucker shoveled in food at an alarming rate. “It could have just been a stupid mistake.”
“Yeah,” she said, unconvinced.
“We’ve got two others things as well.”
“Good or bad?”
He chewed and considered. “Bad and badder.”
“Terrific. Let’s hear it then.”
“The easier one first. We’re short-handed today.” This was said around a huge mouthful. When he swallowed, he stopped talking to moan in pleasure. “Oh my God, this is better than sex.”
Callie lifted a brow, refraining from pointing out that he was barely twenty, how much could he really know about sex? But though she felt ages older than he at times, truth was, he probably knew more than her about the matter. “Short-handed?”
“Stone’s hungover.”
That Stone’d had too much to drink the night before was nothing new. He was Eddie’s younger brother and hadn’t outgrown his party years yet. But it had never affected his work before. The unsettled feeling in the pit of her belly grew. “How is that an easy problem?”
“Trust me, compared to the other thing, it is.”
“Oh, God, Tucker, what else? You and Jake had problems last night?”
“This has nothing to do with him. Who can we call to fill in for Stone, someone who can help us handle a big group? I asked Lou, but he’s got something he has to do in town.”
“How about Michael? I can see if he wants to play hooky from work today. Remember how much he loved filling in for us when we needed another guide a couple months back?”
“He told me last night he had a busy day.”
“He partied with you and the guys?”
“Not as hard, but yeah. Waxed poetic all over you, too.”
“Tucker, we’re just friends.”
“You’re just friends.”
Callie sighed. She loved Michael like a brother. He was always there for her, they had fun together, and actually, he’d introduced her to her ex-husband—a fact she didn’t hold against him.
Michael was her sounding board, her rock, and if a small part of her suspected he felt more for her than mere friendship, she didn’t have to face it as he’d never mentioned it, especially not after what had happened between her and Matt. “How about Jake? He can help.”
Tucker snickered. “Yeah, right.”
“Tucker…you’ve never said, and you don’t have to, but—”
“But what’s the bad blood between Jake and me?” Tucker stared morosely out at the yard. The chuck wagon they sometimes used on camping expeditions lay near a tree. There were a series of benches lining their vegetable garden, which had begin to thrive with the early spring. “It’s all too old to even give it the time of day,” he finally said.
“So you can work with him, if it comes to that?”
“Hell, I’m living with him, aren’t I?”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Not as sorry as I am, believe me. But as for the work…He won’t want to. It’s not his thing. He says he hates camping, hates the desert. Needless to say he hates it here.”
“Then why is he here?”
“Why don’t you ask him directly?” Jake asked from behind them. “And how do you know what my thing is? Neither of you have bothered to ask me.”
With her fork halfway to her mouth, Callie glanced at Tucker, who’d also stopped eating.
Jake let out an annoyed sound as he moved between them down the steps. “Christ, there’s some serious chips on some serious shoulders around here. How’s the head and ribs?” he asked Callie.
This wasn’t a polite question, it was a demand, by the man who’d seen her in her bra only an hour before. She reminded herself he’d seen her in far less. “They’re fine.”
“You find out what brainless idiot was messing around in the barn?”
“No.”
“Me either.” He still looked so serious, and somehow more intense than she’d ever seen before. Also the firefighter side of him, she guessed. In any case, it was startlingly, unexpectedly attractive, and she swallowed her last bite of breakfast with extreme difficulty. Then smiled weakly. “How about you? How’s your shoulder?”
“Fine.”
“Yes, but…” She trailed off at the closed look on his face. Men and their stupid pride. She supposed she was one to talk, when she herself had more than was good for her. “You’re not fully healed. I figured if the injury took you out of firefighting, it would take you out of ranching, too.”
He rolled his neck, then stretched his shoulders. And winced, gingerly putting his left hand to his right shoulder. “It might.”
Tucker let out an obnoxiously loud sigh, as if he didn’t believe Jake could really be hurting.
Jake glanced at him. “What’s your problem?”
“How do you know I have one?”
“Maybe because it sounds like your head gets a flat every time I so much as look at you.”
Callie had no siblings, though she’d always dreamed of a big, older brother to beat the crap out of anyone who bugged her. But in her dreams, she and this fantasy brother always got along, no bickering.
“What is it?” Jake pressed Tucker. “What’s eating at you?”
Tucker stood up. “I already told Callie. There aren’t enough hours in the day to discuss it.” He stacked his plate on top of Callie’s empty one, then brushed past Jake.
“Hey, wait,” Callie called. “What’s problem number two? The bad one?”
Already ten feet away, Tucker swore, then turned back. “Unless you moved them, someone’s stolen all of the serum we were going to use tomorrow to inoculate the herd.”
“What?” Callie set the plates down beside her and stood up, managing not to grimace at the ache in her ribs. “They’re not in the barn refrigerator?”
“Nope.”
“But they can’t just have vanished…” Her words trailed off at Tucker’s grim nod.
“Maybe it was the same person who messed with Sierra,” Jake said, frowning. “Has anything like this happened before?”
“No,” Callie said. “Never.” They’d need to call the police and make a report. Damn it. “Bring Stone some coffee and tell him to suck it up. I don’t care how hung over he is, we’re going to need him.”
“Yeah.” Tucker stalked off.
Callie started to calculate how many hundreds of dollars they could be out if Tucker was right and the serum was gone, when Jake stirred, reminding her she wasn’t alone.
“You should cancel the incoming guests,” he said.
“No. They’re paying big bucks.”
“You’re not ready for guests, not with this shit going on.”
“We’re ready.”
“Look, if a bunch of businessmen want to play at being cowboy bad enough to come all the way out here to Nowhere, USA, then they’ll be willing to wait a week. We can use the time to start fixing stuff up. Cheap stuff though.” He scratched his jaw. “Really cheap. Like painting. The barns look like crap.”
“We’re booked next week, too.”
“So they’ll wait—”
“No, they won’t, Jake. If you want to make money—”
“You know I do.”
“Then the show goes on. This is our job, our life, and it means everything. Everything,” she said, knowing she was standing on her own personal soapbox, but the emotions of the day were showing and she couldn’t help it. “I don’t know if you can understand that, but—”
