by Jill Shalvis
Tucker nearly choked on his soda.
“Does that bother you? Or make you jealous?”
“Not jealous…” He studied Amy in the moonlight, looking so pretty she took his breath. “Maybe a little envious.”
She snorted. “Please. You could be getting laid tonight if you wanted.”
Carefully he set down his soda. “Really?”
“There were at least three girls in the bar the other night who’d have jumped you in a heartbeat.”
“But I didn’t want any of them.”
“Why not?”
Because I want you. “Don’t you ever feel envious, Amy?”
“Hell, no.” She shuddered, and wrapped her arms around her bent-up legs, hunching over herself.
His smile faded. Earlier suspicions about her past took root deep in his belly, and he took her drink from her hands and set it down, keeping her fingers in his, even when she tried to tug free.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Not all men are assholes.” He stroked his thumb lightly over her knuckles. “I’m not.”
Her eyes were shiny, reflecting the starlight and none of her thoughts.
“Are you ever going to talk to me, Amy?”
“I talk to you.”
“About you. About your past.”
“I’ve told you some.”
“Tell me more.”
She stared down at their joined hands. “I filled out the employee forms. You could read those.”
“Those are confidential, and as a ranch hand, I don’t see them.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised to find out her privacy had been kept.
Surprised, and touched, and his heart ached for her so much, but he didn’t know how to reach her. “Where were you born?”
“Memphis. I told you my father’s a trucker.”
“Who wasn’t around that much.”
She said nothing to that, so he pressed a little. “When he was around, did you get along?”
Her mouth twisted. “Hard to get along with a drunk.”
Her fingers were so cold, and though he suddenly felt chilled to the bone himself, he sandwiched hers between his two hands. “Did he—” He winced, unsure how to proceed.
“Are you trying to find out how he treated me? He likes to blame me for my mother’s death. With his fists. Is that what you wanted to know?”
No. He’d wanted her to tell him she’d had a princess life, even though he’d known that hadn’t been the case. “Amy.”
“When I got older, he didn’t blame me so much as…try to pretend I was her.” She pulled her hands from his as if shocked to find them there, and fisted them tight. “That was the worst part,” she whispered. “You know, fighting him off.” She put her forehead to her bent knees.
God. His heart felt as if it’d been laid wide open, slashed with a butcher knife. He scrubbed his hands over his face, afraid he was in over his head here.
“Sorry you asked, I bet.”
He looked at her bent head, at the sun tattooed on the back of her delicate neck. “No, I’m torn between wanting to hold you, and kill your father,” he said very quietly.
She surged to her feet. “It was a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“I haven’t been home since I was fourteen.”
Four years. Slowly he stood up, too, lifting his hands to put them on her shoulders, but letting them hover, afraid to scare her off. “Where did you go? What did you do?”
She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Found my way into kitchens, mostly. I was happy in Dallas for a little while, but then the boss found out I’d lied about my age and canned me. I went to New Mexico then. Taos. Loved it there, but the winters were too cold…”
“So you made your way west. Here.”
She was staring at her scuffed boots, apparently fascinated by them. “Yeah.” She hugged herself tight. “So now you know about me.”
Screw not touching her. He wanted to touch her, and he wanted her to like it. To like him. Gently he took her arm, drew her around to face him.
“Why aren’t you running?” she whispered, her arms still tight around herself. “Didn’t you hear what I said, what’s in my past? I’m a basket case.”
“No.” Leaning in, he kissed her softly, and then pulled back. Her eyes were wide on his, her breathing shallow with what he hoped to God was arousal, not fear. “You’re the strongest, most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
She blinked, slow as an owl. “I’m going to bed now. Alone.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“I’m not going to invite you in.”
“I know.”
She blinked again. “Won’t that…make you mad?”
“No.”
“Disappointed?”
“Hey, I just kissed you and you didn’t slug me. That’s enough progress for one night.”
She just stared at him. “You’re crazy.”
He held out his hand, waited.
She shook her head. “Scratch that. I’m the crazy one.” And she took his hand.
Callie woke up to a glorious sunrise shining through her window. She hadn’t set her alarm, knowing that Eddie and their guests wouldn’t be back until mid-morning. What that meant for her was that instead of rising at five, she could wait until close to six, as half the horses were gone, which considerably shortened her morning routine.
Her body felt rather amazing, and it took her a moment to figure out why. Jake was currently wrapped around her as if he was her own personal blanket.
She scooted free and sat up, hooking her arms around her knees. Without waking, Jake flopped to his stomach, hogging the entire bed with the body she never tired of looking at. What was it about his sexy, mind-melting grin? Or the way he touched her deep inside with just one soulful look of those gray eyes? Last night she’d thought she’d been so in control of herself, and yet all he’d had to do was back her up to a tree and she’d abandoned any restraint.
She took her gaze off him and watched the early sunrise glow outside her window. Sierra walked past, just sauntered right on by. No bridle, no saddle, just the horse, casual as could be. Leaping out of bed, Callie ran to the window.
“What?” Jake sat straight up, groggy.
“The horses. Someone let them out of the corral and the stalls.” Swearing, she whipped around and began to dress.
Jake had been angry plenty of times before, most recently the day he’d realized little Billy was going to try to ruin him. But that anger had passed because he couldn’t maintain fury at a kid clearly being manipulated by the adults around him. He felt only sorrow for Billy now.
But someone had deliberately put eleven horses in danger, all in the name of yet another prank, and that got to him. He walked up to the huge, ugly tan horse that used to belong to his father. Moe stood nibbling on the grass, and not even Goose had the nerve to chase this big, bad guy off. Jake had a bridle in his hands, and he knew how to use it, but he sure as hell would rather be scaling the side of a burning building. “What do you say we get you back inside your nice stall?”
Without looking at him, Moe danced sideways, away from him.
Jake sighed, painfully aware of Callie on the other side of the yard, catching three horses to his every one. “Come on, now. All you have to do is put your head in this thing and then I’ll lead you back home. What do you say?”
With a snort, the horse trotted away again.
“He says you’re a pushover.” Tucker grabbed the bridle from Jake, walked right up to Moe and bridled him, expertly avoiding his teeth when Moe snapped at him. “Stop it, Moe. You’re just trying to scare him now.” He glanced back as the sheriff pulled up the driveway. “By calling this in, you’re going to have even more trouble selling.”
“Don’t know what else to do.” Jake made sure to give Moe plenty of space. “It has to be stopped.”
Tucker nodded and started to lead Moe away, but then he stopped. Kicked the dirt. “You know th
ere’s not many suspects, right? Other than us?”
“I’m hoping like hell there’s someone else. A neighbor, a kid from town, someone.”
“Yeah.” Tucker stroked Moe’s face, who snorted in pleasure, looking nice and friendly.
Jake just sighed.
“Look,” Tucker said. “I know I’m a prick to you most of the time, but I’d never—I mean, I wouldn’t…”
“I know.”
Tucker nodded, looking so touchingly relieved, Jake actually stepped closer, with some old, burning desire to do something stupid, like touch him.
But Tucker led Moe away before he could.
Tucker didn’t go far, just to the nearest phone. He did what he’d been meaning to do for five weeks now, and called his mother. He was shocked as hell when he actually got her on the first try.
Mary Ann wasn’t usually readily available. When she was after a guy, she faded out of his life, only coming back into it—like a freight train—when things soured in her relationship. He’d accepted that as a child. He’d had to. From the age of five, she’d been all he’d had. He’d accepted a lot of things that he wondered about now.
“You caught me in the middle of a manicure,” she said.
She didn’t waste time with greetings, even though they hadn’t spoken in a few months, so he didn’t, either. “When Jake left, did he ever try to contact us?”
“What? My goodness.” She laughed. “That was so long ago.”
“Did he?”
“Oh, you know your brother, baby. He had other fish to fry. He rarely had time to call.”
“You told me he never called. That he walked out the door when I was five and never called again.”
“Listen to that awful static. We have a bad connection. I’ll call you another time—”
“I want to know the truth.”
She sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you, the truth is always overrated.”
“Mom.”
“Fine. The truth is he walked away from you. You know that.”
“He came back when I needed him.”
“Yes, so he could throw it in my face that I’d ruined you.”
“You told me you had to beg him to come.” Tucker rubbed his temples, trying to absorb it all. “That he only came at all because he had this ranch and needed another hand.”
“I can’t hear you.…Gotta go—”
He stared at the phone when she disconnected him, knowing the truth, that Jake had spoken it, and that Tucker had been nothing but an ungrateful, spoiled bastard to him in return. He slammed the kitchen phone down, glad Amy couldn’t see the violence in him now or he’d scare her to death.
He drew a deep breath and looked around him, out the window at the wide open space he loved, at the people who ran it. These people were his real family, Jake included. And nothing could take that from him.
That evening, Callie rode out on Sierra. It was an hour before sunset, and another storm brewed. Clouds swirled and danced above her, the sky churning like the blue flames the ranch was named for. Their novelist guests were back, happy and talking animatedly about their overnight adventure. Amy had fed them a meaty lasagna, and they were all getting ready for a big bonfire that evening. Except for Jake, who was right this minute walking his Realtor and a prospective buyer around the ranch.
Callie urged Sierra into a gallop. The sheriff had come by again. He was concerned, and so was Jake.
And so was she. Not that she believed she was in any real peril. No, her danger came from losing her heart. God. She was tough enough to handle this thing between her and Jake. And whatever jerk was messing with the ranch. She could handle anything but losing the only place she’d ever considered home.
And yet she was going to lose it. Tilting her head up, she took a deep breath and watched the sky change as she rode the trail. The clouds grumbled overhead, moving swiftly, violently. She lost herself in it for a long moment, then at the sound of a horse behind her, turned and watched Jake ride toward her on Molly. “I want to be alone,” she said.
“Callie—” He broke off at an odd flash of light in the hills. He cocked his head, searching the horizon. “Someone’s behind the rocks over there.”
A sudden loud pop startled them both as the rock on the other side of them pinged as if it’d been shot—
“Jesus. Get down!” Jake leapt off Molly, hauling Callie off Sierra before she could move, shoving her ahead of him. “Run for the rocks!”
“The horses—”
“Go!” He shoved her again and she ran. It was only about ten yards but it might as well have been a wide-open football field. Her skin prickled every step of the way, anticipating the burn of a bullet. She dove behind the rocks, ducking as another shot resounded over her head, raining dirt and rock down over her. She scooted over as much as she could, expecting Jake to dive in right on her heels.
He had the reins of both horses in his hands as he ran toward her, trying to rush without spooking them. But the next shot did just that, and Sierra reared up, ripping the reins from his hands, her hooves pawing at the air, inches from Jake’s head.
“Jake!” Callie surged up to her knees, horrified as Sierra bumped into Molly, and then both horses were rearing as Jake fell backward to the ground. Callie ran out from behind the rock and threw herself between Jake and the horses, standing still and calm while her heart stuck her in her throat, crooning to both horses in a soft voice she knew would reach them.
“Callie, goddammit.” Jake growled, struggling back to his feet.
“Hold on.” She murmured to the horses again, sweating with each passing second, just waiting for the bite of a bullet in her flesh, but it didn’t come. The moment Sierra’s hooves hit the ground, Jake grabbed her reins, thrust them at Callie, then grabbed Molly’s reins. They all moved around the rocks. They stood there, chests heaving in shock, staring at each other. Jake shoved Molly’s reins at her. “Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
“To see who the hell’s taking potshots at us.”
“Jake, no.”
But he was gone.
21
Jake was not a tracker, at least not out here with the sun nearly gone and mostly blocked out by the dark, thickening clouds. The rocky canyons were wide open in front of him and utterly, eerily silent. Damn, what he’d give for his cell phone and an entire squad of cops to swarm the area.
Whoever had shot at them was gone now; he knew it. He studied the rock area where they’d heard the ping of the bullet, and discovered something interesting. From where the shooter had stood, the distance hadn’t been that great, one hundred feet tops.
And yet they hadn’t been hit. So the shooter had terrible aim…
Or he’d been trying to miss them.
Something shimmered on the ground and he picked it up. A tiny round metal ball. A BB.
Callie came around the rock. “What?”
He opened his hand and showed her.
“A BB?” She looked as baffled as he felt. “But a BB gun wouldn’t have killed us.”
“It’d have hurt like hell, but no, it wouldn’t have killed us, or the horses.”
Their gazes met, and she looked no less unnerved by the knowledge. “Who the hell…?” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s working,” she whispered. “I’m officially scared.”
He shoved the BB in his pocket and reached for her. She moved right into his arms, her body fitting to his as if she’d been made for the spot. Burying his face in her hair, he gave himself the luxury of holding her for a long moment, while his heart gave one slow roll in his chest at what might have happened out there to her if she’d been alone. “We’ve got to get back.”
“Oh my God, you’re right. He might go there next.” She grabbed her radio and called the ranch, warning them. Then she mounted Sierra. “Hurry, Jake.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. What had seemed like such a beautiful spot only a moment ago, with th
e wide-open canyons and little else beneath a flaming darkening sky, now seemed too big, too wide open. The entire ride to the ranch, he imagined them both in someone’s gun sights, and he rode just a little bit behind Callie, desperate to watch her back, to keep her safe, hating that it was entirely out of his control. He wasn’t used to that, things being out of his control, and it was one hell of a long fifteen-minute ride, with his spine itching the whole way.
Two days later, the novelists left, thankfully none the wiser about the ranch’s increasingly aggressive stalker. Jake knew their next guests were coming right on their heels, a family reunion, with sixteen members arriving from all over the country.
He wanted to cancel them, and even Callie had agreed, but unfortunately, more than half the guests had already begun their travel, so the decision had been made to let them come.
The sheriff and a few of his men had scoured the area where the shots had originated. They’d questioned all the ranch hands. They’d questioned their neighbors. They’d put out the word in town. No one knew anything.
In spite of that, Jake’s agent called with an offer for the ranch from the New York millionaire, who’d decided she liked the idea of a tax break and a new lifestyle. She’d offered 90 percent of his asking price, and was willing to guarantee the employees one year of employment.
It was all Jake had wanted. He’d be stupid not to jump on it, and yet he hesitated.
It made no sense. He had a little over a week before he had to get back to San Diego to train recruits. His shoulder was so improved he wished he could get back to firefighting, but even “so improved” wasn’t good enough. He knew he couldn’t handle a hose, he couldn’t climb a ladder with speed and efficiency, and he couldn’t guarantee he could lift and carry a victim, much less his own gear for any length of time.
But that’s not what really bothered him. He was learning to accept the fact that firefighting might be in his past, for the most part. What he was suddenly having trouble with was imagining leaving the Blue Flame. He liked to pretend that was because he worried about the ever-escalating danger, and leaving Callie to face it alone. Or that he’d started a new and different sort of relationship with Tucker, and that it was working for both of them.
