White Heat

by Jill Shalvis

  Piglets five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten were creating mayhem in the hen pen. Hens screamed and squawked, racing around as if their heads had been cut off, with the pigs in merry pursuit.

  Callie Anne Hayes opened the front door of the big house, stepped onto the wraparound porch, and beheld all this in disbelief.

  One day away from a highly anticipated spring season of the Blue Flame Guest Ranch, a season she’d carefully orchestrated to be flawless…just one day. Clearly, things had been going too smoothly. Hen feathers flew through the air. Dust and dirt rose in a cloud, and above it all came the incredible sound of pigs in heaven and hens in hell.

  Amazingly enough, Shep slept on at the bottom of the stairs, oblivious. Callie nudged the old shepherd’s hindquarters, but he just kept snoring.

  Callie sighed, and eyeing pigs chasing hens chasing pigs, lifted the walkie-talkie at her hip. “The piglets are on the loose and destroying everything in sight. The latch must have broken. Help pronto, please.”

  She got nothing back. “Tucker? Stone? Eddie? Marge? A little help?”

  Still, no one answered, but at least she knew why. This was her crew’s last day off. Tomorrow they had a large group of Japanese businessmen coming in, and directly on their heels, a group of Tucson librarians, and then some professional football cheerleaders on break from the various teams they cheered for. After that, a reunion for a group of nine sisters, and then some frat boys. In fact, for the foreseeable future, the Blue Flame was nicely booked.

  Knowing that, everyone had made their last day their own, and if she knew her crew, they’d all escaped at the crack of dawn that morning so she couldn’t find something to keep them busy.

  Which left her on little piggy detail. She headed down the stairs. The two little guys on the grass first, she decided. They had to be caught before they destroyed the new, tender shoots. She chased them around a large Arizona oak, where the two piglets ran smack into each other, and then sat stunned. Scooping one under each arm, she marched them back to their pen. Brushing herself off, she went to shut the gate, figuring she’d duct tape it for now if she had to, but the latch wasn’t broken at all.

  Whoever had fed them their slop this morning must have gotten lazy. “Damn it, Tucker.” He was one of her youngest employees but the twenty-year-old was usually much more vigilant than this.

  Bracing herself, she turned around to go about the next capture, assisted now by Goose, an oversized, bossy female Pilgrim goose they kept around as a sort of mascot who ran the grassy area and front walk like a drill sergeant. Together they corralled the pigs while Shep slept on, and thirty minutes later there was only one stubborn little piglet left to nab. He was currently running from her as fast as his short little legs would carry him, his curlicue tail swinging around madly as he squealed loud enough to wake the dead.

  She chased him around the large front yard, gritting her teeth as he led her back over the baby grass, followed by a honking Goose, who hated it when anyone happened onto “her” grass. Around the trees again, and then toward the water pump and hose at the side of the house, which one of the little pigs had already destroyed. Callie pictured a new account in her expenses this month labeled Ridiculous Costs and cringed.

  To complicate matters, someone had left the hose on, and by the looks of things, water had been leaking all night, turning the entire area to mud.

  The little piglet stopped to enjoy the sloppy mess, joyfully rubbing its snout in it. When it saw Callie coming, it prepared to run.

  And to think she’d thought today had had perfection written all over it, the beginning of spring, a new time for the ranch, where she’d hopefully prove that the Blue Flame was worth every second of stress it caused the current owner—that is if Jake Rawlins ever even gave this place a second of his thoughts, period. She’d bet her last dollar he didn’t, which really ate at her because she’d give her left arm to own the Blue Flame.

  But that was a worry for another day. Not today. Today was to be her calm before the storm, and if it hadn’t been for the out-of-control pigs, she wouldn’t have been able to take her eyes off her surroundings. God, she loved this place, where people could come to relax on a ranch setting, or join in and work it alongside her ranch crew.

  The Blue Flame had been the first real home she’d ever had, and it held her heart, her soul, her very inner spirit. She scanned the three hundred and sixty degree vista around her. At an altitude of five thousand feet, the hundred square miles of national forest around her had been unchanged for centuries, probably longer. The Dragoon and Chiricahua Mountains, the Sulphur Springs Valley, the stories of Cochise, of his Chiricahua Apache braves, the legends of Geronimo, the feast of the Buffalo Soldiers…so much history right here.

  In fact, the big house behind her had its own history. Once upon a time it’d been a country farmhouse for an early settler and his Indian wife, but now it was where their guests stayed in quaint rooms and shared meals together. The place reflected the air of the Old West, meaning rugged, which was more by necessity than design. It was actually in desperate need of renovation, but they hid that behind all the warm, friendly service they offered.

  The house sat on a slight hill, overlooking the rest of the ranch. The large wooden deck housed their hot tub, all cleaned and ready for use. Each bedroom was neat and clean as well, and decorated with individual furnishings, all in poor farmhouse chic. The heart of the house was the living room, where ranch hands and guests alike all gathered. There was a large brick hearth there for long winter evenings, and the place looked hopefully inviting despite the fact they hadn’t replaced the scarred hardwood flooring last year because profits hadn’t allowed for it.

  But this year would be different. As ranch manager, Callie had spent long nights working on their website. She’d scrimped in every way possible to spend more money on advertising, and as a result they were getting more bookings every week.

  A surge of excitement went through her, as it did every time she thought about the Blue Flame slowly turning itself around from the dump it’d been two years ago; and she knew she’d had a big hand in that.

  She moved up on the wayward piglet. “Stay right there,” Callie said softly, coming up on him, hands out. “Just stay right there…” She dove for him, at the exact moment the cell phone at her hip rang.

  With a squeal, the pig ran off, and Callie landed in the mud, arms empty. Lifting her head, she wiped her face off on her sleeve and reached back for the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Callie. I’d like to book a room.”

  Sprawled on her stomach, filthy now, Callie went absolutely still. That voice. She hadn’t heard it in a good long while, but she hadn’t forgotten it.

  It belonged to Jake Rawlins, the one man who had the ability to destroy her perfect life, to have her at his mercy with five short words— “I’m selling the Blue Flame.” He was the only man who could drive her crazy, and the last man to have seen her naked.

  She’d rather chase fifty more piglets than talk to him. “You need a room? Why?”

  “Why?” He gave off a soft laugh that both grated and thrilled. “Because I thought I’d come stay for a while. Get some pampering.”

  Pampering. No one knew better than she that Jake had an overabundance of charm and charisma, and thought nothing of using said charm and charisma to get a woman in his bed.…Only a man like Jake would think of coming to a dude ranch to be pampered.

  God, she hated to think back to that night of Richard’s funeral service. Grief-stricken at the loss of her boss, her mentor, the man who’d once saved her life, she’d contacted his son. She had picked Jake up at the airport, driven him to the church, taken him back to the Blue Flame.

  His first time there.

  She’d mistaken his low, husky voice for anguish, his quiet, confident movements for ease in his surroundings, and over a bottle of aged whiskey, had thought she’d found a soul mate to grieve with.

  She’d really like to blame what had happene
d next on her sorrow and the whiskey, or on Jake and his amazing voice, his talented mouth, and even more talented fingers. But the truth was, she’d wanted to be held that night, to be taken out of herself, to forget.

  She’d done exactly that, until she’d realized that what grief she felt, she felt alone, as the only thing Jake had in him for his father was resentment and anger.

  Unfortunately she’d been naked and in his arms by then. Kicking him out of her bed had given her great satisfaction…until she was alone again.

  She and Jake hadn’t talked much since, except to discuss the monthly financials she sent. At least he hadn’t uttered those five dreaded words yet. She tried to keep her extremely negative thoughts to herself rather than remind him that he’d like nothing more than to sell this place.

  He’d been back to the ranch just twice since Richard’s death. Each time had been with a different bimbo—er, woman—at his side and a disinterested smile on his lips as he watched their guests get excited over milking cows and feeding pigs.

  Neither time had he indulged in any of the activities available, at least nothing that involved the great outdoors. No, his recreation of choice had been staying in bed with his guest and ringing for room service—which they didn’t have.

  At least he’d called ahead each time as he was doing now, warning her. She supposed she should be grateful for that consideration. “I’m sorry,” she said into her phone. Mud dripped off her nose. “We’re booked.”

  “I didn’t tell you when I’m arriving.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re solid for the month. A group of businessmen is checking in, and we have three more groups booked back to back after they leave.”

  “I’m sure we can find a spare room,” he said easily.

  We. That meaning her and the mouse in her pocket, she supposed. “For when?”

  “Tonight.”

  She gripped the cell phone. Mud squished through her fingers. “So soon?”

  “Yep.” Was that a laugh in his voice? “Why don’t you go ahead and finish terrorizing that poor pig first. I’ll wait.”

  Pulling the phone away from her ear, she stared at it, heart hammering in her ears. Another drop of mud dripped from her nose to the receiver.

  “I’d offer to help,” he said. “But I’m not interested in a mud bath as a part of my pampering.”

  Lifting her head, she searched her immediate vicinity. Big house at her right, series of small one-room cabins on her left, where the staff lived. One large barn and stables straight ahead, a smaller hay barn beside it, and behind them the open corrals and fields of the ranch. Beyond that, the Dragoon Mountains, where she’d led countless expeditions to abandoned mining camps and old Apache lookout points along mountain precipices and ridges that rolled along as far as the eye could see.

  Twisting around, she looked behind her. The new grass, the driveway…and the black truck that hadn’t been there before her pig hunt. Leaning against the driver’s side stood a man she recognized all too well, despite only seeing him three times in her life.

  He looked the same; he always did, which was to say knee-knockingly good. He was just over six feet, with dark hair on the wrong side of his last haircut, thick and unruly to the top of his collar. There was a few days’ growth on his lean jaw, and mirrored sunglasses on eyes she knew to be a steely, unsettling shade of gray like his father’s had been. He wore a dark blue T-shirt with some emblem she couldn’t read over his left pec, probably his firefighter’s patch, and nicely fitted Levi’s faded in all the stress points. He had running shoes on his feet, not boots, and inwardly she sneered at the thought of him walking in those toward her, in the mud.

  Seeming quite unconcerned, his long legs were casually crossed, his broad shoulders relaxed for a man who’d just shown up where he wasn’t wanted and knew it.

  Or maybe he didn’t know it.

  In any case, he held his cell phone to his ear, and when he saw her looking at him, he smiled with that mouth that had once nearly made her orgasm from just a kiss, and waved the phone at her.

  Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself upright. He looked good and wicked to the bone, which unfortunately she’d learned was a terrible weakness on her part. She had no idea how it was possible to both hate and lust after someone at the same time, but with Jake, she’d always managed it.

  Mud dripped off her red tank top, the one she’d put on that morning with a smile and anticipation of the spring ahead. Her fresh, dark blue jeans were now brown. She shoved the phone back onto her belt and put her filthy hands on her equally filthy hips.

  To add insult to injury, the last little piglet ran right up to his pen and stood still, waiting to be let in. “I’m feeling hungry for bacon,” she hissed at it, then straightened and looked at Jake.

  He slid his cell phone into his pocket and shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head, eyeing her with those eyes that made her want to squirm.

  She held her breath and waited to hear him say, “I’m selling the Blue Flame.”

  Instead, he smiled a smile of pure sin.

  And slowly, slowly, she let out her held breath, trying to remain unmoved. Maybe he really was just here for a visit, just like those other two times since Richard’s funeral. Maybe just like then, he’d stay holed up in his room with whatever woman he had with him, appearing only to eat, looking rumpled and sated and far too sexy for his own good.

  And then he’d go away, far, far away, until she had enough money saved that she could get herself a big, fat loan and try to buy Blue Flame herself.

  That was her dream, and no one could take that from her.

  Except him.

  Nothing but pure stubborn pride kept her from throwing herself at his feet and begging him to wait to sell until she had enough money to buy. Instead, casual as she could, she opened the pig-pen, let the errant piglet in, then carefully latched it. Then she walked over to him and thrust out her hand.

  He stared at it, then smiled. “Formal, given what we’ve done, don’t you think?”

  “I was trying to be polite.”

  “Okay…” Instead of giving her his right hand, he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

  She jerked back. “What was that for?”

  “A polite hello. For two people who’ve—”

  “Don’t. Don’t you dare say it.”

  He grinned, and she turned away from the sight because it scraped at her tummy uncomfortably. Like ulcer-inducing uncomfortably. “So you need a room for two?”

  “Two?”

  She looked back. “Don’t you have a woman with you?”

  Jake lifted a brow.

  “Last time you had a blonde with you,” she reminded him. “And the time before that, a different blonde.”

  “I didn’t have a blonde with me the first time I came up here.”

  No, no he hadn’t. He’d had her. A redhead.

  His smile spread as he pushed away from the truck and came toward her. “Sweet of you to concern yourself with my social life, but sorry. I’m solo. Unless you’re offering—No? Well, then, count me as one.”

  “So you’re here to what? I know it’s not to camp, you hate to camp. I know it’s not to milk a cow, or to go on a roundup, or hike along ancient Indian trails.”

  He had his right hand hooked in his front pocket, and lifted his left shoulder. “Like I said, I’m up for some pampering.”

  “The Blue Flame specializes in camping expeditions, hiking, and ranching activities. Not pampering. You know that.”

  “You have a hot tub. Food. A massage therapist on call—Macy, if I recall. That’ll add up to enough pampering for now.” His gaze traveled slowly down her mud-covered body, and then back up again, making every square inch tingle with an awareness that pissed her off. “You’re looking a little tense, Callie.”

  “Oddly enough, I’m feeling a little tense.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” She let out a disbelieving laugh. “Come on, Jake. You’re not that thick.�
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  Uninsulted, his lips curved. “Do you greet all the guests so friendly-like?”

  Only the ones who made her world feel like a roller coaster. Damn, she wished she could look at him without remembering what had happened between them on one dark, drunken, foolish night. “I’m sorry.” She sounded stiff to her own ear, and lifted her hands to indicate the mud she wore. “Let me take you inside. I’ll change, see what accommodations we can find for you, even though I can tell you we really are booked.”

  “Great.”

  Great. She told herself she wasn’t going to worry. She wasn’t going to waste energy thinking about him or what he could do to her life—such as ruin it.

  They stepped onto the grass, and with a loud, aggressive honk, Goose waddled toward them, head down, picking up speed as she went.

  Jake stopped short.

  Goose charged him anyway.

  “Goose!”

  At Callie’s sharp voice, the goose let out one more honk, but slowed. Glared at Jake.

  He shook his head. “You haven’t eaten that thing yet?”

  “She’d be too tough to eat.”

  His laugh said that he agreed, but he eyed the goose with a healthy mistrust as they walked by her.

  Callie tried not to think about why his laugh had somehow softened her, or why his being afraid of a silly goose made her want to hold his hand. Clearly, she had hormonal issues today. Nothing a good hard day of work couldn’t cure.

  They headed toward the big house, Jake moving with a natural grace that reminded her that she dripped mud with every stiff step she took. She’d never felt more unfeminine or unattractive in her life.

  There. Hormonal issue resolved.