Running Blind

by Linda Howard

  Then there was tonight’s dinner to cook: spaghetti with meat sauce and garlic bread, and dessert would be the pies she’d picked up from Kat’s place. She’d purposely chosen something that wasn’t time-consuming or complicated, given that she hadn’t been certain what time she and Zeke would get home.

  She tried to think of mundane things, but she still shook. Her own reaction pissed her off, and that didn’t help matters at all.

  She’d let herself relax, had let her guard down, and that had been a mistake. Seeing the man she’d thought was Brad, however briefly, had come as a shock because she hadn’t been prepared. She’d let herself feel safe, become content in Battle Ridge, and she’d been thinking of other things: meal planning and recipes and that damn misbehaving white cake, and Zeke Decker. She couldn’t forget him, because he was her biggest distraction and the biggest danger to her safety, at the moment. She’d kept her distance, she had no illusions about her place here, but damn, she liked him. He was sexy and aggravating and all-man and unbearably distracting.

  She’d have to be Superwoman to be immune to him, and “super” didn’t in any way figure into her reaction to him. The “woman” part … now, that was different. Damn, again.

  She was so distracted, she didn’t hear him come up behind her. When he reached a hand around and laid it over hers—she still held a can of peas in that hand, and it was halfway in and halfway out of the pantry—she froze. Zeke didn’t touch her. He never touched her. Oh, damn. He was touching her. Come to think of it, he’d touched her a lot today, but a bear hug from behind to keep her from running in the grocery store didn’t count … much.

  His hand was hot and hard and big. His body, so close to hers, put out heat like a wood-burning stove. She hadn’t given a lot of thought to how much bigger he was than her, but standing so close how could she not be reminded?

  “You’re safe here, you know,” he said in a low voice, his tone calm and definitely softer than usual.

  Carlin shook her head, willing herself not to look at him. “I’m not safe anywhere, not really.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t drop his hand. “You can’t let a man, any man, do this to you.”

  She reached into the pantry and put the peas on a shelf. That broke the contact, but Zeke was still close, too close. She dipped down and skirted around him, a kind of evasive do-si-do.

  Not that he would just let the subject drop.

  “Let me help you.”

  She tried to laugh at that, but the sound was short and choked. She didn’t want to put Zeke or any of the others in Brad’s path. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice sharp. “Hunt him down and kill him for me?”

  “I was thinking maybe I could have him arrested,” Zeke said wryly. “It’s true that I have a horse and some guns here, but I’m a rancher, not a gunslinger.”

  Despite herself her lips curved in a small smile at his sally, but then the smile twisted. “I’ve tried having him arrested. It didn’t work.”

  She didn’t want to talk about Brad, didn’t want to relive the nightmare she’d managed to put out of her mind for a while. Was she careless, or was that a survival mechanism to look forward instead of staying mired in the awful circumstances of Jina’s murder?

  “Are you going to run forever?”

  “That’s a million-dollar question.” It was one she’d asked herself many times, every day, and the answer was always no. But what could she do? She couldn’t think of any way to end the nightmare. So for Zeke, she was honest. “I don’t know.”

  “Give me his name and I’ll …”

  “No!” she snapped, whirling on him. Her heart had jumped into her throat at just the idea of him doing something that might bring Brad here. She poked him in the chest with a finger. “The son of a bitch is a computer hacker. A friend died in my place, because he thought she was me, do you understand? Do you fucking understand?” She didn’t often swear like that, but when it came to Brad there were no words bad enough.

  For a long moment, Zeke stared at her, his eyebrows raised slightly. What, did he think she was a sweet young thing who didn’t know how to curse when it was appropriate? Right now was appropriate. She stared back, not giving an inch.

  “Fine,” he said, his voice tight but calm. “We’ll do this your way. Promise me one thing, though.”

  She started to tell him she owed him nothing, least of all a promise, but he seemed to be trying so she decided to play along, for now. “Maybe. What kind of promise?”

  “When you decide it’s time to leave, talk to me first.”

  “Why should I?” And how the hell had he looked at her and known she was thinking about running? Oh, right—it might have been the way she panicked in the grocery store and was going to bail out through the unloading dock in back.

  “So I can help you. When you do move on, as I’m sure you will, you need to have a plan. A plan, Carlin, something besides getting on the road and stopping when you run out of gas.” He sounded a little angry, now. “Don’t let one asshole ruin your life. You’re as safe here as you’d be anywhere else—safer than most places, because of where we are, and because you’re surrounded by people with guns who’ll fight for you.”

  Before she could respond, he headed for the back door. “I’ll lock the door behind me,” he called without looking back. “Don’t worry. I have my key.”

  ZEKE COVERTLY WATCHED Carlin as she served dinner. She’d recovered enough by the time dinner was served that no one else would ever guess that she’d had such a scare at the grocery store. She even smiled and joked with the men as she got everyone settled in, made sure they had what they needed. And again, she ate alone in the kitchen.

  The spaghetti was good and filling, the garlic bread crisp and tasty. The men ate like they were starved, and after a long day’s work, maybe they were. Spencer had a tough time eating one handed, but he managed well enough. They were all enjoying the recent upgrade in the cooking at the Rocking D. They’d be sorry when Carlin left.

  And damn it, she would leave, eventually. He’d hired her wanting her to leave as soon as Spencer was able to resume his duties in the kitchen. At least that had been the plan when he’d grudgingly hired her, and just as grudgingly agreed to keep her on until spring. But in just a couple of days she’d made her mark here, and he’d found he didn’t like the idea of her not being here. It was nice to come home to a decent hot meal and clean clothes, even if those assets did come with a sharp tongue and a nice ass that drove him to distraction.

  She’d even washed the sheets on his bed and neatly made it up, the first time his bed had been completely made since Libby had left. Carlin was a more than competent housekeeper and cook. That was the only reason he’d interfered that afternoon when she’d looked like she was on the verge of bolting.

  Yeah, right.

  It was probably a good thing he’d be so busy for the next couple of weeks, moving the cattle from free range into the pastures near the house, getting ready for the October market. Carlin would have the house to herself all day, and the next time she went to town Spencer could ride along to navigate—and to keep an eye on her, too. She didn’t want anyone else knowing about her stalker, but he could tell Spencer to make sure no one hassled her. He wouldn’t deny to himself that her safety was a big consideration.

  Spencer wasn’t going to like missing the cattle drive; it was one of his favorite times of the year. It was hard work, that was true, but it was also classic cowboy work. Some of the ranches used four-wheelers—and even helicopters, he’d heard—during roundup, but at the Rocking D they did things the old-fashioned way, on horseback.

  If all Spencer had was a simple broken arm, they might find a way to make it work. But the shoulder needed to be good and healed before he sat a saddle again. Not that the kid had ever fallen or been bucked, but there was a first time for everything, as the incident with Santos had proved. A torn rotator cuff was nothing to fuck around with.

  So Spencer would stay with C
arlin, and Zeke wouldn’t feel anxious about leaving her out here on her own so much. He couldn’t remember ever feeling anxious about Libby being on her own, but then he’d never been so sharply aware of Libby’s presence, either. He loved her like a mother, but she’d been part and parcel of his everyday experience, simply there.

  It was different with Carlin. Having her in the house, cooking and cleaning and doing some of the things a man might expect from a wife, was a constant tickle on his subconscious. If she took a shower, he imagined her naked. When she was in bed, he imagined her naked and in bed with him. When she was bent over unloading the dishwasher, he imagined her doing it naked. He’d never once thought of Libby naked—God forbid! He shuddered at the idea.

  But Carlin … yeah. Naked. All she had to do was breathe and he thought about her being naked and breathing.

  With a start, he realized he’d been sitting at the table, not eating, fantasizing about Carlin being naked, while the food steadily disappeared from the bowls and he was about to lose out. He grabbed the last piece of garlic bread before anyone else could get it, and set about filling his stomach.

  Their appetites satisfied, the men settled back to talk of the upcoming cattle drive. Spencer looked sulky because he was going to miss all the fun, but his expression soon cleared; he wasn’t the type to stay unhappy for long. Zeke concentrated on the subject, because a lot of his yearly income depended on it, going over what they’d do even though all of them had done October market before. He thought he was doing a good job of keeping his mind on work until Carlin brought two pies into the dining room, one apple and one key lime. He looked at her, he saw the pies, and he thought about her bringing them in naked, except of course he’d be the only one here to appreciate the sight.

  He was so fucking horny he thought he’d probably come if a fly landed on him.

  “All right!” Spencer said, grinning. A couple of the hands actually clapped, and Eli whooped. Zeke and Walt both stood to take the pies and put them on the table for her.

  Looking at her, he thought, you’d never guess how terrifled she’d been just a few hours ago. She was smiling at them, joking. “One day I’ll bring a pie into the dining room and y’all will say, Oh, Carly, I’m so disappointed. I really wanted Never Fail White Cake for dessert.” She said the last in a falsetto, making fun of herself.

  “Yeah, that’ll happen,” Darby said sourly as he reached for the pie server. Carlin had left a stack of dessert plates and forks on the table when she’d set it for dinner. “Hey! There’s a piece of apple pie missing.”

  “It’s not missing,” Carlin said sweetly. “I know exactly where it is. It’s on a plate in the kitchen, and it has my name on it.”

  “I don’t see why you get first dibs,” Darby grumbled.

  Behind Darby’s back, Carlin stuck out her tongue. The men who could see laughed, then covered their laughter with coughs and exclamations about the pie.

  When she went back into the kitchen, Zeke briefly thought about getting up and helping her, grabbing some coffee mugs and helping with the fresh decaf he could smell from where he sat, but he stayed put. She didn’t need to be crowded right now, and if he hovered over her she wouldn’t like it.

  Besides, she’d made it plain she didn’t want any kind of physical or emotional connection to anyone around her. He understood that; he didn’t necessarily agree, but he understood. She was in a difficult position. What made it more difficult was that it was obvious to him such enforced solitude wasn’t in her nature. Look how she got on with the men, shooting jibes back at them, blending in as if she’d been here for years.

  Huh. She didn’t treat any of them with that veiled hostility—just him. And yet he didn’t get the feeling that she disliked him. Following that thread, then he was the only one she had to work to keep at a distance, which must mean—

  Like a wolf on the hunt, he knew exactly what it meant. He sensed her weakness where he was concerned. He was a threat to that distance she wanted to keep around herself, and the other men weren’t. And because he was a threat, if he pushed too hard—hell, if he pushed at all right now—she might bolt.

  His instinct was to go after what he wanted. A lot of times, with nothing more than bone-breaking work and sheer determination, he’d twisted and molded events and things to the outcome he wanted, and he’d learned to not give up. It went against his gut feeling now to pull back, but his brain insisted he had to. That didn’t mean he was giving up; he was making a strategic move. He had to get past that wall of hers, get her to trust him, rely on him, and pray that chemistry or sex or whatever else he could call the black magic of attraction, did the rest.

  As a strategist, he knew that if he had a prayer of making this work, he needed to treat Carlin like any other employee—for now. Let her think the situation was unchanged, that she would be working for him for a few months and then she’d be gone. It was up to him to make sure that she was happy, and that she’d by God be safe while she was here.

  He’d never before thought of a deadbolt as a seduction strategy, but she could have all the locks she wanted, if that made her feel better.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “HEY THERE, MISS Carly,” Spencer called as he stepped into the kitchen. “What time do you want to head to town?”

  Zeke had just left, and since they’d known Spencer would be coming to the house he hadn’t locked the mudroom door. He’d checked with Carlin first, of course, to make sure she knew the door was unlocked and didn’t mind. It was one of the rare communications she and her boss indulged in these days. She did her job, he left her alone. When it came time for her to be paid, he handed over an envelope of cash. If he was having second thoughts about paying her that way, he never said so.

  She was both relieved and resentful. She was glad he was leaving her alone, but she resented that she disliked her own boundaries so much. Sometimes life just sucked.

  Spencer was smiling, but then he almost always was. He was one of the sunniest people she’d ever met. He’d be out of his sling in a couple of weeks, and he couldn’t wait; she’d never been so physically bound and restricted herself, but it looked downright miserable. She imagined he was making the best of the situation and it bothered him more than he let on.

  She had just finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes; she was still astonished at the amount of bacon and eggs nine men could eat. One of these days she was going to try the biscuit recipe she’d found, but right now getting eggs, bacon, and toast on the table was still enough of a challenge that she didn’t want to add anything else to the difficulty level. She was out of bed at four-thirty, had food on the table at five-thirty, and the men were usually out the door at six. If the coffeemaker hadn’t had a timer and taken care of itself, she didn’t know that she’d have been able to meet the schedule—and if she couldn’t handle making coffee along with everything else she had going on in the mornings, then she knew for damn sure she couldn’t handle making biscuits. Maybe she’d make them for supper, instead, when she wasn’t as pushed for time.

  “Give me a few minutes to finish putting the dishes away and I’ll be good to go,” she told Spencer.

  Shopping was her least favorite part of the job, not because she didn’t like to buy groceries, but because it took her out of this safe, controlled element. Going into Battle Ridge on a regular basis was the only drawback to an almost perfect job. Of course, it wasn’t like she was headed into Cheyenne.

  She hadn’t had any kind of a scare since that first day she’d gone shopping with Zeke, but she hadn’t forgotten, either. Before the horrifying moment when she thought she’d seen Brad in the grocery store, she’d allowed herself to get comfortable in Battle Ridge. She’d relaxed, she’d felt at ease. The incident—the terror—had made her throw up her guard all over again. She hated that she didn’t feel the same, but she’d hate it a whole lot more if something actually happened and she wasn’t emotionally prepared. So she was always hyperalert whenever they went to town, which meant
she was always exhausted from the effort when they got back to the ranch.

  Since that day, Zeke had assigned Spencer to ride to town with her. They often timed the trips so he could go to physical therapy while she ran errands, went to the library, and visited with Kat. Spencer said he could steer one-handed, but Carlin insisted on driving. She didn’t need directions to town and back anymore, but it was nice to have an extra hand to steer one grocery cart while she managed the other. And even with the heavy items Spencer could help, using his one hand to aid Carlin’s two.

  Seeing Kat and checking in with Robin and Kin via computer made the trips worthwhile. She hated leaving the safety of the ranch, but that contact was a lifesaver. She missed seeing Kat every day, and sometimes she just needed a woman’s company after being around so many men. Could being exposed to too much testosterone poison her brain? She’d wondered that aloud in front of Kat one day, and had to wait a full five minutes for Kat to stop howling with laughter.

  But even with the overload of testosterone, the stinky socks, and the long hours, she was enjoying herself. As long as the ranch hands were well fed and happy and the house was clean, and she stayed out of Zeke’s way, the job was a good one. True, being secluded at the ranch had its trials, but it also had its benefits. She saw the same handful of people day in and day out. Some of them she liked better than others, but that had been true at every job she’d had. There hadn’t been any problems. There were no surprises, no fear that she’d turn around and find Brad standing in a crowd. Here at the ranch there was no crowd.