by Linda Howard
Her gaze went distant and she fiddled with her coffee cup, turning it around and around. “Brad followed me to Dallas, and he killed my friend. Jina was wearing my raincoat. He thought it was me, I just … I can’t prove it, but I know it. I should’ve gone farther, I should’ve known he’d follow me. That’s a mistake I can’t undo. I can’t go back and save her.”
Zeke went very still, for a long moment. She waited for him to question her, to challenge her, to try to reason with her that she must be wrong, but instead he sat and waited, and listened.
The story spilled out of her, every detail of what had happened to Jina, how the police hadn’t believed her, how Brad had manufactured an alibi and because he was a cop they’d bought it without digging deep enough to find the holes in his story. His computer showed that he’d been online when Jina had been shot—online, chatting about his garden, for God’s sake. Obviously he’d either had someone else using his computer or else he’d fabricated the whole thing using his computer skills. Her word alone hadn’t been enough to warrant further investigation.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to share her burden until she was sharing it all with Zeke. He listened, not stopping her to ask questions, not so much as uttering a word.
She finished the story with a retelling of driving into Battle Ridge with no intention of staying. He knew everything from there.
For a couple of very long minutes, he just sat in his chair and drank his coffee. She could tell his mind was spinning, that he was mentally working through everything she’d told him. Finally, he placed his cup on the table and looked her in the eye. “What’s Brad’s last name?”
Carlin stood so fast her chair made a sharp scraping squeal as it was pushed back across the floor, and her coffee cup shook, almost sending coffee over the rim. “No. I’m not telling you his last name. I know you too well, Zeke Decker. You want to do something, to track him down, to … to fix it. I won’t let you. This is my problem, not yours.”
He wasn’t flustered by her reaction. Did anything ever get under his skin? “I’m no hacker,” he said calmly, “but I’m guessing any PI worth his salt could take Carlin Reed, Brad, Houston, and Dallas and come up with any details you omitted.”
“Please don’t,” she whispered, her head spinning. Damn it, she was going to have to run again, to start over. To leave Zeke.
Maybe he read the thoughts on her face. Maybe he already knew her much too well. He stood, rounded the small kitchen table, and took her face in his hands. “You’re safe here.”
“I know. Please promise me you won’t …” Again, she choked.
He kissed her. This kiss was softer than the ones they’d shared last night, and oh, she needed it, needed the feel of his lips on hers, the connection, the sheer physical pleasure.
He pulled his mouth from hers. “I won’t do anything, not now, but you can’t go on like this. You can’t hide forever. Let me help. At least think about it.”
“If you interfere in this, if you hire a PI or start digging into my past, I’ll leave. I’ll have no choice.” She leaned into him. “I don’t want to leave, Zeke. Not yet.”
She might’ve said more, he might’ve said more, but a furious knocking at the back door interrupted the moment.
Carlin broke away and ran into the mudroom. She should’ve unlocked the back door by now, but she’d been distracted. Spencer stood there, shivering in the cold.
She and Spencer returned to the kitchen, where Zeke had retaken his seat at the table. As Spencer chattered away, Carlin looked Zeke in the eye.
Promise, she mouthed, not a whisper of sound escaping.
He responded the same way, with a reluctant For now.
It wasn’t enough, but it would do. For now.
ZEKE TRIED TO lose himself in hard, physical labor, but nothing could distract him entirely from the matter at hand. Splitting wood was a chore one of the hands normally took care of, but today he needed to do something that would allow him to work out his aggression. Splitting firewood should do the trick.
Common sense dictated that he avoid Carlin like the plague. If everything she’d told him was true—and he believed that it was—then she was a barrel full of trouble. He didn’t need to buy, borrow, or fuck trouble.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. Life rarely was. And common sense had nothing to do with this situation. Carlin didn’t want to leave; he didn’t want her to go. He wanted more, and unless he’d completely misread her so did she. He had some condoms in his truck. They were old, but not yet expired. He didn’t think for a minute that Carlin was on any kind of birth control. Neither of them had been thinking about that last night, but if they were going to continue he was going to have to think. He’d fetch what he had in his truck glove compartment and put them in his bedside table. And before long, he’d have to stop at the drugstore for a refill.
She’d been right when she accused him—and it had been an accusation—of wanting to fix things for her. Whether she stayed or not the idea of Carlin spending years, perhaps her entire life, running from her own boogeyman was unthinkable. She deserved better. She deserved to have a life, and if he could give her life back to her he would.
But he’d promised her. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but for Carlin he’d wait. For a while.
SHE NEVER SHOULD’VE told Zeke her real name, should’ve known that the information she’d given him would be enough for him to start digging into her past. A part of her was screaming Run! But she didn’t, and she wouldn’t. Zeke was a man of his word.
Telling him everything had been such an unexpected relief. She’d been bottling so much inside, keeping her secrets, protecting those around her as well as herself. But a shared burden was indeed lighter. For the moment, for the next several weeks and maybe even for a few months, she wasn’t entirely alone.
She’d written Robin’s contact information on a slip of paper and hidden it at the bottom of her sock drawer. Tonight she’d tell Zeke where it was, in case anything happened to her while she was here. It would be one less worry, one burden off her shoulders.
And if something happened to her after she left? Well, she wasn’t going to worry about that right now. She’d gotten accustomed to living her life one day at a time, and that hadn’t changed, couldn’t change. Maybe she’d write out something, carry the letter with her, as … well, not a safety measure, but for her peace of mind, and for her family’s.
Dinner that night was a big pot of homemade soup and jalapeño corn bread. If anyone was aware that things had changed between her and Zeke, they didn’t let it show, but then how could anyone know anything? After breakfast, she and Zeke had spent the day apart, doing their normal things. The conversation around the dinner table was normal, too, mostly about work and the weather. Normal felt good. Belonging somewhere felt good.
After dinner, after Zeke had locked and bolted the back door and returned to the kitchen, they walked toward each other without any pretense. She wondered if he had ever pretended to be someone he was not, if he’d ever played the kinds of games men and women played.
He kissed her, and then he said, “I have condoms.”
“Good.” She let herself fall into his chest, resting her cheek above his heart.
“Are we going to talk about the absence of condoms last night?”
“Not now,” she said. “It’s … not likely to be a problem, timing-wise.” She’d make a trip to the clinic one day soon and get herself on the pill, but that would take some time to kick in. And, crap, could she get a prescription under a fake name? Something else to worry about. Maybe they’d have to make do with condoms, until she worked that out. It was very annoying to live off the grid, to have to hide who she was and what she wanted.
Thank goodness she didn’t have to hide either from the man who held her. She also didn’t feel the need to pretend that she didn’t want him again. One day at a time. Each and every one of those days didn’t have to be lived on edge and alone.
&
nbsp; She looked up, her arms fitting comfortably around Zeke’s waist. “Your room or mine?”
Chapter Twenty-three
THE PARKA ZEKE had bought for her kept her warm, even on the coldest of days. Carlin was grateful when the cold—which wasn’t going anywhere for the next few months—didn’t come with any form of precipitation, whether it was snow, sleet, or ice. It was pretty from a distance, but up close it was just a pain in the ass.
Today’s cold weather was dry, and the temps hadn’t yet dropped into dangerous subzero territory. Those days were coming, she’d been warned. Spencer had driven her to town and was taking care of business at the hardware store. On the way out of town they’d buy groceries. For now, Carlin sat at the counter in The Pie Hole, drinking coffee and biding her time while Kat finished with the men who’d come in for a late breakfast.
She stared out the window, daydreaming. Spring was probably something to see around here. Summer, too. She’d arrived on the heels of summer, never really seeing it in its full glory. It was tempting, to stick around to see through the year, to stay in Zeke’s bed awhile longer, to stay here in this place that already felt too much like home.
She wasn’t pregnant, and since that first night she and Zeke had been very careful about using protection. Now and then she worried that the hands might know what was going on, that they might see that things had changed between their boss and the cook who lived in the house with him. But if they suspected, they didn’t let it show. There had been no knowing glances, no nosy questions … at least, not while she was around.
Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe no one would care.
The customers paid and left, and Kat planted herself in front of Carlin, the spotless counter between them.
“How goes it?”
Carlin dragged herself back to reality. “What? Oh. Fine. Everything’s fine.”
“How’s Zeke treating you?” Kat asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Fine, really, just … fine.”
“Oh. My. God.” Kat pursed her lips. “That’s four fines in thirty seconds! How long have you been sleeping with him?”
Carlin’s mouth fell open. She spun around to look behind her, even though she knew—well, was pretty sure—that there were no customers in the café at the moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said defensively. “That’s … that’s …”
“For someone who’s on the run, with a false name and her cash stashed under a mattress, you are a terrible liar.” Kat sighed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me immediately. What did I tell you about cowboys breaking your heart? Wasn’t I clear enough?”
Carlin argued silently that Zeke couldn’t break her heart because what they had was strictly physical. Her heart was not involved. She could and would take what she wanted—and needed—and then leave without her heart ever entering the equation. Uh-huh. But one thing was for certain: she’d definitely leave before she brought trouble to any of the people here. Not for the world would she put any of them in danger. “It’s not like that.”
“Honey, it’s always like that.” Kat propped her elbow on the counter, put her chin in her hand, and leaned forward. “Of course, if you fall for Zeke you’ll stay, and I’d like that just fine. If you have to fall for a cowboy, it might as well be him.”
Carlin put on her toughest expression; it wasn’t easy, because right now she wasn’t feeling tough at all. She was feeling mushy and emotional, for all the good it did her. She looked directly into Kat’s witchy eyes. “I’m not falling for Zeke, and I can’t stay. You know that. And really, how did you know? Too many ‘fines’ in any amount of time does not, in any way, add up to sleeping with your cousin.”
Kat shrugged. “I kind of suspected already.”
“Why? How?” And more important, did anyone else suspect?
“You two have always had … sparks. On the day you met, right here in The Pie Hole …”
“That wasn’t a spark, that was just my annoyance shining through. He called me a stray.”
“You called him worse.”
What was worse than a stray? “It’s not serious,” Carlin said, giving up on the pretense that nothing was going on but clinging to the one that she was still heart-whole. Said heart gave a hard thump in her chest. “It’s just … a thing. Two unattached adults doing what comes naturally. Nothing more.” Except … she cleared her throat. “There’s a problem.”
“Yeah? What kind?”
“A birth control kind.” She cleared her throat again. “I can’t get a prescription for birth control pills without showing my ID. I’m not sure what kind of databases are out there on drugstores, but the problem is, everyone here knows me as Carly Hunt—”
“Which obviously isn’t the name on your ID.”
“Right. And I don’t want anyone curious enough to search my name online.”
Kat sighed. “You do know this’ll set off a minor explosion of gossip, with people wondering just who in hell I’m sleeping with.”
Grateful that Kat had immediately guessed what was being asked of her, Carlin was still suddenly guilt-stricken.
“I’m sorry. It was a bad idea.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I think it’ll be kind of fun, because obviously I’m not sleeping with anyone. Hell, I haven’t even been out with anyone in so long I’m not sure I remember my table manners. As for the other, I think I’ve become a virgin again. But the guessing game will be hilarious. And it might be good for business, because everyone will come around to see if they can pick up any clues as to who the nonexistent guy is.”
“Oh, God, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Kat said blithely. “I’ll have them for you … well, I’ll have to call the doctor and see when I can get an appointment, given I have to work around the café hours. But I’ll call you when I know.”
A new customer came in, the bell over the door chiming, and Kat moved away to take care of business. Feeling relieved down to her toes, Carlin slid from the stool, grabbed the purse she’d started carrying since switching from the TEC jacket to the parka, and went in search of Spencer.
Much to her relief, the call came two days later. To give herself an excuse, she ordered some pies from Kat, then had Spencer drive her in the next day to pick them up. There was always an item or two that the ranch needed from the hardware or feed store, so she sent him off and darted into The Pie Hole.
Unfortunately the place wasn’t empty even though she’d timed her visit to be after lunch. Sitting at the far end of the counter, Carlin waited anxiously for the last customer in The Pie Hole to pay and leave. Finally!
“Did you get them?” she asked, her voice lowered even though they were alone. She felt as if she were on a covert operation.
Kat raised finely shaped eyebrows. “I’m fine, thank you so much for asking. How about you?”
Carlin sighed. “Sorry. How are you? Has business been good? Made any new and exciting lunch specials lately?”
Kat leaned her elbows on the counter and narrowed her eyes. “No, but I am in the middle of an illicit drug deal that could send me to jail and ruin my good reputation.”
She reached beneath the counter and came up with a small, white bag.
It was all Carlin could do not to snatch the bag out of Kat’s hand, even though Kat held the bag just out of reach.
“You’ve turned me into a criminal,” Kat said. Then she sighed and passed the bag to Carlin. “But it’s not like I need them.”
Carlin peeked into the top of the bag. Birth control pills! It would be a while before they were effective, but once they were … no more annoying condoms. No more interrupting that very hot moment when she couldn’t wait to have Zeke inside her to put the blasted things on, no more barrier between her and Zeke when they were together. Damn it, that thought alone was a pretty strong turn-on.
“Thanks,” Carlin said as she put the bag in her purse and pulled out the folded bills to pay for the pills. “I just
can’t get a prescription under a false name.”
“I get that, Miss Linoleum,” Kat said wryly as she took the offered cash and stuck it in her apron pocket. “What are you going to do if you get sick and need an antibiotic? What if you get the flu?”
“I’ll handle that problem if and when it happens,” Carlin said pragmatically. Goodness knows she had enough real problems to deal with, like falling for Zeke, and trying to figure out how to end the nightmare with Brad. She’d been taking it one day at a time for so long, getting a prescription for birth control pills that would take a couple of weeks to kick in seemed like a long-term commitment.
Kat poured herself a cup of coffee and warmed up Carlin’s. “Well, there is one good thing about you taking up with Zeke, even if it is contrary to my very sound advice about cowboys.”
“What’s that?”
Kat grinned. “It looks to me as if you’ll be sticking around for at least the next twenty-eight days.”
THANKSGIVING HAD NEVER been Zeke’s favorite holiday. Usually more than half the hands wanted the day—or four—off to visit with family, which meant more work for those who remained behind. It wasn’t their busiest time of the year, so it wasn’t like they couldn’t spare a few hands for less than a week, but eating massive amounts of food was hardly Zeke’s idea of a celebration that required time off. Depending on who was cooking, at the Decker ranch there was either a feast or sandwiches and chips. Even when Libby had been working here, she’d occasionally taken a few days off and flown south to be with her daughter and grandkids. Those had been the sandwich years.
This year was different. Carlin had thrown herself wholeheartedly into preparing a traditional Thanksgiving meal; she’d been at work since long before dawn. Hell, technically she’d started work yesterday, which seemed like way too much work to him. A kitchen seeing action well before dawn wasn’t all that unusual on a ranch, but today Carlin was almost giddy, as if turkey and dressing and blackberry cobbler represented something more than just a feast to remember the pilgrims.
