Running Blind

by Linda Howard

  Okay, maybe she was genuine. Maybe she truly cared about Zeke. Libby wasn’t completely convinced, but she had to take into account that the men here weren’t fools, and they all seemed to really like the girl, and she appeared to like them as well. Maybe Zeke Decker had once again somehow twisted and mauled circumstances until they gave him exactly what he wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  IT WAS TIME. It was past time. Zeke had held off on taking this step for weeks, even though he knew he didn’t have any choice. If he kept his promise to Carlin, if he didn’t try to help her, she’d move on in a few weeks and be no better off than she’d been when she’d arrived in Battle Ridge. If he could convince her to stay it would be a different matter. He’d do everything he could to protect her, but damn it all to hell and back, he couldn’t protect her if she wasn’t fucking here.

  If he could help her she’d hate him—but she’d be safe, and that was the most important thing.

  A second trip to town in as many days was unusual, but he didn’t want Carlin or Libby or anyone else on his heels when he walked into the sheriff’s auxiliary office, a sterile, boxy, newish building not far from the grocery store. He was in luck. Billy Nelson was working the Battle Ridge office today. He and Billy had gone to school together, and the deputy could be trusted to keep his word—and to keep his mouth shut, if that was asked of him.

  Zeke asked for privacy, and they went into a small room and closed the door. If the receptionist at the front desk thought it was strange, she didn’t let it show. She had her hands full with paperwork of some sort, files and folders and an ancient-looking computer.

  He and Billy sat in matching uncomfortable chairs, and after asking for discretion—which Billy promised—Zeke told everything he knew about Carlin’s past: Brad, Jina, Dallas, a nameless small town on the outskirts of Houston. He mentioned that Brad was a hacker as well as a cop, and apparently a very talented one, and asked Billy to keep any inquiries to the telephone or snail mail.

  Zeke hadn’t been sure what kind of reception he’d get, but Billy took the news seriously enough.

  “I’ll be hampered by not using the computer, but I’ll see what I can do. Until then …” Billy reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “I have a cousin in Cheyenne who’s a private investigator. Maybe he’ll be able to do things I can’t.”

  “Such as?” Zeke asked as he watched Billy scrawl a name and phone number on the back of his own card.

  “There’s not a lot I can do if you don’t file a report, and a report will have to be official. If this guy is a cop, and a hacker to boot, I don’t see how we could keep it a secret from him. Battle Ridge is a small town. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding Carly. I’d be surprised if there are three people on main street who wouldn’t recognize her picture.”

  Zeke took the card, wondering if he was doing the right thing, knowing that he had to do something. He’d call the PI from his cell. Even if Brad somehow found out that a private investigator in Cheyenne was looking into him—and Carlin—investigations originating in the larger city wouldn’t lead him straight to the Decker Ranch. Zeke decided, before he called, to warn the PI and also to make sure there was no personal information stored on that end that might lead Brad to Battle Ridge.

  He hated to lie to Carlin, hated it more than he’d thought he would, but he knew if he told her what he’d done she’d be gone by morning. She’d saved plenty of money in her time working for him and Kat, so she had the means to just pick up and go.

  Because he didn’t want her to go, he’d keep his latest actions a secret, for now. With any luck, he’d find out that Brad was dead or in jail, no longer a danger to Carlin or anyone else. But until he got lucky, he’d have to lie to her—lying by omission, but still, she’d consider it a lie and so would he, if the tables were turned.

  His promise, though, had come with a qualifier: for now. That time had passed and he knew in his gut that he couldn’t wait any longer. She likely wouldn’t think that was sufficient reason for him to make a move without consulting her, but he damn sure did.

  A part of him wanted to call Brad himself, to hunt the bastard down and issue a challenge—Come and get her, motherfucker, try to get through me. But this wasn’t the Old West and, unfortunately, “He needed killin’ ” was no longer an acceptable defense.

  At the very least, he could see the son of a bitch in jail. Somehow, some way, there was evidence that would convict him of killing Carlin’s friend in Dallas. But if no one was looking, nothing would ever change. It was time to look, and look hard.

  LIBBY HAD SPENT much of the past three days trying to hold back her impulse to celebrate Zeke’s find in Carly. It never hurt to be cautious. If there was something off about the girl, either in the way she did her job, or in the way she treated Zeke or the hands, Libby wanted to keep an open mind so she could spot it. After three days, she hadn’t spotted a damn thing wrong.

  Maybe it was time she stopped looking for flaws. Maybe, in spite of her initial reservations, Carly was perfect for Zeke. She was funny. She was energetic. She was sassy, and she didn’t take any guff from Zeke, which was a big plus in Libby’s book. That was one thing that had been wrong with Rachel; she hadn’t known how to go toe-to-toe with him, so she’d shown her unhappiness in other ways. Carly gave him as good as she got, and sometimes more. The truly funny thing was that Zeke seemed to enjoy when she shot some smart-ass comment at him.

  “Good morning,” Carly said cheerfully when Libby entered the kitchen. It was almost dawn, which made for an early start to the day for anyone, but Carly looked freshly scrubbed and bright-eyed. Coffee was made, something was baking and it smelled wonderful and cinnamony. As she did every morning, the next question was, “What can I get for you?”

  Libby said the same thing she did every morning as she headed toward the coffeepot. “Nothing, hon. You have enough to do for these men, without waiting on me, too.”

  Carly nodded and got back to work.

  Libby sat at the kitchen table and sipped at the coffee, content with everything she’d seen so far. Carly was exactly who she appeared to be, nothing more, nothing less: a good, hardworking woman who had landed right where she needed to be. And, just maybe, the good, hardworking woman Zeke needed by his side.

  “What smells so good?” she asked.

  “Cinnamon rolls.” Carly rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why my biscuits just don’t turn out right, but the cinnamon rolls always behave just fine.”

  “Homemade cinnamon rolls?”

  “Of course.” Carly didn’t look Libby’s way, but she gave a wry smile. “A few months ago I could barely heat up a can of soup. Now I’m not afraid to try anything, as long as I have a recipe to go by. Well, more accurately, I may have doubts but why not try anyway?” At that, she did turn to look at Libby. “There is one thing I haven’t dared to try.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your chocolate cake. Everyone says it was just wonderful, and I’m afraid anything I did would suck in comparison. Oh—I don’t make pies, either. Same reason, different cook.”

  “Kat,” Libby said.

  Carly nodded. “I don’t suppose you would make that cake while you’re here so I could see how you do it? I know Zeke—and the others, too—would fall over in fits of gratitude if I could make a chocolate cake half as good as yours.”

  Libby tried not to feel flattered. She didn’t try hard, because it was nice to know an old dog still had a few tricks she could teach to the youngster.

  Zeke came striding into the kitchen, his gaze landing on Carly and lingering. If they’d been alone in the kitchen, Libby figured Carly would have been kissed until she didn’t know which way was up. It was as if there was a magnetic charge between them. Carly even took a step toward him, then stopped and moved back.

  Zeke grabbed a half cup of coffee, downed it, and headed for the mudroom.

  “Half an hour before breakfast,” Carly said. “Don’t let it get cold.�
��

  “We’ll be here.” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, took a long, deep breath, and grinned. “Cinnamon rolls.”

  Carly smiled. “Yep.”

  He went on into the mudroom and after a second or two, Carly followed. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, to explain why she was following. Soon they were out of sight.

  Libby slowly stood up, a sneaky smile creasing her face. Who did they think they were fooling? She tiptoed to the mudroom door on quiet, slippered feet, and stopped when she was close enough to hear. They weren’t talking, so they were probably enjoying the kiss they’d both wanted but had denied themselves, thanks to her.

  The kiss didn’t last a horribly long time. Carly said, in a lowered voice. “Pull that hat down over your ears. I don’t want you getting frostbite.”

  “I think I know how to stay warm.” Heavens, when was the last time she’d heard Zeke sound so … relaxed?

  “I know you do.” Libby wondered if Carly was straightening Zeke’s coat and hat, making sure he was wellbundled up. “And don’t think you won’t have to eat any eggs for breakfast just because there are cinnamon rolls. You need some protein or else you’ll crash long before lunchtime.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “And one more thing,” Carly said in a lowered voice Libby could barely hear from her position. “Kiss me one more time before you go.”

  At that, Libby returned to her seat. When Carly came back into the kitchen a few moments later, her cheeks were a little flushed, but she likely didn’t realize that she looked so well kissed.

  “Would you like a warmup?” Carly asked, headed for the coffeepot.

  “Sure. Thank you.”

  Carly walked to the kitchen table with the carafe in her hand. As she was pouring coffee into the cup, Libby said, “You know, I’d be happy to teach you how to make my chocolate cake.”

  CARLIN PEEKED OUT the mudroom window. Yes, Libby was headed for the bunkhouse. Apparently she was going to inspect the hands’ home just as she’d inspected this one.

  Assured that Libby would be occupied for a few minutes, Carlin walked toward Zeke’s office. Okay, she ran, just a little. Having another person in the house was a pain in the ass, even though she liked Libby, which surprised her. When Libby had first arrived it had been obvious she’d had her reservations, but Carlin had figured there wasn’t anything she could do about that except be herself, and if their positions had been reversed she’d have been just as suspicious. Libby was down to earth, she liked a bawdy joke, and she was full of laughter and chatter. Carlin could see why Zeke cared about the woman who had once been his housekeeper and surrogate mother. Still, her own time here was precious, and she wanted to be alone with Zeke when she could.

  He glanced up when she walked into his office, and his eyes smiled. His mouth did, too, but it was the smile in his eyes that got her every time. Carlin leaned against the doorjamb and returned it, with interest. She shouldn’t love him, but there was no reason she couldn’t love his smile. There was no reason she couldn’t love the way he looked at her, as if he wanted to eat her up. Kat said they had “sparks.” Looking at him right now, the air certainly seemed to be electrically charged. She could hardly stay in her own skin.

  “Libby’s visiting the bunkhouse. I think she’s holding another inspection.”

  He shot out of his chair, rounding the desk and reaching for her. “You mean we’re alone?”

  Carlin nodded.

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.” Not long enough, she suspected, but she’d take what she could get.

  He kissed her as if he were as hungry for the connection as she was. It was a good kiss, deep and stirring and unbroken, even when he dragged her out of the doorway and farther into the room. The office was all brown leather and dark wood, a man’s domain, and it smelled the way a man’s domain should. There had never been a single flower or scented candle in this room, she suspected, just sweat and paper and more leather.

  He propped her against the desk, spread her legs and fit himself between them. So close, and yet not close enough. He was hard; his length pressed into her.

  “Missed me?” she asked hoarsely when he broke the kiss and unzipped her jeans.

  His eyes were hooded when he answered, “More than I should.”

  “I’ve missed you.” Just a few days, and she was caught on the razor’s edge of blind need after one kiss.

  “How much?” Zeke pushed her jeans down and thrust his hand inside her underwear. She wiggled, scooting the jeans down, spreading her thighs to make this work.

  “See for yourself, cowboy,” she whispered. She was wet, pulsing, all from a kiss and the scent of his body, from the warmth and hardness she’d become accustomed to calling hers. She closed her eyes when his fingers moved deeper, parting her folds and slipping inside her.

  He stroked her, brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her while he plunged his fingers inside her. She came, lightning fast and hard, her tongue thrusting into his mouth, his tongue dancing with hers.

  She melted against him, heart pounding and body rubbery with satisfaction. Swiftly he unzipped his own jeans, guided his erection to her, and thrust inside. She made a small guttural sound of excitement. She’d just climaxed, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted him.

  He began thrusting fast, his face taut, as hungry after these days of deprivation as she’d been. His bedroom was, inconveniently, directly above the room where Libby was staying. Both of them had tried to hold back while Libby was here, but the frenzied need she felt in him told her that wasn’t going to hold.

  His powerful body bowed into hers. He ground his teeth together to hold back any sound, and began coming. His thrusts were hard now, jarring her, going as deep as he could get.

  Panting, he leaned over her, spent. She felt as if she could barely move, either, but Libby would be coming back any minute. “Hurry,” she whispered. He pulled out of her, and she ran for the bathroom. She had to wash, and change her underwear. She fully expected Libby to have returned by the time she was finished, but no, they still had the house to themselves.

  What could Libby be doing in the bunkhouse, for this length of time?

  The answer was as obvious as the blush that suddenly burned her face. Giving them time together, that was what she was doing. No one was in the bunkhouse, the men were all out doing chores, so it wasn’t as if she was enjoying a chat with any of them.

  This was ridiculous. Time was flying by, and she wouldn’t have Zeke for much longer. Libby shouldn’t have to banish herself to the bunkhouse to give them time alone.

  She went to Zeke’s office door again. He’d cleaned up, too, and was once more sitting at his desk, though she didn’t know exactly how much attention he was paying to the paperwork in front of him. His eyes had that sleepy, sated look she adored.

  “Enough’s enough. My room, tonight,” she said. “You’ll know when Libby’s asleep because she snores loud enough for the sound to make it to the kitchen.”

  “I don’t care if she knows we’re sleeping together.” He leaned back in his chair and looped his hands behind his head. “She’s not an idiot, she’s probably already figured it out.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want her listening in. My room is farther away.”

  The back door slammed. From the kitchen, Libby’s voice rang out in what was obviously a warning. “Carly, where’s the lemon-scented cleaner? We need to make a run through the bunkhouse. I swear, those boys would live in filth if it was allowed.”

  Zeke ignored Libby’s call and gave Carlin a sober look. “If a few days is like this, what’s it going to be like when you’re gone?”

  She tried a shrug. “Out of sight, out of mind.” She hoped, and she didn’t hope. She’d miss him so much she already ached, and it was awful of her but she wanted him to miss her the same way.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  LIBBY WAS SURPRISED to find that she liked the c
old. She’d missed it. If she stayed here much longer she’d probably change her tune, but for now she enjoyed walking down Battle Ridge’s main street bundled up from head to toe, the wind on her face as she thought about a cup of hot coffee and a slice of Kat’s pie.

  It was almost time for her to leave. She’d come here to check out Carly Hunt and she had. Zeke was wild about the girl, and the girl was wild about him. Maybe they were in love, maybe it was all pheromones and hormones and it wouldn’t last. But Carly was just who she appeared to be, and Zeke was fine. Libby’s curiosity had been satisfied, and she felt certain she was leaving the man who had been like a son to her in good hands.

  Carly was good in the kitchen and she kept the house clean. She took care of Zeke without taking any shit. She was a strong woman, and that was exactly what Zeke needed.

  Libby heard a familiar voice call her name. Turning, she watched Carly wave and step into the street, and she stopped to wait for her. The girl must love to read; she went to the library every time she came to town, and always brought home at least two books, sometimes more.

  Neither of them saw the truck until it was too late. Just as Carly stepped out from between two parked cars, a red pickup with a teenager behind the wheel took the corner too fast and swerved onto the main street. The inexperienced kid lost control and skidded right into Carly. She tried to jump back, and the driver tried to steer the big vehicle away from her, but he clipped her with his bumper.

  There was a thud, followed by a curse. Carly hit the ground on the other side of the truck. Her purse and the books she’d been carrying flew out of her hands and skidded away, landing under the nearest parked vehicle.

  Her heart in her mouth, Libby ran. She forgot her knees, forgot everything in her rush to get to Carly. If she was seriously hurt, or, oh God, she might die, and what would Zeke do—

  Other people were running toward the scene. Kat came flying out of the café, screaming Carly’s name. Libby skidded around the vehicle that hid Carly from view, and almost passed out from relief. Carly was half-sprawled, half-sitting on the asphalt, dazed but apparently unbroken. Best of all, she looked pissed.