He mumbled something else. Maybe he had a mumbling problem. Or maybe he just didn't like her.
"Just because something is old or needs work doesn't mean you give up on it," she said.
He sent her a sideways glare but didn't say anything else. She followed him toward the sad old farmhouse, careful to keep a good yard between them.
From the porch, his farm dog wagged its tail.
Seeing it helped settle the nervous energy jangling through her. Animals were a true judge of character. The farm dog was lean but groomed. It's teeth were good. And it was friendly.
Maybe she couldn't trust herself to judge a man's character, but she'd grown up on a ranch. She could trust the dog. It wasn't as if she was going to sleep a wink anyway. Might as well be warm inside instead of freezing in her truck.
* * *
Why had he done that?
Cord trudged up the porch steps, the girl two paces behind him. Molly.
He should've kicked her off his property, not told her she could stay the night.
But he'd felt sucker punched when he'd spotted her in the cab of that old truck, her face white and pale. Her mad scramble had echoed the panic he'd seen in her eyes. And not just a normal you gave me a fright kind of scared.
Something had happened to her. Probably whatever had caused the shadow of the bruise beneath her jaw. She'd hidden it earlier with the fall of her hair, but tonight he'd seen it as she'd thrown up one hand as if to protect herself from him.
He remembered feeling that frightened. When he was thirteen and the police had come knocking. Then riding with West in the back of the cop car. Not knowing where they were going to end up.
He wasn't a saint by any stretch, but his conscience wouldn't let him leave her to fend for herself tonight.
Hound greeted her on the front porch of the farmhouse, where Cord had left him.
The dog nosed into her leg, and she dropped a scratch behind his ears.
And then Cord couldn't delay any longer. He opened the front door.
She followed him in. He kept his expression blank but he could imagine what she was thinking.
The place was in awful shape, and the glaring overhead lights didn't hide a single flaw.
The front door opened to a short entryway. To the left was the kitchen and nook table, where he'd eaten countless bowls of cereal as a boy. To the right was the small living area, with its plaid couches from the 1980s, the scratched coffee table, the bent and tattered horizontal blinds. And of course, the scraggly fake Christmas tree with half its needles gone and faded ornaments. Behind the living room, a small hallway led to the makeshift mudroom and a set of stairs that lead up to the bedrooms.
He caught her wide-eyed stare at the Christmas tree.
"Pretty fancy, huh?" he asked.
"It's... something."
"It might be older than your truck."
She cracked a smile. "You do know it's the middle of January right?"
"I've only been here a couple of days. My grandma passed away and left me the place." The No Name, and all the work that came with it.
"I'm sorry." She looked chagrined, as if she'd stepped in something painful.
She had, just not the way she meant. He waved off her concern.
"We weren't close." He left it at that.
"There's still a gift under the tree," she said quietly.
"Yup."
He stomped into the kitchen, left her to follow.
The badly wrapped gift was roughly the size of a shirt box and had his name on it. He hadn't had the heart to open it. He didn't know what he'd find inside, but he doubted it would be anything meaningful. More likely, it would be painful. A stab at him, even from the grave. Grandma Mackie had not been a soft woman. She’d never hesitated to call it like she saw it. And she'd believed he was a failure.
No, he wasn't going to open it. He just hadn't had the time to chunk it yet.
When he couldn't stand Molly's curious gaze any longer, he growled, "Spare bedroom's upstairs."
* * *
Go to sleep.
Molly sat with her back against the simple wooden headboard. The bedroom couldn't be more than eight by ten and had at one time belonged to a little boy. Cord? Or a brother, maybe?
There was one picture of two little boys stuck to the wall with tape. They must have been all of six and seven and were playing in a mud puddle, covered head to toe. The only white on them was their teeth as they grinned for the camera. A poster of Spider-Man hung on one wall. And horses. Whoever had slept here had been horse crazy. Pictures cut out from magazines and newspapers, the front part of a folder, one of those glossy ones made for school kids, a fold-out poster. All different colors. A palomino, a bay, a black.
It was her kind of a room.
The room wasn't keeping her awake.
It wasn't even the thin walls or that she could hear Cord moving around in the room next door. He'd switched the TV on and then off. There was something comforting about knowing he was close.
So it wasn’t him.
It was as if he'd activated her memory bank when he'd startled her in the truck, and the memories she'd suppressed for the past three days were attacking her from the inside. She couldn't turn them off like he’d switched off the TV.
You can't leave me. You'll never leave me.
A flash of headlights against a brick wall.
The way her head had flung backwards when he'd hit her.
Her own screams.
She shivered under the quilt, blinking the wall clock into focus. Two trembling breaths weren't enough to shake the memories, but at least the panic attack threatening her backed off.
She was going about this all wrong. When she'd been a kid, every time she'd tried to stay awake, she'd fallen asleep. Christmas Eve. The night before they left for family vacation. The night before school started.
Stay awake.
So she counted the beats of the second hand on the wall clock.
3,600. 7,200.
The clock ticked past midnight.
Any rancher worth his salt would be long asleep. The workday started at five.
She'd lost that part of herself at TU. The little girl who’d been born to be a rancher. She'd lost too much.
Cord had let her stay the night.
She had to find a way to convince him to let her stay longer. Maybe she couldn't sleep here, but she was the safest she'd felt since the attack.
The clock ticked away, and she pushed out of the bed. A glass of water. That might help.
Or at least be an excuse if the rancher woke.
The ranch house was as creaky as the one where she'd grown up. She tested each step before she took it but still managed to tweak one of the stairs. She froze, listening.
Cord must be a deep sleeper.
Downstairs, the floor was full of squeaking boards, especially as she passed through the living room. What a nasty tree.
It was maybe five feet tall. The fake pine needles must've been green at one time, but by now most of the paint—and most of the needles—had worn off. Cheap glass balls also had the paint worn off and were interspersed around the tree at uneven intervals.
She'd bet if she plugged in the lights, half of the string wouldn't work. Wires that old might even spark a fire.
There were no handmade kindergarten ornaments like Mama had always hung on the tree at home.
It was pretty sad. Why hadn't Cord put it away already?
We weren't close.
His words from earlier ping-ponged around the inside of her head as she ran a glass of tap water from the sink.
They weren't close. But Grandma had raised him? He’d said this was his grandma’s place. And the cutout pictures in the room upstairs had been fifteen years faded. Not thirty-five. It made sense.
She sipped the water, smiling a little at the mineral-rich taste. Well water.
She'd missed it.
Funny how many things you didn't know you'd miss until you couldn't
go home again.
There was a scritch-scratch sound against the nearest door, and she jumped. She bobbled the water glass but caught it before it fell and shattered.
She strained her ears to hear over the thundering of her heart. Was that—? How had he found her?
A soft whine cut through the noise in her head.
The dog. It was just the dog. Outside.
Molly clutched the counter as she tried to steady her breathing and let her racing pulse return to normal.
The dog scratched again, and she really didn't want to wake up Cord. She needed to get on his good side if she was going to—somehow—convince him to let her stay.
She crept through the mudroom-slash-laundry and to the door. "Shh."
The dog whined again.
She shouldn't, but she turned the deadbolt and cracked the door open anyway.
Immediately, the collie's nose filled the crack. His tail thumped against the outside wall, banging with each wag. It sounded like someone knocking.
Snot nuggets. That was not achieving the goal of keeping the dog quiet.
She used a strategically placed knee to keep the dog in the cramped laundry room and shut the inside door that led to the kitchen.
His tail banged the washing machine, and the loud metallic thud was twenty times worse.
"Shh, buddy. Shh."
She couldn't help a tiny giggle as she knelt and then was knocked onto her butt by the enthusiastic dog. He wiggled his way onto her lap, licking her neck and chin.
"Hey, now. I don't make out on the first date," she protested in a whisper.
Finally, the dog calmed. It sat next to her, and she let her back rest against the washing machine. She kept her arm around the dog's furry side, buried her nose in the soft fur of his ruff.
Tears came hot and sudden to her eyes.
But dogs never told secrets. She used one wrist to wipe the tears away.
Listening to the dog's panting breaths was better than staring at a clock upstairs.
Would she ever feel safe again?
3
Something was burning.
Cord threw himself out of bed and was halfway down the stairs before he realized it was the scent of bacon grease.
Someone was cooking breakfast.
Molly's head popped through the kitchen doorway. "Good morning—"
Her words cut off at the same time that he realized he was wearing only a pair of basketball shorts.
Her gaze bounced off his bare chest. "I woke you up. Sorry."
He cleared his throat. "I'll just…" He hitched one thumb over his shoulder.
She ducked back into the kitchen, but not before he saw her gaze flick back to him.
He returned to his room to pull on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He was buzzing with awareness. He'd felt that glance like a touch.
He had to get her out of here. Not only was she way too young for him, but it was obvious she was in trouble. Somebody skittish like she was needed more than he had left to give.
He glared at the clock before he stomped down the stairs. He'd gotten soft in his time away from the ranch. On a job site, you showed up at six-thirty or seven. Not oh-dark-thirty.
He was still squinty-eyed when he walked into the kitchen. Ice was pelting the kitchen window. It was not gonna be fun pitching hay for the cattle this morning.
He went straight to the coffeemaker even as his taste buds perked up.
He eyed the stove from his peripheral vision as he filled his mug.
She'd scrambled eggs, too, in addition to the bacon. And was rolling everything into... tortillas?
"I thought I'd make breakfast as a thank-you for letting me stay the night."
A nice gesture, but he wasn't changing his mind. She was out of here today.
He grunted, sipping his coffee. He swallowed the scalding liquid. "What's in this?"
She glanced up from the plate she was filling next to the stove. "Oh, I added a little cinnamon to the grounds. Like it?"
"No." He was a black coffee kind of guy. Why mess with a good thing?
"I also fed the dog for you."
Geez Louise. She was way too chipper this early in the morning.
"Are you going to sit?" She motioned to the table, which was conspicuously clean of all the clutter that'd been present last night. The pile of papers Mackie'd left him to deal with.
"What'd you do with my stuff?"
"I moved it to the living room so you could eat in here. I kept everything organized, don't worry. I'll put it back after I do the dishes."
She gave him a winning smile.
Not buying it.
"You aren't staying," he said.
One side of her smile faltered. It was a minuscule movement, but he caught it. He'd guessed her game.
She shrugged. "You said that last night." Bluffing. She was decent at it, but he was a master. "You gonna sit down?" she asked again.
He shook his head. Kept his weight leaning on the counter.
So she brought his plate to him. She'd rolled up two breakfast burritos and found some tiny china bowl that she'd filled with salsa. She'd garnished with a thin half-slice of tomato. Fancy.
She went back to the stove and started cleaning. "You know, a couple of those tractors down by the barn are antiques." She said the words in an offhand way that immediately put his hackles up.
"If you need cash to fix up this place, you could sell them."
He shook his head. "Nobody's gonna buy those rusted-out tractors."
She shot him a sideways glance as she moved her skillet to the sink. "There are people who'd pay a pretty penny for a refurbished antique tractor. And I just happen to be an expert at restoring old cars. I did a '72 Chevelle with my dad."
Aw. There was the catch. He'd known she was buttering him up for something with the breakfast spread.
"You're not staying." He pulled a paper towel from the roll on the counter and scooped up the two burritos. No use being wasteful. "I'll eat on my way to the barn. Once the cattle are accounted for, I'll drive you to town."
He shrugged into his coat in the mudroom and rushed outside, shutting the back door before he could see the disappointment in her expression. And breathed easier as soon as his boots hit the back porch even as the ice flakes falling from the sky hit his bare head. She'd run him out so fast, he'd left his hat.
Maybe she could cook, he admitted as he bit into one of the burritos. Who knew if she was telling the truth about working on a car with her dad?
It didn't matter. Because he had nothing left to give. He couldn't take care of somebody else. His latest ex, Emerson, had accused him of keeping himself shut off from her after she'd unloaded another emotional hurricane on him. He'd been exhausted from a week of late nights working to keep a job on deadline. What he'd needed was a quiet place to land, but she'd unleashed all her disappointments on him instead.
Maybe Mackie had been right all those times she'd told him he was broken.
Or maybe she was laughing from the grave.
Laughter was the last thing he was thinking about as he noticed the fence across the west pasture was down. One last cow was crossing the downed barbed wire. Seventy or so were already across, making tracks through the front pasture and down the road.
Cattle on the road were dangerous to drivers. Not to mention that his profit was walking down the dirt road.
He thrust his hand in his pocket. His keys weren't there. Where'd he left them?
He rushed back inside.
"What's going on?" Molly turned from the sink, her hands covered in suds.
He didn't have time to babysit and didn't even acknowledge Molly as he jogged through the kitchen. He left the half-eaten burrito on the counter.
His keys were in plain sight on top of the neat pile of papers she'd moved to the coffee table. Didn't stop him from grumbling as he pocketed them and stomped back through the kitchen.
He heard her call for him but didn't look back as he ran to his truck a
nd fired it up.
He had to get those cattle back.
* * *
It didn't take a genius to figure out what had set Cord's butt on fire.
His cattle were out.
She'd noticed that fence last night. Maybe she should've said something about it.
Maybe he would've ignored her.
Now wasn't the time for what-if's.
She didn't have a working vehicle, but she wanted to help. So what if he hadn't changed his mind about letting her stay? It was the right thing to do.
She whistled for the dog as she rounded the house. They'd both been left behind.
"Are you a cattle dog?" she asked.
Her only answer was a wagging tail as she set off at a lope up the long drive.
Cord's truck was throwing up gravel dust. He'd gone south. At least three cows had gone north. He must've gone for the biggest payoff first.
She took the dog and went north. Skirted the first two cows easily, as they'd stopped to graze along the roadside. A lone critter had managed to hightail it down the road, and she urged the dog into a jog to go after it.
There was another drive a half-mile down the road, and a truck was exiting it.
Molly didn't even think about it. She whistled and yelled, waving her arms over her head.
And the driver must've seen her, because the truck headed her direction.
Thank goodness.
Molly kept one eye on the dog as the truck rolled slowly toward her. He gave a friendly wag as the window rolled down.
It was a woman.
Tension whooshed out of Molly.
"Howdy," she said. "Cord's cattle busted the fence. Any chance you can help us round them up?"
The woman's eyes cut behind Molly. Looking at the ranch house? She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I suppose it'd be the neighborly thing to do. I'm Iris. A friend of Cord's from a long time ago."
Molly extended her hand for a quick shake. "Molly. New friend. Very new."
At least she hoped he'd count her as a friend after this.
His Small-Town Girl Page 2
