Читать книгу Familiar Showdown - Caroline Burnes - Страница 11

Black Jack entered his stall willingly enough and even allowed Johnny to remove his halter. He stood docile and well-mannered until Johnny stepped out of the stall and started to close the door. Then he lunged. But Johnny was ready for him. He’d seen horses like Black Jack before.

And he knew what often happened to them. They paid with their lives for the mistreatment they’d received.

“You’ve got a chance here, boy,” he said softly. “That woman out there wants to help you. Me, too. But the hard work is going to be up to you. If you don’t come around…” He hung the halter on a peg outside the stall door and went to get Tex out of the trailer.

He examined the cut on Tex’s leg, hosed it down, re-wrapped it and put the gelding out to graze in the small paddock that adjoined his stall. All the while he kept glancing toward the ranch house, hoping to see Stephanie headed his way.

From the gossip he’d heard about her in the small town, he’d expected her to be beautiful. As best he could tell, that was one of the many problems she faced. Folks didn’t understand a beautiful woman moving out on an isolated ranch alone. It went against the norm and had added fuel to the fire of speculation.

In the two days he’d spent in Custer, South Dakota, before coming out to the ranch, he’d heard all kinds of rumors about her, everything from her practicing black magic to being some kind of felon hiding from the law.

None of that was true. That much he knew for certain. She was a strong woman who’d refused to give up on her dream even after suffering a terrible loss. But folks in town didn’t know that. Obviously, Stephanie didn’t feel the need to talk about her personal business, and thank goodness for that.

The townsfolk didn’t know anything about her past or the hardships she’d been through. But he did. It was her past that had brought him to Running Horse Ranch.

He felt a painful jab in his hamstring and whipped around to find the black cat digging his claws into his legs.

“Hey!” He tried to step away, but the cat stayed with him. “Let go!”

Familiar released his claws and sat down, his gaze steady. Johnny laughed uneasily. It was almost as if the cat had read his thoughts. While he had a healthy respect for the intuitive abilities of all creatures, he didn’t believe a cat could read minds. At least he hoped not. Because what he’d come to Custer to do required deception.

While the rodeo story he’d told Stephanie was true, it was a long, long way from the whole truth.

Footsteps thudded in the barn and he latched the door to Tex’s paddock, then turned to meet Stephanie. She was a tall, willowy silhouette in the barn door, and he felt again the pounding attraction.

“Is your horse okay?” she asked, walking to the stall door and leaning against it as she appraised Tex.

“He’s healing. He hung his leg in a gate.”

“Looks like you know your way around a bandage.”

Johnny nodded. “You work around stock, you have a lot of opportunities to learn first aid.”

“Where have you worked?” she asked.

Her dark gaze settled on him, and he knew she was nobody’s fool. He had to be careful, because Stephanie was the kind of woman who checked things out.

“Most recently, I was over in Rapid City. The Big Bar Ranch, Mr. Linton. Before that, I handled the stock at the Missoula rodeo for Gateman Ames. Both of those men will give me a good reference. I didn’t have any problems on the job.”

She nodded. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

After what she’d been through, he didn’t blame her.

“I’m ready to fix that fence,” he said. “Where are your tools?”

“In the shed. Should be everything you need.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” He felt her gaze as he walked out into the sunshine and on toward the toolshed.

THE STEW MEAT SIMMERED on low heat, and Stephanie raked the carrots into the pot. While she had no intention of becoming a cook for the hired hand, she was also a realist. There wasn’t a burger joint or café within fifty miles of Running Horse Ranch. The ranch was nestled in a shallow valley at the foot of the Black Hills. The closest town was a long way off, and cell phone reception and even the satellite for her computer were highly unreliable. If Johnny Kreel was going to eat, someone at Running Horse Ranch was going to have to cook.

While she might get by with a peanut butter sandwich, she couldn’t expect Johnny Kreel to go without a decent meal.

She could hear the sound of the skill saw and then the solid thwack of a hammer against a nail as he repaired the fence. He was a fast worker. A hard worker. And she’d spent more time than she should staring out the kitchen window, watching him. A competent man at work was a pleasure to observe. Especially one who looked like Johnny.

He was handsome in a rugged way, and if she’d been in the market for romance, he’d certainly fit the bill—dark-brown hair with a slight curl, hazel eyes that shifted between gray and green, dimples, a hint of a five o’clock shadow. He certainly looked good in his cowboy shirt, and he moved with grace and economy.

The way he’d handled Black Jack intrigued her. Why had the horse responded so quickly to him when she’d worked for the past fourteen days—seemingly in vain—to build trust with the stallion?

That more than anything else captured her imagination. Horses were normally good judges of character. They didn’t trust all humans, but Black Jack had trusted Johnny. Could she trust him? That remained to be seen.

While she pondered the mysteries of Johnny Kreel, she chopped the onions and potatoes and added them to the bubbling stew. It wasn’t a fancy meal, but it would be filling.

She turned the stove down and picked up her cell phone. Luck was with her—she had reception. Within ten minutes, she’d spoken with Mr. Linton at Big Bar Ranch and Mr. Ames in Missoula. Both gave Johnny high marks as an employee and both said they hated to lose him, but that he’d been a man who kept moving. It was the cowboy way.

She hung up the phone and returned to the window. Johnny had finished the fence and was gathering up the tools. What kept a man on the move? In the days of the old West, it wasn’t uncommon for a cowpoke to drift from ranch to ranch, working the seasons of calving, branding and driving to market. But those days were gone.

Even cowboys needed regular pay, a place to live and insurance.

So why was Johnny Kreel on the move?

Maybe she’d never have an answer to that question, but she’d never forget that there was a question. No one was ever going to raise her expectations and send them crashing again.

“Meow.”

She looked down to find the black cat at her feet. He head-butted her shin and then looked up at her. “Meow.”

“Hungry?”

He did that slow nod again and she had to wonder—for at least the third time—if the cat was actually answering her question.

“Eleanor left some poached salmon for you.”

“Meow.”

It sounded like the cat said yes. Extraordinary. She got the fish from the refrigerator and prepared a portion for him. When he started eating, she shook her head as she set the table for dinner.

Dusk was falling. The days were short in October, and the nights could be nippy. She’d stocked the bunkhouse with blankets, but she had an extra down comforter.

She went to the back door. “Johnny, dinner’s ready!”

Before he appeared, she returned to her work in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she set the table for two.

GETTING INTO THE RANCH HOUSE was the first step. Johnny didn’t feel good about what he meant to do, but he didn’t have a choice. Not really. He was accomplished at his job, and that’s why he’d been sent to Running Horse Ranch in the first place.

He opened the screen and stepped into the delicious aroma of cooking stew. Despite Stephanie’s caustic words, she’d rustled up some grub for him. Against his better judgment, he felt a jolt of pleasure. He quickly reminded himself that he was at the ranch for a purpose, and one that would undoubtedly put him at odds with the horse trainer.

“Have a seat.” Stephanie pointed at a stout wooden table. A small cluster of wild prairie flowers in a delicate vase graced the rough-hewn table, and Johnny thought the contrast perfectly symbolized Stephanie. She was as beautiful as the flowers and the fragile vase, and as durable as the old, scarred table.

He stopped his thoughts dead. He could not afford to romanticize Stephanie Ryan. She was part of a mission, part of his job.

“Something wrong?” Stephanie asked as she brought the stew to the table and took her own seat.

“No.” He answered too quickly. He lifted the glass of red wine at his place and took a sip. Before he could swallow, something sharp and wicked gripped his shin.

He exploded up from the table, wine flying everywhere.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed.

Both he and Stephanie ducked to look under the table where Familiar sat, placidly licking his paw in total innocence.

Stephanie cleared her throat, leaned over and refilled his wineglass, ignoring the stain all down the front of his shirt.

“That cat is a dangerous beast,” Johnny said. He felt like an utter fool. The cat had caught him by surprise.

“That cat is an extraordinary judge of character,” Stephanie said, her level brown gaze locking on him. “He peed on Rupert Casper’s truck seat.”

Johnny didn’t believe her at first. It took only a few seconds for him to realize the truth of her statement. “That’s pretty incredible.” He grinned. “And pretty great. I can forgive him for making me spill the wine if he’s going to harass Rupert Casper.”

Stephanie held her spoon aloft. “I’m just wondering why Familiar found it necessary to attack you.” She left the words hanging between them.

“Maybe he doesn’t like the smell of cowboy,” Johnny said.

Stephanie took a dainty spoonful of the stew. She swallowed and put down her spoon. “Oh, I don’t think Familiar objects to the smell of cowboy, but I’m certain he has a keen dislike of the smell of a rat.”

Johnny froze. For one split second, he wondered how Stephanie had unmasked his cover so quickly, but then he realized she’d merely taken a stab in the dark. He forced a chuckle. “Oh, then I’m safe.” But he wasn’t. Not if Stephanie found out what he was really up to.

He bent over the bowl and began to eat. While it wasn’t fancy, the thick stew was delicious, as was the crusty bread. Johnny was hungry. And while he could enjoy the pleasure of the food, he had to steer clear of the woman who sat across the table.

STEPHANIE ATE THE STEW she’d cooked, but her thoughts weren’t on the food. Johnny Kreel took center stage in her mind. For no reason at all, Familiar had attacked him under the table.

She tore off a crust of bread and chewed it slowly. She didn’t know Familiar, but in a few short days, she’d come to trust him a lot more than she trusted Johnny Kreel.

The man’s past employment checked out, but that didn’t mean anything. That was the last six months. Where had he been the other thirty or so years of his life?

“Are you from this area, Johnny?”

“No, ma’am,” he answered, gaze focused on his bowl.

“So where are you from?” She was like a dog worrying a bone when she got started. She’d know every detail before she was done.

“I grew up in the wire grass country of Alabama. My granddad raised cattle.” He still didn’t look at her.

“And what happened between growing up and today?”

At last he lifted his gaze, and she saw there was a tempest brewing in his oddly colored eyes. He covered it quickly.

“I went to the University of Alabama on a scholarship and ended up in the law school.”

“You have a law degree?” She was surprised. Not that he didn’t look capable. In fact, Johnny Kreel looked like he could take on and conquer almost anything he set his hand to.

“I do, but I only practiced for five years. It wasn’t the job for me.”

He’d really ignited her curiosity now. “Why not?”

Picking up a piece of bread, he took his time answering. She could see that he was thinking through his response, which meant he cared.

“I thought the law was going to be about fighting for truth and justice.” The tiniest bit of red tinged his strong face. “I know that sounds corny, but it’s true. I really thought I could make a difference.”

He returned to his food as if he’d answered her.

“What happened?”

Johnny met her stare head-on. This time he didn’t look away or flinch. “A man I defended—an innocent man—ended up in prison. He was killed before his case came up for appeal.”

“I’m so sorry.” An almost irresistible urge to put a comforting hand on his arm struck her, but she restrained herself.

“He was a good guy. An innocent man wrongly accused. Putting him in prison was like throwing him into the lion’s den. Everyone knew he’d be killed and no one did a thing to stop it. After that, I sort of lost my taste for the justice system.”

“A law degree can be a handy thing,” she said. Rupert Casper and Black Jack sprang to mind. Wasn’t there some law that said possession was nine-tenths of the law?

“I don’t practice. Besides, I was only licensed in Alabama.”

“You could get licensed here. Folks in town would be glad to have another lawyer.”

“Not this one.” The way he said it told her he was ready to let the subject drop.

“So after you quit the law, what did you do?”

He visibly relaxed. “I bummed around the country, working on ranches and doing odd jobs. I needed to get back in touch with the things I’ve always loved about the West.”

“And did you?”

He finally laughed. “Did you work for the Spanish Inquisition in a past life?”

His question was so unexpected that she laughed, too. His dusty cowboy clothes hid a lot more than they revealed. “Maybe,” she said. “You just never know, do you?”

“No, ma’am, you don’t.” He eased his empty bowl away from him. “That was delicious, except for the wine I threw all over myself. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll make sure Tex is comfortable, stop by and visit with Black Jack for a moment and then I’ll be off to bed.”