Читать книгу No One Needs to Know - Debbi Rawlins - Страница 8

“WELL, THIS IS PERFECT,” Annie said, shaking her head. “Of course you’re Tucker Brennan.”

“And you’re Annie Sheridan.”

She nodded, made an abortive move to shake his hand, but her gloves were still on and her body had decided to alert her to a whole symphony of hurts and burns. What she would feel like when the adrenaline faded was going to be torture. “Welcome to Safe Haven,” she said. “You’re bleeding.”

He followed her gaze down to his arm where there was now a rip in his shirt. There was blood, but while the cut was long, it wasn’t deep. “Damn. I like this shirt.”

“Sorry about that.” She looked him over, just beginning to appreciate that the man in front of her was in a league she didn’t come across anymore. The McAllister brothers were prime examples of tall, dark and handsome, no doubt about it. The sheriff and Matt Gunderson, too. But Brennan had a different kind of good looks.

Even with the rip in his shirt and those hefty gloves, she could picture him sipping champagne at a ritzy social event as naturally as riding the range. He wasn’t New York fancy, though, which became very clear when he tugged off the gloves. There were some calluses, and he had a tan that wasn’t perfect enough to have come from relaxing at the spa.

He was a gentleman rancher, certainly…with thick dark hair, a strong face and intense green eyes, all of which she shouldn’t be noticing. He was doing his own inventory of her assets and liabilities, and she couldn’t begrudge him. Though if he’d been another man she might’ve found his close scrutiny a bit creepy.

“Let’s head to the cabin,” she said. “I can patch you up there.”

“I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, are a mess.”

“Um, yes.” She couldn’t help but smile as she glanced down at herself. “Yes, I am.” It could’ve been worse had she already changed to her good clothes. She looked over her shoulder toward the barn. God bless them, the kids had already returned to their chores. Although they’d be leaving soon. “Actually, I need to make sure Levi is tending to Pinocchio before I do anything else. We can get you a cloth to put on that cut, if you think it can wait.”

“Yeah, this is nothing.” He waved dismissively. “I’m assuming Pinocchio is the unlucky goat.”

She nodded, leading him across the mix of packed dirt and gravel that became a muddy pit during rainy season. “He’s a curious guy, and he never seems deterred by the messes he gets himself into.”

“Goats can be difficult.”

“Every animal in Safe Haven can be difficult. I think they sign some kind of agreement before coming here.” She gestured vaguely. “Prelude to the tour. This is where we house the goats and chickens. We have twenty-two goats as of yesterday. We’re always on the hunt for new families for them, but only for milking and breeding, not for meat.”

On a shelf by the door, she picked up and folded a clean rag from a pile and handed it to him. He pressed it against the cut, hissing a little.

Annie figured he would be fine for the next ten minutes or so. He was a rancher, so he understood that her first responsibility was to the stock. “The chickens, they kind of came with the place. Sometimes I’ll wake up to new hens, more so roosters that people have dropped off.”

She watched Tucker scope out the barn. Feed was safely stored behind big fences. The coops were spacious and well maintained. The goats had new water tanks from a central well, which had been the most expensive improvement since she’d taken over. No more lugging pails. Cleaning troughs? That job would never disappear. But then, that was something the high school kids helped with.

“That must be Levi,” Tucker said, looking toward a bale of hay where the older man sat petting Pinocchio gently as his wife, Kathy, worked on cleaning the goat’s wounds.

As Annie slowed her step, Tucker did, as well. No need to spook Pinocchio any further. Not that the other animals paid that any mind. Chickens wandered and pecked, making a racket that had become white noise to Annie. Some of the other goats were nursing or filching scratch from the hens. There were stalls for resting and birthing, and stacked bales of hay for the baby goats—kids—to find their legs.

“It’s a great setup,” Tucker said.

“We’re always at capacity.” Looking on, she sighed. “That’s what’s hard. So many in need, and we try not to overcrowd the barn. I’ve tapped out the locals for the most part. Though we’re lucky to have an animal rescue pilot living nearby. Jesse has taken special cases to better-equipped shelters.”

“How’s Pinocchio doing?” Tucker asked, speaking to Levi and his wife.

“Banged up some,” Kathy said, “but he’ll be fine once he gets his calm back. He’s a devil, this one. If he wasn’t so darn adorable we’d have pitched him out ages ago.”

Both Levi and Annie laughed. “The day you pitch out an animal is the day we close up shop,” Annie said. “You’re worse than all of us.”

Kathy’s kids had left the nest. She and Levi, a former teacher, had been married for thirty-two years. She’d grown up in cattle country, and her wiry body was fit and strong. At sixty, she could still lift a fifty-pound bag of feed without breaking a sweat.

Her husband was just as sturdy. He didn’t let his arthritis stop him. “What the dickens were you thinking, jumping into that mess?” he asked, frowning up at Tucker.

The slow curve of his mouth and amusement in his eyes said he wasn’t normally spoken to in that manner. “I saw an opening. I took it.”

“Could have got yourself killed.” Levi shifted his stink eye to Annie. “And you sure as hell know better. Just who do you think would take over for you if you got hurt bad? You need to think of that before you rush in next time. We can’t save everyone,” he said, his gaze softening as he turned back to Pinocchio. “Much as we’d like to.”

Annie wanted to change the subject quickly. The last thing she needed was for Tucker to think she was irresponsible. She couldn’t very well yell at Levi for speaking the truth, but did he have to be so blunt with Brennan standing right there? Grasping for the quickest exit she could think of, she winced, touched her side and breathed a soft, “Ow.”

TUCKER’S ATTENTION FLEW TO Annie. Her face didn’t show the pain she had to be feeling. But she could be hiding something serious beneath those well-worn clothes. “We should get you fixed up,” he said.

She nodded, and all he could think of was that seeing her pictures and even the videos had not prepared him for this striking woman. He’d known she was tall, but in heels she would just about reach his height of six-one. Even with the grime smeared across her cheeks, he could see she had smooth, creamy skin. Her lack of concern for her appearance finally struck him. She’d given him a rag but hadn’t taken one for herself.

Once she wiped off the mud, he wondered if her eyes would still look so blue under those thick lashes. And her hair was…interesting. He’d bet she cut it herself, but it somehow made her look more appealing. Her beauty was a perfect cover, all right. Of course Christian would have been captivated by her. Hell, any man would have.

She cast a final look at Pinocchio, then turned for the door. Tucker paced himself so he could get a look at her from the back. Long and lean, she walked with utter confidence. Another puzzle to work out. Why? Why had she run, only to end up working her ass off out in the middle of nowhere?

He got a quick look at the stable as they passed by. The younger woman he’d seen earlier approached Annie with a smile. “You okay?” the woman asked.

“Fine. Banged up a bit. But fine.” Annie turned briefly to Tucker. “This is Melanie Knowles. She teaches at the local high school and is responsible for bringing the kids you’ve seen out here. Mel, this is Tucker Brennan.”

He shook the woman’s hand, but she was clearly too concerned about Annie to bother with him.

“You need some help?” she asked, nodding at the already blooming bruise forming on Annie’s forearm.

“I’ll be fine. All the help I need is that you and the gang are here.”

“We’ve got you covered,” Melanie said, then nodded at him and circled back to the stable, where more of her charges were waiting.

Annie had developed a slight limp as they finally made their way into the cabin. He reached to hold the door at the same time she did. The awkward dance ended with her the victor. Then she nearly ran into him when he stepped inside and stopped dead still.

This was more like a line shack than a cabin. A crappy line shack at that. There was a beaten-up table in the center of the small room, three mismatched chairs pushed under it. A counter held a microwave while a toaster oven and a big coffeepot flanked the sink. On the sideboard sat a computer, and above that was a large chalk duty roster that listed volunteers, chores, memos and reminders. Under the sideboard was a dorm fridge. A leather recliner had been pushed so far up against a wall he doubted there was any chance of it actually reclining.

Stairs led up to a loft, which he imagined was her bedroom. The only other door had to be the bathroom, and that was it. He could probably fit the entire place into his walk-in closet at the ranch.

She touched his arm to sneak around him, making him jump. “Sorry. The bathroom’s back there. Why don’t you go in first and wash up? You should probably take off that shirt and let me have a go at that cut.”

Tucker nodded and made his way to the bathroom, maneuvering around the table. He noticed a brass lamp, the only decorative object on the lower floor. There were no pictures, no trinkets, no nothing. He assumed the cupboards were as sparse as everything else. It would have made a perfect home for a monk. But hard for someone who had things to hide. With no space to spare, she’d have to get creative.

He’d sure like to get a look upstairs. If there was anything tying Leanna to her past, she’d keep it close when she was most vulnerable.

The bathroom was so small it made his jaw drop. The toilet desperately needed replacing, and next to that was a very tiny shower. There was enough room to turn around. That was it. The plastic curtain was too long for the bar, and he couldn’t picture any woman he’d ever known who would last two days in this miniature house.

The pedestal sink looked old with its stains, but clean. Underneath, there was a medical kit, and above, a wooden cabinet with a small mirror.

His hand hit the shower enclosure as he took his shirt off. Putting it on the closed toilet, he soaped up. He checked his torso for bruises and cuts, but there was only one on his upper right hip, and while it was getting ugly, he’d survive. The cut on his arm stung, and it started bleeding a little, but it was shallow and would stop soon. No stitches needed, although an aspirin would be welcome.

Using one of the fresh-smelling towels, he dried off, grabbed his shirt and the medical kit and went back to the main room. “It’s all yours,” he said.

Annie opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Instead, she stared at his bared chest. He knew he wasn’t anything like one of those six-pack guys in catalogs, but he kept himself in good shape. The way she blushed surprised him, but then again, this was ostensibly a business meeting.

“I made some coffee,” she said, finally, and that’s when the aroma hit. “You’ll find everything you need, unless you want cream. I do have some goat milk in there, though.”

“Thanks.”

He watched her go, feeling huge and clumsy in this small room, although he normally wasn’t. But as he investigated, finding mugs along with plates and glasses and utensils, he realized how organized Annie had to be to make things work.

What was the use of running away with the money if this is how she had to live? There weren’t two mugs that matched, or two plates. Everything looked secondhand. The fridge had very little to say for itself—the milk, a couple of bags of greens, some condiments, two beers way in the back. A tiny freezer section held a couple of frozen burritos and ice trays.

It wasn’t surprising that the most abundant food in the cabin were packages of ramen noodles. This was worse than a dorm room.

She came out of the bathroom with her T-shirt untucked. She’d lost the pink on her cheeks, but she wasn’t back to meeting his gaze. “Please sit,” she said, kicking out one of the chairs.

“Can we have coffee while we do this?”

“Yes.” Her demeanor changed with that one word, her face somehow expressing real pleasure without having to smile. “Of course.”

So, without the smudges on her smooth cheeks, her eyes were still that incredible blue. He liked her mouth, as well. Full lips, well-defined and naturally pink. She wore no makeup, and she sure didn’t need any.

He tensed when he realized what he was doing. Twenty minutes since he’d met her and he was already getting distracted by her looks. Christ.

She blinked, then lowered her lashes. “Go ahead,” she said, with a jerky tilt of her head that had him cursing himself for staring too long. “I’ll get the supplies sorted, then fix myself a cup.”

Together, they made it through the dance of moving with only one open path. She almost avoided his chest, but that one brush of her shoulder made them both freeze as if they’d done something illegal. Annie cleared her throat, and he managed to ignore the contact.

He sat down with his coffee and tore open a package of gauze while he waited for her to fill her mug. The situation was perfect for his purposes. Sudden intimacy with a relative stranger was something no one could plan for. He would find out more about Annie in the next ten minutes than he would being shown around the sanctuary. But only if he stopped allowing himself to be distracted. She was a stunner, no argument there. Knowing how she’d used her looks to dupe his brother made him more the fool if he fell victim.

Along with her coffee, she brought a wet cloth and clean towel to the table with her. A pair of scissors, antiseptic and other first-aid needs had already been laid out. He watched her eye his arm, her top teeth toying with her bottom lip. She winced a second before she swabbed him with alcohol, and so did Tucker.

Far from the cool distance of someone used to causing pain, her expression was the picture of concern. A sharp inhale through clenched teeth, a soft, “Sorry,” as she used a second swab. Once she covered the cut with gauze, her shoulders relaxed, and she was again the confident woman in charge. What he couldn’t tell yet was if her empathetic response was completely false.

“Thanks,” he said. “Now you.”

“Oh. No. I can handle it.”

“I doubt it,” he said, watching her reluctance turn into another blush. “I was there.”

When she finally responded it was with a weary sigh. “Okay, but I know it’s nothing.” She slowly got to her feet, looking as if she’d rather be walking barefoot on hot coals. “It’s my back. I got caught on a wire.”

He turned in his seat as she stood directly in front of him, his eyes level with her leather belt. Now that he was looking for it, he could see spots of blood on her shirt. She lifted it carefully, exposing a long stretch of what would have been perfectly pale skin. Instead, there were two sizable bruises that were coloring in darkly.

“I don’t know,” he said, in no way faking his own concern, which made him uncomfortable. “Maybe you should get these checked out. It looks bad.” He touched the worst of it with careful fingers.

Annie inhaled sharply. “If you’d stop poking at it.”

“I’m trying to make sure there’s no internal hemorrhaging.”

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

“This one’s over your kidney. It could be dangerous.”

“I know there’s no real damage,” she said, lifting the shirt higher, but now with evident tension running through her. “I know because I was kicked by a horse years ago. So, the cut?”

“Right,” he murmured, the word coming out low and slow as her bra strap came into view. It was the least fancy bra imaginable. White, no frills. A sensible bra that had no business looking like that against her pale flesh. Just as he had no business noticing.

The bruises hurt him to see, and the cut was no picnic, but it was impossible not to notice the rest of her body. The sleek elegance of her lines, the curve of her waist, the indention of her delicate spine. This close, her scent came through. Yeah, she was no rose petal, not from a foot or so away, but from inches, she smelled like a ripe peach. Damn his senses for the traitors they were. He murmured another curse.

“What? Is it that bad?”

He cleared his throat and moved his gaze to where she’d been bleeding. Now that he had some focus, he saw it wasn’t a bad cut, on par with his own, but there was no way she could have taken care of it herself.

Tucker got a swab at the same time he pulled himself together. “No. It’s fine. But it’s gonna sting like hell.”

“Go for it.”

He did, and this time, their roles were neatly reversed. He winced—especially with the feeling so present in his memory—although he didn’t apologize or make any noise at all. His job was to be efficient. Observant. He had a rare opportunity in front of him, and he was so busy thinking with his dick it was slipping away.

“This was some introduction, huh?” Her laugh was high and nervous. “I’m really sorry—”

“Do not apologize. I completely understand.” Good. Back to business. “I saw a quarter horse that looked ready to foal. How many mares are pregnant?”

She seemed to relax even though he was taking the second swab to her cut. “We’ve had two births so far, both healthy. Besides Glory, one more is close enough to get her own birthing stall, and another one is showing. That’s it, because we’re keeping the mares separate, but they’re the last of a large herd that was kind of dumped on us. Most of them were taken to a horse sanctuary in Wyoming, but we’ve got the rest.

“Thankfully, they’re pretty healthy now. Some—” She stopped when his fingers touched her skin as he worked to adjust the gauze before taping it. “Some of them were undernourished,” she continued. “And the vet was here a lot in the beginning. We’ve got a line on new homes for a couple of the stallions, which is amazing. It’s going to be hard to place them.”

“I’ll take a look at them, if you like. I can’t promise anything, but I know some people who might be interested, and they’re not too far away.”

“Yeah, distance is a problem for us. I’d appreciate any help you can give.”

“Okay,” he said. “You’re all set. Are you sure there’s nowhere else you might need help? I can get Melody in here, if that’s more comfortable.”

“Melanie.” Annie dropped her shirt. “And no, but thank you. If you’re up for it, we can take a real tour. You can bring your coffee with you, or we could finish it here if you’d rather.” She gave him a quick smile, then handed him his shirt.

He stood, slipped it on and angled away to tuck it in. When he faced her again, she was drinking her coffee, her gaze focused on something other than him.

Was she thinking of another life? Of future plans? She understood that the Rocking B Foundation gave sizable grants and gifts. It could turn this little operation into something to be reckoned with, and considering they had access to aircraft, the potential for animal services was huge. Or maybe she was just thinking about how the foundation money, along with the stolen investments, could build her a dream home right across the border in Canada.

“We can walk and talk,” he said. “That is, if you’re not too sore. But I’d like to grab another cup of coffee.”

“There’s no such thing as too sore working a ranch. I guess you already know that.”

Not the way she did. He’d been part of a big machine. Yes, he’d had to learn all the grunt work jobs, then those that took skill. But very few times had he faced the cold of a winter morning alone, when every animal in sight was counting on him for food and shelter and care.

There was nothing simple about sanctuaries. He’d investigated a hell of a lot of them. Each time, there was one individual or couple who were the lifeblood and soul of the operation. Those who gave up any sense of a normal life to the welfare of the animals.

She’d been doing it almost on her own for two years. He didn’t have the faintest idea why. Penance made no sense. Not when she could go back to New York and really make things right. How was it he hadn’t anticipated her working like a dog? What had she done with the money she’d already stolen?

“You know, I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls.” He checked his watch, then made sure he looked at her when he added, “Would it be okay if I met you in the stable in about twenty minutes?”

There. A flash of panic that was gone in the blink of an eye. Just long enough for him to see her gaze fly to the loft and back. She didn’t want him here alone. Not for anything. But he simply waited her out.

“Sure. No problem. I’ll see you there.”

“Thanks. I won’t be long.”

Annie picked up her coffee mug, then set it in the sink without taking another sip. She hesitated at the door as if she was working out what to say to him, but in the end, she stepped outside. He watched her walk down the path, his phone to his ear.

The minute she was out of sight, he headed straight up the steps. His heart was beating too quickly, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn’t used to subterfuge. He’d always believed in facing his problems head-on. But this case was the exception to all his rules.

He saved the obvious for last, moving quickly around the room, looking at the floorboards, the wall for any possible nook where she could have something stashed.

With no paintings and no closet, there wasn’t much territory to explore, but he took his time. The dresser was filled with clothes, packed tight. Still, he pulled each one all the way out to look underneath the drawer. Nothing.

The bed was intact, as far as he could tell without stripping it completely, but underneath…

Coffee cans. Four of them. And an old-fashioned suitcase. That’s what he opened first, checking his watch, appalled at how long everything was taking. She could come back any second, and she’d have every reason to call the cops on him.

The suitcase was full of paperback books and music CDs. He checked every pocket twice, flipped through the books and popped open the CD cases, but he didn’t find anything noteworthy. Disappointed, he shoved the case back under the bed.

He hit one of the cans of coffee, and just to be sure, he checked. It was unopened coffee. So was the next, and the next.

The fourth one had an unsealed envelope. Inside, it was a single sheet of paper with a typed number and password. He was certain the number was for a bank account. There was also a driver’s license in the name of Alison Bishop, with a picture that sort of looked like Annie, and a roll of cash thicker than his fist.

After he took a picture of the license and the account number, he put it all back under the bed just the way he’d found it. Then he got the hell out of there before she caught him red-handed.