Читать книгу All For A Cowboy - Jeannie Watt - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

JORDAN MADE IT as far as Wisconsin before trouble struck in the form of a faulty alternator. Since it was impossible to travel without headlights, he’d stopped in the first town he’d hit at dusk. On a Saturday evening. When no garages were open, or even due to be open, until Monday.

The first night he’d slept in his car in a campground, putting the seat down to open up the cargo space and make just enough room for him to almost stretch out. The second night he thought, Screw it, and rented the cheapest motel room he could find, smuggled Clyde in and settled for the night. Less than three hours later he woke up fighting, his breath coming in short, painful gasps, his body covered with sweat.

Shoving the tangled sheets aside, Jordan stumbled out of bed, his head swimming as he regained his feet.

Whoa, shit.

Jordan wiped the sweat off first his forehead and then his upper lip with what was left of his now-healed hand, feeling the unwelcome scrape of overly dry skin across his damp face. He paced to the window and stopped, staring at the brown plaid drapes. Clyde shadowed his movement, keeping a distance away, as if not wanting to crowd him.

The dog understood.

Jordan tried to clear his throat, found it impossible on the first try. He hadn’t cried out. Usually he woke up yelling, but not this time. This time he’d felt as if he was drowning. Suffocating as water filled his lungs.

What the hell?

He turned away from the window, scrubbing both hands over his face. It’d been months since he’d had a nightmare, months since he’d cautiously weaned himself off the prazosin, which had been prescribed to help him deal with the symptoms of post-traumatic stress and had stopped the dreams cold.

There was no point in going back to bed, so Jordan slumped down into the uncomfortable armchair next to the window and stared into space until Clyde jumped up into his lap.

The dream had to be stress related. The alternator. The trip home. Having no means of support except for his disability check. All of his instincts were still urging him to go back to Montana. He needed to go home.

But since his dad was dead, what was he going home to?

The question had niggled at him more than once on the drive and he had no answer to it. Maybe it was because the High Camp, the remote ranch he and his dad had co-owned, was one of the few places where he’d felt a modicum of peace after Miranda had come into his life; it was the one thing she hadn’t poisoned. Not that she hadn’t tried. When he’d proposed to Becky Christopher just before he’d gone into the service, Miranda was the one who’d suggested that he and his father create a formal lease, so that Hank could continue to farm the land if something happened to Jordan and Becky inherited. She’d referred to Jordan’s possible demise so often that he’d gone overseas with the distinct feeling that Miranda hoped something did happen to him.

Well, Miranda had gotten her wish shortly after Becky had called it quits—and he was still suspicious about Miranda’s influence with his former fiancée. Something bad had happened to Jordan, but he hadn’t died. His father had, so now he owned the place outright and there wasn’t one freaking thing she could do about it.

It took three days to get the alternator repaired, then Jordan made it as far as North Dakota before finally pulling off the highway and following the frontage road until he found a gravel lane leading off into the hills. He followed it for a ways, then pulled off. Clyde woke up as he slowed to a stop and they both stepped outside to pee before once again making themselves as comfortable as possible in the Subaru. Jordan debated before reaching for the bottle of pills in his jacket pocket. He’d hate himself in the morning when he couldn’t wake up, but he’d hate himself more if he woke up in a cold sweat gasping for air in an hour or two. He’d wait until he got home, then wean himself off the pills once again.

* * *

SHAE CLOSED HER apartment door and let her designer bag drop to the floor with a thud. Would it have killed any of the people she’d cold-called to give her a smidgen of encouragement?

Apparently so, because even the people she knew well—come to think of it, especially the people she knew well—had been pretty damned blunt about the possibility of employment. True, her firm had been unique, combining real estate and guest-ranch management together, but as far as she could see, that gave her experience in two fields, which should have doubled the job opportunities. Not so. Three days of looking and not much hope. Meanwhile, bills for things she’d forgotten buying had started trickling in. She needed to find a job before the trickle became a flood.

The way people had reacted to her cold calls, even the ones on her father’s list, made her wonder if word of why she’d been let go had spread through the small real-estate community. Had Miranda blackballed her?

And if so, why? It wasn’t as though she’d done anything heinous.

Shae reached into the fridge to pull out her last bottle of chardonnay. She’d just started working on the cork when a knock sounded on her door.

Opportunity, perhaps?

Her mouth twisted as she pulled the cork before abandoning the bottle and crossing the living room to look through the peephole. Her younger brother, Brant, stood on the other side.

Shae opened the door and without hesitation walked into her brother’s arms, hugging him close. His arms closed around her and for a moment they just stood. The last time Shae could remember him hugging her was when she’d lost the Miss Rodeo Montana crown by one and a half points. She’d needed moral support then and she needed it now.

“How was Texas?” she asked as she eased out of his embrace.

“Flat and humid, but I won some money.” He pulled off his hat as he walked into her apartment. “I hear you’ve had some life changes since Liv’s wedding.”

Shae nodded as she closed the door behind him. “Want a beer?” she asked.

“You know I do.” He put his hat on the table, then took a seat on the sofa while Shae went to the fridge.

“Is Black Butte okay?” she called. She had two bottles left and once those were gone, yet another reminder of her three-year relationship with Reed would be history. After that she never wanted to see another bottle of Black Butte Porter again.

“Fine,” he called. She popped the top on the beer, poured herself a glass of chardonnay—although at this point in the day she could have easily chugged from the bottle—and brought both out into the living room. Brant took the beer from her, lifting it in a salute as he always did when they drank together. Shae did the same, glad that he didn’t feel the need to toast anything in particular. What could she toast right now? Here’s to all the sucky things that are happening?

“Want to talk?” her brother asked.

“No,” she said candidly. “But I will.” She took a sip of wine, which was sweeter than she liked, but adequate for helping her through yet another recital of how her life had gone so terribly wrong. “I got dumped and lost my job.”

Brant looked at her over the top of the bottle. “Anything else?”

“I can’t find another job?” She sank back farther into the sofa cushions, staring across the room. “Bills I’d forgotten I had are starting to pile up?”

“What happened with your old job?”

“Reduction in force.”

“I didn’t think you were lowest in seniority.”

“I’m not sure how they picked who got canned.”

She shot him a sideways glance and could tell that he didn’t believe her, but he let it pass. “So how’s the...wedding canceling going?” he asked.

“Not good. I’ve lost all of the deposits. Reed paid for his half, though.” Brant nodded over his beer and there was something in the way he was studying her that seemed...off. “Vivian is really upset, as you can imagine. She’s put a lot into this.”

“Yes, she has,” Brant said slowly, and Shae’s radar kicked up a notch.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Brant met her gaze dead-on, his expression solemn. “Don’t take any money from Vivian and Dad, okay?”

“What?” Shae asked, startled at the unexpected request.

“If you need money to tide you over, come to me, but not them. I know they’ll offer—it’s the way they are—but don’t take it.”

Shae closed her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t take their money.” She thought of the check from her dad that was nestled in the bottom of her purse, the godsend she’d hoped to live on while she found a decent job, because the way things were looking, eight weeks of severance wasn’t going to cut it. Not if she was going to keep making her car payment.

“Shae...you always land on your feet. You know you will this time, too. I’ll help.”

Her eyes snapped open and for a moment she simply stared at him, stunned. Really? He thought it was that easy? She’d just jump to her feet, dust herself off and carry on?

“I know no such thing.”

“Tell me a time you haven’t.”

“Brant...maybe you don’t quite get what is going on here. My fiancé walked out on me six weeks before the wedding I’ve been planning for almost two years. Then my boss fired me—”

“I’m here for you, honestly I am. But Shae...I don’t know if you realize how much you depend on other people to bail you out of your problems.”

Again she stared at him, a slow burn starting deep inside of her. “First Mel and now you. Why are you adding fuel to the fire?”

“What?”

“Mel stopped by the day I was fired to tell me it was my fault, and now...” She didn’t finish because there was no need. He knew where she was going with this. “Why are you doing this?”

Brant considered for a moment, then said, “Because it’s something that needs to be said. And it’s time.”

“It’s time. Now while I’m down is the time to give me another swift kick?”

“No. I’m not trying to kick you while you’re down.” He set down the beer and slid across the sofa to sit next to her, his voice earnest as he said, “If you need a loan, I’m happy to give it to you. Just...don’t take anything more from Vivian and Dad, okay? They’ve dipped into their retirement for your wedding and they don’t need to be dipping again.”

Shae’s head was starting to throb. “I’ll pay them back,” she muttered, putting a hand to her forehead. “They insisted that I take it. I told Dad that Reed and I were paying for everything, but he insisted on helping with my half. He said it was his duty as a father.”

“And maybe,” Brant said softly, “Since you knew they were trying to save for retirement, it was your duty as a daughter to say no.”

She set her wineglass down abruptly, sloshing chardonnay over the glass tabletop. “I care about my family,” she said.

“Yeah, I know, Shae. But do you think about us?”

“Yes.” Shae pressed a hand to her forehead. “Yes, I do. I’ve just... The wedding... Crap!”

Brant reached out to pull her hand away from her head and held on for a moment. “Like I said, Shae, I’m here for you. It’s a rough time. If you need to depend on someone, depend on me.”

Shae pulled her hand out of her brother’s and reached for her wine. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer.” But at that moment she was pretty damned sure that she wasn’t going to depend on anyone to bail her out of her problems.

Brant hung around long enough to finish his beer and reiterate his offer of help, then took off to meet his girlfriend, Sara, for dinner.

Shae waited only a few minutes after he left to get on the phone and call Wallace—at home—and request a face-to-face meeting.

“I need closure,” she said.

“Closure?”

“And to talk.”

“Shae...”

“Please? I can come in early before anyone gets there. Or I could meet you at a coffee shop.” She swallowed drily. Begging was so not her thing, but neither was feeling this desperate. She picked up a Macy’s bill—the one she’d been afraid to open—then dropped it back down on the counter. “Ten minutes. I’ve gone the extra mile for you, Wallace. Please.”

“You haven’t gone the extra mile during the last year, but...” Shae bit her lip, held her breath. “Ten minutes. At the coffee shop across the street.”

“Thank you.”

Shae hung up, feeling as if she might have a toehold. Wallace had always had a soft spot for her. Maybe...just maybe...

* * *

“I’M NOT GIVING you your job back, Shae.” At the last minute Wallace had called and asked her to meet him at the office after hours, which had made Shae hopeful that perhaps he was reconsidering. He was, after all, allowing her back on the premises, and he’d seemed more human than the last time she’d spoken to him.

Now that he’d made his proclamation, Shae wasn’t feeling one bit hopeful, but she had him there and she wasn’t giving up this easily.

“Not even in a probationary capacity?” Wallace picked up the pencil lying on top of a pile of spreadsheets, looked at it instead of at her. “It was Miranda who made the decision to let you go. I went over the performance evaluations with her, but it was obvious from the beginning that she’d already decided you were the one going.”

That stung. “I don’t understand. Why me? It isn’t like I was slacking off while she was around, and you gave me a satisfactory evaluation.”

“That,” Wallace said pointedly, “was a gift. And—” he tapped the pencil again “—she didn’t need to be at the office to see you.”

“Meaning?”

“The cameras.”

Shae’s heart jumped. “She’s using them?” The cameras had come with the building when the company had first moved in four years ago and as far as she—or anyone she worked with—knew, they’d never been turned on. Well, guess again.

“I did my job,” she said stiffly.

“And a lot of other stuff.”

“I didn’t think a phone call here and there would matter.”

“It did, and it was more than a few phone calls, Shae. Miranda’s not happy, and she’s making an example of you.”

Shae let her head fall back. “A little warning would have been nice.”

“I dropped some hints.”

“When?” Shae asked, perplexed. Wallace pressed his fingers to his forehead as if staving off a headache and she abandoned the topic. “What about the good things I’ve done? Before the wedding plans,” she added quickly. “What about the Tuscan Canyon Ranch? I put most of that purchase agreement together. I found the property, which wasn’t even for sale, if you remember right, and matched it to the perfect client. We made a great commission and then we got the management contract on top of that!”

“You’re good, Shae, when you focus.”

“And I will focus. The wedding... I let it get out of hand.” It was finally starting to sink in just how far out of hand she’d allowed it to go.

“But what if something else comes up?”

“I’ve learned my lesson.”

Wallace gave her a doubtful look. “I’m not certain that would reassure Miranda.”

Shae leaned forward, placing her palm flat on the desk. “I made a mistake. I can change. I need a job.”

“Then you should have taken care with the one you had.”

“And that’s that?” she asked softly.

“Afraid so, Shae.”

It can’t end this way.

“Sorry,” Wallace said.

“Yeah.” Shae got to her feet, gave him a faint smile mustered from the need to hold on to a few shreds of her dignity, then turned to go, her stomach so tight she felt as if she was going to throw up. She was almost to the door when she glanced at the aerial map on the wall, then stopped. She slowly turned back, wondering if Wallace had indeed shrunk back in his seat as he met her speculative gaze or if she’d imagined it. “What about this?” she asked, pointing at the faded fluorescent-pink circle drawn around a mountain property.

“What about it?” Wallace asked slowly.

“Remember how Miranda was slated to sell it, but found out she couldn’t?”

“Vividly,” Wallace said. The sale had fallen through after she’d discovered she was not the sole heir to the place and apparently had been unable to hammer out a deal with her stepson, the other heir.

Shae was not surprised. Her own dealings with Jordan Bryan, brief as they’d been, had not gone well, either.

“But what if it made her some money while it was sitting there?”

“How so?” Wallace asked, his pale eyes narrowing, but Shae saw a spark of interest there.

“What if I could shape it into a guest ranch? Miranda has the operating rights.” A fact she’d gleaned from office gossip and speculation after the sale fell through. “Why not use them?”

“Have you seen the place, Shae?”

“Mel and I went there once during college to collect a horse she’d bought from Miranda’s husband. So yes, I’ve seen it.”

“And how did it strike you?”

“Isolated. Run-down.” Shae had excitement in her voice as she said, “But there were cabins there that the family had rented to miners during the gold strikes. Think how cool it would be if those could be refurbished. And there were quite a few other buildings, if I recall.”

Wallace looked over his shoulder, as if checking for a camera or perhaps a recording device, before leaning across his desk to say in a low voice, “If it had any moneymaking potential, don’t you think she would have thought about that?”

“Not if it’s isolated and run-down.” Shae pointed to the map. “Look—it’s surrounded by Forest Service land. Perfect for riding. Fishing. But in a more—” she smiled slightly as a thought struck her “—manly environment than at Miranda’s other two ranches.” Both of which were sprawling properties with rich histories as working cattle ranches. Lots of little niceties included in the vacation package. Spas, babysitting, crafts classes for kids, riding lessons.

“Manly.”

Shae walked back to his desk, plans already taking shape in her head. “Yes, manly. A more rugged experience. Not for sissies, that kind of marketing. Kind of a one-percenter ranch.”

Wallace shook his head. She could see he was intrigued, but didn’t want to admit it, so she gave one more small push.

“Come on...it’s a great idea. Run it by Miranda.”

“It’s not bad,” he agreed grudgingly. “She’ll probably give the project to someone else if I pass it along—like, say, someone who works here?”

“I’ll contract the job for eighty percent of my previous salary,” Shae said, “for three months. I’ll evaluate the property, make recommendations for renovations, handle any permitting nightmares. I’d hand her a finished product for less salary than she’d pay a regular employee.”

“And if you succeed...?”

“It would put me in a position to discuss getting my old job back. I heard that Risa’s not doing as well as hoped.”

Wallace fiddled with the pencil he held, then exhaled slowly, his breath fluttering the spreadsheets in front of him. “I’ll run it by her. No promises.”

“None asked,” Shae said feeling a faint welling of confidence. If she could get this second chance, it meant she could stay on her career path. And more than that, maybe she could prove she wasn’t the loser that everyone apparently thought she was. Rebuild one or two of those bridges she’d obliviously burned.

* * *

WHEN JORDAN LEFT home to join the military, he’d told himself he wasn’t coming back—at least not as long as Miranda was in the picture—and the Subaru was doing its best to help him keep his promise. He’d ended up staying three nights in Miles City just after crossing the Montana border, waiting for yet another repair part. And even though he was in Montana and had a deep appreciation for the rolling hills in this part of the state, it wasn’t his part of the state. In some ways he felt as foreign here as he had in Virginia.

Maybe that was why he spent all of his time in the motel, leaving only to walk Clyde or to get a cheap meal. Or maybe he’d hidden out because he was still raw when it came to people staring at him, studying the burns and what remained of the fingers of his left hand. He’d never liked being the center of attention and now people couldn’t help but notice him.

He’d gone one night without taking a pill and had been slammed with another nightmare. After that he’d taken the pills every night. He had enough for three more weeks and he hoped that once he was at the High Camp, he’d be able to work his way past the dreams again...and past the cavernous emptiness that seemed to be enveloping him.

Was he ever going to get a grip?

Once upon a time he’d thought he was. The PTSD therapy had worked so well that Jordan had come to believe that his principal scars were the physical ones. Now he wasn’t so sure...and it scared him.

He’d put all that time and effort into therapy, gone through the accompanying emotional trauma, and what had it gotten him? A six-month reprieve. No—make that four months. For the last two he’d been fighting against the insidious backslide.

The thing that scared him most was that he had no idea what had triggered the backslide, the feelings of emptiness and uselessness. One day he was doing fine and the next...the next he felt overwhelmed. Trapped, yet at the same time drifting.

So now he was following his gut and doing therapy his way. He was going home.

* * *

DRIVING THE AUDI to the High Camp had been a mistake. It was a sturdy car, but parts of the road leading to the mountain ranch were rougher than Shae had anticipated. She carefully maneuvered her baby through a long stretch of six-inch-deep ruts, wincing at the sound of branches scraping the sides of the car, before easing back into the center of the track when the road once again smoothed out.

Shae let out a breath and loosened her death grip on the steering wheel. Scratches on the Audi were not the end of the world—she could afford to have them buffed out when she completed this contract.

A small smile played on her lips. This contract. She had a contract. Her impromptu proposal had worked. Almost as soon as Wallace ran her idea past Miranda, the ball had started rolling. Early Friday morning she’d been summoned back to the office to meet with Miranda herself.

Shae went into the meeting determined to prove herself and thirty minutes later the deal had been struck—a two-month contract at 70 percent of her former salary, instead of the 80 percent she’d suggested. At the end of that time, she was to have a complete proposal worked up, ready to put into place the next spring. If Miranda approved the proposal, then she’d oversee renovations and implement small-group beta test runs of all activities. After that...no promises.

Typical Miranda. But Shae had left feeling good—about the job ahead of her and about Miranda, who’d explained quite candidly why she’d let Shae go. Shae had to admit that given the same circumstances, she might have done the same thing. The job, whatever it might be, came first now, and, as Mel had pointed out when Shae called her with the good news, if she could get this project up and running, it would be gold on a résumé. She could see the presentation portfolio in her head—before and after pictures of the ranch she was about to rehabilitate on a shoestring budget. Smiling guests with big fish. A guy holding the horns of a trophy buck. A big campfire with manly men sitting around it laughing.

Good stuff.

But first she had to make it happen.

First she had to get there.

Shae rolled to a stop at the windfall tree across the road. Excellent. Getting out of the car, she walked to the tree, nudging it with the toe of her boot. Sturdy as a rock. There was no way she was going to move it.

She turned and looked at the road she’d just driven up. The trees had grown so close to the edge that it was going to be impossible to turn around, so she had two choices—drive the car in reverse down the road or walk on. It was the thought of backing around those ruts that convinced her. Not that backing around them would be any easier later in the day, but at least she would have completed the first step of her mission—to reconnoiter the abandoned ranch. As per Miranda’s suggestion, she planned to eventually live there during the renovation. It was, after all, almost forty miles from Missoula, and five of those miles were on unpaved roads—not exactly an easy day trip. She definitely needed to know what was necessary to live there comfortably and since she’d come this far, there was no sense turning back now.

* * *

THE SUBARU RATTLED as it bumped over the cattle guard at the bottom of High Camp road, the familiar sound something Jordan had never thought about missing until now. Home. He was almost home, close to a place where he could hole up and let the world go about its business and forget about him. He would return the favor.

“Almost there,” he said. Clyde bounced up to a sitting position, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he watched the scenery roll slowly past. A rabbit darted across the road and the poodle practically hit the windshield in excitement.

Clyde was going to be a busy dog when they got to the ranch.

Jordan wondered what kind of shape the house was in. It’d been six years since he’d last seen the place; over a year since his father, who’d hayed the meadows and used the ranch as a hunting retreat for his buddies, had died. Jordan had no idea if his cousin Cole had done anything more than close the door.

Would it be full of mice?

Or just full of memories? He wasn’t certain which one would be worse. He figured he could check the place out, sleep in the Subaru one more night if necessary, then head to Missoula to get what he needed to make the place livable.

Less than a quarter mile up the road, the gravel thinned to bare dirt in places and he could see fresh tire tracks. Narrow car tracks rather than truck tracks. Who, other than him, would drive a car up this road? There was only one set of tracks—going in—so apparently he would soon find out.

Company. Great.

It had to be someone sightseeing or berry picking. People tended to explore the woods during the summer months—and apparently ignore the Private Road sign next to the cattle guard—so that made sense. Ironic that he came here to escape people and it appeared that the first thing he was going to have to do was kick someone off his property.

“I’ll be nice,” he muttered to the dog, who had edged closer to him as the road grew more rutted and the trees closed in, pressing his firm, warm body against Jordan’s side. Whoever had driven up the road hadn’t been deterred by the ever-deepening ruts. He was actually glad to see the ruts, since it meant that no one had been traveling the road regularly. It was his property, but he didn’t trust Miranda. He wasn’t even certain he could trust his cousin, Cole, who’d thrown in with his stepmother when she’d coerced his dad, Jordan’s uncle, to turn their ranch into a working dude ranch to make more money. Miranda did love money.

He rounded a sharp corner, then stopped. Ahead of him an expensive Audi was parked with its bumper practically touching the tree lying across the road. What the hell? An Audi? Really?

Jordan opened the car door and was instantly struck by the strong, familiar smell of pines and bracken and damp Montana earth. Something else he’d missed without even being aware of it.

“Stay here,” he said to the dog, who jumped back over the console to his side of the car at the command, obediently plopping his butt down in the passenger seat. Jordan closed the door, wondering not for the first time if the poodle understood English.

The Audi was locked and empty except for a leather briefcase and two map tubes in the backseat. Odd, to say the least. Jordan stepped away from the car, his eyes narrowing as he slowly surveyed his surroundings, looking for signs of movement in the brush or on the road past the tree. Nothing except for Clyde bouncing up and down in the Subaru.

Cool. Well, until he got a chain saw, this tree was staying where it was and there was nothing he could do except to walk on to the ranch. He went back to the car, found Clyde’s leash and settled his hat on his head, more than a little curious as to where the driver of the Audi was.

After crossing over the tree, Jordan put Clyde on the ground, where he raced around on the leash, sometimes getting jerked back if something particularly interesting caught his urban eye. And every now and again Jordan spotted footprints heading in the same direction as they were going—those of a smallish female wearing some kind of heeled boots. Not cowboy boots, but probably something along that line, which made him wonder if this person was part of Miranda’s crew, up here doing a monthly check or something.

That would be nice...but unlikely. Miranda didn’t like him enough to check on his property in his absence. Hell, she hadn’t even contacted him once while he’d been recovering in the burn unit. She’d probably hoped he’d die and then she’d have everything, instead of almost everything.

One last turn in the road and first the ancient barn, then the almost-as-ancient house, came into view. Jordan slowed down and then stopped. Damn. It looked the same as when he’d left—from a distance, anyway—but he was not overwhelmed by any kind of sense of at long last being home. In fact the scene struck him as being very much like an old photograph—a place he’d once loved, but could never go back to because it was lost to time.

Physically the ranch was still there, but while surveying the familiar scene Jordan instinctively knew that it would never feel the same as it had before he’d left. His dad was dead. Miranda lived on. All this ranch could be to him now was a sanctuary, a way to escape from the world and heal. The old times were gone, never to be recovered.

And he could live with that.

Hell, he had to live with that. He hadn’t exactly ingratiated himself to his superiors when he’d abruptly quit his job, so this was his future. Now all he had to do was figure out who was there horning in on his future.

As he got closer to the house, Clyde started pressing against his leg, as if sensing trouble ahead. The door to the house was wide-open and Jordan caught sight of movement inside.

Time for introductions and explanations.

He walked up onto the old porch, the thick boards echoing hollowly under his boots.

The woman he’d seen moving inside the house, oblivious to his approach, swung around at the sound of his footsteps, taking an immediate defensive stance as if she fully planned to take him out with a karate chop or something, her eyes wide.

Jordan stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her.

No. Way.

The rodeo queen? Something else he’d held in his brain without realizing it: the memory of high-and-mighty Shae McArthur’s face—living proof that beauty was only skin-deep. There’d never been one thing about her that he’d liked during the years they’d been on the rodeo team together...except for maybe that time she’d come onto him. He’d enjoyed her utterly shocked expression when he’d turned her down cold. She’d needed to be knocked off her high horse and he’d been glad to do the job. Literally, in fact.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Shae blinked as he spoke, letting her hands drop a few inches. He could see when recognition kicked in, followed almost immediately by a look of horror. Of course. Beauty and the Beast. Face-to-face. As he recalled, Shae wasn’t too fond of the imperfect. Nothing but the best for her.

“Good to see you, too, Jordan,” she said huskily.

He walked into the musty-smelling living room, stopping to rest his good hand, the one holding Clyde’s leash, on his hip. He purposely used his damaged left hand to rub his jaw, watching Shae’s eyes as she took in the stubs of fingers he’d lost to shrapnel before the flash had burned his back and face. “You’re working for Cedar Creek Ranch?”

She cleared her throat, but her voice was still husky when she said, “Yes.”

“But you’re here, not there.”

“I am,” she agreed. “Is Miranda expecting you?”

“Not unless she’s a mind reader.”

“You should have called her,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because if you plan to stay here, it isn’t going to work out.”