Chapter Nine

Zero lay in his bed, pillow over his head, as he tried to muffle the sound of Delilah taking a shower in the bathroom on the other side of a very thin wall.

Spoiler alert—the pillow wasn’t working.

Who took a shower at eleven thirty p.m.?

Delilah Kersey, that’s who. Also known as the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.

She’d only been here at the ranch for a week, and already he couldn’t recall a time when he didn’t have to count cows in his head to get Delilah out of it. She was everywhere in his house, in his head—he could even smell her in the barn after she left.

Worse, she never gave him a straight answer when he questioned her about whether the dogs would be ready for the arrival of the livestock in just a few days.

Granted, he hadn’t given her a timeframe. A mistake. But how was he supposed to know sharing a bathroom would wind up the equivalent of torture? The sooner he got her out of here, the better.

For more reasons than one.

Giving up, he threw on some clothes and padded downstairs to the kitchen. He should be asleep by now since he had a long day tomorrow—the tractor had broken down, and if he hoped to use it to haul feed, he needed it functional. So far, he’d had no time to look at it, but it had quickly become one of the most pressing items on his to-do list.

Zero rolled into the kitchen without bothering to turn on the lights—the layout hadn’t changed in the thirty-odd years he’d been alive—and headed for the refrigerator to get a bottle of water he didn’t want. His heightened senses, the ones that had kept him alive in more situations than he cared to count, told him instantly he wasn’t alone.

Someone sat at the kitchen table in the dark, but he could tell it was Sheridan by the faint moonlight streaming through the window, highlighting a thread of red in her hair. She lifted her hands to both ears, removing earbuds that must be connected to her phone.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked her.

She made a noise in her throat. “No idea. I haven’t tried lately.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” he muttered and eased onto the long bench seat opposite his sister.

“Your bed feels like it has fire ants in it, too?”

Faint amusement threaded her tone, which he tried not to put too much stock into, but it was hard not to notice she’d perked up a bit lately. It wasn’t a crime to wonder what had shifted.

“My bed feels like it’s too close to someone else’s,” he corrected before thinking better of admitting such a thing to someone who knew him as well as Sheridan did.

“Oh, my, you’ve got it bad for Delilah,” Sheridan said, her amusement full-out apparent now, totally at his expense. “Help me out with why that’s a problem? Seems like close proximity might be a plus.”

“Shut up,” he growled, aware his protest told her even more about his mental state but powerless to stop it. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not?” Trust Sheridan to cut right to the chase. Just as he sputtered to come up with a response that would shut down this whole conversation, she made a little sound of dismay. “Oh, is it because she’s seeing someone?”

He stood clean up from the bench in sheer shock and maybe in formal protest of some sort, too. What was wrong with him? He sat down. “She is? I mean, maybe she is and maybe she isn’t. Why would I care?”

“Yes, why would you?” she echoed with a grin so wide he could hear it in the dark.

Man, he’d missed Sheridan like this—lighthearted, involved in his life, easiness between them. But why this subject?

It wasn’t like he could flat-out tell her that he felt like a pile of steaming cow dung for even contemplating something that might lead to happiness for himself while she had to relearn how to live her life without her husband. Which was his fault. She’d be totally within her rights to tell him he didn’t deserve even a moment of bliss. Because he didn’t.

And yes, he could clearly see she didn’t seem to think he should be suffering, but she didn’t get a vote. This was his cross to bear, not hers.

“Maybe instead of poking into things that are none of your business, you can think about taking over some of the paperwork like we talked about?” he prompted.

The mood in the kitchen shifted the second the last syllable left his mouth. Zero cursed—mentally because Sheridan had banned that kind of talk the day Hunter had been born.

“I know, Zee,” she mumbled. “I’m a mess. I’m going to keep disappointing you, left and right. I wish I could tell you something different, but I just…can’t. You don’t want me near an invoice or the checkbook after another sleepless night, trust me.”

Another sleepless night? How many nights had she sat here in the dark, avoiding her fire-ant bed, while he’d been upstairs, asleep and clueless? “Is this like a nightly ritual or something?”

“Pretty much,” she confirmed flatly. “Most human beings can’t stick to a rigorous sleep schedule. That’s why I’m convinced you’re actually from Mars.”

The joke came out of nowhere so fast he almost didn’t register it. The laugh she pulled from him seemed to surprise them both.

“It’s been a while since I heard that,” she said lightly. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

“I could say the same.” He scrubbed at the back of his neck, caught between trying to avoid sensitive subjects and wanting to get back to some semblance of normal.

It had been so long since he’d felt normal.

“Give me time,” she murmured. “I want to be here for you, I do.”

“I’ve got nothing but time, Sher.” He spread his hands, despite the fact that she couldn’t exactly see the gesture. “All of this is for you. And Hunter. We’re building a home and a life here along with a ranch. Together. That can’t happen unless we’re all in.”

“I’m working on it. I might call Dr. Fitzpatrick. It’s been a while since I talked to her.”

Something had definitely changed if Sheridan was willing to reach out to her therapist after calling off their sessions due to “not feeling any different.” Zero barely dared breathe, in case she changed her mind. “That sounds like a good idea. Tell her I said hi.”

Leaving on a high note seemed like another good idea, so he bid his sister good night. Her phone glowed as she replaced her earbuds. He prayed Delilah was done with her shower and headed back up the stairs.

Delilah was definitely not in the shower. She sat on the top step, her hands clasped in her lap, the low light from the sconce on the post next to her shining down over her. She met his gaze, and the moment turned instantly to the sepia-coated type he’d been avoiding like the plague.

He froze on the bottom step, his muscles protesting at the sudden lack of movement. Everything else inside wanted to keep going, too. To touch her pretty hair and settle the debate once and for all whether it felt as glossy and soft as it looked. To brush a thumb under her jaw as he tilted it up so he could soak in the warmth radiating from her eyes.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he nodded like it was perfectly normal to run into her on the staircase at midnight. “Delilah.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do.”

That’s when he noticed how she was worrying her hands together. She’d been sitting there waiting. For him? “Is something wrong?”

“I overheard your conversation with Sheridan. I didn’t mean to.” Guilt practically bled from her expression, which made him want to reassure her it was okay, even as his brain scrambled to recall exactly what had been said—because he distinctly remembered her name coming up in the first half. And now he felt like he’d walked out on thin ice that had already started to crack under his feet, seconds away from plunging into the frigid depths.

“Which part?” he ventured, convinced she’d say the part where I found out you have a thing for me and it’s not okay. Why else would she be sitting here, clearly unhappy with the situation?

Better to have that elephant in the room sliced and diced. Especially since it wasn’t okay with him, either.

But she offered him a watery smile and shrugged. “I heard you talking about how you’re building a home for Hunter and Sheridan. Not just a ranch. It was kind of touching.”

“Well, yeah.” An ache tugged at his throat out of nowhere. “I’m not a big fan of cattle or anything. This is just the only thing I know how to do to take care of my family. I can’t sell this place. My grandpa would roll over in his grave. Getting it profitable is the only other option.”

“You just seem so focused on the livestock. I mean, that’s why I’m here, right? So you can end up with working dogs.”

“It is why you are here,” he agreed, mystified why they were rehashing what should have already been made quite clear. “Livestock should be here soon, so the working dogs will be critical. I need income as soon as possible. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to afford to hire help and then the whole thing just falls apart.”

She had this funny look on her face like something he’d said had gotten under her skin, but he couldn’t fathom what, and it bothered him all at once that he didn’t know how to read this woman who spent a lot of time with his nephew. At least that was his excuse for the sharp longing inside to have someone in his life he knew that well, who knew him and all his moods, but still stuck around.

“You’re giving me a crick in my neck,” she informed him with a soft half laugh and patted the step underneath her. “Come sit with me instead of standing there.”

“Why would I do that?” he snapped out far more sharply than he intended, somehow mustering the will to stay still instead of taking her suggestion. Because he wanted to.

“So I can apologize.”

That intrigued him enough to give up the fight, taking the stairs faster than a man should, at least not one who planned to keep pretending the woman beckoning him forward didn’t matter.

He eased onto the step, their knees touching, and that’s when he found out the staircase wasn’t nearly as wide as he’d always thought it was. Or maybe Delilah just took up more space. Either way, she’d sucked up all the oxygen in the vicinity, which made it hard to breathe.

The entire situation made him growly. “What do you have to apologize for?”

“For eavesdropping, of course.” She smiled right in his face as if she hadn’t noticed his tone. “That’s why I sat here instead of running back to my room. It wouldn’t be right to sneak away without letting you know that I overheard.”

More impressed with that glimpse into her character than he’d like to be, he met her gaze head on, instead of avoiding her like the chicken he’d been thus far. “It’s bound to happen in a house this size with four people living here and Tag coming and going as he pleases.”

“You’re very gracious, thank you.”

“No,” he returned immediately because she obviously had the wrong idea, and that needed to be corrected. “I’m not. I’m whatever is the opposite of that. I’m difficult and moody and not likely to change.”

She gave him another strange look he couldn’t interpret. “Who told you that?”

“No one had to tell me.” He couldn’t quite squelch the urge to laugh, so he didn’t, but it didn’t come out sounding amused. “I’ve spent the last decade in the company of other soldiers, giving orders that people obeyed without question. Not one of them did so because they enjoy my personality.”

“I imagine they followed you because you inspired them,” she said quietly, her gaze on her hands, which marked the first time ever he wished she’d look at him instead. “Same reason Tag does.”

“He does what I tell him because I pay him.” A minuscule amount, to be sure, but their relationship had shifted the moment Zero inherited the ranch. Sure, they were still friends, but it was different now. First and foremost, Tag was his responsibility.

“People leave jobs all the time with absolutely no loyalty to their employers. Something tells me you won’t have that problem with Tag.”

Said as if she might have some experience with that, one way or another. It occurred to him that she must have left her last job in a bit of a haste, or else she wouldn’t have needed this one so quickly. If this had been a date, he’d ask.

But it wasn’t anything close to a date, and this wasn’t his shining opportunity to indulge his curiosity about Delilah Kersey and the ins and outs of her life outside of the Flying Pig.

“Tag grew up here on the ranch. This is his home. Why would he go anywhere?”

“There are all sorts of reasons why people make major life choices.” She did glance up at him then, and he changed his mind about the wisdom of wishing for that when she caught him fully in her wide brown eyes. “I didn’t stay where I grew up.”

Was it possible to drown in someone’s eyes? Mesmerized, he let himself drift. “But you became a dog trainer like your father. So you must have wanted to keep a part of your childhood close.”

What did it say about his own life choices this was the most thrilling Friday night he’d had in ages? Zero couldn’t even recall the last time he’d had this long of a conversation with anyone, let alone someone he’d secretly wanted to get to know better.

Best part—he could blame it on her insistence in apologizing. Otherwise, he’d have brushed by her and gone back to bed. Which a smarter man would have already done way before now.

She nodded. “Maybe that’s a part of it. A desire to hold onto some things that are better let go.”

The melancholy thread in her voice had him doing a double take. The ever-present undercurrent cut through the atmosphere, reminding him that he’d stayed alive in terrorist-infested regions because he’d never ignored a gut feeling something was wrong.

There was some kind of history between Delilah and her father. Something that had never healed. It bothered her, clearly. Was this the reason his stomach always had that niggle around her?

The real issue was he had no right to press on that, to help her work through it. No matter how much he wanted to.

Surrounded by women with crosses to bear and no ability to shoulder the burden himself—that seemed to be his lot in life.

“I guess that’s how most folks live their life,” he said gruffly. “Letting go isn’t as easy as all that.”

Delilah shifted, placing a warm hand on his forearm. The initial shock settled into something even worse—easiness. Like she’d done this a hundred times or more. Like he’d been born knowing her touch and his skin had been missing it this whole time.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking when I said that. It must be tough enough to deal with the loss of your brother-in-law without strangers coming in and telling you how to cope.”

“I wasn’t…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, deliberately easing his arm away from her fingers, and told her, “I don’t think of you as a stranger.”

She smiled, which oddly carried the same weight as her hand on his bare arm. “That must be why I don’t think of you as difficult and moody.”

They stared at each other for a beat. She swayed closer, or maybe he did, it was hard to tell. But her lips were suddenly right there, like she’d been drawn to him the same way he felt compelled to lean in. It wouldn’t take but a slight change in his posture to turn this almost kiss into a real one.

He wanted to. So much. But he didn’t.

He leaned back instead. This woman scrambled his brains. “Maybe it would be best if you thought of me as the person employing you to train my dogs. Speaking of which…”

Delilah stood, breaking the mood. Good. It needed to be shattered into a million pieces, and he’d clearly lacked the will to do the dirty work himself.

What if he had kissed her? It would have been fantastic. And a disaster. Both at the same time.

She saluted smartly. “Yes, sir, Mr. Boss. Dog training is my life. I better get to bed.”

Delilah vanished, and he meant to follow her to his own room, but he had a very bad feeling he’d have an even harder time falling asleep this go around than the last one.