Kiersten tiptoed into her living room, where Cleve was supposed to be sleeping on her couch. With some careful explaining, Grandpa’d swallowed their story. Cleve’s house full of guests, and she being a friendly neighbor, yaddah, yaddah...
Completely exhausted by all the commotion, Grandpa had headed off to bed as soon as the cowboys left.
Nate and Clay had been last to leave, Clay lingering in an obvious ploy to get a ride back with Nate.
Grandpa had been snoring within minutes.
As she reached her couch, Cleve stood and embraced her and followed her into her room, where she locked the door.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” he whispered between kisses.
“Mmm-hmm. I’m sure.” She wore the long gown again, and he buried his face in her bare cleavage as she spoke. “We’ll have to be quiet so we don’t wake him, and you’ll have to be back out there before five, cause that’s when he wakes up.”
“Okay.” He carried her to the bed, where they made hot, quiet love.
* * * *
Young Howell was stretched comfortably along the couch when Wins emerged from the guest bedroom at five on the dot. Wins started coffee and stood with his palms on the counter, looking out the kitchen window. In all the mornings he’d risen on this mountain, he’d never quite imagined himself having the talk he’d have this morning. Grown or not, Kiersten was still a female in his family, and it was his job to look out for her honor.
The younger man rustled in the other room, zipped jeans, then folded the quilt. Neatness. An admirable quality, but not enough to redeem him.
The coffee maker sputtered as Cleve came into the kitchen.
With a cursory, “Mornin,” Wins handed over a mug and poured for them both.
Cleve found the creamer in the ice box with annoying ease and they set about mixing their respective drinks.
“You know, Cleve, I’m never sure how things will work out for Kiersten and Rocky Peak.”
“No? Why’s that?”
“Well, she’s a hell of a lot friendlier with the neighbors than I’ve ever been.”
* * * *
Cleve dropped his spoon. He bent to retrieve it from the floor. Calm down. You’re not sure what the old guy meant.
“Um.” He struggled to assemble thoughts into words. Words that wouldn’t get him into trouble. “Is that so?”
Winston gave him a less-than-tolerant look. Playing innocent hadn’t been the right tack to take.
Kiersten shuffled into the kitchen, blinked and look from one man to the other.
Winston nodded at her, then looked back at him.
He busied himself adding more sugar to his coffee.
“Sleeps like a damn log, that one,” Wins said, pointing to Kiersten. Keep your trap shut, Howell. Let the old-timer say what he’s got to say. “Thing she don’t know is, since I got old, I can’t hold my water like I used to.”
He looked sideways at her.
Her eyes narrowed, but it could be her usual morning crankiness.
Was the old guy going to give him a play-by-play on his health troubles?
“See, a young man can sleep through the night, then get up in the morning to empty his bladder.” Uh-oh. He knew where this was going, and didn’t much like it.
Rocky rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Before she could interrupt, her granddad went on. “I can’t. On a good night, I’m only up once. Last night wasn’t a good night.”
“Grandpa—”
“Keep quiet, girl.” Winston’s tone was calm but deadly. “And what with the moon bein out like it was, it’s a waste of my breath and all our time, but I’ll tell you, Howell, that you were not sleepin on the couch last night. Another thing...in all the time I’ve known Kiersten, she’s never closed her bedroom door to sleep. Used to be afraid o’ monsters in the dark.”
“Grandpa. I’m a grown woman.” She stepped between them.
He’d be damned if he’d let a woman protect him. “Kiersten,” he said, “this is between him and me.”
“Well, that’s bullshit!” she charged. “What’s next, a duel? Twenty paces? It’s too late for dawn, you’ll have to wait till dusk now.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, rats, Gramps, you’ll be in Kansas City at dusk. So much for old-time machismo.”
“I’ll have a word with you outside.” Winston eyeballed him. Did he think he’d scare away?
Kiersten looked ready to hit the warpath. “The hell you wi—”
“Rocky, stay here.” Even though he was in for a good dressing-down, he held his head high and followed Winston out the back door.
Wins looked surprised when Kiersten didn’t follow.
Cleve was little befuddled by it, himself. How’d he manage such a thing?
“I realize Kiersten’s not a young virgin, but there’s still the matter of honor, and we both know it ain’t right to go around using women.”
“Yessir.” He hoped the ‘sir’ had scored him more points. The old man was testing him somehow, probably to see if he’d have the balls to face him on his own, instead of hiding behind Kiersten’s skirts. Glancing behind him, he made sure the window they stood near was closed so she couldn’t hear his defense. “I have every intention of makin an honest woman of her, sir, just as soon as she’ll let me.”
Winston nodded, looking off at the brightening eastern sky. “I never liked that Luke. She loved him, and I think the world of her, so I put up with the guy.” Grizzled gray brows pulled down and eyes as green as his granddaughter’s narrowed. “He was one smooth-talkin SOB. Never did care for him. Rubbed me wrong.” Win’s right hand fisted up. “You know she got hurt pretty bad outta all that mess. About the only reason I bother to stay alive anymore is to make sure she gets settled happy with somebody.” Here it came. He’d take what was given. “Always thought it would be with Nate.”
Cleve dropped his head to hide his expression.
Wins sucked his teeth. “Hell, I reckon the guy’s too slow. And Kiersten needs a man with a strong hand. You’ve most likely figured that out. Just know up front, I’ll rot in hell before I let that old man of yours act like he’s better than her. You make sure he knows.”
“Yessir.”
“You got anything to say to me?”
“No sir.” He looked Wins in the eye. “Think I’ll go empty my bladder now.”
* * * *
Kiersten tried like hell to stay livid with Grandpa and Cleve for talking about her sex life like she didn’t have any say in it. Like she wasn’t the one who’d decided they’d go to bed together! But eating breakfast with them both was nice. Grandpa felt better. And the way Cleve looked at her in the morning made it hard to be cranky. Later, they’d drive Grandpa to the airport in Grand Junction and he’d be safe. It would be good to stop worrying.
Cleve and Clay were coming along with them so Clay could help pick out all the veterinary supplies and tack for the horses. And of course, Cleve wouldn’t let her take a sixty-mile trip without a sturdy man along for protection.
They were all but out the door when Cleve’s phone rang. He grunted a hello, then stepped back inside, waving her and Grandpa toward his truck. A minute later, he strode in a solemn, direct route to them. Without a word, he started the engine and headed to the Flyin H to pick up Clay.
His brows tugged low over his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she mouthed.
His refusal to answer did nothing to allay her concerns. Must be some business thing.
Or maybe—she gulped—maybe CJ’d called about her meddling in the Fletch deal. She joined Clay in the back seat when they picked him up, leaving Grandpa in the front with Cleve. Better give him some space to calm down.
They were near town when Grandpa exclaimed, “My hankies. I forgot my damn hankies. We need to run by the ranch.”
Cleve shook his head. “We’re runnin pretty far behind. Don’t wanta make you late for your plane.”
“Jesus, Cleve, we’ve got plenty time,” she argued. “Just stop and get the handkerchiefs. We can see what Nate’s up to.”
“I don’t need to see what Nate’s up to. Call him and see if he can meet us at the Quikstop with ’em.”
As she dialed Nate, she shrugged at a puzzled-looking Clay. The Twin-Talk frequency must be down.
“Nate. Hey. Cleve’s gone psycho and won’t come by the ranch. Can you meet us with Grandpa’s hankies? Yeah. Top drawer. Okay. Ta-ta.” Shaking her head, she slid the phone in her purse. “It would’ve been faster to go by the ranch. Nate’ll have to style his hair before he leaves the house, and probably moisturize. We’ll be sitting at the Quikstop waiting for him anyway.”
Cleve’s sole response to her badgering was a silent glare in his rearview.
Nate beat them to the Quikstop. Like he’d already planned on meeting them. He climbed in beside her, scooting her to the middle, and handed the stack of red handkerchiefs up to Grandpa.
One look at Nate’s posture told her whatever Cleve stressed about, Nate knew it, too. Her questioning shrug met with a moist look from Nate. He was pale, too. Okay, things were getting scary. Cleve’s worried eyes in his rearview weren’t helping. Desperate to know, she snatched Nate’s cellphone from his waist band next to her and flipped it open. His last call was to Cleve’s cell, and the call before that to 911. She handed Nate’s phone back to him and sat stiff, arms crossed.
Nate and Grandpa were okay. Good. But what the hell happened?
Grandpa kept the conversation flowing with complaints about airplanes and his ears popping. Beside her, Clay did a good job of sounding calm, though she knew he’d peeked at Nate’s phone, too.
Grandpa turned around once and gave a scowl at Nate’s arm around her shoulders. She could only guess the crazy thoughts going through his mind. But who had the energy to dispel them?
She was an emotional wreck when they’d checked Grandpa in for his flight and seen him through the metal detectors. It seemed like the more men she was around, the more she bawled.
Outside in the parking lot, Cleve held the truck door for her. Crossing her arms, she refused to enter. “I wanta know what’s going on.”
Nate had obviously expected this scene. “Kie—”
“Don’t even try to pussyfoot around this, Nate. Tell me why you called 911 this morning.”
Nate let out a shuddering sigh. “Somebody slaughtered Roscoe.”
Roscoe. One of the bummer lambs Grandpa and Nate had bottlefed all spring, a triplet whose mother didn’t have enough milk.
“Why? How?” He’d been Grandpa’s favorite, a real go-getter, always nuzzling for a hand-out. Grandpa kept one pocket full of alfalfa pellets all the time, just for Roscoe. Someone killed him?
Nate teared up. “They slit his throat, Kie.”
“Some psycho is going around cutting lambs’ throats? Why?” Roscoe had thrived under Grandpa’s care, and he was such a friendly little guy.
Cleve and Nate exchanged a look. “They used his blood for another message.”
Nausea welled up inside her, so she closed her eyes and leaned back against the truck. “To me? What did it say?” Trayce again. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted. Last time it had been red paint, this time, blood from an animal. What was next? “Why the fuck isn’t that guy in prison?” She didn’t even care what the message said. “You should’ve let me shoot him, Cleve. Now look what he did.”
At least Grandpa didn’t know how Roscoe died. Losing animals was a fact of ranching life, getting attached to them an occupational hazard. Predators were usually to blame, and while it didn’t fill the hole left behind by a lost pet, a rancher grew to accept it.
“When Grandpa comes back, we’ll tell him a coyote got Roscoe, okay? A coyote.”
“Goddammit, Kiersten. It’s not about your Grandpa, or about the lamb. It’s about you. It said for you to leave town!” Cleve shook her till she looked up at him.
“Well, I’m not leaving town, now am I?” She looked around defiantly at all of them, then climbed in the truck. Once Cleve had closed her door, she let herself cry. Trayce and his sick scare tactics. Scare tactics!
“Cleve, isn’t Chaz supposed to be in Texas?” she asked when he sat behind the wheel.
“Yep. Why?”
“He’s been at both of Trayce’s hearings. I saw him in the back of the room the day I was on the stand. And Tuesday, he was in the back again.”
“Darlin, Chaz doesn’t even know Trayce.”
“How do you know? He was here for what, weeks before you came?”
Cleve’s eyes searched out either Nate’s or Clay’s in the mirror.
“Chaz was there,” she argued. “For some reason.”
“Maybe you didn’t really see him,” Cleve said soothingly.
“What, twice I imagined that pompous prick? I doubt it. Not many people cast the same shadow as Boss Hogg.”
Clay chuckled his agreement.
“And he was wearing the Hogg hat,” she added.
Cleve answered, “See, Chaz would never wear his hat inside a courthouse.”
“He would if it wasn’t a Texas courthouse,” Clay said.
“Chaz wouldn’t kill an animal for its blood, though,” Cleve said.
“No, he’d get somebody else to do his dirty work.” That much, she was sure of.
His head still shaking, Cleve argued, “But Chaz went back to Texas, Rocky. And why would he want you out of town?”
“Who knows? He probably hates me because I use my brain for more than thinking up new pouffy hair-styles.” Great, Chaz and Trayce as a team. “Maybe Chaz is a white supremacist and became lifelong friends with Trayce.” Or maybe they both hated her as much as she hated them.
“Hey, Cleve, call Pop and ask him where Chaz is,” Clay suggested.
“Hell with that!” Cleve answered, “Pop called and hung up on my cell a dozen times yesterday without leavin a message. He must be mad. I’m steerin clear.”
Oh, shit. She was suddenly engrossed in...her cuticles.
“Kie?” Nate gasped.
Her face heated. Chewing her lip, she prepared to confess her war crimes.
Cleve saved her the trouble. “It’s okay, Rocky, you already told me what you did. Musta been truth serum in those margaritas you mixed.” That was a fairly tolerant grin on his face. “Guess Pop knows now, too. Clay, how long do you think Pop’ll stay mad about Rocky here drivin up the sales price on two parcels by a million bucks?”
Clay clapped his hand over his mouth in shock and glanced sideways at Nate, whose nostrils flared as he suppressed a grin. “A million? I’d wait at least that many days before I tried to talk to him, if I were you. But I’ll call him. This has gotta be good.” He dialed his cell and waited. “Hey, Pop...Yeah, I made it yesterday. It sure is pretty up here...They rode just fine...No, I don’t think they lost much weight...No, what’s that?...Oh?”
CJ swore long and loud enough to carry across the truck, with a word here or there thrown in about being made of money, how much money she’s cost him, she’s out to get Cleve’s money, she turned down good money and he’s gonna take a million off his offer to Old Man Day for what she did.
She covered her mouth to keep from giggling out loud.
“Mmm-hmm. Well, Pop—” He paused to listen some more. “No? Maybe his phone isn’t workin. I’ll let him know you’re tryin to reach him. So, Pop, you seen Chaz lately?...Oh, vacation. You know where?...Hawaii. When’d he leave?...Mmm-hmm...You sure? Because, well, I thought I saw him in town here... Oh, I see... Okay, just wonderin. Well, bye Pop. Kiss Mama.”
With a soft snick, Clay’s phone shut, leaving them in silence.
“Hawaii, my ass. Either Chaz is lying, or your daddy is.” She must sound like a total shrew. “When did he say Chaz left?”
“Tuesday,” Clay answered.
* * * *
The yellow formica countertop had been rubbed through by thousands of arms before Kiersten’s. Had they waited as restlessly to be finished at the Sheriff’s sub-station? Insisting Cleve return to his ranch to oversee the work, she’d gone with Nate for her Q and A session. Probably as useless as her presence at Trayce’s trial, but the questions had to be answered. Where was she last night? Did she have any known enemies? Was she, or had she ever been associated with a cult? At least they could rule out animal rights activists and probably environmentalists from the list of possible arsonists, if this was the work of the same guy.
Again, the odds favored a male perpetrator.
Shocker.
Riding home with Nate, she felt like she’d die without a change of subject. “Clay wants you in a bad way.”
“Whatever,” he answered nonchalantly. “Why, what did he say?”
She laughed. “Nothing. It’s the sign he’s got on his forehead. ‘Wanted—tall, fair and gorgeous. Apply within’. You’re gonna apply, right?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of an audition, than an application.”
“Oh, Natey. Maybe you shouldn’t look at it like an audition. Maybe you should enjoy it for what it is, here and now, and not what it might lead to.”
He pursed his lips. “Is that what you’re doing? Not even thinking what you’re doing to Cleve, are you?”
“Grandpa figured out he slept with me last night. Almost lost his marbles.”
His face lit up with his Oh-My-God Grin. “What did Cleve do? And don’t think you got away with changing the subject, missy.”
“Cleve was totally respectful and went outside with him when he should have told him what year it is, and people have sex all the time without being married or otherwise committed.”
Nate’s eyes rolled so high that, in spite of her optometric training, she wondered if they’d stick and he’d crash his truck. “Kie. Cleve is totally committed.”
“Well, I never asked for that, and he knows I’m not.”
“We’ll see about that, girlfriend.”
“Shut up, Nate. Why are you always so....”
“Right?”
“You know that Kenny Rogers song, Lady? Cleve hums and sings it to me after sex.”
* * * *
Too much information, too much information, Nate’s mind sang.
“Um, hmm.” He ran through the verses in his mind. “Told you he was crazy in it for ya.” Why the hell did I wait so long? Look at how happy she is when she thinks of it. Coulda been me.
“Nate. You look like you’re gonna be sick. What’s wrong?”
“Must be from thinking of country music. You know how much I hate that crap.”
“You might be catching a stomach bug. There’s one going around.”
“Yeah, maybe it’s that.” Good excuse, anyway. “Let’s stop and pick up some groceries. I’ll make spaghetti for everybody.”
“You should sleep over. The deputy said they’d be watching the house down here tonight. Come up and party your butt off.”
Because Clay would be there, he agreed. He just hoped to God he wouldn’t have to listen to Kie and Cleve doing the wild thing.
* * * *
Nate’s spaghetti was a hit. After only a few days of fending for themselves in the kitchen, the cowboys were grateful for every good meal. They left happy and full, tired from a hard day’s work. With the corral nearly finished, Cleve figured they’d get started on the stables by next week. After that, a barn and machinery shed.
Clay and Nate seemed to be hitting it off. Once the cowboys left, they relaxed and the attraction came off them in waves.
Needing to distance himself from what his brother was feeling, Cleve suggested to Kiersten that they take a walk and leave Nate and Clay alone.
After a brisk hike to the top of the peak where they’d first met, they rested on a rock within throwing distance of Kiersten’s tumble down the hill. Oscar thundered through the brush nearby, chasing a down-on-his-luck chipmunk.
“Oh, that’s better. I really needed some air. It bugs me to be around Clay when he’s ‘in action’ with a guy,” he confessed.
She scooped up a handful of pebbles and handed some to him, then began tossing them at a fence post. “I don’t like to watch Nate like that either.”
Before he’d thought, he blurted, “Why? Because you don’t want to see him with anybody else?”
Her next stone missed the post entirely. Hopefully his jealousy hadn’t made her mad.
He cleared his throat. “Or does the gay thing get to you, like it does me?”
She shuffled the rocks around her palm, arranging them by size for a few seconds. “Because I don’t like to see him get his hopes up.”
“I’d say his hopes aren’t misplaced with Clay. Looks like a sure bet to me.”
A wisp of hair along her cheek waved as she shook her head. “Nate’s not like a lot of gay guys. He’s after a relationship, so he’s really selective about who he dates. By the time they go out, he’s got a lot invested emotionally, whereas the other guy is only after a piece of ass.”
“I think I can feel Nate’s pain.” He stole a quick kiss and tucked the hair behind her ear.
“Anyway...” She pursed her lips at him, like as not because he’d made a valid point and raised her ire. “...it’s hard to watch.” Rocks all arranged, she started casting them again, with impressive accuracy. “I guess it’s like watching someone you love go rock climbing without safety ropes.”
“You, um,” he stumbled a bit on the part about someone she loved, “you hate to watch because you’re afraid he’ll fall?”
“Oh, he always falls. But how hard, how fast, and how many pieces will he be in when it’s over?”
He tossed a couple of stones from his hand but missed his mark more than he hit it. Fascinated with watching her accuracy, he dumped the pebbles from his hand to hers. He needed to concentrate on what was being said, anyway. “How long have you known him?”
She scooped up more stones. “Over five years, since right after I opened my practice. Nate was my first employee. He knew my business inside and out, and before long we knew each other just as well.” She glanced at him. “Not physically. I don’t know...we clicked. I knew he was gay by the time his interview was over. But I wasn’t sure if he knew, because he acted so masculine. He should take his acting skills to Hollywood, I swear. One day, about two weeks after he started working for me, I waited till the last patient left, and said, ‘You were totally checking that guy out.’ He got kinda scared at first, but then I guess he realized I didn’t hate him for being gay. He told me all about his parents and how it was his dad who was more accepting, but his mom’s a major churchlady, and she asked him to leave town because his lifestyle made her look bad. He was in college when some creep from his home town outted him for being at a gay bar in Omaha. They wanted to run him out of town, so he packed up his stuff and got in his car, the world’s ugliest Fiat, and drove till he decided he was far enough away.”
Cleve gave her more stones to throw.
“Nate helped me pick out my dress and plan my wedding. He’s been there for every part of my grown-up life, you know? He’s the only one who knew everything I found out about Luke. I kinda grew away from all my other friends after Luke died, but not Nate. I tried to push him away, but he always resisted. When I’m at my worst, he tells me so and ignores it. Before I met Luke, and after he died, Nate and I would go out, pretend to be a couple unless some other guy caught our eye.” As if to reassure him, she added, “It was never anything but friendship.”
“Was?” It was an effort, but he had to sound curious, not suspicious. “Your Grandpa told me today he thought you’d marry Nate one day.”
“Grandpa doesn’t know Nate’s gay. It wouldn’t go over very well, you know? So he got it in his head—I mean, he likes Nate and all—that we’d hook up. Well, he thinks we were hooking up, whenever we went out, or if Nate stayed the night up here. He heard the phrase ‘friends with benefits’ and decided that’s what Nate and I were.”
“But you weren’t. Aren’t.” Not that Nate didn’t want it.
She shook her head. “Thirty-two months, remember? After Luke died, I swore off men. Sex. Love. You name it, I didn’t need it anymore. Just me and this mountain, you know? I used to carry a kind of torch for Nate, because I knew it was safe. I didn’t have to worry about anything happening because there was no way he’d ever want me. Almost like worshipping a movie star, I guess. But then this tall Texan came along...”
He didn’t know how to feel. She’d had feelings for Nate before, but didn’t believe Nate returned them. And now she’d said in a roundabout way that since they’d met, she didn’t feel that way for Nate anymore. “So now you’ve transferred your no-possibility-for-a-lasting-relationship feelings to me?”
She smiled in spite of his badgering. “You’re a pest, you know? Did you really bring me out here to talk or are you gonna ravage me here in the wild?”
“Mm. First...listen.” He ran his thumb over her chin and looked in her eyes. “I love you, Rocky.”
Instead of closing her eyes or looking away, she nodded.
It was progress, and he’d take it.