Kiersten emerged exhausted from the conference room. She’d told and retold her story and her reasons for not turning in Trayce before this. Maybe she could crawl into her truck seat and doze until the whole court ordeal became a hazy memory.
Trouble was, when she reached the parking lot, her truck was gone. She knew where she’d parked it: next to that tree, right there. It had either been stolen or towed. Or Nate had taken it with his key, and left her without wheels to get home.
The curb in front of where she’d parked looked like a great place to sit down and bawl.
“Don’t call the cops. Nate took your truck. I offered to give you a lift because he didn’t want you drivin home alone.”
Howell’s voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Nate knew how she felt about this guy, yet he’d arranged for him to drive her home?
“Jesus. Why didn’t he ask Trayce to give me a ride?” She climbed in Cleve’s big red Ford, yanking the door shut before he could make a gentleman of himself and close it for her.
He seated himself behind the wheel. “You want somethin to eat before we head home?”
“Right now I don’t care if I ever eat again. I just wanta crawl in a hole.”
* * * *
Those were the last words she spoke the entire trip back to Rifle, though Cleve tried several times to talk with her about her day. He cruised through town and headed north.
“You need to take your next right to get to the ranch so I can pick up my truck.”
“We’ll get your truck tomorrow. You don’t need to drive tonight, or face your Granddad right now.”
“Goddammit, I’m a grown woman. You and Nate aren’t going to run my life. Let me out. Now.”
The F350 kept speeding along.
She turned to stare, helpless, out her window. “Oscar. He’ll miss me.”
The dog would be okay, but his mistress might need some company.
“Nate’ll be up after class. Maybe he’ll bring Oscar.”
This news, instead of comforting her like he’d expected, only made her cry. She pulled her knees up to her chest and turned her back to him, so she was lost in that big old lady suit. Her sobs carried over the racket of gravel pinging against the bottom of his truck. His hand on her shoulder only sent her scrunching farther into her corner. Well, hell. Looked like the last half hour of their trip would be as awkward as the first had been.
At her gate, she tried to get out and walk home. He had to admire that she still had the energy to be pissed at him after such a lousy day, but he insisted on driving her up to the house, wrestling her keys away from her hand so he could open the gate himself. He left the gate open behind them, then silently parked in her driveway.
She jumped out of the truck and slammed the door behind her before he’d even come to a complete stop.
Her attempt to bang her front door shut failed, because his hand stopped it. She did an about-face.
“You’re not welcome here, Howell.”
The way his last name came from her mouth, in the same tone some people said words like cunt made him cringe.
Her red-rimmed green eyes flashed. “You’re not welcome here ever again.”
He followed her in without a word.
“It’s so like your family, you know, insinuating yourself where you’ve got no business. Don’t I have any rights? Just get the hell out!”
Her bathroom door closed with the resounding crash he’d prevented at the front door.
He settled in on the couch, where he figured he’d still be when Nate arrived in about five hours.
A friendly white cat with a rhinestone-decorated nametag hopped in his lap and purred before her tail tickled his nose.
“Howdy, Ivory.”
At least one female on Rocky Peak wanted his attention.
* * * *
An hour later, Kiersten glared at her reflection above the dresser. Her puffy face went great with her wrecked hair. The cotton workout pants and big sweatshirt she had on would truly appall Nate. Well, good. One look at her ought to run Howell off for good. Kicking her court uniform into a corner, she yanked her door open.
Without speaking, she went directly to a high cupboard, from which she pulled down a bottle. Then she poured a healthy portion directly into a glass.
A strong hand grasped her wrist, delaying its mission of delivering the vodka to her mouth.
“You’re not drinkin that.”
“I think I am.” She jerked her hand, but it barely moved with the death grip Howell had on her. “Take your hand off me. Now.”
“Give me the glass.” His patient tone got on her very last nerve.
“Sure. As soon as it’s empty.”
“You might be carrying my child, and I won’t let you pickle its little brain.”
Guilt pricked her. With so many rotten things to worry about, she’d forgotten about the possible pregnancy.
“You don’t own me, Howell. My body is still my own, and I’ll do what I want, whether or not we conceived Satan’s spawn the other day.” Nevertheless, she handed over the drink and watched Cleve dump it in the sink.
“Don’t you drink?” She wondered if he was a teetotaler, or what.
“Not straight vodka. Lord. You always drink like that?”
On any other day, she’d have concocted a wild tale about her various addictions. But tonight she was too damn tired.
“Only when I have to admit to the whole world that I was conned into marriage and used as a mule to accept delivery of terrorist weapons. And confess to covering the crimes of a complete ass to protect my own, and living as a patsy wife with a married man.”
“Not that often, then.”
His comment almost made her smile. Almost, but not quite.
“Fuck a duck, this has been a shitty day.” She flopped across her couch. “And now I can’t even drink myself into oblivion because I was stupid enough to screw another guy who I thought was somebody else, and so damn horny I forgot the rubbers.”
“You know, when you’re a Mama, you can’t talk like that.” He’d taken a seat in the chair across from her. His boyish grin did nothing to offset her annoyance at his telling her what she could or could not do.
“Fuck off, Howell,” she said, deliberately using the phrase she knew would make him flinch. “Why are you so fixated on my being pregnant, anyway? Most guys would be praying to God against a pregnancy, sending me out for a moonlit horseback ride.”
He shrugged. “I like my nieces and nephews, so I guess havin a kid here would help me not miss them.”
Kind of sweet that he was so attached to the kids. Too bad the kids were also Howell heirs, benefiting from years of their grandfather walking on underdogs.
“What about you, Rocky? I don’t see you out on your horse hopin for the worst.”
“I told you not to call me that. Pet names are for friends and lovers. We’re neither now. Anyway, maybe I just haven’t had time to figure out a way to get rid of it. I was about to pickle it, remember?” Hah. She’d shocked him. God, did he actually believe she was serious? “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You don’t need to put round the clock surveillance on me to keep your possible heir safe. I’m getting old, Howell. If I’m knocked up, I’ll deal with it. Grandpa wants a great-grandbaby so he can die happy.”
“Maybe we should try again. Increase our odds,” he said with a half-grin, half-leer.
“Not on your life. Keep your hands to yourself, enemy.” She averted her eyes to ignore the desire on his face. “Don’t you need to leave now? Maybe go redecorate the Pink Elephant or something?”
“I promised Nate I’d stay till he got here.”
“He’s just hoping to get me laid again. He knows I’ll be fine. Take a hike.”
“Nope. A Texan never goes back on his word.”
“Yeah, whatever. But don’t expect me to entertain your Southern ass.”
She grabbed her remote and flipped on the TV. See how long he can put up with reruns on Lifetime.
* * * *
Kie was fast asleep and snoring to beat the band when Nate arrived.
He whispered thanks to Cleve, who said she hadn’t eaten a bite all evening.
Hanging the new suit and extra outfits in Kie’s closet, his breath caught. The little devil had gotten rid of every flattering, clinging, or revealing-enough-to-show-she-was-female piece of clothing she owned. Well, he could play that game too. He removed all the frumpy and baggy items, leaving nothing but the new clothes he’d purchased that day. Sparks were going to fly in the morning when she saw what he’d done, but honestly! She could not go around dressed as a bag lady one more day. It had been absolutely horrifying to see her in the courthouse like that. Besides, nothing boosts spirits like wearing great clothes, and little Kie would be needing lots of help with her spirits for a while.
While he settled a quilt around her on her couch, she woke. “Nate. He did it just to humiliate me, didn’t he? Trayce.” With a knuckle, she dabbed at one eye.
“Yeah, sugar. I think you’re right. But you taught him a lesson, because he totally wasn’t expecting you to tell about the bull.”
“I can’t believe you made me bum a ride with that Texan. I was so pissed.”
He smiled and ruffled her disasterized hair. “I knew you would be, girlfriend. But you had no business driving when you were that upset. Forgive me?”
“I love you Nate, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know it. Ditto. You gonna sleep out here or drag your vertically challenged ass to bed?”
* * * *
Kiersten woke to mid-morning brightness.
Nate was gone.
So were all of her clothes.
Expletives flew off the walls of her cabin as she dressed in snug boot-cut gray slacks, the most casual of the remaining clothing in her closet.
She wished for any one of the outfits she’d crammed in the bags presently in her truck at Grandpa’s. The suit she’d worn the day before had mysteriously disappeared as well, which meant Nate had committed his treachery while she slept. Edging a slinky sequined camisole over her breasts, she stomped in heeled boots to her kitchen. She didn’t even own a bra she could wear under a top cut like this one, so she’d let the girls loose for now.
Nate had left a note.
Morning, Sunshine!
I’m sure by now you’re very happy with me. Remember, you LOVE me!
Went to help Cleve finish the fence. Give yourself a mani or pedi to go with your new look, and we’ll see you at lunch.
Smile!
“Mani or pedi, my ass. He is sooo dead!” She snatched a bagel from her breadbox and stomped out to her four-wheeler.
Nate and Howell were nearly to the top of the west side when she roared up to them. They’d heard her coming, of course, and both were wearing grins.
“What the hell is this?” she demanded, performing a smooth and furied dismount from the seat of her four-wheeler.
“Looks great, girlfriend! Whattaya think, Cleve?”
She patently ignored the lusty look Cleve sent her way. “Who asked you to be my fashion fairy, anyway? Give me back my goddamn clothes, Cook.”
Nate shook his head, refusing to comply.
“Give me the keys to your truck so I can get my clothes. I can’t live in slacks on this damn mountain.”
Again, he flashed those perfect white teeth at her. “I took that stuff and burned it last night before I woke you up, sister. It would’ve been criminal to donate that suit and have anybody go out in public in it again.”
* * * *
Cleve looked on as Kiersten lunged and throttled Nate the same way she’d attempted to with him in the road the day before.
Nate didn’t move fast enough. They both toppled over, with Nate taking care to protect her new outfit from rips or stains. He laughed, lying under her. His one hand gripped both of hers and pushed them back against her out-there breasts.
“Be a good girl, and quit trying to choke your fairy,” he teased. “I’ll take you shopping later and get you some jeans. You only have to dress like a lady for a few hours.” Her glorious eyes glared down at Nate as he said, “This is when you’d get the guy to put on the condom, okay?”
“Very funny, isn’t he, Howell?”
Cleve’s mouth hung open. What exactly had passed between the woman he wanted and her gay friend? Her lying on Nate wasn’t humorous. And he didn’t appreciate Nate’s teasing. How’d he even know they’d skipped the rubber? That was private.
“Feels like you’re all ready for a condom yourself, you big pervert.” She scrambled off him, twisting her shirt back to where it belonged.
That did it. Clay needed to drive the horse trailer out when the cattle came up from Texas. Somebody had to divert Nate’s attention from Kiersten. Hopefully the attraction was still one-sided. It wouldn’t do to lose the first woman he’d thought of long-term to a gay guy.
“What are you glaring at?” Kiersten demanded of him.
Brushing sticks and dirt from himself, Nate paused and looked at him, and he stared back at them.
“It’s none of your damn business anyway, Texan.” Kiersten’s lip curled in a sneer. “I’ll see you at lunch, Nate.”
She left in a cloud of exhaust and dust, like she’d come.
The two men ambled back toward the fence.
Nate broke their silence with, “I think if she was bigger, she might’ve kicked my ass.”
Cleve only nodded.
They worked in awkward silence for several minutes before Nate spoke again. “I’ve got a class tonight. You think you could check in on her? Probably persistence is the best route. Make yourself a fixture, and maybe she’ll get used to you.”
Would Nate purposely lead him to do things that would rile Kiersten? He hoped not, so he agreed to show up at the cabin later in the evening.
* * * *
As Nate parked in Grandpa’s driveway, Kiersten braced herself for the unending questions the senior Day would have for her.
She’d admitted to Nate that she still had her attractive clothes in her truck. He’d agreed to go through them with her and let her keep the better ones, rather than shopping for all new stuff, an expense that didn’t seem feasible to her.
First, though, was the matter of Grandpa.
Nate held her hand for support as they entered the house.
“I see ya made up, huh?” he asked first thing.
“Grandpa, we’re friends.” For the millionth time. Maybe she’d tell him she might be carrying another man’s child. That would get him off her back about Nate.
“You got a lotta explainin to do, young lady.”
Thus began the ‘How the Hell Did You Marry a Bigamist? Q and A Session’. An hour later, she left the house nearly as exhausted as when she’d left the courthouse.
Nate was quite particular about which clothes he let her keep.
“I don’t know why I’m even letting you have a say in this,” she snapped as he took the cargo pants she’d considered chic. “You see what happens when I dress suggestively. I don’t want to attract anybody. Please let me keep the old Levi’s? They’re not that big.”
“Kie, these are my old 501s that you cut off so they wouldn’t be too long. How did you get your hands on these, anyway? Never mind. They’re history, woman. You look like your ass shriveled up and blew away when you wear them. And no more shirts where there’s room for your fists and your breasts in the chest area. God gave you ta-tas for a reason. It’s wasteful not to use them, and my mom always said waste was a sin.”
“So, by your reasoning a woman wearing a loose shirt is a sin?” When Nate nodded, she giggled. “You are sooo not gay. Bi maybe, or perpetually horny, but not gay if you think that much about boobs.” She watched a favorite old flannel shirt that she’d swiped from Grandpa go in the bag. “What’s with Cleve and the green monster today?”
“You liked that, didn’t you? You still want him.”
“He who lies down with dogs will wake up with fleas, Grandma used to say. I definitely don’t need Texan cooties.”
“He’s rich, baby, and too cute. A gentleman through and through. What more could you want?”
“Picture our wedding day—me, and Cleve, and how many, like four other CJ’s, including big daddy, who spent hundreds of thousands trying to exterminate the pestilence that is me. Think he’s gonna bless the union of his youngest hetero son with a poor sheep rancher? Not!”
“You know, missy, when you turn on the charm you’re pretty hard to resist.”
“Says the wheat farmer from Nebraska, not the cigar-smoking billionaire cattle rancher. Guys like that don’t change their opinions of people. They choose a stereotype and live and die by it.”
“Sounds to me like you just pigeonholed ‘guys like that’ yourself, girlfriend.”
“Okay, time for grouchy Kie to go home before she turns into a bi-atch. Bye Natey.”
She kissed the cheek he offered and left for the Peak.