Finally Home (12 page)

“Yeah, but they're my horses,” he said.

She gritted her teeth as she stepped into her overalls and remembered the day he had brought those rangy broncs to the Lazy . . . just swinging by on his way to the killer sales in Canada, he'd said. He'd manipulated her then just like he was manipulating her now. She knew that. But looking back, she wasn't sure what she would have done differently. Those dark, wild eyes staring at her from the confines of the trailer had drawn her under. And maybe, just maybe, the challenge in
his
eyes had had a little something to do with her decision. “Fine. Suit yourself,” she said and attempted to yank her zipper sassily closed. Unfortunately, she'd forgotten about the broken tab. Her empty fingers snapped into the air, making him grin as he straightened from pulling on his boots.

“Need some help?”

“No, I don't need any help!” she said and tugged desperately at the nub.

He shook his head. “Twenty-nine years old,” he mused. They were standing less than three feet apart. Close enough for her to smell the leather of the gloves he held in one hand. “And you're still running scared.”

She snapped her head up. “Am not.”

“Really?” he asked and stepped up close.

She could feel testosterone roll off him in waves. Could all but taste the flavor of him on her lips. He took the one remaining step between them and tugged up her zipper. His knuckles brushed her neck, sending off a tiny tendril of something skittering across her skin.

She knew she should step back, knew she should escape. Maybe he wanted her now, but how long would that last? He wasn't her type. She needed someone solid and steady, someone
boring
. He was about as boring as a heart attack, as humdrum as a wildfire. And when he was near, she was no better than kindling waiting to be consumed by the flame. But he was leaning in, chiseled jaw coming closer, sexy eyes half closed. Their lips were inches apart.

“Stay inside.” He breathed the order against her lips.

It took her a moment to make sense of his words, to realize he was manipulating her yet again. “No.”

A tic twitched in his jaw. “You have to soak that leg.”

“This is
my
ranch!” she said and stepped back a pace, putting a little much-needed space between them.

“That doesn't mean you have to do every damn job yourself.”

“It means that I can if I want to.”

His lips were tight as he turned toward the door before swinging back. “Stay in and I won't mention today's fiasco ever again.”

She shrugged, oh so unconcerned.

“If you insist on coming out, I'm putting you in the tub myself the moment we're back inside.”

The thought fired up an unacceptable spark of glee somewhere in the middle of Casie's being, but she doused it with manic speed.

“Try it!” she challenged.

His brows quirked up in unison with his lips.

“Okay then,” he said and motioned toward the door. “After you.”

CHAPTER 11

“A
ll right!” Max clapped his gloved hands together. Frost flowed from his lips into the chill night air. “Let's get this done.”

“How about Max and I throw the bales onto the loft and you ladies stack them,” Colt said.

Casie considered calling him a poopyhead and telling him that
she
would throw and
he
could stack, but even in her current state of inexplicable anger, she wasn't deluded enough to think that was possible. She could no more throw a sixty-pound bale through the air than she could fly to the moon.

“That work for you?” he asked. She couldn't help but think it sounded like a challenge.

“Sure,” she said. “That's fine. The ladder's over here,” she added and motioned Sonata toward a dark corner where rickety rungs climbed ten feet into the loft. It only took her a few seconds to reach the top. Just a little longer to realize her guest wasn't immediately behind her. She glanced down.

Sonata was standing at the bottom, looking up, face a perfect pale oval beneath her jaunty red beret.

“Sonata?”

“Yes. I'm coming,” she said and put a tentative foot on the first dowel.

“You okay, honey?” Max asked, glancing down from the top of the hay wagon.

“Of course,” she said again and took a step up.

Max grinned. The hay upon which he stood was stacked twelve feet high. Colt was beside him, already tossing off the ropes that had held the bales in place during transit.

“We can still go find that elusive gym,” Max said and winked at Casie, but Sonata kept climbing, eyes straight ahead, movements slow and stiff.

It took half a minute for her to reach the top. Beads of perspiration dotted her smooth brow and her lips looked taut.

“Everything all right?” Casie asked.

Max was still grinning from the hay wagon.

“I'm fine,” she said and took a shaky breath. “Just tell me why the bales have to be up here.”

“They don't,” Casie said. “Not tonight anyway. Please, let us take care of this.”

“S. and I have a little bet,” Max said. “The person who cries uncle first has to pay for our next vacation. I'm thinking African safari.” His grin amped up a little. He rubbed his hands together. “Let's get this party started.”

“I'm in a bit of a hurry to get back into the house myself,” Colt said and glanced at Casie. His eyes seemed demonically bright in the dim light, reminding her of his bathtub threat. “You ready?”

She gave him a challenging glare though her stomach felt queasy. “Whenever you are.”

He nodded and dragged the first bale up by its strings.

It was then that Lincoln Alexander appeared below them.

“Where do you want
me?
” he asked. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt and his head was bare.

From above, the boy looked more slender than ever, barely as heavy as one of the bales.

“Not much room up here,” Colt said. “But we'd appreciate your help in the loft.”

He nodded once, then clambered up the ladder.

Sonata shuffled carefully away as if just the sight of such careless disregard for vertigo shook her foundation.

Once on top, Lincoln shifted his weight and waited.

Colt tossed the first bale. It hit the plywood beneath Casie's feet with a reverberating thud.

Sonata swore almost inaudibly and widened her stance as if steadying her sea legs.

“You'll get used to it,” Casie said, and not knowing what else to do to reassure her, grabbed the twin twines and carried the tightly bundled hay to the back wall.

Lincoln retrieved the next one and placed it carefully beside Casie's. Sonata had moved toward the middle of the loft, and Max was positioned to make the next pitch.

His face was a mask of concentration as he heaved the bale sideways. It soared through the air, struck the edge of the platform, and toppled dismally to the ground.

“I'll get this,” he promised.

Ten minutes later his breath was coming hard and he'd only managed to get three onto the loft. Four others, however, had joined their fallen comrades belowdecks.

“It takes some practice,” Colt said and tossed another bale onto the floor near Casie's feet. Despite the frigid temperatures, he'd already removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. The muscles flexed in his corded forearms. Sonata raised her brows as she watched. Casie felt heat flush her cheeks. Exercise, she thought, was very effective in raising one's body temperature.

“I got it,” Lincoln said, and lifting the newly arrived bale from in front of her, stacked it among its mates.

“There must be an easier way,” Max said. His face was a little red.

“Yeah,” Colt agreed, and shifting another bale, tossed it sideways. It landed on the plywood and slid to within five inches of Sonata's feet. She shuffled back but finally gritted her teeth and bent to haul it away. “The Lazy could benefit from a few modern conveniences.” He made another toss. “Or
any
conveniences.”

“What would take
our
place up here?” Max asked, breath rasping a little as he bent to grasp two more twines.

“A hay elevator,” Colt said.

“They make such a thing?”

“They do.” Colt tossed another bale and added a grin as Casie hauled it away. “But then Case would have to invest in a bench press.”

“You two married?” Lincoln asked.

The question seemed to come zipping out of left field.

Casie shifted her gaze to him. The boy looked pale but untaxed as he stood near the edge, legs spread and brows low over gunmetal eyes.

“Nah,” Colt said and turned his amused glance on Casie. She felt the heat of his attention like the spark of a Roman candle. “I'm just the hired help.”

Lincoln tightened his fists, making Casie notice for the first time that his hands were bare. She winced. There were few things more egregious to skin than baling twine and coarse-stemmed alfalfa. Small abrasions already bedeviled his knuckles. Surely that would upset an artist. Wouldn't it?

“You need gloves,” she said, but he didn't seem to notice.

“You and . . .” Lincoln paused and clenched his jaw as he jerked it toward Colt. “You married to the girl?”

“What?”

“The girl . . . in the house.” He pursed his lips, expression sober. “Is she your wife?”

Colt scowled, dark brows low over suddenly cautious eyes. “Which girl are you talking about?”

“The baby . . . she doesn't look like you.”

No one spoke. They seemed to be holding their collective breath.

“Emily's a friend,” Colt said. Something in his stance suggested that he wanted to add “and none of your damned business.” His protectiveness simultaneously moved and irritated Casie. Life was just so damned confusing.

“She do all the cooking?” Lincoln asked.

Colt shifted his gaze to Casie and back. “Most of it. Why?”

He shrugged. The movement was stiff, his expression dark. “I was thinking maybe you could use some more help around here.”

Casie blinked. Holy cats. What was this all about? “Your art must keep you pretty busy.”

“I can do other things,” he said and turned to her, expression earnest.

Casie longed to glance back at Colt, but she didn't need his support. “I'm afraid I can't afford another employee right now,” she said and resisted adding “or
any
employees.”

“Okay,” he said and fell silent.

After several seconds of uncomfortable quiet, Colt threw another bale. Things speeded up a little after that. Max tossed one for every four of Colt's, but his attempts were getting better.

Unfortunately, the work was becoming increasingly difficult. As the stack on the wagon got lower, the throwing distance became longer and the pile in the loft higher.

Everyone's respiration rate had escalated a little. Sonata had ceased carrying the bales to the growing stack and was now dragging them as far as possible. Lincoln worked in silence. Max grunted as he heaved another bale. And then there was a gasp. Casie spun toward the wagon just in time to see him topple to his knees. He teetered on the edge. Colt leaped forward and grabbed his jacket.

For one frantic second, she was sure they would both crash to the floor, but suddenly Colt fell backward, dragging Max with him.

The three in the loft stared wide-eyed as Max lay on his back, gasping for breath.

“You okay?” Colt asked, crouching over him.

Max swore with breathy vigor.

“Max?” Colt said, but the other man was rolling slowly onto his belly.

“Come on, Sonata,” he said and crawled carefully toward the edge of the rack.

Sonata's stance had widened even farther, as if the flooring beneath her was not to be trusted. Still, she wasn't giving up. “Are you crying uncle?”

“And every other imaginable relative.” He groaned.

“I'm so sorry,” Casie said and hurried down the ladder to watch him creep toward the floor.

“Not your fault,” he assured her and put a hand to the small of his back as he reached the ground.

Worry crashed over her. It wasn't as if she needed more lawsuits against her. The pending problems with Ty's parents were enough. “I'd better call a doctor. Or do you want me to take you to the emergency room?”

“No. I'm fine. It's probably just a ruptured spleen or something.”

Casie felt herself blanch as Sonata crept down the ladder.

“I'm kidding,” Max said and placed his right arm across his fiancée's shoulders. “I just need to rest a little. You can't keep us cowpokes down for long,” he said and limped out of the barn with a grimace.

Casie watched them disappear into the darkness.

“You should go with them,” Colt said.

She glanced up at him.

“Make sure he's okay,” he added, but she shook her head.

In a moment she was back in the hayloft. The remainder of the job was uneventful but difficult. By the time the wagon was empty, her arms ached and her right hip throbbed with the beat of her heart. She glanced at Lincoln.

“Thank you,” she said. “That was really nice of you.”

He nodded, brows low above overcast eyes.

“I can . . .” She shuffled her feet against the hay-strewn plywood, trying to relieve the pain in her hip. “I can take some money off your tab if you like.”

He stared at her.

“In exchange for your help,” she added.

“Not necessary,” he said and strode toward the ladder. In a moment he was down. In another he had slipped from view.

“What's with him?” Colt asked, voice low.

She shook her head, a half dozen worries gnawing her. “Maybe I should check him out.”

He raised his brows, expression amused. “You a sleuth now?”

She pursed her lips, remembering she was angry. “Could be.”

He chuckled. “Well, your investigation's going to have to wait until after your bath.”

She jerked her eyes to his. Panic spewed through her, but she tried for a sassy comeback.

“I don't think I need one as much as you do,” she said and sniffed at him with noisy disdain, but honest to God, he still smelled good. What kind of sense did that make?

“Well, maybe we can wash each
other's
backs then,” he said. Panic twisted into something a little more confusing, but she held on desperately to her cheeky demeanor. “Very funny,” she said and turned away to hide her face.

“Since I'm staying the night,” he added.

She pivoted back toward him. Anger and excitement mixed dangerously inside her, but she calmed herself with a deep breath. “I appreciate the offer,” she said, making certain her tone implied the opposite. “But—”

“It's not an offer. It's a fact.”

Anger won. “This is
my
place,” she said. “This is—”

“And those girls are
your
responsibility.”

She didn't like cursing. She reminded herself of that now. “You think I don't know that?”

“You act like you don't.”

“I do not act—”

“Em's scared.”

“What?” she asked, surprised despite herself.

“Why else would she ask about locks?” He gazed toward the bunkhouse, where their latest guest had disappeared a few moments before. “What does it take to scare a girl like Emily Kane?”

She hated to admit it, but he had a valid point. “Okay,” she said. “You can stay. But just tonight.”

“Of course,” he said, and grinned as he returned his gaze to hers. “You sound like you think I'm trying to make a move on you or something.”

She stared up at him, a thousand questions quivering on the tip of her tongue.

“No,” she said and looked away. “Of course not.”

“Good. Cuz no means no, right?”

His eyes were so damned enchanting, drawing her back.

“Right?” he asked.

“Right! Yes.”

“I mean
no!
”

He raised his brows at her.

She gritted her teeth and backed away. “You'll have to stay downstairs,” she said and nodded at her own wisdom.

“Of course,” he agreed. “Just as soon as you're done with your bath.”