Outlaw Cowboy (9 page)

She wished sorry meant shit.

“But…”

She wouldn't allow her hope to sprout. Hope wasn't a thing with feathers like that worthless poem she'd had to memorize freshman year—hope was the thing with razors. It cut you to pieces, over and over and over.

“Follow me.” He turned on a heel, still completely undressed except for boxers.

And now she had the backside view, and Caleb's back, all broad and muscled, was almost enough to distract her. No bulky coat, no heavy work pants, just an expanse of skin over muscles that moved with each step. Just broad shoulders, narrow waist, and a butt she could not want to sink her fingernails into.

She couldn't want that or him. No matter how much she did.

“Come on, now. If I'm getting up at four to feed the cows and break the ice, so are you. You're going to need some sleep.”

She frowned. Either her exhaustion was getting the better of her, or he made no sense. “What do you mean?” She followed him back into the hall, sure he was about to usher her out the front door.

Instead, he crossed the hall and opened a door. “No sense in heading back to the cabin tonight.”

She peeked into the room, and her chest squeezed so hard she couldn't breathe. It was a bedroom: practical, a little empty, but there was a nice bed and windows. It smelled fresh and clean.

“Sleep in Mel's old room. Have a hot breakfast in the morning. You'll work and get a decent shower. I can't afford to have you here for very much longer, but tonight…” He shrugged.

She wanted to question what he meant by
afford
, but her throat was too tight. His acts of kindness killed her, erased all the bickering, all the nasty words, because she knew that this was the heart and soul of Caleb.

“Don't be stupid. Take the offer.”

“Why are you doing this?” She couldn't wrap her head around all of it: the supplies, the money, letting her stay even with his attempts to give her an expiration date. Why would he ever think he needed to do
more
?

“You really want to know?”

The way he said it, he almost made her think she didn't, but curiosity hadn't killed this cat yet. It was tunnel vision that had threatened her. “Yes, I want to know.”

“I'm at the end of my very fraying rope. I don't know how I'm going to keep this place afloat. I have Summer to take care of and a father who won't engage with his own children. I want a drink so bad I dream about it at night. I want to disappear, but I can't, and I am barely holding on to all that.”

Emotion welled in her throat, along with the urge to hold him. She knew that struggle so well. But if she allowed kindness and commiseration, what else might she allow? So she cocked her hip and looked at the hallway floor. “What does that have to do with me?”

“You have nothing,” he said quietly, gently, as if being gentle about it could undo the fact that it was true. “And you're still fighting. You threaten a lot of my life, Delia, just by being you. Just by being here. But I still have more than you if I lose it all. I can't risk it all, but I can offer this—this once.”

“Wow, no, I guess I didn't want to hear how depressing my life is.” Especially since Caleb didn't know the last little bit.
Oh, you mean the bit that would get you kicked off of Shaw land so fast your head would spin?

She should tell him the police wanted her. It would be the right thing to do. Why was it Caleb of all people who always made her want to do the right thing? Unfortunately for the both of them, though, Steph trumped any wants or desires.

“Go on. Go to sleep. It should be warm enough in here you can take off that ridiculous jacket that couldn't save you from a subzero temperature if it came with its own flame.”

She took a hesitant step into the room, stopping in much the same position as the one they'd been in earlier. Her back was pressed to one side of the door frame, his to the other.

She lifted her gaze to his, trying for a flippant remark and coming up empty. Possibly because it was so easy to get lost in those dark blue eyes, to feel lulled by the warmth radiating off of him.

A very much almost-naked him.

Niceness and nakedness. Those two things never went together in her world, and she was almost desperate for them to.

“Go,” Caleb said, his voice rough, his body still only a few inches from hers, warm and inviting. Though she doubted if she brought her gaze from his chest to his eyes there would be anything inviting about his expression.

Except he was still here. Right next to her. She swallowed and made eye contact. Her hand betrayed her and made contact as well, fingers curling around his hand. It was a simple squeeze, but it burned and she clung to it like a last chance. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“Don't.”

Thank him? Touch him? She shouldn't, she knew that, but sometimes the shouldn'ts won. She was tired of sleeping alone and feeling alone. Tired of
being
alone, and the only way she'd ever known to abate that feeling in her adult life was male companionship.

Caleb's
companionship
would be no hardship.

Her hand slid up his arm, the hairs of his forearm giving way to a smooth shoulder. He visibly swallowed, and for an instant she thought he might close the distance between their bodies or their mouths, maybe both. There was one dazzling moment when this thing they'd avoided for so many years felt as though it might explode between them and somehow
mean
something. Something good.

She could feel it shimmering through her like sunlight, even though it was dark. The possibility of him—of them.

“Caleb.”

Somehow her voice broke the spell, and he moved away. Away from her hand, away from the room.

He stood in the hall, expression stormy. “I'm giving you a roof over your head, no strings. You don't need to fuck me in gratitude.”

He could have slapped her—she had a feeling that would have hurt less. She would have understood
that
anyway. She couldn't understand him seeing through her, and yet not.

No one ever cared to see through why she was propositioning them. She supposed it was a blessing in disguise he didn't understand the real reason. It wasn't for a roof or because she owed him anything.

It was simply because she was lonely, and he'd seemed truly sorry he couldn't help. He understood so many parts of her, but he couldn't see that she quite simply
liked
him.

He pointed between them. “This is the line I will not cross. I will not.” So certain and determined.

She didn't
get
it. Was she that repulsive? That terrible? He wouldn't even
consider
sleeping with her? Touching her? It wasn't like she was asking for a ring. Just…a touch. “Why? It would be
that
awful?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because you, Delia Rogers, have been hurt the fuck enough.” With no warning, no second to react—he reached out and closed the door.

With him on the opposite side.

Delia stared at the door. She could hear his footsteps becoming quieter and quieter as he retreated down the hall.

She blinked at the burning sensation behind her eyes. In all her life, Caleb Shaw had been the only one to ever protect her. To reach out and do something
for
her. Even when he tried not to, even when she supposedly threatened him, he offered her a bed and a hot meal and work.

She brushed at the tears on her cheeks and turned to the bed. She lowered herself onto it, ready to cry all over again when it was soft and perfect. It was clean, and the room was warm. Her heart all but ached with how much this meant.

Gingerly, she took off her jacket, toed off her boots. Her limbs weren't steady as she crawled under the covers, and her eyes remained frustratingly full of tears. She took a deep breath and tried to see this as nothing. It didn't work.

All she could think was that maybe, finally, she'd caught a break. Maybe
Caleb
was the break she needed. The universe was finally throwing her a bone, and things were going to be okay. It was a dangerous belief, but she couldn't argue with it. Not when she was warm and comfortable. Not when someone offered her kindness and protection.

No, all she could believe was that Caleb had given her something she'd never be able to repay, and things were finally,
finally
going to be all right.

Caleb slept for shit. Hard-ons, guilt, and—damn it—fear were not great sleep aides. Then there was the fact that he knew he had to make a decision about Tyler's offer.

There wasn't a decision to
make
—the decision was made. The only option was leasing the land, and swallowing some pride for the sake of cash flow. Tyler said a couple of grand. All Caleb had to do was give up a pasture he barely used as it was. With Shaw's meager herd, it wouldn't put a dent in the day-to-day.

Caleb had to take it if he had any prayer of proving to Mel he could do this on his own. He would get his name on that deed.
His.
Mel had a different life now. She had to trust him enough to transfer it over to him. An actual Shaw. She'd taken Sharpe's name. She'd left.

This was Shaw land, and maybe he'd wasted a lot of years taking that for granted, enough so that after Dad's accident, Mel's name was put on everything, but this place was the only thing—these fields, those mountains, his horse—that kept him going when he was so damn determined his own soul was against him.

Couldn't be all bad if he had this.
He
couldn't be all bad if he could take care of this. So, he had to agree to Tyler's conditions. So Mel would trust him with this, both in action and in writing.

Which meant he had to get rid of Delia. No more nights in the house. He probably couldn't even let her stay in the cabin. The Rogers family was not one he could afford to have any connection with.

Maybe Tyler's conditions were ludicrous—especially dictating who he could be seen with, interact with, but that was the point. Caleb was in a position of zero power, which meant he had to swallow down ludicrous. Because if he could do this—follow every random, ridiculous rule Tyler threw at him—no one in town could say he hadn't changed.

Shaw wouldn't have to suffer because of his stupid past, Mel and Summer wouldn't have to suffer because he'd pissed off more people than he cared to count.

If he could get the money, he could maybe convince Mel to put his name on that deed. But if he convinced Tyler he'd changed, that he could be trusted, that changed
everything.

So Delia had to go.

It hurt. In the light of day, he'd refuse to admit it to himself, but here in the predawn gray, as he forced himself out of bed and into clothes, he would. It would hurt to cut Delia out when he wished he had the means and the heart to shower her with kindness and possibility.

He shook his head as he trudged to the barn. As if she'd want that, especially from
him
. He would always be the man who'd ruined her life, even as he'd saved it. He didn't want to be in that position again. Where his best was not only not good enough, it made everything worse.

So, he had to get her off Shaw land. Away from the chance Tyler might see her and make the connection. Getting Tyler's payment and respect had to be the center of his world until June first.

You owe me.

No doubt he owed Delia, but how could he possibly put Delia Rogers above Shaw? Mel had once told him she
was
Shaw, and it was as if those words had opened up a new world to him.

It was a world he'd been scared to death of at first, but something about Summer's arrival and Mel getting married had shifted his perspective. Maybe he'd always be bad deep down, but he could choose to be something else on the surface. It was agony some days, but then he'd look at the mountains in the distance and know, no matter what he was on the inside, he belonged here.

He
was Shaw, and he was going to give it something.

Delia threatened that, she threatened his
soul
. She had to go. If she was really that scared of her father, or whatever was after her, she could hightail it out of Blue Valley. That's what she
should
do, so kicking her out wasn't letting her down.

They didn't mean anything to each other anyway. Or so he'd tell himself, time and time again, ignoring all the moments last night that told him otherwise.

Her hand sliding up his arm, his shoulder, cool and seductive…and there had been something in her expression and her voice far more terrifying than all the times she'd pretended to proposition him before.

It wasn't a proposition. It was a real touch, and it unmanned him. Took away all his defenses except meanness. That defense was alive and well. Always.

“I thought I was supposed to help?”

Caleb whirled around, spilling feed in the process. “Fuck, Delia.” Had he really been that lost in his own thoughts he hadn't heard her come up?

“If you recall, you said that's off the table.”

“Not funny.” He returned to his work. It
wasn't
funny. His sudden erection was not a laughing matter in the least.

“What can I do?”

“Did you eat?” He demanded it gruffly, accusingly, because every time he saw how gaunt she looked, he felt the need to
do
things for her.

“Have
you
? It's like… I don't know, too early to even look at a clock.”

“Then go back to bed.”

“No. I'm going to pay my way.”

“You don't need to.”
Because your way is about to end.

“I don't need to fuck you or work for you. Well, what
do
you want from me? Because if it's nothing, I'm going to have to believe you're helping me out of the goodness of your heart, and we both know you don't want that.”

Fair enough. “Fine, you want to work?” He nodded to the shovel next to Cruiser's stall. “Shovel the shit out of the horses' stalls.”

He watched for a nose wrinkle, a hesitation, anything that might hint that she didn't want to do the smelliest job on the ranch—anything he could jump on to use as a reason to get her out. But she grabbed the shovel and went for the stall without a blink.

“Like I don't have ample experience with multiple layers of shit,” she muttered to herself, unlatching the door and then cooing sweetly to his horse.

Considering he'd never heard anything
sweet
out of Delia's mouth, it was…fascinating. He found himself stepping toward her voice, toward her. She did the work carefully, if not efficiently, all the while crooning to his horse.

Cruiser turned to the sound, drawn like Caleb himself was. He couldn't explain it as anything other than a physical pull. He stepped to the door of the stall, he watched her, even though he had things to do, and no time for distractions.

He also had to tell her she had to get the hell out. As soon as damn possible. Instead, his mouth acted independently of his mind. “Can you ride?”

“Like I said, Caleb, you put the kibosh on that last night.” Her smile was its normal sly, sarcastic curve, but there was another element to it, something soft, and it made his gut clench.

“Not funny, Delia.” Maybe it would be if he couldn't perfectly picture it. If he didn't ache for it with every last cell of his body. If he wasn't about to knock all that humor right out of her.

She glanced up from under the fringe of bangs and gave him a crooked smile. “A little funny. And, no. Never ridden a horse in my life.”

“I'm still teaching Summer…if you want to learn.” Which was the stupidest thing he'd ever said in his entire life, and he'd said a lot of stupid shit. Some mix of her and all the blood draining south and…her.

She glanced at the horse, and for the first time Caleb realized that for all her soothing words and careful work, she wasn't at ease.

“I think I'll leave the riding of animals that could crush me under their hooves to you and Summer.”

“He'd never crush you under his hoof.”

“
He
is an animal. He could, and that's all I need to know.”

Caleb opened his mouth to argue, but he thought maybe there was something under those words—connecting to all the people who'd metaphorically crushed her under them. And he was about to be one of them. Again.

“So, are
you
going to work, or am I going to do all the heavy lifting around here?” She cocked a hip, one hand on the shovel. Something about the pose, being in a stall together, physically hurt.

Because he knew, just like working Shaw had been good for him, it could be good for her. But he couldn't offer her that. Even in the best of situations, he didn't think he could offer her that.

So, he needed to tell her. Now. Before she shoveled any more shit, before he made any more stupid offers. He had to finish his morning chores, eat some breakfast, and then suck up to yet another Blue Valley upstanding citizen who was convinced he would fail.

He wasn't going to fail. Not this.

“You have to go.” Yeah, subtly had never been his strong suit.

She did that thing where she went unnaturally still, almost like she was hoping he wouldn't be able to see her if she was still enough. A wild animal hoping to avoid getting caught in the predator's teeth. Her brown eyes held a swirl of emotion he had to look away from. “Go where?” she asked quietly as she too-carefully rested the shovel against the stall wall.

“I need you to leave Shaw. As soon as possible.” He said it to the fringe of her bangs. Because he was a coward. But he was a coward making a step toward getting what he needed.

“I see.”

“It's not personal.”

With no warning, she reached out and shoved him, enough of a surprise that he stumbled back.

“Oh, it's fucking personal,” she growled, giving him another shove until his back hit the opposite wall.

He could stop her. He could stop a lot of things, but he figured he kind of deserved this, so he let her have at it.

* * *

Delia didn't know why her breathing was coming in ragged bursts. Shoving him had been easy enough, and he wasn't trying to fight back, so there was no physical exertion.

But panic and fear and helplessness welled up inside of her, and she couldn't catch a breath. This time when her hands reached out, she didn't shove—she beat a fist to his chest.

It didn't solve anything. Violence rarely did, and even when it managed to, it wasn't without a lot of damage left behind.

But she needed to hit something and hurt something. He'd made her believe…

“I
hate
you.” She wished she were really talking about him. The fact of the matter was, as angry as she was, as disappointed and hurt and lost as she was, she hated herself more than she hated him.

She was an idiot for ever going to sleep in that house last night, with his words acting as some kind of warmth and comfort. She'd thought he'd been offering her something, but in reality he was assuaging his conscience for this.

“You're an evil bastard.” She struck him again, and again he took it. Oh, what she wouldn't give for more meat on her bones to deliver a striking blow. Her eyes drifted to his crotch, though not sexually this time. Oh, no, she was going to enact physical damage.

She reached her hand back to punch him again, but he must have caught on to her intent, because he snatched her wrist before she could complete the action that would have brought him to his knees.

“Okay, enough of that.”

She didn't fight him, because she wasn't going to resort to that. Let him hold on to her hand. She wasn't moving. She would play dirty if she had to. She needed this place, and he couldn't take it away from her. “I'm not leaving.”

His hands squeezed slightly on her wrist. “You have to.”

“You can't make me.”

“Like hell I can't. Like hell I won't.” There was an almost imperceptible softening. “You can't stay here. I'm sorry. I am. But you can't. I can't have you here. Take a few days to—”

“Fuck that, Caleb. I am not leaving.” She couldn't. She had nowhere else to go. She swallowed the lump in her throat and focused on the anger driving her. The one-eighty he'd just pulled on her. She wasn't soft or weak, and she'd let herself be both the past few days. What an idiot she was. She needed to go back to the plan, and the plan was to use him, threaten him, and get what she needed. “You try and kick me out, I will go straight to the police. I will tell them what you did. Maybe you'll get arrested, maybe you won't, but the whole town will know. They will know what you're really capable of.”

Silence stretched out between them, and even though he still had her wrist, it felt like the silence was pushing them apart, farther and farther, an impenetrable wall between them.

“You think they'll believe you?”

It hurt because he was right, and because she couldn't possibly go to the police, but it was the only threat she had, so she had to keep going. Make him believe it. “My father will.”

“You'd go to the man you're running away from just to hurt me?”

It struck her then he really thought she was only hiding out from Dad. That he didn't suspect more. Like warrants and such, and that would make this all so much worse.

So, she'd never tell him.

“I'll go to the police. They'll go to him. I don't have to have any contact with him. And I'm not hurting you, Caleb darling—I'm protecting myself.” Since she was all she was ever going to have.

“You can't do that.”

“Can't protect myself?” She laughed bitterly. “I'll do whatever I have to. I will go to the cops. I will make sure everyone knows what you're capable of. I have nowhere else to go, and Steph needs—” She snapped her mouth shut, not wanting to give any more of herself away. She wrenched herself out of his grasp.

She shouldn't have been surprised how quickly things could change. It was the story of her life. Shame on her for ever thinking Caleb was different. Decent. A safe haven.

What a joke. There were no safe havens in this life.