Running Wild Part 5

Yeah, she'd mentioned that before, but Carlin had settled into the attic room and gotten so used to it she'd forgotten. "Oh." So it was all or nothing. She had to choose Grumpy, or she had to hit the road.

"From what I hear, Spencer wasn't doing such a great job before his accident, anyway," Kat continued, turning her attention back to Zeke, determined to force this situation in the direction she wanted.

"Maybe he wasn't, but no one has gone hungry." An unspoken "yet" hung in the air. Then he admitted defeat, his scowl deepening. "d.a.m.n it, if I had any other choice, I wouldn't even consider-"

Carlin lifted a hand to cut him off. She'd heard enough. Maybe-probably-she should have her head examined, but instead of deterring her his reluctance had the opposite effect. She wanted wanted to work for him, but on her to work for him, but on her terms, not his. She wanted to make him eat his words-which, honestly, might taste better than her cooking. She was learning, but terms, not his. She wanted to make him eat his words-which, honestly, might taste better than her cooking. She was learning, but learning learning was the operative word. And Kat was right. This was a near-perfect, short-term solution. "It sounds to me like you could use some help. I'm willing to take on the job, but only if you agree to some things. I don't need to be fired in the middle of the winter in Wyoming," she said, taking control of the situation and warming to it, because his gaze was getting more narrow and hostile by the moment. She was doing good. "I either move on within the next couple of weeks, or I stay until spring." was the operative word. And Kat was right. This was a near-perfect, short-term solution. "It sounds to me like you could use some help. I'm willing to take on the job, but only if you agree to some things. I don't need to be fired in the middle of the winter in Wyoming," she said, taking control of the situation and warming to it, because his gaze was getting more narrow and hostile by the moment. She was doing good. "I either move on within the next couple of weeks, or I stay until spring."

Zeke studied her for a moment with those piercing green eyes that held no sympathy. "If I don't hire you, where are you going?"

"That's none of your business. And even if it was, I wouldn't tell you."

Kat stepped back and crossed her arms, apparently satisfied to set this conversation into motion and then let the two involved parties fight it out.

The idea of a place to stay for the winter, food and lodging, a ranch that was literally in the middle of nowhere...it was the perfect solution, except for one irate, stubborn ranch owner. She was so tired of running, she'd enjoyed her weeks here in Battle Ridge, and no way was she going to let him ruin this for her. He needed her more than she needed him. Still, she might as well throw him a bone.

"I'll work hard, and I'll stay out of your way," she told him briskly. "All I ask is that you pay me in cash, keep the name 'Carlin' to yourself, and stay out of my my way. And keep me on until spring. In the spring I'll move on." By then she'd have a good bit of cash in her pocket, and-if she was lucky-a plan of some sort that would free her from this prison Brad had created for her. way. And keep me on until spring. In the spring I'll move on." By then she'd have a good bit of cash in her pocket, and-if she was lucky-a plan of some sort that would free her from this prison Brad had created for her.

Zeke still looked unconvinced and suspicious. "How do I know this stalker story isn't a bunch of bull and you're wanted by the police? For all I know you're a con artist, or wanted for murdering your last employer." do I know this stalker story isn't a bunch of bull and you're wanted by the police? For all I know you're a con artist, or wanted for murdering your last employer."

"Hey!" Kat yelped, outraged on Carlin's behalf. "I'm her last employer." her last employer."

Carlin thought that maybe she should be outraged herself, but she wasn't. She knew how this had to look to Zeke, but she couldn't tell him the details. She couldn't plead her case. And she would not not beg. Zeke Decker would take her for the winter, or he wouldn't. beg. Zeke Decker would take her for the winter, or he wouldn't.

"All I have to offer is my word, I suppose. I'm guilty of being naive. Nothing more."

He took a few minutes to think it over. It was obvious he wasn't pleased by the development, but he hadn't dismissed the idea of hiring her out of hand, either. He must really be in a tight spot to even consider it.

"You can cook, can't you?" he finally asked.

"I can," Carlin said confidently. Maybe she wasn't on Kat's level, but she had learned a lot working at The Pie Hole and she could follow a recipe. She could learn more.

"You got anything against doing laundry?"

"Nope." She thought about telling her prospective employer that she was willing to do anything, but she didn't. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea with a vague and possibly suggestive anything anything. "I also do windows."

Zeke took his last bite of pie, chewing it and the situation over at the same time. She could tell he was sorting through his options, which, from what she'd heard, weren't good. He either hired her, or he did without a cook. He was obviously unhappy when he growled, "Fine, you're hired. Fair warning, though: the windows haven't been cleaned in about a year."

Carlin caught herself smiling, and she doused it immediately. She didn't want him getting the wrong idea, that maybe she was grateful grateful. She was, but not the way he'd think. She didn't want him to a.s.sume he had all the power in this new professional relations.h.i.+p. He needed her as much as she needed him. No, he needed her power in this new professional relations.h.i.+p. He needed her as much as she needed him. No, he needed her more more. She wouldn't allow him to forget that.

There was still the matter of her salary to negotiate. And she had to figure out what she was going to do about the way her heart kept beating faster every time he was close by.

Suddenly she felt very uneasy. For months, she hadn't found any man attractive, because Brad had left such a terrible imprint on her psyche. Now, all of a sudden, her wayward insides were taking notice of a man she knew for sure she was going to leave. What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l was wrong with her? was wrong with her?

Okay, it was official: she'd gone nuts.

Chapter Seven

CARLIN'S HEART WAS pounding at a ridiculous rate the next day as she followed Zeke Decker's dark green pickup truck down one narrow road after another. Kat had been right-it was a d.a.m.n long drive through a lot of nothing to get from Battle Ridge to the ranch. She tried to calm down by calling herself silly for being so excited, she tried to distract herself by first one thing then another, but the fact was: she was going to be working at Zeke Decker's house! pounding at a ridiculous rate the next day as she followed Zeke Decker's dark green pickup truck down one narrow road after another. Kat had been right-it was a d.a.m.n long drive through a lot of nothing to get from Battle Ridge to the ranch. She tried to calm down by calling herself silly for being so excited, she tried to distract herself by first one thing then another, but the fact was: she was going to be working at Zeke Decker's house!

And if that wasn't silly, she didn't know what was, to be as giddy as a teenager at the idea of being close to a man. Not dating him, not doing anything except probably working her b.u.t.t off, but-being close to him! Seeing him every day! Handling his dirty underwear!

She was mentally unbalanced. Had to be. She couldn't feel this way about him. It wasn't just silly, it was impossible. And dangerous. Considering her situation, nothing could- Oh, wow!

Her mouth fell open at the grandeur around her. She hadn't been able to distract herself, but G.o.d and Mother Earth had done the job, and how.

They'd long since left the asphalt highway, turned right onto a graveled road, then left onto another one that was less well graveled, then sort of veered onto a dirt road that seemed to meander all over creation and back. It was noon, the sun was directly overhead, so she didn't even have any idea what direction they were traveling in. All she knew for certain was that they were climbing higher in alt.i.tude, because her ears kept popping. onto a graveled road, then left onto another one that was less well graveled, then sort of veered onto a dirt road that seemed to meander all over creation and back. It was noon, the sun was directly overhead, so she didn't even have any idea what direction they were traveling in. All she knew for certain was that they were climbing higher in alt.i.tude, because her ears kept popping.

And the scenery was beautiful. No, the word "beautiful" was too mild; the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. She almost gave herself whiplash trying to see all the gorgeous valleys and the awe-inspiring mountains. The view from Battle Ridge of the mountains had been beautiful, but now she was much closer, and she felt almost as if she could barely breathe this close to something that words couldn't really describe. All the head-swiveling didn't do anything to help her keep her sense of direction, but what the h.e.l.l, that was already blown, so she might as well enjoy the drive.

On a more practical note, this job on the Decker ranch had better work out, because there was no way in h.e.l.l she could find her way back to Battle Ridge; she'd effectively be stranded out here, at least for a while. Her short and not-very-sweet acquaintance with Decker made her less than optimistic that he'd take pity on her and lead her back to civilization, especially since he was in such dire straits. He evidently needed a cook and housekeeper bad enough to hire a "stray."

"Stray," she muttered. "I'll show you stray."

Just thinking about that made her get p.i.s.sed off all over again. No, there was no again to it, because she hadn't stopped being p.i.s.sed off to begin with, and that was good. She wasn't certain exactly what she meant by showing him, or what she could do, but she'd think of something to get back at him. She needed the money, she needed the job, but right now he needed her even more and that gave her the upper hand. She liked being p.i.s.sed.

p.i.s.sed off was the best mood for her to be in. Otherwise, Decker was too much of a temptation. p.i.s.sed off was the best mood for her to be in. Otherwise, Decker was too much of a temptation.

h.e.l.l, he was a temptation even when she was p.i.s.sed off.

d.a.m.n it. d.a.m.n him, for being so blasted s.e.xy-and he didn't even try! Please G.o.d, she though frantically, don't let him ever try. She didn't know if she could resist him. Once upon a time, before Brad, she'd have been dancing on the ceiling at the way Decker made her feel: the thumping heartbeat, the nervousness and excitement in the pit of her stomach, the restlessness, the sensation of her skin being too hot and tight. Was it coincidence or a warning that the symptoms of strong attraction were pretty much the same as those for a dread disease? She could imagine that if she went to an ER with those symptoms she'd be slapped into a cardiac unit, or isolation, or both.

But there was no dancing on the ceiling now. He'd made it clear that she was just a fill-in until he could find someone permanent, preferably a man, and that suited her fine. For now the Decker ranch-the wonderfully isolated Decker ranch-was a very good place to hide. If Decker found a permanent cook before the winter was over, she expected he'd fire her even though he'd promised not to, but considering her circ.u.mstances she was really okay with that. After all, she'd forced him to make that promise only to p.i.s.s him off, the way he'd p.i.s.sed her off. Fair was fair, right?

All she had to do was keep him at a distance, and far away from her overactive hormones. I can do that, she thought, and smirked to herself. She might even have fun doing it. And if she indulged her hormones by eyeing the eye-candy from time to time, that was okay, because was.h.i.+ng his dirty underwear would even things out and keep her head out of the clouds. As long as she didn't catch herself sniffing his s.h.i.+rts, she was fine.

He turned his pickup onto a graveled road that was marked by two posts so big and rough it looked as if someone had simply cut down two trees-two really big trees-and hacked the limbs off, then stuck the trees in the ground. The twenty-foot-tall posts supported a cross member that could be yet another tree, a rough-hewn slab of wood easily twice as thick as her body, into which the words "Rocking D Ranch" had been carved. Carlin steered the Subaru in the truck's dusty path, feeling as if she were crossing an armed and barricaded border into a foreign country. Okay, so she hadn't seen any machine-gun nests...yet. They might just be well hidden.

"Wow," she muttered. As far as entrances went, she found this one pretty impressive: primitive, but impressive. Someone had really wanted that top tree slab up there, because the process couldn't have been easy. She'd felt the same way about the Hoover Dam the first time she'd seen it: someone had to have been desperate to dam that river, to have gone to that much effort. Not that this compared to the Hoover Dam, but still.

Finally they reached civilization...kind of. The first sign was fencing, and she saw some horses grazing peacefully in the pasture. She wasn't sure how she felt about horses. They were pretty, but big, and she thought they might be unpredictable. Didn't matter; she was here to cook and clean, not ride a horse.

There looked to be a couple of storage-type buildings, and a huge barn. As soon as they drove past the barn, she saw the house. It was a pretty house, obviously remodeled and added on to: two-story, white, with a wide porch running across the entire front. There was a one-story addition, with a single step leading up to an inset rectangular concrete porch. Even farther to the right was a long, low building that she a.s.sumed was the bunkhouse. Between the two houses, and set back by itself, was a cabin that could be no more than two rooms, and both of them small. was a cabin that could be no more than two rooms, and both of them small.

Decker stopped his truck at an angle in front of the small porch. Dollars to doughnuts one of those doors opened into the kitchen, or more likely a mudroom leading into the kitchen. No one else was in sight. From the way Kat had described the ranch, Carlin had expected it to be bustling with activity, but except for the grazing horses she hadn't seen any other living creature. Well, and Decker. She supposed he counted as a "living creature."

She got out of the car and stood in the open doorway, abruptly suspicious as she looked around. Alarm sent tingles skittering up her spine. Okay, she knew it was irrational; Kat wouldn't have steered her wrong, wouldn't have sent her into a dangerous situation. Still...she was out here all alone with a man she didn't know, regardless of how he made her hormones all jittery and happy. Common sense told her everything was okay, but common sense had been wrong about Brad. Keeping her right foot on the floor mat, poised to jump back in the car and hit the door lock, she gave Decker a flinty, narrow-eyed look. Her tone was flat as she asked, "Where is everyone?"

"Working," he said shortly. "The cattle don't live in the house."

She didn't want that to make sense, but it did. She slid her keys into her pocket, eased her foot out of the car and onto the ground. "Lead on."

He reached for her car door, evidently to get her scant luggage from the vehicle, but some knee-jerk reaction made Carlin quickly thumb the remote and all the locks clicked down. Decker straightened and scowled at her. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?"

"I'll carry my own bags," she said curtly. It was a small hill and she didn't intend to die on it, but for now it was just the right size for needling him.

His green eyes went cold and narrow as he hooked his thumbs in his belt. His grim mouth set in a hard line so thin she could barely see his lips. "I don't give a d.a.m.n if I carry them, you carry them, or they walk in on their own, just stop wasting time so you can get started doing your d.a.m.n job, and I can get back to mine," he barked. thumbs in his belt. His grim mouth set in a hard line so thin she could barely see his lips. "I don't give a d.a.m.n if I carry them, you carry them, or they walk in on their own, just stop wasting time so you can get started doing your d.a.m.n job, and I can get back to mine," he barked.

Jeez, what a grouch. She turned her head in case she couldn't control the satisfied smile that threatened to break loose as she unlocked the car and hauled her bags out; he muttered something she was glad she couldn't understand, then wheeled around and stalked up onto the porch.

He opened the door, and she noticed that he didn't have to unlock it first. He might not like it, but unlocked doors were now something in his past, at least while she was in the house alone. And that reminded her..."I'll need a house key," she said as she followed him into the house.

"Why?"

The question so stupefied her that she stopped in her tracks and stared at him. "So I can get in when you aren't here," she explained as slowly and carefully as if he were just now learning English.

In response he said, "Let me show you something," in almost exactly the same tone she'd used. He pulled the door shut with a bang. "See that round thing? We call it a doork.n.o.b, and we use it to open the door. Pay attention, now. See how I put my hand on the doork.n.o.b? Turn it to the right, and-" Slowly he demonstrated, and triumphantly thrust the door open. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if the door doesn't open! That's how you get in when I'm not here."

Ohhh, bonus points for both the demonstration and the sarcasm; she knew great smart-a.s.s-ness when she saw it, and this was champions.h.i.+p.

"Correction," she cooed. "That's how it used to work. From now on you'll need a key, because I will be locking the door while I'm here alone during the day, and if I go to Battle Ridge for supplies I'll lock the door when I leave. I hope you have two keys, otherwise you'll be knocking on the door to be let into your own house." Then, because she couldn't help herself, she smirked at him. to Battle Ridge for supplies I'll lock the door when I leave. I hope you have two keys, otherwise you'll be knocking on the door to be let into your own house." Then, because she couldn't help herself, she smirked at him.

He crossed his arms and leaned a broad shoulder against the doorframe. His expression hadn't lightened, but a glint in those green eyes suddenly gave her the impression he was almost enjoying himself. "Suppose I can't find a key?"

"Suppose I call a locksmith out and have the locks rekeyed?"

"Suppose you can afford that?"

"If I have to, I suppose I can." Oh, yeah, she could play up-the-ante all day long.

"Will you give me a key if you do?"

She opened her mouth to shoot back that he could have a key only if he paid for it, but abruptly she realized the reason for his enjoyment. "Oh my G.o.d! You really don't know where your house key is, do you?"

He shrugged. "It's around somewhere."

He was blocking most of the doorframe but one side of it was free, so she banged her head three times against the wood. Looking up at him with a scowl, she said, "I'm a woman. Wo-man. You might feel safe living way out here and not locking the house, but I don't. I've been taught from the time I was in kindergarten to be cautious of strangers, to lock my doors, to park under a streetlight if I have to be out at night, and how to use my keys to jab out a man's eyes. I need a house key. I can't sleep in an unlocked house."

"Can't jab out anyone's eyes, either."

"I'd use my car key for that."

His lips relaxed a little and he c.o.c.ked his head to the side as he studied her for a long minute. She'd spent long months trying to avoid just that kind of attention, and it didn't escape her notice that, with Decker, she was breaking her own rules about staying under the radar. She was smart-mouthing him when an employee in desperate need of a job, as she was, should be tripping over all the yes sirs and no sirs coming out of her mouth. smart-mouthing him when an employee in desperate need of a job, as she was, should be tripping over all the yes sirs and no sirs coming out of her mouth.

What the h.e.l.l. Given the fierceness of her attraction to him, the only way to balance it out was to fight fire with fire, and keep needling him. He'd pretty much disliked her on sight-and never mind that, if she thought about it, the idea always gave her a little pang of hurt-so she'd do everything she could to keep that dislike bright and alive.

"Fine. You're right," he finally said. "I'll look for the key tonight. If I find it, I'll have it duplicated for you."

"Tomorrow," she insisted. "No longer. If you don't take care of it, I'll call a locksmith tomorrow." She studied the lock on the door. "Come to think of it, I'll call the locksmith anyway. Don't bother looking for the key. You don't even have a deadbolt. I'll have one installed on all the outside doors."

He rolled his eyes up. "You're paranoid, you know. People out here all tend to have rifles and such, and anyone breaking in would have to a.s.sume-"

"I want to borrow one of your rifles, and a butcher knife, to keep in my bedroom until I can get some decent locks installed on these doors."

He paused, eyeing her, and after a moment said cautiously, "A butcher knife?"

"For close-contact battle. Just in case." She wasn't kidding. She might be exaggerating a bit, but she wasn't kidding. Since Brad, she'd done a lot of improbable, just-in-case things, arming herself with whatever she thought might work and cause some harm, or gain her enough time to get away, or both. She hadn't slept with a chain saw beside her bed yet, but she didn't rule it out, either.

"Paranoid, homicidal, and delusional-as in, if you think you couldn't stop someone with a rifle, you'd have a chance with a knife." think you couldn't stop someone with a rifle, you'd have a chance with a knife."

"Knives are more scary than guns. Most gunshots miss, you know."

He gave a dismissive snort. "Mine don't."

No, his shots probably didn't miss. He'd probably been hunting since he could walk. Okay, another exaggeration, but probably not by much. "Well, considering I've never fired any kind of gun, I'm betting I'd miss. Maybe I should go for a shotgun."

"I vote for a straitjacket."

"Hah," she replied, wrinkling her nose just enough to imply a sneer, to show him what she thought of his opinion. She gave a swift tilt of her head. "Are you going to show me the house, or keep me standing out here holding these bags until sundown?"

Having insisted on carrying the bags herself, she was fully prepared for him to snap something insulting at her, but instead he just rolled his eyes and gave her a mocking bow, sweeping his hand toward the door. "After you."

She stepped inside a combination mudroom and laundry. There was a bench to the right, against the outside wall, and in front of the bench was an a.s.sortment of boots-regular boots, insulated boots, cowboy boots, even a lone set of sneakers. The congregation of boots wasn't neat and orderly; it was a jumble, some standing like sentinels, some on their sides like fallen soldiers. One sneaker had sneaked in among the military contingent, while the other lay forlornly half behind the bench. The wall beneath the high window was lined with hooks, which looked to be three-deep in coats and jackets. The man was serious about his outerwear.

To the left were a modern front-loading clothes washer and dryer, mounted on pedestals...she thought. Either that or they were perched atop a truly astounding pile of clothes; she couldn't tell for certain because the mounds completely covered the bases of the machines. She could see parts of two laundry baskets, but they, too, were mostly buried. completely covered the bases of the machines. She could see parts of two laundry baskets, but they, too, were mostly buried.

Carlin didn't say anything. She couldn't; she was too busy mentally calculating exactly how many loads of laundry those piles represented, and how long it would take her to get everything washed, dried, and put away. The laundry alone had to afford months of job security.

At the other end of the small room was another door, the top half of which was gla.s.s panes. She could see into the room on the other side, which was the kitchen, and she actually skidded to a stop, took a reflexive step back. She wasn't Catholic, but-Holy Mary Mother of G.o.d!

He opened the door into the kitchen and stepped inside, threw an impatient look over his shoulder. "Are you coming, or not?"

"Not," she replied, her eyes wide as she surveyed the wreckage behind him. "Holy c.r.a.p! You lied. You lied like a yellow dog, with apologies to the dog."

Dark brows drew together, eyes narrowed. "Lied?" he repeated softly.

She pointed into the kitchen. "The cows do live in the house!"

He turned his head to give the kitchen a slow, considering look. Then, d.a.m.n him, a very pleased smile curved his lips. "Should keep you busy for a while," he said cheerfully. "Come on, I'll show you where you'll bunk."

In silence, her eyes wide, she followed him through the kitchen piled high with dirty dishes, pots and pans, empty grocery bags, spilled flour...or salt...or sugar...or all three-and yet more dirty clothes. Ye G.o.ds, this man owned enough clothes to fill a department store, as long as the department store dealt in not much else besides denim, cotton, and flannel.

From the kitchen they went down a short hallway to the left; she could tell they were still in the added-on part of the house. "These were Libby's rooms," he said, opening a door. "It used to be two bedrooms, when her daughter lived here, too, but after Jen grew up and left I remodeled it so Libby had her own living s.p.a.ce and privacy. You have your own bathroom, too, of course. It isn't fancy, but it's private." part of the house. "These were Libby's rooms," he said, opening a door. "It used to be two bedrooms, when her daughter lived here, too, but after Jen grew up and left I remodeled it so Libby had her own living s.p.a.ce and privacy. You have your own bathroom, too, of course. It isn't fancy, but it's private."

Under other circ.u.mstances she'd have been ecstatic, but she was still sh.e.l.l-shocked by the condition of the laundry and kitchen.

The first room they entered was the sitting room, definitely on the cozy side, but nice. Well, once she got rid of the boxes he'd stored in the room it would be nice. Empty boxes, half-empty boxes, unopened boxes. Compared to the mess she faced in the kitchen, though, this was nothing. She'd have it set to rights in no time.

The walls were painted a neutral beige, just dark enough to edge into the warm tones. There was enough s.p.a.ce for a small sofa and a chair, two end tables that each held a lamp, a coffee table, and a surprisingly up-to-date flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, which she supposed was almost necessary given the size of the room. An entertainment center, even a small one, would have eaten up most of the remaining floor s.p.a.ce. There was even a small gas fireplace, which she imagined would be extremely welcome during the winter.

"The bedroom's back there," he said, pointing to a door. "And the bathroom attaches to the bedroom. That's it." He adjusted his hat on his head, his expression so satisfied she wanted to slap him. "I'll leave you to it. There are nine of us. You'll be feeding nine for breakfast and lunch. There will just be seven for supper. Two of the hands are married, and they go home at the end of the day."