Cowboy Tough Page 7

  “Thanks for fixing Grady’s sock puppet.” He let his gaze fall from staring at her face and focused on seasoning the steaks to keep from making them both uncomfortable. “I didn’t know he’d held on to it.”

  “He said his mother made it. I suppose it holds sentimental value.”

  “Yep” was all he said. When it came to Mary Ann, there wasn’t much to talk about. He’d loved her and she’d left him.

  “She lives in France, huh?”

  He stifled a laugh. “For now. Tomorrow, who knows?” He tried for a smile. “She travels a lot.”

  “For her job?”

  “Nah, she picks up work as she goes. She always wanted to see the world and that’s what she’s doing, I suppose.”

  “What about the boys?” When Jace’s silence stretched on, she dropped her head. “Uh, I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s not my business, please forgive me.” She got that high-pitched tone that he noticed affected her speech patterns whenever she was nervous.

  “You were just being curious, Charlie.” He turned to meet her eyes. “The boys are with me.” Mary Ann hadn’t asked to see them in the three years she’d been gone. Occasionally, she’d send a birthday card or a little trinket she’d picked up. Sometimes she asked Jace to send pictures. But that was it.

  “Oh…I see. Well, you’ve done a very nice job with them.”

  He snorted. “I don’t know about that. But I do the best I can. After today I’ll have to double my efforts to find a full-time babysitter. Someone with superpowers, preferably. Grady’s the most accident-prone kid I know, and Travis is getting to that age where he wants to spread his wings, not look after his baby brother.”

  “And why did the last one leave?”

  “Maybe because she overheard the boys calling her Yoda.” He said it almost to himself, but Charlie laughed. The sound of it stuck in his head like a sweet country song.

  “Seriously? Come on, why did she really leave?”

  His lips tipped up even though it was anything but amusing. “Because old age and a hyperactive nine-year-old and a headstrong fourteen-year-old don’t mix. The kids wore Mrs. Jamison out.”

  “Oh, come on, they’re not that difficult. Grady is a sweetheart and Travis was amazing when his brother fell.”

  Jace’s chest filled with pride. “Don’t let Grady hear you call him a sweetheart. He already has a way with the girls, and I don’t want it going to his head.” His lips slid up. “And Travis has got his own issues. But yeah, they’re both pretty terrific.”

  Her eyes watered and Jace felt like a jackass, talking about his kids when she’d lost hers. “I’m sorry, Charlie.” He’d never been good at expressing himself, especially when it came to things like grief. Mary Ann used to accuse him of being too stoic. “Words have never been my strong suit, but what you’re going through…I’m just really sorry.”

  “Thank you.” She blinked back a tear and quickly pulled herself together. “What can I do here to help?”

  “Salad,” he said, relieved to move on. He found a bagged one hiding in the back of the fridge and tossed it to her. He pointed her to the cabinet with the wooden salad bowl and went outside to fire up the grill.

  Jace waited for the coals to get hot, enjoying the tranquility. Charlie was getting to him. He tried to chalk it up to the fact that he felt sorry for her. But he knew better. He was taken with her quiet beauty in a way he hadn’t been with any other woman. Yes, there were women he slept with. All single, consenting adults who were looking for a few hours of intimacy and, like him, nothing more.

  But Charlie wasn’t single, and physical attraction was as thin as a marriage license. He’d learned that the hard way.

  “Do you need help out here?”

  He turned, surprised to hear her voice. “Nah, I’m good. It’s cold, you should go inside.”

  She hugged herself and came down off the porch into the backyard. “This is quite a setup you have.” She gazed around, taking in the log gazebo, the stack-stone fireplace, the smoker, and grilling station under the strings of twinkling lights.

  “We raise beef and like our grilling.” His late grandfather would’ve barbecued every meal if he could’ve. Something about Dalton men and an open fire. “My grandfather built the outdoor kitchen. I added the Weber because the woodburning barbecue takes too long when I need to feed two hungry boys in a hurry. And using a gas grill”—he laughed—“that would be sacrilegious.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She continued to take in the backyard.

  “It is.” He nodded. The whole ranch was. The place was engraved on his heart. “My ancestors came right around the Gold Rush. Since then, it’s been a series of ups and downs for Dry Creek Ranch, but we’ve always managed to hang on.”

  “Resilient, huh?”

  “I guess you can say that. How about you?” He held her gaze. “Where do you come from, Charlie?”

  They both knew he wasn’t asking about geography. She’d already established that she’d lived in the Bay Area.

  There was a long pause. “Nowhere I want to talk about. I just want it behind me.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What’s in front of you?” Because it sure the hell wasn’t Colorado. He’d been in law enforcement long enough to know the tells of a lie when he heard one.

  “Honestly, I don’t know yet.”

  “I can help you, Charlie.” It was his job, he told himself. But the damned truth of it was, his reach only went as far as Mill County. Not the Bay Area or wherever she was running from.

  She didn’t say anything, just stood hugging herself in the cold, her nose turning red. “If you’ve got this”—she nudged her head at the Weber—“then I’ll go inside and set the table.”

  He watched her return to the house. Tomorrow, she would go and he’d be able to shake whatever this was he was feeling. Infatuation? Lust? Just plain old yearning for something other than loneliness?

  He put the steaks on the fire and when they were done took them inside to let the meat rest. “Travis, Grady, wash up. Suppertime,” he called into the front room.

  Charlie was putting the finishing touches on setting the table, including using a few of his grandmother’s old canning jars as candle holders.

  Hmm, he never would’ve thought of doing that, but the table looked nice all lit up that way. “You learn that at your store?” Jace bobbed his head at the jars.

  “Um, maybe.” She seemed to think about it for a while. “I’ve just always been obsessed with repurposing old things to make a room pretty. It’s my way of preserving history, I guess.”

  “Well, you’re spoiling this house of bachelors.” He tore open a box of mac and cheese to nuke in the microwave.

  “Thank you for letting me stay another night.”

  He waited for the timer to go off and took out the piping-hot mac and cheese, brushing by her on his way to the table. She was slighter than he’d originally thought. One of their newborn calves could knock her down.

  “After you rushed Grady to the hospital I’d say we’re even.” But he wasn’t keeping score.

  “We’re eating without you,” he yelled to the boys.

  They bustled in, loud and boisterous. He pulled out a chair for Charlie. The kids and ranch might be a zoo, but there was still room for some courtly gestures. They ate while Grady regaled them with tales of the day’s adventure. The kid had a flair for the dramatic. And with each telling, the story got bigger and more detailed.

  Jace looked across the table at Charlie and found her smiling. He caught her eye and winked. After dinner the boys did the dishes. Everyone pulled their weight on the ranch, even Sawyer, who’d grown up having a maid, a cook, and a driver.

  “You want a glass of wine, a beer, or a cup of coffee?”

  “Uh, a glass of wine would be nice.”

  He went to the refri
gerator and found the bottle of white one of his deputies had given him for Christmas. “A guy I know made this. He owns a small vineyard a few miles from here. I can’t vouch for whether it’s good.”

  He opened the bottle and poured each of them a glass. “Let’s take it into the study.” It was the one room in the house the kids hadn’t taken over, even though they liked to do their homework in there.

  Jace took the chair across from Charlie and propped his boots up on the oversized ottoman.

  Charlie sipped her wine and gazed around the room. “Another great space. This entire place is breathtaking.”

  “Thank you. It was my grandparents’ heart and soul. My cousins and I hope to pass it on to the next generation.”

  “Travis and Grady are lucky boys.”

  Jace liked to think so. But ultimately it would be their choice whether to tether themselves to the land or to sell. You couldn’t force the ranching way of life down a person’s throat, they had to crave it like water.

  “Did you grow up in the Bay Area?” he asked.

  “No, Portla—” She stopped, realizing she was about to say Portland. But Jace hadn’t missed it.

  Oregon or Maine? He didn’t detect a Maine accent, but she could’ve lost it when she moved out West.

  “I was a navy brat,” she said. “Grew up everywhere.”

  It was a nice save and possibly true, but he wasn’t buying it. Just like he wasn’t buying Charlie Rogers was her real name. Either she was in the witness protection program or, like Sawyer said, was trying to disappear. He was betting on the latter.

  “That so?” He stretched out his legs. “Is that how you wound up in the Bay Area?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How about we not do this and talk about you instead? What did you do before you were sheriff?”

  “I was a cop for Roseville PD. First patrol, then detective. And I’ve always been a rancher.” He clasped his hands behind his head. “What else do you want to know?” Perhaps if he talked about himself, she’d open up.

  “Why’d you become a cop?”

  “My uncle was a cop and I looked up to him. And my parents and younger brother were killed by a drunken driver, which I suppose also influenced my career decision.” He’d been a little kid at the time they’d died, but even so, he’d never fully recovered from losing his entire family in one fell swoop. No one did, he supposed.

  “That’s awful,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “It was a long time ago. How about you? You close with your folks?”

  Before she could answer Grady cracked the door, came in, and leaned over the chair, resting his head on Jace’s shoulder. “Dad, my arm itches.”

  Jace pulled Grady in for a one-armed hug. He could tell the kid was on overload and sensed a meltdown coming on. “Not much you can do about it, buddy, except stay cowboy tough.” Grady buried his face in Jace’s chest. “I think we should get you to bed, kiddo.”

  “But it’s not even ten o’clock and it’s Friday. We get to stay up late on Fridays.”

  “Aw, bud, not this Friday. It’s been a long day and you should get extra sleep to help that arm heal faster. You want it to get better, right?”

  “I guess.” Grady rubbed his eyes.

  Jace rose, lifted Grady off his feet, and turned to Charlie. “Give me a few minutes to get him settled.”

  She got up and stretched her back. “I think I’ll turn in early too.”

  A rush of disappointment filled him. Despite her evasiveness, he’d enjoyed talking with her. Looking at her. Hell, he’d enjoyed just being in a room with her.

  “I’ll take these to the kitchen.” She swooped up the two wine glasses and left the den.

  It was probably for the best, he told himself. If she wasn’t going to let him help her, there wasn’t a whole lot left to say.

  Chapter 5

  Charlotte sat in the middle of the bed, checking her texts. Nothing from Meredith yet. If Charlotte couldn’t get to Kansas City by tomorrow there would be no job waiting for her. And since the drive took at least two days, Meredith was trying to line something else up. She hadn’t been happy when Charlotte had called from the hospital.

  Not happy at all.

  But what should Charlotte have done? Leave Grady alone with a broken arm to fend for himself? No, that hadn’t been an option.

  She kicked off her shoes and leaned against the pillows, pulling the blanket over her lap.

  The wine had gone to her head and the buzz felt nice. If Jace didn’t win his bid for reelection, he could always become an innkeeper and turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast. The sheriff was an excellent host. And an excellent father, from what she could tell. He was also extremely appealing.

  Too appealing.

  Charlotte had discovered the hard way that if something seemed too good to be true it usually was. Jace’s ex probably had a lot to say on the matter. Why else would a woman leave her handsome husband, her two beautiful kids, and this glorious ranch?

  In the morning, she’d leave too, which was a blessing in disguise. Everything about this place had gotten too comfortable and safe. And Charlotte couldn’t afford to grow complacent. Not where Corbin Ainsley was concerned.

  Two years ago, he’d walked into her store. Until then, she hadn’t believed in love at first sight. But Corbin knew how to make an impression.

  “That’s some window display you’ve got there,” he’d said in a voice so deep and sexy that it had given Charlotte chills.

  Browsing the shop, he’d stopped to examine a china hutch she’d refinished in black chalk paint and had filled with a collection of vintage cups and saucers. “Nice.” His smile had turned her inside out.

  He’d been so good-looking—tall, blond, and rangy like a runner—that she automatically searched the room for a wife or girlfriend. But it had only taken five minutes of light conversation to ascertain that he wasn’t married or in a serious relationship. He’d flirted so outrageously that it had been a little hard to take him seriously.

  On his way out of the shop, he’d flipped her a business card. “Ball’s in your court.”

  She’d peeked at the card. “Corbin Ainsley, Attorney-at-Law,” it said in raised letters on a linen background.

  Eight days later, she broke down and called him. On their first date, she’d expected to be disappointed. Since living in the Bay Area, her dates had consisted of an accountant who made sure to split the bill exactly down the middle, even though he’d had twice as many cocktails as she had. A coder who still lived in his parents’ basement. And a television reporter who constantly stood her up to chase stories.

  But Corbin was attentive, charming, self-deprecating, and when it came time to pick up the tab, he slapped his gold card down and slid her regular old Visa back across the table. When she tried to tell the server to split the bill, Corbin threatened to have him fired if he did.

  “That’s not fair,” she’d said. “I asked you out.”

  “Yep.” He’d smiled. “Best day of my life.”

  Looking back, it was a pretty unctuous thing to say. But she’d lapped it up like a kitten with a bowl of cream.

  Two days later, he took her dancing at the Starlight Room. They were the youngest people in the lounge and they laughed until she thought she’d have an accident on the parquet floor. Afterwards, he’d kissed her and she saw stars.

  The next time she saw stars, he’d smacked her in the face.

  It was six months after their dancing date and he’d asked her to move in with him. She told him she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment, that they hadn’t known each other long enough.

  What do you mean, no? I thought we had something here. Something real.

  We do, but moving in together is a big step. And call me old-fashioned, but my parents wouldn’t approve.

  Your paren
ts? What are you, eighteen, Charlotte?

  Of course not, but now I feel like you’re pressuring me.

  Pressuring you? I love you, I want to start our life together. Is that so wrong? Only someone warped would think so.

  Warped? Now you’re being an asshole.

  They’d fought, both saying mean and hurtful things. When she got up to walk away, he pulled her back and slapped her. Stunned, she sat on his couch, her face stinging from his open hand.

  He broke down and sobbed like a child, begging for forgiveness, saying he didn’t know what had come over him. I’m a lawyer, for God’s sake, not a barbarian. He apologized profusely, swearing he’d been consumed by love and fear of losing her.

  She believed him, and two weeks later subleased her apartment.

  The first four months at his place were like a honeymoon. They ate breakfast in the sunny nook off his kitchen, watching the sunrise over the bay before they left for their respective jobs. Even though Corbin’s office was in the financial district, he’d make the trek across the city twice a week to visit her at the store and take her to lunch. Sometimes it was in a fancy restaurant, other times just a taqueria with a few weathered picnic tables. But it was always romantic.

  After work, she would race home so they could have dinner together. Their biggest dilemma was whether to eat takeout or dine at one of the many cafés or bistros near their apartment, or settle in for a meal cooked at home. Afterward, they spent the rest of the night in bed, making love until they fell asleep.

  By the fifth month, things began to change. Subtly at first. Corbin became more critical, sometimes to the point of being hurtful. The house was too messy, Charlotte’s cooking was lackluster, she worked too much. Charlotte thought it was the strain of his job talking. His caseload had increased and there was a lot of pressure for him to put in ten to eleven hours a day.

  Although he was always in the office, he wanted Charlotte home. At first, she thought he was looking out for her, making sure she didn’t suffer from burnout. But as the owner of a small business with only a few employees, she didn’t have the luxury of keeping banking hours. Besides running the store and keeping the books, she had to scout thrift stores, garage sales, and flea markets for new merchandise, and restore the pieces she found.