Undercover Cowboy Read online

  His curiosity seemed…inordinate. Then again, she reasoned, she really wasn’t good with people, she had never run a dude ranch before, and she couldn’t have said with any certainty just how a tourist was supposed to act and how many questions one could be expected to ask.

  She finally decided there was no real harm in telling him what he wanted to know.

  “The first hundred, maybe hundred and fifty miles, are rough,” she began. “The land rolls a lot. There are chasms, some deep ones the closer we get to the Kansas border. We’ve got to cross both the North Canadian and the Cimarron rivers, and that’s no treat.”

  “Trees?”

  She looked at him oddly. “Around the rivers. The rest of the way is pretty barren.”

  “What kind of chasms?”

  “The soil around here is rocky. Rain doesn’t get absorbed very well. It runs off to lower ground. Fast. So what you’re left with is a lot of natural erosion.”

  “What happens at the border?”

  “Everything flattens out and the soil turns more loamy. Then we’re pretty much into prairie and it’s only maybe a hundred miles the rest of the way to the auction yards at Fort Dodge.”

  “What can we expect by way of weather?”

  Carly grimaced. “Absolutely anything at all. It’s June.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re into tornado season. Even short of twisters, the weather’s unpredictable around here in the summer. We usually get our fair share of storms. We just hope that there’s no cold front coming in to clash with the heat. And if one does come in, then we pray that it comes slowly.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or we find ourselves a long way from Kansas, Toto.”

  He let out a rumble of laughter. The sound played seductively over her skin. Carly looked at him sharply.

  “Anything else?” she asked shortly.

  They had reached the chutes. He could barely hear her now over the bawling and bleating of the calves, and the shouts of the men. The air stung his eyes. It was thick and grainy with dust.

  “It hasn’t rained lately,” he observed.

  “No. It’s been pretty dry all spring, and that worries me. Usually when it’s been dry for a while, we have a lot of storms in a short period of time as though to make up for it.”

  Jack nodded. He watched her gaze dart to the men, and her green eyes darkened as she saw something that didn’t please her.

  “I’d better get back and practice my riding,” he said finally.

  Carly’s mouth widened slowly, tantalizingly, until it became the first true grin he’d seen from her. It transformed her face, he realized, made her look much, much more like the girl in the photograph.

  It also did odd things to his breathing.

  “Why bother?” she countered. “I guess you’re just about stubborn enough to hang on to that pony even if one of those twisters carried you both a mile.”

  Jack felt his own mouth twitch. “It’s entirely possible, cowgirl.”

  “Don’t call me that!” But she wasn’t sure he heard her. He turned his horse around and set off at a neat canter.

  Carly watched him go until someone called out to her from the chutes. “I’m coming!” she shouted back. She pulled her mare around and picked her up into a trot.

  Jack’s heart doubled, then tripled its rate as he headed back to the paddocks. For a while, talking with the cowgirl, he had relaxed, had almost forgotten about Scorpion. Now he wondered what the assassin had been up to while he was gone.

  It wasn’t unusual for him to actually lose sight of the man. He could hardly sleep with him, couldn’t watch him every moment without the assassin becoming dangerously aware of him as well. Jack had always made do with creeping along behind him, sometimes into his hotel rooms after he’d left them, moving through twisted streets and blackened alleys, chasing the rumor of his presence. More than once he’d actually been able to interfere with a hit, saving the unsuspecting mark once he’d figured out who it was. But then S?o Paulo had changed everything.

  Now, when he couldn’t actually see Scorpion, he had to wonder if the assassin was behind him. It brought an itchy, hot feeling to the back of Jack’s neck.

  This time there was the added disadvantage that Scorpion could, theoretically, disappear into thousands of empty, arid miles at any given moment. Jack felt nervous perspiration slide down his back at that prospect before he reminded himself that it was a long shot. Now that the assassin had come here, it was highly unlikely that he would move on without Carly Castagne. Besides, there seemed to be something about leaving on Saturday that appealed to him.

  Unless that had been a red herring.

  There were too damned many variables here, Jack thought again, grimly. He felt as if he was floundering, groping, in a way he never had before. He rubbed his scar.

  He would revise his game plan, he decided. Carly Castagne had enough on her mind, apparently including problems with her daughter, if that scene he had witnessed down on the drive was any indication. He decided suddenly that he wasn’t going to let Scorpion make contact with her after all. It had nothing to do with the possibility that she might succumb to the man all over again, even with a different face and name. It had everything to do with wanting to get in and out of her life fast, before she even felt the ripple.

  She didn’t need any more ripples.

  It didn’t strike him to wonder why he felt so protective of her. He didn’t want to wonder if he was actually protecting himself, that maybe, just maybe, his scattered instincts had nothing to do with a new scar…and everything to do with his fascination with the woman who was supposed to bring the other guy down.

  He turned into the paddock again and rode behind Myra, then flinched at a voice behind him. He didn’t like voices behind him.

  “Hi there.”

  He looked around. It was Carly’s daughter. Scorpion’s daughter. And hell, there was a whole new worry. How long before the bastard realized that the kid was eleven years old? How long before he put two and two together? Jack realized that the assassin hadn’t spared the kid much attention. So far.

  There was yet another thing he’d have to dig up an explanation for.

  “Hi yourself,” he answered warily. He had never been real comfortable with kids. Maybe because he had never been one himself.

  “Were you talking with my mom?” she asked.

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “What about?”

  “Stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “The trail.”

  “Oh.” She seemed disappointed. What the hell did she think they’d been discussing?

  “She’s not really mean,” Holly went on. “Not really.”

  Jack scowled. “I don’t think she’s mean.” And why was he discussing this with a kid?

  “You don’t? Did she do that thing with her chin?”

  “What thing?” Jack asked cautiously.

  “You know.” The kid tipped her own up. She did a remarkable imitation of Carly’s eyes narrowing with determination. Jack realized with some surprise that he was on the verge of laughing. In that moment, she looked exactly like her mother.

  And that made Jack wonder what Scorpion’s reaction to such a sight would be. He stiffened and gave a careful look in the man’s direction.

  “Don’t you have something better to do than bug me?” he asked shortly. Something in the house, he thought. Something as far away as possible from the man who was her father.

  Holly’s chin came down. Then her eyes widened. Then she smiled. “Wow.”

  “Wow what?” Jack demanded.

  “You’re just like her.”

  Chapter 4

  It was full dark and the moon was a perfect white ball in the sky when Carly was satisfied enough with their progress to call it a night. Faces were grim all the way around when she finally told them to stop riding.

  She stood waiting for them beneath a rusty lantern hanging on
the barn wall. It threw a yellow oval of light down that ringed her like a spotlight, the central character in a play she didn’t even know was about to unfold.

  Jack was surprised by another faint stirring of regret in his gut.

  “Okay, everybody, take your horses into the barn and unsaddle them,” she called out. “Lay the saddle pads up so the sweaty sides can dry overnight. Otherwise you’re going to have an itchy horse in the morning, and he’s going to be none too pleased to have you climb aboard again. After you’ve done that, you’ve got to walk them down. Put your hands on their chests a second. Feel how hot and damp they are? When your horse is cool to the touch and perfectly dry, then you can brush him and put him back in his stall.

  “After that, your time’s your own,” she finished, “but I’d recommend getting some sleep. We’ll start up again with the rooster tomorrow morning. Leigh, you’ll be bunking with Myra. Jack, you’ll be in with Brad. Sorry we don’t have private rooms, but I don’t guess Michael promised you the Ritz. Any questions?”

  She watched them, working the rubber band out of the end of her hair as she waited. Jack felt something catch him about the throat and squeeze.

  When she got the band out, her hair fell clear to her waist and it was the color of a midnight sky. She worked her fingers through it but it was still wavy from the braid. It transformed her, making her look exotic and hauntingly beautiful. The moonlight and the lantern cast shadows across her face. They marked her cheekbones, darkened her eyes.

  Carly glanced his way and saw the way he was looking at her. Her breath stopped halfway into her lungs and a feeling of expectancy, of need, hit her out of nowhere.

  Need for something you can’t have, an unbidden voice whispered nastily. She took an automatic step backward, feeling too shaken.

  Jack Fain wasn’t interested in her, at least not that way, she reminded herself. No matter what his eyes said, he called her cowgirl, and the implication was clear. There was Leigh—all woman—and then there was her—all workhorse. She didn’t want to admit that it hurt.

  “What’s your problem?” she managed finally. Her voice lacked a lot of its usual spunk.

  Jack shook himself, managing half a grin. “Don’t have one, cowgirl. Not a one.”

  “Well…good.” Carly breathed again carefully and forced her legs to carry her back to the house.

  Jack moved his eyes deliberately to the temperamental beast who was his companion for the duration. He had lied. He had two big problems. He had to start keeping his mind off the cowgirl, at least in the carnal way it was starting to wander. And the sleeping arrangements were another major snafu.

  He led the horse into the barn and untacked it, working over the pros and cons of this new possibility of bunking with Scorpion—Brad, he called himself this week. Was it better to keep close to him, or would the assassin somehow recognize him if he did? His horse felt only marginally cooler by the time Jack made his decision. He pushed the animal into its stall, and its big, brown eyes came around to him reproachfully.

  “Too damned bad, buddy,” Jack muttered. “I’ve got things to take care of here. You’re just going to have to itch.”

  He left the beast and hurried into the house. Theresa was in the kitchen, but there was no sign of Carly. The others were still outside, walking their horses down dutifully. The cowboys had retired some time ago.

  “Where’s Carly?” Jack demanded.

  Theresa looked startled. “I’m not sure. She passed through here a moment ago like her tail was on fire.”

  Jack let himself wonder about that for a moment. He thought of the way she had looked at him before she had demanded to know what was on his mind. For a brief moment, so lightning fast he thought now that he might have imagined it, the yearning on her face had touched him in a place he hadn’t been aware of having.

  He cleared his throat carefully, and couldn’t think of a single response.

  “What happened out there?” Theresa went on. “She seemed angry.”

  Jack didn’t think angry was precisely what she had been.

  Once again, he got a slow, careful grip on himself. Protecting her, keeping Scorpion from making contact with her, was one thing. Letting her get under his skin was something else entirely.

  “Where does she usually go when she comes in for the night?” he asked neutrally.

  “Usually to the parlor for a brandy. Then she takes it upstairs and unwinds before she takes a shower. Sometimes she comes back down to the office and works a little longer on the books, but you can’t ever count on that.” Theresa grimaced. “It depends on how upset she’s been about finances lately.”

  “Is she upset now?”

  Theresa hesitated, then nodded.

  “How bad are they?” Cool it. It was enough to know that they were in trouble with the IRS. He could use that if he had to as leverage to get them to cooperate with him on the offchance that this chase deteriorated into chaos.

  Theresa seemed reluctant to talk about it anyway. He was a guest, after all.

  She finally shook her head. “Carlotta will fix it.”

  Jack was a little astounded by her blind, naive trust.

  “Where’s the parlor?” he asked after a moment. “Maybe I can still catch her.”

  Theresa pointed him in the right direction.

  He found the room with no difficulty, but then he went still in the door. There was only one light. It was perched on the fireplace mantel and it cast a soft glow. Carly stood at a window beside a sideboard that held a few crystal decanters and some glasses. Her hair was still long and free, and the side of her face that he could see was vulnerable again.

  He must have made some sound because she stiffened and looked over her shoulder at him, straightening away from the window fast. “Now what?” she asked a little breathlessly.

  Jack moved into the room and nodded at the sideboard. “Do I get a glass of that for my money?”

  “No.” Then the fight seemed to drain out of her. “I don’t care. Help yourself.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, pouring.

  “Where would you like me to start?”

  That almost-smile haunted his face for a moment, then was gone. “Everything seems to be going all right with your guests,” he pointed out. “Winston ought to be riding bulls by tomorrow at the latest.”

  Carly startled herself by chuckling. She wouldn’t have thought she had it in her tonight.

  Jack sipped, then he put his glass on the sideboard again. “Listen, I need a couple of things from you.”

  Carly scowled, then she nodded. She didn’t seem pleased, he thought, but being needed clearly didn’t surprise her in the least.

  “First of all, I need to change my room,” he went on.

  She surprised him with a sudden, intense look. “There’s something off about Brad, isn’t there?”

  Jack felt his gut clench. “Why would you say that?”

  “Why don’t you want to room with him?” she countered.

  He said the first thing that came into his mind. “Because he has a strong case of body odor.”

  Her jaw dropped, then she laughed outright. It was a full, rich sound, exactly as he would have imagined from her picture. She had so many layers, he realized suddenly. He hadn’t anticipated her wary bitterness toward men, yet he wasn’t surprised by these transient bursts of warmth, either. Unfortunately, the problem with layers was that getting to the bottom of them meant digging. And the concept of depth had always bothered him.

  It implied roots, he thought, clinging, tenacious things that held you only as long as they chose to. Then they abandoned you, leaving you tumbling, free-falling, alone. He knew that all too well. And even if he had been a man who was willing to risk it, he sure as hell couldn’t start digging with this woman.

  Scorpion’s woman.

  “There are bathrooms upstairs, too,” Carly finally pointed out, and Jack dragged himself back to the conversation.

  “Are you going to tell h
im he needs to wash?”

  Carly sobered. “I’d rather not. What’s the point? I guess we’ll all smell pretty ripe by the time we get to Kansas.”

  “So can’t I just change rooms?”

  She shook her head. “Not easily. Not without making a big fuss and embarrassing him. I can’t put you in with Winston because there’s only one bed in there. Unless you want to cuddle up with him real cozy-like.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “I thought so.”

  “So what about Reggie?”

  “Same thing. One bed. Except his is only a twin. This was never meant to be a hotel,” she said, and the tight set to her jaw made him feel almost sorry for her. Then her chin came up, and he was just impressed.

  “Two weeks ago, it was just my home,” she went on. “And the only rooms with twin beds are the ones Leigh and Myra are in, and yours and Brad’s. Sorry, but I couldn’t special-order new furniture for this shindig.”

  Okay, Jack thought. He’d work around it. Now it was time for the thing that was really going to get a rise out of her.

  “The other thing is that I’d like to leave on Thursday.”

  He got pretty much the reaction he expected. First there was disbelief that he should make such an outrageous request. Then anger flared in her eyes. He’d decided to tell her that he’d gotten an urgent message from home, and hope that she didn’t check it out with Theresa to find out that he hadn’t received any calls. He’d tell her that he had to go home sooner than he’d planned, and he was concerned about fitting the whole trip in. Given her problems with the IRS, he was willing to gamble that she’d acquiesce rather than refund his money.

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Look,” he began, ready to cajole, then he broke off. There was a distant, buzzing, cracking sound from somewhere at the back of the house. He heard her incredulous cry just as the light on the mantel went out, plunging them into darkness.