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“You want me to get Doc Nelson on the line?” Miss Dorie asked.
“I’ll see to it when I get back.”
“Remember, we’ve got the barbecue this weekend and need to nail down the odds and ends,” she called after him.
Trace closed the door behind him. While it wasn’t possible to completely prevent the stable smell from permeating the offices, there was no sense in letting in more of it than he could help.
“What do you know about Jackson and Milford?” he asked Vern.
The foreman put his hat back on and positioned it as they walked. “Not much. They’ve both worked for Johnson, and they’ve been doing good since hiring on, but beyond that, I couldn’t say.”
“Art Johnson?” he asked, recalling that it had been one of Art’s daughters who had been raped.
“That would be the one.”
Trace frowned. “Isn’t Jackson the hothead?” He remembered an incident about a week or two back. The younger man had nearly charged one of the regular ranch hands when he asked Jackson to clean up after himself.
“That’s him. But he only gets that way after he’s knocked back a couple.”
“He go out at night by himself?”
“Not as I can tell. Pretty much sticks around the place even on his nights off. Says he’s got a wife and couple kids up in Abilene, but doesn’t make much of an effort to go see ‘em.” Vern shrugged. “I’m thinking maybe family problems.”
“Maybe.” They stopped walking just outside the stable doors. “You might want to keep a closer eye on him.”
The foreman nodded. “Will do. Anything else?”
Trace’s gaze took in the hands as they finished saddling up. He spotted Jo. If his extra attention to the new men and the sheriff’s words had anything to do with their one female ranch hand, he wasn’t owning up to it. He was a concerned citizen and boss, nothing more, nothing less. And it wasn’t good business to have a rapist on the payroll.
“No, no. You go on ahead. Give me a yell on the satellite phone if you run into any problems.”
“Yes, sir.”
THE DAY OUT ON THE DUSTY, hot range had seemed longer than most. Jo took off her hat and dragged the cuff of her shirt across her sweaty forehead. Never had she been so glad to spot the Wildewood Ranch on the horizon. It was all she could do not to prod her horse into a gallop and run full out for the man who had occupied her thoughts throughout the day.
Instead, she dropped back, taking up the right flank of the herd and shouting for Scout to nip at the heels of a stubborn steer that had veered out of line.
The black-and-white border collie did his job and then came back to her. Was he favoring his back leg? It appeared so. She’d have to see if maybe he had a stone lodged in his paw.
Minutes later, the herd was in the paddock, and she was turning her horse over to a stable hand for cooling down and feeding.
Jo stripped off her gloves and called for Scout to come to her. He ran back and forth in front of the stables, pretending to direct operations, then darted toward her. She crouched down and gave him a hearty scratch behind the ears.
“Good boy. You did a great job today.” She smoothed her hand down his side and reached for his back leg. He fought her. “Whoa, easy there. Let me just have a look.”
His panting filled her ears as he reluctantly allowed her to play doctor. She ran her thumb over the pad, checking for tenderness. There was no reaction.
She released him and patted him again, accepting a single lap to the chin before he scrambled back toward the stables, where one of the hands had filled his water bowl.
“Arthritis.”
Jo slowly got up, the sound of Trace’s voice behind her making her instantly aware of everything that had passed between them the night before. “Pardon me?”
He was standing with his hands on his hips, his gaze on the dog. “The best Doc Nelson can figure is that Scout has a touch of arthritis in his back right hip.” Trace’s eyes slid to her and she caught her breath. The setting sun caught him at just the right angle, turning his brown eyes to gold. “Scout’s going on twelve years old. Most dogs his age are already retired.”
She smiled, smacking her gloves against her palm to rid them of dust before tucking them into her back jeans pocket. “But not Scout.”
“No, not Scout. Vern thinks he’ll just up and disappear while out on the range one day, and we’ll never see him again.”
Jo knew some animals were given to that wild behavior. A sort of long, final walk to the next incarnation.
“I’ve thought about putting a leash on him and keeping him at the stables…” Trace murmured, as if thinking aloud.
“No. No, don’t do that. That’ll kill him even quicker.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
The dog in question finished slurping up water and headed back, wildly wagging his tail. Trace crouched down and Scout instantly flipped over for a thorough belly rub. Jo’s own belly suddenly felt warm. What she wouldn’t give to throw herself at Trace’s feet and have him rub her tummy…
He looked up at her from under the rim of his black hat. Hell if she didn’t think he knew exactly what was on her mind.
“Hey, Boss, you coming out to the bunkhouses for dinner?” Jackson asked as he passed.
Trace rose to his feet. “Not tonight. I have a couple of things to finish up before I call it a day.”
Jo took that as her cue to head off with the other hands, pretending she wasn’t disappointed that she wouldn’t be seeing him again that night.
Chapter Five
JO STEPPED OUT OF the small bathroom connected to her room at the far end of the bunkhouse, rubbing a towel over her wet hair. She was fully dressed, in jeans and a T-shirt, her bare feet making soft sounds against the bare wood of the floor. Once a week a cleaning person came through, but being tidy herself, she couldn’t be sure when, because she never saw her or him, only detected the scents of pine cleaner and bleach.
She picked up her watch from the dresser. Half past nine. Despite the previous evening’s activities, she wasn’t anywhere near tired. She put the watch back down and tossed the towel over the back of the desk chair.
As far as lodgings went, her room was one of the best in the long bunkhouse. It had probably been built with visiting clients in mind, and was more spacious than the others. She had little doubt that she’d been put here to keep her separate from the guys at the other end. She’d seen their rooms, and near as she could tell, they were assigned two to a room, with either twin beds or bunks. The large community room with pool tables, a fireplace and a large-screen TV divided their rooms from hers.
She had her own television, in a small sitting area with a love seat and coffee table, at one end of the room, a queen-size bed at the other. And the space was decorated in a way the others were not, with flowery curtains over the miniblinds, a matching bedspread, and contrasting striped upholstery on the furniture. A bit like a nice suite in a hotel rather than a typical bunkhouse room with shared bathroom.
Jo knew she was being given preferential treatment because of her sex, but at least she didn’t have to worry about a snoring cowboy sleeping in the bunk above hers.
And she didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing her coming and going.
She opened the door and leaned against the jamb, looking at the brightly lit main house nearly a quarter of a mile away. The house she’d left early that morning.
Should she head up there again?
Her answer came by way of her chirping cell phone.
She sighed and stepped back to the dresser. While she didn’t get great reception out on the range, Trace had set up a tower near the stables to ensure access on the ranch.
She glanced at the caller ID.
Her mother.
Lately, it seemed if it wasn’t her mother, it was Carter, who presumably had stayed in the area with the hope that she’d change her mind and invite him over again. She had no intention of doing that.
Jo frowned and considered letting the call go to voice mail. But she knew that ignoring Miss Daisy Mae’s call now would make it doubly worse the next time she talked to her.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh! You startled me, JoEllen. Dear me, I’ll never get used to that caller ID. What happened to the good old days when someone didn’t know who you were?”
Jo didn’t bother to point out that she would know the call was from her mother regardless. She was the only one who phoned her outside of Carter.
“How was your day, dear?” her mom asked.
“I’ve ridden worse.” Jo picked up her towel from the back of her chair and hung it on the bathroom door handle, as if her mother could see that she wasn’t keeping her room tidy. “How’s Pa?”
“Your father is well. He finished that birdhouse he’s been working on for me this evening.”
“That’s nice.” Since he’d retired from ranch life himself, her father’s days were filled with being at his wife’s beck and call, catering to her every whim. And her whims could be doozies. Constructing multistoried birdhouses was one of the tamer requests. “Give him a hug from me.”
“I don’t see why I should. You’ll be here tomorrow to give him one directly.”
Jo sat down on the bed and ran her fingers through her damp hair. Tomorrow was one of her two days off, the second being Saturday. Some of the hands stuck around the ranch on their off days, others went to wherever they called home.
Jo went to her parents’ place.
“You’re right. I’ll give him a hug myself tomorrow.”
She sensed her mother’s sigh of relief. Could she have somehow picked up on Jo’s intention to cancel the visit, as she had the past two times? More than likely. Of course, it didn’t exactly take a NASA astrophysicist to work out the odds.
“I was hoping that you could stop at that little doughnut shop downtown on your way over tomorrow, sweetie. You know, to pick up one of those bourbon pecan pies I like so much.”
Jo fixed the right cuff of her jeans. “Sure, Mother.”
“That’s a good girl.”
She swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling. “Is there anything else? It’s been a really long day and I’m beat.”
“No. No, that’s all. I just wanted to make sure you were still coming, so I don’t have your father get out the good china for nothing.”
Jo didn’t bother telling her that she didn’t have to get out her good anything, that she wasn’t coming over to drink tea out of tiny teacups, but to see how they both were doing. She knew her words would only fall on deaf ears.
“I’m coming. Good night, Mother.”
“Good evening, JoEllen Sue. Sleep well.”
Jo slowly took the cell from her ear and pressed the disconnect button, sitting for long moments staring at the piece of technology that had allowed her mother to follow her all over the world, when all Jo wanted to do was escape.
There was a sound outside the open door. She immediately slid her hand under her pillow, her fingers molding over the cool, hard metal of her M9 Beretta. The instant the shadow appeared, she pulled the gun and held it on the unexpected visitor.
Trace held up his hands and grinned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think shooting the boss is a good idea.”
Jo blinked once. Then twice. Had the man who’d occupied so many of her thoughts all day just materialized in her doorway? Or was she imagining things? Her gaze flicked down his tall, muscular frame and then back again. She licked her lips. He had to be there. Because her imagination wasn’t nearly this good.
She slid the safety back into place and put the firearm on the bedside table. “Yes, I’d say it rates right up there with sleeping with the boss.”
“Regrets?”
She shook her head. “Merely stating facts.”
Jo met his heated gaze, feeling the same sizzle she’d come to expect every time their eyes met. Damn, but he had an effect on her that she couldn’t cool down with any size bucket of cold water.
Trace glanced around. “Mind if I come in?”
“You own the place.”
“I meant, am I welcome?”
She held his gaze.
He came in and shut the door.
Jo immediately felt the heat ignite into a full-out fire. She got up from the bed and moved toward the bathroom. “Pour yourself a drink if you’d like. Fix one for me while you’re at it.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Jo closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against the smooth wood, surprised to find herself out of breath, as if she’d just run an eight-minute mile rather than walked five feet.
She caught her reflection in the mirror, grimacing at her faded purple high school varsity T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans, her regular bedroom attire. No silky nighties for her.
At least her undergarments were one hundred percent pure Victoria’s Secret. Yes, while even she bucked falling into the traditional roles, she wasn’t without her wicked interest in sexy underwear. A passion that Trace had seemed to appreciate last night.
Of course, she couldn’t exactly walk back into the bedroom in nothing but her bra and panties. Well, she could, but she wasn’t going to. Instead, she stepped to the sink, took out a hair dryer she rarely used, and applied scant makeup that she rarely wore. A citrusy lotion was about as close to perfume as she got.
Minutes later, she stared at her reflection again. Was it her, or did her eyes look a little bit brighter? Her lips a little bit plumper? Her gaze dropped to the front of her shirt, finding her breasts high, her nipples clearly visible. She ran her palms over them and shivered in response, anticipation coursing through her veins.
She hadn’t had an inkling that Trace would show up at her room tonight. In fact, she’d pretty much accepted that if there was going to be a repeat of last night, it would come at her doing. The fact that he appeared to want her as much as she wanted him made her hot in areas she normally didn’t pay a great deal of attention to.
Jo finally exited the bathroom, to find him sitting on the edge of the small sofa, sifting through her selection of CDs.
“Interesting collection.”
She smiled. “Find anything you like?”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “I see a lot I like.”
