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“The ranch has nothing to do with it. He’s certifiable because he’s so damn crazy in love with you.”
“I feel the same way about him.” Bridget brushed back a tear. “I know why both he and Taylor are so upset. After all, Jeremiah’s already lost one wife, and Taylor lost her mother.”
“Well, they are not going to lose you.”
“They nearly did.”
“Well, nearly ain’t the real thing.” Tiffany grinned, then changed the subject. “I never thought your marriage would last, you know.”
“No one did, least of all my parents.”
“Well, getting drunk, then, a few hours later, marrying a man you won in an auction, does lead one toward skepticism.”
“It was fate at its beast” Bridget shrugged. “What more can I say?”
“I’d say that pretty well sums it up.”
“So what about you? I didn’t by any chance pull you out of the clutches of any man?”
“Not no, but hell no!”
“Tiff!”
“Don’t ‘Tiff’ me. I’m not interested in ties that bind. I’m only interested in jump-starting my career and making money.”
“So what did this trip do to those plans?”
Tiffany laughed. “It brought relief from the boss from hell.”
“Not as in, you were fired, I hope.”
“I quit, actually.”
“Oh, Tiff, I feel awful.”
“Don’t. I’ve been aching to do it for months. That call from Jeremiah was just the push I needed.”
Bridget laughed. “I can just see you marching into her office.”
“That’s exactly what I did.” Tiffany grinned. “I would have given anything if you could’ve been a fly on the wall and seen the look on Witch Hazel’s face when I told her in a nice way to kiss my you-know-what, that I was outa there.”
“I just hope you didn’t make a mistake.”
“No way.” Tiffany’s grin strengthened. “I don’t anticipate ever being in that position again.”
“You lovable idiot.”
“That’s me,” Tiffany quipped, peering at her watch. “Look, I’d better get going. I’m surprised a nurse hasn’t been in and run me off.”
“As badly as I hate to see you go, Taylor’ll be in from play school soon, and I’d like for you to be there.”
Tiffany leaned over again and kissed her friend on the cheek. “You hang in there, okay? Everything’s going to be just fine.”
Later, as Tiffany walked out into the bright sunlight, she paused and took several deep breaths. Bridget had to be all right. She just had to.
“Hey, squirt, what’ve you been doing? Making mud pies in your ears?”
Taylor giggled, then gazed up at Tiffany. “You’re being silly.”
“I’m being truthful, young lady. I don’t think you’ve had that washcloth anywhere near that part of your body.”
Taylor giggled again, but she made no effort to shift the rag to her head, which Tiffany saw as her first challenge with this precocious six-year-old.
In fact, all the way to the ranch from the hospital, apprehension had gnawed at her. What if she’d bitten off more than she could chew? Hell, what she knew about children could fill a thimble. But since she had no choice, she had to make the best of the situation, no matter what.
Jeremiah and Taylor had both come out to the car to meet her. The first time she had seen the child, with her doelike brown eyes and long, shiny hair, Tiffany had fallen under her spell. Taylor seemed to have bonded with her as well.
Now, two days later, with Jeremiah and Bridget at the hospital in Las Vegas, that love affair was threatened, and all because of mud pies in the ears.
“I couldn’t find Piper Girl,” Taylor was saying.
Tiffany shook her head. “What did you say?”
The child repeated her statement
“Who is Piper Girl?”
“My kitty.”
“Ah, I see.”
“She sleeps on the foot of my bed.”
Great. Tiffany hated cats, but she would bite her tongue before admitting that. “So, I wonder where Piper Girl is?”
“In the barn, eating a rat.”
“Swell.”
“Would you go get her and bring her inside?”
“Only if you promise she won’t eat me.”
Taylor threw her a look. “She doesn’t even bite. She’s a sweetie.”
That remained to be seen, Tiffany told herself, then said out loud, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get the kitty if you’ll let me get rid of the mud pies.”
“Oh, all right,” Taylor said, handing Tiffany the cloth.
A few minutes later, a powdered-down Taylor was in her bedroom, putting on her pajamas. Tiffany watched her for a minute, then said, “I’ll be right back, hopefully with kitty in tow.”
Garth Dixon tightened the girth, then climbed into the saddle. Although the horse snorted and nodded its head indicating it was ready to go, Garth didn’t nudge the animal into action. He simply sat there lost in thought. He didn’t want to do this chore. He didn’t want to do anything that required an effort, and being neighborly certainly required that.
As it was, he’d put off doing the favor Jeremiah Davis had asked of him to the point that he couldn’t indulge himself any longer. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
But again, if he was going to live in this place, he should work on his attitude, which meant he shouldn’t mind helping someone out, especially a man whose desperation had been clear even on the phone. Garth guessed he would feel the same way if his wife was laid up in the hospital seriously injured.
Well, on second thought... A jerk of his head veered him off the track. Just do the good deed and get it over with, he told himself. It was such a small thing and here he was making a big deal out of it, which was par for the course. These days even getting out of bed was a big deal, not to mention his poor attitude, something he refused to apologize for.
Sighing, Garth finally nudged the horse and moved in sync with its big but graceful body, the pace leisurely as he guided his mount through the wooded, fertile valley toward the Davis ranch.
Though he continued to nurse his sour mood, he couldn’t ignore the beauty and peace that surrounded him. Still, it wasn’t peace he sought He’d already had enough of that to last him a lifetime.
A short time later, Garth ambled onto the Davis property. Having decided to check the barn before heading toward the house, he dismounted and went inside.
After looking around and finding nothing amiss, he breathed a sigh of relief. Once he checked the house, he could get back to his cabin in the woods.
He smiled a bitter smile.
Tiffany was halfway to the barn when she stopped for a moment, noticing, not for the first time, how liberating it felt to be here and away from the evils of her former job. She stared into the distance, taking in the beauty of the fertile valley, including the surrounding rolling hills and distant mountains. Maybe this was the panacea she had needed to get her life back on track, though she would give anything to have been here under different circumstances.
Refusing to dwell on the negative, Tiffany made her way into the barn, ruing the deal she’d made with Taylor. With nightfall fast approaching, the barn gave her the creeps, not to mention having to cart that cat back to the house.
She was about to call out “kitty, kitty” when she saw him. Tiffany’s footsteps faltered at the same time that her heart jumped into her throat. Her initial reaction to seeing a strange man on the premises was to run, to get the hell out of Dodge.
Instead, while his back was to her, she acted on impulse and latched on to the garden shovel that, luckily, was at her fingertips. Then she raised her weapon and brought it down on his skull.
She didn’t know which emotion was more exhilarating—horror or relief—as he dropped to his knees, then fell facedown in the dirt.
Three
Tiffany stared wild-eyed at the hunk of humanity sprawled in front of her. Who was he? And what was he doing on the Davis property? Was he homeless, perhaps looking for a place to sleep? Even though she couldn’t tell much about him, the latter somehow didn’t ring true. From what she could see of him, he wasn’t dressed like a vagrant. He had on a pair of okay-looking jeans, a casual shirt and boots.
He was tall and thin, too thin to suit her taste. That . aside, he could have passed for any Texas cowboy on any given day—only this cowboy wasn’t moving.
Making tiny mewing sounds against the hand she was holding across her mouth, Tiffany backed up, never taking her eyes off him. What had she done? Had she killed him?
OhmyGodohmyGod, she chanted silently, until she backed into the door frame. Then, on legs that seemed to have a will of their own, she turned and tore off toward the house. By the time she reached the back porch, she was so weak and sick to her stomach that she had to catch a post and hold on to it, reaching deep inside herself for a decent breath.
Dear Lord, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life behind bars, which might be what would happen if she’d actually hit him hard enough to kill him. And she was very much afraid that she had. She’d seen the blood trickling down the side of his head. Her stomach did another flip-flop. and it was all she could do not to give in to the desire to lean over and throw up.
But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Regardless of who he was—rapist, thief, or vagrant—she had to get help. As it was, she’d wasted enough time. She crossed to the door and flung it open.
Taylor was sitting on the couch with the TV blaring, laughing at the show she was watching. When she saw Tiffany, she seemed to sense that something was wrong.
“Are you sick?” she asked with childlike bluntness.
Tiffany threw her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but she knew she’d failed. Taylor looked almost as terrified as she felt herself.
“I have to call 911.”
“We don’t have 911.”
“Damn,” Tiffany muttered. Of course this one-horse community wouldn’t have such a sophisticated system.
“That’s a naughty word. My mommy said you’re not supposed to say it.”
“What?”
“Damn.”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Tiffany would have laughed. But the situation was serious, and now was not the time to deal with the issue of whether she’d said something she shouldn’t have.
“Forget I said that, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll have to call the sheriff,” Tiffany said, more to herself than for Taylor’s benefit. Noticing that the number she sought was posted by the phone, she snatched up the receiver and dialed.
Moments later, the terse conversation was behind her, but still she couldn’t seem to move or to think rationally. Only after Taylor jumped off the couch and stared at her as if she had just landed from another planet did she react.
She’d said as little as possible, so as not to frighten the child more than she had to. “It’s going to be all right,” Tiffany said now, in what she prayed was a calm and rational tone.
Taylor’s lower lip trembled. “I want my daddy and mommy.”
“So do I, kiddo, but unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”
Tears flooded the child’s eyes, and Tiffany felt like an inept idiot. She placed her arms around Taylor’s shoulders and held her close.
She couldn’t believe this was happening. Had she actually whacked another human over the head so hard that she might have taken his life?
No! Now that she was safely in the house, away from the eerie barn, she wouldn’t think like that Surely she hadn’t done that much damage to his head. She didn’t have that much strength. Or did she? Maybe she’d cracked him in just the right place. Again the sick feeling washed over her, and she saw herself being handcuffed, then put in the sheriffs car.
Tiffany swallowed the panic that rose up the back of her throat just as she heard the siren.
Taylor twisted out of her arms and rushed to the window. “Sheriff Wright’s getting out of the car.”
Tiffany didn’t wait for him to knock. She headed for the door herself, Taylor on her heels. “Uh-uh, young lady. You stay put right here.”
Taylor’s face bunched into a frown. “I don’t want to. ”
“Nevertheless, you’re going to.” Then, softening her words, Tiffany added, “As soon as I know what’s going on, I’ll be back.”
Taylor jutted her chin and averted her face. Tiffany hated knowing that the child was upset, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that at the moment. There was enough trauma going on in Taylor’s life without her seeing a man who might be—
Shutting down that thought, Tiffany raced out the door just as the sheriff walked onto the porch. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’m Porter Wright.”
It wasn’t that he was tall and lean to the point of gauntness, or that he wore a Fu Manchu mustache, that made her wince inwardly, but rather the smell that surrounded him—as if he’d just stepped in a patty of cow manure.
Unwittingly, she lowered her head, and sure enough, he had. His boots were caked with it. This time it was all Tiffany could do to hold her already queasy stomach in check.
“I’m Tiffany Russell,” she said at last.
“Suppose you take me to where this fellow is.”
“He’s...he’s in the barn.”
“Let’s go have a look-see.”
“Do I have to go with you?”
The sheriff removed his hat and scratched his head. “I don’t suppose so.”
“Never mind, I’ll come. I have to face the music sooner or later.”
Porter Wright gave her a strange look before commenting, “Most likely you’re in the clear, whoever this person is. Folks around here get real nervous when someone invades their privacy. You did the right thing, I’m sure.”
“Taylor, honey, I’ll be right back,” Tiffany called into the house. “You’ll be fine.”
Although it had been only fifteen minutes since the incident, it seemed like an eternity as Tiffany followed Sheriff Wright back to the bam.
He entered first_ Tiffany pulled up short behind him, just inside the door, and clung to the rustic facing for dear life, despite the fact that splinters were digging into her hand.
The man was sitting up and in the process of wiping the blood off his temple. Relief left her feeling even weaker than the earlier bouts of nausea. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could do was stand there gaping at him, all the while praising the Lord that he was alive and she wouldn’t be going to the penitentiary.
The man, however, wasn’t at a loss for words. In fact, the expletives spilling from his lips sent the color rushing back into Tiffany’s face. She felt as if she’d suddenly caught a fever.
“Should L..call an ambulance?” she stammered.
“Hell, no!”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sheriff Wright said, his features wrinkled in a grin.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” the man snapped, rising fully to his feet, though he was obviously still unsteady, and glaring at the sheriff.
Tiffany felt the urge to race to him and help him, but she knew that wouldn’t be the thing to do. He looked mad enough to chew a barbed-wire fence in two.
“Ms. Tiffany Russell, meet the man you’ve just waylaid,” Wright said. “Jeremiah’s neighbor, Garth Dixon.”
“Oh, no,” Tiffany whispered, but the words were loud enough for both men to hear.
“Oh, yes, Ms. Russell, or whoever the hell you are,” Garth lashed back.
Tiffany took a step forward, a hand outstretched. “Look, Mr. Dixon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He cursed again, cutting her off in midsentence. “Like hell you didn’t mean it. You nearly took my damn head off with that shovel.”
Tiffany flung a helpless look at Porter Wright. The sheriff seemed content to stand back and let the two of them go at it, grinning all the while, as if he were enjoying the exchange to the max.
Well, why not? Tiffany thought This incident was probably the most exciting thing that had happened around these parts in a long time. She would have liked nothing better than to knock that grin off Wright’s face, then turn around and knock the smirk off Dixon’s. Instead, she swallowed her own mounting anger and said, “If only you’d come to the house and told me who you were, I wouldn’t—”
“Hell, lady, that doesn’t excuse you, especially since I wasn’t a threat to you.”
“How was I to know that?”
Garth Dixon looked at her as if he wanted to throttle her, which she was sure he did, in retaliation for what she’d done to him.
“Hell, I see I’m wasting my time talking to you. Anyone that dizzy—”
Tiffany was enraged. “I’ll have you know that I’m not—”
“Save it, lady. I’m not interested.”
Instead of barking right back at him the way she wanted to do, Tiffany turned and stomped toward the door. Once there, she had second thoughts, and she whirled around, glaring at him. Who did he think he was? She wouldn’t let him get away with placing all the blame on her shoulders.
She was about to voice that thought when her gut instinct kicked in, telling her that for now she’d best keep her mouth shut, if she wanted to come out the winner here. For one thing, the man was in obvious pain. But more than that, he was livid, livid to the point that she knew her impulsiveness had gained her an enemy, which was too bad.
Garth Dixon was a good-looking man, even if he was a bit too thin. Pure eye candy. Even the red, purplish lump on the side of his head didn’t detract from the dramatics of his chiseled features, his salt-and-pepper hair—more salt than pepper—or the dark blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes.
Too bad again that she didn’t give a fig if he was handsome or not. Not only was he too old for her—she guessed him to be in his forties—he was a poor sod-buster, which was an even bigger turnoff than his age.
Her grandmother had always told her that she could fall in love with a rich man as easily as a poor one. Tiffany had never forgotten those pearls of wisdom. But then, she didn’t have to worry. She wasn’t about to fall in love with any man, certainly not this one, who continued to look at her through cold, hostile eyes.
“Surely you were aware that Jeremiah asked me to keep an eye on the place while he was gone?” Garth asked at last.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Well, hell.”
“If it’s an apology you want,” Tiffany said, “then you’ve got it.”
Sheriff Wright shoved himself away from the post where he’d been leaning. “I guess that settles things, then. If Ms. Russell here is willing to apologize, then—”
“I don’t want her apology.” Garth focused his fierce gaze on Tiffany, then spoke directly to her. “All I want is for you to stay the hell away from me.”
With that, he turned and, cutting around her, stalked out of the barn.
“Whew!” Sheriff Wright said, taking off his hat and fanning his face. “I’d say he’s madder than a stirred-up hornet’s nest.”
“He’ll get over it,” Tiffany countered, tight-lipped
“I sure hope so, ma’am. For your sake, that is.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“According to Irma Quill, he’s been real sick, something about a bad heart.”
Tiffany’s own heart took a nosedive as another bout of guilt rose to the surface. “What else do you know about him?”
“Nothing, except he’s apparently about as closemouthed as they come, and he hasn’t been in the community but a few months.”
Tiffany held out her hand. “Thanks for coming, Sheriff. I appreciate it very much.”
“Just doing my job, ma‘am. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house. I’m sure that young’n’s having a conniption fit”
“You’re right,” Tiffany said, another pang of guilt stabbing her.
A short time later, after explaining to the child what had happened, though without the details, Tiffany sat on the bed beside Taylor, tucking her in for the night.
“I’m so proud of you. You acted like such a big girl.”
“I am a big girl. I’m six years old, going on seven.”
“That’s right, you are.” Tiffany smiled, but the child didn’t. “What’s the matter, honey?”
The child’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m glad you found my kitty, but my daddy’s going to be real mad, ’cause you hit his friend.”
Four
Garth stumbled into the cabin and onto the couch. Sweat poured off his face like a broken water faucet But the sweat was the least of his worries. His chest felt as if it were going to cave in on him at any second.
He shouldn’t have pushed his horse at such a rapid clip through the woods. He’d been so pissed off over what had just happened that he’d let his temper overrule his sound judgment. Hell, he wasn’t used to taking it easy. Since he could remember, he’d gotten up literally at the crack of dawn, taken a shower, then headed to the office, where he’d drunk a pot of coffee while planning which corporations to take over and which not to.
Now he couldn’t do any of those things, except shower. And on some mornings even that was an effort. If his health and his mood didn’t hurry up and change drastically, then he would just as soon bail out of this life. Movers and shakers like himself weren’t cut out to be ill.
Garth leaned his head back on the couch and placed his hand over his heart. Maybe he should go to the ER. No, that was out. Hospitals were out. Besides, his heart rate had settled, though not exactly back to normal. Not only had anger at being in this situation and this godforsaken place sapped his precious energy, but embar-moment at having been banged on the head by that dizzy blonde had added insult to injury.
“Damn!” he muttered, recalling the instant he’d turned and seen her standing there, knowing beyond a doubt that she was the one who had hit him. She’d had that guilty look written all over her. For a moment he’d fought the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her. But since he’d never put his hands on a woman in that way, the thought had died a natural death.
Still, Garth couldn’t help but remember that even in his dazed state, it hadn’t been Tiffany Russell’s face that caught his attention, but rather the way her butt was made for those tight-fittin’ jeans she had on.
Then, as quickly as that thought had surfaced, it disappeared. He hadn’t come here to get involved with a woman. However, if the circumstances had been different, he would have asked her out, despite the fact that he was sure her looks far outweighed her brainpower. At this juncture in his life, that point didn’t matter. He was only interested in the pleasure, without the permanency.
Yeah, she was a looker, all right, with shoulder-length blond hair worn in a pageboy style, skin that reminded him of rich cream and deep-set green eyes that appeared so innocent. He almost choked on that though
Still, it was the way her well-endowed rear had filled those jeans that seemed branded on his mind. Yet he couldn’t overlook her voice; even though she had given an apology grudgingly, it had come out sounding like silk.
Unfortunately, the woman and her assets didn’t mean a hill of beans to him. Another woman in his life was the last thing he needed or wanted. What he did want was to recover both in body and mind and return to his work a whole man.
Meanwhile, he was still breathing, which he had to think of as a gift and run with. If only he could let go of the notion that he had something to prove, not only to himself but to his stepfather, who had set him up in business. If only...
Determined not to open that can of worms, Garth stood. When the room stopped spinning, he trudged into the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of orange juice. Frowning, he gulped it down, pretending it was Scotch on the rocks.
“Dream on, Dixon,” he quipped, setting the empty glass on the cabinet. His days of drinking as much booze as he wanted were gone, along with so many of the other pleasures he had enjoyed. He vowed that that would only be temporary.
After his heart healed and he clinched the biggest business deal of his career, which was now on hold, then maybe he would give some thought to getting off that high-profile treadmill, even to semiretiring.
Sure thing, he told himself, knowing that was never going to happen. He wasn’t like the majority of his buddies, who played golf as many hours a day as they could squeeze in and thought that was the ultimate challenge. He didn’t go for that.