12-Alarm Cowboys (48 page)

Thank God, she didn’t have to work around here. Jeremiah would consider it his civic duty to make sure everyone kept a close eye on her. He wasn’t exactly the most forgiving man, and if she couldn’t find a better job, she’d never be able to repay him for what he’d lost.

The rest of the presentation droned on and on. The park ranger was followed by the local fire chief, and then the park service expert they’d brought in to help supervise the burn. She tried to pay attention, but felt as though a hundred accusing fingers were pointed at her back. So she sat rigid in her seat, arms crossed, waiting for the briefing to end. She’d get her team assignment and head back to the motel where she’d left her suitcase. Then she could close her door and sleep until Saturday’s training.

Seven years hadn’t been nearly long enough to ease the feeling of guilt that weighed her down. Moving away had helped her live a more normal life, but she’d had these little reminders every so often, part of the deal the judge had made with her to protect her future. Participating in the controlled burn inside the park would be the last time Calderans would have to suffer her presence. And she theirs.

At last, the park ranger turned off the projector. Everyone rose and made their way to the board where team assignments were listed.

She waited patiently while being jostled—probably deliberately. At last, she scanned the list.

Her name was listed on a team of ten—and led by Jeremiah McCord.
Shit.

Jeremiah stood near
the doors, ready to nab Carly before she could skulk away. Blake Thacker, the local fire chief, stood next to him. “You put her on my team.” Jeremiah muttered.

Blake’s mouth twitched. “You’ve been so vocal about what a hazard she is to have around, so I thought you’d rest easier keeping her close.”

Jeremiah grunted.

“It’s been seven years,” Blake said, slapping his shoulder. “She hasn’t burned up a canyon or set a house on fire.”

“Not that we know of.”

Blake shook his head. “Don’t you think the time has come to give her a little slack? She’s a grown woman now, not a rebellious teenager.”

Eyeing Carly as she moved away from the board, he couldn’t help but note the fact she was a woman now. Still skinny, but taller and with an interesting bit of flare to her hips. “She’s a menace. Nearly cost me my ranch.”

Blake gave him a baleful glance. “And walking up to the front of the room had to have taken a lot of courage, knowing no one wants her here.”

Jeremiah didn’t like the pang of doubt that struck his chest. He’d aimed a pretty mean stare her way. Not that she’d seemed the least bit put off. Her chin had inched up, and she’d kept her gaze averted, watching those images of flames spreading across brush.

He hadn’t missed the one real moment of emotion that had crossed her face. The picture of the fire had held her captive. No, she hadn’t changed a bit. Maybe she’d simply gotten better at hiding her firebug proclivities.

“Play nice,” Blake said, under his breath as people filed out of the building. “Judge Sessions says this’ll happen, whether you want it to or not. I’ve given you a way to control the situation. You can thank me later.”

Blake gave him another pat and walked away, just as Carly, who was almost the last person out the door came abreast. Her glance landed on him then darted to the door. So she was nervous around him.
Good
. “Don’t be late for training,” he bit out.

She halted, and her glance crashed with his. “I won’t,” she said, her mouth crimping into a straight line, and her brow furrowing.

Jeremiah felt a little thrill of attraction tingle in his balls.
Oh, hell no.
But before he could stem the impulse, he blurted, “Where you staying?”

“At the Prickly Pear Motel.”

He slowly shook his head, dreading what he was about to say. But he knew he wouldn’t rest easy if he didn’t have her under his thumb, twenty-four/seven for the next four days. Keep your enemies close and all… “I’ll follow you there and wait for you to check out.”

Her chin shot higher. “I’m not going away. This is the last task I have to complete to clear my name.”

“I’m not having you roaming free until this is done.”

She stuck her hand on her hip. “Gonna ask your buddy the sheriff to lock me up when I’m not with you?”

Jeremiah nearly growled. “Sweetheart, you’ve got a choice—you’re either sitting in lock-up, or you’re coming home with me.”

“The hell I am.” Her smoky gray eyes rounded.

He liked the flush of pink that crept across her cheeks. He noted, not for the first time, that she was pretty. But her beauty was likely a honey trap. The judge had taken one look at her slim body and pretty blonde looks, and let her off lightly—giving her a short stint in a juvenile detention facility, a fine she’d never pay off, and community service, rather than sending her to a women’s prison where she belonged.

Sure, she looked like an angel, but he knew better. He’d seen the excitement glinting in her eyes when the picture of brushfire had popped on the screen. She hadn’t changed. No, Carly Lohan was a danger to him and every ranch rimming the canyon. “I’ll follow you to the motel.”

“Don’t you think we ought to at least be on first-name basis before you invite me home?” At his next glare, she blew out an exasperated breath that billowed her cheeks. “Fine, it’s just five days, and you saved me the expense of a hotel. You have to feed me, too.”

“Oh, you’ll earn your room and board,
Carly
,” he drawled, warming to the thought of how he’d keep her busy for the next few days. She wouldn’t be so saucy after mucking out horseshit in the barn. And then an image popped into his mind of other forms of service she might provide…

He clamped down on his attraction.
Don’t go there.
She was trouble with a capital T, and the sooner she was gone, the better.

Carly turned on a heel, marched through the doors and down the steps, him following close behind. Her car wasn’t much to look at. Paint was peeling. The rear fender was missing.

Looked like she’d had hard times. Again, his chest tightened, wondering where she’d been all this time, and what hardships she’d faced.

Not his problem, he reminded himself, setting his jaw as he climbed into his truck and followed her taillights a mile down the highway.

The Prickly Pear was the worst sort of dive, serving long-haul truckers and tawdry trysts. He parked beside her POS car and waited in his truck as she disappeared into a room. When she came out a moment later, she carried one suitcase. Obviously, she hadn’t unpacked.

She dumped the case in her trunk and stomped to the office. He watched through the dusty glass as she paid her bill.

The kid behind the counter darted a glance out the window, and his eyes widened on Jeremiah’s truck.
Kevin Twomey
. Ah hell. The whole town would know he’d been waiting for her outside a motel. Just what he needed. Kevin’s mama was the biggest gossip in the county.

At last, she made her way out and stopped beside his window. “I’ll follow you. Maybe he won’t think you’re a stalker.”

She didn’t give him a chance to respond, simply turned as neatly as a soldier and marched to her car. By the time he heard the engine, a smile was tugging at his mouth. She might be a firebug, and have no business participating in a controlled burn, but the girl had grit.

‡

W
ith the moon
high in a cloudless sky, Carly pulled up into the driveway next to Jeremiah’s house. Lights shone beneath the eaves of the porch and from the many windows of the house.

Jeremiah’s home wasn’t what she’d expected. For one thing, there were lovely filigree cornices beneath the porch that wrapped around the two-story structure, and it was painted a pretty sky blue, not uncommon to Victorian houses of the era in Texas.

The house and what she could see of the flower beds and landscaping were too feminine for the ornery rancher. Which caused her stomach to cramp just a little bit. She hadn’t thought of him as married. Not the way his gaze had slid over her frame back at the community center. So maybe he wasn’t the straight-arrow she’d always pegged him as.

Then she wondered what female he’d convinced to put up with his high-handed attitude. She almost felt sorry for the woman. Almost. Mostly, she felt a deep, aching envy. Puzzling, since she was sure she didn’t like Jeremiah very much.

Carly shook her head and opened her door, giving it a hard shove because the door’s rusted hinges always gave her crap. Outside, she shivered, because now that the night had fallen, the temperature had taken a steep dip.

Jeremiah was already out of his truck and looking at her with that same dark furrow shading his ice-cold blue eyes.

Her chin shot up. So her car was a rust bucket. It was hers. She didn’t have a debt in the world other than the one that hit her bank account once a month—her court-ordered restitution to this man. Carly grabbed her suitcase from her trunk and followed him as he turned and led the way up the porch steps and into his home. “I assume I’ll be staying in the bunkhouse…?”

“No, we don’t allow any females there. They’d be too much of a distraction.” He didn’t look back, tromping through the foyer and up the steps, which turned a corner at a landing midway up as the stairs changed direction. At the top, he took a left, the soft beige, Berber carpeting muffling his boot heels. At the second doorway down, he stopped, twisted the knob, and stood back.

He didn’t give her a gesture or a word to invite her in, so she frowned, passing him and stepping inside. The room wasn’t the cell she’d half-expected: sage-green wallpaper with white flowers, and an unfussy, but lovely, cherry wood bed and dresser, filmy white curtains. “It’s nice,” she said, begrudgingly.

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

His jaw ground tight, and then he took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “Ms. Lohan—”

“Carly. No one calls me that.” She shrugged. “Seeing as I’ll be sharing a roof with your family.”

“Just me.”

In this big house?
She blinked, and then schooled her expression to hide her surprise. “The missus away?”

“I’m not married. Anymore.” And his frown deepened.

So she’d touched a nerve.
Good to know. Don’t discuss the ex.

“Cook comes in every morning. There’s always something in the fridge if we miss meals.”

And because she didn’t have a clue what his plans for her were, she said casually, “We’ll be missing meals?”

His mouth curved slightly. “You’ll be busy with chores. Everyone on the ranch works, Carly.”

Not that she minded working, but he might have mentioned that before he’d had her give up her room in town. “I missed dinner,” she said, her tone a little belligerent because she was annoyed and didn’t mind him knowing.

“Bathroom’s at the end of the hallway. Get washed up. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

When the door closed, she took a deep breath, not realizing she’d been breathing so shallowly—not until he was gone.

Swallowing hard, she glanced around the room then went to the closet. Empty, but there were hangars. Not that she’d need many. Most of what she owned was in the suitcase and wouldn’t take long to hang. But she’d settle in later. Her stomach rumbled, so she headed back out the door and to the end of the hallway.

The bathroom was nicer than any she’d ever been inside. A large, old-fashioned claw foot tub dominated the room. A white curtain hung from a circular ring above it, so she could shower, although she knew she’d take advantage of the luxury of that deep tub at least once before she left. The walls were white wainscoting below, more of the sage and white wallpaper above. Fluffy white towels were rolled and stored in an iron baker’s rack. She went to the white porcelain pedestal sink and washed her hands. Where the rest of the house hadn’t intimidated her, this pristine room did. A woman like her didn’t belong here. She’d leave smudges and dirt.

What was he thinking bringing her here? Was he really that worried she might start a fire?

She guessed from his point of view, she was every bit as foreign as this place was to her. She hadn’t been born to wealth. Had lived a hard-scrabble life, even before the fire—in and out of foster homes. What had his life been like being raised here? Where the walls felt as though they were soaked in family and history. She’d bet every one of his ancestors knew where they came from.

The thought was sobering, and one that was tinged again with, if not outright envy, a grudging understanding. Her actions had threatened this piece of history. Something that would have been irretrievable. Shame pushed her shoulders lower. She owed him more than just the monetary debt she paid every single month. If her responsibility was to work while she was here, she wouldn’t give him any sass.

Mind made up she’d try to get along and not deliberately rile him again, she left the bathroom and made her way downstairs, following the lovely aromas that set her mouth watering and led her to the big kitchen in the back of the house.

He stood in front of the microwave. Already, he’d set plastic-wrapped dishes on the counter filled with fluffy potatoes and salad.