Only His (7 page)

Then Cat had strolled up and it was as if Nevada didn't exist. Tucker had physically stayed in place, but she'd seen the change come over him. In his world, there was only Cat and not Cat. There was no middle ground. No chance for anyone else to matter.

“Nevada?”

She jerked herself back to the present and found that she was pressing against Tucker. His expression was curious.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she said as she quickly turned and climbed into the truck.

He went around and got in on the other side. “Ready to go back?”

She knew he meant to the job site, so she nodded. But what she was thinking was, no, she wasn't going back. She was never going to be in that position again. Wanting someone she could never have had been one of the worst experiences in her life.

M
ONDAY MORNING
,
Nevada saw a car and a small SUV on the side of the road. She was on her way to the job site, north of town, and there wasn't usually much traffic. Two women stood beside the car. Nevada pulled over to see if she could help.

As she got out of her truck, she recognized the tall, pretty blonde as Heidi Simpson, the goat girl. Heidi and her grandfather had recently moved to the area and purchased the Castle Ranch, just west of the job site. Years before, the ranch had been a viable business, with cattle and horses. She remembered going out to the ranch as a kid for pony rides.

The owner had died and the place had been abandoned until Heidi and her grandfather had bought it. Instead of raising cattle, Heidi had goats and was making artisanal cheese.

“Hi,” Nevada called as she approached the women. “Everything okay?”

Heidi moved toward her, shaking her head. “We have a flat tire.” She pointed to the petite redhead. “This is Annabelle Weiss.”

“The new librarian,” Annabelle said with a wry smile. “I just got into town yesterday and was driving around, getting to know the place. A plan that ended badly.” She motioned to her left rear tire.

“I can call someone from town to come help,” Nevada said, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket.

“No service,” Heidi said. “We're hit-and-miss out at the ranch, too. But I have a landline, so I was going to take Annabelle there. Do you have the name of someone we should contact?”

“Sure. There are a couple of good garages. Donna's teenage son is always looking for an excuse to drive the tow truck, so I'd say call her. He'll be here in a flash.”

“Donna?” Annabelle asked with a frown. “Donna, as in…”

Nevada laughed. “Something for you to get used to here in Fool's Gold. We are a town of women. For years there weren't enough men, so a lot of the traditionally male jobs are held by women. The police chief is a woman, as is the fire chief, most of the sheriff's department and nearly everyone on the city council.” She held out her hand. “Nevada Hendrix.”

Heidi sighed. “Sorry. I should have introduced you. I'm a little scattered. Some of the wild cows got into the goat pen this morning and scared us all.”

“Wild cows?” Nevada asked.

“The cows that seemed to come with the land. They're feral, assuming cows can be. They've been living on their own for years, breeding. The herd is a pretty decent size. I think they're trying to influence the goats to rebel and go live with them.”

Nevada looked at Annabelle, who raised her eyebrows. “You're concerned about goat corruption?”

Heidi laughed. “When you put it like that, it sounds pretty silly. But I swear, every time the cows show up, the goats act weird.”

“Maybe they're territorial,” Annabelle offered. “Maybe they don't like sharing.”

“I hadn't thought of that. I've never had to deal with wild cows before.”

Nevada grinned. “You should find yourself a handsome cowboy to take care of the problem. You'd have to import him, because we don't have any around here, but that could be fun.”

“Maybe.” Heidi sounded doubtful. She shrugged and looked at Annabelle. “Okay, let's go to the ranch and you can make your call.” She turned to Nevada. “Thanks for stopping.”

“You're welcome. It's what we do here.”

“I know. One of the reasons I'm happy my grandfather and I settled in the area. People are very friendly. And they're cheese eaters, which is good for business.”

“Nice to meet you,” Annabelle told her.

“Let me know if I can do anything to help you get settled,” Nevada offered.

“I will.”

They started to head toward their cars when a large truck pulled up next to them. Nevada recognized Charlie, a tall woman with short-cropped hair. Charlie stuck her head out the window.

“Interesting place to call a meeting,” she yelled, then saw the tire. “No way. Do not tell me none of you are capable of dealing with that.”

“Fire department,” Nevada murmured as Charlie pulled over and parked in front of the string of vehicles.

“She's going to yell at us for sure,” Heidi whispered back.

Charlie got out of her truck and stalked over. She
was nearly five-ten, and looked as if she could wrestle all of them into submission at once. Her features were pretty enough, but she never wore any makeup and her clothes were nothing more than practical. Even Nevada, who generally preferred jeans and a T-shirt to anything fancy, managed to put on lip gloss every now and then. She had a feeling Charlie would rather have a root canal.

“It's a flat tire,” Charlie announced.

Nevada pointed to the other women. “Annabelle Weiss, the new town librarian, and Heidi Simpson. Heidi and her grandfather bought the Castle Ranch.”

“Goat girl,” Charlie said. “I've heard of you. Great cheese.”

“Thank you.”

“This is Chantal Dixon.”

Charlie glared at Nevada. “You did not just say that name.”

Nevada held in a grin. “But it's so pretty.”

“Don't make me hurt you.” She turned to the other two women. “Call me Charlie and we'll get along fine.”

“Why don't you like your name?” Heidi asked.

“Do I look like a Chantal? My mother had delusions of grandeur when it came to me.” She paused. “She hoped I would be petite and delicate like her. But I take after my dad. Thank God.” She walked toward the car. “This seems simple enough.”

“We were just going to call a tow truck to help,” Annabelle murmured. The librarian barely came up to Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie shook her head. “It's a flat tire, ladies, not the end of the world.”

They all looked at each other.

“I'm pretty good with repairing a barn,” Heidi admitted.

“Not helpful if you want to drive.” Charlie turned to Nevada. “You have to know what to do. You have three brothers.”

“My three brothers are the reason I never had to worry about my car,” Nevada told her cheerfully, then laughed as Charlie's frown turned into a scowl. “Yes, I could have learned how to change a tire. I chose not to. If it helps, I'm great with a backhoe.”

“You're giving women a bad reputation,” Charlie muttered. “I swear, I need to hold some classes in how to be self-sufficient. You probably can't fix a leaky faucet, either.”

“I can do that,” Nevada said. “I'm much better with home repair than cars.”

“Not helpful right now.”

Nevada leaned toward Annabelle and Heidi. “She's not usually so crabby.”

“Yes, I am,” Charlie snapped as she went to the trunk and popped it open. “At least you have a spare. All right, you three. We're going to do this together. I'll talk you through it.”

“I'm already late for work,” Nevada said, inching toward her car. “So, I'm going to pass.”

Charlie shook her head. “Don't even think about it. You're all going to learn something today.”

“The guys at the construction site put a snake in my truck and I was fine with it. Does that count?”

“Was it poisonous?”

“No.”

“Then it doesn't count. Come on. Gather 'round.” She held up a tool in the shape of an X. “Anyone know what this is?”

 

J
O FINISHED LOADING
the vodka bottles, then flattened the box and folded it into the recycling bin behind the bar. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, the kind of day when nearly anyone would rather be outside than stuck in a bar. Anyone but her. She left the bright blue sky behind and ducked back into the restful quiet of her business.

Everything was going well, she thought happily. A steady flow of customers kept her bank balance healthy. She saved a little each month, putting it aside for emergencies, retirement, whatever. She had a cat whom she adored and plenty of friends. A good life, she thought with only a small quiver of guilt.

She'd heard that people who were really successful sometimes felt like impostors. They worried that they would be told that their good fortune was all a mistake—that they weren't talented, or they didn't get the promotion. Sometimes she felt like that. Not about her job, but about her life.

She'd never thought she would be this at peace. This happy. She hadn't expected to find a warm, welcoming community, to have friends, a nice home. The truth was she didn't deserve it, but there didn't seem to be any way to give it back.

She walked back to the kitchen, where Marisol, her part-time cook, scooped avocados into a bowl for fresh guacamole.

“Got everything?” Jo asked.

The tiny fiftysomething woman smiled at her. “You
always ask and I always tell you all is well. The suppliers are good people. They deliver when they say.”

“I like to be sure.”

“You like to keep control.” Marisol wrinkled her nose. “You need a man.”

“So you've been telling me for years.”

“I'm still right.” She switched to Spanish, probably telling Jo she was shriveling up inside and that all her problems could be solved by the love of a good man.

“You're hardly an unbiased source,” Jo muttered. “You got married at, what? Twelve.”

“Sixteen. Nearly forty years and we already have eight grandchildren. You should be so lucky.”

“I should, but I'm not. You enjoy your blessings. I'm fine.”

“Fine is not happy.”

Fine was good enough, Jo thought, heading back into the bar. Fine was plenty. Fine was safe and allowed her to sleep. If she had much more happiness in her life, she would worry that some balancing force would want to punish her to keep things even. Better to stay safe.

She carefully wrote the happy hour special of the day on the chalkboard and turned on the television. In the lull between lunch and happy hour, she enjoyed quiet. But soon customers would start to arrive, and they enjoyed the various shows.

The front door opened and a man stepped in. Jo recognized Will Falk and didn't know if she was pleased or annoyed.

“How's it going?” he asked as he moved toward her, his stride uneven.

“Good.” She set a napkin on the bar. “What can I get you?”

“I came by to see if I could help put the toys together.”

“Already done. We had two kids in at lunch today and they had a great time.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” He slid onto a barstool. “I'll take a beer. What you have on tap. Want to join me?”

“I don't drink while I'm working.”

“I'm not that much work.”

She gave him a slight smile. “Sorry, no.”

He was a nice enough guy. Probably decent, the kind of man who enjoyed sports, a home-cooked meal and twice-a-week sex. She'd learned to make quick but accurate judgments about people. She would guess he didn't cheat at cards or on women, that he had plenty of friends and a strong moral code.

He wasn't anyone she could get involved with. She'd yet to meet someone she could, but Will was definitely out of the question.

She put the tall glass of beer in front of him and started toward the other end of the bar.

“Is it the limp?”

The question stopped her in her tracks. She turned slowly, then returned to stand in front of him.

“No.”

He shrugged. “Some women don't like it. They're into perfect.”

“That's not me. I don't find perfect appealing.”

“Okay. Then what is it?”

He was attractive, she thought. Normal. Lately her
friends had been falling for normal, nice guys. She envied them.

“What happened?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Construction accident. Fell off the side of a bridge. Nearly broke every bone in my body. Took a long time to get better.”

She sensed there was more to the story. He must have spent weeks or months in the hospital, hundreds of hours in physical therapy.

“Do you have a lot of pain now?”

“I know when it's going to rain, but I'm okay.” He gave her a slow, sexy smile. “Want to see my scars?”

She found herself wanting to say yes. To tease him back, to let her guard down for a few minutes. To remember what it was to be like everyone else.

“Maybe another time.”

“I'm here for a couple of years. I have plenty of time.”

“But then you'll go to a different project?”

He nodded. “Nature of the business. I've seen most of the world. Travel is exciting.”

“I prefer staying in one place,” she said, admitting a truth before she could stop herself. “It took a lot of looking to find this town.”

“What do you like about it?”

“The people. They're very warm. As is the climate. It's a great location.”

What she didn't tell him was that here she was allowed to pretend it all was real. That she was just like everyone else, that her past had never happened. Here she was simply Jo, the owner of Jo's Bar.

“So, show me,” he said. “I'm the new guy. Don't I at least deserve a tour?”

She looked at him. For once, she was tempted to give in and flirt. To touch and be touched. It had been years since she'd been with a man. Years since she'd allowed herself to be that vulnerable. Last time the consequences had destroyed people. Because of her great need to love and be loved, a man had died.

“I can't,” she said abruptly. “It's not about you—it's not personal. I'm sorry, but that's how it has to be.”

Will nodded slowly, then got up from the stool. He tossed a ten on the bar.

“The drink's on the house,” she said stiffly.

“No, thanks. I only accept drinks from my friends.”

With that he left. She watched him limp out. When the door closed behind him, her stomach lurched and she wondered if she was going to throw up.

She'd hurt him, she knew that. Just as painful, she'd hurt herself. But she didn't have a choice. She couldn't take a chance. This time, there would be too much to lose.