The image of her in that chair just didn’t sit right. Just like his old man’s name coming off her lips made him sick when she said, “Silas had a time of it with that system. It’s ancient. Used to take a shovel to it and knock it around some. Always fixed it right up.”
Every muscle in Cody’s body tightened, demanded that he rip her out of that chair and take her as far away from this place as possible.
He must have worn too much on his face because Shelby’s eyes widened. Her delicate hand, so fragile it would break with one swift slap of his father’s shoe, came up to cover her slack mouth. That look in her eye, the same one people gave him as a kid, was enough to get him moving. Cody grabbed his hat and was halfway out the door before he heard her.
“Cody.”
Just his name, but so much was packed into that one word. He turned to look at her, and everything about her was begging him not to walk away.
He wanted at least to give her that, and hated that he couldn’t. He needed to get out of there. Needed space to breathe.
Coward that he was, he placed his hat on his head and said, “Go take a nap, Shelby Lynn. We’ll talk later.”
Shelby stood and walked over to him, her lithe legs gracefully skimming across the floor. Resting a hand on his chest, right above his heart, she looked him dead in the eye. “All right, Cody.” With a gentle peck on his cheek, she walked around the coffee table and sat down on the couch, as far away from his dad’s chair as she could get, he noticed. “I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”
He was treading in dangerous waters with Shelby. Felt like he was drowning in her unwavering faith and not sure how to deal with everything he was feeling. Cody pushed his hat down low to hide the uncertainty in his eyes, offered a sharp nod, and headed out the door.
He wanted to get in his truck and drive like hell, but he would come back and finish their discussion. He had to, even if it meant sitting in his old man’s chair to do it.
Cody had started out the week firing half his crew and by the end of the day the other half would probably up and quit. The problem at the pump house turned out to be a doozy, with water spilling everywhere it shouldn’t and nowhere near where it was needed. After fiddling with the valve, checking the well pressure, making certain the water intake was clear—which meant a ride over the ridge to the river—and looking to see that there was power coming in, Cody was fit to be tied. And he wasn’t taking anybody’s crap.
Hot, sweaty, and in desperate need of a shower, all he wanted to do was finish his talk with Shelby. But before he could do that, he’d fix this damn well. It was too hot a day to ignore the problem. The cows and the grass needed the water, and he needed a victory in front of his men. Just one.
Hunkering down and digging in, Cody bent at the waist, wrapped his arms around the metal pipe, and lifted. Slow coming, the cylinder finally edged its way over the rim of the well housing, water sliding down the steel cylinder, rushing over Cody’s stressed grip and onto his boots, eroding the soil at his feet to mud.
Dylan released a low, impressed whistle. Cody was pretty impressed himself, but he knew his pride would come at a cost.
“Y’all going to stand there gawking?” Cody grunted past the strain, his back teeth grinding together and the vein in his forehead bulging under the weight. “Or can somebody put the clamp on this thing before my back snaps in half?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Dylan rounded the pump and grabbed a metal clamp, attaching it to the base of the pipe, securing it in place.
Cody lowered the pipe, metal grinding on concrete as the clamp caught with a thud. Slowly, he straightened and laughed at the younger cowboy’s dumbstruck look. “Looking a tad surprised there, Dylan?”
Dylan glanced from the mammoth pipe, to the other ranch hands—who seemed altogether impressed—back to Cody and shrugged.
“Guess we figured you were pretty much all hat and no cattle,” said Tommy, a bog rider who had been grating on Cody’s last nerve for the past few hours.
“Is that right?” Cody drawled, leaning down to repeat the task again, raising the pipe another four feet.
“Reckon we were wrong on that account,” Dylan said as he secured the clamp.
Cody once again straightened, stretching his overtaxed muscles. Damn, he was going to hurt something fierce in the morning. Not willing to let on just how sore he already was, Cody dropped to his heels and repeated the process, not even slowing down when he said, “Reckon so.”
“Still say we should’ve just called Bobby Joe. He could have had this problem fixed a couple of hours ago,” Tommy said, referring to the resident well expert in town. And just like the last three times the man mumbled those same words, Cody did his best to ignore him, not allowing himself to be goaded into an argument over a decision that, as ranch foreman, lay with Cody and nobody else—because that’s what this was about.
Cody taking over as foreman had come as something of an upset. To them, he appeared to be some kind of pampered gentleman’s rancher—a spoon-fed MBA who wore starched slacks instead of shit kickers, and preferred a high-rise to ranch living. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
Cody and his brothers had never wanted for anything material growing up—Silas was all about keeping the Tucker image alive and well—but once Cody left home, he refused to take a penny from his old man. Instead, he’d worked his tail off as a ranch hand near campus doing every odd job required of him to be able to put himself through school and remain free of the Tucker burden.
With the pipe up high enough for inspection, Cody walked around the well, studied it from all sides, trying to wrap his mind around why the dang thing had decided to up and break. And there, staring back at him, bright as day, was the answer.
About ten feet down the pipe, running horizontal around the steel casing, was a crack big enough to rupture. On second look, he was surprised it already hadn’t.
“Can someone make sure that pump is completely off?” Cody ordered, knowing he’d shut it off before he even lifted the well housing, but wanting to make sure.
The longer he stared at the crack, the fiercer the clawing in his gut got, until the burning sensation felt like he’d swallowed a branding iron. Pipes got old, they rusted, and eventually cracked. It was all part of ranch living. But something about
this
pipe and
this
crack told him that normal wear and tear wasn’t the issue.
Cody tilted his hat farther back on his head to get a full view of the men in front of him. He needed to see the truth in their eyes, calculate their reactions. “Now, how do y’all figure a crack like that, right at the joint, came to be?”
Tommy’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Just what are you implying?”
“Wasn’t implying anything.” Cody didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just watched the faces of his men. “Just trying to account for a pipe, which looks fairly new, busting at the seams like it did.”
Tommy took an aggressive step forward, chest puffed out, chin pushed up. Cody didn’t back off, ready to knock the cocky cowboy down a notch or two. This was his ranch and he was tired of being challenged on that fact.
“We had us a cold winter,” Dylan began, his tone matter-of-fact but his body language that of a referee. “The frost could have weakened the pipe.”
“Could have,” Cody said with a little extra bull-crap in his tone.
Dylan’s theory had merit. But Cody had survived his childhood by trusting his gut. And right now, every inner alarm was sounding, every muscle on alert, screaming at him that something was going on.
Any suspicions that Cody had about someone trying to run him off his land were somehow cemented. There was no physical proof, but the triple-digit weather, lack of water, and a couple hundred thousand head of steer were too much of a perfect storm to be coincidence.
One that could possibly set a spread like Tucker’s Crossing, a ranch already operating in the red, back enough to fold.
Tommy took his hat off and smacked it against his thigh in anger. “We wasted most of the afternoon on a fool’s errand,” he sneered, his eyes on everyone but Cody, his words saying otherwise. “And now we gotta call Bobby Joe anyway. Could have saved us a lot of time and sweat.”
Very few people, outside of Cody’s industry, knew that the Cody Tucker who left Sweet Plains fifteen years ago had amassed a small fortune in oil and natural gas. So although the cracked pipe was an inconvenience, it wouldn’t have the anticipated financial impact on him. But Tommy’s words and tone questioned Cody’s ability to run this ranch, and that pissed him off all the same.
“It’ll get fixed.” Cody crossed his arms and shifted his attention to Dylan, one of the youngest in the pump house. “Mind calling up Bobby Joe and seeing if he could make it out today? Then, gather the men and saddle the horses. I want the steers rounded up and moved to the west pasture, by the river. If this heat keeps up, they’re going to need the water.”
“You got it, boss.” Dylan tilted his head.
“Should have been handled yesterday!” Tommy, already irritated at being overlooked for foreman, snapped at Cody’s deliberate break in rank. With the most seniority at the ranch, he should have been the one to spearhead the operation.
“Wasn’t aware there was a problem until today,” Cody challenged, shifting his weight forward.
“Like hell you weren’t. When I couldn’t find you, I called Shelby to tell you.”
Cody felt something inside him grow still, maybe even mourn. Why hadn’t Shelby given him the message? She could have called him to let him know. Unless she was somehow behind it. But why, his mind challenged, would she set out to destroy the ranch if that was the end prize?
“I shouldn’t have had to track you down,” Tommy said, edging closer, the air between the two becoming charged. “Instead of playing house with that woman, your daddy would have handled this first thing, calling Bobby Joe without wasting time on—”
Tommy never got to finish his sentence. Cody hauled him up by the scruff of his shirt and slammed him against the side of the pump house, so hard the dust left over from Tommy’s earlier ride exploded into a cloud.
Tommy shoved back, knocking Cody off balance and taking advantage of the moment to land a fist to the ribs, robbing Cody of wind.
Cody grabbed his neck, pinning him to the wall. Both men’s fists were rolled tight and ready. It was a draw.
“Cody?” The small voice came from behind, sending waves of shame down Cody’s spine. He didn’t have to turn to know what kind of expression his son would be wearing. He’d worn it a thousand times himself as a kid.
Cody instantly dropped his hand and released Tommy, who seemed as embarrassed at scaring a kid as Cody was. Turning to face JT, Cody flinched. The reality was way worse than he’d imagined.
JT’s misty eyes bounced around the men, toward the field behind him, and back to Cody. JT opened his mouth, to say . . .
Cody would never know because all that came out was a small hitch and the beginnings of a sob that tore through Cody like someone had reached inside and ripped out his heart.
His lungs burned and his throat tightened and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and offer his son comfort.
As if sensing his desire, JT bolted across the field and toward the safety of the house, probably going to find security in his mama’s arms. Cody had never felt like more of a failure. Less than a week with his son and he’d already managed to terrify the poor kid twice.
Like father, like son.
Shoulders slumped, back aching, Cody walked into the house, expecting to find JT and apologize for his behavior. Hoping he could fix some of the damage he’d caused.
That look on his son’s face would stick with Cody. Just like—he was certain—the incident would stick with JT.
He walked down the hall and peeked in JT’s room—empty. So were the bathroom, office, spare bedrooms, and garage. Making his way toward the family room, he slowed to a stop.
One look at Shelby, lying on the couch, sound asleep in her work scrubs, looking so welcoming and so damn fragile, and Cody was transported back to that night.
He’d been at the hospital with Beau for five days, too ashamed to call Shelby after taking her the way he had, against the wall like some rutting stud, when Preston tracked him down. They headed to a local honky-tonk and got raging drunk.
Cody ended up spilling his guts about his dad and Preston ended up starting a fight with a man over spilled beer and slurred words. Cody jumped in to help and wound up sitting in a county jail in Austin, waiting for Noah to bail him out, and realizing that no matter how hard he tried, he’d always wind up being his father’s son.
Shelby wanted a family, wanted to find a place where she belonged and make a life. But being around her made Cody act illogical, feel out of control. One day he’d snap. Like he had a moment ago in the pump house. He’d even begun to suspect her of sabotaging the ranch.
Leaving the past in the doorway, Cody crossed the family room floor, laid his hat on the coffee table and gave himself a minute to look at the woman who haunted his nights. The purple smudges under her eyes tore at him, and instead of kissing her awake like he wanted to, Cody leaned down and lifted her into his arms. He hoisted her higher, her curves sliding against him, causing his body to react.
Almost unconsciously, Shelby’s arms curled around his neck and she mumbled something about baking powder. Her sleep-sexy voice slid down his skin as she snuggled, pressing her face deeper into his neck, her lips resting at the precise place where it curved into his shoulder.
He stood unmoving in the hallway, watching her sleep, listening to her breath; the faint scent of antiseptic and vanilla filled the air and for some reason that turned him on. Cody groaned. Everything about Shelby turned him on, always had. And, he feared, always would.
At a time in his life when he most needed to be in control, avoiding all distractions and doing what needed to get done—the universe threw him this. What the hell was he supposed to do?
He knew what he wanted to do. And that look in her eyes earlier said she was game. She didn’t cheat on him, he didn’t abandon her, and there was still that thing that drew them together—that attraction that was impossible to ignore.