CHAPTER EIGHT

Sam was grooming Tilly again. A good horse, not too big, and one that wouldn’t likely toss Casey Pickett on her delectable ass. He smiled to himself. After grabbing a couple bottles of water, he’d headed straight to the barn. The methodical movement of the brush, up and down, up and down, calmed him. He couldn’t believe the woman made him so anxious.

He kept mulling over the pros and cons of starting a new relationship, then the misery of his first marriage would flood his mind. Except Casey wasn’t Rachel. Hell, nobody could be like Rachel. Selfish, uncaring, always wanting to impress. Shaking his head against memories of the most toxic relationship of his life, Sam figured his temporary ranch hand also had baggage but hopefully she’d trust him enough to open up.

If they were headed for a “thing,” there was also something he wanted to take care of. Especially since she’d mentioned the possibility of buying property nearby. Then again, if he let her go? There’d be no risk to his heart.

“Hello?”

“Here.” He popped his head out of the stall. “Casey, hi. Come on, I’m going to show you how to handle some of Tilly’s tack.”

“Like you have any.” Even sarcastic, she was cute.

“Tack, not tact.” He laughed, finding it easier than it had been for years.

“If you laugh at me, Sam Wagner, I’m leaving.”

“I’m sorry. And I’m not laughing at you, Casey. You’re just funny.” He motioned her over. “Okay. Come here.” He could see she was nervous, so he reached out, took her hand, and tugged her into the stall. “Come on, it’s not that scary. I thought you said you rode.” He could feel her hand trembling.

“Yep. Ten years ago.”

“Well, how long had you been riding when you quit?”

“Didn’t quit.” She ducked her head, then looked up at him again. “It was just the one time. A trail ride. And before you accuse me of lying—” Sam noted her drawing a deep breath. “I told you the truth. You didn’t ask for any specifics.”

“You’re right.” He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Okay, we’ll go slow.” He grabbed a saddle blanket and pushed Casey gently to the mare, her backside to him. “This is Tilly. She’s sweet.” Leaning around Casey, he said, “Take the blanket and put it on her back.”

He wished he could see her expression, but she managed to get the blanket on the horse, having to reposition it only a little closer to the withers. Sam didn’t push further, speaking quietly to Casey about approaching a horse as he finished saddling and bridling the mare.

In twenty minutes, they were astride the two horses he’d chosen for the ride. He had to force down longing when he’d given her a leg up, accepting that being so close to her without pulling her against him, kissing her, was making him nuts. Now she looked terrified. In a low, calm voice, he gave her basic instructions as they walked toward a trail that looped away from the barn, past a small pond, and back to the corral.

Plodding along in silence, Sam watched, noticing when Casey had relaxed somewhat. At the pond, he dismounted, and after helping her down, his hands making contact with her waistline, he dropped the reins on the bank, letting the horses drink. The simple task of helping Casey dismount again ignited a physical reaction that was anything but emotional.

Stepping away from her, he untied the blanket attached to his saddle. Laying it on the ground under a tall, broad pine tree, he waved her over. “Come on, sit.”

***

“Uh, not gonna happen.” Casey stared at Sam, she hoped with a look of incredulity on her face. She was so not getting on a blanket with the man. Of course, she wanted to, so much. Too much. But he’d been a jackass for days, including not showing for dinner, which was rude to Emma.

“Come on, Casey. I’ve got water if you’re thirsty.” The sound of Sam’s voice almost made her cave; she longed for his nearness. But he’d been cruel, and since she’d no idea why, she didn’t budge.

“What are you running from, Casey?”

“Nothing.” He’d stepped closer. Do you know that drives me crazy, cowboy?

“Liar.” His hand came up and tucked a lock of her hair behind an ear. What was that country song? Something about God driving a car, no, taking the wheel. Country music was on in the barn most of the time. She supposed the storied tunes were growing on her.

“I’ll figure it out at some point. So why don’t you just tell me.”

Feeling inept, dangerously under his influence, a whiff of his scent, man, cowboy, hot. “Can I see your rifle?” Actions were better than words.

He looked befuddled. “You wanna shoot me?” But then he walked away, pulled the gun out of the sheath behind his saddle, and when he returned, handed it over.

Casey grinned. “Maybe.” Studying the gun, getting the feel for its weight, she could feel his eyes on her, no doubt curious. Maybe Sam was gauging the crazy woman he’d invited into his home. “A Remington V3 semiautomatic. You have predators round these parts?” She thought the hokey accent was a nice touch.

“I’m impressed.” His damn grin rattled Casey. “But ‘round these parts’? You’re acclimating, Pickett. And yes, we have bear, coyotes, and mountain lions.” He took off his hat, brushed it against his jeans, and finger combed his hair.

She refused to be distracted even if he was damn near irresistible.

“Okay.” Looking for something to shoot at, she picked up two pine cones, one the size of her hand, the other about two inches long and narrow. Ignoring Sam, she paced, counted her strides, and placed the cones on top of a boulder. She looked back at him, “This about one hundred feet?”

He nodded and she retraced her steps.

You can do this, Casey. She repeated it like a mantra because it’d been over a year since she practiced with a rifle, and eleven months and sixteen days since she’d fired any weapon. A fact tattooed on her heart because it was the day her career ended.

She felt beads of perspiration forming on her forehead, her armpits were damp, and she figured without the shower she stank. Good, maybe then he’d leave her be. The tucking-her-hair-in bit had sent Casey’s libido into orbit. Breathe. Placing the rifle butt against her shoulder, she aimed, prayed, and fired.

The small cone disintegrated; tiny pieces flew up and away from the boulder. She heard and ignored Sam’s whistle. Re-aiming, she fired a second shot. The larger pine cone popped up and disappeared behind the big stone. Relieved, Casey turned and faced Sam.

“I’ll be damned.”

His smile was infectious, but she’d revealed a piece of her past. She risked her chance at a relationship with her cowboy, because for sure, if he knew why she’d landed in Briarwood, he’d be the one running. Bending, she picked up the empty shells and stopped a foot shy of Sam, still thinking her past was awful enough to scare him off. She guessed he was the kind of man who didn’t tolerate lies or secrets. “Here.” She shoved the rifle at him, which he took in one hand, and the empty shells in the other.

***

Watching Casey, Sam could tell she had something else to say, so he stood silent, waiting.

“I was in law enforcement. A detective.”

He let out a second whistle. Sure, he knew she had some kind of secret because she’d landed in Briarwood, homeless and tight-lipped. One of his guesses was she might be running from the law.

Wrong. She was the law. Or had been.

His other supposition had seemed the more likely, that she’d escaped a bad relationship. He turned away long enough to lean the rifle against the tree.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“You’re a hell of a shot?” He pocketed the empty shells, noticing her blush, like she was embarrassed. For what, being an ex-cop? “Admittedly, the revelation was a surprise. You want to talk about it?”

“Maybe.” She paused. “Except why would I? You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for days. Did I do something wrong?”

He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her close. What the heck was happening?

Casey Pickett was happening. She was tall, maybe five-eight, and wiry in a good way. Plus, she was pretty. He figured her for thirty-four, maybe thirty-five? Not so far from his forty-two that they wouldn’t work.

“For now, please believe I had my reasons.” She shrugged, offering nothing more. “So, did you quit?”

“Sort of.” She’d been staring at her boots. When she looked up, her eyes held sadness and were filled with a well of tears ready to spill. “I should have. Before I got fired.”

“What would warrant that?”

“Oh, nothing in particular. Unless you consider maiming a teenage kid, leaving him brain damaged.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself.

Sam watched as first one, then a flood of tears slid down her cheeks. He couldn’t take it anymore and pulled her against his chest. He could feel the rigid tension in her muscles, but she didn’t protest.

“He had a gun aimed at my partner. I saw it, so I fired, aiming for his shoulder—he spun around when he got hit and fell.” Casey took a breath, then let the air out slowly against his shirt. It felt right, having her in his arms. “He slammed his head on a curb.”

Sam rubbed her back gently, hoping she’d relax. Waiting, certain she had something more to say. “His parents sued, of course, excessive force, abuse of authority, misconduct, it was a long list; their son was perfect.” She hiccupped and he felt it against his chest. She raised her head. “I mean, let’s just forget the kid had robbed a liquor store. There were witnesses, the store had cameras, but they were important, and wealthy—so much rhetoric. ‘Not our child—blah, blah, blah.’” She snuffled. “Anyway, as a result of smashing his head into concrete, the kid was in a coma over a week. I don’t even know now if he’s completely recovered.”

Sam waited. It was obvious she blamed rich parents for some of her predicament. The thought of all the dollar signs in his portfolio drifted by. He needed to tell her the truth.

“No surprise. The city was facing a multimillion-dollar lawsuit, and I was named as a defendant.”

He studied her face. “Still, I don’t get why that would get you fired. It sounds like a clean shoot.”

Another big snuffle, and she pulled away. Like a child, she wiped her nose with a sleeve. “I—the boy’s injuries. I mean, I shot him, Sam.” Casey dropped her chin again. “I kind of fell apart. Then the family told the city’s attorneys if I was fired, they’d drop my name from the lawsuit.” She stilled for a moment, then added, “My attorney says I’ll eventually get my pension, but I couldn’t stay there. I was alone and miserable. I sold my condo—” another snuffle, “most of my stuff.” The color of her eyes intensified because of the tears, but he didn’t budge from his position. “When I said I was homeless, Sam, it was true.”

He wanted to console her, but when he stepped close again, she held up her hand to stop his approach. “We should go.”

Her shoulders squared as she walked to the horse. He was proud of her when she pulled the reins back over Tilly’s head, grabbed the stirrup, slipped her foot in, and used the saddle horn to hike herself up. He moved quickly then, and with the rifle sheathed, he secured the blanket and mounted up.

Casey was trotting down the trail back toward the ranch, bouncing up and down like an amateur. He wanted to make her laugh, but even when he caught up with her, she said nothing else all the way back to the barn.