Just Once (15 page)

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“You’re hiding.”

“We covered that. I thought we were adding to the list.”

Stanley sighs. “Do you want me to come down there?”

“You would do that?”

“Oh, you’d take me up on the offer?” He sounds worried.

I laugh. “No.”

We’re quiet for a moment, and when he speaks next the joking tone is gone.

“Seriously, Kate, I know I wasn’t there for you before, but if you’re really stuck, I’ll get on a plane, come to that ranch, and kick some cowboy ass for you.”

“That’s sweet, but unnecessary.”

“You’re not alone.”

“I know. We have fifty-plus guests demanding something different every minute.”

“You know what I mean. You’re not alone in the world. You’re my best friend, and I’d do anything for you.”

“Same here.”

“I know you would. And you have. But I haven’t, and I’m telling you that from now on, I would. I will. I’ll never turn off my phone again.”

“You were on your honeymoon! Stop beating yourself up.”

“I can’t.”

“You must. I’ll stop pitying myself, and you do the same.”

Stanley takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I love you. Call again soon.”

“I will.”

“And send me a picture of this guy.”

I laugh. “I’m not taking a picture of him!”

“Come on. The first guy in a million years to get under Katharine Burke’s skin…”

“He’s not under my skin.”

“You just talked about him for ten minutes straight.”

“About how much he hates me! And how much he loves the silent treatment.”

“So he knows how to commit.”

“You’re such an optimist.”

“Take a picture and get it to me.”

I laugh again. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Bye.”

I hang up, feeling a little better.

But that’s where things stand. Shane hasn’t said two words to me since our fight at the dance. I’m pretty sure the last time I got into a fight with a boy at a dance I was fifteen, and he spilled punch on me. How did my promises to be older and wiser transport me back in time?

The ranch hands still come in with the wranglers for breakfast, but on the days I open and take orders, Shane just eats from the buffet, refusing to so much as look at me. He and Brandon send Connor, one of the other ranch hands, in to pick up lunch and dinner and return the dishes, because, in addition to Shane not speaking to me, Brandon, who couldn’t get enough of Hailey at the dance, is now avoiding her like the plague.

Is it the heat? The isolation? Maybe it’s something in the water that’s making everyone act like hormonal teenagers. Speaking of which, I’ve had to rearrange the cabin cleaning schedule to ensure that Lisa and Pete are working on opposite sides of the ranch, otherwise they’d never get anything accomplished. I haven’t been able to find one without the other since they met, and while even jaded old me has to admit their puppy love is kind of sweet, it’s also disgusting. Particularly since the only guy to warrant a sex dream in the past five years now only looks at me when he thinks I don’t notice. Maybe I’m making it up, but I swear I feel Shane’s eyes on me when I haven’t realized he’s around. And when I turn to locate the source of the feeling, he’s somewhere near, focused intently on a task that doesn’t involve interacting with me.

So he’s pissed, I get it. But Cassidy hasn’t been back to the ranch since that fateful night, so if he’s getting laid, it’s not by her. And if it’s not her I’m not sure who it could be, because Hailey has her ear to the ground and reports faithfully on any comings and goings from his trailer, of which there have been none. According to ranch gossip, he never lets anyone in his trailer, ever. Even Cassidy. Hailey and I have become great friends and confidantes, but even with her I omit the fact that I’ve been in that trailer, in that bed, without my shirt. Some things I need to keep to myself.

The point is, my frustration—professional, emotional, sexual—hasn’t lessened since the night of that painful massage, and no matter how stubborn or stupid he’s being, I know Shane’s feeling the same way. He has to be. Right?

I exit the phone booth when I see Hailey, who has just finished her last cabin of the morning, and we walk to the laundry room together. With practice, our morning routine has become somewhat streamlined, and we’re back with a full half hour to spare before lunch is due to start. We peer out at the cabins, and watch as Pete slowly makes his way back with his basket. Shane is mad at me, but not so mad that he’s taken back Pete, which is a blessing since I’ve only had one response to my job posting, and it was from someone in Nigeria who promised to split seventeen million dollars with me if I wired him two grand.

The problem with hiring somebody now is both our remote location and the fact that most seasonal workers have already found jobs. Most people aren’t going to come all this way having already missed a month of work. It’s just not worth it. But I’m still trying. And in the meantime I’ve been helping Hank and Mary modernize the website, fancying up the writing to better sell the features of the ranch. They seem happy with it, though I’m still not sure what has prompted their sudden desire for change.

Outside, Lisa comes darting across the grass to join Pete, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. Her nose has healed, and with the exception of some faint yellow bruising on her cheeks, she’s as good as new. And Pete still doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. He drops his basket, and tiny bars of soap scatter everywhere. Lisa finally releases him and hurries back to her cabin to finish cleaning.

We watch Pete crouch down to collect his wares, and Hailey props her chin on her hand. “Why can’t I find love like that?” she moans. “What am I doing wrong?”

He straightens and resumes walking toward us, though he’s staring so hard over his shoulder at Lisa’s retreating form that he bangs right into a utility pole and falls down.

“Oh,” Hailey says. “I see. I set the bar too high.”

I laugh. “I’ll go set up the dining room.”

“I’ll start on the laundry and meet you in there.”

“Sounds good.”

I leave her and pour myself a glass of water in the kitchen before scooping up a tray of cutlery. I’m exactly halfway through the out door to the dining room when Shane passes through the in door. Our eyes lock, and he immediately looks away. I scowl but don’t stop, though it’s possible that I bang the tray of cutlery on the closest table with a little more force than necessary. Dessert spoons bounce out and clatter to the floor, and I squat to pick them up.

The out door swings open, and I recognize Shane’s heavy steps as he enters the dining room and stops. I immediately wish I were wearing different jeans. These are low cut, and I’m pretty sure I’m flashing my underwear. I snatch up the spoons and straighten, sticking them in my pocket so I don’t mix them with the clean ones. I wait for Shane to leave, but he doesn’t. Finally I turn around.

He’s staring at me.

I stare back, stone faced. Is this some new form of silent treatment? Instead of merely ignoring someone you purposely encounter them so you can force them to acknowledge that you hate them?

“The guys need Pete back this afternoon,” he says finally.

I want to ask why, but I refuse. “Okay.”

“Now, actually.”

“He should be in the supply room.”

“All right.”

He’s still not moving. The dining room is large and empty, but it feels the opposite—like the walls are closing in, pushing us closer and closer together. He’s six feet away, but I can feel the energy pulsing off of him in waves. I haven’t had that sex dream in a while, but I remember it well, and two weeks of the silent treatment have done nothing to diminish its effects. Nights now are long and lonely, and I haven’t returned to O’Malley’s for fear of bumping into Cassidy. It’s dull, but it’s better this way. It’s the right thing to do.

Speaking of the right thing to do, I owe Shane an apology. I put my own issues on him that night and insulted him, blamed him for things that are none of my business. There are plenty of things in my past I’m not proud of, and I wouldn’t welcome anyone else’s judgment, either.

“Shane, I know I—” I break off when I see his face contort. I don’t know how to explain it, exactly, but it looks like two dozen emotions cross his face at the same time. He looks like he knows what I’m going to say, like he wants to hear it, like I’m forgiven, like he hates me, like he’s sad, like he’s turned on. But finally he just takes a deep breath, those dark eyes heated and cold at the same time, and backs through the door, leaving without a word.

I sigh and start setting tables. Stanley is definitely not getting a picture.

“Would you calm down?” Hailey says, more than a little irritated. “He’ll be back by dinner.”

“I know,” Lisa whimpers. “But what will I do until then?”

She’s bemoaning Pete’s absence, the way she did all through today’s lunch service. Apparently the ranch hands have to repair a section of fence—a fact that has Hailey singing “Desperado” on repeat—at the edge of the property, and they need four sets of hands. As the general manager of everything around here, Shane has to stay close. The wranglers will be out with guests, and there won’t be many other staff members on hand on the off chance that something requires urgent attention.

“Come to town with me,” Hailey suggests.

Lisa perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I need a break from this place. You in?” she asks me.

“I wish. I have to re-post the job ad and write up a few more things for Hank and Mary.”

“You sure? We could all use a break.”

“I couldn’t,” Lisa sighs.

Hailey rolls her eyes. “Trust me,” she tells her. “You could.”

“Get a head start,” I tell them. “I’ll finish up in here.”

“You sure?” Hailey asks again.

“Positive. You’ll need all the time you can get if you’re going to be back by dinner.”

“We will. Promise. Let’s go, Lisa.”

“Bye, Kate!”

I wave them off. Lunch went fine, the dining room is clear, all that’s left to do is feed a few more trays of dishes through the sterilizer and wipe down the counters. Alec left a while ago, and Mark has the afternoon off, so I’m all alone. Without its usual hustle and bustle, the kitchen is a warm, quiet space—all smooth metal counters and white subway-tiled walls.

Ten minutes later the final load is in the sanitizer and I’m emptying out the clean trays. I saw Hailey and Lisa drive off, and there can’t be more than five or six people left on the ranch. It’s impossibly hot out and this is the perfect opportunity to spend some quality time by the pool. I’ve gone swimming twice since the night of the dance: once I was completely alone, and the second time I surfaced just in time to see Shane going down the stairs. He must have been in the hot tub shack and waited until I was underwater to leave. The man knows how to hold a grudge. And I get it—I was petty and stupid and insulting, and I’m sorry for it. But it’s not easy to say those things to someone who’s going so out of his way to make his point.

I’m rounding the prep counter with a colander in one hand and a sauce pot in the other when I slip. My arms cartwheel, and both the colander and the pot go flying, clattering across the floor. I manage to catch myself before I fall too hard, grunting as I land in an enormous puddle of water.

“What the fuck?” I mutter. Almost instantly my jeans are soaked from ass to ankle, and I pull myself up cautiously, looking for the source. The entire floor is wet, I realize. I hadn’t noticed while I was doing the dishes, because we stand on raised rubber mats, but the kitchen floor is covered in a fine sheen of water.

I check the sink, but it’s off, and the sanitizer, which is working overtime but most definitely not leaking. I pick my way over to the fridge, which is surrounded by water but is not the problem, and finally spot the source of the leak: the ice machine. And
leak
isn’t the right word. A pipe must have burst, because a steady stream of water is spraying out from the wall behind it.

“Oh shit!” I exclaim, slipping again. I kick off my socks and sneakers, hoping it will improve my traction, and make my way over, not entirely sure what to do. The room is full of water, and there a ton of appliances plugged in, the ice maker among them. There’s no way I’m touching that thing without turning off the power, and damn if I know where the fuse box is. Or what I’d do with it if I found it.