Just Once (7 page)

“I danced with Brandon last night,” she says under her breath. “Two songs. Slow songs.” She raises her brows meaningfully. “And then a little something else.”

“I had no idea you two had a thing.”

“Me either,” Hailey concedes, “but I’m not complaining.” She scoops up the plates, sags briefly under their weight, then steps carefully to the back door and beyond. I watch her go, semi-pleased that at least someone is happy.

“More?” Alec half-shouts as Lisa hangs up another order card. “How many fucking people are out there?”

Hmm. If low-key Alec is tense, maybe I’m not the only one having the good kind of bad dreams.

Lisa does not recognize his question as rhetorical and goes to the door to count. Unfortunately she stands in front of the in door, which promptly swings open and cracks her in the face, knocking her down and making her nose bleed.

“Shit!” she cries. “My face!”

Becca, the offending door opener, looks horrified and drops to the floor beside her friend. “Lisa!” she squeals. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! It was an accident, I swear! I’m sorry!”

“My face!” Lisa moans. “Oh no…”

I want to kick them both, but I take a calming—okay, it’s not calming at all—breath. “Take her to the bathroom, Becca. Check out the”—I lower my voice—“
damage
, and report back.”

Becca nods and helps Lisa out through the laundry room and into the cramped staff bathroom. Even over the kitchen noise I can hear her devastated sobs. Part of me feels bad for her, even if she is stupid.

“Janie,” I say sharply, breaking her out of her stupor. She’s been standing in the same position for the last three minutes, not washing a single dish.

She finally looks at me. I take another breath.

“Take off the apron and go out and take orders,” I tell her. “Now.”

It’s a full ten seconds before she starts to move. When she’s finally in the dining room I turn to Alec. “What’s happening?” I plead. “What’s going on today?”

He shakes his head, mouth tight. “I’ve got fifteen fucking orders of French toast,” he says. “It’s going to be one of those days.”

I sigh again and peek into the dining room. Janie’s come out of her trance and is smiling, moving around semi-efficiently. I’m loath to go out there with my wet hair and simmering rage, so I’m relieved that she seems to have it under control.

“Kate?” Alec says. I get the impression it’s not the first time he’s said it.

“Sorry,” I say. “What?”

“Do you mind making some more batter for the French toast? The recipe’s right there.” He nods to the counter where a handwritten card awaits. Mark gets two mornings off a week, and this is one. It’s all Alec today. I look at the griddle: it’s full of about thirty eggs and ten pieces of French toast. He’s clearly got his hands full.

“Of course,” I say, glancing anxiously out the window. What the hell is taking Hailey so long? Just then I hear what may or may not be banging coming from out back near the garbage cans.

Alec hears it too, and we exchange a look. “Raccoons?” he guesses.

Oh God. I remember the summer we found a bear out there rummaging around. Despite the precautions the ranch takes to discourage wild animals from coming too close, it still happens. I snatch up a heavy frying pan and creep out back to scare away the culprit.

“Hailey!” I’m standing on the steps with the pan raised over my head, watching my only good staffer kick the crap out of a garbage can. “What the hell?”

“He didn’t even look at me!” she fumes.
Kick, kick, kick.
The can is permanently dented. And so is her cowboy boot, from the looks of it. “He got to second base seven hours ago, and now he can’t make eye contact? Or say thanks for breakfast?”
Kick.
“I lugged eighty billion pounds of food half a mile, and he can’t spare me a glance?”
Kick.
“Fucker!”

“You’re right,” I say—though for the record, it’s not that far. I lower the frying pan as I step closer and rub her back. “He’s a fucker. But right now we really need you in the dining room. I think Lisa broke her nose.”

Hailey stares at me. “No way.”

“Way.”

“Was there blood?”

“Lots.”

She books it inside.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shane asks, appearing from nowhere. I nearly jump out of my skin.

“What are you talking about?”

He looks from my face to the frying pan to the dented, listing garbage can. “I came to see what the banging was and find you taking out your rage in an unhealthy way.”

I can’t talk to him right now. I’m suffering my own kind of hang over—dream hang over—and all I can see is the top of his head disappearing between my legs. I blush furiously and avoid his eyes.

“It wasn’t me,” I mumble, returning to the building.

“Who broke their nose?” he calls.

I point over my head in the general direction of the lodge and hear him curse and follow.

“French toast!” Alec cries when I return.

“On it,” I answer, snatching up the recipe and a mixing bowl on my way to the pantry.

“Nose?” Shane asks, stopping me with a hand on my elbow.

“Bathroom.”

He nods and disappears in search of our victim.

I scramble around in the pantry for ingredients, hastily dumping them into the bowl. I don’t cook often, but I know how to follow a recipe, and—with the exception of spilling half a bottle of vanilla extract down my shirt—things come together. I’m soon delivering a gallon of frothy French toast batter to a harried Alec.

“Thank you,” he mutters, dropping in half a dozen slices of bread.

“No problem.”

Hailey comes in with a stack of dirty plates. “How’s everything out there?” I ask.

“Under control,” she answers, nodding to show she means it.

“Okay.”

I grab a paper towel and pat down my sickly-sweet-smelling chest, then cross through the laundry room to check on Lisa. I find her sitting on the toilet with Shane crouched in front of her, open first aid kit at his side.

“What’s the verdict?” I ask.

“Not broken,” he says. “And not bent, either,” he adds, when Lisa opens her mouth to ask.

“You’ll still be pretty,” I assure her.

“I will?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tears slip down her cheeks. “Good.”

Becca’s still standing there, wringing her hands. “Go help in the dining room,” I tell her. “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Was too,” Lisa mumbles.

“Go,” I tell Becca before she can start crying again.

Shane finishes patting down the strips of white tape holding gauze to Lisa’s nose and looks at me.

“Can I do anything?” I ask.

“Nope. But you’ll be down a cabin girl for the morning. Get some rest,” he tells Lisa. She rises unsteadily and weaves her way out the side entrance in the general direction of the staircase to the bunkhouse.

“Jesus,” I say. “What a morning.”

Shane packs up the first aid kit and rises. I step aside to let him pass, but he doesn’t move. “Why?” he asks. “What else happened?”

I watch his lips move. See a flash of pink tongue.
What is wrong with me?
I shake my head. I don’t want to get into it.

His eyes lower to my breasts, and I scowl indignantly before realizing he’s staring at the brown vanilla stain on my white shirt. He lifts his gaze and smiles, knowing exactly what I thought. He steps close, too close, as he passes, dipping his head to speak into my ear. “Be careful out there,” he says softly, and the feel of his hot breath on my neck undoes all my cold shower’s hard work.

“Okay,” I say to the three remaining girls an hour later. We’re standing in the supply closet, each with a basket of cleaning supplies and fresh towels. “Lisa’s out for the rest of the day, so I’ll be helping with cabins.”

The ranch is filled to capacity all summer, which means there are fifteen occupied cabins to get through in just under three hours. “I’ve been noticing some…oversights in the cabin cleaning, so I dug out the old checklist we used to use when I first worked here.” I catch Becca and Janie sharing a look that clearly says
a million years ago
, but I ignore them. “I want you to use it when cleaning your cabins. When you’re done, come find me and I’ll inspect your work. Anything that’s not up to par will be done again—and again, if necessary—until it is. Understand?”

“What about lunch?” Janie asks, a whiny note in her voice.

“What about it?”

“If we have to do all this, how will we have time to prepare for lunch?” She waves the half-page checklist as though it’s a giant dictionary. “It’s too much!”

“You haven’t even tried it yet.”

“But—”

“And it’s pretty basic stuff. Make the beds, replace the towels.”

“We’ve been doing that.”

“On occasion. Let’s start doing it all the time.”

“But—”

“We’re wasting time. Head out.”

Becca and Janie offer a split-second evil glare of mutiny before whirling on their heels and storming off. Hailey lingers.

“Sorry about this morning,” she says, looking guilty. “I shouldn’t have let that other stuff carry over.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I understand.”

We’re cleaning the farthest cabins, so we walk out together. “So what did happen last night? I thought the ranch hands never went to the bar?” I try to hide my personal interest in the question.

“They don’t,” she says. “But last night they showed up about an hour after we’d gotten there. They mostly kept to themselves, but I bumped into Brandon when he was at the bar and one thing led to another…Well, to two dances and a bit of groping.”

I think about seeing Shane at the pool. He must have gone to the bar right after our encounter. Did he leave when he realized I’d stayed behind? What on earth for?
Dammit, why didn’t I go to the bar?

“Then I guess he went back home and immediately forgot about me,” Hailey adds. “Because when I brought in the food this morning he didn’t even look up. Didn’t say a word.”

“They’re not much for talking,” I agree. “Just eating.”

She laughs. “Yep.”

We part ways, and I climb the wooden steps to the now-familiar cabin nine. The family staying here isn’t particularly messy, so cleanup doesn’t take too long. I even double-check that I’ve completed all the chores on the list, just in case one of the girls decides to verify my work. Before leaving I give the window in the master bedroom a second look, but it’s free of bats and other rodents, and twenty minutes later I’m entering cabin ten, which is a disaster. For some reason none of the bedding is on the beds. Or the floor. Upon searching I find it in the bathtub, which is full of water. I don’t know if I’m more confused or disgusted. It looks like they emptied the entire bottle of complimentary shampoo into the water as well. Did they think they had to do their own laundry?

I sigh and jog back to the supply room to get a hamper, fill it with brand new bedding, then jog back to the cabin. I shimmy into some new rubber gloves, grimace as I collect the sodden linens, then dump them on the porch and resume cleaning the cabin, which, thanks to my damn checklist, takes forever.
Wipe down windowsills.
Seriously? Like these guys are checking for dust.

An hour later cabin ten is clean, and my face is shiny with sweat. I trudge over to my final cabin with my basket of cleaning supplies, then return to drag the basket of wet bedding behind me. Thankfully cabin eleven is in decent shape and after a quick wipe down and swapping out the towels, I’m done. At least I think I am. Just as I reach the door I hear a faint whoosh, then the telltale flapping of wings. I whirl around just in time to see a tiny dark flash zip into the bedroom.

Nooooooo.
It can’t be.

I tiptoe to the bedroom door—this time the children’s room—and peek inside. Nothing moves. Except—is the curtain swaying just a little bit? I creep over to the window, press my head to the wall, and look behind the curtain. Sure enough, a small dark shadow is pressed into the corner.
Whyyyy?