Just Once (8 page)

One hand reaches automatically for the notepad in my back pocket even as the rest of me knows I’m not going to fill out a requisition form. I’m not ready for another battle with Shane, and I’m ninety percent certain he would have killed the first bat if I hadn’t gotten in the way. Not only do I not have time to protect this new bat—or maybe the same bat all over again—I’m still shaking off the vestiges of my dream hang over and don’t want him to sense my weakness.

Okay, no problem. I saw him get rid of the bat yesterday—I’ll do it myself. I’ll just…Well, first I’ll take all of my supplies back to the supply closet, and then I’ll come back to deal with this. That makes the most sense. I still have twenty minutes before lunch, plenty of time to handle the bat, inspect twelve cabins, and mop the sweat off my forehead.

I stack my cleaning basket on top of the wet linens and groan as I straighten. It’s already hot as hell out here, I’m a mess, and my overheated skins seems to be reactivating invisible traces of vanilla. I changed my shirt after breakfast, but I still smell like the victim of a bath shop explosion. I stagger into the supply closet and drop off my basket. Sweat is actually dripping off my brow onto the floor, and I swipe the back of my arm across my face. There are sweat stains beneath my armpits. I’m disgusting. I’m desperate for another dip in the pool, but there’s no time. Instead I settle for splashing water on my face, wiping away smeared mascara, and changing into my third shirt of the day.

I toss my dirty shirt into an empty washing machine and grab a rag to snatch up the bat. Except now that I feel the rag in my hand it seems pretty…flimsy. Surely there’s a better way—Aha! A cleaning bucket. I’ll just…No, this is definitely not going to work well in a corner. And then I spot it: a net! I have no idea what it’s used for, but it’s covered in cobwebs so I can’t imagine it’s an essential ranch tool. Well, that’s perfect. I’ve just wrapped my fingers around the handle when I hear—

“Collecting butterflies?”

Shane.

I turn to see him propped up in the doorway, the sun squeaking in past his broad form. Why is he so big?

“Just…No. Just looking.”

“Huh.” He nods but doesn’t move. I let go of the net as though it’s of no interest to me. My eyes dart to the clock. 11:46. I have to be back here by noon for lunch.

“Did you need something?” I ask.

He holds up a square of paper. “Broken mirror in cabin five. Fixed now.”

“That’s great.”

He nods again.

“Did you need anything else?”

I can tell he’s trying not to smile. He knows he’s holding me up, and he knows I want the net. I stare him down.

“No, Kate,” he says finally. “That’s everything.”

He leaves, and I count to ten before sticking my head out the door and looking around. He’s out of sight, probably gone back to sit in the barn and act important. But I don’t have time to dwell. I dart inside, snatch up the net, and sprint back to cabin eleven.

The bat’s still in its resting place. I manage to move the curtain without disturbing it, then stare at the net. I’m not sure how this will work, exactly, because there’s no way to actually seal it around the bat. I suppose the plan is to cover the bat as best I can, then hope it flies straight into the net. Then I’ll just…run it outside.

I follow my new plan, place the net over the bat, then wait. Nothing happens. The bat remains pleasantly unaware and asleep. I blow on it. Nothing. I tentatively knock on the wall above it. Nothing. “Hey,” I whisper. “Wake up.” No movement.

A sudden banging on the window from outside scares the crap out of both me and the bat, who shoots out from the window just as fast as I drop the net and duck down, terrified. “Ahh!” I scream.

The bat zigs and zags randomly, equally frightened.

“Oh shit!” I scoop up the net and chase after it. “Come here!” I bellow. “I’m going to help you!”

The bat bangs into a lamp before flying straight at my face. I screech and duck, holding the net over my head in the vain hope the bat might fly in. It doesn’t.

I flail wildly, eventually shooing the bat out of the bedroom and into the main room, where at least there’s a door it can escape through. I shut the doors to the bedrooms and bathroom so the still-scared bat has no alternative, then run to the front door and turn the handle. The handle turns, but the door doesn’t open. “What the fuck?” I mutter. These doors don’t even have locks, how can it—

A deep laugh on the other side has me seeing red.

“Shane?” I shriek. “Is that you? Open this door right now.”

The door swings open, and we narrowly miss another bloody nose as I dodge both the door and the bat, which is frantically trying to find its way out, but whose only egress is blocked by a lunatic with a net and an asshole with nothing better to do.

“Get out of the way!” I hiss at Shane, first pushing uselessly at his shoulder then giving up and pulling him inside by his forearm. Why he wouldn’t let me push him away but lets me pull him in is a question for another time.

The bat circles the room at an impressive speed, wings flapping. The door is wide open but it’s not going out, banging instead at the window.

“Stop it!” I snap, running to the window, net outstretched. “Come here! Get in the net!”

The bat zips away from me and straight at Shane, who calmly ducks. I spend another three minutes chasing the bat in circles before it finally finds its way to the exit. I slam the door in case it’s tempted to return, then lean against the wall, breathing hard, net dangling uselessly from my fingers.

When I remember, I look at Shane, who is sitting on the couch, red-faced from laughter. I hurl the net at him. It bounces on the cushion next to him, and he stops laughing.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” I demand furiously.

“Language, Kate.”

“Why did you do that?” I snap. “Why did you make a difficult situation even worse?”

“Why didn’t you fill out a requisition form?”

I stalk toward him but halt when he stands up and comes toward me, stopping when we’re a foot apart. I have to look up to see his face, which is no doubt why he stood.

“Because I didn’t want you to kill the bat.”

“I didn’t kill the one yesterday.”

“But you wanted to.”

“They’re rodents. They carry disease.”

“They—”

“The best way to free them is to open the door and let them find their own way out. I woke it up because blowing on it wasn’t going to do the trick.”

My jaw drops. “How long were you watching me?”

He looks like he’s ready to answer but stops, sniffing the air. “Are you wearing perfume?”

I take a step back. “I—No.”

He sniffs again, then steps closer. He pinches my collar between his fingers and lowers his nose to inhale. I have to hold my breath. I can feel the heat from his skin on my cheek, and I’ll never make it out alive if I breathe him in. Already my legs are weak, and there’s a telltale tingle between my thighs.

“What is it?” he asks, straightening slightly, but not letting go.

I resist the impulse to whimper and throw my arms around him. Instead I take a step away and answer with a steady voice. “Vanilla extract. From earlier.”

His mouth quirks. “You’re making me hungry.”

Oh God. Very vivid flashes of my dream stab my brain. I cannot think of Shane eating. I won’t be able to walk straight.

He taps his wrist. “Guess it’s lunchtime.”

And then, as if he’d planned it, the dinner bell sounds and he walks out.

Chapter Five

I’
M
A F
RAZZLED
M
ESS
when I arrive at the lodge for lunch. Thankfully the girls have already set up the dining room, and guests are being seated.

“What took you so long?” Hailey asks. “I thought you were going to look at the cabins.”

I recount the story of the linens in the bathtub, and she looks disgusted. “That’s the Tall Boys,” she tells me, and we peek into the dining room to study a table of five extremely large (both tall and wide) men. Their size gives no indication as to why they’d put bedding in the tub, but I suppose it’s nice to put a face to a minor act of vandalism.

“Has anyone checked on Lisa?” I ask, garnishing plates while Hailey fills a tray with drinks.

“I was up there a little while ago,” she replies. “She’ll be fine. She’s bruised, but as long as we keep telling her she’s pretty, I think she’ll recover emotionally.”

I can’t help but smile. “That’s good.”

“Do you really think her nose will be okay? That was a lot of blood.”

“She’ll be as good as new in a couple of weeks,” I say. I learned this the hard way approximately six months ago, but don’t elaborate.

“Sorry to break up the gabfest,” Alec interrupts, “but we’ve got food to go out.”

Hailey and I sigh in unison as we stare at the familiar stack of plates. “Why can’t they come in and eat?” she demands. “Why do we cater to them like they’re special?”

Alec shrugs but obviously couldn’t care less, since he has to make the food either way. “Beats the hell out of me,” he says. “It’s been like that since I got here.”

I sigh again and grunt as I pick up the stack. “I’ll be back.”

My shoulder throbs on the way to the barn, and I think I might have to insist on this being a two-person job in the future. If the road weren’t so uneven we could put this stuff in a wagon. If the barn were farther we could drive. As it stands, this is the least-bad option, though my shoulder would disagree.

It takes a second for my eyes to adjust when I enter the barn, but I immediately sense Shane. The weight bench is off to the right, and I can see two men standing on either side of it while one does bench presses. What does it say that I can locate the man merely by the sound of his grunting?

Brandon is the only one at the desks, and he helps me steady the stack as I set the plates down. “Thanks, Kate,” he says. He smiles, and I have to say, the man is pretty damn beautiful: clear blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jaw that makes the prettiness masculine. If he hadn’t blown off my friend, I might have smiled back, but instead I nod curtly. “You’re welcome.”

A low whistle comes from the corner. “You did it, Shane. You upset her.”

“What’s wrong, Bat Girl? Bad day?”

This is from the other two men whose names I have yet to learn. At this moment, I’m not sure I want to learn them. I turn on my heel and stride out, waiting until I’m away from the barn to stretch my shoulder. We’re definitely implementing a two-person delivery plan from now on, both for delivery and moral support.

“You pissed?”

I pause at the sound of Shane’s voice. After a second I turn around. He’s leaning against the side of the barn, next to the door, out of sight of his friends.

“No.” I start to turn back, but he speaks again.

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

I glance at him. “What do you care?”

“You’re spending the summer in the mountains. It’s only going to get worse if you don’t get it looked at.”

“What would you know?”

He shrugs. “I know.”

“Maybe I’ll see a doctor.”

“Come here.”

“Absolutely not.”

I hear him chuckle, and every instinct tells me to run, but even as I hear the dull thud of his work boots approach, I stand still. He stops when he’s next to me, close enough that I can hear his breathing.

“You mind?”

I look at him out the corner of my eye. “Mind what?”

He raises his hand, and it hovers above my shoulder for a split second, waiting for my refusal. When it’s not forthcoming he lifts his other hand, holds my shoulder in his fingers and probes gently, feeling around the base of my neck and down along my shoulder blade.

I stifle a groan. What he’s doing feels amazing, but I’ll never admit it.

“You’ve got a knot here,” he says, zeroing in on a spot that feels distinctly not-amazing.

I try to shift away but the hand on my shoulder tightens, holding me in place.

“You have to rub it out.”

I risk a look at his face, but he’s concentrated on his task, presumably watching his fingers rub a hole in my skin—that’s how hard they’re pressing. I arch my back to move away, but his grip is like iron.

“Take a deep breath,” he orders.

I realize I’m holding my breath so he doesn’t hear me whimper, and I quickly inhale.

He laughs softly. “Do you like it?” he asks.

“No,” I breathe.

“Because it hurts?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

“That’s stupid.”

He presses harder, and I cry out, wrenching away. This time he lets me go.

“I can’t do this now,” I gasp, one hand wrapped over my shoulder to press on the now-tender spot.

“You have to work it out,” he says, but doesn’t try to come closer.