Rebel Cowboy (29 page)

She’d wake up refreshed and ready to take on the next challenge. She sank onto the couch. It was old and squeaky. It smelled of age and dust.

Delia flopped back onto the hard springs of the couch, staring at the cobweb-laden ceiling and trying not to think about her sisters. She didn’t want to remember the bruises on Billie’s arms, or imagine what other bruises might have been hiding under her clothing.

One more. Only one.

Delia closed her eyes, breathed deep, and started counting backwards—the only way she ever shut her brain up enough to sleep. A harsh slam outside made her eyes fling open, her heart racing as fear clawed through her chest.

Oh God, the police had found her already. They’d somehow tracked her here and she was going to jail and Steph was screwed.

Calm. Down.
She took a breath in and slid off the couch, hurrying to the window with purposeful strides. Carefully she pulled the tattered curtains far enough away from the window to glimpse outside.

The window was obscured with grime, but it only took her a few seconds to realize it was Caleb. Relief whooshed through her, top to bottom, and she was suddenly shaky on her feet. Or was that the exhaustion and hunger? It hardly mattered.

The door swung open. Jeez, did the guy understand stealth at
all
? “I don’t know why you’re back, but I’m trying to take a—”

He dropped a hefty box onto the ground with a loud thump. Her limbs seized up, and she was unable to move, unable to look.

No. Please. Not kindness. Not now.

“Food. Flashlights. Blankets. Water.” He spat each word like a curse. “The pump in the back works if you really get it going, but I’m not sure it’s drinkable. What else do you need?”

The sob was so sudden, so overwhelming, she didn’t have a chance to fight it off. She could only clap her hands over her eyes and hope to hide the overflow of tears.

Caleb wished he had brought his gun this time. If he had it, he could use it to threaten her to stop crying. It was just food, for chrissakes. The woman
needed
food.

She hadn’t cried when her father had held a gun to her head when they’d been nineteen, but she was crying now. “You make zero sense, woman,” he muttered.

She didn’t make any crying noises. The teardrops simply slid from underneath the palms slapped over her eyes, some landing in little dark dots on the grimy gray shirt she wore underneath her jacket.

She took a deep, shuddery breath, slowly let it out, and even more slowly removed her hands from her eyes, wiping most of the tears as she went.

Underneath the fringe of hair, her red-rimmed eyes held his gaze. “I’m exhausted and hungry. Your act of gallantry took me off guard.”

“Gallantry?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

She didn’t waver. “You’ve always had it in you.”

Only for her. Just another one of the inexplicable ways she affected him. No one else, not even his own damn sister, had ever tugged at his conscience like Delia.

“What else do you
need
?” he repeated, hoping to hurry this along, assuage whatever damn conscious he had, and get the hell away from her. Then he could pretend this little corner of Shaw land didn’t exist until she was done hiding from whatever she was running away from.

“I imagine that’ll do.”

“Do” was not exactly comforting, but she was not his responsibility, no matter how many times he’d felt she was.

“The bathroom works. The water pressure sucks, but we got it going for… Well, anyway, it works and you’re the only one using it right now. So.” So. That was it. He’d gotten her some food, told her the pertinents, and now it was time to go, oh, anywhere but here.

Anywhere but here or to the living room, where a bottle of Jack stood completely unguarded except for a snoring, paralyzed father.

“Are you waiting for a thank-you?”

Caleb inhaled sharply. He wasn’t waiting at all. So why was he standing stupidly so many feet away from the door?

Delia ran a finger over the edge of her bangs, touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth and cocking a hip in one fluid, sensual movement.

It was purposeful, and he
knew
that. It did not change the fact every nerve ending jumped to life, a buzzing static that whispered
beautiful woman
to all the parts of him interested in such a thing.

“I’m sure I could muster one up, but I think I’ll grab a bite to eat first.” She sauntered toward the box, her eyes never leaving his, the practiced, self-satisfied smile that curved her pretty mouth full of promise and teasing.

She plucked a granola bar out of the box and unwrapped it. Slowly. Watching him through her hair as she brought it to her mouth and placed her lips around the tip.

It was all
designed
to make him think of sex. He saw it for what it was, for what she was trying to do—control the situation by any means necessary—but his mind was really no match for his dick. At least when it came to reaction. When it came to action, well, his brain was smart enough to keep his hands at his sides.

It helped that her hand shook a little as she took the bite. That everything about her, except that mouth, was too sharp. She needed food, and everything else crackling in the air was secondary to the fact that she was literally
starving
.

Clearly she was running from something, and, sweet Christ, Delia had a legion of things to run from. Things he couldn’t allow to touch the ranch right now. So, shelter, food, that was it. The end of what he owed her.

I saved your life.

You
ruined
it.

He wondered if she remembered that exchange, if she still felt that way, because the fury of the aftermath was seared on his brain the way all bad memories branded to it.
It’s in you. You ruined it.
All the times he had let people down because even his best wasn’t enough.

“Stay out of sight. The last thing I need is someone thinking I’ve got you shacked up out here.” He supposed if any of the Rogers sisters were shrinking violets, the town of Blue Valley might have rallied around them. It was not exactly a secret that Graham Rogers beat his wife and daughters, no secret they’d been poor or hungry.

The way he heard it, before he’d been quite old enough to understand, the town
had
tried to get Delia’s mom out, to give the Rogers help, and every door had been shut to them until all anyone could do was pretend the Rogers girls could take care of themselves.

“I keep forgetting. Caleb Shaw. Gone straight.”

Didn’t he wish? As it was, he was having lunch with Mel to “discuss the state of the ranch.” Translation: discuss his continued failure. But that was none of Delia’s business.

“Gone straight. Yes, I have. Don’t forget it. I won’t be sucked into whatever this is. You have what you need to keep you alive. Now, find a way to get back on your own two feet. And the hell away from here.”

She had the gall to laugh. All raspy and…sexy, damn it.

“Sweetheart, please don’t ever be under the impression that I’m here as anything other than a last resort. But, as you’re the one who started this whole mess, it seems very poetic.”

Ah, so she did remember the exchange.

“You have a week.”

“Oh, Caleb.” She said his name with such a weary condescension he didn’t need to force himself toward the door anymore. If he stayed he’d be tempted to argue, to snipe, and that would not be productive.

He might be a lousy son of a bitch, but he was no fool. He turned away from her, trying to adjust his fucking erection to a more comfortable position.
Hear that, you piece of shit? Forget any ideas you’ve got going on down there.

He went for the door, trying to ignore the fact she was already rummaging around in the box for something else to eat. Against all his better judgements, he dug his wallet out of his pocket and plucked the lone twenty from the crease.

He slapped it down on an old end table by the door, making the whole thing wobble precariously.

“I don’t want your money,” she said in a thready voice.

“Too fucking bad,” he replied, and with that, he flung himself out the door. Away from Delia. Away from memory lane. He’d done his duty, and now he’d wash his hands of her.

And if she wasn’t gone in a week, he’d damn well do something about it.

* * *

Delia ate her fill of the random conglomeration of food Caleb had brought her. She’d ration later, but this afternoon was all about getting as much food and sleep as possible. How much longer she’d have those things was uncertain.

One week. She could probably twist Caleb’s arm for longer, but the bottom line was she didn’t want to. Not when he did things like bring her food and money. Not when he all but sneered at her offered thanks.

She could pretend she had the upper hand all she wanted, but if Caleb got a whiff of what was going on, he’d be able to do whatever he wanted. Sure, she could threaten going to the police, but she couldn’t actually
do
it, even if the statute of limitations hadn’t long run out. Well, as long as he didn’t know that.

She rolled over on the uncomfortable, dank-smelling bed. This little room was even darker than the living room, but the bed was barely more tolerable than the couch.

When she awoke later, she had no idea how long she’d slept. Her cell phone had long been pawned for money and there was no possible way the unmoving clocks in this place were right. But it was nighttime and she was freezing.

She pulled one of the blankets Caleb had brought around her shoulders and shuffled into the living room. It was dark enough and the place unfamiliar enough that she had to slowly feel her way to the box, where Caleb had a battery-powered camping lantern.

Before she reached the box, however, she found herself drawn to the faint glow from the window. When she peered outside, she realized it was simply the brilliance of the moon and stars bouncing off that last layer of winter snow and ice. Everything sparkled and dazzled.

For the past decade she had tried not to dream of where she would go once all her sisters were safe. It was a dangerous thing to think about an escape that was so far off, but on the rare occasion she fell into fantasy, it was always somewhere warm and green and lush, far, far away from this crystallized wasteland of rolling grassland and mountains.

Yet it was breathtaking, and in the moment, she had the oddest thought that if she did finally escape Montana, she’d miss this. The vast sky, the bitter cold, the way you could feel perfectly still and alone. Like a star, brilliant and shining and important.

Talk about fantasy.

She shuffled to the door, shoved her feet into her boots, and then stepped outside. If she wanted to stay out of sight, she’d be cooped up in this cabin during daylight hours. So, she’d need to get her fresh air when she could.

The sky looked like a painting: swirls and dots of white against a velvety depth of black. The moon, big and round, hung in the sky, its light gilding snow silver and edging the outline of mountains in an unearthly glow.

She inhaled a frigid breath. The bracing cold seeped through all her threadbare layers, and she hoped spring would come early and fast. Being homeless and on the run was so much easier in the summer.

Oh, if Eddie had only held out a few months before throwing her under the bus, she could be camping out somewhere right now with only the rain as a threat to her well-being.

“Hello.”

Delia screeched. She couldn’t believe she’d been foolish enough to lower her guard. If this was the end, she fucking deserved it, idiot that she was for ever feeling comfortable.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the airy feminine voice said. It surprised Delia that the apology sounded sincere, considering they were in the pitch black at who knew what time of night.

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, in her neck, so deep and expansive was the surprise and the fear. Still, she did what she always did in the face of imminent threat. She breathed, she held still, and she willed her brain to calm and think.

A flame flickered to light. An honest-to-goodness old fashioned kerosene lamp began to glow, and with it, the owner of the disembodied voice became visible.

The girl from earlier.

Delia was slowly getting a hold of her body’s traitorous reaction. She certainly wasn’t intimidated by this
girl
. In fact, now that she knew the owner of the voice, she wasn’t scared at all. Her instinct was to be cruel and dismissive, but that wasn’t the smart choice. That was the instinct that always got her into trouble, and the instinct that idiotically thought Caleb was hers.

“No need to apologize. It’s all right. I guess I was lost in thought.” She tried to sound casual, friendly even.

“Summer.”

Delia puzzled over the word for a few moments before she realized the girl was offering her name.

“Dee,” she said in response, her tone only slightly cold. The girl might not pose much of a threat, but Delia didn’t feel it necessary to give her any ammunition. That was a motto that had kept her out of a few sketchy situations.

Too bad you didn’t give Eddie a fake name.

“Caleb told me to pretend you weren’t here, but…” Summer trailed off as if Delia should know what to do with that. She didn’t have a clue.

“Anyway, I live in that little caravan over behind that cluster of trees.” She gestured vaguely behind her, but in the dark Delia had no idea where she was pointing.

It did mean the girl lived on Shaw property. Delia tried to study her face, but the kerosene lamp didn’t give any hints to why she’d seemed familiar earlier. It certainly gave no hints as to who she was to Caleb.

Delia did not have the time to think about Caleb and what his relationship was to this girl. Her thoughts needed to be on how to get Steph out, followed immediately by getting herself out of this situation with the police. Caleb’s relationships were irrelevant in every single way.

“Maybe…you should listen to Caleb.” Her attempt at gentleness was even less successful than her attempt at friendly.

Summer sighed. “There’s always someone I
should
be listening to,” she muttered, a strange hint of bitterness to her tone. “Well, anyway,” she said, her voice ringing out falsely bright in the quiet evening, “if you need anything, I wanted to let you know you can ask. And I won’t ask any questions about…anything. I know what it’s like to be…” She paused for so long Delia wondered if she’d ever finish. “On your own,” she finally said.

Delia was momentarily stunned. An offer of help that was simply
I know what it’s like
. Maybe it was foolish on Delia’s part, but she almost wondered if this Summer girl was on the run from something as well.

Thankfully Delia had gotten enough rest that tears didn’t rush to the surface, but she did feel a little wobbly, a little warm in the wake of that. So, she offered her best guess at what would constitute a polite response.

“Thank you.”

She meant that thank-you far more than any words could ever do justice. She might have an ally, and while she wouldn’t trust that easily, it was nice to know she had a possible backup if things got particularly sticky.

“I’ll let you be then. But, really, my door is always open.” The little old-fashioned lamp she held flickered against her smiling face, and Delia would chalk up the fact it looked genuine to the warmth of the flame.

The girl was a stranger at best, yet…when Delia turned to go inside, she did it with a strange warmth in her chest. It almost fought off the cold.