Wrangled and Tangled (13 page)

He’d hung out with the introverted, oddly compelling woman all weekend. And every weekend after that. He and Janie were inseparable, as inseparable as a couple could be, with him living in Muddy Gap and her living in Casper. The more he got to know her, the more he adored her. He wanted to spend his life taking care of her. He was so happy he’d found a woman who understood his ties to the ranch and his family. A woman who wanted the same things he did.

Or so he thought.

He proposed to her within two weeks of that first meeting. But Janie held him off for four months before agreeing to become his wife. She moved to the ranch, but continued to drive to the college campus to work on her degree. The first year they were happy. But as months went on, so did Abe’s frustration with Janie’s disillusionment about the life she’d signed on for with him. Why wasn’t being married to him and living the same type of life his parents had enough for her?

Eventually, the no-win argument culminated in her leaving him.

In the aftermath, Abe wondered if he’d mistaken her shyness for malleability. There was little resemblance in the Janie of old, to the new Janie. Now she was sophisticated, with her chic short haircut and trendy wardrobe. She exuded confidence in all social situations, using her charm and deeply dimpled smile to enchant both men and women.

Still, Janie’s departure from his life had prompted his enrollment in college. He’d never felt smart enough for her. But after his first year of classes, earning a degree became something Abe wanted to do for himself, if for no other reason than to prove he could.

He had the chance to confess about his secret academic life when Hank busted Celia for keeping her barrel-racing career a secret. But he hadn’t come clean. It’d become a point of pride that if he failed, no one would know but him.

Abe logged into his student account, mentally preparing himself for a two-hour lecture on the “Analysis of Sustainable Agriculture in the Global Marketplace.” He plugged in his headphones, grabbed a pencil and settled down to work. Thoughts of seducing his ex-wife were lost in ag projections and corporate farming practices.

Abe was not acting at all like the Abe that Janie remembered.

He wasn’t hovering and fussing over her.

He definitely wasn’t coddling and soothing her.

He’d cooked comfort food for her.

Then he’d left her to her own devices. For three hours.

Last night when he’d emerged from his office, he’d double-checked the locks, sweetly kissed her on the forehead and retired to his room.

Janie expected things to be different tonight. She’d spent all day by herself while he was doing mysterious, never-ending ranch stuff. So after he returned from finishing chores, she intended to complain about her aches and pains, expecting he’d offer to rub her neck. Or massage her back. Or put his face between her thighs and use that wickedly talented mouth to make her come.

But he’d not done any of that. He’d cooked, cleaned up, and vanished into his office again. Which indicated the man had no plans to seduce her tonight.

So proposition him.

Right. She already felt crappy, and if Abe turned her down . . . she’d be even more mortified. She shuffled to the bathroom and popped two ibuprofen. While scrubbing her teeth, she scrutinized her appearance in the mirror. Pasty white skin, black circles beneath her eyes . . . terrific zombie imitation. No wonder Abe hadn’t sweet-talked his way into her panties.

Janie stopped in the hallway outside of Abe’s room, debating on whether to bother him. The door opened so fast she almost believed he’d been waiting for her.

“Is everything all right?”

Holy hell, no, everything was
not
all right, she was about to have heart failure. The man wasn’t wearing a shirt. And check out those exquisitely formed pectorals—firm, chiseled bands of muscle. Her eyes followed the sexy line of dark hair bisecting his well-defined chest, down past his ribcage to abs of steel. Talk about a lip-smacking six-pack. As her gaze drifted farther south to the waistband of his camo boxers, Abe cleared his throat.

Guiltily, she met his eyes. “Sorry. It’s just a shock to see you.”

“Really? Because
you
knocked on my bedroom door.”

“I did?” She stared at her knuckles as if they had a mind of their own because she didn’t remember knocking. “Umm . . . I didn’t mean it was a shock to see you as much as I meant it is a shock to see you half-naked.”

“I’m getting ready for bed. Something you need?”

Dammit. Conjuring a plausible excuse on the fly wasn’t her strong suit. “Ah, I just wondered”—
when you got into such fantastic shape
—“what time you were getting up?”

“Around five. Same as I always do. Why? You want me to get you up?”

“No. In fact, I might sleep with a gun under my pillow in case you decide to try.” Abe’s tendency to adhere to a rigid schedule, especially so freakin’ early in the morning, had been a major annoyance during their marriage. He’d always wanted her to tag along when he did his first round of feeding, which never made sense to her because she wasn’t much help, but he’d always nagged the point. “I wondered if you were taking me to the Split Rock, or if I could borrow a vehicle. I need to be there around eight.”

“I’ll take you. I oughta have the first round of feedin’ done by then.”

“Well, thanks. Good night.”

“Night, Janie. Sweet dreams.”

They’d be a lot sweeter if you curled your banging body around mine.

“You sure you’re all right?”

Janie caught the mirth in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I’m fine.”

Put your eyeballs back in your head. Turn around. Go to bed.

And somehow, Janie did just that.

Chapter Twelve

N
o surprise things had come to a head with Renner. Not because Tierney had been pestering him with endless questions. His fury had come from jealousy and disbelief that employees had been approaching
her
with operation questions—not him—while Janie was recuperating.

So maybe she had acted a little smug. But that hadn’t given him the right to insult her.

Maybe you should’ve thrown another drink in his face to cool him down.

No. He definitely wouldn’t have stood for that. Renner was deceptively laid back, but underneath his calm façade was a man coiled tight, ready to spring. They’d circled each other, boxers in the ring, words carelessly flying like fists. And when his final punch had hit too close to home . . . she hadn’t fought back. She ran.

Unfortunately, there weren’t a lot of places to run to in Muddy Gap. She’d cruised past the churches and the lone restaurant, tempted to pray for patience or comfort herself with chocolate cake. On a whim, she’d decided to stop at the local hair salon.

The entire clientele of Bernice’s Beauty Barn stopped talking when Tierney walked in. Four ladies in various stages of beauty treatments loitered in a waiting area straight out of a 1950s beauty shop. Tierney glanced at the salon chair, where a robust woman snipped tiny gray tufts from her client’s head.

Immediately the redheaded hairdresser boomed, “Don’t look so darn scared. I ain’t started cutting your hair yet. That’s when you’re entitled to get the deer in the headlights look.”

Everyone laughed. One woman piped up, “You’re so ornery, Bernice.”

Tierney’s gaze flicked to the lounging ladies and then back to Bernice, wielding the scissors. “It appears you’re booked today. I’ll come back another time—”

“Nonsense,” Bernice said. “Have a seat. I’ll squeeze you in between Garnet and Pearl. You want a haircut? Or something more?”

“Just a . . . trim, but I wouldn’t want to impose and take someone else’s spot.”

“Oh, pooh.” The lady with rollers in her hair scooted over and patted the empty spot next to her. “There’s plenty of room. I’m Pearl Tschetter.”

“Tierney Pratt.”

“I don’t mind if you go ahead of me. I’d probably sit here and gab for a couple of hours anyway, after Bernice fixes me up proper. This is the only time of the week I get to gossip.”

Two of Pearl’s cohorts snorted. One rolled her eyes.

Tierney perched on the edge of the Danish modern sofa, set her handbag next to her left thigh before she folded her hands in her lap.

Still actin’ so prim and proper. You need to loosen up.

Shut up. Your voice has no business in my head, Renner Jackson.

“So, are you the big cheese up at the Split Rock?” came from across the coffee table. Hard not to ogle the woman whose orange hair clashed with the sleek silver jumpsuit from the disco era. The high-topped tie-dyed sneakers were an unusual touch, as was the rainbow-striped scarf she’d jauntily looped around her neck. The woman was eighty, if she was a day.

Before Tierney could respond, a grandmotherly type whapped the disco escapee on the knee with a steno pad. “Garnet Evans, behave.” She offered Tierney a sweet smile. “I’m Maybelle Linberg, reporter for the
Muddy Gap Gazette
, and I’m so very pleased to officially meet you.”

“Me too,” the woman getting a haircut piped up. “I’m Tilda O’Toole. We’re all friends of Harper’s.”

Garnet leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “I notice you didn’t answer my question. Who’s in charge up there?”

Good question. “I work for the financial management company that invested money in the resort.”

The youngest of the group, a distinction Tierney made because the woman in question wore a short denim miniskirt, said, “So you
are
the big boss,” as she continued to flip through a fashion magazine.

“One would be hard-pressed to boss Renner Jackson around in any capacity.” Tierney almost clapped her hand over her mouth. What on earth had possessed her to blurt that out to total strangers?

“I wouldn’t mind being pressed hard against Renner Jackson,” Garnet said with a soft
rowr
. “He’s a sexy hunk of real man. Have you seen him in chaps?”

“Garnet, are you tryin’ to make Tierney run outta here on her very first visit?” Bernice tossed over her shoulder.

“What? The girl’s got eyes, don’t she? Surely she’s let them wander over that hunkalicious bod a time or two?”

You have no idea how many times I’ve eyeballed that man’s ass. And his abs. And his chest. And his arms.

A gasp. A throaty laugh. Then silence.

Tierney glanced at Garnet’s self-satisfied expression. “What?”

“Bet you didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Her face flamed and she stuttered, “N-no. I didn’t.”

“Don’t make it less true,” Pearl said.

“I can believe that man don’t like to be bossed around. But I bet he does plenty of bossing in the boudoir.”

“Oh, don’t be too sure, some of those macho men prefer a woman with a firm hand and a soft whip. Or so I’ve read,” Maybelle said.

Pearl and Garnet laughed.

The miniskirt woman lifted her head and crossed her long legs. Tierney reassessed her earlier age assumption. With spiky auburn hair, vivid green eyes, killer bone structure and flawless makeup, the woman could’ve passed for fifty, but the truth was, she was probably closer to seventy. She held her hand out to Tierney and smiled. “I’m Vivien Edwards.”

“Vivien’s got a date tomorrow night,” Tilda announced.

“It’s just coffee,” Vivien demurred.

Garnet patted Vivien’s knee. “It’s a start, sweetie.”

“I know. It’s just . . . I haven’t done this for so many years.” She sipped from a can of V8 juice and looked at Tierney. “What the gossip girls here haven’t said, is I’ve been widowed for five years. I spent the first three years traveling to the exotic places all over the world Bill and I never did. The next year and a half I bounced between our kids’ houses until I drove them and my grandbabies insane. I decided I was ready to come home to Muddy Gap last month.”

“And she’s already got a date! Can you believe it?”