No Strings Attached (Last Hope Ranch Book 1) (12 page)

He glanced away as if in thought, then met her gaze. “Does that apply to you, as well?”

“Of course.” She grabbed her hoodie and slipped it over her chilled arms. “Also, just so you’re aware, I plan to bid on you at the auction.”

He frowned. “I figured I would drop the auction. Come up with some reason.”

“No, we can’t do that. It’d send up a red flag.”

“And you don’t need any more rumors.” He blew out a sigh and pulled his knit cap down over his ears. “Okay, you let me know when you have the papers ready.” He looked at her and she could see the heat smoldering in those dark orbs. “Get some sleep.” And with that he was gone.

Sally stared at the door and folded her arms over her still-tingling breasts. She had to remember that this had to do with an agreement and nothing more. No secondary emotions of possessiveness, wanting to cuddle, having breakfast and laughing over the Sunday comics. She was hiring him to perform a task—do a job. Her heart raced in anticipation of their next meeting and what skills she had yet to experience.
Sleep?
“Not likely,” she muttered to herself.

***

Clay hadn’t heard from Sally. It’d been over a week since the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep, his mind unable to forget the sexy fantasy they’d shared. Maybe she’d changed her mind. It’d probably be in her best interest if she did. God, he hoped she hadn’t.

It was three days until the auction. He had to admit he was more than a little nervous. They agreed to be monogamous and there was little required of the bachelors other than to escort the winner to the dance and the remainder of the evening. They’d never really finalized the idea that she’d bid on him. He could very well wind up with one of the nursing home blue hairs. That thought led back to Betty’s call earlier in the day. She’d called to give him an update. “I wanted to thank you and the girls for taking care of things the other night. They’ve released Jerry to the nursing home up here in town and then he’ll have some home health care therapy after he comes home. He’s going to be okay I think, but it will be awhile before he’s able to work at the café.”

“Yeah, Betty, about that,” Clay started. “Listen, things are slow around here right now and if Rein can schedule his remodel around it, I thought I’d offer to step in as your cook. Just until you find a better replacement. I’m pretty decent around the kitchen.”

“Clay Saunders, you are a God-send. An angel sent to this earth.”

“Uh, Betty, I’m not Wolfgang Puck, but I can do comfort food.” Clay was warmed just the same by the woman’s appreciation.

“You’ve no idea how much pressure it takes off me right now. I haven’t had the chance to talk with Jerry about the future. I was waiting to see how well he responds to his therapy.”

“And that’s exactly where his focus needs to be right now, Betty. Trust me on this. I’m more than happy to help. When do you need me?”

“Tomorrow, six a.m.?”

He wasn’t at all surprised she’d be anxious to get the café back open after being closed for almost a week. “Let me work out my schedule, Betty. But I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Clay. Angelique has also offered also to come in and help with prep work.”

He heard a sniff on the other end of the line. “Don’t worry, Betty. It’ll all work out. You tell Jerry to take care and don’t give the nurses grief.”

“I will. Thank you, Clay,” she replied. “A wonderful God-send,” she said quietly.

Hours later, he leaned back on his couch, tossed his game controller aside, and took a sip of a homemade brew that Dalton had been testing. His cell phone rang, and he had to shift aside a pile of newspapers and mail to find it. It was his sis, Julie, calling from California. He glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. Ten-thirty, which made it around nine-thirty her time. He’d just signed off with his nephews not more than an hour ago. “Hey, Jules, everything okay?” It wasn’t like her to call at random in the middle of the week like this. Her calls, rare at that, were generally Sunday afternoons.

“Hi, Clay, did I catch you at a bad time?”

Clay noted the weariness in her voice. “Just got done playing a game with the boys. They’re getting too damn good, you know. Probably ought to watch who they play with online.”

She chuckled, though it wasn’t with her usual heart. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” There was a brief silence. “Actually, it’s about the boys that I called.”

“They giving you a hard time? Really, Jules, if playing games is causing problems with their homework or other friends then—”

“It’s not them, Clay. Or you.”

He released a quiet sigh of relief. It had been when he’d visited over Christmas that he learned of the boy’s interest—as most their age—in gaming. Clay had gotten the latest system shortly after he moved into the cabin at the Last Hope ranch. It’d served as an escape at the time, from the realities he’d seen. Every shot he fired on the animated screen was another of the bastards that had killed his friends and left him alone to carry the memory.

“I called because the boys have a spring break coming up soon, and I thought maybe they could come visit you, if you didn’t mind,” Julie asked.

“I’d love that, Jules. You know, there are more than enough empty cabins here right now. You could all come out. Get Louis on a horse. I’d love to see that.” Clay grinned, but his gut told him something wasn’t right.

“Yeah, well. You know Louis. He wouldn’t dare want to scuff up his Gucci’s.”

Clay smiled, choosing not to respond with what he thought about his brother-in-law’s lack of interest in anything but himself. “When is break?” he asked.

She sighed. It was uncharacteristic of her. She’d always been a take-charge kind of woman. A really good mom, as it turned out. Once Clay was able to see past his own issues. “Jules, what’s going on? That’s like the third time you’ve sighed since we’ve been talking. Are you feeling okay?” He sat upright, leaning his elbows on his knees as he listened.

Her heard her swallow. “I’m fine. Things are…fine. I just think Louis and I could use some time alone. Maybe go somewhere—the beach. He used to love the beach,” she said as though an afterthought.

Clay had noticed her husband’s absence even over the holiday season. He’d hoped that it had been end-of-the-year deadlines. He was beginning to sense there was more to this story. “Well, listen, if the boys want to come out, I’d love to have them here. They can stay here in the cabin. It’s got a second room. They can help me out around the ranch. Maybe learn to ride.”

“That sounds amazing, Clay, thank you.”

“You’re welcome to visit, too, Jules, anytime,” Clay added. “I have a feeling you’d love this place. Kind of reminds me of Texas. End of the Line, the little town up the road from here, is pretty low-key, much the same as Piedmont was. You remember?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Riding our bikes down to the creek on a summer day. Gosh, spending the whole day just roaming around the countryside. Mr. Neely at the gas station used to give us a bottle of cola for a nickel.” She sighed. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Here we’ve got Betty at the Sunrise Café. The woman makes a homemade cinnamon roll the size of a dinner plate, I swear to you.”

“The boys won’t want to come home,” she said quietly.

Clay waited for her to explain the odd tone in her voice. Instead, she moved on, her voice brightening a little.

“I’ll call you when I have their plane reservations. You can pick them up in Billings?”

“Not a problem.”

“Great, thank you, little brother. I appreciate this.”

“Happy to have them. Just pack plenty of jeans and sweatshirts—toss in their hats and gloves. Do they own a winter coat?” he asked.

“Yes, they have a winter coat. They’ve been on a ski trip with their soccer club before.”

Clay raised a brow. His nephews led far different lives than when he was a kid. “Good deal. Call me when you have things ready.”

“Thanks, Clay, I’ll tell the boys in the morning. They’re going to be crazy happy.”

That made him smile. It’d been a long time since his presence in anybody’s life had made them ‘crazy happy.’ “Hey, Jules?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Are you crazy happy?” He waited, the silence confirming his suspicions that not was right in her world.

“I’ll call you in a couple of weeks with their flight information,” she said, side-stepping his question by pulling the big sister bossy shit. “Meantime, see if you can get a life outside of playing games online with your nephews.”

Clay thought about his unorthodox agreement to help Sally Andersen. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.” After hanging up, he sat for a moment and realized how far he’d come from the brooding hermit he’d been. His stud-muffin bubble suddenly burst in his brain. How the hell was he going to manage his nephews visiting over spring break, being a part-time short order cook, and a woman who wanted him on-demand?

***

He’d polished his dress shoes, brushed his teeth twice, and smelled like a damn magazine insert for men’s cologne. He stood at the entrance of the End of the Line high school gym feeling as though it was his first prom. Glad to finally see a familiar face coming toward him, he reached out and accepted Miss Ellie’s outstretched hand.

“If I wasn’t the host, young man, I’d bid on you myself.” She slid her arm through his. “Come on, I’ll show you to your table.” She tugged him into the gymnasium.

“It looks like spring threw up in here,” he commented, taking in the brightly colored décor. He’d never seen so many glittering gowns and Stetsons in one place. Two drop-down screens looped a slideshow of an historical montage of End of the Line—then and now—followed by headshots of each of tonight’s bachelors participating in the auction.

“We’ve tried to seat you gentlemen throughout the room so you can mingle with the guests.” She patted her hand on the back of a chair. The table was empty. “You’re early. You’ll be seated with your friend Hank. And if my memory serves, I believe, Rein and Liberty are also at this table.”

“Hank, now there’s a guy who should have been in this auction,” Clay said with a smile. Despite his bitch of a sister, Caroline, Hank was one of his best friends. They’d lost contact after college, right after Clay joined the Army. Not everyone in his family agreed with his choice, with the exception of his grandfather back in Texas. He was a decorated WWII vet and he had no hesitancy showing his pride in Clay’s enlistment. They’d written back and forth during boot camp and again when he went overseas, but his grandfather hadn’t lived to see him return home. Clay had often wondered what his life might have been like had he chosen to go pro in football instead. And it always came back to the tattoo on his bicep that he’d gotten while on a leave with his buddies from camp. It’d been his grandpa’s favorite saying.
These colors don’t run.

“Wow. Damn, son, you clean up fairly well.”

Clay pulled from his reverie and looked across the table at Hank walking towards him. He stood and grabbed Hank’s hand with a grin, then dispensing with protocol, pulled him into a bear hug. “You’re as ugly as ever,” Clay joked, eyeing his friend dressed in dark blue jeans, a pressed white shirt and black bolero tie. He wore a giant silver buckle on his belt, boots, and a black Stetson.

“Where the heck did you get that?” Clay pointed to the buckle.

“Montana Jewelry down in Billings. Figured I better blend in.” He grinned a million-watt smile.

“It ought to be you up there, instead of me. I can see if I can arrange it,” Clay offered.

Hank stopped the idea with upturned hands. “No, thank you, just the same. But I will enjoy watching you get up there.” He looked around. “So where does a guy get libations around here? That was not a fun flight heading over those mountains. Radar didn’t show anything, but I swear those winds seem like they’re blowing something in.”

Dalton walked up, a rolling cooler in tow. “Anyone here thirsty?”

Hank laughed. “Did you think this was a tailgate, bro?”

Dalton straightened his shoulders. More amazing to Clay was the Stetson Dalton wore. Angelique must have put the kibosh on his beloved Cubs baseball hat this evening. “It just so happens that I’m making a delivery to the bar. I’m supplying a few cases of my special craft beer for the occasion. I figure just because I cut out drinking doesn’t mean other folks have to.” He pulled out two bottles, handing one to Hank and another to Clay. “What’d you think of that first batch I sent over for you to sample?” Dalton asked him.

Clay took the frosty bottle and the opener Dalton offered next.

Dalton grinned. “What do you think of that?”

Clay studied the logo on the opener. “Kinnison Legacy?”

Dalton shrugged. “It fits.”

He shrugged. “Good a name as any, I guess.”

“You see the horse head? Pretty cool, right?” Dalton grinned.

There were few times Clay had seen Dalton damn near giddy about anything. The times he’d talk about the new baby on the way and building a tree house with Emilee in the backyard were just two that came to mind. This craft beer was the third.

Clay took a long pull on the bottle and licked his lips. “Yeah, I think you might be on to something here.”