No Strings Attached (Last Hope Ranch Book 1) (9 page)

She didn’t answer. Instead, she jerked the reins and trotted across to where the group waited for her.

Head down, Clay walked back to the barn. The woman, though pretty as a summer sunset, had the personality of a damn cactus. Beautiful to look at—dangerous if you got too close. Not that the idea had crossed his mind… more than twice that day.

Women, as a rule, still baffled him. The come-to-Jesus realization hit him after being released from the hospital and going back to stay for a time with his sister, her accountant husband, and their two boys. Sunny California. Warm sunshine. Beautiful beaches. A slice of home. If there’d been a worse mistake than surviving the damn rocket grenade, it was seeing the look of pity on his sister’s face, the day the cab dumped him on her doorstep.

“Clay!” Julie squealed. Her enthusiasm waned as her gaze traveled the length of him and lingered on his new leg. Granted, sticking out from the khaki cargo shorts it did seem to have a little ‘terminator” vibe. It was California. Everyone wears shorts, right?

He smiled, though it didn’t seem to lessen the tightness in his chest.

His sister, blinked as though jarred from her thoughts. “Let me help you with that.” She reached for the duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

Her husband, still in a white shirt and tie, appeared beside Julie. “Jesus, Clay, I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to the airport in time to pick you up. Here, let me help you with that.” He nudged his wife. “That’s far too heavy for you, babe.”

Clay glanced over the pair quietly chiding each other and saw his nephews frozen in place at the bottom of the stairs inside. He jerked the bag from their grasp and dropped it at his feet. “I’m not helpless. I can carry my own damn bag.” The words exploded from him before he realized it. They said that might happen if he encountered the right triggers. Being pitied—he’d soon discover—was one of those triggers. Realizing he stood on their front steps still he glanced over and caught the shocked gaze of a neighbor. They cast a strange look his way. Clay snorted. He hadn’t slept well since his return, he was adjusting to a new mechanical leg, and he hadn’t shaved for a few days. All-in-all, he felt like a homeless man, seeking a handout.

It took only until the second week at his sisters to realize how uncomfortable she was around him. The discomfort trickled down to his nephew’s every time their questions were silenced. He tried to give his sister some slack. She was carrying a lot on her plate while he’d been deployed—a home, husband gone all the time, two kids, and their mom, who was now in an Alzheimer’s care facility nearby. That alone had to have been difficult, it was for Clay the first few times he’d gone to visit her.

“I have a son. His name is Clay, also. He’s in the war, you know. Army-man, like his grandfather.” She’d smile sweetly at him, then her gaze would drift out the window to the birdhouse beyond. Clay would sit and stare at her, so small and fragile, not the fierce Texas-born woman he’d once known-who could strike the fear of God in him with one look. It damn near killed him and he couldn’t go back. The fact that she didn’t recognize him drove deep into his psyche, already littered with enough garbage to clean up. He leapt at Hanks suggestion about coming to Montana, to some ranch that a couple of their college friends owned. What other choice did he have? At least until he’d gotten some things straightened out inside him. Then maybe he’d head back to his home state of Texas and settle down.

“Sally has a strong spirit.”

Clay was jarred from his thoughts by Michaels comment as he walked into the barn that had been built to stable the overflow of rescued horses from the Mountain Sunrise ranch over the winter months. Tying into the purpose of the Kinnison legacy of the Last Hope Ranch, Michael Greyfeather—once the head ranch hand and good friend to Jed Kinnison—had suggested to Jed’s sons that they partner with the equine rescue ranch, where Michael had once worked. To help in housing the horses that had been rehabilitated and were now awaiting
forever
families—the ranch would continue to check with the families and if caring for the horse didn’t work out, they would take them back at the ranch. The concept, readily accepted by the Kinnsion brothers, had already served to help in many areas, not only in Last Hope Ranch guests assisting in the care and nurturing of the horses, but also enabling special trail rides for kids who might never have the chance to be around a horse. It was a win-win situation, but the need for housing the rehabilitated horses had grown since last summer—creating more hours to Michael’s days at the ranch.

Clay, too, had benefitted, finding he had great empathy for the damaged animals, needing someone to see their potential, to love them as-is, despite the scars of their past. He glanced at Michael and snorted. “Strong spirit, as you say, is a nice way of putting it. Where I grew up, we had a different term for that attitude.”

Michael quietly continued to clean the hoof of the Appaloosa he’d just walked around the paddock. The old man, his silvery hair in one long braid down his back, nodded. “She can be prickly. I’ll give you that. But she has a good heart, trust me. No one can handle troubled kids better than our Sally.”

Clay picked up a pitchfork and started mucking stalls. “Too bad she hides it under that cactus of a personality.”

Michael chuckled. “She was probably running late. She hates being late.”

Promptness was something Clay prided himself on. He understood that. But the woman gave new meaning to the word tightly wrapped—and he was the one diagnosed with post-traumatic stress. He bit back a laugh at the sheer irony that he might have a greater patience level than the red-haired music teacher. “Chances are I didn’t score any points with her.” He shot a look at Michael whose steady gaze met his. “Not that I was trying.”

The flutter of wings caught Clay’s attention and he glanced up into the rafters just in time to see a Great White Owl swoop from the shadows and soar through the open door. He looked at Michael in amazement. “Did you see that?” He’d never been so close to a wild bird of that stature, where he could’ve reached out to touch the creature as it flew past.

Michael stood looking to where the owl had flown. He seemed unfazed by what Clay felt was a near miracle. “Must be a storm brewing.” Michael scratched the back of his neck, his eyes landing on Clay.

As though hit by a cold punch, Clay held the old man’s gaze. For the first time, he truly realized Michael’s ethnic background. He sensed something spiritual, reverent in his eyes. Clay blinked, shook his head and passed his musing off as nonsense. “Well, I understand snow can happen without any warning in this neck of the woods.”

Michael raised one silvery brow. “I don’t know if this storm is about the weather. Storms come in many disguises.”

Clay wasn’t sure why Sally Andersen’s face should pop into his brain. He shrugged off Michael’s American Indian vibe and went back to work, stopping to listen to the low, mournful sound of the owl perched somewhere outside in the trees. He couldn’t say what caused the hair to stand up on the back of his neck.

Chapter Five

Sally guided her horse into the stall, unaware that one of the boys from the trail ride had followed her inside. She’d noticed Clay at the other end of the barn, focused on adjusting something on his artificial leg, the denim pushed up over his knee. From the corner of her eye she noted Jarod skirting around her and running down to Clay, staring curiously at the mechanical leg. Sally looped the reins around the post and leaned out of the stall. “Jarod, please let’s leave Mr. Saunders alone. He’s a busy man.”

Clay held up his hand and looked at her. He slid over on the wooden supply trunk he sat on and patted the seat next to him. “It’s okay, Ms. Andersen. I’ve got a few minutes. What’s your name, again? Mine’s Clay.” He held out his hand to the nine-year old.

“Jarod… sir.” The boy looked from Sally to Clay’s proffered hand. He accepted Clay’s greeting and shook his hand. “Jarod Robins. I live with my mom down in Billings at Miss Ellie’s house.”

Clay nodded. “Yep, I know. Miss Ellie’s good people.  You do me a favor and make sure you watch out for your mom and Miss Ellie down there and I’ll tell you anything you want to know about my leg. Deal?”

The boy gave an enthusiastic nod. “Sure thing.” He eyed Clay’s leg. “What happened? I mean, how’d you lose your leg?”

Sally set to brushing down her horse as she listened to Clay explain the ordeal in terms straightforward, but understandable for the boy’s age.

“Does it hurt?” the boy asked.

Sally found her hand slowing as she listened. Eavesdropping wasn’t her intent, but rather the boy asked questions that she’d wanted to ask had things between them not started as badly as they had. Even though he’d agreed to helping out with the auction, and he’d apologized, she couldn’t explain how he seemed to intimidate her. She wasn’t used to feeling that way about anyone, and it caused her more confusion than anything.

“It aches sometimes. Like when you get a bad headache, or a charlie horse in your foot,” Clay answered.

“Is there stuff you can’t do?”

“I’m not good at snowboarding,” Clay laughed and the sound of it surprised Sally. She’d never heard him laugh—
ever
. She found herself smiling.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I couldn’t snowboard before I got hurt,” Clay added conspiratorially “The thing is I’ve just had to retrain my body to compensate. And it’s kind of cool, I’ve got one leg—this one—with a special boot, and another with a blade. I can run with that one, though I’m still getting used to it.”

Sally peeked over the stable fence, spying on the two. Jarod looked up at Clay, focused on his every word.

“It’s taken some getting used to, but I can pretty much do anything I did before, maybe just not as fast on my feet.”

“That’s cool. You’re like a real hero. I see that on the news. So, do you have any medals?”

Sally smoothed her hand across the mare’s silky mane, noticing how long of a pause had followed the question.

“Hey, you know what? I bet you Miss Ellie is waiting outside. You better hustle on out there. We’ll talk more another time.”

Sally leaned against the stall and waved at Jarod as he ran by. The grin on his face was a mile wide. Many of the kids and some of the women, by the time they reached Miss Ellie’s “special house”—the term Ellie preferred over shelter—had never been outside the city. Most of her tenants had come there to get away from abusive situations—many of the kids had never known their real fathers. She was impressed with how patient and kind Clay had been with the curious young boy. “You really made his day,” she said, walking down to where he’d started brushing down another horse. It was just the two of them in the barn. She’d run into Michael headed up to the main house to speak to Wyatt about a potential forever family adoption. Maybe it was how she’d treated him earlier. It was unfair, and the trail ride had given her time to think about it. But his kindness to Jarod made her poor behavior clearer. The waning sun cast long shadows inside the barn, glittering on the patches of snow dotting the ground outside. The mild temps of the day had given way to a chill, but the scent of straw and horses had a calming effect on Sally from the days in her youth when she’d ridden with Angelique out on her aunt’s and uncle’s ranch. That love of riding continued and had her life turned out differently, she would have loved to own a horse ranch of her own. She followed Clay’s hand slid gently over the animals back. Once left for dead, the Appaloosa had been nursed back to health and brought to the ranch last fall. Under Michael’s expert care, she was now less skittish around people. It occurred to her as she observed him that Clay, too had changed since they’d first met. She’d just never taken the time to notice.

“I don’t know that I made his day, exactly,” Clay answered finally, not looking up from his task. “But maybe I answered his questions.” His response was short, gruff. She didn’t blame him. She hadn’t exactly been cordial to him, either. She hadn’t thought it was a good idea to include him in the auction, and once chosen, instead of contacting him by phone, she’d let him find out on his own. Then again, she had a multitude of problems of her own, that few really, knew about. One of them had to do with the mandatory meeting Principal Kale had scheduled. She swallowed her pride and forged ahead, hoping to right at least one of her wrongs. “Listen, about earlier. I was admittedly…tense.”

He continued grooming the horse. “You want to talk about it?” He didn’t look up.

Sally looked at her dusty old worn-out boots, noting how akin her heart felt to them. How could she tell him that she felt like she was caught in a swirling sinkhole, being drawn closer and closer to losing it. Her job—the reason she’d been late—was called to discussion in an emergency meeting of the school board and Principal Kale as a result of the rumors concerning her promiscuous behavior in town. After the shock, feeling as though she’d been placed on public display she assured the members that the rumors were unfounded as most rumors are. The embarrassed members filed out and Principal Kale, while not issuing an apology, did say he was glad to hear the rumors weren’t true. A remark Sally tucked away to remember come time when his position was up for renewal.

Sally toed the ground. There was more. She could have read Clay a litany of concerns. But he didn’t know her, didn’t understand that she’d used up nearly all of her inheritance for the unexpected costs of the renovation. It would be months, maybe years on her salary to rebuild it to the level where she could even consider having a child.

“Sally?”

She looked up, pulling from her reverie, realizing that Clay stood before her. He was studying her.

“Are you okay? You seemed to take off there for a few minutes.”

She shook her head. “It’s been a day—a long day.” She waved off his query.

He tipped his head. “This have anything to do with those brochures?”

Her first inclination was to bolt. If another man so much as looked at her with that glimmer in his eye…

She glanced at him. No glimmer. Her shoulders slumped. She was tired of running from the topic, tired of trying to hide it. She pressed her lips tightly, her chin wobbling. Damn. It only hurt when she stopped to think about it. “I-It’s n-nothing.”

“Sally.” His fingers touched her chin, forcing her gaze to his.

“Listen, I know we’ve had our differences, but you can talk to me. I’m not going to say anything to anyone. I’ve been through torture training. I can deal with a small town.”

She smiled despite the fact that she felt like crying. Aimee had been the only person she’d felt she could talk to about this. Most men in town were more than ready, if rumors were true, to offer their services in bed. Clay hadn’t. On most every level, in fact, they seem to mostly tolerate each other. He was a safe bet.

She sat down on the wood storage box and released a quiet sigh. “Have you ever looked around and felt like you’re the only one who’s different?” She hurried on. The idea that she could speak freely opened up the gates and she couldn’t seem to get it out of her system fast enough. “All my friends are married, getting married, having kids,” she said, ticking off each point on her fingers. “Some going on their second kid.”

Clay eased down beside her, keeping his distance, and folded his hands over his knees as he listened. “You mean Wyatt and Aimee? They mentioned something about that at dinner the other day.”

“Please understand, I am deliriously happy for them as I am for Rein and Liberty, and Dalton and Angelique.” She looked up, eyeing the rafters. “And then there’s Nate and Charlene, who are getting married and pretty soon I’ll be hearing about their kids.” She looked at him. “You know, all this never got to me before. I’ve been totally content with having my students each year. Starting out, I had my dad to care for and I thought I couldn’t give any more than I already am.” She shook her head. “Now I’m almost thirty-two and I know I’m not all that bad-looking, right?”

Clay glanced at her, surprise registered on his face. “Uh, no, I wouldn’t say you’re bad looking.”

She held his gaze, deciding it best not to question him further. “I guess guys aren’t drawn to me because—honestly, I don’t know why.” All the confusion, the questions about who she was and what she wanted out of life seemed to storm forward, desperate to be freed from her torment. “I realize there are some single guys around,” she said with a chuckle. “Most who’d gladly hop in my bed in my quest to have a child, but wouldn’t dream of going through the mundane things of asking a girl out, taking in a movie, making out in the back row—you know what I mean?”

Clay swiped his hand over his mouth and peered up at her with a narrowed look. “I think I’m following you. Just promise me there won’t be a quiz at the end.”

Sally snorted. This whole gossip wildfire incident had been a revelation. There were, apparently, men in town willing to bed her, but not marry her. And while at first, she’d found the idea playfully amusing—when she still had the luxury of her inheritance—it all seemed suddenly disheartening. Sally covered her face, unable to stop the dam of emotions breaking through. How had she gotten into this mess? Was she cursed to die alone with a houseful of cats running around her newly renovated home? The thought brought forth another anguished sob. She felt a weight around her shoulder and startled, looking up to see Clay’s expression—a mix of surprise mixed with concern.

“Sally, it’s going to be okay,” he said softly. His gaze held hers.

She clung to his words, searched eyes that she hadn’t noticed until now were really quite striking for the truth. Without thought, she wrapped her hand around his head and brought his lips to hers. Surprised as he no doubt was, she was desperate for the closeness, the intimacy. Her lips met his—akin to kissing a flat piece of wood.

This was a bad idea.

Until his hand curled around the back of her neck and his mouth came alive, capturing hers, effectively stopping all rational thought.

She moved her hand to his jaw, wanting to know the moment was real, brushing her fingertips across his unshaven cheek. Each time she thought the kiss was over, he’d capture her mouth again. Had they been anywhere else, there was little no doubt where this would most certainly lead.

“Miss Andersen? Mr. Saunders?” Emilee Kinnison’s young voice severed the kiss, ending the intimacy. Sally had to catch herself from falling forward when Clay bolted to his feet.

Emilee skipped in, stopping short a few feet in the door. Sadie, the Kinnison brothers’ first dog from their step-dad, trotted in at a slower pace, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. The little girl looked at Clay, then Sally. It had never been proven, but on more than one occasion, Emilee had indicated she had the gift, like her grandmother, of being a seer. To the Crow tribe, it was a gift passed on only to the females. Sally only hoped that whatever Emilee might have sensed was no more than PG-13.

The young girl beamed. “Grandma sent me down to tell you that supper is ready.”

“Thank you, Em. Mr. Saunders was just telling me about his time overseas.” She walked over and took the young girl’s hand. “Come on, I’ll race you back to the house.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You coming, Mr. Saunders?”

She saw his jaw twitch. His smoky gaze indicated that kiss was anything but friendly.

“Be up in a bit,” he answered.

The brisk run did little to quell the feelings Clay’s kisses had stirred inside her. He’d seen the brochures, was most certainly aware of the rumors in town about her wanting a baby daddy. Maybe he was testing the waters for himself.

Later, as the entire Kinnison clan—including her, Clay, and Michael and Rebecca Greyfeather—sat around the massive, family table, Sally refused to make eye contact with Clay, and instead made small talk about the upcoming meeting at Betty’s.

“We found tons of colored tissue paper when we went to Billings,” Angelique offered. “We’ll have plenty to make our giant tissue flowers.”

Liberty pushed back from the table. “I hate to call it a night, but suddenly I’m barely able to keep my eyes open.”

Rein was up from his chair, helping Liberty to where their coats hung in the foyer. Seated next to Emilee, Sally noticed the young girl’s concern. “Hey, Em, Liberty’s going to be fine. Sometimes women who are going to have a baby get tired.” She nudged the girl’s shoulder. “Sometimes even when they aren’t going to have a baby, women get tired.” Sally winked at Emilee and finally received a smile.