Runaway Cowboy (10 page)

“Jen, tell her I'll be right there and then get everyone into the house and stay put.”

“Excuse me?” She eyed the woman with her feet planted on the wicker table, watching as Silvie poked her head out and asked if Candie would like a drink. “Don't tell me we can't be hospitable.”

“Jen, I mean it. You and Silvie get in the house and stay there until I get back. Is there anyone else with her?”

“No,” she whispered, moving so their visitor couldn't hear her side of the conversation. “She's alone. Clay, what is this about?”

“Just promise me you'll go inside.” She heard the truck doors slam shut and the sound of Scott's truck firing up. “We'll be there in just a couple of minutes.”

Without waiting for her reply, Clay hung up, piquing her curiosity. Who was Candie, and why didn't he want Jen to talk to her? He certainly hadn't sounded thrilled at her arrival, which made Jen even more curious about the woman. She made her way to the porch. “He should be back in a few minutes. Are you hungry?” She barely got the words out before Silvie came out with iced tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“Wow, you both know how to make a person feel welcome.”

She focused her hazel eyes on each of them in turn, almost as though assessing whether they were friends or foes. Jen could see wariness in the depths of her eyes, even if she was trying to hide it. Candie reached for one of the cookies tentatively, as if waiting for someone to slap her hand. Her words might be friendly but her actions were cautious.

“Where are you from, honey, if you don't mind my asking?” Silvie asked. “You look like you've been driving for quite a ways.”

The woman sighed and dropped her head against the back of the couch, her blond hair billowing out like a curtain. “I was in New Mexico for a while, and then I headed to Idaho and spent some time there. I've been trying to get a hold of Clay, and when I was in Oregon I thought we could catch up for old times' sake, but they told me that he was here for a while.” She jerked her chin at the car, sagging on the driveway. “I don't know how much farther that piece of junk will take me.”

Jen watched the woman, curious about her relationship to Clay. He'd never mentioned a Candie, but then again, he'd never really talked about anything before or after his time on the ranch.

The woman was about the same age as Jen, maybe a bit younger, but she seemed calloused, as if life had dealt her far more of her share of hard times and less rainbows and sunshine than young women dreamed of. She was pretty, with a light dusting of freckles over her tanned cheeks and her hair pulled back from her face by a pair of cheap dollar-store sunglasses, but Jen didn't miss the worn tank top, ratty jeans, or the smell of several-day-old sweat. She knew Clay wouldn't warn her for nothing, but she couldn't help but feel sympathetic toward the exhausted woman.

“Candie, it will still be a little while before Clay gets here. Did you want to freshen up? Maybe take a shower?”

“What?” Candie's brows pinched together.

What was she thinking? For all she knew, this woman could be Clay's girlfriend.
Or wife.
Jen didn't want to be caught in the middle of whatever conversation Candie had planned for Clay. She should send her to the diner in town and tell Clay to meet her there. But another look at the fatigue lining Candie's eyes made Jen rethink her options. She would probably regret it, but this woman needed a warm shower and some food in her belly.

“Why don't you go take a shower, we'll throw your clothes in the wash, and you can relax for a bit. Silvie will show you where to go.” Jen rose and headed down the steps. “I'll let Clay know you're inside when he gets here.”

S
O FAR
, C
LAY
had been able to stave off Jen and Scott's questions about Candie. He couldn't believe Jen had ignored everything he said and let Candie commandeer one of the guest rooms in the house. Jen usually read people far better. Why, in all that was holy, would she have fallen for Candie's sweet-girl act? He tossed the clean, folded clothes on the end of the bed where Candie was snoring lightly under a thin blanket. He wanted to scold himself for immediately glancing at the insides of her arms before he kicked the leg of the bed, but it wasn't like he didn't have a reason to check.

“Wake up, time to leave.” He heard the callousness in his voice and sighed, hating this side of himself. But he wasn't going to have Jen, or anyone else, in danger because of him and his family.

Candie sat up in her borrowed clothes and rubbed her eyes. “No need to be rude, Clay. If you'd have answered my messages, I wouldn't have had to drive all the way to California trying to chase you down.”

“What do you want?” He glanced over his shoulder, making sure the bedroom door was shut. “Better yet, were you followed this time?”

She pursed her pouty lips and rolled her eyes. “Well, it's good to see you again, too, big brother.” She flipped her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, making her way to the window, pulling back the curtain and looking outside. “This is a nice place. No wonder you stayed here so long before.” She looked back at him, still standing by the bed. “That woman downstairs is pretty. Is that the one you told me about?”

Clay sighed again, refusing to answer his sister. “How much do you need this time?” She shrugged a too-slim shoulder, and he wondered how much she'd actually been eating. “Candie, are you on the run again?”

“No.” She answered too quickly and wouldn't meet his eye. It was a sure sign she was in trouble. “I mean, I owe a few people a little money, and I did stiff the guy who supposedly fixed my car but—”

“Damn it!” Clay spun around and ran a hand through his hair. His sister didn't ever owe a
little
money to anyone. She was a con artist, and one of these days it was going to get her killed. “Who, how much, and what for this time? Do they know where you are?”

“Apparently, this guy is claiming that I owe him nearly two Gs for some stuff I sold for him. I know I gave it all to him, but he's not exactly the reasonable type, if you know what I mean.”

“Drugs?”

“No.” She let the curtain drop and faced him, not bothering to elaborate on her answer. “Then there's the guy in Idaho from the bar. He didn't like a girl beating him at pool.”

“You mean hustling him?”

She shrugged again. “Tomato, tomahto. So, are you going to loan me the money?”

“Why, so you can get high again or blow it gambling?”

She threw her shoulders back and stomped toward him, stabbing her finger at his chest. “For your information, I've been clean for two years.” Clay arched a brow in disbelief. “After we found Bobby, I went off the deep end, but when Mom died . . . ” She shook her head as if clearing away the painful memories. “I haven't touched anything since. After what happened to Bobby, I just . . . ”

Her words trailed off. Clay knew Candie didn't like to talk about their brother. His
half-
brother. His mother had never realized the difference between love and lust and, as a result, often found herself on the disappointing end of the latter. When she'd finally learned her lesson, three kids later, she'd been forced to eke out a living in a dumpy apartment at the edge of a foothill town known for its rough crowd.

Still, she'd encouraged Clay to get as far away as possible, leaving behind the shady things he'd done as a teen to make ends meet for them. She'd claimed it was one less mouth to try to feed, but he knew better. She saw his desire to escape and loved him enough to push him to take it. At least until they'd found Bobby in a ditch from what appeared to be an overdose. That's when she gave in and called him, begging him to come back. Clay promised his mother he wouldn't let his youngest sister follow the same path.

However, old habits were hard to break, and so far, trying to help Candie was proving to be a slow Two-Step with danger. After their mother had finally lost her struggle with cancer, he had checked Candie into a rehab facility, making sure she was settled in before taking a job with Smith Brothers. It was the only thing he could do that would pay the bills for her treatment. He sent the money directly to the facility, making a conscious effort to stay in contact with Candie without connecting himself to the trouble that seemed to dog her steps. He looked at his sister. Candie had been clean, sober, and out of rehab for nearly two years. Until last week, she'd kept herself mostly out of harm's way, only hustling once in a while to make up the difference when waitressing tips slowed down. It had been a long time since Candie had caused any trouble or needed anything from him, and it had been nearly six months since he'd heard from her. Deep down, he'd hoped things were on an upswing. Otherwise, he'd never have agreed to haze for his buddies at the rodeo. He'd suspected there was a good chance he'd run into Jen. But, even knowing that she most likely hated him, the thought of
not
seeing her was just too much, so he'd taken the chance.

Now, just as he was trying to pave the way for a reconciliation with Jen, Candie's troubles were going to ruin any chance he had. Not to mention, get someone hurt.

“You need to go. I'll give you some money to pay these guys off, and you'd better pay them, but you need to leave.” He grasped her elbow roughly, moving her toward the door.

“What's the big rush? Jennifer said I could stay for dinner.”

“You are
not
staying and putting her in danger, Candie. She doesn't know about you or our past, and she's not going to.”

J
ENNIFER HEARD FOOTSTEPS
in the barn as she set the saddle onto the metal rack. Scott and Derek were in the house cleaning up before dinner, and she doubted Mike would be out here. She inhaled deeply through her nose, the dust making her want to sneeze.

Please don't let it be Clay. I can't do this right now.

She'd made sure she was scarce when he arrived at the house but knew Silvie had alerted him to Candie's presence. The woman upstairs had barely made it to the bed before she collapsed from exhaustion. Silvie wanted to feed her, but the bed had taken priority. Jennifer hadn't wanted to disturb her, so she'd headed outside to finish chores. She hadn't thought Clay would come out here when there was a woman just inside the house who had driven days searching for him.

She came out of the tack room with a bucket of brushes in one hand and fly spray in the other. She couldn't help the shiver of anticipation that traveled up her spine and settled over her shoulders like a warm sweater when Clay turned his gaze on her.

“I was hoping to find you out here.”

Jennifer stared at him, silently, not sure whether she wanted to move toward him or run away. It didn't really matter, since she couldn't seem to get her feet moving anyway. His eyes seemed to glow from within, but she didn't want to name the emotion she could easily read on his face. Her brain finally connected the synapses to get her legs to react, and she took a step backward.

Where are you going?

She didn't know and she didn't care. Right now, all she wanted was to not be caught by the longing in his eyes that warned her he was about to kiss her again.

“Jen, don't. Don't run away from me.” She heard the pleading note in his voice, but instead of feeling sympathetic, something in her snapped.

“I'm not the one who runs, Clay. That's you.”

She was grateful for the horse tied in the aisle and ducked behind the mare, putting more distance between them. She set the bucket on the ground and reached for a curry comb, rubbing the animal down. “I don't have anything to run from. You're the one with one woman waiting in the house for you while you chase me down in the barn.” She hoped he could see the fury in her eyes, the pent-up anger at his betrayal that was flooding her body.

He moved around the back of the horse, as quick as a rattlesnake strike, and grabbed her hand, turning her to face him. “I left because I had to. I wasn't running.”

“Bullshit!”

She didn't want to hear his excuses or his lies. The venom that had been festering in her for the last five years poured into her blood, seeping from the wound that had never healed in her heart. She threw the comb into the bucket and shoved him away from her. The movement did little to give her the space she needed to move away, and Clay grasped her other wrist, holding her immobile. She thrashed against him, her hands slipping away from his, fists pounding against his chest and shoulders until he wound his fingers through hers, holding her hands trapped behind her. Clay pulled her against the wall of his chest. Her breath came in short pants. Tears she hadn't realized were falling wet her lips as he held her hostage. She gritted her teeth together, trying not to notice the heat emanating from his body, scorching hers. Regret for the past replaced the anger; need made way for a new kind of agony. She didn't want to feel his thumbs loosen their hold and begin tracing circles against her palms, which were still held behind her back. She didn't want to see the way his eyes had turned dark and hot, pained, and tortured—the same way she felt inside.

“Let me go.” Her voice was barely a whisper of sound, an entreaty on a shuddered breath.

“Jen . . . God, what have I done to us? This wasn't what was supposed to happen.”

Her forehead pressed against his chest, her chin tucked down, all fight gone. She was too tired to battle both him and her heart. It was taking every ounce of her strength not to touch her lips to the skin exposed at the neckline of his T-shirt. The scent of him haunted her, making her remember the afternoons by the lake, the nights in one another's arms. She felt his body tense against hers, his belt buckle pressed against her stomach as he walked her backward toward the stall door, her hands still trapped behind her.