Running Blind (7 page)

Routine was nice. Once lunch was done and the doors were locked, she and Kat would clean to whatever music Kat was in the mood for that day, which could be anything. Kat might get some baking done while Carlin cleaned, depending on whether or not she had any special orders. Then they’d share a quick, early supper, and Kat would head home, while Carlin went upstairs to quiet and solitude, which went a long way toward healing her tattered nerves. The next day they’d start all over again, except for Sunday, which was two days away. The café was closed then.

Carlin wasn’t sure what she’d do with herself, with an entire day and nothing to do. Well, nothing except her laundry, and cleaning her room, but that wouldn’t take long. It seemed forever since she’d had the luxury of time.

Maybe she’d read, or watch a baseball game in the kitchen.

Then again, maybe she’d have too much time to think, get antsy about this too-good-to-be-true situation, and run.

Z
EKE DROVE INTO
Battle Ridge, taking care of a Monday-morning run he could’ve assigned to any of his ranch hands. He had to hit the hardware store, the feed store, and pick up a couple of pies from Kat’s place. Spencer had already bought groceries for the week, so he was saved from that chore. He had a thousand things on his mind, and driving alone gave him time to think. Ranch business was at the top of his list—hell, ranch business was his only list—including his inability to find a suitable cook and housekeeper. Over the weekend he’d tried again; he’d talked to a couple of applicants by phone, hoping to find someone who would do for now. If he could just find a cook to get them through the winter …

But not one applicant had been acceptable. Yes, he’d significantly narrowed the field when he’d decided not to bring another woman into the mix, but you’d think with the economy the way it was he’d have a good crop of men to choose from, honest men whose background checks panned out, and it would sure as hell be nice to get an application from someone without a violent criminal background.

Damn it, it was beginning to look as if Spencer might be doing all the cooking at the ranch from now on,
which didn’t make anyone happy, Spencer least of all. Zeke knew he was running the risk of losing the young hand if he didn’t get his domestic situation straightened out, but for now they were making it work. Zeke hated doing his own laundry, and despised housework—not because of the work itself, but because it was added on to his already long hours. But, hell, what choice did he have? Spencer couldn’t cook three meals a day, handle his usual ranch duties, collect bull sperm, and be a full-time housekeeper, too. It was bad enough that the hand who was collecting the sperm was also doing the cooking; seemed like someone asked, before every meal, “Spencer, did you wash your hands?”

Spencer was a good kid, and he didn’t let the teasing get to him—for now, anyway. The situation was stable. Zeke wasn’t looking for perfection—that had been Libby—but right now he wasn’t desperate, either. He’d eventually find an older guy who liked ranch living, could cook, and didn’t mind doing laundry and all the other household crap. He didn’t have to settle for just anyone.

Traffic was light in Battle Ridge, as usual these days. Not for the first time, Zeke wondered what he’d do if many more of the businesses in town went under. The necessities were still available, but if the hardware store or the feed store closed, he’d be in a world of hurt. It would mean more hours on the road, driving into Cheyenne for those supplies he chose not to order from an online store. Besides, he liked having a hometown. Maybe he wasn’t the most sociable man in the world, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be a hermit.

He spotted a parking space in front of the hardware store, and was headed for it when a woman jogged across the street just ahead of him. He slowed to let her cross, and automatically gave her a swift, assessing look: blond ponytail, baseball cap, sunglasses … great ass, in a pair of nice-fitting jeans. She lifted a hand and waved,
fast and casual, not even slowing down. He couldn’t see her face well, because of the baseball cap, but he was sure he’d never met her. It wasn’t like he knew everyone who lived near or shopped in Battle Ridge, but he’d damn sure have remembered that ass.

I’d look good on that
, he thought, his eyes following the fine ass all the way to the library.

The instant thought was accompanied by a burst of heat in his groin, reminding him that it had been way the hell too long since he’d had sex, even with his fist. He’d been too damn tired after they got in from cutting hay, but thank God that was done now and he felt better about having enough hay to see the herd through the winter. Now he could think about other things, first and foremost being how it would feel to have a woman under him—maybe even that sassy blond, whoever she was. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her before, but the town was small enough he could probably find out who she was by asking one or two people.

Maybe he should check out a book …

After he parked Zeke headed for the hardware store, not the library. Nice ass aside, he had errands to do, and the blonde probably had a husband or a boyfriend. Or a face that could stop traffic—and not in a good way. A nice ass did not mean the rest of her was as appealing. Maybe he should just enjoy the memory of the unexpected sight and continue with his day.

Still, it was amazing what the mere sight of a heart-shaped butt in a pair of tight jeans could do to improve his mood.

C
ARLIN HAD BEEN
in Battle Ridge for eleven days, long enough to have learned the rhythm of the town. The breakfast rush was over, Kat was working on the day’s pies, and a fifteen-minute break was just long enough
for her to cut catty-corner across the street to the small library, which was tucked in just a couple of doors down from the hardware store. A pickup truck coming down the street slowed, allowing her plenty of time to cross. She couldn’t see the driver well enough to tell if she recognized him, but she threw him a quick “thank you” wave as she picked up her pace. She was getting used to doing stuff like that. Already some people—regulars in The Pie Hole—smiled and waved when they saw her, as if they’d known her all their lives, as if she was one of them.

It was a little disconcerting. Until Brad had forced her out of her comfortable life, she’d been accustomed to the anonymity of cities, where she could come and go without being acknowledged by anyone outside of her circle of friends and acquaintances. She’d always felt safer, being anonymous. Yeah, that had worked out well, hadn’t it? Regardless of that, being noticed still made her feel exposed.

She also felt guilty, being the recipient of such unguarded friendliness. She wasn’t one of them, and she didn’t plan to stay around very long. But because it was the proper thing to do, and the move that would attract the least amount of attention, she always smiled and waved back.

The cool quietness of the library enveloped her, and she went directly to the public-access computers. She wouldn’t put her family in danger by contacting them directly, but that didn’t mean she was willing to completely lose track of Kinison, or Robin and her family. A fake Facebook profile connected to a free online email account and an old friend who served as intermediary made it possible for Carlin to touch base, now and then. She could let her family know she was okay, and see the occasional photo of her nieces and nephew. They were growing so fast, changing every day. It wasn’t as if she’d seen them all that often before her life had fallen apart,
but they’d talked regularly. And she’d always known she could go see them at any time, if she wanted to. Now she couldn’t, and that loss cut deep. It was when she was in front of the computer, reaching out for a snippet of news about her family, that she felt most angry. Brad had taken her family from her, and she didn’t know when she’d ever get them back.

She logged on to Facebook under her fake name, Zoey Harris. Her sister had suggested the name Zoey because it was unusual enough that someone looking for a bland, unnoticeable name would never think of it. It was a little like the “hide in plain sight” theory.

The fictional Zoey Harris lived in Florida, and was ostensibly no more than a casual friend to her sister. Carlin never posted a private message on her sister’s page, because Facebook accounts could be hacked, which she assumed meant that private messages could be read. She didn’t know for sure, but she wasn’t willing to take the chance. Whenever she did post something on her sister’s wall, she did it right out in the open, where it wouldn’t look important.

She read all of Robin’s posts; nothing out of the ordinary was going on, just the usual family activities. Then she went to her brother’s page, and found the same thing, only Kin’s comments tended more toward sports. Back again to her sister’s page, where she posted a brief message about wishing for summer vacation to end so the kids would be back in school. That kind of innocuous message signaled her family that she was all right.

It was tempting, while she was in front of a computer, to run a check on Brad’s name to see if he’d been arrested. He’d gotten away with Jina’s murder, but maybe he’d moved on to someone else and run into trouble. No matter how tempting it might be, though, she didn’t type his name into the search bar. She didn’t dare. There were programs you could use to find out who’d searched
your name. If Brad had one of those set up, he’d know instantly where the search had originated. Maybe right before she left town, she’d run a search and see if anything popped up.

No
. She couldn’t do that.

A shudder walked down her spine. She’d never purposely draw Brad here, to a place where people she liked lived and worked, to a place small enough that he could gather bits of information about her. Maybe on her next stop in a big city, wherever that might be, she’d do a search on him. Maybe she’d go to Chicago. Yeah, let him spend a few weeks trying to find her
there
, long after she’d moved on.

Carlin was back in The Pie Hole in plenty of time to change into her uniform—pink like Kat’s, with a curly “C” embroidered over the pocket—and get the main room set for lunch. The pies and cakes were baking, so the place smelled wonderful. It smelled like … home. Not a home Carlin had ever known, because the domestic arts hadn’t figured prominently in her life, but she didn’t know any other way to describe the scent.

Time passed fast when the place was busy, and as usual she and Kat fell into a kind of rhythm as the pace of business picked up. It was almost like a dance: serving food, talking to the customers, laughing at jokes that were sometimes funny and sometimes not, making sure no one’s drink glass or mug was ever empty, cooking up orders whenever someone didn’t choose the daily special. Maybe it could be classified as menial labor, but Carlin was enjoying herself. She liked the people here, and Kat was gradually becoming a real friend.

They were in the middle of the lunch rush—Carlin behind the counter and Kat making the rounds with a pitcher of tea in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other, because she could handle pouring on the go better than Carlin could—when the cowboy walked in.
Carlin couldn’t help but notice him. What warm-blooded woman wouldn’t? He was tall and muscular, and he moved with an iron confidence that said he knew his strength and hadn’t met much that could stop him. She had to call him handsome, though he wasn’t, not really. His face wasn’t perfect and sculpted, it was on the rough and hard side, but she was going on her reaction to him rather than what her eyes saw. She went warm and breathless, and looked away because staring at him was abruptly too much, too dangerous in a way she sensed but couldn’t quite grasp, at least not consciously. He was every inch the heartbreaker cowboy Kat had warned her away from—and damn if he didn’t charge the air when he walked into the place.

He was bad news all the way around, she recognized that much right away. She ignored her racing heartbeat as she refilled a cup of coffee, smiling at the older man sitting on the other side of the counter while she concentrated on not looking at the new customer.

The cowboy nodded to Kat, who gave him a bright smile. She couldn’t wave, considering she was carrying both a pitcher of tea and a coffeepot, but her pleasure at seeing him was obvious. He took a booth, the same one Carlin had chosen her first day here, sliding into the seat that put his back to the wall and gave him a clear view of the door. So, who was
he
running from?

No damn body
, that was who. She didn’t know him, but Carlin doubted he’d ever backed down from much in his entire life. He just had that look, which meant he was probably a pain in the ass to deal with, but at least the physical scenery was fine.

A couple of the cowboys at the counter said hello, greeted the newcomer like an old acquaintance.
Hey, Zeke
. He returned their greetings, but that was it. From his slightly grim expression he seemed to be in a bad mood, though that could be his default setting.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carlin saw Kat head in Zeke’s direction. They spoke like old friends, she took his order—without writing it down, as usual—and then she came back to the counter. “A daily special and a coffee, black, for my wayward cousin.”

“Wayward?” And her cousin?

“He doesn’t come to see me nearly often enough. If not for my pies I’d be lucky to see him twice a year.”

The Pie Hole was small, and of course Zeke heard every word Kat said. “I’m busy,” he explained, his voice raised slightly so Kat could hear. “Give me a break.”

Then his gaze moved to Carlin, held, focused, and she gave a quick, involuntary shiver. He might be in a bad mood, but he wasn’t shy. He didn’t look away, the way most of Kat’s male customers did if they were caught looking too long or too hard. No, he just kept staring, steady and still and … lethal. The shiver walked down her spine, a tickle of instinct. Zeke looked at her the way a hungry man might look at a slice of Kat’s apple pie.

Oh, crap. That was a comparison she didn’t need to have in her head, even if she hadn’t voiced it aloud. She felt her face turning red.