Gambling on a Secret (9 page)

Charli had surprised him with what she envisioned for the ranch. Downright impressed him, too, with her knowledge about raising cattle. Maybe she wouldn’t want to give the calves sissy names, but he still couldn’t imagine her mucking the stalls.

His lips twitched. Looking in the direction of the band to prevent Zack from noticing his amusement, he forced a matter-of-fact tone when he spoke. “Like I said, I just started today.”

Julie handed back his credit card and deposited a highball glass of whiskey over rocks before him. As he lifted the glass to his lips with a not-so-steady hand, he looked over at Cartwright. What a way to ruin a good shot of Jack. He couldn’t even savor the smooth burn that would help him sleep tonight.

After he lowered the glass, Cartwright pointed at it. “You aren’t planning to drive home, are you? I know Julie indulges you by giving you a bottle. I reminded her the last time I dragged your sorry ass out of here, if you leave and kill some innocent person, her behind’s in the sling same as yours.”

Dylan swore under his breath.

Zack Cartwright never drank, at least not more than an occasional beer, and he never drank alcohol and drove. He’d lost his wife to a drunk driver, leaving him a single father of a little girl.

Damn it, all he wanted was a drink, which he wouldn’t get at the Longhorn. Standing, he leaned over the table. “You know I don’t drive when I’m drunk. I’ll walk home first. But I’ve decided I don’t want a drink after all.”

On his way to the only another bar in Colton, Charli invaded his thoughts again. He never talked about his ex-wife, yet he’d told her about Brenda. For some reason talking about her with Charli made him feel almost relieved. Was he finally over her?

* * * *

“You sure you want to take your truck?” Charli climbed up into the F150 early Monday morning. Duct tape patched the leather seats in a few places. The faint smell of stale whiskey clung to the air. She promptly rolled down the window.

Dylan closed the driver’s door and looked over at her. “Isn’t my Ford classy enough for you?”

“Not what I meant and you know it.” She snapped the seatbelt in place. “I’m willing to drive, that’s all.”

He started the engine and headed down the long driveway, dust churning up in their wake. “I know.”

“You don’t trust my driving.”

“No, I’m sure you’re as good as any other woman driver.”

She glared at him. “That was quite a backhanded insult if I’ve ever heard one.”

As they bumped over the steel bridge straddling the creek, he spared her a glance. “It’s not your driving.”

“Then what?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t like my Lexus?”

“Bingo. Besides, showing up in a luxury car at a tractor dealership is like showing up at a fancy diner with dirt on your boots.”

She refused to concede he possibly had a point. As she looked out the window, she muttered, “Maybe I’d prefer to drive anyway.”

“I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a drink since last night.”

She should ask him about his drinking, but dealing with a pissed-off Dylan for almost two hours would be about as fun as sitting in the dentist’s chair.

When he paused at the end of the drive, she looked up at the broken arch over the gate. One more thing she had to fix. She’d wait until she had a name for the place before replacing the weathered sign.

They were silent until they reached Highway 6. She patted her thigh, restless until she couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Not as long as you don’t turn it to a country station.”

In mid-reach of the radio dial, she froze and looked at him. “You don’t like country music?”

He glanced at her. “Not particularly. Some of it isn’t bad. I like Southern rock, but the twangy, cry-in-my-beer stuff, forget it. Before you say something asinine about cowboys always liking country music, let me remind you I grew up in Washington, D.C. and Germany. Country isn’t what I listened to, and I’ve never acquired a taste for it after moving to Texas.”

“I won’t turn your station, but I like country. My favorite singer is Nate McConnell. I play his CDs to death.” Someday, she’d like to meet the half-brother she’d never known she had until last summer.

“I’ve seen him in concert a few times, and Toby Keith, too.”

“Over in the war? I know they do a lot of USO tours.”

“Yeah. They both put on a good show and support the troops. I’ll give them that. But McConnell is a bit too sentimental for me. Do you listen to anything else?”

“I grew up listening to The Beatles, Elvis, James Taylor and Carly Simon. My mother loved the music of the sixties and seventies. One of her favorite bands was The Sisters McGinnis.”

Before she could turn the switch, he said, “Jackie McGinnis is your neighbor.”

Realizing she probably looked like a fish the way her lips gapped, she promptly closed her mouth. “No way!”

He nodded and glanced at her. “She’s married to Luke Cartwright and lives on the CW Ranch.”

“The mayor’s brother?”

Dylan looked back to the road. “Yep, one and the same. She’s completely embraced the life of a Texas lady. Wouldn’t even know she’s from California. Their son Zack runs his father’s half of the CW Ranch. Their younger son Logan is a lawyer, but is locally famous for his band, Texas Justice. Not a bad singer. ” He wrinkled his nose. “But Logan insists on singing those crappy honky-tonk songs.”

She laughed. “Here in the heart of Texas that’s not unusual. Cowboys normally–”

“Ah.” He clucked and shook his pointer finger at her. “I told you not to go stereotyping.”

“In my experience, you’re a rarity and that was even before I found myself on my grandfather’s ranch.” She turned on the radio, and a loud screech of an electric guitar blasted from the speakers. With a wince, she lowered the volume from ear splitting to tolerable. “Do you have any hearing left?”

“Can’t listen to eighties rock without turning it up.”

On the radio, Axl Rose squealed about his sweet child.

“I guess, but keeping your hearing is pretty darn important.”

She leaned back in the seat, pulled her knees up, and wrapped her arms around her legs. The next song was slower, and she sang along with the guys from Warrant as they got a little closer to heaven.

At the song’s end, she opened her eyes and glanced at him. The intensity he peered at her with heated her cheeks. “Sorry. I happen to like that song.”

“That’s okay. You’re a good singer.”

“Thanks. But I know to never pack my bags and head off to Nashville.” Even if she could be as famous as her half-brother, she didn’t want the attention.

Dylan turned his eyes to the road and cleared his throat. “Tracy mentioned you lived in Vegas. Did you grow up there?”

For a few heartbeats, the familiar need to protect herself rushed over her. How had anyone learned about Las Vegas? She let go of her legs, giving in to the urge to hug herself. As she concentrated on the heat devils floating in the distance on the flat, lonely road, she decided she had to trust him. If she wanted him to open up to her so she could help him deal with his depression, she had to answer his otherwise harmless questions about her own past.

Some of his questions, anyway. She would never be able to open her home to teens if anyone learned about what she’d done in Vegas. “No. I grew up in Tulsa. I only lived briefly in Vegas. I was fifteen when I moved to the Long Arrow, my grandfather’s ranch.” Fighting a tremor in her voice, she asked, “Who told Tracy I lived in Vegas?”

“I don’t know who told her.” He flashed her one of those fleeting, rusty grins that did funny things to her belly. “I pegged you for a city gal.”

“I was.” Although knowing someone out there knew about her living in Vegas bothered her, she relaxed a little with his teasing. He didn’t know anything other than she’d lived there. How did he put her at ease so effortlessly? “The first time I tried to ride a horse, I fell off.”

“Everyone does one time or another. I was about four the first time I rode by myself. Before then, my mother rode with me or I rode a pony. Scared her half to death when I took a tumble right out of the saddle. After the cast came off my arm, the first thing I wanted to do was get right back up in that saddle.”

“I was fifteen, too old to ride with someone, too big for a pony, and I climbed up on the damned thing backward.”

His full-blown laugh surprised her. The deep rumble sent all sorts of tingles through her. He looked at her with amusement shining in his silvery eyes from under his brown cowboy hat. The small crinkles at the corners of eyes and the dimple in his left cheek caused her heart to skip a beat.

“You really are something, Miss Charlotte Monroe.”

She got the impression he hadn’t laughed like that in a very long time.

Whatever his demons were, she wanted to exorcise them. Dylan Quinn deserved to laugh again, even if he directed it squarely at her.

* * * *

“I will honestly say, I’m impressed,” Dylan said as they sat in a fast food joint not far from the Monroe Farm Equipment dealership.

Charli sipped her drink. “Why? Because I dropped a couple million dollars without having to mortgage the farm?”

After finishing off his burger, he shook his head. “No, because you were able to wheel and deal with the salesman. Those two tractors would have cost you nearly ten thousand more if you hadn’t charmed him down. But I’m more surprised you never IDed yourself.”

She popped the last of her french fries into her mouth, and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t want him to know.”

“He probably would’ve given you an even better deal.”

Looking up at him, she flattened her lips into a frown. “Possibly. But I didn’t think it was important for him to know. Besides, I doubt my telling him Hank Monroe was my grandfather would have made more of an impression than my threatening to take my business down the street to the John Deere place did.”

“Would you’ve taken your business elsewhere?”

She wiped her mouth on a paper napkin, and her lips curled up vixen-like. “Hell, no. I still get quite a sizable dividend check for the stock I own in the company. But he didn’t know that. Another reason not to show him all of my aces before I was good and ready.”

He shook his head. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”

“I’m not sure I’d like to play with you either. The way you looked at the guy scared him half to death.”

“I don’t think he knew what hit him.”

“Nope. We make a pretty good team.” By tacit agreement, they slid out of the booth to leave. She picked up her purse and followed him to the garbage can by the door. “I didn’t even have to wear a miniskirt to get what I wanted.”

Did she have any idea how damned good she looked in her skinny jeans and high-heeled boots, which made her legs go from Earth to Heaven? Not to mention, the nice cleavage she showed in the white shirt. He raised a brow, but didn’t say anything. When she noticed his attention and wrapped her arms around her middle, he looked away.

He busied himself with dumping the remains of their dinner. More than once, she’d hugged herself in that uncomfortable, insecure way. “Do I scare you?”

She met his gaze and dropped her arms to her sides. “No.”

“But I did.”

They exited and headed for the truck. She fussed with putting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “A little, when I first met you.”

“What changed?

“I–I did some research.”

“Research?” Once they reached the pickup, he opened her door.

She stepped into the space between the door and him. “Yeah, I learned about the Special Forces and saw your work at Tracy’s and your ranch. I asked people about you and decided you deserved a chance. Then I hired you.”

How did he respond to that? Charli stood so close he could see the blue flecks in her otherwise green eyes, and smell her soft perfume…like fresh peaches. Swallowing down the craziest notion he’d ever had in his life, he backed away before he proved himself nuts enough to kiss her.

“I think we should get going.”

He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Yeah.”

Several miles of freeway flew past them before he lowered the volume on the blaring radio. “I’d like to move into the bunkhouse.”

“It’s in pretty bad shape.”

“I know. But I need to get off my sister’s couch. I thought I could fix up the manager’s apartment. I’ll need the office to run the ranch anyway. I’ll do the work evenings and weekends.”

“If you want to fix the place up, I don’t care. Order the supplies you’ll need when you put the order in for the other work to be done.”

He glanced at her. “Why do you want to open the house to teenagers after you graduate? Why do you want to be a social worker in the first place? From what I understand, the money sucks.”

Charli took so long to answer he almost told her to forget he’d asked.

“I don’t want to do it for the money.” She paused, and he met her gaze, if only for a beat, but in that second he saw her vulnerability.

What the hell was she hiding? What was she running from?