Chapter 37

The stables loomed large in front of her. But as she ducked into the dark interior, she was immediately on alert.

Angry words. The atmosphere, thick with tension. Surprised, she stopped short, attempted to get her bearings. Whose voice was that? Was there immediate danger? She made out the source of the upset quickly as she peered from the shadows.

Cole. Facing someone. In attack stance. “What the hell do you mean they won’t give us credit?”

A lean, tall man in denim jeans and jacket faced him. “They say it can’t be proven. It’s just our word. We’re waiting on details from Stryker. He came again, said he’d just add it to the bill. And he worked until they were all comfortable, Mr. Dawson. Says they’ll all pull through. Though a bigger dose, higher levels would have killed them. Just lucky Jesse saw and pulled the feed quick.”

“And they say that’s normal?”

“They said no one else has complained or had any issues. And it could have been our own sloppiness, chemicals getting mixed in. If we sue, we have to prove it was them. All them. And they’ll be working to prove the opposite. They're not budging.”

“Damn.” Cole dragged his hand through his hair, and it stood up in unkempt tufts. Pulled way back. “This is not good, Ranger. We’re sitting ducks here. I don’t know how Quinn is doing this, but half the county owes him.”

“Yeah. And he’s got extra to spread around.”

“He does. And it’s enticing. A little bit of pain for someone else, and you get a windfall.” Cole stopped abruptly. “We have to watch things better. A whole lot better.” His eyes scanned the area, and she saw him mentally cataloging everything. “Keep proof of our own actions to date.”

“I watched the shipment just like you said, supervised everything. I swear I didn’t leave even one of those sacks until they were unloaded and in our feed area. If you want, you can check the security cams.”

But Cole shook his head. “Hell, no. I trust you. You’ve been with us as long as I can remember. But I will tell you one thing. I know who to look at. And I will make Quinn Raary pay. I just need evidence, and I’m on that already.” He glanced at his watch. “Go, have your supper. You’ve been here, slogging overtime long enough. I’ll take over.”

But the young man didn’t move. “Nah, I’m good. Got some stuff squirrelled away in the bunkhouse. I'll stay for now. Besides, grub’ll be gone by now.”

“The hell it is and the hell you are.” Cole clamped a hand onto his shoulder, walked him out through the exit opposite to where she was standing, still watching, surreptitiously, in the dark. “You go up to the main house and tell Dax I sent you, and that you’re to get a care package. Have it there, if you want. And make sure you get some of that fresh cherry pie. I know there’s a few big slices left. Hear?”

A grin stretched across Ranger’s face. And she knew the truth of that look, felt it in her bones.

The basics in life would always be appreciated, and all the more when there was worry about them running out. She should know.

“Thanks, Mr. Dawson. I did smell fried chicken earlier, and the guys texted me there was stew in the bunkhouses tonight. Maybe I could get some of that?” He grinned as Cole nodded vigorously. “I’ll be back, five a.m.” He ambled off, weary, but heartened at the thought of a good feed.

Cole had sounded cheerful, but now as he strode back, his demeanor changed. She felt like a voyeur, there in the shadows, when he didn’t know she was there. But she couldn’t help but watch.

He’d been stalwart, larger than life when he’d talked with Ranger. But the shift now was alarming. It was like all the fight had gone out of him as soon as he was alone. Had he put on all that machismo for the hand? His shoulders slumped. His gaze was expressionless, mind a million miles away. He strode toward her, toward the very spot, bereft of light, she was standing in. All her muscles tensed. Did he know she was there? Was he coming for her?

Then he stopped, sank onto a bale of hay beside one of the stalls. She heard the brief, tight squish of the thick pile of dried grass, then kept her gaze glued to him. To his expression.

It was no longer blank. She thought she saw a glimmer in his eyes, realized it was a sheen of tears. Holy hell, was he going to cry? She couldn’t imagine what would crack that tough, always in control male exterior to give in to such human emotion.

Was he going to?

The corners of his mouth dipped. He slumped forward, cradled his head in his hands. For all the world, he looked like a man that had lost everything.

Absolutely everything.

Something pulled at her, tugged her forward. She could no longer stay, unnoticed, in the shadows.

Moving out from the darkness, she forced an unnatural gaiety into her voice. “Cole. I came to see the horses. How are they? Happy to see the master home again?”

But when he raised his gaze to her face, there was no welcome in it, no response. No light.

His eyes were dead.

Something stabbed into her heart. Fear. Worry for the man that had taken such painstaking, incredibly thoughtful, and empathetic care of her while on tour. While fielding each one of her moods and her abrupt, very mouthy forays into independence. Where she’d fought against an enemy, and somehow, it had materialized into him. Even though she’d just met him.

And he’d taken it. Without complaint.

She didn't know what the hell to say but worry and adrenaline kept her talking. “Is Tawny still on the mend? I hear she's the most amazing horse. Your mom was saying she’s fantastic on the track but a real sweetheart behind the scenes. And that…”

He looked at her, but she knew he really didn't see her.

She couldn't stand it any longer. She walked over to him, stopped her babbling, sank to her knees. Beside him. “Cole. What is it? What can I do to help?”

He closed his eyes, spoke in a barely audible tone. “I didn't know anyone was here.”

“And that changes things because?”

“Just…hell. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Cole.” Her voice was gentle, beseeching. And dead serious. For once, she felt like she had something to tell him, to communicate. Something important. “If someone else is here, does that mean you can’t just be you? You can’t just…let go?”

The muscles in his face tensed and a bit of fight seeped back into him. “I'm responsible for the spread. Me. I've had to take over completely since Dad’s been sick. Mason's gone, to the military. Lucas is who the hell knows where. And Dane is over in Europe with his company, hasn’t been able to get back. Super secret project.” He shook his head. “And Jared? I don’t want to know where he is. The less we know about him, the better. It’s all on me.”

“What was wrong with Rafe?”

His eyes narrowed. “Equipment was tampered with. Cut his hand something good.” His face tightened. “If I can’t even protect my hands…”

“You said he’s okay? How’s he okay?”

“Took care of it myself, then sent him off with Kelvin to the local doc. He’ll be back in his bunk soon, gave him a few days off. Though knowing him, he’ll still work, just use his left hand.” He shook his head. “That’s cutting close. Too damn close.”

“What was that about the feed?” She saw the moment he registered she'd heard everything. He didn't question it, just answered her. Dealt with what was in front of him.

He shrugged. “Couple of the dairy cows are sick. Hell.” He heaved a deep sigh, spat. “More sabotage, sounds like. Older animals, not prize ones. But it’s worse because, hell. They’re family pets.”

He shook his head, and she saw the open pain in them. “I know cattlemen are supposed to be tough and view the stock just as dollar signs, but damn. We’re never operated that way. I know it sounds woo-woo, but we have native Indian back in our bloodline—Dad’s great-grandma for one, and it’s something Dad made sure we learned and applied, kept close to our hearts. The comfort of the animals, that we serve them first, then they serve us. Humanely. And the dairy cows? They’re ours, damn it. Ours. I’ve milked JK for years. Her calves, Harrieta and Hermione-—yeah, it was from our Harry Potter days. But they’ve given their cream, milk, and butter for our family table and for the hands, for years.” Upset speared into his face. “Whoever did this knew our herd was small, and that they are family members. And they knew it would hurt us not only in the pocketbook but in…”

He stopped talking, stared ahead at the opposite stall’s corner post.

“…in the heart. You meant to say, it’ll hurt you in the heart.”

He sank his head into his hands again. “Hell. It isn’t what you’re supposed to hear from a cowboy.”

Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But it is what you hear from a real person. A real man.”

His shoulders moved up with another silent sigh, then sank. “What the hell did you walk into here, Tabitha? You were supposed to come to a place that was going to support you. Give you strength, help you get up, and get going again. Fly.”

His heart was literally on his sleeve. She wanted to smile gently, but it was too serious, and she kept her expression in line with that. He had to know the truth. Hear it. “I never asked for that.”

“No, you didn’t.” He raised his hand and touched a wisp of hair at her temple clumsily. Smoothed it back abruptly, stared at it. “I remember. You were ready to cut off my balls if I even suggested you could use help to carry a box of books weighing in at least about fifty pounds. Maybe more. Surprised the jewels are still intact, Missy.”

“I let you carry my bags earlier.”

“You did.” He smiled, remembering. “But the strength. The support. It’s what I wanted for you. It’s what Dawson Ridge’s does for folk. For the community. Hell.” His eyes narrowed, trying to contain more pain. “It’s what Dawsons do.”

The old mantra slid from his lips, and she sensed, squeezed from his heart. But at the moment, the Dawsons were dealing with their own shit. Heavy and hard.

She laid a hand on his forearm, his warmth real. Inviting. But not sexual, somehow. Just real, in the moment. “And so it’s what you think you have to do. As head of the spread.”

He shrugged. “You caught me not doing my job tonight. At all.”

She let her thumb stroke his arm lightly. “Is it so bad for you to take a little rest? Just a brief one? Be real for a couple of hours? Maybe… just one night?”

She saw that hopeless look swim in his eyes again. She hadn’t seen this Cole before, somehow. What was this?

Yet intuitively, she knew she had to jog him from whatever funk was pulling him down. She needed to get his attention, force it, or he’d stay down, wherever he’d fallen. “Cole. Is it alright for you to take a break? You can be a tough guy in the morning again. But can you just be you, tonight, for a few hours? For the night? No PR? No bullshit facade?”

He stared at her, and the question he asked would echo in her forever. A simple enough question, but it was raw in its reality. “Who the hell would want to be with someone like that?”

His voice fell so low, she could barely hear him, though she was right beside him. But she caught the words. Deep inside, she shuddered with the meaning they divulged.

He looked at her again, his eyes bleak. “Who the hell would stay with someone like that?”

Something deep in her winced at the words. At their meaning.

Something to figure out, tomorrow, or another day. Not now. Something else was needed right now, desperately. Only one thing would do. And it had to be real.

She looked at him, and realized that in the excitement of meeting his family, she'd forgotten to touch up her makeup. No doubt the scars were starting to show. The ugly, reddish-purple lines covered the bottom of her face, ringed her neck unattractively. Then they jaggedly descended lower to deform her skin on her upper body. Once so perfect and smooth and creamy back upon a time but no more. That was gone forever.

But he was looking at her as if he didn’t see them. At all.

Weird. She couldn’t think of that now. This wasn’t about her, for once. Or her looks, in this moment, hideous though they were, and would stay.

This was about him.

She gave him the only answer she could. “I will.”

And when he sank to the hay-covered wooden floorboards beside her, she naturally moved beside him. He didn’t put his arm around her, but she leaned against him, found they fit, and gave him her warmth.

He reached overhead and grasped the checkered, woolen blanket above them, from along the top of the wooden stall. Pulled it down and arranged it on their legs, then tucked it in up higher too, sloppily. But he captured the warmth in the stable, warmth from the animals that lived with them, served them, and loved them. And the warmth from their two bodies, together.

Tawny snickered softly, and a couple of the horses answered the mare with gentle whinnies. Goodnights to each other, possibly approval? Maybe a wait and see. Whatever, it wrapped the evening, also naturally. Cole let his hand rest on his knees.

And didn’t complain when her fingers found his, entwined with his, held him. Gently. Until the morning.