BOOK 2 IN THE PINE RIDGE RANCH SERIES
CHARLIE TAKES A CHANCE
Hellllloooo, frosty Oregon weather.
I immediately regret staying in my workout gear of shorts and tennis shoes, because when I step out of the car, I realize it’s freakin’ cold. Frostbite takes out your bare kneecaps, kind of cold.
My running shorts do nothing to protect my bare legs as I stand on the gravel drive and look around at the Pine Ridge ranch.
I turn around and grab my phone from the middle console of my car. It doesn’t light up even when I hit the side button.
Perfect. It’s dead. My car is so old that I need a special adapter to charge my phone. And I forgot it. I must have left it in my apartment after I’d cleaned out my car. It’s kind of a problem when it’s a three-hour drive.
Let’s hope I remember the key code for the house. Magnolia texted me a set of numbers for a keypad and then told me where a hide-a-key would be. I’m not sure why she would need to tell me both. Or was it a keycode for the lockbox to get into the house? And she said something about a bunkhouse?
I don’t quite remember the instructions, so it’s especially a bummer my phone isn’t charged.
I toss my phone back into the car and search my glove box for the small flashlight I keep there. I’d like to say it’s the first time I’ve needed my emergency flashlight—but I’d be lying.
“Confound it,” I mutter as I slam the glove compartment closed. I shove my way out of my Honda then open the trunk to pull out my big puffy coat. My sweater isn’t enough to keep me warm. The forecast said possible snow by the weekend. Fine by me. I don’t have any plans to leave by then.
This is a glorious working vacation—one where I enjoy the fresh eastern Oregon air, forget I ever dated someone named Bryce, and pretend like I can’t answer text messages. It will be a peaceful six weeks.
I zip my coat up as far as it goes and pull my hood on. My ears are turning into popsicles in this fresh mountain air. Is it thinner up here? Or am I just used to being in the city?
I walk down the gravel drive toward the big house. It’s a monstrosity—one of the biggest log cabins I’ve ever seen.
It looks cold and unwelcoming with only a dim porchlight on. It’s not what I pictured when Nash told me this place held a lot of fond memories. It’s practically a haunted mausoleum.
I’m here to change that. I’ve been hired to prepare the Pine Ridge Lodge for the holidays.
It’s still weird that my best friend—and ex-roommate, Magnolia, is about to marry Nash, but they seem to genuinely be happy together.
Nash hired me to prep his family’s home for the upcoming holidays. In his words, “Make sure everything is working and ready for Grandpa. Magnolia said you could do it.”
I’d reassured him that I could, in fact, do that. How hard could it be to fix a few minor things and clean the house? I told him I’d do him one better and have the house decorated for Christmas, too.
Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
Besides, Magnolia seems genuinely happy with the guy and loves his grandpa like her own. Nash’s grandpa had a health scare earlier this year, so I know they want to make these holidays extra special. And I’m happy to get to make that a reality for them.
But as I stand there staring at the door I realize I’ve hit my first snag.
There’s no keypad on the door. That’s strange. Magnolia had definitely said something about a key code. Maybe that had to do with the alarm system. I punch the doorbell to see if it works. Nothing. It’s as silent as the night surrounding me.
Magnolia had given me instructions on where to find the spare key, and I remember them only vaguely.
Too bad my phone’s dead or I would double-check those instructions.
Turning around, I work my way down the sidewalk and check under rock after rock.
The spare key ends up being under the brick at the turn in the walkway.
“Victory!” I return to the door and slide the key into the lock, turning it and unbolting it. I shove open the door and step inside.
It’s completely dark, and my flashlight is flickering like the house has the power to suck away any light.
That unreliable little flashlight doesn’t even give me the decency of a warning of what is to happen next. It isn’t even bright enough for me to see the shadow sneaking up behind me.
A bright light flashes behind me right before something large slams into my back, and I stumble forward into a hard surface. I’m pressed up against a door or a wall, but the scariest part is that something is holding me in place.
I scream and flail, but I don’t make any progress because my arms are flapping into the wall rather than whatever is holding me there. It’s large, I know that. “I don’t want to get eaten by a bear! I promise I don’t taste good! I’ll give you the jerky in my car!”
The pressure against my back eases up, and a paw grabs my shoulder. I turn to look into a bright headlamp. Safe to say, whatever is standing there isn’t a bear. It’s worse.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
“Who am I? Who are you? And what kind of jerky are we talking about?” a wry voice asks. The man steps away from me, moves to the wall, and snaps a light on, the entryway flooding with light. I have to blink several times to adjust to the brightness.
His back is to me when he pulls the headlamp off and tucks it into his coat pocket.
My first impression of him is he’s tall.
Broad. And I know for a fact he’s strong since he was able to hold me against the wall with such ease.
I glance at the wall behind me and see that I had been pressed against a picture frame.
There’s no picture or artwork inside of it.
“What are you doing in this house?” I demand as we face each other.
I swallow hard as I’m met with piercing blue eyes. Burglars aren’t supposed to look like that. Like they could be an ad for Outdoors Sexy R Us. He has brown hair, some scruff on his face, and looks like a male model but with big, broad shoulders.
The man is wearing a brown Carhartt jacket, jeans, and—oh no, what kind of travesty is on his feet? Are those Romeos? I stare at his shoes for far too long. It’s safer than looking at any other part of him.
“What are you doing here? Thought you could come back and finish trashing the place?” His sharp voice has me jerking my gaze back up to his face.
“I’m staying here!” I squeak out. I rub my hands together because I’m not sure what else to do with them.
“The heck you are. I’m not about to let you start squatting in this place again,” he mutters as he reaches for me.
I freeze for a brief moment then realize he plans to grab me.
Too bad for me, my self-defense classes were limited to life advice from my dad.
It’s like I can hear his voice crystal clear in my head.
“They’re gonna kill you anyway, so try to make them do it in the parking lot where there’s security cameras. ”
First of all, I’m not in a parking lot. Second, he might be right about the security cameras. I’m going to put up the best fight I can.
I jump forward, jabbing with a quick right. All those boxing classes had better pay off. Too bad he ducks at the last second, and I end up catching him on the shoulder.
He grunts at the hit, mutters something under his breath, then bends down, grabbing me around my bare legs. His fingers press into my bare skin as he hoists me over his shoulder. In about two seconds flat, I’m dangling upside down as he walks out the door.
Never let them take you away from the scene of the crime.
In one last desperate attempt, I grasp the wooden door frame and shriek, “Help! Murder! Police!”
No one’s going to help me. There is no one out here. Unless a prairie dog decides to run to my rescue, I’m flat out of luck.
“I’m going to kill Magnolia,” I mutter as I try to get a better grip on the door frame. The light-colored grain is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, especially considering it’s keeping me from getting dragged off into the wilderness.
The man’s hard shoulder is digging into my stomach, but this doorframe is my last shot of hope. He stops pulling me and takes a small step back. My arms relax, but I keep my hands wrapped around the wooden door frame.
“What was that you said about Magnolia?”
“Magnolia?” I attempt to blow my hair out of my face, but it’s hard to do when you’re hanging upside. “Yeah, I’m going to kill her. She said this would be an easy job for me. She lied. I’m about to get murdered.”
The man shifts back and forth, and I get a prime view of his gluteus maximus in action. If he didn’t want me to look, he shouldn’t be dangling my face three inches away from it.
“How do you know Magnolia?”
“We used to be roommates. And now she’s all engaged to Nash, and they hired me to come out and get this house ready to host some holidays. Joke’s on them. They’ll be hosting a true-crime podcast.” I accentuate that claim with a punch to his back.
And then something shocking happens. The man sets me down.
Abruptly, I might add.
I’m so dizzy from my upside-down excursion that I stumble back and rest a hand against the big beam that’s part of the front porch. It’s definitely not your average treated lumber. This beam alone is worth more than my car—especially with today’s lumber prices.
I turn my attention back to my would-be murderer and point a shaky finger at him. “I’m not going down without a fight.”
“You’re Charlie?” He looks genuinely confused.
I nod my head slowly.
“You’re not the Charlie I expected.”
“How many Charlies do you know?”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Why are you here so late? I thought you were a squatter breaking in again.”
A squatter? I glance down at my bare legs. “If I were going door to door looking for an empty house, don’t you think I would be better prepared than this?”
He shrugs.
“And who the heck are you?”
“How do I know you’re Charlie? Who are you really?” he shoots back.
“Your worst nightmare.”
He stares at me, making me feel as big as an ant.
“Yeah, you know, if I could retract that statement, I’d really like to.
It sounded better in my head, and now that it’s out there, I can definitely see that it was a weird thing to say.
What I really should have said was that I’m more of a fairy godmother.
Not a nightmare. I’m here to fix all the problems.”
The man shakes his head and simply walks away.
He walks away into the darkness. He disappears behind the house, and just like that, he’s gone. If I didn’t know better, I would think I’d imagined the whole encounter.
Who was he? The groundskeeper? The security guard? What the heck?
“You can’t just leave me standing here after assaulting me!” I scream into the darkness.
I jump when he reappears back around the corner of the house. He storms back toward me, and I force myself to hold my ground because it’s a whole lot of hunk of a man barreling toward me.
I regret calling after him, but it’s too late now, isn’t it? Should have thought about that before I called this grouchy-pants back to me.
“I thought you were breaking into a house in the dark. You didn’t know where the key was, you’re not from ‘round here, and you think I need to apologize?” His nostrils flare as he stares down at me.
“‘Round here?” I mimic the way he’s dropping vowels. It does nothing to endear me to him. I grin up at him. “Turns out I am supposed to be from around here. But who exactly are you?”
He looks startled. He takes a slow step back. “I’m Max St. James.”
“That’s nice. I’m Charlie Baxter. I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid you might pick me up again.”
He sighs heavily as though he has no patience left. “What exactly are you doing here, Charlie Baxter?”
“Nash and Magnolia hired me to prep the house for the holidays. They said there was some fixing up to do.” My legs are really starting to freeze. It’d be nice if we could take this conversation somewhere warmer. Like by a fire. Or sitting over a heater vent.
Max shakes his head. “I told him the damage was bad. When they said they were sending their friend Charlie, I assumed they were sending a contractor. This isn’t a quick touch-up.
Some of the rooms need new drywall. And the roof has a leak.
The bathroom… Yeah, they sent you up here to do something that a professional should do. ”
There are a lot of things running through my mind at that exact moment. Like, Hey, I’ve been a general contractor for four years now. Or, My dad taught me to build a house at age twelve.
This level of obliviousness makes me want to smack someone. I shove my hands into my coat pockets to keep from doing precisely that.
“How about you don’t worry about me, mmkay?” I reply in an overly sweet voice that gives off the ‘bite me’ vibe.
He shakes his head. “You might as well spend the night tonight and then go home tomorrow.”
Go home? What an entitled jerkface. “You think I’m afraid of a little work?”
“I don’t know you, but I know how much work that place is going to take.” He points at the house behind me. “The best thing you could do is call Nash and tell him you need a whole crew. He hasn’t been out here to see the damage himself.”
I take a big risk and pull my hands from my pockets and plant them on my hips. I step forward and narrow my eyes at him. “What is it you do around here? Obviously not much, if you let the house fall into disrepair.”
He raises his eyes at that. “I’m the ranch manager.”
“Hmm, how interesting.”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “Call Nash and tell him he underestimated the job. The place is a mess in there.”
He spins on his heel and walks away into the darkness.
What does he do, sleep with the cows? I sigh and stomp toward my car. What he doesn’t know is I’m never one to back away from a challenge. I just need my sweatpants first.
Mr. Grumpy Ranch Manager can go take a hike and feed his cows, because I’m here to stay.
I grab my duffel bag out of the car, along with my phone, and walk inside the house.
How bad could it be?
Turns out, pretty bad. By the next morning, I realize the heat pump is out, and there’s no running water. The house has been completely trashed, and I’m a one-woman crew.
I’ll never admit it, but the ranch manager might have been right. This is a big job.
But at this point, anything is better than going home to my lonely existence. A boyfriend who breaks up with you before the holidays because you’re ‘not the girl someone brings home to the parents’ makes a trashed mansion seem not so bad.