CHAPTER THREE
Rusty
I n life, there were good sleeps and bad sleeps, and last night was definitely one of the bad ones.
Rusty kicked off his worn quilt and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his hazel eyes in an effort to clear the fog of sleep. With salt and pepper hair tousled from a night of tossing and turning, Rusty let out a heavy sigh before making his way to the kitchen of his wooden cabin.
This place was a tribute to his love for the land and its history. Books on ranching and horse training lined the shelves alongside family heirlooms and weathered souvenirs from long-forgotten rodeos and antlers from hunts.
His favorite part of the cabin was the kitchen. It bore the marks of a well-lived life, with a cast-iron skillet hanging above the stove and a collection of mismatched mugs lining the shelves. Rusty loved to cook for people, though it had been a long time since he’d had anyone special to cook for. Sometimes he cooked for his brothers, but they were normally so hungry they’d wolf down a whole chicken with all the feathers on if it was served to them on a plate.
He grabbed a mug and put a pot of coffee on the stove.
"Damn dreams," he muttered under his breath. It felt like he’d dreamed about Janice all night long. He’d dreamed about the day they met, when they were just teenagers at a barn dance. Janice had worn this lemon yellow dress with puffy sleeves and she was the prettiest damn thing fifteen-year-old Rusty had ever laid eyes on.
And then he’d heard her laugh. Oh man, her laugh. It drove him nuts. It was the cutest little giggle, and her eyes crinkled up into half-moons when she did it. She laughed like nobody was watching, truly, like the laughter was bubbling up straight out of her soul. It was beautiful.
In his dream last night, she hadn’t laughed. In her dream, she had just kinda . . . hovered. She had followed Rusty everywhere he went, grim-faced and silent, like a specter.
He glanced around his cabin now, as if expecting his ghostly dream-version of Janice to be there, watching him. Thankfully, of course, he was alone.
He poured his coffee and downed it in just a few gulps. The bitter liquid jolted him awake, and soon enough, he was pulling on his boots and hat, ready to start his day.
"Morning, Midnight," Rusty greeted his trusty stallion, patting the horse's strong neck affectionately. The dark horse whinnied softly, nuzzling Rusty's hand for a quick scratch behind the ears. Together, they set out to inspect the ranch's perimeter like usual.
"Everything looks good so far," Rusty thought to himself, his stern expression softening ever so slightly as he took in the serene landscape before him. These moments with Midnight were some of his favorite parts of the day. He sometimes liked to imagine he was the only person alive, and this was all his domain, as far as the eye could see.
It’s not like Rusty disliked company, but he just found it easier to be on his own. “Introverted” is probably what fancy folks would call it. Rusty hadn’t always been that way, but since his break-up with Janice, he’d preferred to stay in solitude. You knew where you stood when you were alone with the animals. No risk of heartache or confusion. Just a helluva lot of peace and quiet.
As he continued his ride, Rusty's gaze fell upon a section of the fence that appeared unusual. It was up near the entrance to the ranch near the main road that led into the place. It looked as though the dirt on the ground had been disturbed around it and something about the way the fence sagged told him he had a problem.
Squinting, he urged Midnight closer, concern furrowing his brow. Upon inspection, he discovered the fence had been cut cleanly through, its jagged edges standing out like a sore thumb against the otherwise pristine boundary. This was no accident, and not the work of a wild animal, either. Someone had cut through this thing, methodically, with purpose. A thief, most likely.
"Who in tarnation would do such a thing?" Rusty exclaimed, anger lacing his voice. The security of his ranch was paramount, and the sight of vandalism sent a shiver down his spine. He dismounted Midnight, running his calloused fingers along the cut fence, lost in thought.
"Guess I'll have to check this out, Midnight," Rusty mused, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and unease.
Rusty's mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Were the Littles all safe? What if someone had broken in and tried to hurt them? What if it was an angry ex-partner or some other person with a vendetta?
Rusty didn’t have a cell phone with him. Phones were useful, but they were also a way of disrupting a person’s peace. But Chuck needed to know about this, and soon.
With a furrowed brow, he looked down at the spot where the dirt had been disturbed. It looked like someone had crawled through the hole in the fence. Hard to tell what size they were or if there had been more than one of them. When he looked carefully, though, he could see where the dry grass and earth had been disturbed, leaving a faint trail that led away from the vandalized fence.
The warm sun overhead cast dappled shadows across the ground as he and Midnight followed the tracks. Rusty had always been a good tracker. His father had taught him to hunt, and as a young man, Rusty had enjoyed the thrill of the chase. There was something immensely satisfying about finding clues in nature that were hidden from unskilled eyes. These days he preferred looking after animals to hunting them, but his skills hadn't dulled with time.
“Looks like the tracks lead toward the barn, Midnight,” Rusty said. A sense of anticipation and anxiety gripped his chest, causing his pulse to quicken. He worried about what he might find in the barn. Or what might be missing. “Come on, boy. Let’s go take a look.”
He climbed back onto Midnight and tightened his grip on the reins.
As they approached the large building, Rusty noticed signs of recent activity—smallish footprints marred the otherwise undisturbed dirt surrounding the structure, while a few stray pieces of hay seemed out of place. His curiosity heightened, Rusty dismounted and cautiously approached the tall door, heart pounding in his ears.
"Whoever's in there," he whispered, more to himself than to Midnight, "they best have a good reason."
Rusty took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves by focusing on the familiar scent of the ranch, the earthy aroma of hay and soil mingling with the sharp tang of horse sweat. He pushed open the door and surveyed the inside. At first, he was relieved to see that things seemed normal. It was only when he walked in further that he noticed a corner of the barn in which hay had been piled up. When he got closer, he saw, to his horror, the bright crimson of spilled blood.
“Oh no,” he said, his heart sinking, “the animals!”
He approached the blood, there wasn't a huge amount of it, certainly not enough to indicate that an animal might have been badly hurt in here. With a careful boot, he moved around the hay, worrying he might uncover something terrible. But he didn't. There was nothing there at all.
A sudden splash of water startled Rusty, drawing his attention to the other side of the barn. It seemed to be coming from the barn’s small wash room.
Rusty decided not to call out in case whoever was in here got away. Instead, he tiptoed closer.
His pulse raced as he pushed open the door.
"Alright, now," he whispered under his breath, steeling himself for whatever lay beyond. As he stepped inside, the dimly lit washroom area of the shed came into view.
This was a very simple room with a toilet and a makeshift shower, which the cowhands and riders sometimes used after a day in the stables. A large barrel of rainwater stood in one corner, with a pulley system rigged above it to serve as a makeshift shower. There was a simple wooden screen in front of it, but Rusty could see feet peeking underneath the screen.
A woman’s feet.
And on the ground by her feet: blood.
Rusty didn’t like to pry on a woman taking a shower, but this woman was almost definitely an intruder. But what kind of intruder would take a moment for a shower? He crept over to the screen and steeling himself, he peered over it.
His eyes came to rest on the back of a naked woman standing under the barrel. Her long wet hair was the color of rust, and it clung to her back in swirled, long strands. As she turned, Rusty caught a glimpse of a familiar birthmark on her lower back just above her hip. The birthmark was red and shaped like a heart.
It was a mark he'd seen many times before, a decade ago.
"Janice?" he choked out, disbelief coloring his voice.
Her head snapped toward him, wide-eyed with shock. “R-rusty? What are you doing here?”
“Never mind me. What in God’s name are you doin’ here, Janice?” Rusty asked, still struggling with his disbelief. “Did you break in?” He tried to keep his eyes focused on hers, struggling to maintain a semblance of respect despite the vulnerable state he'd found her in.
Janice's face flushed a deep crimson as she hastily covered herself with her hands, frantically searching for something to shield her exposed body.
Rusty looked about for a towel, but couldn’t find one, so he quickly unbuttoned his plaid shirt and passed it over the screen to Janice.
Hastily, she put it on and buttoned it up then came out of the cubicle. The shirt came down past her thighs, and truth be told, she looked damn gorgeous in it. She used to wear his shirts around the house when they were dating, and he always found it inexplicably sexy.
Now, Rusty's gaze lingered on the curves of her silhouette, and he couldn't help but notice how attractive she still was after all these years. He felt a pang of guilt for intruding on her privacy, but still, he had to get to the bottom of this.
“So?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
Janice wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape route. "I needed a place to stay," she whispered, swallowing hard. "Just for a little while. I didn’t know you were here, Rusty. Do you . . . do you live here . . . with a Little?"
Rusty gritted his teeth together. “I live here, yes,” he said, purposefully not replying to the second part of Janice’s question. “I work as a horse wrangler here on the ranch.”
“I see,” said Janice, her eyes full of so much sadness it was almost unbearable. “Well, Rusty, I’m not sure what to do right now because you . . . weren’t part of my plan.”
Rusty arched an eyebrow. “What was your plan?”
“I was just hiding out in here for the night. This morning, I need to go and see Chuck. When I saw this little washroom, I thought it might be sensible to freshen up first.”
Rusty frowned, trying to process the information as he rubbed the back of his neck. Janice’s presence brought up a whirlwind of emotions he'd buried for years. He should have been furious at her sudden reappearance, but instead, he found himself concerned about what had driven her here. Chuck had said he turned her away. What trouble could be so bad that would lead her to go against the Ranch owner's wishes.
"I don't understand," he said, his voice softening despite his best efforts. "Why are you here? Why didn't you go to your father? Or anyone else?"
Tears threatened to spill from Janice's eyes, and she shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. "I can't go to my father, Rusty. I just can't. And I don't have anyone else. Or anywhere else."
Rusty exhaled slowly. His gut churned—it had been so long since he'd seen her, but his protective instincts were so strong he couldn't ignore them. Still, he knew he should keep his distance. Janice was clearly not happy to see him. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "I’ll take you to Chuck. But he won’t be happy about what you did. Sabotaging the ranch's fence ain't the best way to make a good first impression."
Janice nodded, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I know," she whispered, finally looking up at him with tearful eyes. "I didn't want to. I just had no choice." She pursed her lips. "Thank you, Rusty." She took a step toward him, reaching out as if to hug him.
Immediately, he became overpowered with the smell of her. Rainwater and hay and earth, but on top of that, there was an even stronger smell. A smell that was all Janice. She smelled of sunshine and wildflowers mixed with just a hint of her favorite lavender perfume.
The moment he smelled it, memories overwhelmed him. Memories of moonlit rides through the fields, of whispered promises under the stars, and of a love that had once burned bright between them. He remembered the scent of her hair as she rested against his chest after a long day on the ranch, and the shape of her body as they made love. The curve of her bottom as he spanked her, and the soft moans she'd made as he mastered her again and again.
Rusty stepped back, not letting Janice hug him, then clenched his jaw.
“Right,” he said. “Let’s go see Chuck. Grab your things.” He paused, looking down at the blood on the floor of the shower. “Janice, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Janice’s lips trembled for a moment, but she quickly tried to mask her emotion. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little scratch.”
Rusty frowned. “All that blood for a scratch?”
Janice shrugged. “Looks worse than it is.”
“Show me,” Rusty instructed her.
Janice shook her head.
Knowing that he had no right to pry, Rusty said, “Alright. We’ll get you checked out by the medic after we’ve been to see Chuck, okay?”
“Okay,” said Janice, her emerald eyes blinking at him, momentarily distracting him with their dangerous beauty.
She went off to get her backpack, which she’d hidden under a pile of hay, and Rusty tried his very, very best not to check her out as she walked across the barn in his shirt.
They walked across the ranch grounds toward the main house. Rusty noticed that Janice walked slightly hunched, with a faint limp in her step, likely from the discomfort of sleeping on the barn floor.
Janice wasn’t his responsibility, but since Rusty had been the one to find her, and since they used to date one another, he felt somehow like he was in charge of her safety.
Don’t get too close , he reminded himself. You need to make sure Chuck says no to letting her stay.
"Rusty?" Janice's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Hmm?” Rusty answered.
“What kind of man is Chuck? Is he kind? Do you think I have any chance of convincing him to let me stay on the ranch a while?”
Rusty considered this. He knew full well that the reason Chuck had told Janice she couldn’t stay on the ranch was because of her history with him . But he couldn’t tell her that, so instead, he simply replied, “Chuck is a fair man. He always does the right thing.”
Janice nodded, and it was then that Rusty noticed she was clutching a stuffie to her chest.
So, Janice was definitely still a Little.
That shouldn’t have been interesting. But it was . Deeply interesting.
“Who’s your stuffie?” Rusty asked. “Anyone I’ve met before?”
Janice looked down at the stuffie then held it up to Rusty to show him. He recognized the soft toy at once. Not because he’d seen it before, but because he’d seen a picture of it. The stuffie was blue and round with red hair. It looked just like Little Miss Giggles from the Mr. Men series Rusty had read to Janice back when they were together. It was a series popular back in Scotland, where she’d grown up, and Rusty had bought a copy of that book for her as a present because of her infectious laugh.
A laugh which, he noticed, he hadn’t heard once since he’d seen her again.
“It’s Little Miss Giggles,” said Janice quietly.
Rusty smiled. “Hello, Little Miss Giggles,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
He didn’t reveal that he remembered the book he’d bought for Janice all those years ago. He couldn't bear to talk about their past. It was still too painful. Especially when they had no future.
“Well, here we are,” said Rusty as they arrived outside the main building. “Chuck’s office is just in here.”
Janice looked up at the doors. “Help me,” she whispered. “Please.”