Chapter Eight
The scenery changed from rows of cookie-cutter houses to ranches. Houses were separated by acres of lush pastures and fields as they drove closer to Storm Pass.
Mercy reclined and looked up at the clouds. As a little girl, she searched for shapes within the fluffy clouds, wondering if they were gifts or messages from loved ones who had passed away.
She felt more at peace this morning. Last night, she and Jag had a conversation without her feeling all those old emotions of anger toward him.
Waking up and finding herself cuddled against his broad back had left her aching for more. At some point, she must have moved the bag because it ended up at the bottom of the bed.
Thankfully, she had woken before him and extracted herself from his body before she was caught red-handed.
She didn’t want to be attracted to him. She didn’t want to feel a flash burn into the center of her bones when he looked at her. Yet, he affected her in a way she didn’t quite understand, and one that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake.
Her focus should be on the danger lurking over her head, not on relieving the feral tingle between her thighs.
Bravely, she looked over at Jag, following the smooth and rigid lines of his profile. His beard covered most of his jaw and was neatly groomed. What would he do if she reached over and laid her hand on his thigh?
He glanced at her, his gaze narrowing. “Problem?”
Yes, I want to fuck you .
She stopped those words quick.
“I’m still curious about the men at the ranch. What they’re like,” she said innocently.
“Let’s see, Arrow is the epitome of his name. Once he has his trajectory locked on something, he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. He’s reserved and takes a bit to warm up to strangers. Atlas is the opposite. He's the entertainer of the bunch. He’ll crack a joke at a funeral if he thinks it’ll help break the ice. Bear and I go back. He and I bro-bonded over nights spent sitting in a sniper’s nest on scorching rooftops. You get to know someone well when you’re stuck in dangerous locations and afraid you’ll get your head blown off if you move a muscle. He’s a bad ass but he’d give his shirt off his back to help someone. Bones and Kye get on each other’s nerves because they're about as competitive as they come. Then there’s Crow. He’s hard to describe. Don’t be nervous. You’ll fit right in.”
With a nod, Mercy stared back through the window. “How much further do we have?”
“About six miles.”
“Six miles. Six years,” she muttered.
“You nervous?”
“Do you think we can pull off being cousins?” She wasn’t sold on the story, not when she craved to jump his bones.
“If we pretended you were my girl, they’d be a bit curious why I hadn’t mentioned you yet.”
“Why don’t you simply say you found me to take the cook’s position? Wouldn’t that be much easier?”
“The way a lie works is staying as close to the truth as possible. We have history, and that can’t be erased. I’ll have to let Puma in on what’s happening. He’ll know who you are.”
“Is that safe?”
He used his thumbnail to scratch his temple. “There’s no way around that. I’ll have to bring him in on things. He’s trustworthy without a doubt.”
“I guess we'd better not let it slip that you and I had sex. That would be an entirely new multifaceted issue we’d be revealing.”
He reached over and turned up the air. The sun was getting warmer. “We’ve known each other long enough—and know enough about each other’s lives—that we can pass as relatives.”
“I guess that’s convenient. You get a cook and a cousin.” She laughed, but inside, she was a ball of doubt, wondering if she could pull this off. One wrong look and she’d reveal that she had feelings for Jag.
“Yeah, lucky me. I get to babysit you for who knows how long.”
“You’re not babysitting me,” she corrected him. The last thing she wanted was for him to refer to her as a baby who needed his care.
“My bad. You’re certainly not a baby.”
His choice of words, as innocent as they were, made her feel warm in her belly.
“You just remember to keep your hands to yourself.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my hands right where they belong. It’s the right thing to do.”
“They felt pretty right that night we shared,” she said, her smile hidden.
After clearing his throat, he said, “If we keep talking about that night, we’ll blow your cover quickly.”
“Well, I declare you might have enjoyed it a tad bit,” she said in her best Scarlett O’Hara voice.
“Mercy, there’s one thing I do know without a doubt. I most definitely enjoyed that night.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not interested in taking a stroll down memory lane. It’s never a good idea to revisit the past.”
They fell into silence for the remainder of the drive. When she saw the arched sign swinging over the driveway for Storm Pass, some of the tension she’d lost during her banter with Jag returned.
The ranch was pristine, with vibrant green pastures contrasting against freshly painted white fences and blue barns with black roofs. Very modern.
On one side, horses grazed, and on the other, cattle. Several cowboys rode horses along the fence line, throwing up their hands in greeting as Jag drove past. He reciprocated by touching the brim of his hat.
“Wow. This place is beautiful,” she said.
“You’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg.” The lane curved, and he jutted his chin at the row of ice-capped mountains in the distance. Their pointed tips seemed to reach the fleecy clouds meandering overhead, moving as languorously as the cattle in the pasture to their left.
More cowboys scattered the land, busily doing chores underneath the bright morning sunlight. Some had removed their shirts and Mercy tried not to stare too long.
Their large silver buckles glistened in the sunlight, as well as their slick, sweat-coated skin.
Three men were on top of a barn roof, repairing it, and paused in their work to watch Jag’s truck pass.
“Is everyone here muscled and toned?” She didn’t realize she’d said the words aloud until he answered.
“This is the true meaning of fitness, Mercy. From sunlight to sundown, these men are working.”
The lane curved again, and the focus shifted to the stately farmhouse—a white-sided, two-story structure with extra-large windows and a welcoming wraparound porch adorned with rocking chairs. On each side of the house were lush gardens overflowing with flowers. Mercy didn’t know a daisy from a lily, but she could still admire the love someone showed to the gardens.
Instead of parking in front of the main house, he continued to drive, and the road went from gravel to dirt.
“A lot of the food provided to the crew is grown here, or on local farms.” He pointed at a vegetable garden near the farmhouse's back door. A clothesline full of clothing whipped the air as a strong breeze blew in.
“Does someone wash clothes for the crew?” She noticed that most of the clothing on the line was men’s shirts and jeans. “Please tell me that’s not the cook’s job.”
His chuckle was caught in the wind blowing in through the open window. “No, it’s not the cook’s job. A lady comes out a few times a week to clean the house and do the laundry. Her name is Jess, and I’ll warn you, she can be somewhat cantankerous.”
“I’m sure doing laundry for a handful of smelly cowboys is a highlight of her week.”
“I’m sure there are a dozen other things she’d rather be doing.”
“Like cooking for a large group?” Mercy asked with an arched eyebrow.
“You might as well accept that you’re the new ranch cook.”
She moaned. “It was worth a shot.”
They parked in front of a small cottage. The chipped paint on the outside walls and the condition of the tiny porch seemed a stark contrast to the beautiful farmhouse that stood nearby.
“This is where I’ll be staying?”
“Were you expecting five-star accommodations, princess?”
“No, of course not, but…”
“What?”
“It’s very…small.” Could she and Jag both fit inside? He alone probably took up most of the space.
“Trust me, it’s a mansion compared to the bunkhouse where I’ve been living for six months.” He hopped out and grabbed her bag from the back.
“I apologize if my comment about the house seemed rude. I was thinking…”
“Feel free to speak your mind, Mercy. Communication is key, or so I’ve heard a time or two.”
“Alright, I will. You and I… in this small house.”
His eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “If you’re concerned about sharing this space, you should feel reassured knowing that I work more than I don’t. You'll mostly be up at the main house. Just don’t leave the property without me. Understood?”
“Indeed, sir,” she replied crisply.
“You’re already falling into line,” he joked.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she remarked to his back as she trailed him to the front door.
He opened it and stepped aside, allowing her to enter first. “My casa
su
casa .”
The space, though small, was tidy and well-kept. Its open layout featured a worn but comfortable-looking couch and matching chair, and the kitchen had essential appliances with a rack for pots and pans.
“I’ll toss your bag inside the bedroom.”
She followed him down the hallway and peeked inside. Again, small, but the bed was inviting.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch,” he said.
“Why don’t I take the couch? I have a better idea. How about we alternate every other night? That seems fair.”
“Sounds good to me. You can have the bed tonight.” He walked out.
She caught up to him as he opened a cabinet and rummaged around inside. “This place has every spice known to humankind. There must be coffee somewhere.”
She stepped over and opened a cabinet, revealing a variety of coffee and powdered creamer. “Everyone knows coffee is kept above the coffeemaker.”
He scrunched his nose and softly nudged her aside to drop a spoonful of coffee granules into the filter cup. “I need to meet with Puma this morning. Then, I’ll have to catch up on some chores.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
He turned to face her. “For now, stay here.”
“And do what?”
“Are you needy?” he said.
“I’m used to keeping busy, too, you know.” She looked at him through her lashes.
He seemed to think it over. “Fine. I’ll be back to get you after I speak to Puma.” He searched through another cabinet.
She knew what he needed and picked a cup from the wrought iron tree, setting it in front of him. “Then what will we do?”
“I don’t have the answer to that yet, but do you think you can behave yourself for a few hours?” He filled the mug to the rim.
“I’m not three. I think I can handle myself,” she said with a huff.
The second the door closed behind him, she spun in a circle, looking around the tiny space. When life handed a woman lemons, she made lemonade—or rather, she made her space her own. She had no plans of sitting there twiddling her thumbs.