CHAPTER 4
What the fuck do I do with her now?
Judge watches her like a hawk, his dark eyes not faltering for a minute as I dress her thigh and clean up the rest of her wounds.
There are some deep cuts in her feet but they’ll heal just fine on their own, same with her arm, but I clean them up regardless, making sure to remove the caked on dirt and grime.
Now, what is a woman like her doing out here?
And who the fuck shot her?
She is covered in filth but like fuck am I taking her out of her clothes, she’ll likely wake up and try to castrate me, so I lift her from the table and start toward the spare room at the back of the house on the ground floor.
There’s a bathroom she can use whenever she wakes up.
I lay her onto the mattress, the dried blood on her skin and the midnight black hair a startling contrast to the white sheets.
Maybe I should clean her up…
I scrub a hand across the coarse hair on my chin, staring toward the strange woman. I hadn’t even noticed that even in sleep, she’s clinging to that gun like it’s her lifeline. It very well might just be.
Life is rough. I’ve no fucking idea what her story is and in these parts, it could be anything.
This town isn’t shy to corruption or death, has known and witnessed the reach of men powered by greed.
Just look at the farms all around us, the ones left vacant and decimated after hundreds of years of running.
The working ranches left, much like mine, struggle to make ends meet, but we do because to let go would be to erase history.
So who knows which part of the line she’s sitting on but we’re all on it, walking the tightrope, hoping to find solid ground at the end.
I let out a heavy sigh, I can’t leave her in this filth. The risk of infection is too high despite her wounds being cleaned.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t murder me in the morning,” I speak to the dog, who simply cocks his head in response and lets out a little whine.
Leaving her to his watchful eye, I head through to the bathroom and get the water running to fill the tub.
The old pipes creak and groan as it comes, sputtering from the faucet initially until it begins to run smoothly and steam rises from the tub.
I get everything I need ready and head back to her.
She lays in the same position; hair spread across the sheets while Judge rests his head on the edge of the bed.
“Like her, huh?” I scratch behind his ears. “I always knew you were a poor judge of character.”
Reaching for the knife in my belt buckle, I lift the hem of her dress away from her skin and press the blade to the material, slicing through it like it’s nothing more than butter.
I don’t even make it to the top of her thigh when the butt of her gun slams against the side of my head.
“Fuck!” I holler, stumbling until I catch myself on the mattress.
“If you want to get me naked, cowboy, you’re gonna need to ask first.” She growls at me, pushing herself away so her back presses to the headboard and the gun is pointing at me once more.
I wipe away the trickle of blood that rolls down my temple, lifting my eyes to her. She’s pissing me the fuck off.
“Bath’s done,” I snap out, “Get clean, rest. I want you out by morning.”
I start for the door, boots thumping.
“And where am I supposed to go?” She calls to my back. I turn to see her getting to her feet, holding her weight off her injured leg.
“Why the fuck do I care?”
The door slams behind me, my anger boiling inside my veins.
People. This is why I don’t fucking deal with people.
Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, I drink straight from it, letting it burn all the way down.
It’s not the good stuff, can’t afford that anymore, and I haven’t taken from the stash my father left behind in the office.
I swipe my hand across my mouth and then lean on the counter, staring out the kitchen window to the darkness beyond, the shadow of the mountains boring down on my ranch.
Judge trots out her room, leaving her door open and I catch just a glimpse as she pulls the dress over her head, leaving her in a lacy black bra and panties to match.
Fuck me.
Soft olive toned skin, toned abdominals, legs that go on for days…
She turns and I spot the boot sized print on her ribs, her skin mottled, the bruising a mix of purples and blues, the size, color and swelling suggesting a possible break.
My teeth bite into my lower lip as I suppress the need to curse out loud. She disappears into the bathroom a moment later, her hiss of pain sounding down the hall as she gets into the tub.
This is not my problem; I have enough shit to deal with without her issues, too. Sighing, I head up to my bedroom and grab her a t-shirt from the drawer, knowing she won’t be able to put that dress on again. It’s an extra-large ranch shirt, so it’ll do just fine to cover her.
When I return downstairs, Judge is sitting in front of the bathroom door and, by the sound of the water splashing, the door is open.
“You aware you have some kind of wolf dog mix, cowboy?” She calls to me.
“His name is Judge,” I enter, keeping my eyes ahead so I don’t accidentally get a look at her naked in the bath, as much as I wouldn’t mind a look.
“He’s an Irish Wolfhound, not a wolf dog.” I throw the shirt onto the bed and pick up her dress.
She makes a humming kind of sound, and I start to make my way from the room.
“Where are you taking that?” I pause, glancing toward her. All I can see is her head, her dark hair wet as she leans back in the bath. Her grey eyes hold me before she cuts them to the ruined dress in my hand.
“Why? You want to keep it as a trophy? There’s a shirt on the bed for you.”
She turns her nose up and then dismisses me. It’s then I see the gun resting within arm’s reach next to the tub. Can’t blame a girl for protecting herself but at this point, pretty sure it’s me who should be arming themself.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I count to five and then leave, dumping the soiled dress in the trash on my way through, and grab the whiskey before I head to the living room.
I am bone tired, the type of exhaustion you can never quite remedy, and I groan as I lower onto the couch, bringing the bottle to my lips.
I close my eyes, though I’m not going to be able to relax a bit with her in my house.
I hear the tap of Judge’s claws on the hardwood and his cold nose bumps the hand resting off the arm of the couch, fingers holding the neck of the bottle. I don’t have to open my eyes to know she’s just entered the room, too. I smell her, the scent of my soap on her skin.
Opening my eyes to half, I see her standing in front of me, gun in hand but not pointed at my head, so that’s a win. The tee falls off her dainty frame, hanging off one shoulder and falling to mid-thigh.
“The bruises,” I grumble, “Where’d you get them?”
There’s something so familiar about her, but I can’t place where.
She’s not from town, that’s for sure. A woman like that would stir up quite the gossip and I haven’t heard a single peep out of old Mrs. Green from the butchers.
She’d have a lot to say. She’s a gorgeous woman, with those steel-grey eyes, framed by impossibly thick lashes, her lips the color of blood.
“None of your business.”
“Of course.” I close my eyes again.
“You got anything to eat around here?” Her feet pad toward the kitchen, gait off with her limp.
“Help yourself,” I grunt. I need to go to bed. I have a four-a.m. start and a long day ahead.
The doors to the cupboards open and close behind me, though I know there isn’t much to choose from.
The only thing that’s a constant in this house is the dog food and whiskey.
I tend to eat with the hands at the end of the day down at the mess cabin since I make sure that’s fully stocked way before I ever stock my own fridge or pantry.
Boys have gotta eat if I want good work out of them.
“Well, this is just sad,” She comments.
I huff out a humorless laugh, “That’s the life, darlin’.”
She comes back, taking a bite out of an apple. “What’s your name?”
“We’re not gonna be around each other long enough to warrant introductions.”
“Well, since I have your brand on my leg, figured it was the least you could do.”
You have got to be shitting me.
“Next time, I’ll let you bleed out.”
“The C is for Carter, right? Are you a Carter or someone else?” She continues, making herself comfortable on the other end of the couch.
Judge trots over to her, the fucking traitor.
“Let me think if I can remember all the family names for the ranches out here. I mean, there’s a lot, so it may take a while. ”
She takes a bite of the apple and spits the piece straight back out before she hands it to the dog, who happily takes it from her.
Good fucking lord.
“Go to fucking bed,” I get up. “I want you out the moment the sun is up.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond as I storm from the room and up the stairs.
I could worry she’ll rob me in my sleep, but what the fuck is she going to take?
I’ve nothing of worth in this old farmhouse anymore, and the only thing worth a damn is the farming equipment outside.
Can’t see her getting away with them. She could murder me in my sleep too, but that honestly sounds peaceful now.
So I leave her there, Judge not budging an inch from her side, and I slam the door. Next time, I’ll ignore my father’s voice inside my head and let him turn in his grave.