Chapter 4
C alhoun tried to call his little brother three times with no answer. On the last try, he left a voicemail.
“Boy, next time I see you, you better run,” was all he said, but he hoped it was enough to convey all his frustration. A woman. His brother had sent him a woman. Really, what had he been thinking? Had he been away from Texas so long he had forgotten how that would go over? Worse, the woman had bested him, had done the one thing he told her to do to be able to stay. She had cheated, but still, she had done it. And now he was stuck with her, stuck having to explain to thirty cowboys this tiny woman was now in charge of security. They had looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.
At least she was quiet and intelligent. And he liked that she was a marine. He had full respect for the military, and what he said to her was true—he was certain she’d been good in that capacity. But this was Texas, and it was a whole other world. The men under his command would respect her, however grudgingly, but would they listen to her, take her seriously? Doubtful. And then there were those on the other side, brutal, lawless drug smugglers who viewed women as pawns, as playthings, who used them in the worst possible way. Cal was worried she would be one more liability, and his plate was already filled to the max. And then there was the matter of where she would sleep. No way could he put her in the bunkhouse. It was and had always been men only. He had no choice but to put her up in his house. He had plenty of space, enough for her to have her own wing, really, but still. The invasion of privacy left him antsy. And then there was Isabel. What would his wife say when she found out? And she would undoubtedly find out. It was a mess, a big, huge mess, and he had his little brother to blame for it.
“Good morning, everyone,” Bailey said to the assembled group of ranch hands before her. A couple of them snickered. Cal gave them a look, and they shut up. “My name is Major Bailey Dunbar, US Marines. If you’d like to know more about my resume, including my time at the Naval Academy, tours of duty and active service, I’d be happy to tell you later. In the meantime, I’d like to spend some time learning from you about the ranch and its specific security needs. In the next few days, I’ll be accompanying several of you as you go about your duties, observing, listening, talking. I feel you have a lot to teach me.”
One of the hands in the back snickered. Bailey raised an eyebrow at him and pinned him with a stare until his smile faded and he sat up straighter. “I’ll begin making rounds first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d like to see your weapons and hear a bit about your experience and expertise with them.” When no one moved, she removed her gun from its holster and held it up for their inspection. “This is my weapon of choice, both for sentimental value and utility. It’s a Springfield Armory 1911, a gift from my father upon graduation from the Naval Academy. I understand you use shotguns and rifles more often here, and I’ll adjust accordingly. But this one will stay with me.”
“Can I see it?” Cal surprised everyone including himself by asking. But he was a gun enthusiast, and it was a fine piece.
“Of course,” she said, handing it over. He inspected it and handed it back to her.
“Nice piece.”
“Thank you. And what do you carry, Mr. Ridge?”
“It’s Cal.” He reached into his holster and withdrew his weapon, an SVI Tiki-T. Her eyes rounded as she took it, duly impressed.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, and he laughed a little because he’d never seen a woman so awed by a weapon before. She knew her guns, that much was apparent.
After that, everyone felt more at ease with showing her their weapons. She took due time with each, making a careful and calculated inspection, holding it up, testing the weight, viewing the sights, asking questions. The bunkhouse took on a kind of social, party atmosphere with everyone talking weapons and ammo. It was a comfort zone for the men, and for Bailey too, apparently. The common thread was one thing they could relate over, if nothing else. Cal watched her closely, observing, judging. He liked that she wasn’t cocky. If anything, she seemed humble, ready and willing to listen. It wouldn’t have gone over well for anyone who came in making demands and changes, but especially not for a woman. But coming in gently, humbly, quietly made an impression on the men and they began to open up to her, at least a little.
“Thank you all so much,” she said, smiling at them. It helped that she was pretty, Cal conceded, but it was also confusing. How could a woman be both soft and pretty and hard and capable? She was definitely soft and pretty, but maybe she wasn’t as hard and capable as she first seemed. Time would tell. He would give her some leeway, a little bit of rope, and hope she didn’t hang herself with it.
His foreman, Jinx, took her on a tour of the main portion of the ranch. Jinx reported later she carried a little notebook, wrote things down, asked a few pertinent questions, but otherwise didn’t say much.
“She’s a cool customer, that one,” Jinx said, bestowing his unasked opinion.
“You don’t like her?” Cal asked. Jinx had been at the ranch as long as he had, working first for his father before working for him.
“Never said that. Can’t quite get a read on her, but she’s interestin’, real interestin’.”
Cal agreed she was a bit of a riddle, but that annoyed him. He was too busy for riddles. He wanted simple and straightforward, someone to come in and do the job that needed to be done without making him puzzle his head and wonder over her.
“Isabel ain’t gonna be happy,” Jinx added, and Cal’s insides tightened.
“Isabel doesn’t have a say anymore, does she?” Cal asked.
Jinx shrugged. “She could make the girl’s life a misery.”
“The girl’s seen combat in Afghanistan. I think she can handle Isabel.”
Jinx shrugged again, conveying his uncertainty and, despite his words, Cal wasn’t certain either. He’d known his wife long enough to be wary of her and her reactions. Bailey might know how to handle men, but could she handle women? Time would tell on that front, too.
At seven he wearily made his way inside for supper. Estralita, his housekeeper, had left him supper on the stove like usual. Unlike usual, someone else now sat at his table. He almost jumped in surprise when he walked in the kitchen and saw Bailey sitting at the table, a notebook and pen open in front of her.
“I’m sorry, would you like me to leave?” she asked, noting his reaction even though he tried to hide it.
“No, it’s fine,” he lied. In truth, he valued his privacy and wanted nothing more than to be alone. “Have you eaten?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you like things spicy?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you’re in the right place. Dish yourself a bowl of stew and grab some cornbread.”
She followed suit, dishing a heaping bowl of stew and laying a hearty slice of cornbread on top. It was a good thing Estralita always made scads too much because apparently Bailey was an eater.
“You’re going to have to help yourself while you’re here. I don’t keep regular hours, and I won’t be able to keep track of meals for you,” he warned.
“Yes, sir,” she agreed. “Do you mind if I grab the butter?”
“Really, help yourself,” he said, indicating the fridge with a wave of his hand. He had no idea if they had butter, but he assumed so. Estralita did all the shopping, and she usually kept up on those kinds of things. Bailey opened the refrigerator, pulled out butter and jam and then, to his surprise, went the extra step of dishing them into another container before she set them on the table. It was a feminine thing to do, wholly unexpected by her, and he found himself staring at her, wondering again over her contradictory nature.
She poured herself a sip of tea, tasted it, and grimaced. “Too sweet?” he guessed.
“Yes, sir,” she agreed, filling her glass with water instead.
“It grows on you,” he said, slightly annoyed for reasons he couldn’t discern. Most likely it was because of Isabel. She would never drink the tea, either, always conscious of too many calories.
“Too much sugar makes my brain feel sluggish,” Bailey explained. “I prefer to be alert.”
“It’s not because you’re watching your figure?” Cal pressed, earning a slight frown from her.
“No, sir. I’ve always been too active to worry much about my figure.”
“You really don’t have to call me sir,” he added. “I’ve never been a soldier, unlike my brother.”
“Your brother, sir?” she asked, sitting across from him at the table.
“The guy who got you the job,” he said.
“Oh,” she drawled. “Sorry, sir, I don’t know him. But he probably works for my father.”
“Who’s your father?” he asked.
“Colonel John Caruthers.”
“The Colonel is your dad?” Cal blurted. He had heard of Cam’s legendary boss over the years, many times. The man was mythical by now.
“Yes, sir,” she said, smiling slightly as if she knew what he was thinking.
He took a few bites, trying hard not to stare at her. She was such a mystery. “Are you married?”
“No, sir. Are you asking because my name is different than my father’s?” He nodded. “Safety precaution, sir. My sisters and I all go by our mother’s maiden name.”
“Smart,” he said. “Why did you leave the marines?”
She sighed. “High blood pressure, sir.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, sir. It doesn’t slow me down.”
“I can see that it doesn’t,” he commented, earning another small smile from her. She was cute with shoulder length brown hair she kept in a tidy ponytail, hazel eyes, and a pretty smile. Occasionally if the smile grew large enough, he caught a flash of dimples. He had the feeling she tried hard to keep those dimples under wraps because she wasn’t a dimple kind of girl. She was pretty but not too pretty, certainly no one’s idea of beautiful. Not like Isabel, his drop dead, knockout, gorgeous wife.
“May I ask why you’re staring at me, sir?” she said, returning his frank and assessing gaze.
“I’m trying to figure you out,” he said.
“If you succeed, please let me know. I’m sure my sisters and mother would be happy to hear a firsthand account,” she said, and he laughed.
“Not your dad?”
“My dad and I understand each other perfectly, sir,” she said.
“Then by all means tell me about your father,” he said, knowing instinctively she would loathe talking about herself.
“My father is a soldier first, and everything else comes after. Some people were born to be in the military, and my father is one of those people.” She tapped her temple. “It makes perfect sense, sir. The chain of command, the duty, the honor, the service, the sacrifice. It was what he was born for, why he was put on this earth. Without that,” she broke off and looked toward the pot of stew, “who is he, really?”
How would Cal feel if he didn’t have the ranch? He had played pro football for five years, and he loved football, but it never took the place of the ranch in his heart. He always knew he would come back home and take over for his father. It was in his blood, a way it never had been for his little brother. He knew what it was to have a destiny, to have a lifelong purpose. How would he feel if it got taken away?
When he remained silent, she tore her gaze away from the stew and looked at him. “Thank you.”
He blinked at her in surprise. “For what?”
“For not telling me it’s going to be okay,” she said.
They shared a sympathetic smile of understanding. “Sometimes things aren’t okay. Instead they become a new kind of normal, a way to cope, a status quo.” His thoughts turned to Isabel then, and he could feel himself sinking.
“Weren’t you a quarterback, sir?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Someone had done her homework. “Yes.”
“I guess I was expecting a bit more inspiration, sort of a gridiron type lecture,” she said, and he laughed.
“Get it done, Bailey. Be the ball or I’ll end you.”
“You’re incredibly bad at this,” she said.
“It’s been a while, I’m out of practice,” he conceded.
When the meal was finished, Cal put away the food while Bailey did the dishes and wiped the counters. He felt a bit awkward, not certain if he was supposed to try and entertain her, but when he looked up, she had disappeared. He escaped into his office, did about an hour’s worth of work and then poured a glass of tea and went to sit on the porch. The sun had already set. It was dark and still. He blamed the darkness for the fact that it took him fifteen minutes to realize Bailey sat in the rocking chair to his right. He flinched, almost spilling his tea.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I wasn’t sure if you knew I was here or not.”
“I knew,” he lied.
“You’re a bad liar, sir,” she said mildly, and he smiled.
“How old are you Bailey?” he asked. She seemed incredibly young to him, but if she was a major, she had to have been in the marines a while.
“Thirty, sir.”
“I remember thirty,” he said. He and Is had been married three years then. It was the first time he brought up having children with her, the first time he heard her say she would never have them, ever. It was a fact she’d kept hidden all through the dating process. If he had known, would he still have married her? It was a question that kept him up at night, one of many.
“You can remember back that far, sir?” Bailey asked, and he laughed again.
“I don’t think you know me well enough to joke about my age, child. Besides, I’m still in my thirties.”
“Hanging on by your fingertips, sir,” she remarked, and he snickered.
“A young girl like you is bound to be bored out here,” he remarked.
“No, sir.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, sir.”
“Yes, m…we could go on like this a while. Why don’t you tell me why a young lady such as yourself will not grow bored here in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do.”
“I grew up in Africa, sir. This feels like home, minus the lions.”
“We have mountain lions,” he said.
“Well, there you go,” she said.
They sat in silence a while longer, staring out at the dark, still night. Occasionally her rocking chair squeaked on the floorboard. An owl hooted. Fireflies danced. It was the sort of night Cal loved, and he sensed Bailey did, too. It was hot and humid, oppressively so, but Cal sipped his tea and didn’t mind.
“I might change my mind about tea,” Bailey said after a while.
“The sugar seems to help with the heat, don’t know why,” he said and then surprised them both by handing her his glass.
She took a gulp and handed it back. “Thank you, sir.”
“Bailey.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop calling me sir. You’re making me feel old.”
“Old is a state of mind, sir,” she replied.
“You’re going to do what you want, regardless of what I say, huh?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I always do.”
“Well, all right then,” he said and drained his tea with one final gulp.