07 It Had to Be You Read online

“You thought wrong. Jake, you’re not at work. You’re not the hero out here.”

  Right. He wasn’t the hero anywhere.

  She bent over the horse’s neck, embracing the huge animal. Then, with one last pat, she hopped down. “And even if I had been in trouble, I can handle myself.” She grabbed the reins and led the horse toward the barn, sending him one last long, hard look over her shoulder.

  Great, she could handle herself. “Good to know,” he muttered and rubbed his shoulder. He was an idiot. He wished he was in San Diego; at the station playing cards waiting for the fire bell; at his small house with a good hot pizza and cable TV; at a bar sharing drinks with a woman…anywhere but here.

  For the second time that night, he headed toward the cabins. He pulled a key out of his pocket, the one Callie had given him with an unusual look on her face; as if she’d wanted to both laugh and wince in sympathy.

  In this case, he’d take the sympathy. He came to a stop in front of the second cabin. His brother’s.

  Half brother, he reminded himself, because blood didn’t seem to mean much to Tucker these days.

  It hadn’t always been that way. Once upon a time, Tucker had thought the sun rose and set on Jake’s shoulders. That had been nice, real nice, but Jake shook off the memories and reached for the handle just as the door opened. Light spilled out into the night.

  Tucker stood in the doorway with a scowl on his face. “You going to stand there muttering to yourself all night, or are you coming in?”

  “This was a bad idea.”

  “No shit.” Tucker stood back and gestured him in. “But there’s no other choice until morning, unless you want to sleep in your rent-a-cowboy truck.”

  Jake glanced at the Toyota in the driveway, the one he’d rented at the airport. He had no idea why Tucker might object to it. “What other choice will present itself in the morning?”

  “You can leave.”

  Jake smiled grimly and stepped inside. “You used to come running when I came home. You’d throw your chubby little arms around my legs and laugh while I tried to walk with you on me.” Nothing had ever made him feel more important, not before, or since.

  “Yeah, well, I was just a stupid kid then.”

  Jake refrained from asking him what had changed, and looked around. To say the place was small would be an understatement. There was a kitchen nook and living space, which held a fireplace with a couch in front of it. Behind the couch was a cot. He looked at it and groaned.

  “There’s always the truck,” Tucker reminded him.

  “You know, you might show a little more gratitude to the guy who got you out of your one-way ticket to juvy-hall, moved you out of the town where at least half the population wanted to kill you, and handed you a job.”

  Tucker just stared at him from sullen eyes.

  “Or not,” Jake muttered, and weary beyond exhaustion, sat on the couch.

  “Try again, Sherlock.”

  Jake got up, walked around the couch, and kicked the cot. “Do I at least get a pillow—” It hit him in the face. “Gee, thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. You paid for it.”

  “Is that what’s up your ass? You’re mad at me because you owe me money?”

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “You know what, Tucker?” Exhausted, he sank to the cot. He toed off his shoes and lay back carefully. “Remind me to pound the shit out of you tomorrow.” He just prayed he had the energy. He closed his eyes and, fully dressed, fell into a deep slumber.

  Later that night, Callie lay in her bed watching the moon’s shadow play across her ceiling. She could still picture Jake balancing himself on that fence, trying to save her from a runaway horse.

  The idea was laughable, and yet…

  What kind of guy did such a thing for a woman he hardly knew? A firefighter, she had to admit. A man well used to putting others’ safety ahead of his own.

  She might almost like him for that, if their earlier conversation wasn’t haunting her.

  “It’s time to work on this place, give it some value.”

  “It has value.”

  “Not resale, it doesn’t.”

  The words had stuck with her ever since he’d fallen asleep after uttering them by the hot tub. The first time she’d stepped foot here, she’d been seventeen years old, with twenty bucks in her pocket and no more possessions than could fit into her ratty old backpack…

  The memory never failed to make her smile, though she hadn’t been smiling then. She’d been secretly shaking in her boots. Richard Rawlins had stood in front of her, looking so big and formidable, hands on his hips as he stared down at the bedraggled young homeless girl asking for a job.

  “Whatcha got in the way of skills, girl?” he’d demanded in a craggy voice that suggested he’d been yelling at bedraggled young homeless girls just like her for years.

  But she was good at not letting anyone see her squirm. Real good. Some might say that she was too proud as well, but she didn’t think so. She was just independent, fiercely so, but having never been able to depend on anyone but herself, she had good reason. “I can clean up after the animals,” she’d told him. Her mother had been a small-time singer, chasing fame in bars across the south for most of Callie’s youth. This had meant nocturnal sporadic mothering, and she used the word mothering quite loosely, because really, if there’d been any mothering done at all, it had been done by Callie herself.

  In any case, she’d been left mostly alone during her days. During the summer months, she’d spend her time wandering around whatever town they were staying at, often finding herself near whatever horse stables she could locate.

  By age six, she wanted to be a horse when she grew up. A wild stallion, with no fencing and no drunk mother. No adults, period.

  Unfortunately, by the time she’d turned eight, she’d realized that dream was impossible. So she’d forged another—she wanted freedom. She’d discovered people were willing to pay her to clean up after their horses, and if she did a good job, they’d pay even more. Freedom granted.

  By the time she met Richard Rawlins, she was a loner, a somewhat cynical teen who knew only that she instantly liked the feel of the Blue Flame. The yards had been clean, the barns and house the same if slightly shabby, the animals happy enough in their corrals.

  Plus, unlike most of the ranches she’d spent time on, this one was for people to come and play at living in the Wild Wild West. New people in and out all the time, exciting people from all over the country, and new adventures every day. The thought appealed to her more than anything else she’d seen.

  “So…” Richard had watched her with an inscrutable gaze. “You clean up after animals…” He hadn’t been known for being patient or even particularly kind, but then again, having not experienced much of either in her life, Callie hadn’t expected anything. She just wanted a place to sleep at night and a job she could live with.

  “We’ll start with you clearing the stalls then,” Richard said, nodding. “But I’m thinking you’ll want to aim higher next time I ask you what you can do, so keep your ears open, girl.”

  She had, and still did. That had been twelve years ago, and she’d been here ever since, working her way up through the ranks, watching other employees butt heads with Richard and his stubborn, unbending ways, marveling that they didn’t understand that all he wanted was to be left alone and for them to do their job. Employees had come and gone, and she’d laid low, wondering why anyone would ever leave.

  She hadn’t, except for the occasional vacation.

  Oh, and then there’d been the one time she’d quit to do something really stupid—like get married.

  But that had lasted only long enough for her to realize her foolishness, and Richard Rawlins had been more than willing to hire her back. Once again, she’d settled in at the Blue Flame, wiser, smarting from her mistakes, but time—and the place—had eventually soothed the pain away.

  Then two years ago Richard had gone off for