Hiding Out At The Circle C Read online

  So why, after running the mop over the tile, didn't it look clean, much less shiny? Frustrated, Haley read the directions again. Then she started over.

  No luck. Still no shine. With a sigh, she tossed the container over her shoulder and got down on her hands and knees to scrub harder, convinced she was seriously lacking if she couldn't handle even this basic chore. Finally, an hour and many sore muscles later, she could see a slight improvement. The directions had conveniently neglected to mention the elbow grease required.

  Pausing to stretch her already aching back, Haley had to laugh at herself. While the physical exertion helped ease her mind, she would never have pictured herself performing such a mundane chore as mopping.

  Blowing her hair from her face, she scrubbed more, spending long moments with her mind blessedly free. Free of the haunting memories she knew she'd carry with her forever.

  Bam, bam, bam.

  Haley jerked upright at the exploding sound. Gunshots. Oh, God! She leaped to her feet and ran to the window, but she could see nothing.

  Cursing her stupidity and her lax attitude, she sprinted to the living room, tripping over Max who'd fallen asleep in the entrance. This was it, they'd found her. Whoever had destroyed her team, her work, had found her.

  Heart slamming against her ribs, she scooped up the confused pup and ran to the big window at the front of the house, peeking out the long, flowing, tieback curtains.

  Still, nothing.

  She held her breath, wondering what to do. The blood roared in her ears so loudly she could hardly think, but she had to. If they'd found her, she had to figure out a way to keep everyone else safe. Thank God Nellie wasn't home, but where were the men?

  Max yawned and stared at her, completely unconcerned. If there was someone out there, the puppy could care less. "Some watchdog," she hissed furiously at him. He just nuzzled her hand.

  How could she have done this? How could she have put more innocent people in danger?

  Off to the right of the main house she could see two large barns. Her heart nearly stopped when Cam stepped out of one, scooped something up and headed back inside.

  She had to warn him.

  Watching carefully, she slipped out the front door and dashed across to the barn, knowing that she could be shot down any second.

  It didn't matter. She had to make sure no one else got hurt. That no one else would die because of her.

  Cam looked up, the surprise evident on his face when she tore into the barn. Ignoring him, she whirled and shoved first one door closed, then the other—not an easy feat since the doors were twice her height and heavy.

  "What—"

  "Shh!" she demanded over her shoulder, struggling with the large bolt. "Do you have a gun?"

  "A what?"

  "A gun!" she fairly screamed, slamming the lock home.

  "God, no." He shuddered with distaste. "Haley, what are you doing?"

  She turned back to him, panting and leaning against the closed doors. Without sunlight streaming through, the barn seemed dim … and huge. "Is there a back door?"

  "Yeah." He cocked a hip against a long worktable and looked at her, amused. "Should I go lock it?"

  "Yes! And hurry." Breathless, she moved toward him, scanning the walls for windows. She knew the bolt on the door wouldn't hold and with some crazy notion of pushing one of his benches in front of the doors, she started clearing one of them off, shoving some things to the floor. "Where're Zach and Jason?"

  Cam raised those golden eyebrows of his until they disappeared into the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. "Riding. They'll be gone awhile yet if there's any justice."

  "Good," Haley said in relief, struggling with a rage and a grief so great she could hardly contain it. She would not be the cause of any more deaths. Especially not these people, the first to care about her in too long to remember. Moving closer, she hoped Cam knew how to shoot, since she had no idea how herself. But he was a cowboy, and all cowboys knew how to shoot—didn't they?

  "We have to hurry," she told him, surprised when he laughed and didn't move.

  "Darlin', I never hurry. But I suppose, you being a lady and all, I could try to oblige you."

  The sensual, husky laziness his voice had taken on would have warned a more sophisticated, experienced woman, but not Haley. "Okay, good," she said quickly. "I have something to tell you, Cameron. This isn't going to be easy."

  "Well, I have to admit, it's been a while since I— Since my barn days," he finished tactfully, his meaning completely escaping her. He glanced at the bench she'd just cleared. "Uh, it's pretty dirty in here, Haley."

  She narrowed her eyes and, for the first time, really looked at him. In his gaze, which had landed unerringly on her, was a mixture of hopeful speculation and amused disbelief. And yes, the heavy-lidded look of arousal. She realized with horror that they were absolutely not talking about the same thing.

  But then something else—something even worse—occurred to her. "What is that?" she demanded, pointing at the thing in his hand.

  He held up the tool. It looked suspiciously like a … gun. Oh, no.

  "It's my nail gun," he said. He bent over his table to a long piece of smooth wood and pulled the trigger.

  Bam, bam, bam.

  The ache in her stomach escalated into a dull pain.

  "See?" He lifted his head and smiled. "I'm making shelves."

  "I see," she managed to say, weakly. She leaned on the bench she'd just cleared. "I've … gotta go now." She turned back toward the barn doors. There was no gunman, no one after her. And she'd just made an ass of herself in front of the one man who could alter her pulse.

  "Haley?"

  She didn't, or rather, couldn't, answer. She heard him drop his tool belt and head for her, so she sped up. But he still stopped her before she could open the bolt. She refused to look at him until he gently turned her to him and lifted her chin.

  His gaze searched her face. "Obviously you weren't just seducing me in my barn."

  She shook her head, and now her heart raced again, but for a different reason entirely. "No."

  His smile was wry and self-deprecating. "I have to say, it was the most appealing almost-offer I've ever had. I'll never look at that table in quite the same way again."

  She tried to step back and encountered the barn door. She didn't know much about these things, but his disappointment was palpable. Wasn't there a rule against turning a man on and then trying to withdraw?

  He moved back, his smile still easy and charming, and Haley breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn't push.

  "So what did you barrel in here about, if it wasn't to toss me down on my workbench and have your merry way with me?"

  He was teasing her—she could tell by his sparkling dark eyes—and she didn't know how to handle that. "I—" It seemed so stupid now. I thought someone was trying to kill you. "Nothing."

  His gaze shuttered, cooled so fast it startled her. He didn't believe her, that was clear. She didn't blame him for finally showing suspicion. But that he'd waited until she'd obviously lied disturbed her. He'd been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt—that is, until she'd proved she wasn't worthy of it.

  She forced a smile. "I just wondered what you do out here."

  "I make furniture."

  She glanced around, realizing that while they stood inside what was once a barn, it had been converted into a studio of sorts. Long workbenches ran the length of the place, each scattered with tools, wood and partially put-together projects, including the shelving unit he'd been working on when she'd burst in.

  "I thought you were a rancher."

  "My brothers are." His voice, so warm and friendly only a minute before, seemed brusque now. He shifted away and moved back to his bench, running a loving hand along the wood that even her untrained eye could see was beautiful, bare oak. He gave the wood a gentle pat that conveyed his feelings better than words ever could. "Ranching seems like too much work for me."