Running Blind Read online

  “Oh ho!” Darby grinned at him, though there was precious little humor in the expression. “Got the hots for her yourself, huh?”

  Whether he did or not—and he admitted to himself there was a definite physical spark, at least on his part—had nothing to do with the situation, and he didn’t want the men thinking he looked at Carlin as his private sexual preserve. She deserved to be treated with respect, and he’d make damn sure she was. On the other hand, anything going on with Darby was something he wanted to nip in the bud, right now.

  “No, what I have is a cook and a housekeeper, and I’ll be damned if I let you cause me to lose this one.”

  “That wasn’t my fault—” Darby began, a whiny note entering his tone.

  “I never said it was,” Zeke interrupted. “What I’m saying is, I don’t give a shit. Evidently I can find another ranch hand a hell of a lot easier than I can find a cook, so stay the hell away from her or it’s your ass that’ll be put on the road, not hers. That goes for every hand working here, not just you, so you might want to spread the word.”

  He’d have to stay on his toes, he thought. Carlin was pretty. Not beautiful, not overtly sexy, but her features were finely drawn and delicate enough to make a man take notice, without even factoring in the pertness of those small, high breasts and the roundness of her ass. Men would always react to her. He’d have to make it plain to the horny single men on his place that she was completely off-limits.

  For that matter, he’d have to remind himself. His dick had stood up and taken notice of her the very first time he’d seen her, and under different circumstances—well, the circumstances weren’t different. She was in a difficult situation, and her thorny disposition made it plain she wasn’t looking for any kind of romance, even the temporary kind, which was all he wanted anyway. Too bad. He’d live, though; a lack of sex was damned annoying, but it wasn’t fatal.

  It was also too damn bad that he didn’t like walking away from something he wanted. He hadn’t had a lot of practice at it, and he wasn’t a good loser. What was good about losing? Not a damn thing.

  What the hell had he been thinking, hiring her and bringing her out here?

  Well, that part was easy. He’d been thinking that he wanted a clean house, clean clothes, and food that was worth eating. He’d been desperate enough that he’d deliberately ignored the physical attraction he felt for her. And, face it, he really wanted some long, hot rolls in the hay with Carlin and her sassy mouth, not to mention that fine ass. His good mood abruptly faded a bit, thinking of the months—maybe—ahead when he’d have to deny himself. There was no telling how long she’d stay, but one thing was for damn certain: she wasn’t here forever. The minute she didn’t feel safe, she’d be in the wind.

  “What’s her name?” Eli asked. He was single, too, but not a horndog like Darby. Eli was in his forties, had been married once a long time ago when he was rodeoing. He’d go to some of the bars, do some dancing, but seldom actually dated. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t like to date, though. Zeke added Eli to his mental list of men to closely watch.

  “Carly Hunt.” Thank God “Carly” was close enough to “Carlin” that if he slipped and said her real name the odds were no one would catch it. “What I just told Darby goes for you, too, Eli. Hell, it goes for everybody.” Even himself. Damn it.

  “You don’t have to worry about me, boss,” Eli said evenly. “I reckon I’m as sick of what’s been passing for food around here as everyone else is.” His lips twitched a little, but he knew better than to smirk.

  Darby didn’t.

  CARLIN PAUSED TO take a breather—a very short one, because she felt as if she’d be crushed under an avalanche of laundry if she rested for too long. The washer and dryer were both running, as they had been almost constantly for the past three hours. The dishwasher was running, too, and she’d washed the worst of the pots and pans by hand. No dishwasher in the world would’ve gotten those burned pots clean. She was beginning to feel better about her job. Not only was she making progress, she hadn’t seen Zeke at all during those three hours. And she knew job security when she saw it; he obviously needed help way more than he’d let on.

  Maybe if she didn’t have to see him, she wouldn’t have to worry about her out-of-control hormones misbehaving. Besides, by the end of the day she’d be so tired, even the most insistent hormone would be too exhausted to quiver.

  Her first order of the day had been to take stock of the pantry and fridge, see what was available, and make a plan for dinner. Both were well stocked, for which she was deeply grateful. She supposed she should also be grateful that her boss hadn’t expected her to prepare lunch for nine—ten, if she counted herself—the minute she’d set foot in the house. Maybe the men were eating sandwiches in the bunkhouse, or else they’d had an early lunch. The “why” didn’t matter. The end result was she had some time to set things straight before she had to cook.

  She threw together a huge but simple tuna casserole; it was ready to go in the oven. The casserole was one of the few things she didn’t need a recipe for, because she’d done it so often, but never before on this scale. It was easy: rice, cream of mushroom soup, lots of tuna, mixed vegetables, some seasoning, and enough cheese to constipate an elephant. Belatedly she wondered if any of the men were lactose intolerant. If so, too bad. Someone should’ve told her if there were any special dietary needs.

  She had made a huge casserole, so there would be more than enough left over for lunch tomorrow. She’d decided to make corn bread, because the directions on the side of the box of corn bread mix seemed simple enough, but if that was going to be any good it would have to be prepared at the last minute. There was also brownie mix and ice cream. Would they expect dessert every day? She hadn’t asked, but it would get her off to a good start if she provided something sweet her first day here.

  A roast for tomorrow night was thawing in the refrigerator. Planning ahead would be the trick to surviving here. And she would survive, green eyes, mounds of laundry, nice butt, and nasty kitchen aside. Survival was what she did these days.

  Carlin heard the insistent knocking on the back door, and wondered how many times whoever was out there had tried to get her attention. Whoever—ha! It had to be Zeke, checking up on her. She dried her hands on a kitchen towel, put a hand to her hair to rearrange a couple of wayward strands, then surveyed the kitchen and assessed her progress. Let him wait. Of course, the longer he waited the more pissed he’d be, and she was the one who had to face him down while he was in that apparently semipermanent state.

  But the man on the other side of the double-paned window set in the door was young, blond, and fresh-faced. A combination of shame and disappointment washed over her. It wasn’t Zeke, after all. She’d made someone else wait. Phooey.

  She unlocked and opened the door. One good look, and she knew who this man was. “You must be Spencer.”

  “The gizmo on my arm gave me away, huh?” He grinned, the wide, unfettered grin of a man-child who had no enemies, no emotional pain, no worries at all, beyond a bum arm in an impressively complicated sling. “What’s wrong with the door? I couldn’t get it to open, and then I knocked and knocked. It must be broken. I’ll tell Zeke.”

  Yet another man who was unfamiliar with locked doors. “The door isn’t broken, it was locked.”

  He looked shocked. “Why?”

  She needed an explanation, something besides the out-and-out truth. “New place, out in the boonies, I guess you could say I’m a little spooked. I’m Carly,” she said before he had a chance to pursue the subject, sticking to the nickname that wouldn’t stand out the way Carlin would. “Sorry I didn’t get to the door right away. With the washer and dryer and dishwasher running, I just didn’t hear you knocking.”

  “Nice to meet you, Carly.” As Spencer walked in, he glanced around the mudroom, and his eyes widened. “Wow! You’ve been busy, that’s for sure. That pile of dirty clothes was at least two feet higher last time I was here. The boss doesn�€