Running Blind Read online

  “Sure, we can handle the rest of it.”

  “Mind if I head back to the bunkhouse early, so I can get my shit packed up? I’m thinking I’ll start out early tomorrow morning.”

  Zeke glanced at Walt, silently checking if Walt had something lined up that he’d need Darby’s help with. Walt gave a “why not” shrug. Nothing was in the works that the rest of them couldn’t handle.

  “Go ahead, we’re good here.”

  “Thanks.” Darby collected his tools, loaded everything into one of the ranch pickups, and headed out. They had four trucks there, so getting everyone back wasn’t a problem.

  Darby had been gone about ten minutes when Zeke got an uneasy feeling. First, Darby would have had plenty of time tonight to pack; it wasn’t as if he needed a moving van. Second, Carlin was there alone, and though she was still religious about keeping the door locked, this was also the time of day, when normally all the men were gone, that she would do some light cleaning in the bunkhouse, and in Walt’s cabin.

  Maybe it was nothing. As far as he knew, Darby had taken his first warning to heart and not bothered Carlin in any way. Nor would he necessarily know her house-cleaning schedule, unless he had happened to go back one day to fetch a needed tool, and noticed her coming or going to the bunkhouse. That was a stretch. But … would Darby know how fanatic she was about keeping the doors locked while she was in the house? Her edict on locks hadn’t extended to the bunkhouse, because she wasn’t in there all that much. She dusted, she swept, and the rest of it was left to the hands to keep their space clean.

  So far as he knew, the subject of the locked doors had never come up with the men. He knew about the locks; Spencer knew about the locks. But he’d never mentioned it, and he didn’t think Spencer had either, unless it was in the bunkhouse at night.

  He was worrying about nothing.

  On the other hand, he and everyone else had noticed a distinct coolness in the way she treated Darby, something that had been the subject of a lot of jokes at the ranch hand’s expense, and which Darby hadn’t taken well. He had an outsized ego, maybe from the rodeo groupies, maybe because that was just in his makeup. He’d already caused trouble with one housekeeper, though to be fair two other people had been involved, it wasn’t just Darby.

  But would he hold a grudge against Carlin? Oh, shit yeah.

  Zeke ignored his gut feeling for another few seconds, then straightened and pulled off his gloves. “I’m going back to the house,” he said abruptly. “I don’t trust Darby.”

  Walt straightened, too, thought about it for a second. “Good call. We’ll go with you.”

  Every last one of them loaded up in the remaining pickups. The job wouldn’t get finished today, Zeke thought, but so fucking what? Making sure Carlin was okay was more important.

  He kept his boot jammed on the gas pedal harder than he normally would have, the truck bouncing hard on the cold, rough ground of the pasture. The trail they normally drove would have been smoother, but he was more interested in speed than comfort, or the springs on the truck. The two other trucks followed right behind him.

  Spencer, in the passenger seat, held on tight with his good arm. For once, he wasn’t smiling. “I don’t think Darby would hurt Miss Carly,” he said, worry evident in his tone. “But he might mess with her some and upset her.”

  Zeke grunted. He wasn’t prepared to take the chance with her safety, period. If he made a fool of himself by rushing to the rescue when no rescue was needed, if Darby was in the bunkhouse packing his belongings the way he said and Carlin was in the kitchen cooking supper, he was okay with that. But the fact that even Spencer, who normally gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, thought it was possible Darby might try something with Carlin, made him drive even faster. Darby had a ten-minute head start, but by cutting across the pasture like this he could make up most of that time.

  THE GUYS DID a decent job of keeping the bunkhouse clean. At least they did their laundry, and mostly kept their clutter out of the common area. Carlin didn’t go into their rooms, but she did go through the common area every day and do a fast neatening; overall, she spent about half an hour or forty-five minutes in the bunkhouse, and if Walt had asked her to do the same in his little cabin she’d give it a fast polishing-up, too, but that seldom took more than fifteen minutes. She didn’t have to do it all at once, either. Her schedule was her own, varying according to what else she needed to be doing. She might sweep, then go back to the house and put on a load of laundry, or get the next meal started, before returning to finish the job.

  She was dusting, almost finished with the bunkhouse for the day, when she heard a truck drive up. She was so attuned to the rhythm and routine of the ranch by now that she registered immediately that the truck had approached from the rear instead of coming up the road to the house, which meant it was one of the ranch trucks. The men were all doing some much needed maintenance work around the ranch, so probably Zeke had sent someone back for some tool or piece of equipment they’d discovered they needed. She continued what she was doing, not thinking anything of it though she half-listened for the sound of the truck heading back out again.

  Because the door was closed against the cold weather, she didn’t hear any footsteps approaching the bunkhouse door. Abruptly the door was pulled open and a muscular, stocky man was framed against the sunlight. Carlin jumped, startled; the man in the doorway went still for a moment, too, then continued on into the bunkhouse and closed the door behind him.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Darby drawled, his gaze raking down her.

  “I was just finishing,” she said without inflection, moving into the kitchen area. The common space was open, kitchen, dining, and den all together. Not only did she want some furniture between her and Darby, she wanted to be closer to the block of knives that sat on the counter.

  “Don’t hurry on my account.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, watched her with hooded eyes. Resentment gleamed in those eyes, showed plainly in his reflection. “I came back to pack up my stuff. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  Good riddance hovered on her tongue, but she didn’t say anything, just gave a curt nod.

  The gleam in his eyes changed. “You could send me on my way with a smile, you know.”

  A cold twist of fear tightened her stomach. She was alone here with him; before, there had been someone still outside, within hearing distance if she screamed. Today, she could scream her head off and no one would hear. But damned if she’d show how scared she was. Very deliberately, she reached out and pulled the largest knife from the block, turned the blade so it caught the light.

  She didn’t say anything, just stood there with the knife in her hand. Her heartbeat was thundering so hard she was surprised he couldn’t hear it, but damned if she’d let him guess for even a second how scared she was. Darby wasn’t particularly tall, but he was thickly muscled, and if he got his hands on her she didn’t know that she’d be able to fight free. Maybe if he thought he’d suffer some damage, he’d back down. Maybe.

  Instead his eyes got meaner. He took a step toward her.

  “Back off,” Carlin said, standing her ground and managing to keep her tone level.

  “Or what?” he sneered. “You’ll use that knife on me? I don’t think so.” He took another step.

  “Think again.” Swiftly she grabbed another knife from the block and held both of them poised. He could grab one of her arms and twist it to make her drop the knife, but he’d need both hands to do so and in the meanwhile she’d do whatever she had to. Darby was no more a self-defense artist than she was a fighter; she was bound to inflict some damage on him, and from the flicker in his expression, he’d come to that realization, too.

  He changed tactics, holding his hands up as if he were totally innocent, smiling at her. “Hey, you don’t want to do something stupid. I’m just trying to be friendly. You don’t have to get all bent out of shape. All I’m suggesting is that we have a little fun before I go. I can promise you