Hank sat obediently, his eyes barely visible under the brown mop of his hair. Maybe Betsy had let him out before she left, as she sometimes did. After a good wander, his low-energy farm dog was ready to go home. He would need a haircut soon. What kind of high-maintenance farm dog needed haircuts?
The passenger side of the truck opened, and Hank jumped in, waiting for Marshall to close the door. If there was anything Hank loved more than roaming the ranch, it was riding in the truck with his head out the window and his ears flapping in the breeze. Walking around to the driver’s side, Marshall exhaled a heavy breath, enjoying one final glimpse at the view before climbing into the truck and starting the engine.
“You must be hungry for your dinner,” Marshall said, eyeing Hank. His dog’s brown eyes were sometimes eerily human, and it gave him the illusion that Hank understood everything Marshall was saying. The head tilt didn’t help either.
“I got lady problems, Hank.” He glimpsed the dog stretching out on the seat and wished for a moment that his own mind was as blank as Hank’s. Maybe his mind was blank before, filled with his daily responsibilities and managing the ranch. Hard labor, routines that required little thought, just diligence and commitment.
Colette Slip had lit a match and blown up all that stillness.
There was a new ache inside him, a hunger that could not be satisfied.
Well, he would see if it could be satisfied. Perhaps he had simply been alone too long. He hadn’t enjoyed the company of a woman in a while, and he was the poorer for it. It seemed like a situation he could rectify easily enough, without having to break any of his rules or cross any of his boundaries. The rules kept him from sinking to that place that he never wanted to return.
He parked the truck in front of the farmhouse and Hank barked happily as Marshall trudged up the stairs behind him. The house was dark and cool. Like every other night on the ranch, yet somehow different. Empty. Kicking off his boots, he turned on the kitchen lights and his feet walked of their own volition to the kitchen window. Placing his hands on the edge of the sink, his gaze was drawn to the lights in the distance, not so far away. His chest hummed with energy. A pull beckoned him to look, to know, to see what she was doing. Marshall pressed his lips together.
This wouldn’t do at all.
Washing his hands at the sink, he followed his nightly routine, trying to shake the way his thoughts kept traveling back to the guest house. To her.
It was easy to want something he couldn’t have. So predictable.
He placed his cold plate from the fridge into the microwave and felt blessed to have such an amazing cook keeping everybody fed. Betsy cared for him as a son and worked hard all day making meals to keep things running smoothly. She always left him a fresh plate, knowing he worked later than anyone else.
Marshall fed the dog and cat, then pulled out his cutlery for his own meal. Reaching into the cupboard for a glass, his hand hovered over the different options, and he pulled out a whiskey tumbler. He hunted in his liquor cabinet for somethingdrinkable and settled on the last dregs of a bottle of bourbon stashed away at the back. His brother and father always left good stuff behind when they visited. Marshall rarely drank, not wanting to get into the habit of imbibing alone. Drinking always got him in trouble during his Playboy days, and he avoided over-indulgence of any kind out on the ranch. He was a different person here. A better person.
It terrified him to lose the progress he had made.
Inhaling the rich scent of bourbon, his muscles relaxed, and the nagging fixation lessened. He swallowed a warm mouthful, letting the burn distract him from his fascination. Maybe he should call Roger and get another stern lecture, a reminder of his behavioral expectations with regards to Colette. That would make Roger suspicious that Marshall was contemplating things he ought not be contemplating.
His gaze wandered over the rim of the glass to outside the window above the kitchen sink, again. Colette turned off the lights in the house. Marshall shook his head. Had she gone to bed?
Last night, she had the lights on to chase away the deep darkness surrounding them at night. Eventually, she would get accustomed to it. Or she wouldn’t and she would leave in a few months once her contract was completed. Back to the city, and all those bright lights.
The thought cooled his ardor. It would be foolish to become infatuated with the new employee when she fully intended to leave here as soon as her job was done. She was afraid of horses, prim and proper, so damn clean and cutesy. There was no way she would end up staying on the ranch. She stuck out like a sore thumb.
In the past, that would have made her the perfect candidate for a fling. Temporary, time-limited, no risk of getting tooattached. Marshall pressed his lips together as he considered, then shook his head.
No.
He wanted more.
And Roger would kill him.
A knock at the door intruded on his reverie and startled him. He placed his utensils on his plate and turned, easily seeing his guest through the glass panes of the door. She was rubbing her arms and shivering, with pink cheeks and rapid breaths puffing from her mouth. Hank’s tail wagged obscenely, his joy impossible to hide.
Colette.
Marshall sighed. Why was she here so late, out in the dark?
And why did it look like she had been running from something?
CHAPTER 11
Colette hesitated on the porch, catching her breath before knocking. Her gaze caught on Marshall, stooped over the kitchen island, eating his dinner alone and scrolling through his phone. Something inside her ached at seeing him like this.
She wondered if he was lonely, as she was sometimes.
Or maybe he had a woman in town to keep him company. Well, that was none of her business. Moving to the country was meant to be a change of scenery, a fresh start after an abysmal end to her last job. Her fingers were getting cold and turning red as she watched him. Underestimating the arctic chill of spring nights, she had run over to the main house in only a long-sleeve shirt. Big mistake. She knocked on the glass, just loud enough for the dog to start barking and for Marshall to turn his head, eyes widening in surprise.
