Tanner Ties

Ry set the newspaper aside. “Any problems?”

Luke shook his head. “Gave me the third degree but seemed satisfied with my answers. The older woman grilled me pretty hard, too.”

“That would be Rhena,” Ry explained. “She’s worked for Lauren’s family for years. If what we heard is correct, she was more of a mother to Lauren than an employee.”

Luke knew nothing about Lauren or her family, so remained silent.

“How was she?” Ry asked. “Did she appear upset or worried about anything?”

Luke considered Ry’s question for a moment, then shook his head. “She seemed all right to me. She was working on the roof above the back porch when I got there. Came down off the ladder to talk to me, then went right back up when we were done.”

“How did the place look?” Ry asked curiously.

“I could tell that some repairs have been made. Electrical wiring’s been replaced. Looked like a plumber’s been there, as the ground around the septic system appeared freshly turned. But there’s a lot more to be done.”

Kayla bit back a smile as she joined Ry at the table. “You missed your calling, Luke. You should have been a detective.”

He snorted a laugh. “I hardly think noticing a few new wires and freshly turned dirt qualifies me as a detective.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed those things,” she replied, then glanced at her husband. “Would you, Ry?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say that I would.” He winked at Luke. “But since Luke did, that proves we chose the right man for the job.”

Luke shuffled his feet a moment, curious to know about the Tanner brothers’ relationship with their cousin but reluctant to ask. “I’m not trying to get in your business, Ry, but would you mind telling me why you want me to keep an eye on the woman?”

“I told you. She’s our cousin, and we’re worried about her.”

“Yeah, but it seems it would be a heck of a lot easier for you or one of the others to just drop in on her every now and again and check on her.”

“You’re right,” Ry agreed. “It would. Unfortunately, our father, Buck, made that impossible.” He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “You know how Buck was, Luke. He alienated more people than most folks meet in a lifetime. He treated family even worse. After Randall, Lauren’s father, refused to sell him the lodge, Buck disowned him. Cut him out of his life as if he never existed, and never spoke to him again. That was over twenty-five years ago.” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know how much Randall told Lauren about his relationship with his brother, but whatever it was must have shed a bad light on us all, because she doesn’t want anything to do with any of us.

“When we heard she was moving here,” he continued, “Ace called her up, offered her our help. She turned him down flat. Said she didn’t need any help from the Tanners. Rory tried again, shortly after she arrived in town. He dropped by the lodge to see her and he said it was like talking to a brick wall.”

Though Luke knew what Ry said was probably true, it didn’t ease his reluctance in spying on the woman. “I don’t feel right doing this. Seems underhanded somehow.”

Ry nodded. “I can understand why you might feel that way. But we’re not asking you to do anything illegal. All we want is for you to make sure she’s safe, that she doesn’t want for anything.”

Luke thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.” He snugged on his hat and headed for the back door. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back. “I better warn you, though. I have a feelin’ if she finds out I’m spyin’ on her for y’all, she’s gonna be madder than a wet hen.”

Two

Lauren was surprised the next day when Luke arrived at seven sharp. She’d have bet the farm that he wouldn’t show up at all…and had secretly hoped he wouldn’t.

It bugged her that he’d applied for the job two days after their chance meeting on the road. Rhena kept insisting the two events were nothing but a coincidence. Since Lauren hadn’t told Luke her name, revealed her address or said anything about needing to hire a handyman, she had to believe Rhena was right.

But it still bugged her.

She frowned as she watched him climb down from his truck. It bugged her, too, that he wore his hat low over his brow, kept his gloves on all the time and buttoned his shirt up to his chin. Rhena had said his manner of dress was probably a precaution against skin cancer. Lauren thought it was more likely that he was an escaped convict who feared detection. That made more sense, considering the way her luck with men was running lately.

When he headed for the front door, obviously not having seen her, she shouted, “Over here!”

He stopped and glanced her way, then strode for the side yard. “Mornin’, ma’am.”

She flapped an impatient hand at his old-fashioned manners. “Whatever.” She gestured to the lumber stacked at the side of the house. “We need to move this around to the back porch. We’ll be working there today.”

Without a word, he hefted a large stack of boards to his shoulder and carried it to the rear of the house.

Lauren picked up a sack of nails and followed. “Some of the flooring on the porch needs to be replaced. There’s a leak on the roof and the boards below have rotted.”

He set the lumber down near the sawhorses she had set out, then straightened and peered up at the roof. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to fix the roof first? If it rains, the floor’ll just get wet again.”

“Which is why you’re going up on the roof and repairing the leak, while I replace the boards on the porch.”

What she could see of his face turned a bright red. “I’ll get right on it,” he said, and started for the ladder.

Lauren felt a stab of remorse for her rudeness, but dispelled it by reminding herself that she was the boss. It was important that she establish the lines of authority early on. If she didn’t, he might try to take advantage of the fact that she was a woman.

Grabbing a crowbar, she set to work, prying up the rotted boards and tossing them into a pile to discard later. As she worked, she could hear the solid thud of Luke’s footsteps on the roof overhead and the screech of old iron as he pulled nails from the sheets of tin.

“Ms. Tanner?”

She lifted her head and wiped sweat from her brow. “What?” she asked impatiently.

“I’m going to need at least four sheets of tin to replace the damaged ones I’ve found so far. Maybe more. Do you have any on hand?”

She stifled a groan, wishing she’d thought to request tin when she placed her order with the lumberyard earlier that week. The owner charged her exorbitant delivery fees. Probably because her last name was Tanner and he assumed she could afford to pay whatever price he named. Hoping to avoid an extra delivery, she racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d seen any tin lying around.

“I think there are some extra sheets in the barn,” she called to him.

She heard the thud of his footsteps as he crossed back to the ladder, then saw his boots appear on the top rail. The ladder shook beneath his weight as he clomped down. Upon reaching the ground, he angled his body in profile to her to avoid looking at her. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll check and see if they’re in good enough condition to use.”

It irritated her that he wouldn’t look at her when he spoke to her, but it irritated her even more that she couldn’t see his face.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Look in the loft. I think that’s where I saw the tin.”

She watched him walk away, her frown deepening. His gait was long and easy, his shoulders square. And his head was up, which added another level of irritation to her already miffed mood. He could look at the barn but not at her? The man was beyond weird.

And he was big. He had to be over six feet tall, since the top of her head hit him about chin level. He had wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered to a slim waist and hips. His legs were long and muscled beneath his jeans, and he had what she’d heard referred to as a cowboy butt—nicely rounded and muscled—as well. His hair—or what she could see of it beneath his ever-present cowboy hat—was a sandy brown. Other than that, she had no idea what he looked like.

Frustrated by his secretive behavior, she attacked a rotted board and pried it up, taking pleasure in the grind of nails and splintering of wood as the board snapped free. She tossed it aside and crawled along the porch until she reached the next damaged board. In spite of the earliness of the morning, it was strenuous work and sweaty, but she relished the burn of muscle, the sense of accomplishment with each finished task. And she was grateful at the end of each workday for her weariness, knowing she’d be able to sleep that night and not toss and turn, haunted by old memories and worries over her future.

A loud crash had her snapping her head up, her gaze going to the barn. Fearing that Luke had fallen out of the loft, she leaped to her feet and ran. Inside the building she stopped to stare, her chest heaving, as she struggled to catch her breath. Luke stood in the alleyway, looking down at a pile of tin, a shovel gripped between his hands like a weapon.

“What happened?” she asked, pressing a hand to her chest to still her heart’s beating.

He braced the shovel against the ground and shook his head. “Rattler. Must’ve been curled up between the sheets of tin. When I pulled ’em down, he came down with ’em.”

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she eased closer and saw the rattlesnake—or what was left of it—on the ground, and shuddered. “D-did he bite you?”

He puffed his cheeks and released a shaky breath. “No, ma’am. Wanted to, though. I heard the rattle and grabbed the shovel from the wall and whacked it before it had a chance to strike.”

She shifted her gaze to Luke and froze, noticing for the first time that his hat was missing, which offered her a clear view of the left side of his face. Crepey skin, shades lighter than the rest of his face, covered a portion of his cheek. A thin line of puckered flesh trailed from his eyebrow up toward his hairline. That he’d suffered some type of injury was obvious. Exactly what kind, she wasn’t sure. The scarring wasn’t hideous by any stretch of the imagination, but she thought she understood now why he always kept his face hidden.

He glanced over and she found herself looking into eyes colored a soft, warm brown. Kind eyes, she thought. Gentle. The kind of eyes a woman could trust. The kind she could fall into and drown.

When he realized she was staring at him, he quickly turned away and scooped his hat from the ground, his face stained a deep red. After snugging the hat down over his head, he took up the shovel again.

“As soon as I get rid of the carcass,” he said, keeping his face averted, “I’ll bring the tin up to the lodge and get to work on the roof.”

It took her a moment to find her voice. She wanted to ask him what had happened to him, to tell him he shouldn’t be ashamed of the scarring, that it wasn’t that bad.

Instead, she said, “All right,” and walked from the barn, leaving him to deal with the dead snake, and the questions to whirl in her mind.

That evening Lauren sat slumped in one of the Adirondack chairs on the lodge’s front porch. Rhena sat beside her, shelling black-eyed peas. The rhythmic click of peas hitting the pan she held on her lap was a soothing sound in the darkness.

“What do you think happened to him?” Lauren asked thoughtfully.

“Who?”

“Luke. How do you think he got all those scars?”

“How the heck would I know? If you want answers, you’ll have to ask him.”

“I wanted to,” Lauren admitted guiltily. “But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him about something that he’s obviously so self-conscious about.”

Rhena snorted. “Since when has that stopped you from sticking your nose in somebody else’s business?”

Lauren looked at her in surprise. “Are you saying I’m nosy?”

“Need I remind you about the day you asked Florence when her baby was due?”

Lauren pursed her lips. “I was eight years old. I thought anybody with a tummy was pregnant. Besides, all the household staff was wondering the same darn thing, including you,” she added. She jutted her chin defensively. “I saved y’all the embarrassment of asking.”

“And cost Florence her job.”

Lauren felt a prick of guilt, but quickly dispelled it. “Was it my fault she was sleeping with the gardener? Florence knew Dad’s rules. ‘Employees of the Tanner household shall not fornicate with other employees of same household.’ I believe that was rule number five, which was preceded by, ‘No employees of the Tanner household shall gossip about happenings within the Tanner home or about family members who reside in said home.’”

“Your father was a careful man and expected complete loyalty from his employees,” Rhena replied judiciously. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Frowning, Lauren slumped farther down in her chair. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t grow up with a bodyguard shadowing your every step.”

“No. My parents were dirt poor. They didn’t have anything anybody else would want, including me.”

Lauren glanced uneasily at Rhena. “You think I’m spoiled, don’t you?”

Rhena dropped her hands to her lap and looked at Lauren in disgust. “Now that’s downright insulting. I had a hand in your raising, and I never spoiled you. Not once.”

“My father did.”

Pursing her lips, Rhena picked up another pod to shell. “He might’ve tried, but he didn’t succeed. If he had, you would’ve run home with your tail tucked between your legs after you and Devon divorced, and let your daddy take care of you. But you didn’t,” she said with a nod of approval. “You took what you had left and put your back into it in order to survive. In my book, that’s gutsy, not spoiled.”

Reminded of the challenge she’d taken on, Lauren gazed out at the darkened landscape. “Daddy thinks I’m crazy for trying to turn the lodge into a business.”

“The old fart,” Rhena said grumpily. “He thinks everything’s crazy that wasn’t his idea.”

Laughing softly, Lauren gave Rhena’s arm an affectionate pat. “Oh, Rhena. What would I do without you?”

“You’d do just fine.”

“I don’t know that I would. You’ve been my rock ever since I can remember.”

“You’re stronger than you think, Lauren Tanner,” Rhena lectured. “Life’s dealt you some hard blows, but you’ve bounced back from every one of them, fists up and ready to fight.”

“Bounced back?” Lauren repeated doubtfully. “Crawled is more like it.”

“So it took you some time to recover. So what? The point is, you did. A weaker person would’ve curled up in a ball and given up. Not you. You grieved a little, sure. What woman wouldn’t? But then you gathered up the pieces of your life and went on about the business of living.”

Lauren suspected that Rhena was referring to more than her divorce. She was thinking of her mother’s death, as well. Growing pensive, she turned to gaze at the darkness again. “I wish I knew why Mom did what she did.”

“She was unhappy,” Rhena said simply.

“Why?” Lauren asked in frustration. “She had a good life. A husband and children who loved her. A beautiful home and plenty of friends. What more could she have wanted?”

Rhena laid a hand on Lauren’s arm. “Honey,” she said gently, “some things just can’t be explained. They just are.” Drawing her hand back, she began to shell peas again. “Your mother was…fragile. She was when your father married her, and nothing he could do or say was going to change that. And believe me, he tried every way known to man to make her happy.”

“Am I like her?”

Rhena looked at her in amazement. “Where did that come from?”

“Devon said I was. That I was impossible to please, just as she was.”

Rhena huffed. “That’s the biggest bunch of malarkey I’ve ever heard. Devon was the one to blame for the failure of your marriage. Never even tried. He was a taker, not a giver.”

“Dad thinks I’m a fool for having given him access to my bank accounts.”

“If he said that to you, then your daddy’s the fool. Devon was your husband. You had no reason not to trust him.”

“I do now,” Lauren said wryly.

“Yes, but not then. You loved him. A woman should be able to trust the man she gives her heart to.”

“‘Should’ being the operative word.”

“Yes,” Rhena agreed. “But just because one man disappoints you doesn’t mean they all will.”

Lauren shook her head. “Once burned was enough for me. I’ll never let another man hurt me like that again.”

Lauren worked alongside Luke most of the next morning, trimming the trees that surrounded the lodge. The chore was his idea, not hers. Since there wasn’t enough tin for him to finish repairing the roof, he’d suggested trimming the tree limbs that grew over the lodge, which he claimed were responsible for most of the damage done to the roof. Once they started trimming, he’d insisted upon removing the dead limbs, as well, since, according to Luke, they posed a threat to anything and anyone below if they were to fall during a windstorm.

As she worked alongside him, dragging away the limbs he cut, she noticed that he kept his hat down and his face averted. It was no easy task, considering he was manning the pole chainsaw and had to keep his gaze on the tree overhead while cutting down limbs. Lauren had tried to ignore the awkwardness of his position, but after several hours of watching him, she totally lost her patience.

Dropping the limb she held, she snatched off his hat. “Enough is enough!” she cried angrily. “I know your face is scarred, so there’s no point in trying to hide it from me any longer.”

He clamped his jaw down and snatched his hat from her hand. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. Just trying to protect you, was all.”

She tossed up her hands. “From what? I’ve seen cases of acne that were worse than the scars on your face.”

He dropped his gaze and touched a hand to his cheek, as if to be sure the scars were still there. “Most folks find it hard to look at me.”

“Well, I don’t, and I would appreciate it if you’d look me in the eye when you speak to me, instead of ducking your head.”

A muscle ticked on his jaw. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re looking at the ground.”

He lifted his head and narrowed an eye at her. “Is that better?”

She jutted her chin. “Yes.”

“Can we get back to work now, Ms. Tanner?”

“Don’t call me Ms. Tanner. My name is Lauren.”

He settled his hat over his head again, though this time in a more natural and comfortable position. “Yes, ma’am…Lauren.”

He put enough bite in her name to let her know that he might be willing to follow her orders, but that didn’t mean he liked them. Deciding she’d pushed him far enough for one day, she picked up the limb she’d dropped and dragged it toward the brush pile, her nose in the air.

“Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s get back to work.”

Luke dipped the scoop into the feed bucket and measured out oats. He’d put in a solid five hours at the lodge, driven back to the Bar-T and put in six more, gathering steers and heading them to a new pasture. He was dead tired, but his mind was running like a colt fresh out of a stall.

He didn’t know what to make of his new boss. First off, she was a Tanner, which meant she had to be rich as sin. Yet he hadn’t seen any evidence of an extravagant lifestyle. No fancy clothes. No flashy jewelry. Even the car she drove wasn’t what he’d expect to find a woman of her caliber driving. Although fairly new, the vehicle was modest at best…and totally unsuitable for where she currently lived. In his opinion, a person who lived in the country needed a truck or, at the very least, an SUV. Something tough enough to navigate rough terrain, and with enough storage capacity to haul whatever needed hauling.

And her current living conditions sure as hell weren’t the Hilton. She and the woman who worked for her were all but camping out at the lodge and one of the cabins, having carved out living space for themselves amid the mess that went along with remodeling and construction. From what he could tell, the older woman took care of the household chores, while Lauren handled whatever grunt work needed doing. She worked right alongside Luke, doing chores better suited for a man, when she could just as easily have sat on the porch in the shade painting her nails and shouting out orders.

But the thing that confounded him most about the woman was her reaction to seeing his face. He’d known that she’d gotten a fairly good look at him the day before in the barn, when he’d lost his hat while killing the rattler. But the lighting was dimmer in the barn and he figured—based on the fact that she hadn’t screamed or covered her eyes—that she hadn’t seen how badly he was scarred. He might’ve gone on believing that, if she hadn’t snatched off his hat this morning in full daylight and looked him square in the face, without flinching so much as a muscle. In fact, the only emotion she’d displayed was anger. That I’ve-had-all-of-this-I’m-gonna-take kind of anger that let a man know when a woman had reached the end of her rope.

Giving his head a shake, he dumped the oats into the trough and moved down the alleyway to the next stall. And that’s what he couldn’t figure. Why was she so hell-bent on him exposing his face? And why hadn’t she cringed when she’d seen it? Hell, he was no fool. He hadn’t been much to look at before the fire, and the scars it had left him with sure hadn’t improved his appearance any. Ry Tanner might be a gifted plastic surgeon, but he was no magician. He couldn’t put back what wasn’t there in the first place.

Lauren, on the other hand, was a feast for the eyes. She had the same coal-black hair as the Tanner brothers, and the same deep-blue eyes. But all similarity to her cousins stopped there. She had a figure that made a man look twice, and a way of moving that made one stop and stare. Long-legged and slim-hipped, she walked with a purpose, chin up, arms swinging at her sides. And when she was studying something, a crease formed between her eyes and her lips puckered slightly.

He dumped the second measure of oats into the trough and released a lusty sigh. Those lips. Full, almost puffy looking and stained a natural rose. Beestung lips, his mother would’ve called them. Kissable was what he would call them.

He heaved another sigh, this one full of resignation, and strode to the next stall. Whether Lauren’s lips were kissable or not, he’d never know. Even before the fire, a lady like her would’ve been out of his reach. She was a Tanner and he was…well, he was Luke Jordan, second son of a rodeo bum and short-order cook. He didn’t have a pedigree, or any kind of degree, for that matter. He’d dropped out of high school in the eleventh grade and started cowboying full-time for any rancher who was willing to offer him a decent wage and a bunkhouse to sleep in.

No, he’d never know if Lauren’s lips were kissable. Not firsthand, at any rate. Hell, she was so far out of his reach, he’d need a ladder to touch her toes.

A whine had him angling his head toward the feed room door.

With a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, he set the bucket down and moved to unlatch the door.

“Hey, buddy,” he said and dropped to a knee to give the dog’s ears an affectionate rub. “How’re you feelin’ today?”

In response, the dog licked his hand.

His smile widening, Luke pushed to his feet. “Bet you’d like to stretch your legs a bit, after being cooped up so long, wouldn’t you?” He patted a hand against his thigh, signaling the dog to follow him. “Come on, then. You can help me feed the horses.”

The dog limped along behind him, pausing each time he stopped to measure oats into a trough before moving on to the next stall. When they reached the last one, Luke hooked the feed bucket over a nail, then returned to the feed room. “Come on, buddy,” he said, holding the door open. “It’s time for me to head for the bunkhouse.”