Tough and Tamed (Moon Ranch Book 1) Page 2

“Dane still ain’t here.” Asher nudged the brim of his hat back and looked at Zayden.

  He felt that old stirring—to do something, to take charge. “I’ll call him now.” He added that to his growing mental list of things to do. Talk to Mimi. Find out if there really was any money left. See how fast they could sell the ranch.

  “Z.”

  He turned at Asher’s voice. “Yeah?”

  He and his youngest brother had the same eyes as their mother, which according to dear old pops, gave more than enough reason to knock them around more than Dane, who resembled him most. The curse of looking like their mother, who’d been smart enough to split but cruel enough to leave her three sons at the mercy of a drunk, always bound him and Asher.

  “What’s gonna happen with this place?” Asher rubbed at his nose, which sported a new bump from being broken at some point in the past few years.

  “Dunno. What do you think we should do with it?”

  Asher snorted. “You always took care o’ things. I have no damn idea.”

  Yeah, it felt like a boulder on his shoulders. Nothing new there.

  He walked into the house and hadn’t even moved to close the door before Mimi’s voice rang out. “Shut the door!”

  “I know, I’m letting all the heat out,” he called back.

  She popped her head out of the kitchen, a smile on her face. “You boys.”

  “We’re men now. Men who know how to shut a door.” He did so now.

  “I guess it’s an old habit to tell ya off. One I missed, if I’m honest.”

  “Tellin’ us off was something you’ve missed?” He couldn’t help but smile back at her.

  “When you’ve spent as many years as I have basically alone here, then you miss the oddest things. Want some coffee, do ya?”

  “Sounds great.” He didn’t bother removing his boots as he moved to the kitchen table. Mimi put a mug of black, rich coffee before him. He looked up. “How do you know I still take it black?”

  “Been drinkin’ black coffee since you were thirteen. Now what’s on your mind? I saw you walking the ranch.” She poured herself a mug with an owl on it. The woman loved owls, and he and his brothers had carved her small owls from sticks for Christmas or birthdays. He twisted in his seat to see the row of small wooden objects still lined up on the windowsill.

  “How did you do it, Mimi? How did you keep living here after we’d gone?”

  “It’s easy when you just think of the work you put into each day.” She took a sip.

  He felt huge sitting beside her. “How old are you now?”

  She gasped in shock and drew up straight. “You never ask a lady her age. Have you learned nothing of the world, Zayden?”

  He chuckled. “Guess not. So you’re eighty?”

  She slapped him. “I just might dump this hot coffee right on your crotch for that one, boy. I’m seventy.”

  “Ah, quite young then. My apologies.” He sipped the coffee, finding it just as good as always. Everything Mimi made tasted better. Or maybe it was just the care she put into every morsel—something all three Moon boys had ached for.

  She nudged a plate of cinnamon buns across the table, and he took one in hand. Even the plate brought back memories, because it was one of a set that had all been smashed by their father in some drunken state or other. Either he was pathetic drunk Chaz, falling over himself and breaking shit, or he was enraged drunk Chaz.

  He shook off the thought and bit into the roll. After he chewed the delicious cinnamon sweetness, he met Mimi’s gaze. She was like their momma and grandmother all rolled into one. No one knew them better.

  “You’re thinking of selling the ranch, aren’t you, Zayden?”

  He nodded. “Who’s been coming to help out with the animals?”

  “My great-nephew from the rez.” Mimi was part Ute, and her blue eyes came from her mother, who’d taken her away at a young age. But she’d returned to her people later in life, and lived there until a desperate young boy had run into their village and begged for help.

  Without looking back, Mimi came with Zayden, and spent her days here on the Moon Ranch. Too many days.

  “Who’s paying your great-nephew?” he asked.

  “I do what I can to help him when he needs it. He’s got young’uns who need babysitting, and I go up there sometimes.”

  “Good trade.” He sighed. “I think I’ve gotta sell the ranch, Mimi.”

  Her name wasn’t Mimi, but Asher had dubbed her that at the age of ten. Her Native American name was Chipeta, which meant White Singing Bird. But her mother had called her Barbara. Neither fit her as well as Mimi.

  She wore that crease between her brows, which appeared when she disapproved of one of her ‘boys’ as she called them.

  “Say it plain, Mimi.”

  “Our ancestors said not to waste good land. This is good land. You can build it into something, Zayden. You and your brothers can make Moon Ranch what it always longed to be.”

  Yeah… right. If not for the drunk owner. If not for the dysfunction and emotional abuse, and never mention the split lips.

  “I think I’m going to take one of the horses out this morning and see more of the ranch,” he heard himself say.

  Pick up the pieces. Do what is right for the ranch. Wasn’t that always his motto? He didn’t want to fall back into old habits, but he couldn’t ignore Mimi’s words either.

  She nodded, a trace of happiness in her eyes. “You should take the white gelding. He gets restless if he isn’t ridden, according to my great-nephew.”

  “I will. Don’t let Asher eat all those cinnamon rolls, and if Dane ever shows up, he doesn’t deserve one.”

  She drew the plate in front of herself. “Maybe I’ll eat them all.”

  He flashed a grin. “You could use some fat on those bones. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  * * * * *

  After riding the perimeter of the ranch and mentally noting all that needed tended to, Zayden tucked the white horse up in the barn with some fresh hay. The winter afternoon daylight faded fast, and the lights in the house glowed like yellow butter on the snow.

  He looked around for a sign of another truck parked in the driveway but saw none. Dane never came, and Asher apparently left.

  A kernel of anger that always seemed to live in his gut blossomed and spread. He stalked inside and found Mimi rolling out cookie dough on the kitchen counter.

  “Dane’s not here,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Asher left.”

  “Went down to the bar.” Her tone sounded sad, and no wonder. Alcoholism ran in families, and Zayden had done his damnedest to avoid the places as a result. Who knew what Asher was up to, but he’d find out sooner or later. Hopefully not after his brother did something stupid.

  He crossed the kitchen and whipped open the cupboard above the fridge. Bottles of whiskey crowded the depths. With a growl of rage, he grabbed the trash can and started ripping bottles down from the cupboard. He dropped each with a hard clink, until the top bottles smashed.

  After he had them all, he picked up the can, he stormed through the rest of the house, to all of his dad’s old hiding places, and tossed every last bottle. When the can grew full, he yanked out the bag and replaced it. By the time he finished, there were three bags on the front porch.

  After his purging fit, he went into the kitchen and found the coffeepot hot. He drank half a mug before he looked to Mimi. “Think I’ll head into town and buy feed before the store closes for the day.”

  “You should. We’re getting low,” Mimi said.

  He drained his mug and set it into the empty sink. “Be back in time for supper.”

  “I’ve got a casserole in the oven.”

  He looked at the baked cookies on the counter in the shape of hearts and sprinkled with white sugar. He cocked a brow. “Hearts?”

  “It’s Valentine’s Day, Zayden. Did you forget?”

  “Guess so.” He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Got
to kiss my sweetheart, though.”

  She grinned broadly and waved him away. “Always the charmer. Hurry to town after the feed. That storm on the mountain’s headed this way.”

  Chapter Two

  Killer lace teddy—check. Thigh-high stockings—check.

  Esme turned to the mirror and fluffed her wild curls around her face. The brown ringlets had a way of adding a sex appeal all of their own, and Owen loved to grab her hair and—

  She nibbled her lower lip in anticipation. When he’d invited her on a weekend getaway, she’d been excited. But the moment she heard it was for Valentine’s Day, well, her mind went there…

  To the diamond ring every woman dreamed of receiving on the holiday designed for lovers.

  The quaint cabin on the mountain added a nice touch, she had to admit. Owen knew she loved all things outdoorsy, and that was exactly why, when he dropped to bended knee and popped the question, she would say yes.

  A flurry of nerves hit.

  He waited for her just beyond this bathroom door, and she was stalling.

  No, not stalling—letting the excitement build.

  She leaned close to the bathroom mirror again and inspected her lipstick, swiping a smudge at one corner. After checking her teeth to make sure there wasn’t any red lipstick on them, she drew in a shaky breath.

  “Showtime.”

  She quietly opened the bathroom door and stuck one stockinged toe into the bedroom where Owen waited for her. She extended her leg, hooking it around the doorjamb. Then she slipped out a hip, which she wiggled to show off the sheer lace and the curve of her buttocks.

  Not a sound could be heard—Owen was probably stunned speechless, and that would mean she’d achieved her goal of dolling up for the special moment.

  When she popped out into the room, locking her gaze on the bed where she knew he’d be, a harsh gasp left her lips.

  He wasn’t on the bed.

  Or in any of the corners either.

  Well, her little seductive ploy wasn’t spoiled, because she could find him in the kitchen. They’d never had kitchen table sex… or any sex besides in a bed, for that matter. But who cared? Tonight was the night.

  She sashayed through the rustic cabin, swinging her hips and walking as if she was on a catwalk. Brushing her curls back over her shoulders, she cooed, “Oh Owennnn.”

  No sound came in response.

  With a bit of annoyance, she dropped the act and entered the living room, one hand on her hip.

  The space sat empty. Spinning, she looked at the small oak kitchen, and Owen wasn’t standing there either.

  “What the hell?” she said to the empty space. “Owen?”

  She walked to the front door and whipped it open. It was just like him to be waiting outside—he knew how much she loved the outdoors, and a proposal in the winter wonderland of the mountain was beyond perfect.

  A shiver hit her skin as the wintry wind blew at her face. She blinked away some snowflakes and stared around her. Snow piled up, and it came down in those big fat flakes that Colorado was known for.

  “Owen!” She peered toward the parking area to the side of the wood cabin. Her stomach dipped low and quick—like she sat on a rollercoaster and just took a curve at high speed.

  No Jeep. No Owen.

  Maybe he’d gone down the mountain to town, had forgotten something. Flowers? Champagne?

  She hurriedly closed the door and wrapped her arms around her scantily-clad body. If he’d gone to town, it would take a good hour. The drive up the mountain, navigating the switch-backed roads, took some time. Nothing for Esme to do but settle in and wait.

  She felt silly sitting around in the teddy and stockings, so she marched to the bedroom, reached for her bathrobe—and froze with one hand on the fuzzy robe.

  Where the fuck was Owen’s bag?

  Shock hit her square in the face. There had to be a mistake—he wouldn’t just up and leave.

  Would he?

  Her mind rushed over their ride here, the night they’d spent in each other’s arms… and the dead silence between them.

  She searched her memory of his handsome face and could recall no smiles. In fact, he’d looked a bit unhappy, if she was honest with herself.

  Maybe something is wrong, something he didn’t want to worry me with. He had to rush off.

  But what could be so urgent that he couldn’t call out to her in the bathroom before leaving?

  Pissed, she ran to the front door again and threw it open. Wind and snow hit her mostly-bare body, and she rasped at the cold before slamming the door once more.

  He wasn’t here. He might not return.

  He may not propose.

  Running back to the bedroom, she grabbed her cell off the nightstand, but before she even glanced at the screen, she knew she had no service. The mountain was a dead zone, and she couldn’t call Owen and ask him what was going on.

  Dread slithered low in her belly. I can’t even call for help, and I have no way down the mountain.

  The son of a bitch had left her stranded, wearing nothing but a scrap of lace and a trace of perfume on her wrists and the insides of her dang thighs. Her neglected thighs, she might add. Right now, he was supposed to be rubbing his delicious beard all over her goosebumped skin, and instead, he’d stranded her.

  Fury slammed her like a glacier. She threw her cell phone down on the mattress and balled her fists. “Damn you, Owen Walden. I’m going to punch you in the throat first chance I get.”

  How did she plan to do that, when she was stuck here on the mountain, alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and with a winter storm upon her?

  She had little choice but to head down the mountain on foot as quickly as possible. The lower elevations would have better weather, and she’d probably have cell service too.

  Good thing she was an experienced hiker.

  She stripped off the stockings and lace, tossing all into her bag. She hadn’t planned to do much hiking while on the mountain. Her plans had included more time spent on her back with her legs in the air than in a parka and boots.

  Damn him. Damn, damn, damn.

  Gaining what calm she could muster, she dressed in layers of thermal underwear, T-shirt and flannel overtop. On her bottom, more thermal and jeans, because it was all she had with her. Thank goodness for thick socks and good boots.

  Looking at her overcoat, she wished she’d been better prepared. But who packed to be stranded on a snow-covered mountain in the middle of February after her boyfriend left her high and dry?

  Bastard. She twisted her lips and zipped her bag shut with a violent flick of her wrist. The zipper caught on the teddy and wouldn’t budge. She spent five angry minutes cussing and battling the lace from the zipper teeth before managing to close her bag.

  She donned her coat, canvas but too lightweight to be called a winter jacket, slung her bag over her body and went to the front door again.

  With a last look at the cozy cabin, she said, “I don’t ever want to set eyes on you again,” and didn’t know if she was talking to the cabin or the man who’d abandoned her in it.

  Once she reached the road leading down the mountain, she realized she might have made a poor decision. But heading back to the cabin was a lost cause. Without the ability to call for help and left without a set of wheels, what choice did she have?

  Winter storms could leave her stranded in the cabin for days. Her only hope rested on reaching a lower elevation and place a call.

  To whom? She didn’t have family in the area, having moved to Boulder for a position in the credit union. And her friends were short on the ground. She did have a few people she talked to at work, other bank tellers, but would any be willing to brave the roads to get her?

  She groaned. What choice did she have but to reach a place where she could call for help? That was what humans did—lent each other a helping hand—and she would just have to suck it up and ask despite her independence.

  The first leg of the road was r
elatively easy walking, though by the time she reached the next switchback, her shoulder ached from the weight of her bag. With a scowl, she thought she could toss out the useless lingerie, but it wouldn’t lighten the load.

  She shifted the bag to the other shoulder and continued on the next jaunt. Snow caught on her eyelashes, and she blinked to dispel them. They came back again and again, the white world fragmented in the wetness, and she swiped a gloved hand over them.

  Her curls exploded from under her knit hat, but at least her hair wasn’t blown across her face by the evil wind.

  By the time she reached the next sharp angle of the road, her lungs burned from the cold, and her toes grew chilled too. The thick socks weren’t doing much to keep the tips warm, and her gloves weren’t rated for lower temperatures.

  Who knew she’d be mountaineering in a snowstorm instead of curled up in her lover’s arms by the log fire, with her brand-new diamond glittering on her finger?

  No, this wasn’t a snowstorm—snow didn’t feel like knives hitting her skin.

  The shards of ice began to pelt her face. Each ball that struck her shoulders sounded like BBs fired at her. She squinted into the now raging monster of the storm, and the snow that had turned to ice quickly turned to freezing rain.

  Drizzle enveloped her in a cloud, and it didn’t take long to realize she was in over her head. If she stayed out in this rain, she’d be soaked and hypothermic. She had two choices—up or down.

  She checked her cell for the tenth time and still no bars in sight. Some very dirty words exploded from her lips, and she trudged on, through the soaking rain. By the next switchback, she discovered her boots were not as waterproof as they had claimed on the box back in the store. Her canvas coat was soaked at the shoulders and weighing her down.

  For a moment, she considered dropping her heavy bag and leaving it here on the mountain, but her survival skills kicked in. She may need the extra layers and if all else failed, she could wrap the lace teddy around a tree limb and set it on fire to keep warm.

  Please let there be a snowmobiler out. Please let someone come by.

  It better not be Owen. At this point, if she saw the man she’d probably knock him unconscious and leave him for dead.