Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(26)

“I need to see to supper.”

“It’s just past noon.”

“Then I need to...” Her mind blanked. At any given time she could rhyme off a list as long as her arm of things that needed doing, but now, when she truly needed the information, her memory failed her.

“To?” Caleb’s eyebrows arched upward and the spark of humor she’d witnessed earlier revived itself, robbing her of what few wits she had left.

She swallowed. “There’s plenty to be done here. I can’t be standing around idle.”

“Don’t let me keep you, then.”

Despite his words, he didn’t step aside. Rachel willed her legs to move, faltering when her hip grazed his hard thigh as she squeezed between him and the bunks. She hurried out the open door, nearly tripping off the step in her rush to escape Caleb Beckett and the foolish emotions he set off inside of her.

When she glanced back, he stood leaning in the doorframe, all six feet of him stretched out to fill the entrance, making her feel small and insignificant in comparison. She picked up her skirts and turned in the direction of the house, fleeing on wobbly legs, feeling his gaze on her back the entire way.



Caleb couldn’t move. Couldn’t do much of anything save watch Rachel’s gently curved hips sway back and forth as she scurried to the main house as if the devil nipped at her heels.

What the hell had just happened?

His body still hummed, every fiber strained to go after her to see if he could ease the craving that standing so close to her had brought on.

She had him addled to the point he hadn’t even noticed he was standing in what amounted to little more than a stuffy, dark box with barely enough air in it for a mouse to breathe. He hadn’t noticed anything except how the dingy light from the midday sun set off the fiery highlights in her mahogany hair and made it appear soft as silk. He’d been mesmerized by the golden glow of her skin until all he could think about was drawing her down onto the bed and peeling away the layers of clothes she wore to discover what treasures hid beneath. The intoxicating smell of violets hung heavy in the air. A man could drown in that scent. And in that sweet little body with those delectable curves.

This was going to be a problem.

He stared back into the bunkhouse to divert his attention but it did no good. Without Rachel in the bunkhouse, it returned to what it was—a dark, suffocating little box. Already he could feel the walls closing in on him. His throat constricted. He’d never be able to sleep in here.

Caleb walked outside and sat down on the step, staring at the house and wondering for the umpteenth time what he’d gotten himself into.

If he had a lick of sense he’d hightail it out of town before sundown.



“Gone? What do you mean, he’s gone?” In one swoop, Rachel’s heart soared to the heavens then plummeted to back to Earth. Caleb Beckett was nowhere to be found.

Brody shrugged and shoveled another mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Len, Stump and Everett had already been and gone, taking their morning meal and splitting up the work for the day between the three of them. Once he finished his breakfast, Brody would be meeting Len near the north end of the property to fix a section of fencing that had been knocked down. Likely by one of Shamus’s men.

“I mean he’s gone. Wasn’t there when I got up. Didn’t even look like his bed been slept in.” Brody smirked. “Guess your hired hand didn’t cotton to hard work and decided to leave.”

Rachel’s mixed emotions told her it would never be as simple as that. Caleb Beckett owned the land. He wouldn’t just walk away.

Would he?

She took the empty plate Brody handed to her as he made his way out the door without so much as a goodbye. At least he’d waved in Ethan’s direction, showing the little boy a token of affection. Rachel barely registered the slight. It happened every morning now, and today her mind was too occupied with Caleb’s disappearance to deal with Brody’s moodiness.

“You think he’s gone for good?” Freedom thrust her strong hands into a mound of dough in front of her and kneaded it once before flipping it around for another thrust.

“Aw, no,” Ethan said, his mouth half filled with oatmeal. “I like him.”

Rachel set the plate on the counter and crossed the room to the cookstove, tousling Ethan’s hair as she went, hoping the boy would not sense her agitation. “Perhaps Mr. Beckett woke early and rode out to start working before Brody woke up, is all.”

The words echoed hollowly in her breast. Without consulting with the other men, how would he know what was required of the day or which section of the property to head to? And Brody said it didn’t look as if his bed had even been slept in. Had he left in the night?