“Don’t you have a restaurant here in the terminal?” she asked. “I don’t want to put you to all that trouble of going out to your ranch.”
He gave her an affable look. “No worries. Come on, let’s go to the luggage carousel down at the end, over there.” He pointed in that direction. “Silver Creek is a small community and we’re lucky to have an airport at all, never mind a real carousel.” He looked around. “There’s no restaurant here, Ms. Taylor.”
Managing a slight, nervous smile, she bobbed her head. “Point made. Please call me Cari?” After all, his friendliness and easygoing nature made her shed a lot of her professional modus operandi.
“Fair enough. Let’s go. You show me your luggage and I’ll carry it for you to my truck that’s parked out front.”
More surprise. “Nowadays, men don’t do that.”
“Well,” he said, giving her a teasing look, “welcome to the Land of Cowboys, Cari. We aren’t called the Knights of the Range for nothing.”
He did, after all, wear a black Stetson cowboy hat, a short-sleeved white cowboy shirt that was pressed, and a pair of Levi’s. The only thing was that his boots were pretty well scarred up and certainly not new. There was a boneless grace to him. He stood well over six feet tall to her five feet seven inches. His arms were already getting tanned and she guessed it was because cowboys were outdoors all the time. At the carousel, she pointed out two pink bags.
“That’s all you have?” he asked, leaning over and picking them up. “They’re pretty little.”
Grimacing, Cari said, “I wasn’t thinking I’d be staying very long.”
Chase frowned. “I was hoping you’d stay a couple of days, see the ranch, see the layout, our clover and alfalfa pastures, our fruit tree orchard, which I understand from Theresa Sandoval, who is going to be working with whomever we choose to run the operation, are essential to honey production.”
Cari couldn’t avoid the worry she saw in his gray eyes. “I’ll wait until we reach your ranch to tell you the rest of the story.”
Nodding, he ushered her out the nearest door, pointing to his white ranch pickup that had bright red lettering on the door that said: THREE BARS RANCH. Cari Taylor appeared to be a scared rabbit trying to hold herself together over whatever secret she was hiding until they could talk about it at the ranch house. Worry nibbled at him, but he let it go, placed her bags in the extended cab seat and opened the passenger door for her. Again, he saw her surprise over his gentlemanly ways. He wasn’t sure that the world had to destroy everything about respecting a woman, in the name of equality. That was a discussion for another day. What was she going to reveal to him that seemed so awful that she’d already assumed he wouldn’t hire her? The mystery deepened.
* * *
Cari waited tensely, legs crossed beneath the large, round table as Chase made them coffee. He offered her some donuts to go with it, but honestly? Her stomach was tied in proverbial knots that refused to ease and disappear. She gently declined his offer.
Chase set out the creamer and the sugar, and then retrieved the mugs of coffee. “Here we go,” he murmured, sitting down across from her. “Help yourself to whatever you need in it.” He pointed to the tray between them.
“I like my coffee black,” she said.
Nodding, he said, “I do, too. So? What’s this all about? What wasn’t in your résumé that you want to tell me?” He placed his elbows on the table, large hands around the white mug.
“I really hesitated in even coming,” she said in a low, apologetic tone. “I waffled between making it a phone call instead of spending your money on a plane ticket. But after talking with your mother, Mary, and Theresa, I felt it would be cowardly of me to just do a phone call. I wanted to tell you in person because, frankly, I think your mother and Theresa are wonderful, heart-centered and caring people who only want the best for your ranch and this beekeeping assignment. They deserve to hear directly from me.”
Taking a deep breath, she dove into why. Her voice was scratchy at times, low with pain and apology. It rocked her world that Chase Bishop seemed almost unaffected by what she revealed about Dirk and the murder and subsequent incarceration. Even more stunning, the cowboy just didn’t seem as upset as she was about not telling him the whole truth of her sordid situation before this. When she finished, the silence stretched between them. If anything, his expression was sympathetic, not angry or upset that she’d duped him.
“I’ll also pay you back for the money you spent on the airline ticket,” she added. “In no way should you pay for it.”
Chase lifted the mug to his lips and took the last sip of coffee. “You’re assuming I’m going to send you packing. Right?” He rose, motioning toward her cup. “Your coffee’s cold. Would you like another cup? A hot one?”
Stunned, she stared up at him. “But, aren’t you going to find someone else other than me? I’m in a dangerous situation. It’s not fair to put that danger over you and your family, your employees, or this town.”
He gave her a patient look, reached across and took her cup. “Maybe you want something stronger?”
Blinking, she didn’t know what to say, shocked by his reaction to her tale. He stood waiting, cups in hand, watching her. “I—uh . . . no, I don’t drink.”
“Coffee it is,” he murmured, turning and walking casually into the kitchen.
All the air went out of her lungs as she sat there watching the broadness of his shoulders, the long breadth of his back, the quiet power that exuded from him. In some ways, Chase Bishop reminded her of a jaguar: lethal, silent. There hadn’t been a bit of recrimination in his eyes or face as she’d told him everything. No worry. No . . . well . . . nothing. How could that be?
Her hands were sweaty, gripped in her lap beneath the table. Her armpits were damp, too. Just telling this stranger about the shame of her family, Dirk’s murdering way, and the fact he had targeted her, seemed to go right over Chase’s head. He looked totally unconcerned, but he was attentive, didn’t interrupt her, and listened with a focus that she’d rarely seen. Except the focus of a jaguar, which he seemed to emulate. The South American cat was her favorite animal and she’d seen them in zoos, as she sat and watched them for hours. And they watched her, too. It was the only species in the cat world that was equally at ease in a river or lake as it was on solid jungle ground. They were exceptional hunters.
Chase came back to the table, offering her a steaming mug of coffee and one for himself, and he sat back down. “My mother and Theresa seem to think you are the one we need to save our honey business,” he began quietly, hands around his mug in front of him. “We’ve had ample opportunity to talk to, phone, and Skype other applicants, Cari. You were the only woman wanting this position.” One corner of his mouth barely lifted. “My mother is a force of nature, if you haven’t already figured that out.”
Cari nodded once, under the spell of his low, slightly roughened voice, his gaze never leaving hers. She had a sense that he was monitoring her on so many levels that it would have scared the hell out of her if it wasn’t him assessing her. The one word Chase created for her was safety. He was a big man, broad shoulders, thick muscling, but not like a weightlifter. There was a quiet, intriguing sense of danger around him, as well, but it wasn’t aimed at her and she knew it. Normally, in her experience, men hid their real feelings, They kept their faces still, no emotions whatsoever, in them. Chase was totally different. Sometimes, as she’d told him about Dirk, she would see a flick of anger, or concern for her, or outright sympathy for the predicament she was in. It was so refreshing to be with a man who she could easily read. Under normal circumstances, she would have been ecstatic. But this circumstance was anything but that. It was life-and-death for her. And for him and his family and employees, too.