“I fell in love with Mary,” she admitted hoarsely. “That’s why I can’t take the job. I want to protect all of you from my miserable situation.”
“Well,” he drawled, taking a sip of coffee, “when my mom hears directly from you about your situation? She’ll pitch a fit the size of Texas if you don’t take this job. I’m more scared of her reaction than that of your stepbrother, Dirk.”
Her eyes widened enormously as she allowed that low growl to vibrate through her, seeing the humor and seriousness in his face and the slight downward movement of his black brows to go along with it. “But . . . I’m putting your whole family, this town, in jeopardy,” she protested, a catch in her voice, tears jamming into her eyes. “I-I can’t do that! I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to any of you.” She swallowed several times, blinking away the unshed tears, her emotions raw and helpless.
“Let me tell you a little bit about myself, Cari. Maybe that will help ease some of your worry. I joined the Marine Corps at eighteen. I grew up hunting with my dad, who died years ago. I’ve always been a pretty good marksman. While in boot camp, they singled me out because of my shooting skills. After graduation, I went to Marine Corps sniper school. By the time I came out of that, I was shipped over to Afghanistan where I worked with recon marines, SEALs, and Army Rangers. My years over there were spent hunting down ISIS and Taliban leaders and taking them out. I was often alone out in the mountains for weeks, sometimes months, finding my target. I know a lot about strategies that keep people safe. I worked in life-and-death environments like that for five years. I can apply what I learned for us, here, as well as for my mother and Theresa’s family.”
“Your world is foreign to me,” she admitted, opening her hands. “But I know my stepbrother.”
“Was he a sniper?”
“Not that I know of. He always carried a weapon on him though.” Her voice became choked. “And he used it. I saw him murder his girlfriend.”
He sighed. “That’s a heavy burden for you to carry,” he admitted gently. “Look, suspend this idea that I’m going to tell you to do an about-face and leave. I have two women I should have listened to when I hired this guy who has created hive collapse in twenty of my twenty-five hives. They both swore you could do the job and do it brilliantly. I rely on them because I know next to nothing about bees. I need to learn, though, and I was hoping you would educate me after you take the job. But,” he said, rising, “let’s settle this once and for all, Cari. I hope you brought some down-home-on-the-ranch kind of clothes? That’s a nice pantsuit, but where we’re going, it won’t be ideal to wear. Do you have some jeans, work boots and such to wear, instead? I want you to drive around with me, see a bit of the spread, see where the last of the hives are located, our pastures and so on. I need you to get a feel for the ranch. We are all open to your experience. If you tell us the hives need to be moved, or whatever is needed, we’ll do what you guide us to do. Fair enough?”
“Are you sure, Chase? Is this really what you want? I’m a target. Your family and employees will become targets.”
“Let me worry about your safety, okay? You just stick to your bees and we’ll keep you safe and happy. And my family and employees will also be safe. I’m putting no one at risk and I believe the severity of your situation. I’ll put my knowledge and experience against that stepbrother of yours.”
Cari slowly rose. “I do have one pair of work clothes with me.”
“Good,” he said. “Come with me and I’ll show you your room.”
“Here? In your home?”
He walked from the smooth cream-colored tile flooring to the edge of the living room, all of it open concept. The morning sunlight was slanting in through the large picture windows, shining across the cedar flooring, illuminating the gold and crimson colors of the wood. “Sure. You’ll live here and your office is located in a nearby building. If you like the job, I anticipate that next spring, we’ll build you a house next to the office. You’ll have your own, private home at that time.”
Rocking with shock over the generosity of the man, she could only say, “That sounds wonderful, but I need to assess your ranch and its qualities for the sake of bee culture and if it’s a fit or not.”
“Sounds good to me.” He walked over to the front door and picked up her luggage. “Follow me?”
Nodding, Cari felt like she had to shake herself. This was like a dream, not a nightmare. In a matter of minutes, Chase had refuted or rebuffed all her fears and concerns. The fact he’d been a marine, a sniper, was not the point. What she did place trust in was the confidence that exuded from Chase, and that made her feel safe. Even more important was that his family, employees, and the town of Silver Creek would be safe, too. She had no idea how he could fulfill such a promise.
“Here it is,” he said. “It’s a mini-suite, with a nice, large bathroom, a small living room with a TV, small refrigerator, microwave, and your bedroom.” He pushed it open. “Go on in. Get changed. I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen.”
“Okay,” Cari replied faintly, moving into the obviously feminine room. He shut the door quietly and she heard his booted feet against the floor, echoing and growing fainter and fainter.
She couldn’t believe what had happened. At least, not yet. She’d thought she’d be sent back to the airport.
What kind of person was Chase? He wasn’t like most men she had known. That drew her, and the attraction took her by surprise as she quickly changed out of her good clothes into her work clothes. Luckily, she’d brought two days’ worth of tops, and didn’t know why. Her intuition was strong, and there was nothing that could deter her from telling this very generous family the truth. Oh, she knew that many people figured that half-truths or telling a person only what they needed to know, and not the whole story, was in vogue. Not with her family or his, and she was grateful for that. She’d been raised to tell the whole, raw, unfiltered truth, not a part of it. At least she wouldn’t have any guilt, or perhaps less of it, as a result, because she’d come clean up front with Chase.
Pulling on a white three-quarter tee that was loose and comfortable, a pair of jeans, socks, and boots, she settled her sun hat, which protected her face, neck, and upper shoulders from sunlight, and left the room.
Looking down the hall, she saw Chase on a wall phone talking in a low tone with someone. He wasn’t handsome in a conventional way. He was deeply tanned—perhaps by years out in the deserts of Afghanistan? He had an oval face with high cheekbones, and wide-spaced, large gray eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Cari tried to ignore how toned and muscular he was. She’d rarely seen a man in such taut, good shape, and yet not muscle-bound, which turned her off completely. And for whatever piece of luck, Chase Bishop was an approachable human being, not like the patriarchal, sexist males she avoided at all costs. She could read him easily. But he could read her, too, and it didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. Her mother, Nalani, had taught her long ago as a child to always tell the whole truth. Don’t fudge it, don’t manipulate it.
As she walked quietly across the living room, she saw him turn, as if either hearing or sensing her coming toward him, or both. She was still in shock that he wanted her to stay, to potentially hire her, providing she wanted the job. Well, she was going to find out because he hung up the phone, pulled his black Stetson off the wall peg and settled it on his head. She should feel nervous, but for whatever reason she did not. In her left hand she had a black baseball cap and a notebook.