Walt cut himself a piece then, and Spencer decided maybe he wasn't too full after all. One by one, the men helped themselves, laughing and joking but generally having good things to say about the dessert. Well, Darby had nothing good to say, but that wasn't unusual. Probably everyone would have fallen out of their chairs if he'd given anyone or anything a compliment. Carlin went back toward the kitchen for more coffee mugs, but she stopped in the doorway and looked toward Zeke. She caught his eye, and even though she knew it was a bad idea she mouthed the words, "Thank you." having good things to say about the dessert. Well, Darby had nothing good to say, but that wasn't unusual. Probably everyone would have fallen out of their chairs if he'd given anyone or anything a compliment. Carlin went back toward the kitchen for more coffee mugs, but she stopped in the doorway and looked toward Zeke. She caught his eye, and even though she knew it was a bad idea she mouthed the words, "Thank you."

He acknowledged her thanks with a slight nod of his head. No one else noticed the little byplay; they were all too busy eating.

Her step was a light one as she gathered more mugs. The white cake was a success! She'd taken it on, and won.

Next up?

Biscuits.

Chapter Fifteen

CARLIN SWISHED THE brush around the inside edge of the toilet bowl, then flushed. The bathroom smelled piney fresh now; the shower had been cleaned, the bathtub had been dusted-she doubted the tub had seen any water since Zeke had moved into the master bedroom-and now the john itself, in its private little room, was finished. She'd mopped the tile floors, polished the mirrors over the double vanities, polished the faucets and handles. brush around the inside edge of the toilet bowl, then flushed. The bathroom smelled piney fresh now; the shower had been cleaned, the bathtub had been dusted-she doubted the tub had seen any water since Zeke had moved into the master bedroom-and now the john itself, in its private little room, was finished. She'd mopped the tile floors, polished the mirrors over the double vanities, polished the faucets and handles.

Maybe it was overkill, but she'd also lit scented candles in there and in the bedroom while she worked. It wasn't that the rooms stank; in fact, she liked the smell of man-of Zeke-that came from his choice of clothes, the leather boots and belts and felt hats, the flannel shirts, the jeans, the man himself. A closet full of silk suits would have smelled completely different. And could the pheromones of a diplomat ever compete with those of a man who did hard physical work? Maybe for some women, yeah, but Carlin had discovered her own cavewoman core that definitely preferred the hard-muscles/hard-work variety. So: scented candles to overpower the pheromones. That might work. Maybe. Couldn't hurt.

It was a measure of how bad her case of Zeke-itis was that she didn't mind swabbing his beard shavings out of the sink, or cleaning his toilet. Okay, it helped her feelings that she was being paid to do those ch.o.r.es, but even if she'd rather have her toenails pulled out than be honest with him about how she felt or even who she really was, she had to be honest with herself, and that meant admitting she the sink, or cleaning his toilet. Okay, it helped her feelings that she was being paid to do those ch.o.r.es, but even if she'd rather have her toenails pulled out than be honest with him about how she felt or even who she really was, she had to be honest with herself, and that meant admitting she liked liked being in his bedroom, being in his bedroom, liked liked doing his laundry and hanging up his clean clothes, doing his laundry and hanging up his clean clothes, liked liked stripping off the Zeke-scented sheets from his bed and remaking it with fresh sheets. stripping off the Zeke-scented sheets from his bed and remaking it with fresh sheets.

At least she could honestly say that, though she didn't mind cleaning his toilet, no way did she like like it, so maybe there was still a shred of sanity left in her pheromone-drunk brain. it, so maybe there was still a shred of sanity left in her pheromone-drunk brain.

She hung fresh towels and washcloths on the racks, then put all her cleaning stuff in the bucket she used to cart it all from one location to another. In one arm she gathered the used towels from the floor, opened the bathroom door with her free hand, then did a quick dip to pick up the cleaning bucket. Head down, preoccupied, both arms laden, she hurried out of the bathroom and barreled straight into a solid obstacle.

The flood of adrenaline through her was like being electrified. It was akin to panic, but somehow different. Seeing someone in the grocery store who reminded her of Brad had been one thing; the terrifying realization that someone was in the room in the room with her was something else entirely. She shrieked, her body reacting before thought could form, before any semblance of logic could kick in. There with her was something else entirely. She shrieked, her body reacting before thought could form, before any semblance of logic could kick in. There was was no logic, there was only the jarring knowledge that someone was in the house, that this supposedly safe haven had been breached. no logic, there was only the jarring knowledge that someone was in the house, that this supposedly safe haven had been breached.

Going from safe safe to to unsafe unsafe in a nanosecond literally jarred her out of her wits. She had a weird sensation of leaving reality, of drawing deep inside herself where she was safe even while her body reacted in a primal bid to survive. Everything was distant, blurred. She could hear in a nanosecond literally jarred her out of her wits. She had a weird sensation of leaving reality, of drawing deep inside herself where she was safe even while her body reacted in a primal bid to survive. Everything was distant, blurred. She could hear herself screaming, though the sound was oddly muted; there was a deep voice, the words indistinguishable. She had a brief glimpse of bare flesh, but her instincts didn't give her time to put two and two together and come up with a logical ident.i.ty for the half-naked man in the bedroom. Before her synapses could click and the name herself screaming, though the sound was oddly muted; there was a deep voice, the words indistinguishable. She had a brief glimpse of bare flesh, but her instincts didn't give her time to put two and two together and come up with a logical ident.i.ty for the half-naked man in the bedroom. Before her synapses could click and the name Zeke Zeke form in her brain, she was already moving, dropping everything to the floor and swinging her right fist with everything she had behind the punch. form in her brain, she was already moving, dropping everything to the floor and swinging her right fist with everything she had behind the punch.

Existing on two different planes was so disorienting she couldn't tell what she was doing until she'd already done it. Here was her body, moving, acting, and her brain was somewhere else, scrambling to make sense of what was happening. It was as if her thoughts were lip-syncing two beats behind the music, and she couldn't catch up, couldn't make the two come together. Just about the time she was beginning to think instead of simply react, he ducked to the side to avoid losing a tooth or maybe getting his nose broken, then came in low, catching her middle with his shoulder. The impact was solid enough to jar her; the world turned topsy-turvy, her feet off the ground, nothing making sense, then she was flat on her back on the carpet and he was holding her down, both wrists caught in one big hand and held above her head. Dazed, she stared up into green eyes gone narrow and dark with some emotion she couldn't read, didn't want to read.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted, zooming from terror to outrage at warp speed. Getting outraged at his intrusion was absurd, she fully recognized that, but again she couldn't catch her mental balance. The shock of panic, anger, sheer survival instinct-whatever it was, and in whatever mixture-had left her brain still scrambling to catch up, not just with events, but with her mouth as well.

"I'm pretty sure I still live here," he bit out.

At least that cleared up her confusion about his emotion. He was annoyed. No, he was p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l.

She blinked, caught her breath, waited for her thoughts to settle. At least they were settling now, instead of darting around like crazed squirrels. "No. I mean-what are you doing here now now? I would say I'm sorry but-no, I am sorry, I'd never never have tried to punch you out if I'd recognized you in time. Wait. Maybe I don't mean that. have tried to punch you out if I'd recognized you in time. Wait. Maybe I don't mean that. Never Never is too final. Someday I may really want to punch you out. But today I didn't mean to, so I'm sorry." is too final. Someday I may really want to punch you out. But today I didn't mean to, so I'm sorry."

He c.o.c.ked his head a little to the side as he navigated that warren of sentences, then he squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a put-upon sort of sigh. The movement of his bare chest momentarily pressing on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s slammed her with a sudden jolt of self-awareness, and there was an almost audible click click in her head as her brain and body realigned in perfect sync. in her head as her brain and body realigned in perfect sync.

Oh, d.a.m.n, this wasn't good. She'd tried so hard to keep him at a safe distance, to not touch him even casually because she'd known, instinctively, that he was too attractive to her, too much of a temptation. Letting him become important to her wasn't fair to either of them, given her situation. With those boundaries in mind even a touch on her hand had been rebuffed...and now here he was, lying heavily on top of her, his muscled weight hot and confining and so exciting her stomach, her entire body, tightened in response.

Hunger gnawed at her, hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with being a woman. Because of Brad she'd not only been prevented from forming any romantic relationships, she'd come to doubt her own instincts when it came to men. She'd held herself in emotional solitary confinement, not letting herself enjoy the normal flirtations or even casual dates, much less anything more serious.

And yet, despite all her precautions, here she was, flat on her back on the floor, with Zeke heavy on top of her-and everything about it thrilled her. Her muscles tightened, her body seizing control and arching upward of its own volition, seeking that for which she was so starved. Desperately she caught herself, tried to turn the arch into a squirm as if she was trying to free herself. on her back on the floor, with Zeke heavy on top of her-and everything about it thrilled her. Her muscles tightened, her body seizing control and arching upward of its own volition, seeking that for which she was so starved. Desperately she caught herself, tried to turn the arch into a squirm as if she was trying to free herself.

He was too close, close enough that she could see each individual whisker on his jaw, his five o'clock shadow coming in several hours early. His face was right above hers, those green eyes going even darker. She could see her own tiny reflection in their black centers, and the striations, both dark and light, in his irises. The heat from his body, especially his bare upper torso, seared through her clothes. She could smell him, the scent of hot skin, the somewhat acrid smell of the horse he'd been riding, hay, leather, the outdoors-so many smells mixing together and forming a signature that was his alone. A pinching, aching sensation in her nipples told her they had hardened, were standing taut. Could he feel them? Could he feel them? Her cheeks burned at the thought, but at the same time she was excited by the idea. Her cheeks burned at the thought, but at the same time she was excited by the idea.

Even more exciting, as far as feeling went, she could very definitely detect the hard length growing in his jeans, pressing into the softness of her crotch. Maybe getting an erection was nothing more than an automatic reaction for a man when he was on top of a woman, but she was the woman he was on top of, and from his expression there was nothing automatic about it.

Oh, G.o.d! She wanted so much to open her legs, wrap them around him, pull him closer. She clenched her teeth against the moan of wanting that rose in her throat. She wanted to be a normal woman again, live a normal life. She wanted him him.

But she couldn't. She didn't dare. This must not not happen. No matter what it cost her, she had to push him away, both mentally and physically. happen. No matter what it cost her, she had to push him away, both mentally and physically.

Mentally, she could manage-just barely. Physically, though she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed, it was a useless effort. Helplessly she clenched her fingers on the thick pads of muscle in his shoulders, delighting in the strength she could feel there, the heat and power and life. She stared up into his face, her breath coming shallow and fast, panting against his lips.

"Let me up," she managed to say, the words faint. If she'd meant them her voice would have been stronger, but if she'd meant them she'd already have shoved him away and gotten to her feet. She knew it, he knew it. There was a long pause, so long that her heartbeat leaped into double-time because his gaze had gone heavy-lidded and was focused on her mouth. He was going to kiss her. Oh, G.o.d, he was going to kiss her. And she was going to let him. Despite everything, despite all of her very good reasons for not letting anything develop between them, in that moment the temptation was so close and raw that she knew knew she wouldn't be able to stop either him or herself. she wouldn't be able to stop either him or herself.

Then he planted his hands on either side of her shoulders and levered himself up, jacking to his feet with a lithe, athletic movement so easy she could almost overlook the amount of strength it required. Almost.

Reprieve. Or rejection. She couldn't decide which, but she could decide that it didn't matter; what mattered was that he'd saved her from her own stupidity.

He reached down a big, work-hardened hand, and automatically she put her right hand in it. With a quick tug he had her standing on her feet, but he didn't release her hand. Her heart leaped and once again she was certain he was going to kiss her, once again her body sent her head spinning. Instead he pulled her close, his head bent down as he glared directly into her eyes. "That's twice you've panicked," he said sharply. "The first time you tried to run. This time you managed a swing that a ten-year-old could have ducked. Considering your situation, why the h.e.l.l haven't you taken some self-defense lessons?" could have ducked. Considering your situation, why the h.e.l.l haven't you taken some self-defense lessons?"

What he said was so far from what she'd been expecting that, for a few seconds, she scrambled for a reply. She opened her mouth, couldn't think of an answer, closed it again. Then she shook herself, literally. There were were reasons, a couple of very good ones. reasons, a couple of very good ones.

"Money. Time. And knowing how to punch someone won't protect me from a bullet."

His head jerked back, green gaze going dark again, and abruptly she realized that he hadn't been angry because she'd swung at him, he'd been angry because she'd missed missed. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d has shot shot at you?" he barked. at you?" he barked.

Not at her. At Jina. But he'd thought he was shooting at Carlin, and Jina had paid with her life. She shook again, this time as the horror washed over her again, horror and grief and bone-deep regret. She didn't go into the details, simply said "Yes," because Brad had thought he was shooting at her and the outcome didn't change his intention.

Zeke's jaw set, his mouth as grim as she'd ever seen it, which was plenty grim. "You need shooting lessons."

"Why? I don't have a gun." And she couldn't buy one, either, because the background check could possibly alert Brad to her location. She didn't know enough about background checks, whether they were state or federal, or how easily accessible the data was. She could find out, using Zeke's computer, but buying a gun would still be problematic.

He gave a cold smile that in no way alleviated the grimness of his expression.

"Getting you a weapon isn't a problem."

"But the background check-"

"Doesn't apply to private sales."

"Oh." Suddenly faced with an option that a second ago had seemed impossible, all she could do was swallow.

Not having a gun kept her from having to make some hard decisions, such as whether or not she would actually use one. She wasn't a violent person; Brad had forced her into a lifestyle that was so far removed from her natural inclinations that sometimes she didn't recognize herself. Or was she simply discovering facets of her personality that, under less drastic circ.u.mstances, would never have come to the fore? Not having a gun kept her from having to make some hard decisions, such as whether or not she would actually use one. She wasn't a violent person; Brad had forced her into a lifestyle that was so far removed from her natural inclinations that sometimes she didn't recognize herself. Or was she simply discovering facets of her personality that, under less drastic circ.u.mstances, would never have come to the fore?

"Don't worry about getting a weapon. I'll see to that. And you're also going to learn how to protect yourself. Before I'm through with you, you'll not only know how to shoot, you'll know how to fight."

Chapter Sixteen

IT WAS TURNING cold. Not just chilly, but definitely cold. Zeke and the men had just about caught up on all the maintenance that needed doing; another week, and it would be done, and he'd cut back on the number of employees for the winter. Darby and Bo would head south for the rodeo circuit, Patrick and Eli would look for work farther south to tide them over until next spring-or maybe not, he never knew for certain whether or not they'd come back, though they had for the past few years. Kenneth and Micah would be here; as married men, they stayed put, and were available if he needed them during the winter. Walt was a permanent fixture, and Spencer was almost one, though the kid would take some time off during the winter to visit his folks. cold. Not just chilly, but definitely cold. Zeke and the men had just about caught up on all the maintenance that needed doing; another week, and it would be done, and he'd cut back on the number of employees for the winter. Darby and Bo would head south for the rodeo circuit, Patrick and Eli would look for work farther south to tide them over until next spring-or maybe not, he never knew for certain whether or not they'd come back, though they had for the past few years. Kenneth and Micah would be here; as married men, they stayed put, and were available if he needed them during the winter. Walt was a permanent fixture, and Spencer was almost one, though the kid would take some time off during the winter to visit his folks.

Their employment schedule was no secret from the men. Ranch work was seasonal. As they were finishing up repair on a pumping station, Darby straightened and rolled his shoulders. "This is about it, right, boss?"

"Looks like it. Another week, maybe."

"Reckon you could do without me? There's a rodeo in Tucson I'd like to hit before I move on to Texas."

"Sure, we can handle the rest of it."

"Mind if I head back to the bunkhouse early, so I can get my s.h.i.t packed up? I'm thinking I'll start out early tomorrow morning." get my s.h.i.t packed up? I'm thinking I'll start out early tomorrow morning."

Zeke glanced at Walt, silently checking if Walt had something lined up that he'd need Darby's help with. Walt gave a "why not" shrug. Nothing was in the works that the rest of them couldn't handle.

"Go ahead, we're good here."

"Thanks." Darby collected his tools, loaded everything into one of the ranch pickups, and headed out. They had four trucks there, so getting everyone back wasn't a problem.

Darby had been gone about ten minutes when Zeke got an uneasy feeling. First, Darby would have had plenty of time tonight to pack; it wasn't as if he needed a moving van. Second, Carlin was there alone, and though she was still religious about keeping the door locked, this was also the time of day, when normally all the men were gone, that she would do some light cleaning in the bunkhouse, and in Walt's cabin.

Maybe it was nothing. As far as he knew, Darby had taken his first warning to heart and not bothered Carlin in any way. Nor would he necessarily know her house-cleaning schedule, unless he had happened to go back one day to fetch a needed tool, and noticed her coming or going to the bunkhouse. That was a stretch. But...would Darby know how fanatic she was about keeping the doors locked while she was in the house? Her edict on locks hadn't extended to the bunkhouse, because she wasn't in there all that much. She dusted, she swept, and the rest of it was left to the hands to keep their s.p.a.ce clean.

So far as he knew, the subject of the locked doors had never come up with the men. He knew about the locks; Spencer knew about the locks. But he'd never mentioned it, and he didn't think Spencer had either, unless it was in the bunkhouse at night.

He was worrying about nothing.

On the other hand, he and everyone else had noticed a distinct coolness in the way she treated Darby, something that had been the subject of a lot of jokes at the ranch hand's expense, and which Darby hadn't taken well. He had an outsized ego, maybe from the rodeo groupies, maybe because that was just in his makeup. He'd already caused trouble with one housekeeper, though to be fair two other people had been involved, it wasn't just Darby.

But would he hold a grudge against Carlin? Oh, s.h.i.t yeah.

Zeke ignored his gut feeling for another few seconds, then straightened and pulled off his gloves. "I'm going back to the house," he said abruptly. "I don't trust Darby."

Walt straightened, too, thought about it for a second. "Good call. We'll go with you."

Every last one of them loaded up in the remaining pickups. The job wouldn't get finished today, Zeke thought, but so f.u.c.king what? Making sure Carlin was okay was more important.

He kept his boot jammed on the gas pedal harder than he normally would have, the truck bouncing hard on the cold, rough ground of the pasture. The trail they normally drove would have been smoother, but he was more interested in speed than comfort, or the springs on the truck. The two other trucks followed right behind him.

Spencer, in the pa.s.senger seat, held on tight with his good arm. For once, he wasn't smiling. "I don't think Darby would hurt hurt Miss Carly," he said, worry evident in his tone. "But he might mess with her some and upset her." Miss Carly," he said, worry evident in his tone. "But he might mess with her some and upset her."

Zeke grunted. He wasn't prepared to take the chance with her safety, period. If he made a fool of himself by rushing to the rescue when no rescue was needed, if Darby was in the bunkhouse packing his belongings the way he said and Carlin was in the kitchen cooking supper, he was okay with that. But the fact that even Spencer, who normally gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, thought it was possible Darby might try something with Carlin, made him drive even faster. Darby had a ten-minute head start, but by cutting across the pasture like this he could make up most of that time. Darby was in the bunkhouse packing his belongings the way he said and Carlin was in the kitchen cooking supper, he was okay with that. But the fact that even Spencer, who normally gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, thought it was possible Darby might try something with Carlin, made him drive even faster. Darby had a ten-minute head start, but by cutting across the pasture like this he could make up most of that time.

THE GUYS DID a decent job of keeping the bunkhouse clean. At least they did their laundry, and mostly kept their clutter out of the common area. Carlin didn't go into their rooms, but she did go through the common area every day and do a fast neatening; overall, she spent about half an hour or forty-five minutes in the bunkhouse, and if Walt had asked her to do the same in his little cabin she'd give it a fast polishing-up, too, but that seldom took more than fifteen minutes. She didn't have to do it all at once, either. Her schedule was her own, varying according to what else she needed to be doing. She might sweep, then go back to the house and put on a load of laundry, or get the next meal started, before returning to finish the job. a decent job of keeping the bunkhouse clean. At least they did their laundry, and mostly kept their clutter out of the common area. Carlin didn't go into their rooms, but she did go through the common area every day and do a fast neatening; overall, she spent about half an hour or forty-five minutes in the bunkhouse, and if Walt had asked her to do the same in his little cabin she'd give it a fast polishing-up, too, but that seldom took more than fifteen minutes. She didn't have to do it all at once, either. Her schedule was her own, varying according to what else she needed to be doing. She might sweep, then go back to the house and put on a load of laundry, or get the next meal started, before returning to finish the job.

She was dusting, almost finished with the bunkhouse for the day, when she heard a truck drive up. She was so attuned to the rhythm and routine of the ranch by now that she registered immediately that the truck had approached from the rear instead of coming up the road to the house, which meant it was one of the ranch trucks. The men were all doing some much needed maintenance work around the ranch, so probably Zeke had sent someone back for some tool or piece of equipment they'd discovered they needed. She continued what she was doing, not thinking anything of it though she half-listened for the sound of the truck heading back out again.

Because the door was closed against the cold weather, she didn't hear any footsteps approaching the bunkhouse door. Abruptly the door was pulled open and a muscular, stocky man was framed against the sunlight. Carlin jumped, startled; the man in the doorway went still for a moment, too, then continued on into the bunkhouse and closed the door behind him.

"Well, look who's here," Darby drawled, his gaze raking down her.

"I was just finishing," she said without inflection, moving into the kitchen area. The common s.p.a.ce was open, kitchen, dining, and den all together. Not only did she want some furniture between her and Darby, she wanted to be closer to the block of knives that sat on the counter.

"Don't hurry on my account." He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, watched her with hooded eyes. Resentment gleamed in those eyes, showed plainly in his reflection. "I came back to pack up my stuff. I'm leaving tomorrow."

Good riddance hovered on her tongue, but she didn't say anything, just gave a curt nod. hovered on her tongue, but she didn't say anything, just gave a curt nod.

The gleam in his eyes changed. "You could send me on my way with a smile, you know."

A cold twist of fear tightened her stomach. She was alone here with him; before, there had been someone still outside, within hearing distance if she screamed. Today, she could scream her head off and no one would hear. But d.a.m.ned if she'd show how scared she was. Very deliberately, she reached out and pulled the largest knife from the block, turned the blade so it caught the light.

She didn't say anything, just stood there with the knife in her hand. Her heartbeat was thundering so hard she was surprised he couldn't hear it, but d.a.m.ned if she'd let him guess for even a second how scared she was. Darby wasn't particularly tall, but he was thickly muscled, and if he got his hands on her she didn't know that she'd be able to fight free. Maybe if he thought he'd suffer some damage, he'd back down. Maybe. if he got his hands on her she didn't know that she'd be able to fight free. Maybe if he thought he'd suffer some damage, he'd back down. Maybe.

Instead his eyes got meaner. He took a step toward her.

"Back off," Carlin said, standing her ground and managing to keep her tone level.

"Or what?" he sneered. "You'll use that knife on me? I don't think so." He took another step.

"Think again." Swiftly she grabbed another knife from the block and held both of them poised. He could grab one of her arms and twist it to make her drop the knife, but he'd need both hands to do so and in the meanwhile she'd do whatever she had to. Darby was no more a self-defense artist than she was a fighter; she was bound to inflict some damage on him, and from the flicker in his expression, he'd come to that realization, too.

He changed tactics, holding his hands up as if he were totally innocent, smiling at her. "Hey, you don't want to do something stupid. I'm just trying to be friendly. You don't have to get all bent out of shape. All I'm suggesting is that we have a little fun before I go. I can promise you a good ride, but without the eight-second clock on me, if you know what I mean."

"Not really," she said coldly, though of course, living in Texas, she at least knew that a bull ride lasted eight seconds-if the rider stayed on that long.

He took another step. "Don't play innocent. I figure you're giving the boss all he wants every night when the lights go out. I don't mind-and he won't mind what he don't know about."

"If you take another step, I'll make d.a.m.n sure he knows about it." She could feel herself start shaking and she tried to hide it. The last thing she wanted him to know was how scared she was, because that would make him bolder. Chills were running up and down her spine, dread solidifying in her stomach. bolder. Chills were running up and down her spine, dread solidifying in her stomach.

"Don't be like that, sugar. You've got a pretty mouth, you know that? We don't have to f.u.c.k. Maybe you can just go down on me. You look like you could suck the chrome off a b.u.mper-"

The door behind him was jerked open and Darby halted, half-turning to face the newcomer. Zeke filled the doorway. Carlin felt her knees wobble and she made a rough sound in her throat at the sight of him.

Zeke glanced at Darby, then at Carlin. His gaze dropped to the two knives she held, traveled back up to her white face, then zeroed in on Darby again. There was no mistaking the import of the scene, the tension, or the reason she was standing on guard with two knives. She'd never seen him look like that, gone pale under his tan, his eyes like green ice.

"Boss, I-" Darby began, then Zeke took one long stride forward and hit him, a powerful uppercut to the chin that sent Darby crashing back into one of the recliners. It tipped over on its back, taking a table and lamp with it. The lamp broke, sending shards of ceramic flying. Zeke was on the man like a panther on its prey, grabbing him by his belt and literally tossing him toward the door. Darby managed to yelp, "Wait! Nothing-" before Zeke was on him again, this time throwing him completely out the door.

Carlin didn't move. She couldn't, not right now. She was breathing hard, and feeling as if she might faint. Tears stung her eyes; she blinked them back. Still holding tightly to the knives, she glanced out the kitchen window in time to see Zeke hold Darby up by his shirt with one hand while he pounded his other big fist into Darby's face, over and over. Blood and snot were flying.

Two men came rushing into the bunkhouse. She blinked at them, recognized Walt and Spencer. They both skidded to a halt, staring at the knives. Carlin looked down at her hands. One of the knives was a big chef's knife; the other was a serrated bread knife. Like Zeke, they realized immediately why she was holding them. at them, recognized Walt and Spencer. They both skidded to a halt, staring at the knives. Carlin looked down at her hands. One of the knives was a big chef's knife; the other was a serrated bread knife. Like Zeke, they realized immediately why she was holding them.

Very carefully, she turned and slid the knives back into the appropriate slots in the wood block.

"Are you all right, Miss Carly?" Walt asked in a rumbly, cautious tone.