No Strings Attached (Last Hope Ranch Book 1) Read online

  Her gaze searched his before she spoke. “Life changes for sure. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember in those moments the things inside us that make us truly good.”

  Clay thought on her words, and then held out his hand with a smile. “Truce?”

  She accepted his hand and, to his delight, smiled. “Truce, at least until the next time I need to kick your butt.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough, bossy butt.” This conversation, much to his relief, had taken a great weight from his shoulders. That said—he wasn’t sure she was prepared yet to hear his thoughts on the recent “baby daddy” rumors circling around town. What he did notice was that she hadn’t yet released his hand. She was smiling at him.

  “What?” Not that he minded one bit holding her hand or having her beautiful smile directed at him.

  “It’s just that I haven’t felt this good about being friends with a guy in a long time. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.”

  Being her perceived big brother was all well and good in theory, but the tightening below his belt proved otherwise.

  “Sally,” he said, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. “I heard something today that I wanted to ask you about.” He waded into the ‘baby daddy’ waters, not wanting to disrupt what progress they’d made.

  Her eyes widened and she tugged her hand from his, bolting toward the stairs. “We really need to get some rest.”

  “Sally?” He shifted to look at her as she walked hurriedly away.

  She paused on the stairs, tapped the railing gently, and then looked at him. “Please don’t ruin it.” She held his gaze. “Goodnight, Clay.”

  Chapter Four

  Sally pushed back the hair from her face. She’d waded to the back of the walk-in closet, climbing over boxes and plastic tubs that she kept telling herself she’d have to go through one of these days. Today wasn’t that day. But her suitcases, at least a decade old, were stuffed at the very back of the closet. Which reminded her how often she’d gotten out of this little town.

  “Hey, are you in here?” Rein stuck his head inside the door. The bare bulb with its yellowed string pull illuminated the spot just inside the door, and little else. She looked over her shoulder and saw him searching for her in the shadows. “Sal, you need a flashlight?”

  “I’m good,” she answered. She knew exactly where the suitcases were stored. Her knee bumped against the sharp corner of an ornate frame. “Ow, dammit,” she muttered. She’d forgotten about the old mirror that her mother had once hung above the fireplace mantel.

  “Do you need any help?”

  She planted her hands on the stack of containers stacked between her and her set of tweed Samsonite luggage. It had been a graduation gift from high school—for college and beyond. Wide-eyed and full of adventure, she couldn’t wait to taste college life, to be on her own—away from the arguments between her parents that had then plagued her daily life. She had dreams of visiting places where music was born—Europe, New York, New Orleans. As it turned out, she returned instead to End of the Line to take care of her dad. The suitcases hadn’t been anywhere since.

  She prayed that her fingers wouldn’t come into contact with any cobwebs. The saving grace was that most eight-legged critters were either dead or snuggled in for the winter.

  She groped for the handle, draping her body over the massive containers. After her father died, she’d taken down the majority of his possessions and nearly all the decorative items he’d kept around the house, even after her mother left and stuffed them into all these storage tubs. Closing each one and hauling them to the far end of the closet, she told herself she’d need to go through it and keep the things she really wanted and send the rest to the Goodwill bin that Nan over at the sporting goods store had set up recently in the corner of her parking lot. She growled as she searched for the handle, stretching her reach as far as she could.

  “Got it!” she called out with glee, unsure if Rein was still around or not. It didn’t matter. Tiny victories. Now if it still held together, life would be good. She yanked the massive suitcase from its spot wedged between tubs and the wall. Stumbling backwards over more storage boxes, she lay for a moment, suitcase atop her, staring at the ceiling, seeing the shadowy beginnings of cracks from the house settling. Was she smart to be investing so much into renovating the old house?

  “I heard a thud, Sally. You okay back there?” Rein’s voice came from the door, the view impeded by the racks of clothing hung on both sides of the narrow closet.

  She struggled with the suitcase and, after hauling it over a few more obstacles, smiled as she found her way back to the door.

  Rein backed away and let her through. “You know they’re still looking for Jimmy Hoffa.” He eyed her suitcase, as large as an old steamer trunk.

  “What? It’s still in good shape…I think.” She grabbed the handle and it fell off in her hand. “I probably yanked on it too hard.”

  He studied the luggage, not bothering to mask his skepticism.

  “There’s another handle on the side.” Sally said. “It’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not crossing the Atlantic, Sal. It’s a week, maybe a week and a half, tops, and it’s not as though you can’t stop by and pick up whatever you need every day.” He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at her.

  “Ok, I realize it appears that I may be going away for longer, but this is all I’ve got other than garbage bags.”

  Rein shrugged.

  “Which I refuse to pack my clothes in, thank you.” Sally swiped off a thin layer of dust over the top of the case. “Besides, with the weird weather we’ve been having, I don’t know what kind of clothing I’ll need—or what kind of shoes, for that matter.

  He let out a sigh, the kind that meant surrender. “Fine by me. Get her loaded and for God’s sake, don’t try to lift that thing. Call down and one of us will get it to the truck for you. Is it me, or is it listing?” He tipped his head and nudged it. “Looks like you’re missing one of the wheels.”

  “Thanks.” She eyed him as he left, then hauled the monstrosity to the bed. Careful of what might leap out, she opened it, scanned the inside, and decided to lay out a clean sheet as a barrier between it and her clothing. She made a mental note to purchase a new set of luggage—if there was any money left after the renovations. Her stash that she’d held onto for years—the small inheritance her dad had left her—had been slowly dwindling with the hidden costs of renovations.

  Aimee appeared at the bedroom door. “Hey, I had an appointment in town today with Doc Johnson. Thought I’d stop by and see if you needed any help packing.” Aimee walked in and sat down beside the suitcase. “I won’t lie, I’m kind of excited to have you visiting for a few days.” She looked at the case, then at Sally. “It is a few days, right?”

  Sally tossed her a side look and noticed she looked a little pale. She grabbed an armful of undergarments from the top drawer, and dumped them in the suitcase. “Doc Johnson? Everything okay?

  Aimee stood and walked over to Sally’s reading chair. “Did you want to take these?” She scooped up two cardigans draped over the back.

  “Yes, go ahead and put them in,” Sally answered, heading to her closet. She picked out a number of interchangeable pieces and turned to find Aimee meticulously folding the cardigans. She hadn’t responded yet about her doctor visit. “Aimee?”

  Her friend looked up as though she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Hum? I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else, did you say something?”

  Sally noticed then the dark circles under her friend’s eyes. She scooted the suitcase and sat on the end of the bed. She patted the spot beside her. “Sit.”

  Aimee sighed, but did as Sally requested. She held one of Sally’s sweaters, plucking at a loose string.

  “Aimee, you’re not sick are you? You’d tell me if it was something like that, right?” An old familiar hollow feeling swallowed Sally’s insides, like the time her mother had fist told her about her dad�
�s diagnosis of multiple sclerosis.

  Aimee touched her shoulder. “Oh, honey. No, no I’m fine… I will be, anyway, as soon as I get over the shock.”

  Sally narrowed her gaze. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You’re pregnant.”

  Aimee’s eyes welled. She nodded.

  Relief flooded Sally and she let out the breath she’d not realized she was holding in. “What great news! I’m so happy for you. And omigod, my little Gracie is going to be a big sister.” She wrapped her arms around her friend. It had been more than a couple of weeks since their girl’s night out.

  “I wasn’t sure how to tell you.” Aimee sniffed with her face muffled against Sally’s shoulder.

  Sally held her at arm’s length, searching her face. “Oh, sweetheart, I couldn’t be happier. I’m over the moon. Does Wyatt know yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I’ll tell him tonight. But he’ll want to tell everyone at dinner on Sunday.”

  “Of course. This is wonderful news.” Sally hugged her friend again. “But no more margaritas for you for a while. How far along are you?”

  “Not very. I’d taken a home test the other day after the smell of bacon made me queasy. I thought I’d gag. And you know how the Kinnison men love their bacon. Wyatt will cook up two pounds if he thinks Michael is stopping by for breakfast.”

  Having waitressed in high school at Betty’s, Sally had seen her share of meat lover breakfast platters going out to most of the male population in End of the Line. Where cattle ranching reigned supreme and hunting was the number one sport, there was little doubt as to why.

  “Please don’t mention this yet.” Aimee looked at Sally. “Especially not to Rein or Betty, for goodness sake. It’ll get to Wyatt before I can.” Aimee brushed the shine of tears from her cheeks. “Enough about me. What’d you find out with your visit to the fertility clinic?” Aimee shifted to face her, checking over her shoulder to be sure no one was in earshot.

  Unfortunately, the news was not nearly as wonderful as her friend’s. “Well, I’ve discovered there are a lot of people who are apparently having difficulty having children. So count your blessings.”

  Aimee smoothed her hand over her still flat stomach. “I do…every day.”

  Sally had brought home a handful of brochures on protocol, insurance, and break-down of costs with each stage of the IVF process. She dug them out of her book bag and handed them to Aimee. “I haven’t had a chance to look at those in great detail, but bottom line, it appears that it’s going to cost in the neighborhood of between eleven to fifteen thousand for in-vitro fertilization—and that’s if everything goes according to plan the first time.”

  “Yes, but you’re healthy.” Aimee studied one of the pamphlets. “You’ve had your check-up this year, your periods are normal—everything seems to be in working order, right?”

  Sally nodded. “It’s not really my health that concerns me. There are so many other expenses I hadn’t really considered. Costs of the donor sperm, agency fees, legal fees—and then there are the injections I have to give myself.” She eyed Aimee with a grimace. “And you know how terrified I am of needles.”

  “What does that do?” Aimee asked.

  “It’s supposed to increase the number of eggs. Not every egg is optimum, I guess. And they can freeze the good ones—part of the costs—if things don’t go well the first time.”

  Her friend looked at her, shock registering on her face. “You mean this is the cost for one time?”

  “Not entirely, but it’s a financial commitment,” Sally answered with a shrug. “And there is no doubt each of these kids is truly, desperately wanted.”

  Aimee nodded. “Wow.” She shuffled through the brochures, then glanced at Sally. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but can you afford this? I mean, I know you really want a child of your own.”

  “I checked and my health insurance covers most of the preliminary costs—tests, office visits, evaluation.” She released a quiet sigh. “Then the real fun begins.” Sally gave her friend a weak smile, trying not to let her disappoint show. She should be content. She was healthy. There was still the chance she could meet someone and have kids of her own. Women these days were having kids in their forties. The number of scenarios had played over and over in her mind and the answer, it seemed, always fell to the bottom line. One that was slowly being eaten away by the renovations to update this old house and make it a safe and efficient place to raise a child. “It’s certainly given me a lot to think about.” Sally stood and resumed her packing. “I’m sorry. Come on, put those down and let’s not let this put a damper on your good news, okay? Besides, I’d like to get to my cabin before nightfall so I can get settled.”

  Aimee nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Where to next?”

  Sally pointed to the dresser. “Everything in the second and third drawers… oh, and grab that robe off the back of the door, please. I’m going to start in the bathroom.”

  “Did Rein seem to think this phase would take long?” Aimee called out to her.

  “A week, he thought. Guess it depends on what they find. This old house has already coughed up a few surprises. Tyler is still waiting on my sink. He must have ordered it from another continent.” Sally dropped her hair dryer and cosmetic bag in the suitcase.

  “I can’t believe this is almost full,” Aimee remarked as they stood shoulder to shoulder staring at the suitcase.

  Sally folded the extra sheeting over her clothes as though wrapping a gift. “There.” She smiled, tugged the lid down, and zipped it shut.

  Aimee grabbed it, preparing to haul it off the bed. Sally stopped her.

  “Get away from that, you crazy woman,” she scolded. “You grab my pillows and book bag.”

  Aimee shoved the bag over her shoulder and grabbed the pillows.

  Granted, the full suitcase was much heavier than she’d thought it would be. Akin to a load of bricks came to mind as Sally braced one knee on the bed and pulled the suitcase to the edge, prepared to let it simply fall to the floor.

  A large hand clamped down over hers on the handle. “Step aside, I’ll get that.”

  She felt the heat of Clay’s all-male body behind her. Frustrated that her life wasn’t exactly going as planned, her ire rose. By golly, she’d been on her own for years, taken care of her dad, and scores of every type of kid—she ought to be able to handle a damn suitcase. “You know, I’m not a helpless damsel in distress.”

  “Never said you were,” Clay replied calmly.

  “Just so we’re clear, I have been known to move a baby grand by myself.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyeing him.

  He leveled her a look. “On wheels, congratulations,” he said. “And news flash, this isn’t a competition.”

  “I’ll just take this stuff on downstairs,” Aimee piped up. “I want to talk to Rein about Sunday night.”

  Sally peeked around Clay and waved. He hadn’t budged an inch. She was still trapped on the bed between him and the suitcase. “Thanks, Aimee.” She looked up and met his steady gaze. He gave her a thin-lipped smile before he spoke. “You going to let me get this, bossy butt?” He grinned then. Mr. funny guy.

  “Be careful. The other handle broke. I can’t really vouch for this one.” She scooted backwards, avoiding eye contact as she slithered off the bed and inched around him. Grabbing her house slippers and pressing them against her chest to hide how he’d affected her, she watched him lift the suitcase, seemingly with little effort, and stand it upright, where it listed precariously. Luckily, he caught it before it fell.

  Clearly a matter of leverage. She turned to walk ahead of him down the stairs.

  “Need these?”

  She turned and her heart stilled. He stood at the top of the steps, holding the stack of brochures out to her.

  “They were lying on the bed. Figured you might need them.”

  She snatched them quickly from him. “Thanks, I’ve been doing a little research for a friend of mine.” She averted her eyes from his, hoping he’d
bought what she was trying to sell.

  ***

  Yeah, he hadn’t bought that line about researching for a friend. Sally had been avoiding him since she arrived at the ranch. She’d begged off the traditional family dinner the night after she arrived, stating she had work to do for school and needed to get herself settled.

  She was bunked in the first cabin nearest to the main house on the asphalt roadway, while he was in the last cabin, farthest from everything. He’d wanted the privacy and just outside his door was the creek than ran through the back of the Kinnison property and the dense forest that covered the foothills. When weather permitted, he enjoyed sitting on his patio out back, taking in the stars, letting the quiet seep into his pores when his memories became too much to ignore. Rein had given him full use of the mini utility farm cart for tooling around the ranch, but he enjoyed the walk when the path was clear.

  He’d been busy the past week, up at dawn to help with chores, and then off to Sally’s house with Rein to work on her renovations. Those brochures and the rumor Tyler had spoken to him about filtered in and out of his brain. The Montana Spring Buckle Ball was two weeks away and he and Rein were busting their butts to get Sally moved back home before then.

  “Hey, guys,” Tyler called from Sally’s back door. “The sink’s here.”

  Clay looked over his shoulder and saw Tyler with a two-wheel dolly standing at the open end of Sally’s new kitchen. The water line had been re-routed, electrical lines updated and replaced. Sally’s new island with a yawning gap in the center sat gleaming, awaiting the finishing touch.