Trusting Tristan (River's End Ranch Book 24) Read online

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  Copyright © 2017, Caroline Lee

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  First edition: 2017

  This work is made available in e-book format by Amazon Kindle at www.amazon.com

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  Printing/manufacturing information for this book may be found on the last page

  Cover: EDHGraphics

  Ex-cop Charley Easton is almost completely sure that she doesn’t miss her old job. Much. OK, maybe a little. But she IS happy running the security detail at River’s End Ranch, because for the first time ever, she’s got her own beat and people relying on her. Which is why the bad boy who’s been hanging around is really rubbing her the wrong way…what’s he doing on the ranch, anyhow?

  Ex-con Tristan Quarles is perfectly content to keep a low profile, and not screw up the best chance at employment he’s had since he got out. But there’s this feisty little not-a-cop who’s just so easy to tease, and he finds himself thinking about River’s End Ranch more than he probably should.

  Tristan knows he was locked up for a reason, and that breaking the law is in his blood. But so is loyalty. And when the same crimes begin again—with him as the prime suspect—Tristan and Charley are going to have to figure out where their loyalties lie. To their pasts…or to each other?

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  Other works by Caroline Lee

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  Trusting Tristan

  River’s End Ranch

  Book Twenty-Four

  Dedication:

  For my niece, Charley, who is shaping up to be a real firecracker.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Early May

  Stupid car.” Charley Easton kicked the front driver’s side tire, not really expecting it to do anything helpful besides making her feel better. “Stupid engine.”

  She’d known for a while that her car was on its way out and would need some serious maintenance soon, but she’d been hoping to eke a few more months out of it and have it overhauled this fall. But nope, it had to break down today, on her way to Coeur D’Alene for her monthly lunch-and-guilt-tripping date with Dad.

  She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or not.

  Sighing, Charley slumped against the door of her sedan. Maybe if she saved up enough, she should get a truck like her brother. Like Dad was always telling her to do. For the icy roads, sure, Dad. Didn’t have anything to do with the image he was trying to show the world, of how strong his kids were.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a headache building behind her eyes, and wasn’t that just a crummy way to spend a beautiful May morning? Well, it was probably better than spending it sitting across from Dad and Bradley at a fancy restaurant, listening to how awesome their lives were and how much of a disappointment she was.

  Of course, at this rate, that lunch meeting wouldn’t happen at all. Dad would surely blame her impractical choices for it. One more thing to add to the list.

  Stupid car. Why did it have to choose now to break down? She’d been driving along, alert and diligent as always, hands at ten and two on the wheel, when the sedan had started jerking. Then some sputtering and coughing noises had come out from the hood, and she’d coasted over to the shoulder just in time for the whole thing to shut down. Opening the hood hadn’t revealed anything obviously wrong—not that she’d know how to recognize anything that was wrong—but the vehicle still wouldn’t turn on. So now she was well and truly stuck out here, outside of cell reception, waiting on the side of the road for someone to drive by.

  It was probably her fault somehow. Stupid car.

  She sighed and pulled out her standard-issue radio, hoping maybe Tater or Allan had theirs on and tuned to their regular frequency. But nope, she was too far from the ranch, apparently. Nothing but static met her hails.

  Well, if nothing else, she could continue to call for backup—help, rather—on various channels, and hope that someone nearby had a walkie-talkie tuned to that frequency.

  It took a moment to register the sound she’d been hearing in the distance. A car was coming.

  No.

  She cocked her head to one side, listening and remembering her days on the force when her partner used to tease her about her ability to recognize all sorts of vehicles by the sounds they made. That was before he was promoted, of course. They were always promoted.

  It was a motorcycle. A sports model? It wasn’t until it came into view in the distance, the single rider leaning not-as-low over the handgrips as she would’ve thought, that she realized it was a cruiser.

  Wow. She huffed, laughing at her own mistake. Good thing Dad wasn’t around to see you screw up that ID. This day was just getting better and better, wasn’t it?

  The motorcycle slowed as it approached—which was good, because the rider had to be going twenty over the speed limit, at least—and Charley forced herself to straighten. It pulled up behind her car on the shoulder and its loud engine cut off.

  She wasn’t sure if she was glad for the intervention or not. Sure, she needed help, but in her experience, motorcyclists were the type who liked bucking the rules. She didn’t have a lot of use or respect for trouble-makers, and wasn’t too eager to meet one.

  Until the rider took his helmet off and tucked it under his arm with a smile. Then she decided that maybe she could be eager about this man.

  His brown hair was a few shades darker than hers—and only a little shorter than her own cropped ‘do—and when he smiled, his cheeks made his eyes squint and a dimple appear on his left cheek. Wow. Who knew she liked dimples so much?

  Charley knew she was staring, but couldn’t help herself. He was really handsome. Like, really really handsome. He was wearing a black leather jacket, dirty jeans and cowboy boots, and Charley was surprised her tongue wasn’t lolling out of her mouth.

  She worked at River’s End Ranch and was surrounded by good-looking men all the time, but this one… Wow. There was just something about him, about his smile…

  He was still looking at her. “Uh…hello?”

  That gorgeous smile was faltering. For the first time, Charley noticed that his teeth weren’t straight. Neither was his nose, for that matter. It had a bump in the middle like it might’ve been broken at some point. She mentally shrugged and decided it didn’t matter; neither crooked teeth nor a crooked nose made this man any les
s attractive when he smiled, and wasn’t that a surprise to someone who liked to alphabetize her spices and color-code her condiment shelf?

  He cleared his throat, the smile fading entirely to a look of concern. “Lady, are you alright?”

  Charley blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Gah! Way to sound like an idiot.

  “Well, you’ve been staring at me for the last thirty seconds. I thought maybe you were concussed or something.”

  Concussed? He was just lucky she hadn’t started drooling. That would’ve made her seem perfectly normal, huh? “I’m fine. Fine. How are you?” She winced. Now he definitely thought she was an idiot.

  But no, his smile returned. Was he laughing at her? “I’m fine too, thanks. It’s a nice day for a ride.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet it is. Finally starting to warm up.”

  “Perfect biking weather.”

  “Definitely.” Like she had any idea. She didn’t even ride with the windows down. It wasn’t safe, according to Dad.

  “Sooo…” He shifted and put the helmet on the seat behind him. “We just going to stand here making small talk all day, or what? You need some help?”

  Her shoulders slumped once more. Great, now she looked even stupider. “Yeah, thanks.” She turned her attention to the open hood of her car. “I don’t know a lot about how cars work, and this one…uh…doesn’t.”

  “I do.” He swung one long leg over the bike and walked up beside her.

  “Work?” she blurted, flustered.

  “Know how cars work,” he drawled.

  She felt her headache begin to pound again.

  What was it about a cute smile that turned her into a bumbling fool?

  Oh, and a cute rear end apparently. The stranger leaned under her car’s hood and started fiddling around in there, and Charley found herself staring at his butt. Whoops. She forced her gaze away, trying to focus on the towering trees beside the road, but it just kept creeping back towards his rear end.

  She swallowed, irritated at herself, and made herself step up beside him in front of the car. “So…any chance you know what’s wrong?”

  He was twisting things and poking things and lifting sticks covered in goopy things. “Nothing, that I can see. Hold on.” He spent another few minutes looking under the hood, then muttered, “I wonder if…” before getting on the ground and scooting under the car.

  Feeling silly, staring down at the stranger’s boots, Charley squatted beside him, trying to see what he was peering at. “Any ideas?”

  “I dunno.”

  There was a clang which didn’t sound good, but what did she know?

  “Everything looks fine, actually.” Another clang, then he cursed.

  Charley found herself blushing, embarrassed by his curse. He rode a motorcycle, wore jeans that were very ready for a washing, and cursed? Since when had she been interested in bad boys?

  Since never, that’s when. She liked clean-cut, wholesome men she could take to church, then bring home to introduce to Dad.

  Dad, who hadn’t liked any of the other men she’d introduced him to. Maybe it was time she started being interested in someone totally different.

  Like the cutie who was now wiggling his way out from under her car, a smudge of dirt—or something automotive—on his cheek, where it hadn’t been before. Charley resisted the urge to wipe it off.

  “So, what’s the diagnosis?”

  He stared at her for a minute, then grunted slightly. It wasn’t rude, exactly. More like he was thinking of something else.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and tried to turn the ignition over, listening to the sounds the car made. Charley thought she did an admirable job of not wincing at the thought of those dirty jeans against her pristine upholstery. He’s trying to help you, Easton!

  Suddenly, he cursed under his breath and whipped his head around to peer at her under lowered lids. What was he thinking? He climbed out of the car and hurried over to the gas cap. When he opened it, he did something arcane—sniffing, tapping, listening—and then straightened with a chuckle. The tense concentration of his expression eased, and Charley found herself smiling along with him.

  “What’s up?”

  “You’re out of gas.”

  What?

  “How…?” How could she be out of gas? Surely she wasn’t that clueless, was she? She sighed, thanking God her father wasn’t here to see this latest debacle. “How can you tell?”

  “Well, there’s nothing else wrong with the car that I can see. I mean, I’m not a professional” —his voice turned a little bitter there, for some reason— “but unless it’s something pretty exotic, I probably would’ve caught it. But if there’s any gas in the tank, it’s only fumes.”

  “Great.” She slumped against the car once more. “What am I supposed to do now?” She supposed she should be grateful it wasn’t anything more serious—like a broken engine or whatever—but she’d run out of gas. How embarrassing. “I mean, I’d noticed that the gauge was wonky; the last few times I’d filled up it wasn’t registering correctly. It’s been on my list, but I figured that as long as I kept track of when I filled up and how many miles I’d driven…”

  She trailed off, realizing that she was rambling. Sneaking a glance at the stranger, she wasn’t surprised to see he was smiling. Laughing at her? Or maybe he just liked to smile.

  “Well, come on, it’s an easy fix.” He was walking backwards towards his bike.

  Charley slowly straightened. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there’s a station back that way a bit.” He jerked his thumb in the way he’d come. “I saw it. I’ll just take you there and back.”

  “Oh, no,” she quickly assured him. “I couldn’t ask—”

  “You don’t have to ask. I’m volunteering.” His grin grew as he reached for the helmet on his bike. “I like the idea of being a hero for once. Rescuing a damsel in distress and all.”

  A damsel in distress? Charley found herself bristling. She was hardly a damsel. Sure, she was petite, but she was a strong, capable, independent woman who could stand on her own two feet and didn’t need a man rescuing her.

  Her shoulders drooped slightly. Unless it has to do with cars apparently.

  Still, his claim had made her irritated. She didn’t like having to be rescued. She liked things to go exactly how they were supposed to. According to plan. But obviously, that plan didn’t include a working car.

  “You’ve only got one helmet,” she blurted, looking for an excuse. “I can’t ride with you.”

  “Nah, it’s okay,” he drawled, holding the helmet out to her.

  Holding her hands out in front of her as if to ward off the idea, Charley shook her head. “I couldn’t take your helmet. It wouldn’t be safe. What if we crashed? What if we were stopped?” It wasn’t against the law to ride without a helmet in Idaho, as long as they were over eighteen—which he obviously was—but it wasn’t exactly safe either.

  “We’ll be fine.” He shoved the helmet into her hands. “And we won’t be stopped.” He grinned crookedly again, and Charley felt her knees—and resolve—weaken. “After all, you’re not a cop, are you?”

  You’re not a cop, are you? He hadn’t meant the question to mock her—she could see he was only joking—but it still hit Charley in the gut, like the time she’d broken up that bar brawl single-handedly.

  “No, I’m not a cop.” Not anymore. She raised her chin and snatched the helmet from him. I’m not a cop, she thought defiantly. I don’t have to be so meticulous all the time. It’s not like Dad’s watching, is he?

  And when she settled the helmet over her head, she forgot all about her father. Unfamiliar—but oh-so-intriguing—male scents surrounded her, reminding her this was her mysterious stranger’s helmet. He’d been wearing it just a few minutes ago, and she pretended it still held some of the warmth of his body, as well as the scents of whatever mint he’d been sucking on recently.

  Was she seriously doing this? She w
as climbing on the back of a motorcycle with a man she didn’t know—didn’t even know his name!—just to prove to herself that she wasn’t a goody-two-shoes? Charley grabbed the back of the man’s coat as he walked the bike off the shoulder, and grinned slightly inside the privacy of his helmet.

  Apparently she was.

  A week later, Charley was still thinking about that motorcycle ride. About how hard his stomach had felt under her palms when he gunned the engine, and she’d thrown herself forward to wrap her arms around him for safety. About how freeing it had felt to zoom down the deserted stretch of road much faster than the law allowed. About how her tummy had flip-flopped when he’d taken her hand to help her off the bike at the gas station, so she could go in to buy a container for the gas. About how she held onto that memory during the entire lunch with her father and brother, and focused on it when they started going on about how important and respected they were. About how wild and crazy the entire experience was, for someone like her.

  Seems she liked the bad boys after all.

  Laughing at herself a little, she leaned back in the chair behind the big desk in the Old West Town’s “jail.” The building—like so many others in the little town at the heart of River’s End Ranch—was made to look old-fashioned, but also housed a functioning business. In this case, the ranch’s security offices. Since Tony Morales had stepped down to part-time in order to focus on his painting and new gallery, Charley had become the director. She had the position and the respect she’d always wanted, but had never been able to have, working in her father’s district.

  So how come it still felt hollow?

  Glorified mall cop. That’s what Dad had called her last week at the Olive Garden. What he always called her. He was ashamed one of his kids had actually left the force to work as private security on some two-bit dude ranch, as he called it.