in front of the guests.
“Jordan showed up at the High Camp today. He seems to think he owns the property.”
Miranda took hold of Shae’s upper arm, gripping tightly. “Jordan?” she asked. “Here?”
“He left and I thought he was coming to Cedar Creek. Apparently he hasn’t arrived yet.”
Miranda let go of Shae’s arm. “Well, this is a surprise,” she said sardonically, more to herself than Shae. A young couple dressed in obviously new Western clothing walked by and Miranda smiled at them. “Megan. John. I hope you enjoyed the ride.”
“Gorgeous,” the woman replied. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Can’t wait to wet my line tomorrow.” The man put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “We’re having a great time.”
“Glad to hear it.” Miranda beamed at the couple, then turned back to Shae. “Let’s go to my office,” she said in an undertone, starting to walk without waiting for a reply. Shae fell into step, smiling and nodding at the guests Miranda greeted by name on her way to main house. The woman was so damned good at making people feel special, both guests and employees. Quite the chameleon at times.
“Good afternoon, Ashley,” Miranda said as she passed by the desk. “Any messages?”
“Only the one from Ms. McArthur,” the girl replied with a tight-lipped smile.
“Thank you.” Miranda led the way up the stairs across the room from the reception area, unlatching the small chain that barred access, and then relatching it after Shae had passed through. Shae hadn’t spent much time at the guest ranch, except for company picnics and the Christmas parties, but she knew that the second floor was the family’s—and now Miranda’s—private sanctuary.
The stairs led to a large, comfortable room with a fireplace and several sofas upholstered in Indian prints. A large fur rug covered the hardwood floor in front of the fire and original oils of cowboys and Native American scenes hung on the walls. Miranda walked through the room, down a short hall, and opened the frosted glass door leading to her office.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Miranda said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the sleek oak desk, letting Shae know, even under these circumstances, exactly what their positions were—that of employer and temporary employee.
“I’d only been at the ranch for about half an hour. I had to walk in because there was a tree down across the road, so I was later getting there than planned. I was in the house and a man—Jordan—walked in. Scared the hell out of me.”
“No doubt. What does he look like?”
Shae gestured helplessly as she tried to come up with an adequate description—as if it mattered. “One side of his face is scarred and his left hand is...really damaged. Burned and missing some fingers.”
Miranda grimaced, but didn’t appear particularly sympathetic. “Was he agitated?”
“He thinks he owns the land. All of it.”
“I understand that,” she said coolly, making Shae wonder just who did own the land.
“Yes, he was agitated. And tired and edgy and he’d looked as if he’d been sleeping in his clothes.” And I’m worried as hell that he’s going to screw up this job for me.
Miranda tapped a short manicured nail on the desktop, her lips pressed together as she thought. “All right,” she finally said, meeting Shae’s eyes. “I appreciate you driving all the way over here to warn me.”
“Well, he did seem...agitated,” she said.
Miranda rose to her feet. “I’ll take care of matters,” she said reassuringly. “Would you mind giving me your cell number so I can get hold of you later?”
Shae’s stomach clenched. Was she going to get fired again? Twice in one month? “Sure,” she said, taking up a pen off the desk and writing her number on the small notepad in the gold holder.
“I’ll be in contact,” Miranda said. “Soon.” Shae forced a smile before she headed for the stairs. “Shae?”
Shae turned back.
“Don’t worry. Okay?”
“I won’t,” she lied, then disappeared down the stairs.
CHAPTER FOUR
JORDAN STOPPED AT a highway service station just before the ranch turnoff and quickly washed up and changed his clothes. There wasn’t much he could do about the dark circles under his eyes, but he would at least be semipresentable when he confronted Miranda.
And then what?
Miranda was probably banking on him losing his temper so that she could use the incident to her advantage. A restraining order, perhaps? Jordan wouldn’t be one bit surprised. She was so damned good at whatever role she chose to play and the brave victim was one of her favorites. How many times had she played it with his father and how many times had the old man fallen for it?
Jordan’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Hank had fallen for just about everything about his young wife. She was attractive, intelligent and devoted to him, but there was something about her that had kept Jordan from warming up to her. In the beginning he’d been candid about his feelings with his father, until he saw just how much the woman meant to Hank. After that he’d kept his opinions to himself. If Miranda made Hank happy, then he had nothing more to say...until his stepmother had slipped into his bed late one night half a year after the wedding.
Being turned down by a shocked eighteen-year-old had been an unpleasant surprise to Miranda and before she’d left his room, she’d made it very clear that Jordan had two choices—he could destroy his father’s happiness or he could keep his mouth shut. And regardless of what he said, she would deny it to the death.
In the end, Jordan had decided to keep his mouth shut and leave the ranch. He couldn’t stay and watch the woman manipulate his father, especially when Miranda was so damned good at subtly twisting things so that it appeared as if Jordan harbored an unfounded dislike of her. Even when he and Hank were alone, it was as if she were there, coloring their conversations and interactions. So much had gone unsaid between Jordan and his father during the Miranda years.
So much that would now never be said.
Given the circumstances, was it possible for him to go face-to-face with Miranda without losing it? He’d changed since the accident; his patience level didn’t rise far above the zero mark a lot of the time and his former stepmother knew exactly which buttons to punch.
He had to hold on to his anger. She wouldn’t lose control, so neither would he.
An hour after driving away from the truck plaza, he pulled into what used to be his home and parked next to the house. Then, for a moment, he sat, staring straight ahead. He could do this. If he started to lose it, he’d just leave, as he’d left the rodeo queen at the High Camp. No harm, no foul.
Clyde put a paw on Jordan’s thigh and he absently patted the dog’s head before he pushed open the door and headed for the front of the house, even though he’d always gone in through the back before. No longer his place. He rounded the corner to the front walk, then abruptly stopped as Shae McArthur came barreling around the same corner. They stopped just short of one another, Shae’s head jerking up as she met his eyes and he was struck by how guilty she looked. Because he’d caught her warning Miranda that he was back?
“Jordan,” she murmured in acknowledgment, her gaze stalling out on the scarred side of his face, making Jordan wonder if she was even aware she’d spoken.
He gave her a cool nod and walked around her. He was almost to the porch when he noticed a broad-shouldered cowboy heading his way, pocketing a cell phone as he walked. Jordan ignored him and headed up the porch steps.
Once inside the house, he stopped