Accidental Agent (River's End Ranch Book 3) Read online

  “How are you so sure that I am?”

  “Because that’s who you are. Listening to you talk about it, even the fact that you’re wearing your gun right now when this is supposed to be a date . . .”

  “It is a date.”

  “Okay, the fact that you’re wearing your gun on a date—this is what you’re meant to do. We’re going to part ways, Jack, and I don’t want it to hurt.”

  He leaned forward and put his knees on his elbows. “What if it’s already going to hurt?”

  “I don’t know what to do about that. All I know is that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life reliving your kiss, knowing I’ll never have another one.”

  He pulled in a breath. He could see what she was saying, but he didn’t like it, not even a little bit. He’d just found himself in her kiss, just like Jaclyn had said he would, but he didn’t have anything to offer—nothing but a bag of issues and a dangerous job. He was just passing through, and he couldn’t ask her to leave Idaho—not when all they had was a hike and a walk in the twilight.

  There had to be more.

  So, he’d make sure there was more.

  He reached out and took her fingers between his. “I understand. We’ve only known each other for a couple of days, and you don’t want to get invested.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Can we be friends?”

  She groaned. “That sounds so awful, like we’re in high school and we’ve just broken up. But yes, we can be friends.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “I can live with that. Come on—let me walk you to your car.”

  Chapter Seven

  Liz: So, he’s smoochy. He’s very, very smoochy.

  May: Is this the voice of experience I hear?

  Liz: Yeah, I’m afraid so.

  Kaya: You’re afraid so? Isn’t this a good thing? Last time I checked, smoochy was good.

  Liz: It’s good, but it’s not good. I mean, the kiss was amazing. Both of them.

  May: He kissed you twice?

  Liz: Yeah. And then I told him to knock it off.

  Kaya: … You did what?

  Liz: *cringing* I told him that I didn’t want to get involved in something that didn’t have a future. I don’t know—I’ve never been a summer fling kind of girl. Am I crazy? Did I make a mistake?

  May: Are you sure this doesn’t have a future?

  Liz: It’s just all really complicated. He’s an FBI agent, and he’s probably heading back to LA soon.

  Kaya: He’s an FBI agent? Are you making this up?

  Liz: No, this is for reals. I mean, I think it’s for reals. Is there a website or something where you can go to verify if someone really is an FBI agent or not? Should I have asked to see his badge?

  May: That might be awkward.

  Liz: Yeah. I don’t even know how I’d ask. I could try to lift his wallet, but I don’t think I’d make a very good pickpocket.

  Kaya: I advise you not to try.

  Liz: Okay, I won’t. But how can I verify it? And do I *have* to verify it? I told him I wasn’t going to get involved—he’ll leave and I’ll go on with my life, and if he was lying to me about the agent thing, well, I’m no worse off, am I?

  May: Except that I think you *are* involved.

  Liz stared at her computer screen, her fingers frozen. May was right. She was involved. She was horribly, terribly involved. Along comes this guy with a devastating smile and she feeds him a burger—not just any burger, but a Western Wonder—and then he’s kissing her, and . . . yeah. Involved.

  Liz: So what do I do?

  Kaya: Do you think you made a mistake in telling him you don’t want to pursue this?

  Liz: I’m starting to think that maybe I did. He says he’ll be here about a week. Should I hang out with him and see where it goes? I just don’t want to get hurt again.

  May: But that’s just it. If you spend your whole life shielding yourself from getting hurt, you’ll never experience real love. It takes vulnerability to have a relationship.

  Liz: I was afraid of that.

  May: Hon, I hate to tell you this, but you’re afraid of a lot of things. Take a deep breath and plunge in. Don’t lose your head, though—if you pick up on some things that aren’t right and you think he’s lying to you, get out of there.

  Liz: I guess I could call the LA FBI office and ask to speak to him. Then they’d tell me he’s not there, and then I’d know he actually exists. Except . . .

  Kaya: Except what?

  Liz: I don’t know his last name.

  May: What??

  Kaya: You’re kidding.

  Liz: Well, I don’t think he knows mine either. It’s not on my name tag.

  May: Oh, honey, you’ve really got to get to know this guy better. You can’t be deciding about a relationship with him when you don’t even know the fundamentals . . . like his name . . .

  Kaya: But she does know that he’s a good kisser, and that’s an important fundamental. Some might even argue that it’s more important than his name.

  May: Some might argue that, but they would be wrong. The name is where you start, and everything branches out from there. Don’t you think? Doesn’t it?

  Kaya: Nope. The kissing is the important part. Names don’t matter. You can always change your name, but you can’t change the kiss.

  May: I disagree. You can take kissing lessons. Hey, that might be a fun job to have—kissing instructor.

  Liz smiled. Those two would be off on a tangent for at least ten minutes, but that was one of the things she loved about them—they could talk about anything and everything, and sometimes it made sense and sometimes it didn’t.

  Joni came in just then and threw herself down on her bed. “I hate working two jobs. And I hate the night shift at the bowling alley. It would be so much better if the night shift came during the day.”

  Liz typed a quick “BRB” into her keyboard, then turned to her roommate. “Bad night?”

  “Oh, no worse than usual, but you know how it goes. You get the crazies and the mess makers and the people who decide they must have your most elaborate nachos right when you’re trying to close up.”

  “I didn’t know the bowling alley carried elaborate nachos.” Joni was trying to save money for college, and Liz had to admire how dedicated she was. Working at the Riston bowling alley was very, very different from working at the ranch.

  “You know what I mean—the ones that take longer to make.” Joni kicked off her sneakers and rolled onto her side. “How was your day?”

  “Well, Jack and I went on a hike, and then he took me to dinner in the dining room. It was pretty great.”

  Joni fixed her with a look. “And he kissed you.”

  “What? How can you tell?”

  “Because you have the look of someone who has been kissed, and you don’t get kissed often, so it’s a rare look for you. I need details!”

  “Well, for starters, he’s not a drifter.”

  As Liz told Joni all the details of her day with Jack, she started to wonder. Was he lying to her about being with the FBI? She didn’t think so—he’d seemed perfectly sincere—but then again, how often do you really meet an FBI agent, and especially clear out here in northern Idaho? He could have been stringing her along, seeing how much she’d believe. Maybe . . . maybe he was telling her an outrageous story to get out of having to lick the toilet handle. That was just wrong.

  “So, what do you think? Is he playing me?” she asked after she’d told Joni everything, including her conversation with May and Kaya.

  “Wow. I don’t know.” Joni sat up and studied her. “It’s a pretty out-there story, but maybe it’s so out there, it has to be true. You know? There are some things you just can’t make up.”

  “I just really like this guy, and I don’t want to keep liking him if all he’s doing is lying to me. But I don’t want to believe that he’s lying to me if he’s really telling the truth.” Liz flopped down on her bed and spoke into her pillow. “I don’t k
now what to do.”

  Thankfully, Joni had a lot of experience listening to Liz talk into her pillow and understood what she’d said. “Keep hanging out with him. Keep asking him questions. He’ll trip up sooner or later, and then you’ll know. Or you’ll find out that he’s telling the truth.”

  “All I know for sure is that he does carry a gun. I put my arm around his waist when he kissed me, and I could feel it through his shirt. What if it’s an illegal gun?”

  Joni shook her head. “I do think it’s a good idea to slow down here a little bit before your imagination gets you in trouble. What has he done to make you think he’s lying?”

  Liz considered that. “Nothing, actually, just that he has an unusual job.”

  “Well, we know that the FBI really does exist and that they roam the planet freely, so the odds of meeting an agent aren’t actually that bad. It’s not like we’re debating the existence of aliens here. And FBI agents have to go on vacation sometime, and we are a vacation destination. Honestly, Liz, you know I love your imagination, but I think it keeps you from enjoying things because you’re so suspicious all the time. Not everything is a murder mystery.”

  “That’s true.” Liz played with the yarn tie in her quilt. “But what if it was? That would be kind of cool.”

  “If everything was a murder mystery, we’d have a lot of murderers running around out there, and a whole lot of dead bodies. Speaking of which, have you decided where you’re hiding that body yet?”

  “No, I’ve been a little distracted by this guy.”

  “Well, I say cut him some slack. Be willing to consider that he’s not a liar before you decide that he is one. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

  Liz turned back to her computer as Joni shut the bathroom door.

  Liz: Joni thinks I might be making a big deal out of nothing. She says FBI agents really do exist.

  May: She’s right, you know. They aren’t just pretend.

  Kaya: So what are you going to do?

  Liz: Well, I have tomorrow off. I think I’ll go find him and see if he wants to hang out. We did spend all afternoon and evening together today, though—you think I’m being too forward?

  May: Of course not. But you are going to get some writing done, aren’t you?

  Liz: You bet. Not tonight, though—I’m totally wiped out. I’ll be on first thing.

  Liz turned off her computer and grabbed a cheese stick from the fridge before climbing into bed. She was probably letting her past relationships influence her too much—not every man in the world would turn out to be a jerk, right? Look at the Weston brothers—they were all good guys, not that she wanted to marry any of them. They were like brothers, not boyfriends.

  She grabbed her phone and set the alarm. She’d get up at six and grind out a few thousand words before she headed back to the ranch to find Jack. What she told him was true—she practically did live out there.

  Chapter Eight

  May and Kaya weren’t online when Liz logged on the next morning. Knowing them, they’d been up half the night working, but she did get to hang out with a few other friends who were morning people. They did some word sprints, and she racked up three thousand words before calling it good.

  After a quick shower, she headed out to the ranch, deciding to stop by the front desk at the bunkhouse to see if any mail had come for her. Her apartment building had some minor security issues and she’d had a check get stolen, so the Westons had said she could receive her mail at the ranch.

  “Here you go,” Gwen said, handing over a few letters.

  “Thanks.” Liz took them and sat down on one of the chairs in the lobby. A letter from her mom, who refused to learn how to email because she felt it was too impersonal. A bill. Another bill. And then . . .

  What?

  She stared at the return address on the envelope. Fingerprint Press. She’d submitted to them months ago, but when she hadn’t heard back, she figured it was a no. They actually sent stuff through the mail? Who did that anymore? Apparently these guys.

  Well, she’d never know what it said unless she opened it, so she did, her hands shaking, and pulled out the enclosed letter.

  They wanted her book.

  What?

  This publishing house was one she’d had her eye on for years. Not only were they turning out fantastic mysteries, but their authors seemed happy to work with them. Sure, they weren’t one of the Big Five, but they were on the rise, and she was impressed by their business model. May and Kaya had looked into them and agreed.

  And they wanted her book.

  “Liz?”

  She heard Jack’s voice, but it didn’t really register until the second time he spoke. He plopped down on the couch across from her. “Are you all right?”

  She wasn’t ready to tell him—she’d just found out herself, and she hadn’t even read the letter all the way through. “Yes, I’m fine. How are you? Did you sleep well?”

  “I did. There’s something about your mountains that knocks me out and then wakes me back up again. You’re sure you’re all right? You seem a little upset.”

  She put her mail in her bag and smiled. “I’m fine. Just got some surprising news, but that can wait. I actually came out here to find you.”

  “You did? Seems like you did that yesterday, too. Sort of developing a bad habit, aren’t you?”

  She looked down at her lap, hoping her blush wasn’t obvious. “Yeah, I think I am. Listen, I’m dressed for horseback riding and I have a whole day free. Why don’t we grab some horses and head out? I’m not a horse whisperer, but I’m pretty good, and I could give you some pointers.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to get invested.”

  His voice was low, but she still caught every word. She was glad he spoke softly—she didn’t necessarily want her business broadcast all over the lobby. “I’m willing to reconsider to a certain point.”

  He grinned. “Oh? And what certain point are we talking about?”

  “Maybe we hang out and do stuff together without all that kissing business.”

  “What if the kissing business was my favorite part?”

  “What if the kissing business is what’s going to make it harder when you leave?”

  He studied her face. “All right. I understand. It’s probably hard to kiss on horseback anyway—I don’t know because I’ve never tried. Shall we go?”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  ***

  Jack sneezed as they walked into the stables.

  “You’re not allergic to horses, are you?” Liz asked, concern in her voice.

  “No, just to hay.”

  “Oh, good. We won’t be taking any hay with us, so we should be fine.”

  He wished he had even a little bit of her confidence.

  He stayed back and listened to her chat with Glen, Wyatt’s assistant. “We need a really gentle horse for Jack,” she said. “How about Rocky?”

  “Rocky’s out with another group,” Glen said. “Wyatt’s leading them, and they won’t be back for an hour or more.”

  “Okay, what about Nellie?” Liz asked.

  Glen sized Jack up. “Nellie? Isn’t she kind of . . . well, no offense, but she’s usually the horse we use for the little old ladies who come here.”

  Jack bit back a smile. “She sounds right up my alley.” He wasn’t about to spend the day on some bucking bronco, that was for sure.

  “All right.” Glen seemed doubtful, but he moved down the aisle and opened a stall door toward the end. “Here she is.”

  The horse that sauntered out of the stall looked like she’d just been woken up from a nap. Her eyes were half lidded, and Jack didn’t think she’d be able to muster up enough energy to carry him, let alone to throw him. “She’s perfect.”

  “Okay. Liz, are you going to teach him, or should I saddle her up for you?”

  Liz grinned. “I think he should get the full experience. Come on, Jack—I’m going to teach you how to saddle a horse.”

&
nbsp; “Because I’m going to need this knowledge again in my life . . . when?”

  “You never know. You might be in the middle of a big case and the bad guy might take off on a horse and you might need to follow him.”

  “Uh, sure. Yes. That happens all the time. Big FBI cases on farms and ranches and whatnot.” Jack shook his head good-naturedly. “All right, show me what to do.”

  He’d had no idea there were so many steps involved in saddling a horse. They placed a blanket over the animal’s back to protect her from the saddle, but it didn’t look like Jack would get a blanket to protect himself from the saddle—that seemed a little messed up.

  He winced when he got his finger pinched in one of the buckles. Yes, he was a city slicker, but he’d try to get out of this with as much of his dignity as he could.

  At last, Nellie was saddled and stood waiting just outside the stable door.

  “Basically, if the bad guy’s riding away, he’s got a good twenty-minute head start on me and I should just call for a chopper,” Jack said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

  “Or you could just throw yourself on the horse bareback and ride that way,” Liz suggested. “It would make a better story.”

  “I don’t care about the story. I just want to make the arrest.” He glanced around. “So, what are you riding?”

  “Oh, my usual,” Liz said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “And what’s your usual?”

  “Thunder.” She ducked her head.

  “Your usual is named Thunder?”

  “Well, I do ride a lot, so I’m pretty good.” She seemed embarrassed of that somehow.

  “Hey, you don’t have to hide this amazing talent from me. Yes, I’m a total greenie, but that doesn’t mean I expect you to do badly.”

  “Are you sure? It’s just . . . other guys don’t seem to like it if I do well at something.”

  “Well, I’m not other guys, am I?” Jack didn’t like the ghost that had flitted across Liz’s features. She’d said she’d been hurt, but just how badly had she been hurt? He felt a sudden urge to go hunt down some ex-boyfriends and have a little chat with them.