The Gentrys: Cinco. Linda Conrad
been bouncing along the bumpy, gravel roads in one of the ranch’s fleet of pickups for what seemed like forever. Didn’t the man believe in shock absorbers?
She stared out the window, hoping to see something that looked more like civilization than the endless vistas of scrub and stubby trees. Trying not to think about the huge man sitting next to her, taking up most of the bench front seat, she struggled to regulate her breathing.
Within the confinement of the truck cab, it was hard not to dwell on the bolt-action Weatherby rifle hanging on pegs in the window behind her head. She supposed she could fire one as well as the next guy, but it seemed rather barbaric to carry a firearm of any sort inside the passenger compartment.
If going to Gentry Wells to buy a pair of jeans was Cinco’s idea of fun, she’d have to set him straight on a few things. Just then, the truck ran over some kind of metal grate placed flat in the road, and she wondered if she’d need her teeth straightened first.
“What did we just run over? It sounded like it did some damage to the pickup.” She noticed he hadn’t even flinched at the clanking noise or jarring bumps.
“What?” He looked over at her as if she’d just asked whether the moon was green. “Oh, that.” He smiled—a little grin, and his face was transformed. “That’s a cattle guard. Don’t want any steers out roaming the main roads, now do we?”
He slowed the truck, coming to a stop at a blacktop road with printed road signs, a white stripe painted down the middle and…everything civilized.
“You mean a little grate thing will keep them in?”
Cinco nodded. “Yep. That and about a thousand miles of wire fencing.”
Think of that. She shivered slightly. Those huge beasts would be afraid of a little metal. So, they really weren’t very bright, just as her father had always told her. They’d surely be impossible to reason with, like all animals…and probably like the man sitting next to her as well.
After looking both ways down long, empty stretches of road, Cinco pulled out onto the blessedly smooth blacktop. They hadn’t traveled more than a mile when they passed a road sign announcing the speed limit at fifty-five and then another sign announcing that Gentry Wells would be ten miles farther along.
“What are the holes in those signs designed to do?” she asked, as they whizzed by.
With a grin as wide as a four-lane highway, Cinco turned to her. “Those aren’t designer holes. They’re bullet holes. Rifle-shot for the most part.”
“What on earth for?”
“Not for anything. That’s just where the teenagers around here practice their aim after they’ve had a few beers. I doubt there’s a sign in the entire county that doesn’t have them.”
She stayed quiet a second, picturing rowdy teens—with guns. “Did you do that when you were a teenager?”
He kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. “Well now, darlin’. I suppose I might’ve. There’s nothing wrong with letting off a little steam, as long as it’s directed toward inanimate objects. Especially out here where no one will be injured.”
This guy was sure a puzzle. He spoke with a twang and had some funny ideas about things, but he also used language the way a man of letters might. Odd and a little dangerous, but definitely compelling, Meredith mused.
“We need to talk about making up a cover story for you,” he told her. “Gentry Wells is the kind of place where everyone knows everybody else who lives here. I’m sure when you and Kyle stopped in town last week, you started tongues wagging.”
“Oh?” It was hard to believe any town could be quite so…provincial.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” he continued. “You know a little about computers, don’t you?”
She nodded, but kept herself from bragging that there wasn’t a machine in the world she didn’t know something about.
Cinco apparently saw the nod. “Well, everyone in the county knows all my spare time is spent with computers. They don’t exactly understand about the security business, but they do know I have a lot of equipment.”
At the word equipment, a picture of what else that might refer to zinged through her brain. Oh, he definitely had the right equipment as far as she was concerned. She felt the blush coming on, so she turned to look out the window.
He concentrated on the road ahead and didn’t seem to notice. “I thought we could tell everyone that you’re a computer consultant who’s come here to install some new machinery…satellite connections and whatnot.”
“Yes, all right. If you think that will work, I can probably pull it off.”
He grinned. “Great. We’ll tell that story to everyone, including the hired hands.” He seemed to mull that over for another second. “Hmm. My sister will be home from college in a few days. I think we might have to tell her the truth.”
“Fine. Whatever.” It didn’t make any difference.
Just then the engine noises changed a decibel or two. She looked over at Cinco, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Did you see that the engine warning light just came on?” She pointed down at the amber light on the dash in front of him.
“That happens sometimes. Don’t worry. The light’ll go off soon enough.”
“Don’t you think that means something’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Naw. Probably just the light’s broken. We have two mechanics, both working full-time to keep our rolling stock running smooth.”
A few hundred feet down the road she noted something had changed. “The light’s still on and now the temperature gauge is on the high side. Isn’t that a problem?”
Once again he shook his head. “Stop worrying so much. You’ve got real threats to aggravate yourself about. The mechanical workings of our pickups shouldn’t be your concern.”
Typical male, she thought. But she let it be, even though she felt another flush of unease over his controlling nature. He was certainly right, though. His trucks were not her responsibility.
Still, she couldn’t help but ask. “So, you don’t want to stop and check it out then?”
“Just relax. You don’t know the first thing about life out here. Let me handle it.
She straightened in her seat and glanced out the passenger window to keep from saying something she might regret. His words flashed her back to a time long ago when her father, Rear Admiral Stanton Powell, had said much the same thing, over and over again.
She gritted her teeth and tried to forget how she’d learned what he’d really meant by that. How he taught her to be a good little soldier—or else. How he’d never let her properly grieve over her mother’s death, or any of the many other nightmarish memories she’d done her best to put behind her now that he was dead.
Shaking her head softly to clear it, she wondered why in the world those old nightmares had come back to her at this moment. She sneaked a glance at the handsome cowboy in the driver’s seat. He was not her father.
She still wasn’t exactly sure who Cinco was inside, but she was positive that he was only interested in her safety—not really trying to control her life. She had to find a way to deal with her temporary situation and not take out frustrations or deep-seated fears on the man who didn’t seem any happier about her being here than she was.
Turning to face forward, she saw steam begin to blow out from under the hood. Well, that didn’t take as long as she’d thought it would. Within a few seconds the billowing clouds of steam covered the windshield and forced Cinco to bring the truck to a stop at the side of the road.
He didn’t look at her, but opened his