Betting on Grace Page 4

  “Have you checked his cabin?” Lane asked, trying his best to sound as though he didn’t give a rat’s ass that Grant hadn’t bothered to let him know he was back. Instead, Lane devised the fastest route to Gracie’s house in his head while he waited for an answer from Hope, praying she didn’t want to draw out this conversation any longer than necessary.

  “I did. He didn’t answer the door. Damn it, Lane, stop!”

  Shit.

  Lane drew up short and turned to face Hope. His stomach grumbled an immediate rebuttal to stopping in his tracks. Knowing he would only prolong the suffering if he didn’t talk to her, Lane gave up. “What’d you need him for?” he asked, growing more and more curious as to why Hope would’ve been searching for Grant after hours in the first place.

  Not that they had a set work schedule. At Dead Heat Ranch, time was irrelevant. When things needed to be done, they did them. Sleep be damned.

  But it wasn’t like Hope to seek Grant out. Lane, sure. He was the closest thing to backup that Hope had. Being she was the head wrangler, he worked closely with Hope day in and day out. However, Grant was the ranch foreman, so it did make sense. Sort of.

  “I needed to talk to him about something.”

  As much as Lane wanted to be nosy and question her further, he knew better. He was doing his best not to raise suspicions as it was when it came to his relationship with Grant. Everyone knew the two of them were friends, and that they hung out during their off time, but even he knew it would look a little questionable for him to get all up in someone’s business for searching for Grant.

  “If I see him, I’ll let him know you’re lookin’ for him.”

  “Thanks,” Hope mumbled and then walked off.

  Well, hell. That had been too easy.

  Lane stood staring after her for a heartbeat. He had half a mind to go to Grant’s to see if the man was hiding out, but the smell of food coming from the kitchen was calling his name.

  Turning back the way he’d been headed, he forced his feet to move.

  God, he was tired. They’d had one hell of a day with the new horses they’d brought in, and it had gone from bad to worse when one of the summer wranglers had wound up getting stomped on because his idiot ass had done exactly the opposite of what he’d been instructed to do. That incident had required help from Zach, the ranch’s medic, followed by the EMTs from the neighboring town paying them a visit. Thankfully, the kid was going to be fine, but he was going to have one hell of a bruise in the meantime. The dumbass.

  Lane yanked open the screen door leading to the dining area just in time to nearly run into Gracie for the second time that day. Only this time, she looked up before he had a chance to feel her pressed up against him. The sparkle he saw in her eyes did wonders for his exhaustion but not much for his hunger. Although, now he was hungry for something else entirely.

  “Hey,” Gracie greeted.

  “No, I haven’t seen Grant,” Lane declared a little forcefully, pulling his hat off his head as was customary when entering the dining room.

  “Good to know,” she said with a smile. “Actually, I just saw him. He was heading to his cabin.”

  “Hope’s lookin’ for him,” Lane explained.

  “Well, if she’s smart, she won’t seek him out tonight.”

  “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “He’s in a piss-poor mood,” she said bluntly.

  “So nothing’s changed since this morning?” Lane asked facetiously, forcing a smile. “You didn’t eat yet, did you?” He tried to keep his eyes on her but found himself looking over her head to the plates of food that had been set out for supper.

  The dining area was set up family style, with a buffet placed on two long tables against one wall, one wrangler making sure they never ran out of food while another assisted with cleaning the tables for the guests. The ranch personnel ate for free, and the kitchen staff generally made enough to feed a small army, but they all pitched in to ensure everything was kept clean. It looked like they were on their toes tonight, which was a good thing since Lane was prepared to scarf down enough for at least four people.

  “Not yet. I don’t think,” Gracie said softly, turning to look around them before continuing, “that tonight’s gonna be a good night. I’ve been avoidin’ Faith for the last half hour, but I really do need to see what she wants.”

  “What about later?” he asked, realizing he sounded exceedingly hopeful.

  “I really have to check with her first. God only knows what she wants. After that, I’m hopin’ to head home and take a shower.”

  “Hmm…,” he said, suddenly thinking about Gracie in the shower. Before he could tell her that he’d grab the food and meet her there, he caught sight of Faith, Gracie’s youngest sister, coming at them as if wild dogs were nipping at her ass.

  “Hey, Gracie!”

  Yep, his dinner plans had just been thwarted. So much for eating dinner with Gracie. Or showering with her, for that matter. He knew by the look in Faith’s turquoise gaze that the woman was on a mission and Gracie was her target.

  Lane tried not to be bothered by the fact that their plans had once again been derailed. It seemed to be the case no matter the time or place these days.

  Gracie turned away from him, but not before he noticed her rolling her eyes. Standing beside her, Lane watched as Faith came stomping across the room.

  “Oh, shit,” Gracie muttered.

  “Problems?” Lane whispered.

  “Always. And if the look on her face is anything to go by, I’m up shit creek without a paddle.”

  The lure of food was so powerful Lane decided that he’d leave Gracie and her sister to hash out whatever their issues were without his help. Just because he had a longing to touch her, he stepped behind Gracie and placed his hand gently on the small of her back, squeezing ever so slightly. “I’ll catch you later.”

  When Gracie met his gaze over her shoulder, he was tempted to lean in and kiss her. That look spoke volumes, in a way that said, I’d really like to find you naked in my bed later, which was incredibly difficult to resist.

  But he didn’t have a chance to say or do anything before Faith was marching up to Gracie. “We need to talk.”

  “Good to see you too, Faith,” Lane said with a grin. “Have a good night.” And with that, Lane snuck off, not wanting to endure Faith’s wrath. Whatever had that woman’s panties in a bunch, he didn’t want to have anything to do with it.

  Lane had just grabbed a plate, piled it high with mashed potatoes, followed by two slices of Salisbury steak, another helping of potatoes, another piece of meat… Before he was finished, he had enough to sate his appetite for at least a week, although he’d probably be hungry again by midnight.

  As he was grabbing two rolls, trying to hold on to his hat’s brim with his fingers, balance his plate in one hand, a glass of tea in the crook of his arm and the bread in the other, for the second time in under an hour, someone asked him if he’d seen Grant.

  “Do I look like his keeper?” he snapped.

  “Whoa, dude,” Cody Mercer snapped. “Who pissed in your Post Toasties?”

  Lane blew off the statement, knowing better than to get into a pissing match at this point. He was his own worst enemy when it came to his emotions, and the fact that Grant was back and everyone seemed to know it but him didn’t sit well, nor did knowing that his plans for spending just a few hours with Gracie were nothing more than wishful thinking.

  “I just wanted to let him know that Hope was lookin’ for him.”

  “I heard,” Lane groused as he moved toward an empty table on the far side of the room. Without hesitation, he slid into the chair and put a death grip on his fork, ready to eat in peace.

  Cody followed.

  Well, so much for peace.

  “Do you know what it’s about?” Cody asked, dropping into the chair opposite Lane.

  “Why don’t you join me?” Lane murmured beneath his breath.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”<
br />
  That drew a smile out of Lane.

  Okay, so his pissy attitude really didn’t have a place here. Cody Mercer was a good guy, a little too cocky and self-assured for Lane’s taste, but he meant well. Too bad the kid had a thing for Mercy Lambert, the wildest of all the Lambert sisters. That woman would chew him up and spit him out before he ever knew what hit him.

  Not that Lane was going to bring it up. He’d actually been waiting for a couple of years to see it happen. Metaphorically speaking. Unfortunately, Lane had been the one to waltz right into the shop in time to see Mercy straddling Cody and…

  “So?”

  Lane looked up to see Cody was waiting for him to say something. Thank heavens for that. He did not want to remember that day, especially while he was eating. “So … what?”

  “Do you know what Hope wanted?” Cody repeated slowly, as though he were talking to a child.

  “Nope. Don’t know. Don’t care.” That was only a partial lie. Right then, he really didn’t care. Only because he was too fucking hungry to put forth the effort.

  “Hope didn’t seem happy,” Cody mentioned, his hands resting on the table as he stared at Lane.

  Lane didn’t have a problem with an audience while he ate — or anytime, for that matter. But right now, he was hungry, so if Cody wanted to talk, he’d have to endure Lane having a mouthful of food.

  “Does she ever?” Lane countered.

  “Touché.” Cody laughed.

  It was true. Hope Lambert walked around with something stuck up her ass most of the time. Of all five of the Lambert sisters, she was the most serious. Lane had seen the woman in action. She didn’t put up with a whole lot of shit, and being the oldest, she apparently took on a lot of the responsibility for Dead Heat Ranch, which left little room for fun. At least from what he could tell.

  Unlike Gracie, Mercy, and Trinity, Hope wasn’t the fun-loving sort. Not anymore, anyway … from what he’d heard. Then again, neither was Faith, the youngest of the bunch. Proof in the fact that it was closing in on seven o’clock and both sisters were still working. He wasn’t sure the two of them ever stopped.

  As for Hope, Lane knew she had taken on the task of managing the day-to-day operations of the ranch alongside their father, Jerry. Ever since their mother had died, when the girls were young, she’d been steadfast in her efforts to prove her worth to anyone who would pay attention. Not that she needed to. As far as Jerry Lambert was concerned, his daughters hung the moon and lit the damn thing every night, to boot.

  But Hope had a one-track mind when it came to business.

  Which was why Lane knew he didn’t want to be around when Hope did eventually find Grant. Whatever she wanted to talk to him about was likely work related, which meant the man was in a shitload of trouble.

  “Have you seen him? Grant?” Lane asked, probing as to what Grant had been up to when he’d returned to the ranch. Clearly, either Lane had been too busy or Grant was avoiding him altogether because Lane hadn’t even been aware that the man had returned.

  “Not since after lunch. He was pissy, so I hauled ass in the opposite direction.”

  “Can’t blame you there,” Lane said, shoveling food into his mouth.

  “Have you seen Mercy?”

  There it was. The real reason Cody had the sudden urge to chat it up. Lane forked more food into his mouth and shook his head. He hadn’t seen her since earlier in the day. That woman was trouble with a capital T, and Lane tried to stay as far from her as possible.

  It didn’t help that Mercy seemed very aware of what was going on between Lane, Gracie, and Grant. She was acting like fucking Cupid, what with trying to force the three of them together.

  Not that there was any force necessary.

  Damn it. Now he was thinking about Grant again.

  Maybe he should stop by, check on him.

  Bring him food.

  No.

  Damn it.

  “Well, if you do, let her know I’m lookin’ for her.”

  Great. Now he was a fucking secretary. Another forkful of food went into his mouth as he nodded his head at Cody. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to mention Cody to Mercy, but the kid didn’t need to know that.

  “Night,” Cody finally said as he pushed to his feet.

  Lane wasn’t trying to be an ass; he just wasn’t in a talkative mood, so he sent Cody off with a curt nod.

  In fact, he had something else entirely on his mind as he polished off what was left of the Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes that had been overflowing his plate moments earlier.

  Shoveling the last bite in his mouth, he decided it was high time he addressed the issue.

  Chapter Four

  Grant didn’t want to do anything except sit in front of the television. Hell, he didn’t even want to get up and get another beer. Glancing down at the one in his hand, he realized that would be something he’d really need to come to terms with in, oh, say, less than three minutes.

  Looking at the three empty bottles sitting on the table beside his recliner, he wasn’t sure how good of an idea that really was. Especially since he had to work in the morning. But shit, he deserved it, and up to this point, he was still trying to achieve that ever-elusive buzz that was just out of reach.

  After he had escaped his father’s tirade that morning, he’d had to endure endless phone calls and texts from the man throughout the day. Grant never answered the phone and finally tossed the damn thing in his truck just to avoid it, but then he’d been met with forty-two texts and seventeen voice messages. They all said about the same thing, letting him know what a worthless piece of shit he was for turning his back on his father in his time of need. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

  Nothing Grant hadn’t heard before on numerous occasions.

  It still irritated the fuck out of him to hear it. Irritation was all he would cop to, though, which was why he’d resorted to drinking from the second he’d stepped through his front door. He damn sure wasn’t going to admit that the words actually hurt him.

  Downing what was left of his beer, Grant tried to focus on the television. See that, Dad, I’ve still got a television!

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  For the better part of the last half hour, he’d been alternating between clicking the remote and replaying in his mind all of the hateful bullshit his father had left on his voice mail. As much as he had tried, clicking through channels, searching for something to watch wasn’t enough to drown out the angry voice of his father still reverberating in his head.

  Considering he didn’t give a shit about watching television in the first place, it was no wonder he hadn’t found anything that caught his attention. His thoughts were all over the map, so focusing on the screen was hard enough.

  A sudden knock on the front door jolted Grant from his thoughts, but he didn’t bother to get up.

  “It’s open!” he hollered, willing whomever it was to go away.

  Not happening, apparently.

  The door pushed inward, and in walked Lane in all of his handsome glory. Even after twelve hours of work, Lane looked good enough to eat. He was covered in a fine layer of dust, his straw hat crushed on one side, one of his pant legs tucked into his boot, the other covering his other boot. He looked like he’d tussled with the livestock for the better part of the day.

  Yet he still looked so damn good.

  “Hidin’ out, are ya?” Lane asked, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he shut the front door behind him, effectively sealing them off from the rest of the world.

  Grant knew he shouldn’t be quite so happy about that, bearing in mind his current mood. No one had to tell him that he was acting like a hothead and had been for most of the day.

  “Tryin’,” Grant answered, meeting Lane’s gaze. “What do you want?”

  “You, but that’s beside the point,” Lane responded smoothly, his original weariness absent from his tone.

  Why did that make him feel so damn good?

  Gr
ant tried to brush off the response, keeping in mind Lane’s good-ol’-boy answer to everything. If he let him, Lane would strip Grant of all his frustration within seconds, and that would leave him … tired.

  But he could think of something else Lane could strip off him.

  That might make him feel a little better.

  Speaking of stripping… Holy mother of God.

  “What are you doing?” Grant asked as he sat fascinated by the sight of Lane standing in front of him, tossing his tattered hat on the table that currently held the empty beer bottles and then pulling his T-shirt over his head.

  Oh, fuck.

  Grant was spellbound from the first sight of the dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of Lane’s jeans. He then let his eyes graze upward, following the dark blue cotton as it skimmed higher, admiring the sexy definition of Lane’s abs, the smattering of dark hair that covered Lane’s chest, the corded muscles of Lane’s neck… And then the shirt was gone completely, and their eyes collided.

  “Need a shower,” Lane said easily, his attention on Grant.

  Breaking the eye contact, Grant once again slid his gaze down the front of Lane.

  “You know where it’s at,” Grant replied, yanking his eyes off the chiseled abs and hard planes of Lane’s incredible physique.

  “Sorry, I forgot where it was. Care to show me?”

  Grant frowned at Lane. He was not going to play this game.

  Right. Tell your dick that, too.

  Grant ignored that little voice in his head at the same time he ignored his dick’s reaction to the sexy cowboy now toeing off his boots in the middle of Grant’s living room.

  “Lane,” Grant began, ready to offer the big man a warning.

  “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Lane shot back as he reached for Grant’s hand and damn near launched him to his feet with one well-timed tug.

  “Fucking hell,” Grant grumbled when he found himself vertical, standing directly in front of Lane. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

  Lane was unbuttoning his own jeans while Grant watched. He knew he should’ve stood his ground and pushed Lane away, but he just couldn’t do it. This was exactly what he needed to take his mind off the shitty day he’d had.