second, waiting for my refusal. When it’s not forthcoming he lifts his other hand, holds my shoulder in his fingers and probes gently, feeling around the base of my neck and down along my shoulder blade.
I stifle a groan. What he’s doing feels amazing, but I’ll never admit it.
“You’ve got a knot here,” he says, zeroing in on a spot that feels distinctly not-amazing.
I try to shift away but the hand on my shoulder tightens, holding me in place.
“You have to rub it out.”
I risk a look at his face, but he’s concentrated on his task, presumably watching his fingers rub a hole in my skin—that’s how hard they’re pressing. I arch my back to move away, but his grip is like iron.
“Take a deep breath,” he orders.
I realize I’m holding my breath so he doesn’t hear me whimper, and I quickly inhale.
He laughs softly. “Do you like it?” he asks.
“No,” I breathe.
“Because it hurts?”
“Yes.”
“It’ll get worse before it gets better.”
“That’s stupid.”
He presses harder, and I cry out, wrenching away. This time he lets me go.
“I can’t do this now,” I gasp, one hand wrapped over my shoulder to press on the now-tender spot.
“You have to work it out,” he says, but doesn’t try to come closer.
“Maybe another time,” I manage. “I have to work.”
Shane shrugs. “Any time.”
“No,” I say. “No other time. I’ll go to town, find a professional.”
He smiles faintly. “Suit yourself, Kate.” His gaze lingers for a second before we turn and walk in opposite directions.
After I return, lunch is considerably less hectic than breakfast, and it’s not until we’re wiping down the tables and sweeping the floor that Mary comes in.
“Kate,” she says, “do you have a minute?”
Even though I’m thirty, I flush like a guilty child. Did she see Shane and me near the barn? Did she misinterpret our spontaneous physical therapy appointment?
“Sure.” I follow her down the hall to the small suite of offices. I smile at Gina, the lone office worker responsible for taking reservations, processing payments, and pretty much everything else the office might be used for, and she returns the smile.
Mary leads me to the smallest office at the very back, the one I remember finding her in so many times in previous summers. It looks like it hasn’t been used much since the last time I was here. The walls are still decorated with pictures and awards, but the calendar is from three years ago and open to September, and with the exception of a dated computer—which is turned off—the desk is bare.
“Have a seat,” she says. I sit as she goes to the far side of the desk and gets comfortable.
“What’s up?” I thread my fingers together to hide my nerves.
She sighs. “I’m getting complaints from the guests.”
I straighten in surprise. I’ve been here half a week. “What kind of complaints?”
“The same ones I’ve been getting for the past couple of weeks,” she admits. “The girls aren’t doing the job. Food orders are getting mixed up, cabins aren’t fixed right…They’re just not getting it done.”
I know how hard it is to get good staff out here. There’s slim pickings in the mountains, and most of the staff are from other parts of the country, spending the summer on a ranch just to try something different. Each summer I spent here a handful of the staff quit, and no matter how crappy their work ethic had been, they were still able bodies needed to get the basics accomplished, and they were missed. Mary can’t just fire these girls—it’ll take weeks to find new ones, and we’ll be screwed. Or I will be, because I’ll be the lone kitchen/cabin girl.
“I’ll talk to them,” I promise. “I dug out the old cabin checklist this morning, and I’ll start inspecting the cabins to make sure things are getting done. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
She runs a hand through her hair, and I’m surprised to see just how gray it is. I
I stifle a groan. What he’s doing feels amazing, but I’ll never admit it.
“You’ve got a knot here,” he says, zeroing in on a spot that feels distinctly not-amazing.
I try to shift away but the hand on my shoulder tightens, holding me in place.
“You have to rub it out.”
I risk a look at his face, but he’s concentrated on his task, presumably watching his fingers rub a hole in my skin—that’s how hard they’re pressing. I arch my back to move away, but his grip is like iron.
“Take a deep breath,” he orders.
I realize I’m holding my breath so he doesn’t hear me whimper, and I quickly inhale.
He laughs softly. “Do you like it?” he asks.
“No,” I breathe.
“Because it hurts?”
“Yes.”
“It’ll get worse before it gets better.”
“That’s stupid.”
He presses harder, and I cry out, wrenching away. This time he lets me go.
“I can’t do this now,” I gasp, one hand wrapped over my shoulder to press on the now-tender spot.
“You have to work it out,” he says, but doesn’t try to come closer.
“Maybe another time,” I manage. “I have to work.”
Shane shrugs. “Any time.”
“No,” I say. “No other time. I’ll go to town, find a professional.”
He smiles faintly. “Suit yourself, Kate.” His gaze lingers for a second before we turn and walk in opposite directions.
After I return, lunch is considerably less hectic than breakfast, and it’s not until we’re wiping down the tables and sweeping the floor that Mary comes in.
“Kate,” she says, “do you have a minute?”
Even though I’m thirty, I flush like a guilty child. Did she see Shane and me near the barn? Did she misinterpret our spontaneous physical therapy appointment?
“Sure.” I follow her down the hall to the small suite of offices. I smile at Gina, the lone office worker responsible for taking reservations, processing payments, and pretty much everything else the office might be used for, and she returns the smile.
Mary leads me to the smallest office at the very back, the one I remember finding her in so many times in previous summers. It looks like it hasn’t been used much since the last time I was here. The walls are still decorated with pictures and awards, but the calendar is from three years ago and open to September, and with the exception of a dated computer—which is turned off—the desk is bare.
“Have a seat,” she says. I sit as she goes to the far side of the desk and gets comfortable.
“What’s up?” I thread my fingers together to hide my nerves.
She sighs. “I’m getting complaints from the guests.”
I straighten in surprise. I’ve been here half a week. “What kind of complaints?”
“The same ones I’ve been getting for the past couple of weeks,” she admits. “The girls aren’t doing the job. Food orders are getting mixed up, cabins aren’t fixed right…They’re just not getting it done.”
I know how hard it is to get good staff out here. There’s slim pickings in the mountains, and most of the staff are from other parts of the country, spending the summer on a ranch just to try something different. Each summer I spent here a handful of the staff quit, and no matter how crappy their work ethic had been, they were still able bodies needed to get the basics accomplished, and they were missed. Mary can’t just fire these girls—it’ll take weeks to find new ones, and we’ll be screwed. Or I will be, because I’ll be the lone kitchen/cabin girl.
“I’ll talk to them,” I promise. “I dug out the old cabin checklist this morning, and I’ll start inspecting the cabins to make sure things are getting done. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
She runs a hand through her hair, and I’m surprised to see just how gray it is. I
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