Running Blind by Linda Howard Page A

it only made sense that even though he was the youngest of the hands, and the one who had been here the shortest time, Spencer was the one in charge of this job.
    Sperm collector and cook. Wouldn’t that look impressive on a résumé?
    Walt cleared his throat. “Any answers to your latest want ad?”
    Spencer looked up, hope in his eyes.
    “None that’ll do.” He’d had one query, but the “no housework” stipulation had stopped that one cold. He’d rewrite his ads. He didn’t think he could get away with “elderly battle-ax preferred,” but he could sure add that a man was preferred. “Someone will turn up, though. Let’s get going, boys. This hay won’t get cut and baled by itself.”
    S UMMERTIME, AND IT was barely seventy degrees in the middle of the day. After the broiling heat of Texas, Carlin enjoyed the mild temperatures, but she couldn’t help but wonder what winter would be like here—not that she’d be around to find out. Winter was months away, and there was no telling where she’d be by then, but it almost certainly wouldn’t be here.
    The thought of moving on was surprisingly tough; the regular customers already treated her like she was one of their own, and always had been. She’d have been suspicious of a stranger showing up out of nowhere, but Kat simply told everyone she was a friend, and that was good enough for her customers.
    Had
she
ever been that trusting? Yeah, she had—once upon a time. But not now, and maybe not ever again. Before waiting on her first customer, she’d decided to tell them all to call her Carly. It was nice that Kat called her by her real name, that she hadn’t disappeared completely intoa false identity, but to have an entire town—no matter how small—knowing her name wasn’t a good idea. One post on a social site about Carlin at The Pie Hole might be enough to bring Brad here; it simply wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, Carly was close enough so that she didn’t stumble when someone called her by that name.
    Not for the first time in her life, she wished her parents had given her a normal name, like Mary, or Maggie, or any one of a hundred well-used names that didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Her brother and sister hadn’t been spared the family curse, but Robin was a relatively normal name for a woman, and Kinison could be shortened to Kin. Her parents had loved to laugh so much they’d named all three of their kids after their favorite comedians. God, she missed them. They’d died too soon.
    Today’s lunch crowd was a good one: mostly men, as usual, but there were a couple of women chatting away in a corner. One of the regulars was a skinny cowboy named Sam who tipped his hat and winked as he walked in the door. Carlin had already learned to dismiss the flirts, taking her cue from Kat. Usually all she had to do was simply ignore any overtures. If that failed, a cool look would do the trick. Maybe single women were a hot commodity in these parts, because a new one certainly did stir up a lot of interest.
    Kat said business was up some since Carlin had started working there. Two single women, serving pie and burgers and endless cups of coffee, were apparently an irresistible draw for many of the cowboys Kat had warned her about.
    That kind of attention made her a little nervous, but the flirting was good-natured, and most of the men—once rejected—seemed resigned to satisfying themselves with baked goods, caffeine, and a little harmless staring. She hadn’t had any real trouble with any of them, so she stayed.
    She was settling into a comfortable routine. In the back of her mind she knew comfortable meant dangerous, but it felt good to just relax a little, let her guard down a notch and pretend she had a halfway normal life. She liked what she was doing, liked her employer, liked the lack of drama. She wanted to hang on here for just a while longer.
    Routine was nice. Once lunch was done and the doors were locked, she and Kat would clean to