Rance supposed he shouldn't have expected her to.
But that had been the way he and Ellie used to part from each other—with a smile, a kiss, a touch and, finally, that lingering backward glance, each of them trying to see who could get the last glimpse of the other.
It wasn't that way now.
Of course it wasn't! Because she didn't give a damn about him.
And he didn't give a damn about her, either! It was just a reflex, that was all.
A reflex that had stood the test of eleven years' time. He shoved the thought away and determinedly he turned back to Daniel and Caleb. "Show me what you've been doing on that fence."
The way they looked at each other, he was reminded of Tom Sawyer with a bucket of whitewash and the knowledge that a sucker was born every minute. They grinned.
"Sure," Caleb said. "Come on."
It was, as he'd suspected, too big a job for two little boys. But it was too big a job for one lone woman like Ellie also. The boards were long and heavy and unwieldy. But he could move them far more easily than Caleb and Daniel, so he did. He made them hammer the nails while he held the boards in place.
"Stay way down there," Caleb told him.
Rance nodded. He stayed downwind. The boys, tongues trapped between tight lips, foreheads furrowed with the effort of their concentration, hammered away.
And at the same time, Rance picked their brains.
"Your mother runs this whole place by herself?"
"We help," Caleb replied.
"An' Josh," Daniel added. "An' Gran'ma."
"Grandma?" Rance had heard some crazy nicknames for hired hands, but he'd never met one called Grandma.
"Dad's mom," Daniel said between thumps with the hammer. "She lives down the valley."
What about Grandpa? Rance wanted to ask, but he'd already stuck his foot in his mouth enough for one day.
"By herself?" he said cautiously.
"Yep," Caleb said. "Gran'pa died."
"What about your other grandparents?"
"They died a long time ago," Daniel said. "I don't even remember them except Mom has pictures."
"I'm sorry." Rance settled another railing against a post. "I'm sorry, um, about your dad, too. I … didn't know."
He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to bring that up again. He'd made such an ass of himself the first time that he ought to just keep his mouth shut. But he wanted the boys to know he sympathized with their loss. However much he might resent O'Connor's having swept Ellie away from him, it was clear from his children's expressions and the pain in Ellie's eyes that he'd been deeply loved and desperately missed.
"He fell off his horse," Caleb said. He didn't look at Rance. He kept his eyes focused firmly on the nail he was about to hit.
"'Cause somethin' spooked 'im," Daniel said.
The fence rail wobbled in Rance's grasp. Ellie's husband had died from a fall off his horse? A horse that had been spooked? God.
No wonder she'd turned white at the news of Josh's fall. And no wonder the boy had been in such a hurry to catch his horse and, failing that, to reassure his mother that he was fine.
Rance wet his lips and steadied the fence rail. "Cripes," he muttered under his breath. Then, "How long ago?"
"We were in first grade," Caleb said.
"Now we're in third." Daniel added.
So Ellie had been on her own for two years. It was a long time for one person to try to keep things going with only three little boys and an older lady to help.
No doubt when her husband had been alive, the ranch had done well enough. Small ranchers, if they were careful and frugal and lucky as hell, could still manage to eke out a living in today's cattle market. Apparently the O'Connors had.
The operative word, however, was had.
It didn't look much like Ellie was eking out anything anymore. Maybe the unmended fence, the peeling paint and the torn screen he'd seen on the front room window were the only problems she had. But if they were indicative of her finances and not just of her inability to keep hired help, it looked like, for all her efforts—and all Josh's—she was simply prolonging the slide into bankruptcy.
"Hel—heck of a lot of hard work to do around here," he said, lifting his eyes from his fencing task for a moment just to look around.
"We don't mind workin' hard," Daniel said.
Caleb said, "It's good for us." And the two of them looked at him squarely, as if daring him to dispute it.
Rance didn't. He'd worked hard when he was growing up. He understood the values Ellie was trying to instill in her kids. He respected them. But still he felt obliged to say, "Ranching's a big job for just one person."
"She ain't just one person," Caleb protested. "She's got us."
"An' Josh," Daniel added. "An' Gran'ma."
As if to make his point, he gave the nail an extra hard whack. It bent. He made a face. But instead of tossing it aside and taking another, he laid it on the plank and banged it with the hammer to try to straighten it. He banged at it half a dozen times to little avail.
Then Caleb took the hammer away from him and tried his hand at straightening the nail. Rance's own hands itched to grab it away from both of them.
"Throw it out," he said finally, "and use another."
"Wasteful," Daniel said.
"Mom always straightens nails," Caleb agreed.
Ellie's kingdom depended on saving bent nails? God help her, Rance thought.
"Mom says every little bit counts," Daniel told him. "It has to," he added after a moment, "or we might hafta sell the ranch."
Caleb kicked Daniel in the ankle. "We aren't going to sell the ranch!"
"I know that," Daniel retorted. "I was just sayin' we might."
"We aren't," Caleb insisted. "So stop sayin' it." He kicked Daniel again for good measure.
Daniel kicked him back. "He ain't going to buy it. He's not Cleve Hardesty."
"Who's Cleve Hardesty?" Rance asked.
"He lives over th'other side of the valley," Caleb said vaguely.
"He wants to buy the ranch," Daniel put in.
Caleb kicked him again.
"Quitcher kickin'. It ain't a secret!"
"Well, Mom doesn't like us sayin' it." Caleb looked like he might quit kicking and start hammering at any moment. "She says you say these things an' they happen. So don't go tellin' the world."
"I'm not! I'm tellin' him."
"And I won't tell a soul," Rance promised quickly. "Here." He couldn't stand it any longer. He reached for the hammer and deftly straightened the nail, then handed it to Daniel who concentrated on carefully pounding it in, fortunately straight this time.
So Ellie had a vulture hanging over her, watching and waiting for her to go under? The notion made Rance grit his teeth.
"Who is this Hardesty guy?" Rance thought he knew most of the larger ranchers in Montana, but he'd never heard that name.
"He's new," Daniel told him. "He's a bigwig, Mom says. From California."
Caleb glared at his brother, no doubt for continuing to fill Rance in. But then he sighed and gave in to the inevitable. "He's from Hollywood, Josh said. A movie guy. A producer, I think." Obviously if he wasn't going to shut Daniel up, he was going to make sure the story got told right.
"Ah." Rance's mouth thinned.
"He bought Mr. Jeffers's place last year," Daniel said. "An' now he wants ours. He's waitin' till 'the price is right.'" And from the way he said it, Rance could tell that Daniel had heard someone say those exact words. "He's waitin' till Mom can't pay Mr. Murrgage."
"Who?"
"Mr. Mortgage," Caleb corrected. "At the bank. But she will," he told Rance firmly. "She said so, and she will."
"Sure she will," Rance agreed.
But he had the feeling "Mr. Murrgage" wasn't going to be tolerant if she was late—especially if a well-heeled outsider like Cleve Hardesty was waiting in the wings with a full wallet.
He was only guessing, of course. There was no telling how bad things
were for Ellie, but her kids were obviously worried. The very fact that kids their age even knew the word mortgage told him that she had serious financial problems.
They finished with the fence, then took a break. Caleb said he would make lemonade. Daniel said, wrinkling his nose at Rance, that they could stay outside to drink it.
The boys had warmed to him now and were chattering on—about school—how much Caleb liked math and Daniel hated it; about horses—how Sunny better come home because he was "the only real horse" they had, the others being too green or too old; about the coming branding—which would be soon—"next weekend, maybe," Caleb said. "Soon's Josh an' Ma get 'em sorted."
But then the boys stopped and looked at each other, aware that Josh's accident would change things now.
In the silence of this realization Rance said to Daniel, "Go find me some more nails." And to Caleb he said, "Help me bring those leftover fence rails over here."
"Whatcha gonna do?" both boys demanded.
"We're going to fix these steps before somebody falls through 'em."
It wasn't much, but it was the least he could do. He took what was left of the fence rails and set Caleb to measuring them to match the rotting wood in the steps. He cut them and handed them to Daniel to nail down.
They had just finished when Daniel looked up and shouted, "Look! It's Sunny!"
Sure enough, through the trees, Rance could see the horse that had bolted past him on the mountain. He straightened up to go catch the animal, but Daniel was already on his way.
"I'll get 'im."
Rance was going to protest. Sunny was a good-sized horse, and Daniel wasn't a very big boy.
"Don't," he began, but Caleb interrupted.
"Daniel will get 'im. Don't worry. He's good with Sunny."
And it was clear almost at once that he was. As Rance and Caleb watched, Daniel moved slowly toward the horse, talking softly the whole time. And Sunny, lathered and rough with sweat, pricked his ears and looked in the boy's direction, then whickered, as if he was letting out a sigh and trotted right up to Daniel.
"See?" Caleb said proudly.
Rance nodded and grinned. "Good for him."
As Daniel caught Sunny's reins and led him toward the barn for a rubdown, Rance noticed the door again and said to Caleb, "See if you can find a hinge pin and we'll fix that barn door."
"Okay." And Caleb was off and running.
Rance sat there for a minute, watching him go. Then he finished the last of the lemonade and thought about the afternoon—about unexpectedness, about the twists and turns that came out of nowhere to nail a guy when he wasn't paying attention.
Like the accident that had ended his rodeo career.
Like the accident that had ended Ellie's husband's life.
Like the one that had brought Rance to her doorstep once more.
A feller's got to get up early an' keep his eyes open. Rance remembered his grandfather, John Ransome Phillips II, often saying that. A feller never knows quite what's gonna happen, yes sir, so he's gotta be ready for anything.
Anything.
Like skunks? And magazine articles? And broken arms?
Like the only woman who'd ever enchanted him suddenly appearing once more in his life?
What was he going to do about that?
What could he do?
His gaze lit on Ellie's laundry basket, sitting forgotten beneath the half-filled clothesline in the middle of the yard. Half a dozen little boys' shirts flapped in the breeze. Some even smaller little girl's jeans in pink and blue hung next to them.
Vaguely Rance remembered the washer rumbling when he'd first gone into the house to get his shower. A woman's work is never done. How often he'd heard that, though he wasn't entirely sure he'd believed it.
Now he did—if her name was Ellie Pascoe O'Connor.
He hauled himself to his feet and went down the steps and across the yard to the basket. He stooped and picked up one of the damp long-sleeved boy's shirts, then fished a couple of clothespins out of the bag and began pegging the shirts to the line.
He was as awkward at hanging out laundry as the twins had been with the too-big fence rails. But eventually, and after only dropping a couple of shirts in the grass, he had a full line of them. Then he reached back down and came up with something very different from a little boy's shirt.
It was a pair of panties. Ellie's panties.
They were cotton and serviceable, but not entirely plain. There was nothing standard-issue white about them. They were a soft peach color, low-cut and with just a thin edge of lace where they would touch Ellie's legs.
Rance's mouth went dry. His body—especially one particular part—tensed. All his male hormones, which had been for months—nay, years—quite easily ignoring the clamor of a hundred Mrs. Rance Phillips wannabes, suddenly went on alert.
His fingers, still with the panties in their grip, closed into a fist.
"I got one!" Caleb called, and Rance's head jerked around to see the boy waving something—probably a hinge pin—in his hand. "Come on."
"Um." Rance tried to answer. His voice cracked. He felt his face burn. He cleared his throat quickly, ran his tongue over his lips and tried again. "Good. I'll be right there. I er … want to finish this."
This. Hanging out the rest of the clothes in the basket. Hanging out Ellie's underwear.
He took a deep steadying breath. For God's sake, Phillips, it's not like you've never touched a woman's panties before! Which was true. But it had been a damn long time. So long ago he couldn't even remember. And these weren't just any woman's panties.
They were Ellie's.
He fumbled them, his fingers more like thumbs as he hung the panties on the line. It's no big deal!
Of course it wasn't. But as he hung them up, he was not quite able to look at them—and not quite able to pull his gaze away. He reached down and picked up another pair. He hung them. His breathing grew shallow.
He remembered Ellie in panties.
He remembered her young, lithe, supple body wearing nothing else. He remembered running his hands over her body, then laying her on a bed and peeling her panties slowly down her very long legs, his gaze following the movement of his hands.
He remembered tossing the panties aside and settling himself between those legs, finding Ellie eager and moist, waiting for him.
His body remembered, too—very, very well. It responded to the memory almost as fiercely as it had always responded to Ellie.
"Rance! Aren'tcha comin'?" Caleb's childish voice jolted him.
He almost dropped one of her bras in the dirt. He bent to pick it up out of the basket again and found that straightening up was a little more difficult than it had been, his body slower to deny the memory than his mind. "Just a—" he cleared his throat "—just a couple more things. Almost finished."
He hung them up hastily, barely glancing at them. He didn't need to. The feel of her lacy underthings was enough to create havoc in his mind—and in his loins.
Why the hell couldn't she wear plain dingy boxer shorts or something?
He got the last bra hung—a flimsy pale blue affair that reminded him of what it had been like to cup her breasts in his hands. He felt a hungry shudder run through his body and gave himself a shake, like a dog coming out of an icy river. Then he turned and gave Caleb a wave. "All done."
He was. All done.
His concentration was shot. He fixed the hinge pin on the barn door, but not without whacking his thumb, too.
"Have you done this sort of thing before?" Caleb asked him, his estimation of Rance clearly dropping.
Rance didn't answer that.
He oiled the other hinge pins. Then the three of them mucked out the barn.
They were just finishing when Ellie's truck came around the bend and down the hill. The twins ran to meet it. Rance stayed beside the barn, watching as the doors to the truck opened and Josh, Ellie and the little girl—what was her name?—got out.
There was a
faint hint of color in Josh's cheeks now, and he had a bright white plaster cast on his lower arm. Rance was glad he was looking better, but once he'd ascertained that much, he barely noticed the kids at all.
His attention was on Ellie. She waited for her daughter to clamber out of the truck, then slammed the door and grabbed two bags out of the back. Then she turned and moved purposefully toward Rance.
He watched her walk, watched those long lovely legs moving toward him and remembered the panties. He took her jeans off with his eyes, saw in his mind her slender tanned limbs, remembered them tangling with his, opening for him. He sucked in a quick sharp breath.
She stopped in front of him. "Here's your tomato juice."
He looked at her blankly.
"Tomato juice," Ellie said impatiently. She thrust a paper sack at him. "And your boots."
"Oh. Er … right." Rance grabbed for them both as if they were a lifeline. He blinked fiercely, restoring her jeans, dragging his eyes upward to meet her gaze.
No help there. He'd always been a sucker for Ellie's eyes. He cleared his throat. "H-how's … Josh?"
"Surviving. I'm sure he'll be able to dine off the story for the rest of his life. It was a simple fracture." She smiled her relief. "Six weeks in a cast." Then her smile faded and she looked worried once more.
Rance could almost read her thoughts. He knew her first concern had been her son. But now that Josh was doing all right, she had other things to worry about.
Like the ranch. The cattle. They were still at the end of calving season. That alone would take all her time. And how was she going to get the branding done without her ten-year-old top hand?
"Mom!" Caleb shouted. "Didja see the steps? We fixed the steps!" He ran over and jumped up and down on the no-longer-rickety steps.
"Great," Ellie said, shoving a hand through her hair distractedly. "That's great."
"An' Rance fixed the hinge an' we mucked out the barn!" Daniel added.
"Wonderful." She was smiling at her sons, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"It's not enough, is it?" Rance asked her quietly.
She jerked, startled, and turned back to him. "What?"
"The stuff we did. It's great. It's wonderful … but it isn't enough."
She stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Cowboy on the Run Page 4