by Rita Hestand
Instead of rushing to her side though, like he wanted, he withdrew and let his family take the lead. Cal took Judy into his arms and hugged her for a long moment. They spoke for a few minutes, and before he left her side, she was almost smiling. Deke shook hands with them both, introducing Emma to Abby. Emma seemed to take right to Abby, Clint noticed. And why not, everyone did. Abby was a nice person.
Nice person? Abby was the best, always had been. And he had hurt her more than any woman in his life. He felt low, very low, and yet a determination was taking hold, too.
He didn't deserve a woman like Abby. How had she managed those years she was gone, on her own with a kid? He loved her even more now than he did back then, and that was saying something. He felt proud of the woman she had become. She didn't ask for anything. She even blamed herself for what happened. But there was no blame.
Rusty and Jake were right in front of them, offering their sympathy. Occasionally they darted a look at Clint with an off-chance smile, but Clint kept his distance. He hadn't had a chance to talk to his other two brothers yet, but from their expressions when Abby introduced her son, they both knew. How could they not know? He looked just like Clint, with the same dark hair, same blue eyes that looked as though he could see into a person's soul.
Clint felt like a sudden stranger, as though he were totally detached from the scene. It had been a long time since he had been to church, and the very fact humbled him. The music played and Clint felt his insides knot up as though he was forcibly holding something inside.
After the church service, Clint approached Abby and her mother as they were about to leave for the cemetery. His head was bowed, his gaze not meeting Abby's glance at all.
"Judy, Abby, is there anything I can do for you?"
Judy touched his hand, an immediate understanding reaching her tired eyes. "Ride with us, Clint."
Abby's mouth fell open, but she didn't object.
Clint nodded, taking a seat by Judy, instead of Abby. Not that he didn't want to sit by her, but he felt unwelcome. And not that he blamed Abby, he didn't. He totally understood. He'd kicked himself enough last night to last a lifetime. He'd beat his pillow to a pulp, and sleep had evaded him. As a result, he felt grumpy.
Clint tried to comfort Judy with good memories and the better things of their life together. The older woman seemed grateful, but Abby wasn't smiling or talking. And that protective arm over her son's shoulder was quickly noted.
Clay hugged his mother's side.
Judy talked to Clint, her eyes straying from him to his son off and on.
Clint studied his son from the small distance, wondering what Abby had taught him about life and growing up. He suddenly thought of a million things he wanted to share with the boy.
But that was ridiculous, too. Abby wouldn't let him near Clay.
"Where's Papa, Mama?"
Abby's face went ashen. Abby looked bereft trying to comfort her son. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Clint remembered just how close she had been to her father. Abby had thought Ross could do no wrong. She always took his advice, always listened to him, whether he was right or wrong about things. And Ross was not always right, but Clint refused to tear down that mountain of love Abby had for the man.
Clint got along with Ross fine, but Clint recognized early on just how powerful an influence he was on his daughter.
Clint managed a smile. "Well now, partner, your Papa has gone to a better place. A much better place. A place where cowboys never have a bad day, never get thrown from a horse, and never cry."
Why that came out of his mouth, he didn't know, but the boy perked up and smiled. "Can I go there?"
"Someday, yes," Clint acknowledged a lump growing in his throat as the boy stared straight at him. "But a long time from now."
The boy frowned, and Clint reached over to pat his head. "What's wrong partner?"
"I always have to wait, to get bigger."
"Yeah, that's rough. But you'll get there. Don't rush it," Clint advised.
Abby glanced at Clint. Clint instinctively winked at her, and he thought for a split second her face softened. Must have been his imagination, because she was sure frowning at him now.
The boy looked Clint straight in the eye again, and frowned. "I'm glad he's gone there, but I wish I could go, too. I miss him. Papa lets me ride his horse sometimes."
Clint smiled, realizing his child was a natural born Travers and liking it. "Well, pardner, you'll have to come over to my place and visit soon. You can ride my horse."
"Can I, Mama? Can I ride his horse?" Clay tugged on his mother's arm.
Abby started to object, but Judy put a hand up and she stopped, not wanting to cause a scene, obviously.
"What color is he?" Clay asked, his blue eyes wide with expectation.
"He's a reddish brown with white on his chest and face. And he has good manners, too," Clint smiled at the boy as he leaned forward. His eyes big and round. "He likes kids."
"Wow, can I go, mama?" Clay asked, his face staring up at his mother who sat watching Clint with barely concealed temper.
"We'll see, dear.” She said clenching her jaw.
* * *
Abby threw the keys on the counter so hard they fell on the floor. She blew a tendril of her hair away from her face. Her stomach felt as though she'd been riding in a roller coaster all day and had finally gotten the best of her. "Dammit!"
She gathered her arms and held herself. There was little comfort for a day spent trying to reconcile her mother and herself to the idea that her father would no longer be with them. The void he had left was nearly Abby's end of tolerance. The house seemed so empty with no man stomping through the house with dirty boots and bellowing a hardy hello to all. God, she missed him.
She'd allow herself a good cry later, when the work was done for the day. Right now, she had to get into some work clothes and see to the fencing, since their foreman had up and quit today, of all days.
Not that it bothered her, she had never liked Bud, anyway. He always seemed to be watching her; at least that's how she felt. But her mother needed help running a spread this size, and if she left and went back to her job, who could her mother depend on?
"What else can go wrong?" Abby mumbled to herself miserably as she began stripping her clothes off on the way to her bedroom.
She had to admit she liked the idea of getting out in the open spaces again. Cooped up in an office all day, her job had quickly become boring to her, not that she would ever tell John that. She'd been working in the same insurance office for the past two years, and was finally moving out of the filing pool and into secretarial job. She should be proud of herself. But it wasn't where she wanted to be.
She glanced out her bedroom window that faced the north pasture. It was so serene here, so comforting.
John, she reflected with a loud sigh as she flopped on the side of the bed. He should have been with her today. Wasn't her father dying important enough to drag himself away from his mother? Didn't he care about her?
Of course he cared. She was simply feeling sorry for herself.
Abby forced a boot over one foot and let it fall to the floor with a thud as she felt it fit like a glove. "Dammit, I've got to quit fretting about John's mother. She's a nice lady. Just constantly coming down with something, and constantly wanting him to stay with her."
But saying it, and doing it were two different things.
Just because he doted on her constantly didn't mean they couldn't be happy together. Surely when they were married John would put his mother in her place.
She'd cross that bridge when she came to it, she decided as she heard a noise outside. It sounded like horses, and the prospect of riding again perked her up. Of course, she'd have to don a raincoat and button up good. It was cold and miserable outside, just what she needed to take the edge off her emotions.
After donning her thermals, she reached for her old pair of overalls and t-shirt, enjoying the softness of t
he well-worn fabrics, smelling the sunshine from drying on the line out back. She saw her mother outside the living room window, still talking to Clint, and she prayed she wasn't doing what she thought she might be.
Her mother had made no secret of the fact that she didn't agree with Abby's decision about Clay, even if it meant losing a little part of her grandson. She was just old fashioned enough to believe that the father had rights, too. Which left Abby feeling guilty.
Deep down, Abby knew her mother was right. But she'd taken care of Clay, nursed him, been there for him all this time. How could she turn him loose with his father now? A man that might just as well break his neck tomorrow on a horse with no thought of today.
Damn, just thinking about Clint sent goose bumps over her. He looked better than ever. He hadn't changed that much, just gotten a more mature look about him. How was she going to keep her itchy hands off him? Just looking at that solidly built torso of his sent heat up her spine and into parts unmentionable. He still held that spell over her, and she had to chuck it.
Clint was not for her, never had been. Too bad she had to learn the hard way. Still, she'd never be sorry for having Clay.
The problem was she reacted to Clint's every move. She'd have to work on more control.
The night they had made love had clung in her memory despite all the times she had damned him for it.
It hadn't been his fault. It was hers. Just once she wanted to prove her father hadn't been right. He thought Clint wanted her. The very thought thrilled Abby, except when she realized it was too far from the truth. Clint wanted a friend. And that's all.
But that night, she had touched his cheek when she saw him hot with anger. She had smiled down at him and moved herself against him so he had to hold her or let her fall off the fence railing. She had taken one look into those summer sky eyes, and melted into his arms.
She remembered how his lips had come down on hers, hard at first and then gentled like a warm blanket. She remembered how his hands touched her, almost timidly that night, and she nodded her approval in silence.
Her love spilled out without hesitation, without thought. She kissed him with all the power of a woman in love, and she relished his need of her. She had wanted Clint too long, too many years to count. And then he was there in her arms, willingly taking everything she offered.
Had he been rough and unappreciative of her gift she would have run from him, but instead he had been so gentle with her that she hardly noticed when he took her.
Their kisses were like the fourth of July, sparking one after another. She remembered how he had slowly peeled away her clothes, and devoured her with his eyes.
How he smiled as their bodies came together. She had heard him groan, and then everything went fuzzy because they were on fire for each other. He had been a fantastic lover, as she instinctively knew he would be.
He had been so good that no one could replace him in her heart; the night she gave her all to Clint Travers, and lost her heart.
A tear escaped down her cheek now. It would be agony being this close to him and not able to touch him again. She hadn't had any man before, and she hadn't had a man since. Not even John.
She let out a sob. How could she tell Clay his father was alive? And what was worse, how could she not?
Everything seemed so complicated. While she was gone, she could put up all kinds of barriers from Clint, but living right next door practically, was too close for comfort. And he had the nerve to invite Clay over.
He'd surely tell him who he was.
Well, she wouldn't worry about that today. Today she had laid her father to rest, and she refused to worry about anything else. She needed to ride like the wind, to let go of the ghosts and her father.
Abby bit her tongue trying to keep her temper for the time being. Her mother had suffered enough for one day, she wouldn't add to it.
But she would bet every dollar she had the minute she stepped out the door that her mother had just hired Clint as their new foreman. She draped her rain slicker over her arm and picked up a pair of leather gloves.
* * *
"Well, now, Abby, looks like we have solved one problem today. Clint just agreed to help us until we find a foreman. Wasn't that nice of him?"
"Yes, very nice, Mama," Abby said between clinched teeth again. "Why did Bud quit?"
"Don't know. Him and one of the hands had words, and he just up and quit."
Judy eyed her daughter thoughtfully. "Where's Clay?"
"Why, Emma asked if he could come over and play, and I said he could. They just left."
"He's over—there?" Abby choked and made the words sound as though it were some horrible place to be. She hadn't meant to be so catty.
She saw Clint's jaw tighten. That little muscle in his cheek that quivered when he was upset.
How could her mother just let her son go over to his father's house that quickly? Even though Clint was here, and about to take over the ranch, Clay would be surrounded by Travers men.
"I really don't think that's such a good idea, Mama,"
Abby began, only to find herself biting her lip when Judy's eyes misted.
"Of course, it's fine," Abby said, with a slight gasp at Clint's immediate frown.
"They won't say a word, Abby," Clint assured her, his eyes fastening on her outfit longer than she liked. She slid into her yellow slicker and started walking away from them.
Her cheeks went pink again, and he had found that amusing.
And her toes had curled. God, her toes—again. No, she wouldn't let him affect her again. She wouldn't fall prey to his charms. She'd learned her lesson.
"See that they don't," She demanded, as she half turned around to find Clint staring at her.
"Where are you going, dear?" Her mother hollered. "There are fences to mend, Mama," Abby said. "But it's raining—"
"I'll ride with you. You can show me," Clint insisted, catching up to her.
"I don't need your help. I know how to mend a fence," Abby snapped.
"I know you do, but look at those hands." He reached the small distance and took her hands in his. "You haven't touched anything that rough in years," Clint remarked, then backed off as though he realized what he was saying.
Abby glanced at her hands, pulled out of his reach, then drew her work gloves out of her back pocket. "That's why they made gloves, isn't it?"
Clint frowned and followed her into the barn.
Abby ignored him. She saddled her sorrel, and started to lead him out of the stall.
Clint helped himself to the big bay in the corner stall. He was mounted almost as quickly as she, and keeping a steady pace just behind her.
They rode in silence, and Abby let loose once they were in the meadow. She felt her hair flying free, her make-up being devoured by the rain, and she felt suddenly free and hopeful again. Clint kept pace and pulled his horse up beside her.
"Couldn't the fence wait till the rain stopped?" Clint asked, as he noticed the drizzle getting thicker. He pulled his jacket around him.
"I needed something to do. People from the church will be over and carrying on. I didn't want to hang around right now. I'm not sure I could take that," she explained, and then wondered why. "You shouldn't be out here in this; you aren't dressed properly."
Clint glanced at her, pulling his hat down over his eyes so the water didn't drip on his face. "I'll survive."
"Still hard-headed, aren't you?" She ground out.
"Yes."
He slid off the horse and checked the fence lying in the mud. He began tying the ends together, twisting them.
"This will have to do till we get more wire," He insisted, not giving her a look.
She watched in quiet fascination. Clint did things as though he were born to do them. Most of the hands she had wouldn't have bothered fixing the wire. But Clint was a practical kind of man. He did what needed being done without even a thought. Ranching, horses, and women had all come easy to Clint.
The rain began
to come down harder now, and Clint secured the fence the best he could and threw his leg over his horse once more. She liked watching him. The man was like an extended part of the animal by the fluid way he mounted. It had a way of turning her on, and she silently wished she could ignore him.
Dammit, she didn't want to be turned on!
Best leave those thoughts alone, she silently scolded herself.
Clint nodded, pulling his hat down further so she couldn't see his eyes. "I'll fix it proper when we get some new wire."
"You don't really think you're going to work here, do you?"
"I was hired to. I'll work," He grumbled miserably.
"I won't have it, Clint. You're just trying to insinuate yourself into Clay's life."
His head popped up at that remark, and she saw the mix of hurt and anger in his eyes as he bit out the words. "Nevertheless, I'm here, and I'm not leaving until you get a proper foreman. Let's not be stubborn about this, Abby. You know as well as I do that you need help here. I'm available. In fact, I'd feel a lot better if you would let me help. It's the least I can do, since I haven't been around lately."
"You—"
"Let's get out of this rain to talk, huh?" he whipped his horse about and galloped away. He was nearly at a full speed when she caught up to him at the barn again.
"I'm asking you not to, Clint," she rasped as he dismounted and immediately removed the saddle and led the horse back into the stall. He spent extra time rubbing the cold wetness from the horse.
"Sorry, Abby," he said, pushing his hat back from his face and shaking some of the water from him.
"But I'm here, and I'm staying. I'm not running out on you or Clay."
"I never accused you of that."
Clint nodded, took his hat off, and shook the rain from the brim, then replaced it, adjusting that crooked way he always wore it that made her laugh.
She almost smiled.
He came toward her as she finished taking care of her horse. He tipped her chin so he could look into her face, "I'm going to court you, lady." He declared in no uncertain terms.