by Arlene James
Crystal took the boxes and bundles to her room, washed her face, and went straight to the study. She found it eminently suitable for the program she had in mind. With Petie's help she rearranged the furniture to accommodate the table, chairs, and blackboard she would need to conduct her classes. She spent some time arranging the table so it would be in the best possible light, then went about organizing her books and pads and pencils upon her desk.
Lupe brought her a sandwich for lunch, which she munched absentmindedly, and Petie went away to see to the construction of the slate blackboard Garrett had ordered earlier.
The classroom took shape. Crystal stepped back to judge it. It was highly unconventional but quite workable.
Late in the afternoon she had accomplished all she could for the time being, and was surprisingly untired. She thought longingly of a cup of Lupe's strong black coffee, and headed for the kitchen, choosing the shorter path of cutting through the living room and the inner courtyard.
Rick Benson reclined on one of the small divans, booted feet crossed at the ankles, hat pushed forward over his eyes, hands folded leisurely against his chest. As Crystal approached, she noticed that for once he was clean. The jeans he now wore were stiff and spotless, as was the white shirt that fit snugly to his body, sleeves rolled up to expose the bleached hairs on his arms.
"Hello, Miss Gentry," he called, pushing the hat back to its proper place upon his cinnamon head and coming lithely to his feet.
"Hello," she returned cautiously, noting with surprise that he was a fine-looking man, a bit more boyish than Garrett, true, but handsome nonetheless.
Smiling, he fell into step beside her. "Has the boss been showing you around the place?" he asked.
"No, he hasn't. I've been getting things together to start my classes," she told him.
"You finished for the day?"
"I guess so. Why?"
"Well, I thought you might like to come riding with me."
Crystal slanted a look at him and was struck by the impishness of his grin.
"I don't think so, Mr. Benson. Thanks just the same."
"Ever been riding?"
"No."
"Then why not let me teach you?"
"I'm afraid not. Thank you anyway." She reached for the glass door to the kitchen, and he put up a finely boned but callused hand to halt her.
"Mr. Benson, would you please…" she started sternly, and he promptly removed his hand, sweeping his hat off his head in the same motion.
"Now, wait a minute, ma'am," he implored, kneading the brim of his hat in nervous hands. "You've got me all wrong. I know I'm a flirt, but I don't mean any harm. And I'm just trying to be friendly. Now, I won't say that I don't think you're pretty, or that I don't like you, but I've got nothing in mind but a horseback ride."
Crystal studied the boyish face. There was a certain charm, a certain openness about it.
"I don't know…" She faltered, thinking that Garrett might not approve.
"Wouldn't you like to look around the place? Maybe go over and meet the Hardestys? It's their kids you'll be teaching, you know."
"Well, yes, yes, I would, but…"
"Look at it this way, ma'am. What else are you going to do if you don't go with me?"
Crystal's mind flew at once to Garrett, and she knew that she would not be able to keep him out of her mind if she did not keep busy. She looked again at Rick Benson, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.
"Okay. I guess it would be all right."
A slow, easy smile spread across the lean, tanned face.
"I'll wait right here while you change," he said enthusiastically. "Be sure to wear something tight-fitting to cushion your muscles from the bumps you're gonna take at first, and boots to protect your ankles from being rubbed raw by the stirrups. Oh, and you ought to pull your hair back to keep it from getting caught in any tree branches or whatever." Forefinger beside nose, he added thoughtfully, "I don't suppose you have a hat, do you?"
"It just happens that I do." Crystal laughed, not bothering to explain how she came by it.
"Then maybe you ought to wear it, too," he advised, peering at the afternoon sun. "There isn't much daylight left, but the sun can be pretty wicked if you aren't used to it."
"Understood," she said. "I won't be but a minute."
She hurried to her room, where the packages from their shopping trip lay dumped upon the bed. She tore into them, grabbing the first pair of jeans and the first shirt she saw, ripping the tags from them as she went.
She stripped and changed quickly. The new jeans were stiff and tight, just what the cowboy ordered. It took her a little while to find socks to wear beneath her boots, but she finally came up with a pair. Quickly she brushed her hair into a low ponytail at the nape of her slender neck, grabbed the new straw cowboy hat from its box, and strode through the door purposefully.
Rick came to attention as she entered the inner courtyard, pursed his lips to let loose a whistle, then thought better of it and nodded appreciatively.
The horse Rick had chosen for her was a big lumbering sorrel mare with a sweet disposition and a penchant for sugar cubes, hence her name, Sweet Momma. Crystal looked up at her and swallowed. She was certainly a big animal. Crystal felt terribly small beside her, but Rick had assured her that the horse was as gentle as a lamb.
"Always mount on the horse's left side," he advised. "That's the way they are trained."
Gathering the reins in one hand and grabbing the saddle horn with the other, he fitted his left foot into the stirrup, pulled himself up, and swung his right leg over the horse's back. Having demonstrated the procedure, he dismounted and came to stand beside her.
"Now, you try."
Immediately Crystal ran into difficulty. Sweet Momma was a big horse, and Crystal was a small woman. The stirrup dangled several inches higher above the ground than she could raise her foot. Rick had to assist her by cupping his hands and bending low to serve as a footstool, boosting her high enough to get her foot into the stirrup. She made it on the first try.
Rick took the reins from her and led the horse from the corral surrounding the stables. His own horse waited patiently outside the corral fence, its reins tethered to a fence pole. He mounted and proceeded to give Crystal basic instructions in how to handle the animal.
"Lay the right rein against her neck and tug easily to make her turn to the left. Opposite for a right-hand turn. To make her stop, just pull back on the reins, keeping your hands low, never higher than your belt."
Crystal tried the various maneuvers and found them astonishingly easy to accomplish with the docile mare. Rick was pleased with her progress and quickly stepped up the instruction.
Before long he had her cantering easily in the open field opposite the stables. She was more relaxed and rode comfortably, following his example by hugging the horse with her thighs and rolling along with the horse's stride. Soon Rick was praising her, and she did feel that the whole thing felt rather natural, even though she confessed to a slight fear of the animals themselves.
"That is exactly the attitude you should have," Rick praised. "Otherwise you'd get cocky and wind up getting hurt. Even experienced riders have a healthy respect for each and every horse they mount. That's just one mark of a good rider."
Rick decided it was safe for them to venture a little farther from the compound, and they walked their mounts until the barn and the big house beyond it could no longer be seen over the rolling hills. Confident that she was safe with him, Crystal allowed Rick to lead her along a winding little streambed that would eventually place them directly behind the Hardestys' home.
Crystal was enjoying this first real introduction to the Heritage, so much so that she only responded to Rick's conversation reluctantly.
They climbed up out of the little gully, and Rick led the way to the top of the hill, then reined in and waited for her to catch up with him.
"I've been thinking about you a lot today," he began, squinting at a sci
ssor tail floating on a pocket of air high above them. "I was hoping maybe we could get to know one another better."
There was no doubt about what he meant. He was hoping they could date and perhaps develop a relationship of some sort.
"Rick," she began slowly, gazing at the reins in her hands, "you seem like a nice guy. You're good-looking and clever and fun to be with, but…"
"But?" His question rang with disappointment, sending a little twinge of guilt through her.
She rushed on. "But I'm afraid anything other than friendship between us is out of the question."
Rick blew out a stream of air and resettled the big cowboy hat on his head. "Well, I guess that hit the nail square on the head," he observed wryly. "But you can't blame a man for trying."
"It is just that I don't want to lead you on," she offered honestly. "Besides, right now I need a good friend more than anything else."
Her eyes pleaded with him to understand and not be offended.
The old swaggering grin came slowly back a trifle misaligned perhaps, but his features softened, and, true to form the cockiness resurfaced. "Sure." He laughed and shook his head whimsically. "If that's the way you want it."
"Friends?" Crystal extended a hand to seal the pact.
He took it unhesitatingly. "Friends." Then he leaned forward in the saddle and planted a kiss right beside her mouth. "But is sure is a pity. You don't know what you're missing!"
"Oh, you!" Crystal laughed, feeling much lighter now that this was settled between them. "I bet you say that to all the girls!" she teased.
"No, ma'am," he rejoined solemnly, leaning on the saddle horn. "I don't usually get turned down this way!"
Crystal threw back her head in gay laughter. It was much easier to enjoy his braggart's wit now that they were friends. She did not give so much as a second thought to that innocent little kiss. They urged their horses forward, conversing easily about nothing in particular, oblivious of the other rider who stood watching them from the top of the hill, concealed by a wide hackberry and some bushy undergrowth. That other rider could not know that Crystal's lips had not returned Rick's impulsive, friendly kiss.
The Hardesty house was a neat, boxy structure of native rock with a sheet-metal roof and cheerful window boxes of carefully tended azaleas. Rick assured Crystal that they would be welcome. People in these parts did not stand on ceremony. No one would mind if they dropped in unannounced.
"In fact," he insisted, "Consuelo would be fit to be tied if she found out I brought you this far and didn't stop in."
Neighbors, it seemed, were somewhat at a premium in the hill country, and so drop-in visitors were considered a real pleasure.
Rod Hardesty, Garrett's foreman and stepfather to Crystal's students, could easily have passed for Mexican himself were it not for the soft cobalt blue of his eyes. Consuelo, on the other hand, might have easily been mistaken for Anglo, with her light brown hair and tawny eyes and skin.
They were a striking pair. Each complemented the other handsomely as they stood in the open doorway of their home, arms linked. Just as Rick had predicted, the pair welcomed them warmly and insisted that they come in and visit.
Crystal felt right at home in the neat, polished house. She noted that the furnishings and rugs were new and tasteful. The house had also recently been repainted. It was a homey, comfortable atmosphere.
Crystal liked Consuelo at once. She appeared to have a cheerful, tranquil personality. She talked easily with Crystal in her native tongue and expressed a desire to learn the language of her husband, whom she followed with obviously adoring eyes.
Rod was as proficient in Spanish as he was in English and traversed between the two languages easily. On this occasion, however, he stuck mainly to English so as not to exclude Rick from the conversation.
Soon Crystal and Consuelo, or Connie as she was called, were laughing together, while the men's topics turned to business matters. Crystal expressed a desire to meet the children, and Connie immediately went in search of them, screen door slamming shut behind her. The entire brood came shuffling through the banging door and into the kitchen, grimy hands and feet and faces attesting to their love of the outdoors.
"Hola," Crystal addressed the oldest, a sandy-haired boy of about ten with his mother's features. "Me llamo Seňorita Gentry. Como se llaman ustedes?"
"Me llamo Efren," he replied proudly, and continued to introduce his three sisters and little brother. "Dolores, Consuelo, y Maria. Y mi hermanito se llama Cruz."
Crystal took Cruz on her lap, unable to resist the angelic brown eyes he shone up at her. The youngest of the family, he was five years old and possessed the same round face and intelligent eyes of his brothers and sisters.
"Hola, Cruz," she said. "Would you like to learn to speak English?" and repeated the question in Spanish. "Te gustaria aprender a hablar ingles?"
He nodded vigorously. She asked the same question of the other four and received the same enthusiastic reply.
"They're darling," she told Consuelo, giving Cruz a hug. "We are going to get along just fine!" Then she translated the last sentence into Spanish.
Connie bustled the children back outside and then made Crystal and Rick promise to stay to dinner. After shooing the men into the living room, she and Crystal began to prepare the meal. They fried ground beef together with cooked, mashed beans and spices to make filling for tacos. Consuelo prepared the shells herself, patting the cornmeal mixture between her palms and frying the flat rounds in hot grease, folding them to create shells.
Crystal cut up a salad and grated some cheese, thoroughly enjoying herself. They presented a good dinner, complete with iced tea, seasoned peas, and hot sauce.
Afterward Rick insisted that they must go. The sun had already set and the last rays of light were fading from the sky. Crystal was already sore from their ride, but she had no choice but to saddle up and head back to the big house with him. By the time they got there, it was pitch black, and Crystal's backside felt as though she had been riding on needles instead of a well-padded saddle.
Crystal had planned to return to her room, have a hot bath, and crawl into bed immediately. She was too tired and sore to help Rick with the unsaddling, but she waited while he quickly curried down the horses. Then the two of them walked slowly to the big house at the top of the hill.
As they entered the outer courtyard, they could hear voices, and Crystal thought that she heard her name mentioned. Quite unaware of anything unsettling, the pair entered the inner courtyard and found a congregation of folks waiting on them.
Instantly Garrett, fists clenched at his sides, was on his feet, striding through the crowd of cowboys, Lupe, and Gloria. "Do you mind telling me where you've been?" he demanded loudly. "I was about ready to send out a search party!"
Rick and Crystal exchanged surprised glances.
"Were either one of you aware that Lupe had planned a special dinner this evening?" he thundered.
"And why didn't you tell someone you were going riding? If Gloria hadn't spotted you, I'd have called the police!"
"Look, Garrett, there's no reason to get upset," Rick said apologetically. "We just went for a ride over to the Hardestys'. Connie insisted we stay for supper. That's all."
Crystal could feel the heat of Garrett's eyes upon her. She lifted her head slowly and met his gaze challengingly.
"Lupe had planned a special meal," he told her angrily, "to welcome you formally and introduce you to the top hands."
Crystal's face went white with contrition. She sought out Lupe in the crowd and found her sitting on one of the divans, her glaring daughter perched on its arm. "I'm sorry, Lupe," she said jerkily. "I didn't know. We were just having such a good time, and—"
"I'll say you were!" Gloria spat. "You were having a good time kissing Rick Benson!"
Crystal gasped, and her eyes shot immediately to Garrett. Where there had been controlled anger before, there was now fury. She shook her head as if to make a denial, but no words
came out of her open mouth.
"That's not true!" Rick inserted forcefully. "I kissed her, sure, but only in a friendly way."
Crystal shot him a pathetically grateful look, but when she turned back to Garrett, she saw only his broad back striding quickly away.
She told herself over and over that it didn't matter whether Garrett believed Rick or not. Perhaps it would be just as well if he didn't. It would prevent a repeat of his own too-enticing kiss. Yet, somehow, it mattered very much, and she ached inwardly as well as outwardly over the entire day.
She had retired as quickly as she gracefully could after Gloria's vicious accusation. It had helped that Lupe had chastised her daughter thoroughly, but not much. Over and over again she remembered the look of outrage on Garrett's face as Gloria's words hit their mark. He could not, of course, know that she and Rick had made a pact to be friends and nothing more. That, however, did not seem a good reason for the rage she had seen undeniably etched on that bronzed face.
Why had he been so angry? Was it that she reminded him so very much of his dead wife that he could not stand the thought of another man kissing her? Was it because, to him, she represented the woman he had loved and lost? It seemed likely. And if she was right, that could also be the reason for his own ardent kisses.
It seemed that he was almost always angry with her—and she with him, for that matter. It had been patently stupid of- her to challenge him like that by calling him a father figure. But that angry kiss had quickly dissolved into one of pure passion, exactly as the others had. Just thinking about it sent shivers up her spine, threatened to turn her resolve to jelly and make it impossible for her to formulate a coherent thought.
She would have to forget those kisses. She had to forget the feel of him, the musky, masculine odor of him, the excitement of him. She didn't need him or any other man. She would not need him, would not want him, especially knowing what she did. Even if she could bring herself to forget how Jerry had broken her heart and trust herself to love again, she could not trust Garrett. She could never trust his feelings for her. To him, she would always be another woman, his dead wife, and there was no way to fight that.