B00DVWSNZ8 EBOK

by Jeffrey, Anna

  She nodded, looking down at the Kleenex she was shredding.

  Except for road noise, they rode in silence for another little while. Then Daddy said, "I suppose you'll never tell me why you did that."

  She shook her head. "It just seemed like a good idea at the time."

  More silence. Then, "Obviously some things at the ranch have to change," her father said, "I don't know if Dad's passing will make a difference to Cable, but I suspect it won’t. I'm sure Jake's attitude won't change."

  "Cable hasn't lived at the ranch in years,” she said dully. “He never did have a great interest in the operation of it. He mostly just liked the horses."

  "Before the house fills with people, Jude, I want to have a meeting. With you and Brady Fallon, the three of us together. I want to set things straight."

  She looked at him and frowned. "Why?"

  "Because I have to think of the future of Strayhorn Corp. And I have to put a new survival mechanism in place. When I hired Brady, I thought I was on the way to getting that done. In spite of what’s happened, I still believe in him."

  "But you don’t believe in me. So why include me in a meeting?"

  "Don’t be subborn, Jude. You’re a Strayhorn. You and your children are the future of this family's legacy. Maybe Webb and Jason were bad choices for husbands. Maybe Dad and I were wrong about them. But I think Brady cares about you. You care about him or you wouldn't have..."

  When his words trailed off, she said, "Slept with him, Daddy." This conversation at this moment felt otherworldly.

  Unfortunately, her father's belief in Brady and his insane notions of romance wouldn't undo what she had done. She shook her head again. "Brady's so angry over me trying to buy the 6-0, he barely speaks to me. I doubt if he's interested in breeding. Of course, you’ve already said he considered your offer to pay him to be my husband. So if you throw enough money in front of him..." She twisted her mouth into a horseshoe scowl and bobbed her head.

  "Jude. We're talking about the future of the Strayhorn dynasty. Neither one of us can take that lightly."

  She stared out the window and made a bitter noise. "Well, at least we know Brady isn't sterile. He's already sired one offspring. But I doubt he’s available for stud service."

  Her father sighed. "You're being mean, Jude. And don't put words into my mouth. The idea is not for you to just have children. I want you to have a family and be happy with someone who loves you and who'll look out for you. I want for you what I've never had. There are so many things money can't buy."

  The meeting took place the next day. Brady offered his condolences, then listened stoically to what Daddy proposed: Brady would return to work as the general manager, with Jude assisting when and where needed. A romantic relationship between them wasn't a requirement, but if one were to blossom again, Daddy wouldn't oppose it.

  Jude was amazed when Brady agreed to it, but after all, his choices were limited and he was smart enough to know it.

  It all sounded so simple in conversation.

  And so ridiculous.

  Chapter 27

  Arrangements for Grandpa’s funeral and burial were already made, had been for years, no doubt. His funeral would take place in the church in Lockett founded by his mother's father. He would rest beside his wife, whom Jude barely remembered.

  In the days following the funeral, Jude found herself in a strange state of mind. She focused on doing what she normally did, even helped Brady a little as agreed. She had less time for it because school had started, which kept her busy all day and some evenings.

  She and Brady were polite to each other, even complimenting each other when called for, but a solid barrier existed between them. They never discussed the 6-0 or Brady's son. That part of his life seemed off-limits. Brady fit perfectly into Daddy's and Grandpa's proclivity for minimal and selective conversation. Jude had heard through the ranch grapevine that Andy would be coming to live with him after Christmas break.

  Brady reestablished himself in the office in the veterinary clinic and she returned to putting things in order in the sunroom. Daddy and Brady began having drinks every evening in Daddy's office again. Jude had attended on two of those occasions but had opted out after that. The chauvinism was too blatant, the testosterone too deep.

  She decided to ride the young horses to get away from the ranch and people on the weekends. She was a daughter of the earth and had always fared better in life when she remembered that.

  The Saturday after school started, she packed a lunch, took a six-pack of bottled water from the pantry, saddled a three-year-old gelding named Pokey and set out for a daylong ride. Before she left the house, Daddy cautioned her about riding out alone on a green-broke horse, but she had no fear of horses, even green-broke ones.

  She swung into the saddle and started for the big gate that opened onto the pasture. Brady was there waiting to open the gate for her and she felt that odd little stir in her stomach when she saw him. No matter what had happened, he was still the best-looking man she had ever met.

  As she stopped and waited for him to open the gate, he gripped Pokey's bridle, looked up at her and wrapped his right hand around her ankle. She made herself not jerk her ankle free of his hand. "Jude, I’m worried about you taking this horse out alone. He’s mostly been ridden only around here.”

  She smiled down at him. "We're buds, Pokey and me. Open the gate, please"

  “You be careful out there. Pokey's known to crow hop a little."

  She nudged the gray through the gate and didn't look back.

  It was morning, but the sun already blazed from a white-hot sky. She was glad she had thrown a long-sleeve shirt over her tank top. The August sun could fry an egg.

  A sudden memory of her childhood darted into her mind. Back then, the kitchen help had kept hens for fresh eggs. Cable and Jake had stolen a hatful from the nests and she had followed them up to the big barn's loft, giggling as they dropped them out the second-story loft window onto the neighboring barn's metal roof and watched them fry. Grandpa had been so mad at them he had threatened to swat them, but Grammy Pen had intervened. Even now, thinking of it made her laugh.

  Cable. He had come for Grandpa's funeral. After not seeing or hearing from each other for so long, they'd had a warm reunion. She still had him on her mind. He was still a good-looking guy with a touch of daring to him. Since leaving the Circle C, no doubt he had trod where the devil wouldn’t go, but he no longer rode wild broncs or bulls. And he had a child, a son who had stayed behind in Weatherford with his wife no one had met.

  As she topped a rise, a hot wind swept her cheeks and threatened her hat, causing her to cram it tightly onto her head. The wind's motion even pestered Pokey. He walked with his head down and she could sense his edginess.

  The wind had been gusting for several days, only further drying out the already baked pastures and turning the grass crisp. Dry windstorms weren't new occurrences, but they were always nail-biters. No greater rangefire hazard existed than the combination of dry grass and low humidity.

  She rode a familiar trail that led to Rimrock Canyon. Her destination was roughly eight miles from the ranch house over mixed terrain, a good workout for a horse. In the old days, a good horse on a good day might travel twenty miles or more.

  By the time they reached the canyon, she and Pokey both were sweating. The canyon's sandy floor was damp, kept that way year around by an underground spring. Riding into it felt like entering an air-conditioned room. Within the canyon's steep walls, the wind became a zephyr rather than a gale.

  Noon had already passed, so the tiny pool where she usually watered Patch lay in the shadow of the canyon wall. She loosened Pokey's cinch and let him drink his fill.

  She laid out her lunch on the flat limestone outcropping where she usually ate when she came here. She had packed an apple, a hunk of Gouda cheese and some Ritz crackers and a bottle of water. Save for the chirr of insects and the call of distant birds, no sound penetrated the solitude.

/>   After eating, she lay back on the flat rock and closed her eyes, thinking about how no matter the day-to-day changes, life moved on. Just two weeks ago, Grandpa had been carried to his grave in a pine box, on a nineteenth-century buckboard, escorted by ranch hands wearing work clothing and riding good horses. A graveside eulogy had been delivered by Windy. Afterward, there had been grief and whiskey and speeches by pompous politicians.

  And now there was nothing. Except for Brady's presence, nothing had changed at the Circle C. Constancy. The fundamental element of dynasty. It was bigger than all of them. Daddy knew that. She had been schooled to know it, too, but had temporarily forgotten it.

  A vision came to her of her father sitting at the long dining table eating alone and her chest filled with an undecipherable pain. She decided to go home. Maybe tonight she would eat supper at the family table. She cinched her saddle, mounted Pokey and reined him toward the steep trail that would take them out of the canyon to the old Crowell house.

  Pokey was a flatland horse. He had never been far from the corral, much less up a steep, zigzag trail. To keep him from panicking, she kept him close to the inside wall, stopping often to reassure him and let him rest.

  They reached the top of the canyon without incident. As she always did with Patch, she tied Pokey to the chinaberry tree near the Crowell house, dismounted and walked inside the old walls.

  And that's where she was when a hard gust of wind brought a faint whiff of something—something burning. Suddenly she noticed that the sounds of nature had stopped—no whirring insects, no calling birds. Cold fear slithered up her spine. She walked outside the old house's walls and looked around. Now the smell was stronger. To the northwest, she could see a faint smear of what looked like fog against the sky.

  Grassfire!

  Her eyes darted to Pokey, tied to the chinaberry tree and circling restlessly. She had to get out of here. She quick-stepped to Pokey and loosened his halter rope, took the reins to the saddle horn and lifted her foot to the stirrup. On a nicker, he twisted away, jerking his head and yanking the reins from her hands. He trotted off, dragging the reins on the ground.

  "Shit!"

  She eased toward him, holding out her hand, trying not to add her own panic to his. "Pokey, come back here."

  He was only feet away, but he kept just enough distance between them to keep her from grabbing him. She kissed to him, talked horse talk in low tones, trying to coax him to her. He lowered his head and munched, but jerked away every time she reached for him. "Pokey, you're really trying my patience."

  Meanwhile, the wind continued to gust and the smell of smoke grew stronger. From the corner of her eye, she saw that the smear in the distance had grown into a billow and it was headed in their direction. Pokey's head began to saw. He began to dance. Please don’t run. Please, God, don’t let him run.

  As if in answer to her prayer, he stepped on the reins, bringing himself to a halt. She lunged for the reins. His rump wheeled and he sat back on his haunches, pulling against her, panic in his eyes.

  She dug her boot heels into the ground and hung on, pulling with all her strength. In a quavery voice she called him sweet names, threatened him with a glue factory, pleaded with him. At last she was able to calm him enough to get near him. The minute she shoved her boot into the stirrup, he began to twist and nicker, but she hung on and managed to mount. The entrance to the canyon trail and safety was a football field away. She could get there. She urged him to a lope, toward the canyon trail entrance.

  A blast of wind and smoke hit her face and filled her nostrils. Her chest tightened and her eyes teared, but she; forged ahead. As she fought Pokey to the top of the hill, a line of fire and a wall of blinding, suffocating smoke met her. She had nowhere to go but back from where she came.

  A helicopter overhead caught Brady’s attention. He left the vet clinic in time to see it land in the Circle C's parking lot. J.D. jumped to the ground and dashed into the clinic. Brady met him at the door. "Fire's in the north pasture," J.D. said breathlessly. "Brady, let's go." He turned and ran back to the helicopter.

  Panic darted through Brady as he hotfooted behind J.D. "Jude's out there!" he yelled.

  "I know," J.D. yelled back as they climbed into the four-seated chopper. "I think I know where."

  They lifted off and headed north. In minutes they were looking down on a creeping fire that had already left thousands of charred acres and dead cattle behind it. J.D. directed the pilot, and sure enough, through openings in the smoke, they saw Jude and Pokey inside the walls of an old rock and wood structure, surrounded by smoke and fire. The wind changed and the fire moved away at an angle.

  Jude stepped out to the center of the roofless walls and waved to them frantically. Brady looked around and saw that the structure sat on the edge of a steep rock bluff. "How the hell did she get there?" he yelled.

  "There's a trail," J.D. yelled back. "It comes up out of the canyon." He pointed to the north. "Over there."

  Brady spotted the trail. The fire had already moved past it and was rapidly closing in on the structure. J.D. leaned closer to the pilot. "Can you set down somewhere?"

  The pilot shook his head. Brady scanned the landscape and spotted a huge rock plateau, the only area not charred. "There," he shouted and pointed. The plateau was a good quarter mile from where Jude and Pokey were trapped.

  "What good will that do?" J.D. said, all of them gazing in the distance at the rock outcropping.

  "Put me down there," Brady said. "I can get to her."

  Instantly, the pilot turned the chopper away from the structure toward the flat rock. Brady tied his handkerchief around his mouth and nose, then unlatched his seat belt, prepared to exit the minute the machine touched down.

  "Don't worry about the horse," J.D. shouted behind him.

  Brady leaped from the helicopter and landed on the run. He dashed across the charred ground. Ahead of him, the fire moved away from him, but toward Jude. The air had turned to smoke. It filled his lungs. His eyes teared as he searched left and right for a gap in the flames. Suddenly the wind changed and an opening loomed like a corridor. He dashed through and he was there, inside the old structure.

  Jude fell into his arms and he hauled her tightly against him. "Jesus Christ, Jude. I thought I'd lost you."

  She was hanging onto the horse's reins with one hand, but she clutched his shirt and buried her face against his neck. Pokey was stamping and nickering and throwing his head. "I can't tell which way to go. What can we do?"

  "We're gonna get out of here."

  "Pokey, too? We can’t leave Pokey. He’s so scared."

  J.D. might have said not to worry about the horse, but Brady couldn't stand the thought of leaving him behind. He spied her shirt. "Pokey, too. Gimme your shirt."

  Without debate, she whipped the shirt off. Brady grabbed it and approached the anxious horse, holding the garment down by his side and talking sweet. He clutched the horse's ear, twisted it and brought his head down, eased the shirt over his eyes and tucked the arms through the headstall.

  Reins in his right hand, he said to Jude. "Okay, I’ve got him. The wind's changing directions every minute. We just have to find an opening.” He proffered his left hand. “No matter what happens, don’t let go of my hand. Ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Here we go"

  He led them back in the direction from where he had come. Pokey whinnied and balked and shivered all over, but Brady kept a tight grip on the reins, sweet-talking him and forcefully leading him. They passed through the creeping line of fire and onto charred ground. Heat from the burned ground seeped through his boot soles and he moved quickly, sometimes leading, sometimes pulling the blinded horse toward the flat rock where the chopper had touched down.

  Through the smoke, he couldn't spot the trail that led down into the canyon. As if Jude sensed his dilemma and knew his plan, she came from behind him and took the lead. He grasped the back of her belt and followed her. Smoke filled the air a
round them, but the wind shifted again and was now taking the fire away from them, directly toward the old stone house they had just left.

  Jude stopped at the entrance to the steep canyon trail. “This is it.”

  Brady breathed easier. They weren't safe yet, but their situation was no longer dire. He yanked the shirt from Pokey's face. The horse nickered and reared and pawed the air, but Brady dug in his heels and hung on to him until he settled down.

  Still gripping the horse's reins, he looped his arm around Jude's shoulder and felt her body shaking. Tears trailed down her cheeks, leaving streaks in the dark soot on her face. "We’re okay, baby. We’re okay,” he told her. “Let's get the hell out of here."

  "The trail's steep, Brady. Pokey's only been on it once, coming up."

  "We'll make it." He wrapped Pokey’s reins around his hand. "You go first. Pokey and I’ll be right behind you.”

  As Jude picked her way down the steep narrow trail, she dared not slow or stop. Halting Pokey’s momentum could lead to another disaster. The cool temperature from the damp canyon floor rose to meet them and minutes later they were on flat ground again, cool, safe and unhurt.

  Brady led Pokey to the small pool of spring water. Ashe lowered his head and drank, Brady loosened his cinch. “I think he’s okay, but he probably won’t forget this experience.”

  Jude watched. All she could think was that Brady had saved her again. He was so strong and courageous. He always seemed to know what to do. She walked up beside him, trying not to cry, but still sniffling. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “I’m so glad we were able to bring him out with us. Thank you for not leaving him behind.”

  He looked at her for a few beats, his eyes searching and solemn. Then he pulled her against his chest in a one-armed embrace. “God, Jude. You scared me to death.”

  "Oh, Brady"—her voice broke—"I'm so sorry for everything that’s gone wrong. It’s all my fault. I’ve been so foolish…"

  “Jude, baby. Being sorry’s not necessary. We’ll sort it out.”