by Carol Finch
“Yes, sir,” Derek mumbled, head downcast.
Tara barreled through the door. Panting for breath, she rushed forward with the bucket. John figured she had slopped out half the water in her haste to return, because her clothes were wet and the fabric clung to her legs and belly.
“What’s the diagnosis?” she demanded.
“Sprained ribs, abrasions and a twisted knee that will keep him from dancing a few jigs,” John reported. “I’ll have the children gather herbs for a salve while I fetch peyote buttons to ease his pain. We’ll need to swab him down with cold water, then wrap his ribs for support so he can move without coming apart at the seams.”
Without batting an eyelash, Tara strode across the room, grabbed her one and only dress off the hook and proceeded to tear it into strips.
“Oh, no!” Derek wailed in dismay. “No, Tara, don’t!”
“It’s just a tattered old dress that means nothing to me, especially when compared to you, young man,” she told him while she made short shrift of tearing her dress asunder. “Besides, you know perfectly well that I prefer to wear breeches.”
John made a mental note to add a new dress to his list of items to purchase in Rambler Springs. “Tie the bandage firmly but not too tightly,” he instructed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Hastily, he strode off to fetch his medicine pouch from his saddlebag.
“I couldn’t do even one blasted thing right,” Derek muttered, then flinched when Tara propped him up to draw the bandage behind his back. “Calvin got all the glory when he learned to gentle the mustangs. And Samuel and John did most of the work when we tied up the mustangs in the canyon. I just wanted John to realize I was a good horse trainer, too.”
Tara smiled gently as she wrapped the bandage around Derek’s midsection. “Just goes to show you that trying to impress folks is more trouble than it’s worth. And painful, too. There was no need to impress John in the first place. He knows you’re capable and responsible. Otherwise he wouldn’t have taken you with him on roundup.”
“Well, I want to be just like him,” Derek said raggedly. “There’s nothing he doesn’t know how to do well. You should’ve seen him working with those horses. He had them lashed together so fast that Samuel and I couldn’t figure out how he did it.”
“Surely you realize John has years of experience on you,” Tara said. “He doesn’t expect you to become an expert horseman overnight. You know you should have waited for John’s instructions, instead of sneaking out to tackle the task by yourself.”
Derek nodded, then grimaced. “I just hope I didn’t ruin that horse so he’ll be impossible to train. I’ll never forgive myself if I did.”
Tara raked her hand through her tousled hair and smiled encouragingly. “I suspect John can undo any damage you might’ve done unintentionally. In the meantime, I want you to rest and let your injuries heal properly.”
Derek muttered under his breath. “Yeah, I’ll do that, since I’ve got no other choice. Now somebody else will have to do my chores for me.”
Tara took his face in her hands, then pressed a kiss to his puckered brow. “That’s what families are supposed to do, Derek. We work together, we share our burdens and we help each other through difficult times. Do you expect Flora and Calvin to pull equal weight around here?”
“No,” he mumbled.
“That’s because you know we each do what we can, in whatever capacity we can help. Limited or not, it makes no difference. John understands that, too. That’s why he took Calvin aside to teach him to be a horse whisperer. Calvin was feeling left out because you and Samuel got to go on the roundup. John gave Cal a task that required patience, not strength. Gentleness, not quick agility.”
“Yeah, but because I botched everything up, I can’t do my part now.” Derek scowled, disheartened.
“I’m sorry, Derek, I truly am. But hopefully, you’ll feel up to watching the procedure and you’ll know what to do the next time we have horses to train.”
Despite her attempt to console him Derek brooded and sulked while Tara wrapped his knee with cold packs. She wasn’t about to fuss at his reaction when she was privately brooding and sulking over the fact that John was leaving and she couldn’t ask him to stay.
“This will take the edge off.”
Tara started at the sound of John’s baritone voice so close behind her. Never in her life had she known a man who could move with such a silent tread. Derek eyed the peyote buttons dubiously. “Do they taste bad?”
John’s mouth quirked. “Do your ribs hurt?”
“I was afraid of that,” Derek grumbled as he accepted the medication.
“This will reduce the swelling in your knee and ease the throbbing from your ribs,” John told him. “Since peyote is partly a sedative, you’ll probably be dozing by the time the other children return from fetching herbs. Just lie still and let the medication serve its purpose.”
Derek munched on the peyote buttons, made an awful face, then said, “I’m really sorry about trying to break that horse before you got there. I just wanted to prove I was a good hand.”
“I know,” John said as he ruffled Derek’s straight blond hair. “Sometimes good intentions go awry.”
John considered himself living proof of that. He supposed Derek felt as disappointed in himself as John felt when it came to protecting this boy from harm, protecting the Apache from corrupt whites…and protecting Raven from himself.
“Now, let’s take care of that knee,” John insisted as he sank down on the edge of the bed. “Irish, let’s leave these cold packs in place while I mix the salve. We’ll keep the swelling down as best we can.”
Tara eased down on the opposite of the bed to replace the cold packs with fresh ones. She didn’t glance at John, just focused her attention on the boy, whose eyelids drooped noticeably.
“I’m not gonna be any help with the horses,” Derek grumbled drowsily.
“Of course you are,” John assured him. “You’re going to be the presence the mustangs feel when we return them to the corral after their training sessions. You can talk to them, make yourself familiar to them. They’ll know your scent, your voice, and they’ll become accustomed to having you around.”
A goofy smile dangled on Derek’s face, and his azure-blue eyes took on a glassy look. John knew the sedative was beginning to take effect. It hadn’t been that long since he’d dealt with the groggy sensations himself.
“Know somethin’?” Derek asked in a slurred voice.
“What’s that?” John grinned at his dopey expression.
“You really oughta marry Tara, ’cause Samuel and me can’t do it. We love her, ya know. We even fought over her a few times, but we’re just boys, not a man like you. I don’t think she’ll ever see us as anything but kids.”
John shifted awkwardly, refusing to glance in Tara’s direction, for fear he’d get lost in her cedar-green eyes and be forced to deal with the tormenting emotions that could tangle up his thoughts in no time flat.
“Just relax,” he murmured. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“Naw, it’s not,” the boy said sluggishly. “We tried our hand at mathmatching….” He frowned comically. “Wha’th-a-mather with my tongue? It won’t work right.”
“Just sleep,” John urged. Unfortunately, the medication was working like a truth serum, and Derek kept yammering.
“We wanted you to be our papa or big brudder, whith-ever you wanted to be, John. We don’t wantcha to leave…ever….”
The kid was killing him, inch by inch. Wasn’t it enough that John felt responsible for the boy’s injury? That he’d failed to notice the young man’s eagerness to prove himself when he constantly stood in the shadow of Samuel, who was a little older, a little bigger and a little stronger? Wasn’t it enough that John spent his waking hours lusting after Tara and that he’d taken her innocence, knowing he couldn’t offer promises or commitments?
And damn it to hell, there was little Flora, so w
arm, trusting and demonstrative with her love. The kid was slow to rise, but she could conjure up a thousand excuses not to crawl into bed at night.
And Calvin, who battled daily to overcome his disability and carry his share of the family responsibility. He wanted to grow up quickly so he could consider himself equal to Samuel and Derek.
And Maureen, who had a girlish crush on John and battled some inner demon from childhood that he had yet to figure out. She wanted to be a useful part of this family so she focused her time and efforts on learning to prepare meals and keep the cabin in order.
And Samuel, who had a natural way with animals, but was trapped somewhere between adolescence and adulthood and needed a man to show him the way. A man who would be here constantly.
It tormented John to no end that he couldn’t be the man the children needed, the man Tara needed.
Blessedly, Derek’s voice trailed off into unintelligible mumbling. Finally he slept, his arms outflung, his head tilted sideways, his jaw slack.
John stood up. He never took his eyes off the kid, for fear they’d settle on Tara. And damnation, never in all his life had he exerted so much effort not to glance at the one and only woman he wanted to stare at constantly! It was making him crazy because he wanted to memorize every smile and expression, and learn to interpret what each and every one meant.
“The children should be back shortly. I’ll have them mix and brew the poultice while I work with the loose mustang,” John whispered.
Tara nodded, then peered up at him until he could no longer resist drinking in the sight of her. The impact was as it had always been—undeniably intense, potent, all-consuming.
“Don’t feel guilty about these children’s whims,” she murmured. “It’s only natural for them to wish for a father, since they’ve never had one of their own. I know you can’t stay. I never expected you to assume responsibility for us. You have enough to worry about without adding us to the mix. We’ll be fine, John, really.”
“Irish—”
“Go tend your chores,” she interrupted. “I’ll stay with Derek for a while to ensure he’s resting comfortably.”
John walked away, leaving Derek in Tara’s capable hands, but he was sorry to say he’d just left another part of his heart behind.
By the time he left Paradise Valley, he didn’t figure he’d have enough left of his own heart to bother mentioning.
John exited the bedroom to find the other children huddled around the table. The herbs, seeds and bark they’d collected lay beside a mixing bowl.
“Is Derek gonna die?” Flora asked, looking up at him with wide, haunted eyes that made John’s heart flip-flop in his chest.
“No, pumpkin, he’ll be fine in a few days. But he’ll need some salves to reduce the pain and swelling in his ribs and knee. Can I count on you to brew the medicine while I tend the horses?”
“I’ll do anything you ask,” Flora said loyally.
John carefully explained how to prepare each of the ingredients, then left Maureen in charge of the two younger children. With Samuel following at his heels, John strode to the corral to stare pensively at the buckskin mustang, which paced restlessly. The animal would need to have one foreleg tied up to prevent it from rearing while he and Samuel broke it to a halter, and then to a bridle and bit.
John lassoed the mustang, tied a loop around its foreleg and stretched the rope over its back. Speaking softly, he approached the animal. Because the children had worked with the horse, it didn’t object strenuously when he stroked its neck, muzzle and withers.
“Bring me a halter, then place your hands on her and offer her a few soft words,” John instructed Samuel.
While John eased the halter onto the horse’s head, Samuel stroked the mustang. “I should’ve known Derek was up to something when he turned in early last night,” Samuel murmured. “I guess he wanted to surprise you by breaking one of the horses, huh?”
“Derek’s intentions were good, but he skipped a couple of steps in the procedure. These horses have to adjust to a halter, and then a saddle, before someone climbs on their back. Derek learned his lesson the hard way.”
John led the mustang around the perimeter of the corral. The mustang tried to rear up, but the rope tied to its foreleg made that impossible. After a few minutes, the horse settled into the awkward gait and responded to the tug of the rope attached to the harness.
John handed the rope to Samuel, letting the boy practice leading it for several minutes before they placed the bit in the mustang’s mouth. All the while, John and Samuel cooed at the horse and praised its progress.
When John was satisfied with that phase of the training, he secured the lead rope to a post, then moved on to one of the horses that had been lying on its side during the night. Blindfolded, the horse wobbled tentatively around the corral without objecting to the harness. Handing the lead rope of the second mustang to Samuel, John released the third horse to start the process again.
While he and Samuel worked with the horses, John explained why it was important for a horse to learn to trust its rider, and warned the boy that sudden movements would continue to alarm a horse until it learned to trust its trainer.
Samuel absorbed every instruction like a sponge, John noted. Like each child in this unique family, Samuel wanted to prove his worth, his capabilities. John was reminded of his own childhood and those first years with the Apache. He’d wanted to be accepted, respected, valued and needed.
“Excellent job, Samuel,” he exclaimed. “I’m going to hand the roan’s lead rope to you so you can walk the horses while I put the finishing touches on the poultice for Derek’s injuries. Don’t change your direction until both mustangs are following obediently. And don’t stop talking to them in a quiet, calming voice.”
“Yes, sir,” Samuel murmured as he accepted the lead rope without breaking his stride. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will, Son,” John said confidently.
Leaving Samuel in the corral, John returned to the kitchen to oversee the preparation of the herbs the younger children were brewing on the stove.
Two days left, he mused as he ground the herbs once more for good measure, then dumped the brewed ingredients in the bowl. The inevitability of leaving Paradise Valley hadn’t hit him quite so hard until now. He could think of a dozen more repairs he wanted to make, ten dozen more hours he wanted to spend teaching the children to be self-reliant. But duty awaited him. Duty would always await him, he reminded himself.
When it came to Tara, he knew his resistance was all but depleted. The only way to ensure that he kept his hands off her was to get out while the getting was good. He had to leave, he told himself resolutely, but knowing that didn’t make the leaving a damn bit easier!
Tara mounted her horse for her weekly jaunt into town. Assured that Derek was resting more comfortably today, she left John in charge of the children. Although she’d made a habit of wearing a dress when she appeared in Rambler Springs, she decided it was high time the townsfolk got accustomed to seeing her tramping around in breeches.
It was easier to tidy up a house without hampering skirts to trip her up, anyway. Perhaps she’d acquire a reputation of being a bit of a misfit, but Tara didn’t care. Her present concern was getting from one day to the next with her emotions in a constant uproar.
Blast it, the possibility of never seeing John again, of knowing that he’d be taking her heart and soul with him when he left, was tearing her apart. He had assured the children that he’d return to check on them occasionally, but Tara knew it would never be the same, because he would be a visitor, no longer an integral part of their family.
Things were never going to be quite the same again, and she was going to have to accept that—like it or not, which she damn sure didn’t!
Resigned, Tara reined away from the corral. She’d work off her frustration by throwing herself into her housecleaning chores. She’d be exhausted by the time she collapsed in bed tonight. Perhaps she could catch
up on the sleep that had been eluding her, and overcome her exhaustion.
“Irish?”
She glanced over her shoulder to see John standing in the shadows of the barn. Just the sight of him caused her heart to cartwheel around in her chest. “Yes?”
“Take care of yourself,” he said, staring intently at her.
She tilted her chin to a proud angle. “I always have.”
He walked into the sunlight, and Tara’s heart missed several vital beats. Such a magnificent specimen of a man, she thought as her longing gaze roved over his swarthy physique. She memorized each bronzed feature, each hard, muscled plane and sleek masculine contour.
Come to think of it, she should be relieved when John left Paradise Valley. At least she wouldn’t have to endure the endless torment of seeing him without being able to touch him, without making love with him as she longed to do.
“If anyone gives you trouble in town, practice the self-defense skills I showed you and the kids,” John insisted.
“I’ll be fine.” Head held high, she nudged the mare toward the winding path. In her present mood, she dared anyone to give her trouble. She was spoiling for a good fight, in hopes of relieving her pent-up frustration.
Without a backward glance, Tara trotted off, knowing that, come tomorrow, it would be John who rode off…taking her heart with him.
“How come you look so sad, Zohn Whoof?”
John glanced down to see Flora sidling up beside him. He’d been so lost in thought, while watching Tara disappear in the distance, that he hadn’t heard the child approach. Damnation, his self-preservation instincts were getting rusty. He’d let his guard down too often during his hiatus in Paradise Valley. If he didn’t pay attention to what was going on around him he might just as well pitch his badge in the nearest creek and find another occupation.
Ah, if only that was possible.
Forcing a smile, John scooped up Flora and gave her an impulsive hug. “I was thinking how much I’m going to miss you and the other kids when I leave tomorrow.”