Renegade Ridge

by Arabella Steedly

  Chapter Five

  Rachel

  Every Monday morning, soon after the sun came up, it was a ritual that I would fix chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Daddy liked a stack of four, with lots of syrup and three strips of bacon. After breakfast was over it was time for me to get started mowing hay in the field not far from the house. I didn’t mind sitting there inside the air-conditioned cab of the tractor, pulling the sickle mower, but it was hard for me to hitch it up without help — the tongue on the mower was heavy.

  After placing the dirty dishes in the sink, I helped Daddy to the porch and set a bottle of water on the table beside his rocking chair. In an hour or so Sally would be arriving to help him with his morning bath and give him his pain shot. She would fix our lunch and dinner and do light housework, but her primary job was to look after Daddy and keep him company and administer his medication.

  I bend down to kiss him on the cheek. "Now this morning I'm going to get the mowing done. Just like we talked about last night. Then after lunch, I’ll saddle up Georgie-B and ride up to the east pasture to check on the mares and make sure the new valve on the automatic watering trough is still working. I have my two-way radio clipped to my belt and should be back before eleven o'clock."

  I felt the corners of my mouth turn down when Daddy looked away without saying one word to me. Over the last few months, his personality had changed, and his medication for depression wasn't working. Sometimes he had a dark, haunting expression on his face, and on other days his moods were up and down like a yo-yo. One minute he would be talkative and laugh some, the next silent and uninterested in what either Sally or I had to say. I never knew what to expect from him, and not knowing how he would be from moment to moment made me anxious. I didn't blame him though; it was not his fault that he had come down with a debilitating disease.

  Just as I was headed back inside to fill a canteen with water Daddy tugged on my arm to get my attention. "Look over yonder." Then he pointed down the lane with a shaky finger. "By the size of that dust cloud, I'd say that was a truck headed up our way and not Sally's car."

  I turned to see what he was talking about just as an old beat up red pickup came into view. I was standing there with my hand on my hip and Daddy was rocked forward in his chair. We were both curious about our unexpected visitor.

  The first thing I saw was a pair of dusty boots step to the ground and noticed the man who exited the truck was wearing a tan Stetson that had a dark stain from sweat and oil around the hat band. His light hair was cut just below his ears, and he had a scruffy beard. The dark aviator sunglasses covering his eyes made him appear mysterious and distant. When he peered at us without saying a word before he started up the sidewalk toward the porch, I noticed his features were familiar.

  All of a sudden a warm feeling inside me began to stir, a primal kind of instinct. It started at the base of my spine and moved like a slow wave sweeping the breath out of me. By the time that wave reached my mouth the man was coming up the steps. I swallowed hard trying to find the words to at least ask who he was, but in my heart, I knew it was Kent Walker. My suspicion was confirmed when I heard him say, "Good morning, Sam." I was shocked, though, when he turned to me and didn’t at least offer a simple greeting. Instead, he stared right through me as if I never existed.

  “Who's that?” I heard Daddy mumble. I tried to answer but my jaw was slack, and my lips were unable to form a word — or a syllable. I felt that same surprise and hurt that I did when I was collecting the pages of my valedictorian speech off the ground on graduation day.

  "Sam," he said. "You knew me when I was in high school." Daddy was gazing at him, trying to figure out who he was talking to, but I was looking at Kent's body. I almost hadn't recognized him; he seemed so different. It was his walk that gave him away. His demeanor was harder and more calloused — even aloof. But he had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans, just like he used to. He was wearing a thin cotton t-shirt that stuck to his torso and clung to his well-defined abs. His head was turned to Daddy, ignoring me. What was he doing here? I thought he was still overseas somewhere.

  "I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you. What is your name?" Daddy asked, looked up at Kent, confused and somewhat annoyed.

  “Kent!” I blurted out. I felt my cheeks flush from the frustration of being ignored.

  “Walker?” Daddy asked, his confusion turning to surprise and wonder. Instead of speaking, Kent pulled off his sunglasses so Daddy could see him more clearly. I had to catch my breath. Even though he wasn’t looking straight at me, I could see those same sexy sparkling green eyes.

  “How are you, Sam?” Kent asked, with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. I couldn’t even remember the last time he had spoken to my dad. It must have been in our junior year — back when Kent was still coming around to see me.

  Daddy had chuckled a bit before he answered Kent's awkward question. “As you can see, I'm more or less a cripple." He paused a moment waiting for Kent to reply, but he didn't, so Daddy continued, "Where have you been, son?”

  “Syria, sir." Kent turned to face me for a moment, then looked away as though I was a stranger. My mind was racing, trying to figure things out. If Kent didn't want to see me, why had he come? He must have known I was here — no, maybe he didn't. After all, the last time I had seen Kent I had just told him I was going to New York City and then to college.

  Daddy's eyes got wide when he said, "Oh, that's right, you're a SEAL."

  Kent nodded his head, "Yes, sir, that's correct. Served on SEAL Team 5.”

  “SEAL Team 5! My Lord, son. I remember seeing on the news all about how your team rescued that diplomate and his wife who were being held captive by ISIS." Daddy paused a moment, then looked up and raised his arms for me to pull him to a standing position. Then he turned to Kent. "Since you're here, why don't you come inside and sit and tell me about your experiences."

  Kent nodded and held open the screen door, and Daddy hooked his arm around my elbow and we started inside. My mind was in a state of confusion, wondering why Kent had shown up out of the blue and then chose to ignore me, and that wasn’t all that was happening.

  My cheeks felt warm, and there was a ringing in my ears. And that spot between my thighs that had been ignored for so long was starting to dampen. The stirring I was experiencing was not one of a simple schoolgirl's crush. Kent had developed into a rugged man, with bulging muscles and had a sexy tattoo of a snake running down his arm. As Kent walked in front of us toward Daddy's recliner, I couldn't help but notice his firm ass was and how much wider his shoulders had gotten.

  He stepped back as I eased Daddy into his chair and when I stood up, he asked, "Rachel, how are you?" I was expecting him to smile, but instead, his lips stayed in a straight line.

  I felt my eyelashes flutter unexpectedly. At first, I looked away, then back at him before I replied. "I'm pretty good, Kent, how about you?" I was surprised at the sound of my voice. It was high pitched from anxiety, and I could tell I grinned too much in hopes he would respond with a gesture of kindness. Instead, he turned his attention back toward Daddy, who, I surmised, had no clue what was transpiring between us.

  After listening to us, Daddy smiled, and said, "I got a curious question. Why the hell did a young cowboy from Cody, Wyoming — not known for developing champion swimmers — make a decision to become a Navy SEAL?"

  Kent smiled and tipped his hat back. "I believed in the SEAL motto, sir."

  "What's that, son?"

  "Only easy day was yesterday. And it pays to be a winner."

  Daddy looked out the window for a moment, then he smiled, and asked, "You were a champion rodeo roper if I remember right, weren't ya?”

  "Yes, sir..."

  Daddy turned back to face Kent and looked at him square in the eyes. “I’ve got a feeling you've come out here looking for a job. Am I right?”

  "Yes, sir. I was raised on a ranch by a rancher…it’s in my blood," Kent said, and the two men grinned at each
other.

  I had kept quiet longer than I thought possible and finally interjected, “Where’ve you been living since you came back from Syria?”

  Kent’s grin faded when he glanced over at me. I could tell by the way his eyes became two slits, he didn’t intend to respond to my question. Instead, he turned back to Daddy. “I'd like to speak to you alone, Sam.”

  Daddy furrowed his brows at first. Then he looked up at me. "Rachel, why don't you excuse us and go out and check the mares.”

  I shook my head in confusion and turned to Daddy. “I thought we discussed earlier that it was time to mow the hay first and check on the horses later.”

  Daddy glanced up at me, and I thought I saw a gleam in his eye. “Why don't you take a nice ride on Georgie-B this morning? He could use the exercise."

  “But Daddy, what about the hay? It needs to dry out so I can bale it,” I argued. “We’ll be needing more bales in a week or two. We only have five of the round ones left.”

  Daddy cleared his voice. “You heard me, Rachel. Go on now and be on your way.”

  I wanted to put my hands up over my face and cry, but instead, I smiled, and said, "Nice to see you, Kent." Then I turned to Daddy. "I see Sally is pulling up into the carport." I didn't look back at the men as I walked out of the room and closed the double doors behind me.

  I started to walk outside but could see out the window that Sally was taking her time getting out of the car. So I put my ear up to the door and listened for a moment. I heard Daddy say, "So, you must have heard I need help, huh?”

  "Yes, I heard it from Chad at the Silver Dollar Saloon."

  By that time Sally was getting out of her car with a bag from Walgreen’s on her arm. I slipped out the front door and headed for the stable. I couldn't believe what was happening — Daddy was about to hire Kent Walker!

  I ran all the way to the stable, pulled open the door to the tack room and sank onto the wooden floor. I wanted to scream; then I wanted to cry. I couldn’t control the hurricane of emotions whirling around in my head. I never expected Kent to show up out of nowhere — with no warning, with no time to prepare myself. I looked down at my tattered blue jeans and my stained t-shirt. If I had known Kent was coming to visit, or apply for a job, I would have least put on something more attractive.

  I leaned back and sat for a few minutes, trying to figure why Kent had been so distant. I had to wonder if he was holding a grudge. Maybe he was still upset that I didn't respond the way he expected me to on graduation day. But that was eight years ago, and he had been to Syria; surely, he was more mature than to still be mad at me after all he must have gone through as a SEAL.

  I saddled up Georgie and we headed out, with Frank, our dog following behind. Georgie picked his way along the rocky trail. We took a shortcut instead of following the dirt road. I felt better just being there with the animals, out in the summer breeze. Then I began to wonder how I was going to handle Kent's coldness toward me since it was evident Daddy was going to hire him.

  All of a sudden a white-tailed deer ran out in front of us. I gasped and gripped the saddle horn as Georgie bolted and reared up. “Whoa, boy…easy now.” Moments later I let out a sigh of relief as Georgie lowered his head and continued up the trail. I patted his neck. “Good boy! Good boy! That buck scared the bejesus outta me, too!”

  After realizing how that dangerous situation could have turned into a tragedy if I had fallen and hurt myself, I knew Daddy was right. The truth was we needed a full-time ranch hand, and maybe Kent would be the one to stick around since he was from Cody and knew what to expect. I had to wonder, though, how I was going to control my desire for him and protect myself from getting hurt by his coldness.

  As I rocked back and forth in the saddle, I felt a sexual arousal that I hadn’t experienced in a quite a while. The problem was I knew Kent was the only one who could quench my growing desire — now that I had seen him again. So I bit my lip and shook my head. I figured working together as a team was going to be tedious and possibly a recipe for disaster!

  Chapter Six

  Kent

  After Rachel had left the room, I felt I could breathe easier because she was having a serious effect on me. I had to hide my boner by keeping my hands in my pockets. She was so fucking sexy and beautiful! Her hair was much longer and hung in a long braid down her back and swished back and forth over her pert ass with each step.

  I had taken a quick peek as she walked out of the room, hoping it would go unnoticed. Her Booty Up Wrangler jeans made it seem like her legs went on for miles and miles. And her tits — well, let’s just say they were fuller than when she was eighteen and looked squeezable as hell. I could tell under her pink, worn out t-shirt that she was wearing a sports bra that pressed them tightly against her body. I couldn’t help but wonder what her cleavage would look like if she wore a black lace push-up bra — or for that matter, nothing at all.

  I had no problem fantasizing what I would like to do with her, but I was standing right in front of her father. Sam gestured for me to sit in the leather armchair next to him, in a room full of rodeo memorabilia. “All right, what is it you didn't want to say in front of my daughter?” Sam asked, raising his bushy eyebrows.

  I swallowed hard, wondering if Sam had seen how I was looking at Rachel, trying not to look at her at all. I had been around enough men to know each one of us had a second sense that alerted us when there was sexual energy in the air. After taking a moment to compose myself, I took my hat off and laid it in my lap. "I just wanted to speak man-to-man with you about working here on the ranch."

  I glanced up into Sam's eyes, hoping he wouldn't misunderstand and be offended that I preferred not to talk business in front of his daughter. It wasn't that I was a prick who thought women were beneath me, but I didn't want him to sense how I felt about Rachel. Then he definitely wouldn't hire me! So, my answer was simple. “I need a job!”

  Sam leaned in closer, listening, ready to detect a bullshit answer to his next question. "Why did you choose the Pitchfork Ranch? The paper is full of openings for experienced ranch hands. What's so special about working for me?" Then he paused a moment and his eyes seemed to become wider as he searched mine. "Have you applied anywhere else?"

  Holy shit! I wasn't expecting those questions. I cleared my throat as I rubbed the back of my neck and hoped he would believe my half-true story. So here’s what I said: “Earlier, I told you that Chad had suggested you were looking for help, remember?" I paused for a moment, and Sam shook his head, so I continued, "But he also told me you had been sick and were depending on your daughter to help you. Being from Cody, I know keeping a good ranch hand isn't easy — they come and go. But Cody is my hometown, so I know how cold it can get here in the winter." Then I recalled Sam was a horse breeder, so I threw in a bigger load of bullshit. "And I remember how almost no one could beat your horses in barrel racing and calf roping. Someday I would like to get back to rodeoing and was hoping you might be my sponsor — allow me to showcase one of your horses.”

  By the way Sam grinned and nodded his head, I could tell I had hit the right notes. He pointed up to one of many trophies, ribbons and belt buckles he had displayed on a shelf stretching across the wall. "See that one over yonder — the big one with the stars on it?” I shook my head acknowledging I did. “That's the last one I won before this god-damned disease robbed me of my strength and I had to quit competing." I was surprised when the corners of Sam's lips turned up as he continued, "But I'm still raising several winners. I got a quarter horse stud that Rachel named Licorice. Right now he’s scheduled a year in advance, breeding two mares a month, and his stud fees are one of the highest in the business."

  My eyes got wide; I had no idea that Sam was that successful. "So do the mares come here, or are you talking about artificial insemination?"

  Sam laughed and slapped his leg when he said, "No son. Nowadays reputable breeders don't ship their mares around the country to get bred. The vet comes every two weeks or so to c
ollect his sperm sample and sends it to the veterinarian of the stable where the mare is. Most of them are in Texas and Colorado. They pay us fifty percent down and the other half when the mare gives birth and the foal is standing. And of course, I sell several yearlings that are born and bred here at Pitchfork Ranch.”

  "Wow, that is very interesting," I told Sam, and I meant it. We sat around talking about horses, one of my favorite subjects — other than Rachel of course, but that was my secret. Then a nurse came in to give him some medicine, and after she had left, he made me an offer.

  "Look Kent, as you know I need the help, and I'm willing to pay a good wage, but there is one major stipulation. I hope you understand. You must be able to work alongside my daughter. She's the one that will be showing you the ropes and overseeing your work.” Then Sam paused for a moment, and I saw a gleam in his eye, when he continued, “But I'm the one who signs your paycheck."

  I nodded my head and wondered what I had gotten myself into, knowing it was too late to back out. The truth was, deep inside I wanted to try to overcome my PTSD and the anxiety and depression it caused. Sometimes the smallest thing could set me off, and I would start shaking or have a fit of anger, not to mention the flashbacks of Marcus dying in my arms with bullets zinging all around me.

  As far as my situation with Rachel was concerned, I would love to start over again — give us a second chance — but I wasn’t sure if my PTSD would let me. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or be made to look like a coward or a fool by freaking out either. So I figured the best way to handle the situation was to hide my desire for Rachel. I would respect her as my boss and coworker and pretend we didn’t have a past.

  After I had agreed to Sam's offer, we sat, and he told me about each one of his horses. He had six mares, one stallion, the gelding Rachel was riding and one more for the ranch hand. We must have talked for a half hour, and I was grateful he had no more questions about my military service or why a Navy SEAL would be discharged after only eight years of service. After all, most who were good enough to make it as a SEAL made the military their career or had a deal working as a government contractor. Sam had glanced down a couple of times at my cobra tattoo, slithering down my bicep onto my forearm. I had made my mind up, though, if he asked about it, I would tell him a limited version of the truth. I didn’t want him to pity or judge me. Thank God, the subject never came up!