by Jeanne Allan
There was a kindness, a gentleness in Clay. She'd seen the same qualities in him when he was with Nicky.
Only with his wife was such behaviour non-existent. Dallas drew up her legs and rested her chin on her knees. In normal marriages a man and wife shared the same bed. Even if all they did was sleep side by side. She understood that Clay had been tired last night. But couldn't he have said something? Anything that would have reassured her about the previous evening.
Why did she fight the obvious? There had been no promises that one night with her would magically change their marriage into something that it was not. Clay had told her that he would not satisfy himself outside their marriage. Only severe need could have driven him to her bed. She was nothing more than a way for him to keep Nicky and to meet his needs. This afternoon proved that. He'd been teasing her. The kiss meant nothing to him, merely his retribution for her washing his face with snow. He'd erased all thoughts of the snow, the cold, the discomfort, even the cows from her mind. She'd erased nothing from his. Wearily Dallas arose. A bath and lunch was what she needed. This appalling urge to bawl her eyes out was simply tiredness and hunger.
Several hours later Dallas tiptoed back into the barn with Nicky. 'Wait until you see him,' she whispered to the small girl. 'He is so tiny and cute.'
The calf was gone. Dallas could have kicked herself. How could she have been so stupid as to tell Nicky about the animal without first checking with Clay to see if the calf had survived? Hadn't Clay warned her that the animal's chances were slim?
'I'm sorry, Nicky. Clay told me that the calf was very sick. He must have died.'
Nicky kicked at the stall with her boot. 'Who wanted to see a stupid ol' cow anyway? I hate cows. If the mama loved him she would have taken care of him. She wouldn't have left him.'
'She didn't leave him, honey. It was too cold last night,' Dallas said.
'I'll bet she left him. Went to a cow party or something and didn't come home. I hate mother cows who do that. Go off and leave their babies.'
Dallas dropped to her knees and encircled the small shoulders with her arms. 'Like your mother left you.'
Nicky scuffed her boot in the straw. 'I hate my mother.'
'You're angry she left you.'
Nicky nodded.
'Sometimes I get mad, too,' Dallas said. 'I loved your mother and I didn't want her to die.'
Nicky stared at her. 'Why did she?'
The back of Dallas's throat ached as she fought tears. 'Your mama loved you so much. She didn't want to die in a car crash. Things like that just happen.'
'You're crying.' Nicky reached up and wiped away a tear on Dallas's face. 'Clay said big girls don't cry.'
'Clay is mistaken.' Dallas grabbed the small hand and pressed it to her cheek. 'It hurts very badly when people die, and lots of big girls and big boys cry.'
'Grandpa and Clay didn't cry.'
Dallas took a deep breath. 'Just because you didn't see them, doesn't mean they didn't cry. They loved your mother and father, and they miss them, too.'
Nicky threw herself into Dallas's arms. 'I don't really hate Mama. And I'm sorry the little calf died.'
'Who said he died?'
Dallas hadn't heard Clay come in. She sniffed and wiped her cheeks. 'He's not here.'
Clay glared down at her. 'Come on.'
Dallas and Nicky followed Clay to the other end of the barn where Clay lifted Nicky up to stand on the top railing of the last stall. Inside the mother cow stood placidly munching some hay. At her side, his skinny legs still wobbling, the calf was nursing noisily. 'We brought Mom in this afternoon. He'll do better out of the cold,' Clay said. His face softened. 'Hungry little cuss, isn't he?'
'What's his name?' Nicky asked.
'He doesn't have one. You can name him,' Clay said.
Once the suggestion was made, it was clear to Dallas that Nicky was going to be glued to the calf's side until she came up with the appropriate name. Knowing that Nicky would be OK with Clay in the vicinity, Dallas turned to leave.
Clay walked with her to the barn door. 'I heard your conversation with Nicky,' he said abruptly. 'Do you have to rub her nose in the fact that her parents died?'
Dallas stared at him in astonishment. 'We can't just ignore that it happened. Are you aware that Nicky believed her parents left her because they were angry that she didn't make her bed?'
'That's absurd.'
'You and I know that, but how could Nicky when no one would let her talk about what happened? Every time she tried, everyone hushed her up. She was sure what happened was her fault.'
'Is that any reason to tell her you're mad at Alanna?'
'It's the truth. I am angry with her for dying and leaving me,' Dallas said.
'It's not as if she had a choice.'
'I didn't say it was rational. I said it was how I feel. Letting Nicky think her anger was wrong would only make things worse. A child goes through stages in dealing with grief. If it's so hard for us, why wouldn't it be difficult for her? Don't you ever have moments when you are furious with Kyle for dying?'
Clay's eyes turned cold and empty. 'I'll send Nicky up to the house in plenty of time for her to wash for supper.' He turned away.
'Clay.' Dallas grabbed his arm. 'I didn't mean to…it's natural to be angry with the person who dies. It's nothing to feel guilty about.'
He shrugged off her hand. 'Who the hell said anything about my feeling guilty because my brother died?'
'I simply meant—'
'Just because you're some fancy school counsellor you think you can come out here and analyse us all and tell us how to run our lives. It may surprise you to know, Miss Know it all, that we did just fine before you ever came along so you can just keep your Freudian mumbo-jumbo to yourself.' He stomped off and was quickly swallowed up by the dark interior of the barn.
Dallas stared after him in chagrin. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? Clay's relationships with his brother and his brother's wife were so complex, it wasn't possible to discuss either one of them without angering him. She turned towards the house with a sigh. This morning, out feeding the cows, she'd felt their marriage might have a chance. This afternoon she knew the truth—no one could compete with a memory.
Hours later Dallas tossed restlessly in her bed. If she were a witch she'd call down every evil curse she knew upon Clay's head. He was inhuman. A beast. Teasing her with kisses. Arousing needs he had no intention of meeting. If only he hadn't slept with her the other night. A person didn't yearn for what she didn't know. She wiggled her hips, seeking a comfortable position. The blankets weighed heavily on her aching breasts, and she could scarcely bear the feel of her flannel gown against skin sensitised by the memory of Clay's lips.
A shaft of light from the hall fell across her bed. Clay stood in the doorway. 'Still awake?' he asked.
'Yes.'
He shut the door. His voice came from the darkness. 'I forgot to ask if you want to help me again tomorrow.'
Before she could answer she felt the bed dip. 'I—I can't.'
'Can't? Or won't?' Clay cushioned Dallas's head on his arm. 'What happened today shouldn't happen again.'
'It's not because of some insignificant kiss. I have—'
'Who said anything about a kiss?' His mouth swooped down and captured hers, and then his tongue was persuading her lips to part. 'I was quite sure that would happen again,' he murmured after a few minutes. His fingers traced patterns on her cheeks before threading through her hair. 'I was referring to your fall.'
His head was only a shadow in the darkened room, but the amusement in his voice reached her clearly.
How unfair of Clay to tease her, knowing he could do so with perfect impunity. She'd agreed that theirs would be a real marriage, so she could hardly refuse his kisses. Not that Clay was teasing her about meeting her obligations. What amused him was the fact that she was meeting those obligations with somewhat more than stoic acceptance—a fact her husband was obviously well aware of.
The skin of his chest was warm against her palms as he leaned over her. 'Well?' he asked. 'Have you managed to come up with an adequate excuse not to come out with me tomorrow?' He outlined the neckline of her gown, flipping open the top buttons with a flick of his fingers.
She could scarcely breathe. Her pulse pounded at her throat. 'I—I wasn't aware that I needed an excuse. Maybe I just don't want to go with you.'
'Don't you?' Clay slid a hand inside her nightgown, his knuckles brushing against the swelling curve of one breast. 'Perhaps I can persuade you.' He leaned down and nuzzled the sensitive skin beneath her ear, his fingers kneading the tip of her breast.
'I have to help in Nicky's classroom tomorrow.' As Clay's lips slid downward, she quickly added, 'I promised.'
Clay chuckled softly. 'In that case…' His tongue bathed her taut nipple. 'You wouldn't want to face a room full of first-graders without a good night's sleep.' She almost cried out, thinking he meant to leave her, but then she realised his hands were busy with the rest of the buttons. 'Think of me as your sleeping-pill,' he said.
Dallas couldn't have replied if she'd wanted to. Not that she did. Not when this was what she'd been aching for all day. Clay might be an arrogant beast and self-centred husband, but there was no denying he was teaching her body to crave his. He was warm and hard and silken, his muscles flowing smoothly beneath her palms. And he was hers. The triumphant thought was fleeting as Clay's hands and mouth pulled her into the sensuous pleasures of her marriage bed.
When she awakened, the other half of her bed was empty and cold. Clay must have abandoned her hours ago.
Nicky bounded into the bedroom and jumped on the bed. 'Hurry up. You're going to school with me today, remember?'
A reluctant smile tugged at Dallas's mouth. Clay had been right about one thing last night: she'd slept like a log. Eventually. But now was not the time to dwell on that. Or on the fact that once again Clay had not stayed the night with her. 'Don't tell me to hurry when you're still standing around in your PJs,' she said to Nicky. 'Get the lead out, kiddo.'
Nicky ran giggling from the room, and Dallas loosened, her death-grip on the covers she'd been holding up to her neck. Explaining her nakedness to the child was more than she could handle at the moment.
Nicky precipitated the crisis at the dinner table that evening. 'Dallas is gonna be a teacher,' she announced to Clay.
'You mean she helped your teacher today,' he corrected her.
'Gonna be a teacher. Mrs Gomez said so.' Clay turned to Dallas, a frown on his face. 'I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for Nicky's misunderstanding.'
'There's no misunderstanding.' Dallas concentrated on pouring Nicky a glass of milk. 'I intended to tell you later this evening. Today brought home to me how much I miss my job.'
'You knew the sacrifices involved,' Clay said.
'You didn't have to give up your work.'
'Are you fighting?' Nicky looked from one to the other.
The anxious look in the child's eyes overrode Dallas's irritation with Clay. 'No, darling. We're having a discussion, but the dinner table isn't the place for it. Did you tell Clay what you've decided to name the calf?'
'Teddy,' Nicky said immediately. 'Because he looks like a teddy bear.' She slanted her eyes up at Clay. 'Are you going to yell at Dallas?'
Dull colour appeared on Clay's cheeks. 'Of course not.'
'I thought you weren't going to yell,' Dallas said later as Clay glowered at her from in front of the fireplace.
'I'm not yelling. I'm merely pointing out my objections to your going to work.'
'At least you might wait until you hear what my plans are before you object.'
'My wife doesn't need to work.' Clay's arms were folded across his chest, his long legs spread apart. His whole body-language shouted inflexibility.
'Is that your opinion or mine?' Dallas asked. 'If your male ego is worried that someone might think you can't support me, you'll be happy to know that I'll be volunteering my services.' She took a deep breath and tried reason. 'Sara doesn't need my help here, and I feel I'm needed at the school.'
Her words failed to take the chill off his manner. 'Nicky needs you, too. That's why you're here, or have you forgotten?'
'No, I haven't forgotten. I'll only be going in two or three times a week. I'll ride in with Nicky and come home when she does.' She could be as stubborn as he was. 'I wasn't aware that I needed to ask permission every time I breathed.' She faced him defiantly. 'I've already made arrangements with the elementary school principal.'
'I see.' Clay turned and jabbed at the embers in the fireplace. Sparks flew into the air. 'I guess I was naive to expect you to discuss something like this with me before you made a decision.' Laying down the poker, he started from the room.
'What would you have said if I had discussed it with you?'
'I guess we'll never know, will we?'
Dallas wasn't surprised when Clay left her strictly alone that night; it was exactly what she would have expected of him. He probably thought he was punishing her by not gracing her bed with his exalted presence. As if she'd wanted to share her bed with a man who was suffering from an overdeveloped, old-fashioned sense of macho posturing. Me Tarzan, king of the jungle, you Jane, the little woman. He was probably pouting because he wanted her available to follow him around and exclaim how wonderful he was and to feel his muscles. She punched her pillow. The last thing she wanted to think about was Clay's muscles.
Much better to think of his selfish, unreasonable attitude. She'd been leading her own life for years, she argued to herself. It had never occurred to her that she should consult Clay about working at the school for a few hours a week. She was a grown woman—she didn't need his permission. Clay should trust her. Did he really think she'd be selfish enough to do something that might harm Nicky? All right, so maybe she shouldn't have committed herself without consulting him first, but there was no reason in the world for her to feel as if she'd hurt his feelings. Even if she had acted precipitately, he'd acted like a left-over from the nineteenth century.
After a sleepless night, Dallas was ready to meet Clay halfway in reconciling their differences. If he was ready to behave rationally, she'd promise to discuss any major decisions with him in the future. The problem was how to approach him. Dallas decided she'd go out and help him feed the cattle. Surely he would understand the significance of such a move.
Clay was saddling a large brown horse down by the corral. He flicked a glance in her direction, taking in her warm clothing, but said nothing.
'I thought maybe I could come along,' Dallas said.
'I'm not taking the truck today. I'm riding.'
Dallas reached up and stroked the horse's nose. 'Do you have a horse I could ride?'
Clay paused, his hands resting on his horse. Finally he said, 'Go ask Sara for some boots. I'll saddle Molly for you.'
Molly was yellow and big as a barn. 'You don't really expect me to ride this monster, do you?' Dallas asked, eyeing the horse doubtfully.
Clay gave her a mocking look. 'Changing your mind?'
'No. I'll manage.' The mare stood still as a statue while Dallas scrambled awkwardly into the saddle. Molly was as wide as she was tall. 'I feel as if I'm doing the splits,' Dallas moaned as Clay adjusted her stirrups.
'Molly's mostly buckskin, but I suspect she has some draught horse in her. More importantly, her heart and patience are as large as she is.' He vaulted into his saddle with enviable ease.
Dallas followed Clay's brown horse from the corral, hesitant to bring up their argument. 'Where are we going?'
'When Jim went out to feed yesterday, he thought there were a few cows missing,' Clay said. 'He and Loren checked out what they could by pick-up, but there's a few draws they couldn't get to. We'll have to search them by horse.'
'You mean there could be more freezing calves down there?'
'Or a cow could get its foot caught in some fence wire.' He indicated the pliers hanging from h
is saddle. 'There's lots of possibilities.'
'I always thought of farming and ranching as summer occupations with nothing much happening in the winter.'
'This is one of our busiest seasons,' Clay said. 'Not only do we have to feed the cows, but calving time can have us working twenty-four hours a day. After calving comes breeding. Then, in the summer, we lease land in the mountains and move the cattle up there. Plus there's the haying to do. Come fall we have to bring the cattle back home, and there's the weaning and shipping to market. In our spare time we fight poisonous weeds in the pastures, fix fences, repair broken-down machinery and doctor sick cows. And then there's the record-keeping. Ranching is like any other business—lots of paperwork.'
'Which all seems to fall on you.'
Clay nudged his horse along. 'Dad sort of lost heart after Mom died. He kept at it until I could take over, but now he's happiest with his other interests. He still owns half the ranch and helps out now and again. Even though I only own a quarter and a quarter is in trust for Nicky, I manage the whole parcel.'
'You really enjoy it, don't you?'
Clay reined his horse to a stop. One hand resting on his thigh, he waved the other in a wide circle. 'Look around you. The Spanish Peaks, the Culebras, the Sangre de Cristos, Mount Mestas, Silver Mountain… beautiful, aren't they? The breezes sweeping down them are filled with stories of fabulous gold mines and legendary travellers. Aztec legend says the Spanish Peaks used to be an earthly paradise before men angered the rain god who then made this valley like the rest of the earth.' Looking down, he said. 'These high grasslands might not look much like paradise, but grama grass and buckhorn cholla have their own beauty. And over there.' Shading his eyes, he pointed off in the distance at a small herd of brown and white animals. 'You won't see those on Capital Hill. Pronghorn antelope.'
'It's more than just a way for you to make money, isn't it?'
Clay leaned back in his saddle. 'Ranching isn't fancy hats and hand-tooled leather boots. It's dirt and sweat and heat and cold. Money's nice to have, but beauty, freedom, the satisfaction of a job well done, those are the things that count in life, no matter what a man does.'