by Alice Sharpe
“That’s right. My father’s father bought it back when it was just a cattle ranch.”
“I didn’t see any albums of that period,” Smyth said.
“There are none. A fire thirty years ago destroyed all the early records except those that we’ve been able to copy from county historical files.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Yes. Well, we do have lots of photos from that point on, though.”
“That you do.”
John Smyth had a scar on his chin, but that kind of suited his rugged looks. In fact, up close like this, now that Tyler thought about it, Smyth looked vaguely familiar—and slightly sinister. “Have you been here before?” he asked. “Maybe on a previous vacation?”
“No, never before. I gather the decision to turn this into a guest ranch came about fifteen years ago?”
“After my father died, my mother knew she would need to switch things up if she was going to keep the ranch long enough to hand it down to me,” Tyler said. “That’s why you guests are so important to us. We don’t make stuff up for you to do. While you’re here, you’re as much of a cowboy as you want to be.”
Meg Peterson squealed with delight.
“Did the wranglers explain the low-stress attitude we employ to manage the livestock around here?” Tyler asked. Everyone except Red nodded. “Good. The trick is to make them want to go where we want to go. You’ll get the hang of it. Be sure you get some good sleep tonight and enjoy your comfortable beds.”
“Do we come back here every night?” Meg Peterson asked.
“No, ma’am, afraid not. This is a real drive. We need to get the herd up to greener pastures.” The trip wouldn’t really take five days if that was its only purpose and everyone knew exactly what they were doing, but you couldn’t push novices too hard. Besides, it was the journey that mattered to them, not the destination.
“What about food and beds—”
“Rose takes care of the chuck wagon, right?” John Smyth said.
“Yes, Mom’s handling that again this spring. Normally we leave that duty to ’Cookie’ as the guys call him, though his real name is Mac, but he’s off in Wyoming right now. And you’ll sleep on bedrolls, but don’t worry, they come with pads and a canvas flap to keep them dry. We’ll hit the first camp tomorrow afternoon. There are tents available if you’d rather sleep indoors, but you might not want to miss calling it a day under more stars than you can imagine.”
“I’m going to be real cowgirl by the time we get back,” Meg said.
Tyler glanced at his mother’s table again. She was engaged in conversation with a returning middle-aged couple named Carol and Rick Taylor who had brought along an adult son this time around, as well as with two brothers named Nigel and Vincent Creswell, both avid fishermen.
As he stared at Rose, her glance flicked his direction and then away, a frown curling the corners of her mouth.
This time he was sure of it. She’d been looking at John Smyth. Tyler served himself a slice of ham, wondering what the heck was going on.
Speaking of food, he’d have to make sure someone took something out to Julie in her cabin. No way was he going to do it. Thoughts of her killed his own appetite, but he ate anyway and did his best to keep up his end of the conversation, pleased to find the wranglers who had joined dinner service were being their usual charming selves as well, telling stories and dishing up apple pie.
His training of new cowboys and wranglers always stressed communication skills. Every moment on the ranch was a moment of someone’s time and hard-earned vacation dollars. Guests were here to have fun and that meant making sure things ran smoothly. And thankfully, most of his hands were pretty good at it; they didn’t last if they weren’t. Truth be told, most of them got along with people better than Tyler himself did.
Dinner finally ended. One of the newest employees was a college girl studying music and she encouraged everyone to join her in the parlor for a sing-along before deep-dish apple pie and coffee were served. While the kitchen help cleared tables, Tyler took an extra plate and stacked a little of everything on it. He’d get one of the wranglers to deliver it to cabin eight.
In the kitchen he found his mother helping with the cleanup. And tucked behind the table in her old favorite spot near the fireplace sat Julie, tackling a plate of food with some of her old gusto. She flinched when she looked up and saw him.
How long had she been here? Four or five hours? But in that time, her face had acquired a little color, and the scrape on her cheek had faded. She’d found her old denim jacket, the one that hugged her breasts and nipped in the waist or had before she lost weight, and twisted what appeared to be newly showered hair into a low ponytail.
It was as if someone had turned a clock backward. She looked like his college sweetheart, like his bride, his wife. He could picture himself taking her hand, taking her back to their place, making love to her.
The knife twisted again.
“Were you trying to hide Julie away?” Rose Hunt demanded as she moved a tray of dirty dishes toward the sink. A young woman with very blond hair took it from her and as she did, a cup slid off the tray and shattered on the stone floor.
“Don’t fret, Heidi, just clean it up,” Rose said. “It’s not like it’s never happened before.” Then she turned her attention back to Tyler. “Were you ever going to tell me Julie was here?”
He set the plate of food he’d assembled aside. “Probably not,” he said.
“Why? You didn’t sign the papers yet, did you? She’s still your wife.”
“Mom, this is none of your business,” he said firmly. “Back to important things. Where is the doctor?”
“Dr. Marquis called to report he was having trouble getting out of Chicago,” Heidi said.
“He’ll arrive tomorrow morning.” Rose added, “And learn as he goes. We need the business. Now, stop trying to change the subject. Everything that happens here and affects you and this ranch is my business. Imagine how I felt when I saw Julie get out of Lenny’s truck but not come up to the house. I had to go get her, and then she wouldn’t come into the dining room.”
“I told her to leave you alone.”
“Why? Do you think I can’t handle reality?”
Julie cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, “but I’m sitting right here. Tyler didn’t want to trouble you, Rose. It’s as simple as that. I’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
Julie set down her fork. “Yes. I just came to talk to Tyler. I didn’t know you guys were heading out with the herd. My timing sucks.”
The back door opened and one of the older wranglers walked in carrying a battered-looking thermos.
“Come on in, Andy,” Rose said. “You looking for some coffee?”
“You girls make the best brew on the ranch.”
“And we always make extra for you,” Heidi said, taking his thermos and filling it from the urn on the counter. Andy’s tanned, lined face broke into a grin as he thanked them, then he turned around and saw Julie and the smile broadened.
“Well, missy,” he said. “Nice to see you and that’s a fact.” He tipped his dusty hat and left the house. His arrival had dispelled some of the building tension—his departure brought it all back.
Rose Hunt rested her hands on her slim hips, a dishcloth dangling by her leg, her gaze directed at Tyler. “Have you two talked?”
“No.”
The door behind Tyler that led to the dining room opened and John Smyth came in, holding a tray covered with dirty dishes. He paused when he saw them all standing there. Nodding at his burden, he said, “I thought I could lend a hand.” He smiled at Rose, who looked away, then ambled over to the sink, set the tray down on the drain board and addressed the two women at the sink.
“Step aside, ladies. I’ll wash if you two will dry.”
Heidi and Melanie both laughed as Smyth plunged his hands into the dishwater.
Rose shook her head. “That isn’t necessary
, Mr. Smyth. You are a guest here.”
“I like to pull my weight.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.
Her lips thinned as she stared at his back. “I’m going to bed,” she announced.
Tyler tried not to gape, but since when did Rose Hunt retire right after dinner when there were guests to be entertained and attended to? “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you ill?”
“I may be coming down with a bug. My head hurts. And my back. I shouldn’t have lifted that tray after a day spent stocking the chuck wagon. I’m not as young as I used to be. Let the kids finish the dinner chores—you two talk for God’s sake. Honestly, acting like children.” She slapped the cloth on the drain board for punctuation.
“I don’t have time for talking,” Tyler protested. “There are a million things to do before morning—”
Rose cut him off with a steely stare she’d been trotting out for years every time he did or said something she found stupid. She slid a glance at John Smyth’s back, then glared at Tyler. It was clear she wanted to say something else but wouldn’t in front of a guest.
Tyler glanced at Julie as Rose left the room. Julie pushed her plate away as though waiting for him to say something.
Not in that kitchen. Not with three other people washing dishes without making a sound so they could eavesdrop. No way.
“Come on,” he told Julie, crossing to the door and holding it open. “Let’s take a walk.”
Chapter Four
The evening was chilly with a sharp bite to the wind. Julie pulled her jacket closer around herself. From a distance, she could hear cattle lowing and wondered if they sensed they’d be off on an adventure with the morning light. She used to enjoy driving the herd, especially when they finally climbed to the high pastures where the grass and wildflowers made every piece of land burst with life.
She took a deep breath that smelled like a ranch in all its hundreds of ways. She’d missed these smells and sounds more than she ever allowed herself to realize.
However, now that she was here in Montana, now that she finally had Tyler’s attention, she wasn’t sure what to say. She really wasn’t even sure exactly what she expected him to do except maybe give some advice.
Or hide her. Maybe that’s the real reason she’d come—to hide. Wouldn’t he love that?
A group of guests had gathered on the wide front porch and their carefree laughter and voices floated across the still night air of the yard where she and Tyler walked. He tapped her arm to guide her away from the lights and noise. She wasn’t prepared for the jolt his casual touch elicited even through layers of clothing.
“One of the wranglers mentioned you took Babylon out this afternoon,” he said as they walked along the fence that corralled some of the horses. Several trotted over to investigate, snorting and whinnying deep in their throats. Julie wasn’t surprised when Tyler paused to pat a few heads.
“Is that okay with you?” she asked as a soft muzzle sniffed at her cheek.
“He’s your horse.”
Who was he trying to kid? Nothing on this ranch was hers anymore, not the land, not the animals and certainly not the people.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the stranger she’d observed watching him, but she didn’t. It sounded so intrusive to admit she’d witnessed him out on that log. He’d been deep in thought and there was little doubt in her mind that she was the cause of his angst.
He leaned against the fence, one leg bent at the knee, elbows resting behind him on the top railing. It was too dark to see his expression, especially under the deeper shadow of his hat, but she knew him well enough to venture a guess: gaze direct, mouth in a straight line, posture casual, mind-set anything but. When he spoke, his voice was soft and brought a bittersweet wave of memories with it. “Okay, Julie, out with it. Why are you here? What’s so all-fired important that coming back looks better than staying away?”
She shuffled her feet a little, then glanced up at him. “I need help.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“Is it a man?”
“Yes.” She could almost see a knot form in his jaw, so she hastened to add, “But not in the way you’re thinking.”
“In what way, then?”
“The man isn’t a lover or anything like that. He’s a policeman—”
Tyler erupted away from the fence as though it had turned electric. Startled by his abrupt movement, a half-dozen horses whinnied and dashed back into the pasture, disappearing into the dark. “A cop?” he said. “What in the world have you been up to? I swear, if you’ve done anything to jeopardize this ranch—”
“If you’d signed the divorce papers when I had them sent to you, you wouldn’t have to worry about your ranch!” she shot back.
“Tell me what you’ve done.”
“You know what? Never mind. It was a mistake coming here. I’ll be gone in the morning.”
She turned to walk away and he caught her arm, pulling her back against him. His eyes glittered as he stared down at her.
The next thing she knew, he’d bent his head and claimed her lips, the feel of his mouth on hers achingly familiar and yet foreign. Because of their years together, she’d thought she experienced every one of his kisses—the tender, the passionate, the friendly, the ones that led to a nighttime of bliss and the ones that promised more to come. The quick ones that said goodbye for now...
But this one was different. This one was fierce, almost angry, and it shocked her down to her core.
She yanked free and took off across the yard, running blind, tears stinging her eyes.
He caught up with her up by the cabins where the shadows of the trees threw wild shapes onto the ground. Grabbing her arm again, he spun her around and gripped her shoulders. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“I’m...I’m in trouble,” she stammered, trembling now from a vast array of emotions too complicated to name. Her hair had come loose of the ponytail and blew around her face and she pushed it away.
“What kind of trouble?” His voice fell to a horrified whisper as he added, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No, no, of course not. I...I shouldn’t have involved you. I just...I just didn’t know where else to turn. I’m afraid, Tyler. Someone is trying to kill me and I’m...I’m scared.”
His hands dropped. “Who’s trying to kill you?” he said at last.
“What do you care?” she managed to say.
It took him a long minute to respond, and when he did, his voice sounded almost resigned. “I just do,” he said, reaching out for her again, tugging on her sleeve, pulling her gently against his rock-solid chest. His hands holding her head, he whispered against her hair. “Heaven help me, Julie, I just do.”
* * *
HE HADN’T BEEN IN CABIN number eight for years. Many of the guests preferred staying at the lodge, although judging by the lights in the windows three or four cabins were currently populated.
When he and Julie had gotten married, they’d moved into the original old ranch house which was located closer to the river than the lodge was. He still hung his hat at the century house every night, still slept in the bed they’d once shared.
During the years they’d been together, she’d left the place much as it had always been, filled with his grandparents’ furniture and knickknacks which were now antiques. Given its historical designation of “century house,” the exterior couldn’t be changed, but after she’d left he’d wondered why Julie hadn’t made more of a mark on the interior space. If she was so determined to have a life she could call her own—one which, incidentally, did not include him—why hadn’t she started with her own home? The only conclusion he could reach was that it was because he lived there, too. What she’d wanted was to be free of him.
And now she was here sitting three feet away on the edge of a bed they would never share, hair everywhere, looking as young and frightened as a wild filly. He sat down on the only chair in the room, scooting
it around so he faced her. He rested his forearms on his thighs and folded his hands together. “Tell me about it,” he said.
She wiped tears away with shaky fingers, casting him a wary glance as if to judge if she could really trust him. He figured she must have thought about that before now, though, or why else had she come back here? He got to his feet and walked to the window, tipping the blinds to look outside. The waxing moon had climbed high overhead.
With his back to her, she apparently felt comfortable enough to tell her story and she began talking. He heard about a job she’d been doing for the better part of a year, about the man she’d worked for, a well-respected professor. And then he heard about another man named Trill who approached her on a city bus and convinced her she should spy on her boss.
He wanted to turn around and ask if she was serious. It seemed absurd to him that she’d believed the phony federal agent.
He finally chanced eye contact when she got to the part about being shoved in front of a bus. “You’re sure you were pushed?”
She nodded. “And then I saw Trill at the police station,” she added. “He matched the description the woman behind me at the bus stop gave the officer who came to help.”
“So, they’d caught him?”
“No! He was a policeman.”
“What did he have to say when you asked why he misrepresented himself to you?”
She rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t talk to him. He tried to catch me. I...I ran away.”
“You didn’t ask him what the hell was going on?”
“No, I couldn’t. I was so startled to see him there. And he was furious. You should have seen the expression on his face when he saw me. He chased me. I barely got out of the station.”