The Rancher's Conditions

by R. S. Chapman

  “Absolutely!” Layne smiled. “If we weren’t, I’d probably have to give Blaze back, and that would break my heart.”

  And you’d have to give back my heart, and that would shatter it into tiny pieces, Erik thought. “Well, let’s get some fuel in us,” he said, tearing his eyes away from Layne’s face to wash away the almost overwhelming desire to embrace her again. “Hope you can stand the same old thing, eggs, sausage, potatoes, toast, whatever?”

  A picture of the future flashed through Layne’s mind, a rather unflattering one. She was only a year or two older, but weighed in at around three hundred and fifty pounds.

  “Um,” she started, “I can’t continue . . .” A realization stopped her short. What made her think she was going to continue eating with this man? This could possibly be her final meal with him. The dreaded picture of Joyce Callaway, seated at the table with Erik, shot into her mind. She shook her head vigorously, trying to wipe it away.

  “Is something the matter?” Erik asked, somewhat alarmed, noting the shake of her head.

  “No, just loosening a few neck muscles,” Layne lied, swiveling her head again for emphasis. Another thought followed as the Joyce image washed away, only to quickly return. Had they had sex last night, although Joyce said they hadn’t, would Erik be comparing them? Who was the better? And the better of how many? The most exciting? And the most exciting of how many? Those realizations flooded through her. Thankfully, they did not have sex. She did not wish to be compared to anyone, nor did she wish to be a number in anyone’s string of conquests. She needed the day to sort through her thoughts.

  “Erik,” she said, “would you mind terribly if I backed out today?”

  He looked at Layne with compassion. “Because of last night?” He took a step closer and enclosed her in a gentle hug. “Is that why?”

  “No.” And that was more truth than not. She’d wanted him, ached for him last night. But that was last night. Today was another day, and the reality was, although Erik denied it, she had absolutely no idea of Erik’s relationship with Joyce Callaway. Until that was cleared up, a relationship of friends with benefits was out of the question. No way. “Actually, I can’t believe I’m this sore and stiff. A long soak in a hot tub sounds wonderful, and really, that’s what I want to do.”

  “You can do that here,” he said, relaxing his hug and looking down at her. “I’ve got a couple of beautiful tubs you can soak in all day long, if you want.”

  “Thank you, but I think my own tub will be better for me right now.” She pulled back enough to reach up and caress his face. “I truly, truly hope you don’t think of me as a wuss. I enjoyed every single minute of being here, and I’m so thankful you invited me to take part. And,” she continued, still cupping his face, “this has absolutely nothing to do with what happened last night. Absolutely nothing.” She realized that was a bit of a stretch. It had a lot to do with their almost-sex experience, but she wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

  Erik realized further argument would be fruitless, so he gave her a short, tight squeeze before releasing her. “A wuss is the very last thing I’d call you. You’re a cowgirl in every sense of the word, and I mean that as a very sincere compliment. You can ride with the boys and me any time.”

  Later, Erik loaded Layne’s suitcase into her car and with a final wave, watched her drive away. As he watched her drive around the last bend in the road, his mind wandered back to the events of the night. Had he gone too far? Had he forever ruined his chances with her? What was standing in their way, what was holding her back? His heart was certainly in the right place, but what was keeping her heart locked in the Friendship Zone?

  ~ ~ ~

  “Hey, lazybones, you gonna stay in the tub all day? You’re gonna look like a prune!” Barb walked into the bathroom and stood by the tub. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “You are a prune!”

  Layne sat upright from her lounging position against the back of the tub. “I know, I know,” she replied, wincing slightly as she shifted positions again. “My plan is to be out of here by noon. What time is it?”

  Barb glanced at her watch. “You’ve got seven minutes, if you meant what you said about being out by noon.”

  The long soak in the hot tub was worth every minute. The soreness had disappeared from her butt, and actually that had been the only real sore spot. All else seemed to be okay or close to it. As she told Erik, she’d enjoyed the entire time with him—and yes, truth be told—also everything leading up to and including The Almost act. And again, truth be told—under a certain circumstance, such as removal of the Callaway woman from the mix, she would have loved, insisted upon, completion of The . . .

  Stop! Stop! Stop! Drop it! Leave it alone!

  ~ ~ ~

  It had been a week since the roundup, and Layne had not heard from Erik, not that she expected to. At least that was what she told herself, more than once. With all the talk and excitement concerning Erik River’s annual barbecue, she was concerned because she’d received no invitation and it was scheduled for the weekend after next.

  And then it came. A plain mimeographed postcard addressed to both Layne and Barb was buried in a stack of mail tossed on Barb’s desk by the mail lady. Layne heard Barb’s yelp of excitement when she discovered it.

  “Hey, guess what?” Barb said, sticking her head into Layne’s office. “We got an invitation to River’s party!”

  Finally! “Great,” Layne replied as nonchalantly as possible. Why did he wait so damn long? “Wanna go?”

  “Do I want to go?” Barb shot back. “Of course I want to go. The place will be full of single guys, for Pete’s sake!” She studied the postcard. “Barbecues are casual dress, right?”

  “As far as I know. What do you think you’ll wear?”

  “Not sure yet,” Barb replied, twirling around with a square-dance step, “but for sure something that’s gonna catch some guy’s eye.” She stopped in front of Layne’s cluttered desk. “How about you? What are you thinking of?”

  Layne shook her head. “Not sure yet. If it’s going to be hot, maybe a simple sundress or something like that. If it’s cool, then maybe slacks and blouse. I really haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  Again Barb studied Layne with an accusing eye. “I think Erik could have sent you a personal invitation, rather than merely a mimeographed postcard.”

  Layne shrugged. “I’m sure it’s a busy time for him, and then too, he probably had lots to do after roundup. The ranch doesn’t run itself, you know.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” Barb agreed. “But after you told me about what happened, or almost happened, as you cross your heart and hope to die and swear to God is the truth, you’d think he could at least call or something.”

  “Barb,” Layne said in exasperation, “he’s a busy man. Okay?”

  “Right,” Barb agreed, as if realizing she’d pushed things to the limit and it was time to back off. “I’m going to start a list of choices. What to wear, what to wear?” she said, leaving Layne’s office.

  As Layne watched her depart, her thoughts turned to Barb’s words. He could have called. Why hadn’t he called? What was so difficult about punching a few numbers into his cell phone and calling?

  ~ ~ ~

  Layne poked her head into Barb’s bedroom. It was an O.M.G. moment. The bed was piled high with layers of clothing, sorted into piles of jeans, skirts, sweaters, and blouses. Neatly lined up at the side of the bed were shoes, boots, and sundry footwear separated in various colors and styles.

  “Holy crap, what bomb went off in here?” Layne exclaimed, surveying the explosive mess as she stood in the doorway. “All this for the barbecue?”

  Barb gave an exasperated nod. “Help me,” she pleaded. “I don’t know what to wear at this thing.”

  “Well, all I can tell you for sure is to wear comf
ortable shoes. These things are usually spread out, lots of walking involved. And,” she continued with a grin, “what if some handsome cowboy wants to show you something back behind the barn?”

  “So, you’re saying running shoes then?”

  “What, running away from the guy or running to the guy?” Layne asked.

  “Running to, you idiot, running to.” Barb swept an arm toward the heap. “What about clothes? What color, jeans, dress, or slacks? Tight or loose? What?”

  Shaking her head, Layne turned back to her bedroom, leaving Barb to make her own decisions. She realized she had enough of her own problems as she surveyed the massive mound heaped upon her bed. No big hurry, she thought, unless she wanted to sleep tonight. The prospect of hanging all the clothing back on hangers and replacing it in the closet was less than appealing, but it was something that needed to be done, and done soon, like sometime today.

  After sorting through the layers of clothing piled on the bed, trying combinations on, taking combinations off, choosing, and then rejecting, footwear, late into the evening, Layne finally made her choices. Nothing fancy. This was only a barbecue, outside, on a ranch. It was not the Grand Ball in the Grand Ballroom. She settled on jeans, a short-sleeve blouse, and cowboy boots.

  Bone weary by now, she returned the last of the clothing to the closet and flopped on the bed. She was ready for tomorrow, excited about the barbecue but mostly excited to see Erik again. She missed him, and was more than a little concerned that she’d not heard a word from him since The Almost night.

  She awoke around midnight, momentarily disorientated. She’d been dreaming she was naked in Erik’s bed, cradled in his arms, and he was about to kiss her. Slowly, reality worked its way through her hazy brain. She’d fallen asleep, fully clothed, on her bed. She quickly undressed, hating for the sleep cobwebs to be brushed away. She crawled back in and in no time, returned to the warm, wonderful dream of Erik.

  ~ ~ ~

  Layne could hardly contain her excitement as Barb found a parking spot behind a string of cars parked on the side of the entrance road to the ranch.

  “God, look at the cars!” she said, sliding out the driver’s side. “Are we late? What time is it?”

  “Almost eleven,” Layne answered, checking her watch. “The invitation said close to noon.” She peered down the road toward the ranch and saw the crowd that had gathered. “If anything, we’re early, but holy cow, look at the crowd already!”

  Layne waited for Barb to lock the car, then they started toward the festivities. “Do you want to stick together or do you want to wander around on your own?” Layne asked as she surveyed the milling people. “Looks easy to get separated.”

  “Well,” Barb replied slowly, “I think you may want to run into Erik, and I might want to run into any man with two legs wearing cowboy boots.” With that, she started out on her own.

  How easy it was for her, Layne thought as she watched Barb make a beeline directly for a young, good-looking cowboy and start a conversation. Just go after it, take the bull by the horns.

  Layne had a late breakfast, so she wasn’t hungry as she roamed around the ranch, making note of the food preparation areas she could visit later. One thing was for sure: the smell around the barbecue pit area was wonderful. She was walking by, breathing deeply of the delicious odors when she heard her name called.

  “Hey, Martin,” a male voice said from behind her, “what are you doing here?”

  Layne turned to recognize the office Romeo, Jeffrey Baylor, a middle-aged attorney from Wellington’s office, constantly balancing on the tightrope of sexual harassment. Not her favorite person.

  “Well,” she said, failing to temper her sarcastic reply, “strange as it may seem, I’m here to enjoy the barbecue.”

  “Oh. Word around the office is that you blew a big deal with Rivers. I’m surprised you were even invited.” Baylor stopped to light a cigarette, then blew a puff of smoke skyward. “Is that why you were fired? The Rivers deal?”

  Fired? Ah yes, a juicy rumor. “Actually, Miss Meier and I quit to establish our own practice, and we’re doing quite well.”

  Baylor looked at Layne in surprise, momentarily stumped for an answer. “Well,” he finally said, gloating at his one-upmanship, “I had a juicy plum dropped in my lap. I’m sure you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, but Rivers has a niece, hidden off somewhere with an old lady, and he’s going after full custody. I’m going to be his attorney.”

  Bombshell! Layne quickly recovered from the news that she’d almost completely forgotten. Keeping a noncommittal face, she said, “Wow. That is a plum! Is the case scheduled yet?”

  “Still workin’ on it,” he replied. “This is gonna mean a pretty big promotion for me!” With those words, he sauntered away with a hop and a skip and disappeared into the milling throng of people.

  Layne took a few minutes to digest the man’s words. So, the wheels were starting to turn, she realized, and exactly where did that put her? If the situation proceeded to court, she and Erik would be adversaries, and they could kiss whatever relationship they had or could have had, goodbye. She was bound by her agreement with Callaway.

  As Layne wandered about the ranch grounds, stopping to chat with the few people she knew, her mind swam with hypothetical scenarios, none of them good for any relationship with Erik. How on Earth had she gotten herself into this situation? Obviously, had she known Callaway’s relationship with Erik, she never would have agreed to represent her through the grandmother. There was one thing Layne had yet to make clear in her mind: exactly what was the relationship between Erik and Joyce? That was the question that begged an answer.

  Layne’s stomach was now telling her that she was ready for food, and she found herself drifting toward the source of the mouth-watering aromas. As she approached the crowd milling around the barbecue pit, she did a double-take, spotting Erik with Joyce Callaway by his side.

  A crushing wave of unexpected jealousy washed through her, making her stumble on the rough terrain. She stopped at the edge of the crowd and watched them talking and laughing with another couple. Joyce’s arm was around Erik’s waist, hugging him close. She was dressed in fancy designer jeans, tucked into calf-high embossed boots, a white blouse with rolled-up sleeves, and hair teased into soft waves under a felt cowboy hat.

  Layne tore her eyes away. Now she knew. Suddenly, like a major explosion, everything became crystal clear. Erik had stopped before making love to her because he was being faithful to Callaway. Apparently, all this time she was merely a plaything, led on and used! Anger slowly built up within her, making her almost physically sick. She turned and hurried away.

  Erik innocently attempted to move out of Joyce’s grip, and in doing so, turned in time to see Layne turn and walk away. He realized she’d been standing with the group near the barbecue pit and certainly had seen Joyce with her arm around him. He was enough of a gentleman not to leave Joyce to pursue Layne, and there was no choice but to watch her walk away without a backward glance. The damage had been done, and right now, there was no way of rectifying it.

  ~ ~ ~

  Layne hurried away from the pit area, searching for Barb, and finally found her down by the stables, talking with a cowboy.

  “Barb,” she said, interrupting their conversation, “how much longer do you want to stay? I don’t suppose you’re ready to go yet?” She realized that was probably the dumbest of dumb questions. Barb walk away from a young, handsome wrangler? That wasn’t about to happen.

  “Um,” Barb replied, “you want to go? Already?” She glanced at the young man beside her. There was no way she wanted to leave this guy! Looking back at Layne, she said, “Don’t you feel well?”

  “Not real well right now,” Layne admitted truthfully, “but I’ll . . .”

  “I can give you a lift whenever you want,”
the young cowboy offered to Barb.

  Barb reached into a pocket for the keys. “Take my car,” she said to Layne before turning to the cowboy. “I’ll take that ride later,” she said, “if you don’t mind.”

  The young cowboy returned her smile, and that settled the problem.

  Layne took the keys and with thanks, started to walk away. Suddenly she stopped. “If anyone, anyone at all, asks where I am or where I went, you have absolutely no idea. Understand?”

  “I understand.” Barb nodded. “I saw them too.”

  Chapter 9

  Their law practice had grown faster than either Layne or Barb could have imagined, so the decision was made to hire an office manager. Claire was a young single mother with a son in early grade school and they allowed her to schedule her time around his school hours and directed her to steadfastly refuse any call from Erik Rivers.

  Like a buzz saw, Layne dove into her work in an effort to keep as busy as possible, and keep her thoughts away from Erik’s betrayal. It had been two weeks since she left the barbecue, and he’d called several times a day at first, but now his calls were becoming less frequent.

  Layne pushed the filing cabinet closed and wandered to the window. It was a gray, rainy morning that matched Layne’s spirits. The prospect of anything better that day was unpromising, and lowered her spirits even more. As she watched the streams of water roll down the glass, her thoughts again wandered to the hay crop on Rivers End Ranch. Would there be a good harvest this year? Where the hell did that come from again? With a shake of her head that sent her chestnut ponytail swinging, she wiped the picture from her mind. She absolutely did not care what happened to the hay crop on Erik River’s ranch!