He automatically reached for the bear, hurling it across the room. "I can't say or do anything right. She don't even like how I ride. Dad sat me on a horse before she was born, for Pete's sake. I was winnin' rodeo buckles before she could even pick her own nose."
At that, the old man burst into hearty laughter, letting the paper fall to his lap.
"Laugh away, Gramps," he said, scowling, "but I guarantee there's always been plenty of girls who think I look good on a horse."
"Oh, mercy," his grandfather mumbled finally, dabbing at his watering eyes with his handkerchief. "What'd'you reckon's the matter with her?"
"How the heck should I know? I thought we were gonna get things worked out the night of her graduation, but she ran off mad and she's been mean as a rattlesnake ever since."
His grandfather folded the paper. "I wouldn't put up with her, then, was I you. Even when she was a little bitty gal, curls flyin' around, eyes flashin', she was sassy with fellers." He stood, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. "It's a shame 'cause she can be sweet as sugar pie when she takes a mind. You ate anything, yet?"
Sugar pie. Ha. More like razor wire pie. He could hardly remember his brief taste of sugar pie.
"We ate at the café." Rubbing his eyes, he chuckled mirthlessly. "Get this. She took the burger I bought her and sat with that smart mouth 3T hand. Fed him her fries, too. She says he reminds her of Robert Redford. He reminds me of a chipmunk. No kiddin'." Scowling, he wiggled his fingers in the area of his jaw. "His smart mouth and little brown sideburns. He's so pretty. Man, I can't stand that guy and she knows it." His scowl deepened. "If she always looked at him like she was sightin' her rifle between his eyes he wouldn't think she was so darn hot."
"Well, there you have it, Son." The old man turned away. "Time to move on. She ain't worth takin' a bullet over."
Molly squeaked her toy impatiently.
"Hear that, Molly?" he muttered, kicking the bear. "Find a new home. I'm movin' on."
In bed later, he glared into the dark. What kind of idiot would keep putting himself through that for a mean little firebrand who had ripped his heart into shreds and stomped all over it?
Not him.
He was finished.
Done.
He kicked off the sheet and rolled over. The bedsprings shrieked. Molly growled, impatient with his restlessness. He reached down and dropped her out of the bed. She jumped back on. Disgustedly, he flopped back onto his pillow.
Tomorrow they moved the cattle herd to mountain pasture. After that came the sheep move. He had to have some sleep. Determined, he closed his eyes.
Katie's image stood burned into the backsides of his eyelids, hands on her hips, sassing him. With a snarl, he lunged at her. He grabbed a fistful of shining ponytail with one hand, her slender throat with the other. Slowly, he squeezed her silky skin. He enjoyed it…almost like he enjoyed smooth chocolate melting on his tongue. Forcing back her head, he met her eyes, like blue torch flames.
Her soft lips formed strangled words. "Drop. Dead. Buster."
Seriously? That's what she wanted to go out on?
He smiled grimly. No problem. He tightened his hand on her throat, glaring into her gaze only two inches away.
Then he…kissed her until she had to just…just…
Shut up!
He rolled over with a groan, covering his head with his pillow. Molly snapped at his leg, growling. He ground his teeth, shoving her small body away with his foot.
He had to give the mutt to Katie. They belonged together…alike as two short-fused sticks of dynamite.
***
A few days later, the first gold rays of sunlight lit a cloudless blue sky, burst over sandstone canyon walls and flooded down over a roaring whitewater of sheep. The canyon walls thundered with echoes from thousands of throats as the flock streamed from Sunnyside's dirt track onto asphalt road where Gil, nearly deafened, sat on Lucky. Shouting and whistling to the border collies slinking and darting around the river of sheep, he waited for Katie's red tee shirt and straw Stetson to materialize through the cloud of dust at the tail of the flock.
He trotted Lucky close to her mare. "You got this?" he shouted.
She gave him a snippy nod. He eyed her narrowly, his patience with her already stretched thin. She had showed up at Sunnyside with her father and Tim before daylight, her mood ugly. She'd told him to shut up, called him a moron twice, and buster once…all within the space of thirty minutes.
"I'm movin' on, then," he shouted. "Stay on the flank away from the traffic."
Her brows snapped together. "I'm not stupid."
He opened his mouth, but thought better of it and wheeled Lucky, urging him to a trot. What was the use?
Earlier he'd argued with her about her bringing up the tail of the flock on the dangerous five miles of asphalt road between the intersection and the deserted mountain road to the grazing allotment. Even with his grandfather trailing along in the pickup a quarter mile behind with the truck's flashers on, some idiot was bound to ignore the warning and roar past on the curving road, maybe plow right into the flock and run over her, too.
But she always had to prove a point, she always—
An air horn blared behind him. He spun toward the sound. Smoke billowed from the squalling brakes of a semi-truck barreling toward her. The blood drained from his heart.
"Katie! God, no," he yelled. He jabbed Lucky with his spurs, forcing him against the tide of sheep.
Katie frantically kicked her heels into her mare's sides. Wild eyed, the horse responded with an out of control lunge for the edge of the road and a steep drop-off high above the creek. Katie lost a stirrup and clawed for a hold on her saddle. The truck relentlessly skidded toward her on smoking trails of rubber.
Lucky shoved through the last of the sheep and he made a desperate grab for the mare's bridle. The truck juddered to a stop two feet away from them. He hauled the mare onto solid roadway in front of it.
"What the heck are you doin'?" he roared over the truck's diesel motor.
"I was trying to keep your stupid sheep out of the creek," she yelled back, pale and shaking, but still defiant even after missing death by two feet.
His weak-kneed terror fed his wrath. "I always thought I'd rather clean sheep off the highway than you, but I'm about to change my mind. If you do one more stupid thing, I'll snub Candy to my saddle and make you ride beside me all—"
"Don't threaten me."
"I'm tellin' you."
"Well, you'd better bring some friends, buster, because you'll need help…"
She shimmered through a red haze as the veins in his neck and forehead swelled tight. Her mouth kept moving, but his heartbeat throbbing in his ears blocked out her voice. The agitated horses danced restlessly around on the road in front of the truck. He glanced up at the shaken truck driver, and then wheeling Lucky, he loped away.
She'd never quit back-talking until she was actually dead and if he stayed an instant longer, all the blood vessels in his head would explode.
Thirty minutes later, she trotted Candy to him at the mid-point of the flock. "About fifty of your stupid sheep are down in the creek bottom," she shouted.
"Where?"
"About a mile—"
He tore his hat from his head, hurling it viciously to the ground. "Why'd you wait so long to tell me? You make me so mad I could just…just…" She made him wish so bad he hadn't stopped cussing. He dismounted and snatched up his hat, shoving it onto his head. "Y'know what? I'm glad I found out how you really are before—" He snapped his teeth shut, hauling himself onto his saddle.
"Before what?"
"Before I married you," he bellowed. "What a life I would've had."
"I wouldn't have married you if you were the last man alive anyway, Gil Howard," she yelled back.
"Katie, you practically begged me to marry you."
"You liar."
"Oh, yeah? How about—" he changed his voice to a falsetto—"Gil, ain't there somewhere we
could get married where Dad wouldn't have to sign for me?"
"You're such a jerk," she shrieked, hot color flooding her cheeks. "I'm getting back together with Lance. We've got a date tonight."
"Congratulations." He glared at her triumphantly. "You never told me you broke up."
She flushed a deeper shade, apparently annoyed by her admission. "He's just been on a trip."
"Oh, right, Miss Pinocchio. You'd better check your nose."
"He went fishing in Alaska."
"Who cares? I'm takin' Tracy out tonight. Or Laura. Maybe even Annie. They'd all be glad to get me."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're so full of yourself."
"My only problem is I can't decide which of 'em to marry. They're all hot, but Tracy—"
"Woo hoo," she shouted, twirling her hand in the air. "I'll dance at your wedding with every man there."
He gave her a final glare. Now she was just being ridiculous—nobody at church danced, not even at weddings. He jabbed Lucky with his spurs, whistling for the nearest dog. Why had he ever been so sure God had chosen her to be the only woman in the world he could endure for a lifetime? He couldn't even endure her for a few minutes.
A mile later, he found where the sheep had scattered in the thick brush along the creek. Lucky scrambled for footing on stones slick with water and moss, then stumbled into a boulder, ramming his bad knee into it with a solid crack.
He shouted with pain, rubbing at the joint through the leather of his chaps. After that, he fought his way over rocks and through brush on foot, leading Lucky. He turned his ankles and broke the rowels from his expensive spurs, but finally, he and the dog had the noisy band gathered and back on the road.
He pushed the sheep to a trot. At the tail of the main group, Katie gave him a haughty glance.
His nose burned. It hadn't stopped burning all day. All week. All—
"Don't look at me like that," he roared.
"I'll look at you any way I like, buster."
Something inside him snapped. He grabbed for her horse's bridle and caught a rein, yanking it from her hand.
Like a match to gasoline, her Campbell temper exploded. She lashed at him with the end of the other rein while Candy scrambled back, wild eyed and snorting, her metal shod hooves slipping on fresh sheep manure.
He dodged the rein end as both horses plunged around on the slick asphalt. Candy reared. Katie twisted in the saddle and kicked at him. Her boot made solid contact just beneath his injured knee.
"Katie, knock it off," he shouted, snatching at the rein again. "You're gonna get us killed."
The mare stumbled, falling to her knees. Off balance, Katie tumbled sideways. He lunged for her, catching her arm just before she toppled from the horse. With every muscle straining, he hauled her back onto her saddle. Candy heaved to her feet.
Katie wrenched her arm from his grip then slumped in her saddle gasping for air. He brought the horses to a quivering stand, his chest heaving in ragged gasps. With a glance at the empty road behind them, he reached for Candy's other rein and grimly wound them around his saddle horn.
"First of all you little wildcat," he panted, eyeing her downcast face. "I'll break Lance's arms before he takes you on another date. You're not gettin' back together with him unless I'm dead, so…put that in your pipe and smoke it." He fingered a stinging welt on his cheek. "Another thing? Don't ever call me buster again. I'm pretty darn sick of it."
He picked up his reins. Pulling Candy along, he nudged Lucky to a trot with his rowel-less spurs, following the sound of the flock fading into the distance.
A mile later, they turned onto a narrow, dirt road. The sheep followed the sparsely populated ranch road upward through irrigated hay fields, and then into the oak brush. A cool, pine scented breeze from the high country did little to cool his anger—or hers, apparently—as they rode leg to leg.
She maintained an ominous, thin-lipped silence, her hands clenched on her denim-clad thighs. She'd lost her hat sometime during their altercation, and the breeze wafted silky strands of lightning scented ponytail to catch in his whisker stubble or tangle around his shirt snaps. She winced with pain, but wouldn't lean into him to loosen it. He untangled the strands of hair himself, sometimes tucking them behind her ear where he let his fingers linger on her skin, silently taunting her. She always jerked away, slapping at his hand.
Still silent at noon, she turned up her nose at the sandwich and can of soda he offered her from his saddlebag. Throughout the afternoon, she ignored Dave's mocking comments about her rein-less situation, Tim's hearty laughter, her dad's speculative gaze, and his grandfather's worried look.
At dusk, they entered the aspen grove marking the boundary of the grazing allotment. The weary flock spread across the meadow to graze while Dave turned Sam into the makeshift horse pen near the shepherd's trailer beneath the trees.
Jon dismounted and approached Katie. She didn't look at him.
Her dad thoughtfully studied the stubborn set of her jaw then turned to him. "You loadin' up?"
He eyed her. "You ready to end this?"
All she had to do was relent just a little. Say something. Anything.
She stared stony-faced toward where an occasional bleat and tinkle of a bell from a bellwether's collar disturbed the dusk beneath the aspens. Ragged lines of melting snow beneath the trees filled the air with the smell of wet earth. A horse whinnied. The trailer gate slammed.
"One of us has to give up," he said. "It ain't gonna be me, so…whenever you're ready."
Her lips tightened. Nothing else.
He breathed deeply of the chilly air. All right. If that was how she wanted it…
"If it's all right with you, sir," he said to Jon, "we'll be along after a while."
Jon eyed Katie's set expression. "Babe?"
She looked down at her hands, but didn't say anything.
Jon gave him a sour look. "I hope you know what you're doin'."
He nodded glumly. That made two of them.
***
"I need to stop," Katie said an hour later, her voice breaking into the darkness and steady clop of hooves on the deserted road.
He halted the horses and dismounted, gritting his teeth against the pain in his knee. Katie stumbled toward the cover of the scrub oak. He tightened Lucky's cinch. Why had he been so stubborn about riding all the way down the mountain? She had to be tired and hungry—he was—but she'd made him so mad he'd forgotten she was hardly bigger than a minute and prone to respiratory complaints. He'd probably make her sick.
He tightened Candy's saddle. What a train wreck. How was he going to fix all that?
Did he even want to?
He couldn't keep living the way he had been the rest of his life. She couldn't, either…she needed somebody who could make her happy. It seemed less likely every day it was him.
Her footsteps sounded behind him. She made a couple of weary attempts to mount, but couldn't get her boot to the stirrup. He lifted her onto the saddle. She sat shivering, her face a pale heart-shape in the dark. He untied his denim jacket from behind his saddle and handed it to her. She hesitated, but then reached for the coat and slipped it on.
Something bigger than a skunk, maybe a badger, rustled through the grass beside the road. Whatever it was, he could deal with it easier than the unnervingly silent female beside him.
"Katie, this don't need to be so hard," he said quietly. "You know it don't."
Her head drooped. She shifted in the saddle. The leather creaked. That was all.
He sighed. Okay. They'd do it the hard way some more.
In Lone Tree, the horses' metal shoes raised an echoing clatter on the dark street, empty except for a few pickups still parked in front of the bar. He stopped beneath the streetlamp at the payphone. The horses stood quietly. A burst of muffled laughter drifted from inside the bar.
"Want me to call your dad to come get you?"
She didn't raise her head. "You're…leaving me here?" Her voice sounde
d small and uncertain.
He reached to tip up her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I brought you to this dance and I'll take you home if you can ride it," he said roughly. "I've never done anything to make you think I'd leave you anywhere. Ever."
The streetlight glinted on sudden tears in her eyes. "You left me at Aunt Rachel's."
He stared at her, motionless. "Wait…You didn't want me to?"
Her gaze slid away from his.
"Tell me." His grip on her chin tightened. "I can't read your mind."
Her lips trembled. "You could if you cared about me."
He gaped at her. If he cared…? Could she be serious? "You ran off. I thought I'd ruin your party if—"
"You left with her."
"I didn't wanna change her tire, Katie," he exclaimed. "I just dropped her off and went home. I was with her for maybe five minutes. If you'd stayed with me you would've—"
"Gil, I wanted you to—" She broke off, crying silently.
"What? I would've done it." He leaned toward her. "Tell me."
She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "If you understood me at all, you'd know."
Another burst of laughter sounded from the bar. Probably 3T laughter. Down the street, a dog barked. She sat silent and he still didn't know.
Releasing her chin, he sat back in his saddle in defeat. He was too stupid to figure it out and she wasn't going to tell him. He'd flunked another crazy female psychology test. Big surprise there.
"Can you make another five miles?" he asked stiffly.
She nodded.
He unwound her reins then flipped them over Candy's head to her. On the long climb up the hill outside the sleeping town, she groaned. He glanced back to where she swayed over her saddle horn like a drunk. Turning, he rode Lucky close beside her, circling her shoulders with his arm. She sagged against him without protest. Sometime after midnight, the horses stumbled to a stop in the Campbell yard.
Her legs wouldn't hold her when she slid off her saddle and he caught her, his own body groaning with weariness. He held her to him, breathing in her warmth and softness. She belonged in his arms. They were right like that. Why couldn't she see it? Why'd she want to waste time fighting and—
The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough) Page 29