MATCH MADE IN WYOMING

by Patricia McLinn

  They were back where they'd started. No, not where they'd started, because now she knew more of the man behind the shell, and she could no longer pretend she didn't care deeply for him.

  Someone called his name, and he turned away. But she was fully aware of where he was as he circulated among the guests. How he nodded at something Ervin said to him. How he gave Hugh another beer. How he thanked Lisa for keeping the food flowing. How he limited his murmurs to "Yes'm" as Ruth doled out instructions.

  Taylor knew by the fanned creases at the corners of his eyes that he was consciously restraining from making one of his sharply humorous retorts.

  Funny how those creases deepened both when he laughed and when he was irked, yet she would never mistake one emotion for the other.

  He sat beside the Widow Brontman for a good twenty minutes, listening and nodding and eating another piece of rum cake. Taylor saw the way the men looked Cal in the eyes as each shook his hand and clapped a hand to his upper arm, and she recognized it as a mark of acceptance that had to be earned among these Wyoming men. As much as Cal claimed to be solitary and to like it that way, Matty was right: he had friends here. Not only that, but he was well on his way to accepting that friendship, whether he knew it or not.

  So maybe it was only with her that he had such issues over an emotional connection. He had feelings for her, but he'd certainly made it quite clear he didn't believe in love. Yet that was what she'd hoped for. And Cal was too intelligent not to have recognized that.

  In that, maybe she wasn't drawing him out of his shell, but keeping him in it.

  Suddenly she couldn't be here anymore. Not in the three small rooms that had seemed for such a brief time to be a haven.

  She took her jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and headed out. It probably wasn't fair to leave the others with the cleanup, but at the moment a lot of things didn't seem fair.

  * * *

  Taylor was leaving.

  "Breeding in some Red Brangus, might cut the dehorning problems if we can—"

  "Excuse me."

  That was all Cal said as he broke away from the foreman of the Slash-C. He saw Jack follow the direction he was looking, and knew he'd recognized Taylor as she slipped out the back door. He gave Cal a knowing look, a clap on the shoulder and a hearty "Sure."

  Cal would have winced if he'd had time, but Taylor was moving fast.

  He couldn't let her go. Not stopping to consider that urgency, he followed her.

  "Taylor."

  She stopped and turned around. He dug his hands in his front jeans pockets and hunched his shoulders slightly against the cold. He should be wearing a coat. "What is it, Cal?"

  "You're leaving without saying anything?"

  She made no attempt to hide surprise that he was lecturing her on manners. "Yes."

  "I thought there might be something legal you wanted to tell me."

  "If there had been, I would have called. I'm here for the same reason as everybody else." That clearly made him uncomfortable – tough.

  One side of his mouth tilted up, though she wouldn't have called it a grin. "The rum cake?"

  "I noticed you had a third slice."

  "Couldn't refuse, not with the widow offering it."

  "And you couldn't refuse to sit and listen to her talk, either." An elderly, lonely, powerless old woman. Had he seen the link to his aunt as clearly as she had?

  "She was talking about Henry Brennan. I think they might have been an item when they were young."

  "It was kind of you to let her talk about that."

  He closed down.

  She watched it happen. She turned before she could give in to the desire to pound on his chest and demand that he let her in.

  "Good night, Cal."

  She reached the bottom of the steps.

  "Taylor."

  She stopped again, and waited.

  "Sorry."

  "For?"

  "For thinking you'd told people. I should have known I could … that you would be more professional."

  "Yes, you should have. Since you've counted on my professionalism to get you out of the messy possibility of actually letting someone care about you. And if not my professionalism, then my greed and ambition."

  His gaze flickered. It couldn't have been with shame … or regret? No, probably discomfort at being found out.

  "You're the one who said people need to face their demons. You seemed to consider your past a demon, so you should thank me for letting you face it."

  "Oh, I'm facing my demon, all right. I've faced my demon time after time these past weeks, and I'm facing him right this moment. And I most definitely do have you to thank for that."

  She saw his understanding that he was her demon in the tightening planes of his face in the moment before she turned away.

  * * *

  For a second, when he'd called Taylor's name, he'd thought she might keep going, pretending she hadn't heard him.

  She'd followed the porch around the house to the front, stopping where the railing turned to run down alongside the front steps. As she'd faced him, the light outside the barn revealed her face starkly. She looked tired. He didn't remember those shadows under her eyes. He wanted to touch his lips to them. That's when he knew he was in trouble.

  Nothing either one of them said made it any better.

  Demon.

  Taylor's car had been out of view for a while before Cal turned around and found Dave leaning against the wall behind him.

  "Want some advice from someone who's been there?"

  "No."

  Dave ignored that. "It's scary as hell when you're thinking about jumping, but once you make the leap, you got too much going on to think about how scary it is anymore. At least that's the way it is if you're with a great woman. And Taylor's a great woman. The kind to build a life with."

  "You and Matty have always wanted the same thing from life. Taylor and I are going different directions."

  "Oh? You planning on leaving?"

  "No."

  "You can't be thinking Taylor's going." The other man studied him, then slowly shook his head. "But you do, don't you? Why?"

  "You know what kind of job she had before she came here?"

  "I've got a pretty good idea, yeah."

  "And you think somebody like that's going to be satisfied staying? It's different for you and Matty, you were born here, you belong here. But Taylor … she'll go back to that other life. She was too good at it not to."

  Dave nodded his head, but Cal wasn't fooled into thinking he was agreeing. "So you think she's using Knighton as a breather between stints of high-powered lawyering? Could be, I suppose. How about you? What are you using Knighton as a breather from?"

  "Nothing."

  Dave's disbelief was clear, but he didn't pursue it. Not directly, anyway. "People who aren't born here don't usually end up in Knighton by accident."

  "I did," Cal argued.

  "Not entirely. You must have been looking for this kind of place or you never would have found Henry Brennan's ad. The job at the Flying W fit your needs. Same with Taylor. She was looking for this kind of place, and Knighton fit her needs. But she had to make more of a commitment to being here. She couldn't tell herself she was drifting through, staying here as long as it suited her, then moving on."

  Cal didn't for a second think it was a fluke that the other man had slightly emphasized the pronoun in each of those statements.

  "She had to find a spot that could take another lawyer," Dave continued, "then she had to pass the state bar, and brush up on areas of law she hadn't needed with that big Dallas firm. She had to invest in a practice. Money, of course, but more than that. They'd have run her out quick if she hadn't invested in caring about the people, too."

  "All right. Taylor Larsen's a great lawyer and a great person."

  "Yes, she is." Dave let that sit a while before adding, "You know, I seem to remember you asking Matty before she and I got married if she loved me."


  "She didn't answer."

  "No, she didn't. But you felt you could ask because you cared about her, and you were worried about her. I suspect," he added in a lazy drawl, "that's also the reason you gave me that hurt-her-and-you-die look when the judge asked if anyone knew a reason we shouldn't get married."

  Cal said nothing, because the other man was right, and they both knew it.

  "So you'll understand how I feel about Taylor. Don't hurt her, Cal."

  Unhurried, Dave Currick turned and walked back into the house.

  * * *

  A song being sung about a fine romance led Taylor through the barn and out the other side before she found Matty pulling a saddle off a black horse in the corral.

  "Hey there." Matty waved. "Can you believe this weather? Did you finally come out to take me up on the offer of a ride? I can't go with you myself because I'm heading to an appointment in town, but maybe Cal—"

  "I'm here to see Cal on business, Matty."

  Matty's grin disappeared. "Oh, you should have called. He rode up to the Three Widows hills a while ago."

  "I did call, dammit. And he knew when I was coming and that I have papers he needs to read."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah, oh. I told him he might as well come into town and look at the papers in my office, since his signature needs to be notarized. But, no, he insists I come out here – again – so he can look them over, and says he'll come into the office later in the week to sign. Which I'll believe when I see it. He keeps dragging me out here, reminding me of—" She reined in her tirade with effort. "Sorry, Matty. I shouldn't spout off to you. I'm just so frustrated."

  "On several levels, I suspect. The good news is Cal's sharing your frustration. With the mood he's been in, you'd think the man was raised on sour milk. I wonder what could be making him act that way?" Matty obviously thought she knew exactly what was molding Cal's mood, and didn't await an answer.

  "But he's weakening. Otherwise, why would he keep making all this legal work for you to handle. Good heavens, he's got you bringing papers out here more often than a head of state would need. His left hand might be saying he wants a strictly business relationship of lawyer and client, but his right hand keeps dialing the phone to get you out here." Matty looked smug. "Before too much longer, seeing you won't be enough. Mark my words, Taylor."

  Since Taylor couldn't tell Matty the whole truth, she couldn't effectively argue.

  "Fine, I'll mark your words. And if it turns out you're right, I give you full permission to crow I-told-you-so at me, okay? But right now, I need to get this to him so I can get back and keep my other clients happy."

  Matty gave her directions to the Three Widows hills, and Taylor drove slowly and carefully over the rutted ranch roads that wound up and through the hills, until she came up behind an empty Flying W truck blocking the road. When she got out, she saw Cal down the hillside to the right, astride a horse, talking to a young man on foot. The young man spotted her and tipped his head in her direction.

  Cal slowly turned, gave a single nod, then resumed his conversation.

  She turned her back to him, leaning against a fence post. He'd been dealing out power plays ever since he'd hired her, but this was the most blatant How long did he think she was going to keep doing everything his way?

  Or was that the idea – to irk her to the point of quitting. A short time ago she had thought that all she wanted was a clue to how he felt. After the gathering of his friends and neighbors at his house, she had more than a clue, and it didn't make her feel one bit better or less confused.

  His feelings for her – the feelings she'd seen and felt and heard – weren't dead. But would he ever let them live? Was she doing him more harm than good? And how long could she exist in this limbo waiting to find out?

  With those thoughts swirling through her head, Taylor had been staring at a hillside to her right for several minutes before what was in front of her rose to her conscious mind.

  It was the burned-out ground he'd brought her to earlier this spring when he'd been talking about fire walls.

  She'd wondered then just how much it would scare him to know that she'd figured out he wasn't talking about lawyers. After all their talk about shells and caves, didn't he think she could see how "fire wall" might apply to the two of them? Didn't he think she could recognize that, when he looked at that burned-out piece of land, that's how he envisioned himself if he ever let himself care?

  "Taylor?"

  "Hi." She turned with a big smile. He sat astride the same horse he'd ridden the day the snowstorm started. The sky behind him was nearly as blue as his eyes. The strong square lines of his face and his broad shoulders, along with his self-assured ease in the saddle made him look like the epitome of a Westerner.

  He studied her an instant, as if to be sure her expression was genuine, then frowned. "I didn't expect you to drive that tin can out here."

  "No problem. I made it fine."

  "How'd you know where to come?"

  Ah, he'd thought that, when she arrived and he wasn't in sight, she'd stay put by the home ranch waiting for him – and stewing, no doubt.

  "Matty gave me directions."

  His frown deepened with his curt nod. "I had things to clear up with Jason."

  He was becoming positively transparent. Now he expected her to be peeved for leaving her waiting after she'd come all the way out here. Of course, she had been peeved, but there was no reason for him to know that.

  "Uh-huh," she said simply.

  "Why are you smiling?" He asked it as if be couldn't stop himself.

  "Look over there." She gestured toward the burned field.

  "What about it."

  "You said the fire took the line shack and the fence and the trees and the grass – nothing survived. But you were wrong. Something's growing there already."

  He peered down the slope at what looked like green tufts scattered over the slope. "It's just fireweed."

  "Fireweed? That's that tall wildflower with rosy-pink flowers that bloom up a spike like gladiolas, isn't it? I love those."

  "All I know is fireweed is a weed. It's no big deal."

  "I don't care if it's a weed or not – it is a big deal. The fire leaped the fire wall. The field was burned out, and now there's something growing here. It's not dead, Cal. It's growing."

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  Matty Brennan Currick glowered at him the whole time he was giving out assignments. So it didn't surprise Cal that when the hands had gone their separate ways she marched up to where he was making notations in the work log.

  "I should fire you."

  Cal looked up. "What for?"

  "For being a jackass."

  "In general or something specific."

  "Both."

  "Start with the specific."

  "The way you're treating Taylor. And me, if it comes to that. I know you're in trouble – no, don't look like that, Taylor hasn't said a word. But I do have eyes. So does half the town. They see the thunder on your face, they see the misery in hers, and they can figure it out. Whatever the trouble is, Cal, it'll be less if you share it. Stop trying to be the big brave man who does it all alone. Let us help you."

  "Don't need help with anything."

  "Right. That's the reason you've hired Taylor, but run from her all the time. Like yesterday morning, when you knew she was coining."

  "Taylor complained about my manners?"

  "You know better than that In fact," she added with emphasis, "if you're doing this to irk her, you're far off the mark. When I saw her in town yesterday afternoon, she was quite cheerful. She told me she was glad she'd gone to the Three Widows hills after you because she got to see the burned-out field with the fireweed starting to grow in it."

  He said nothing.

  Matty slammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. "That's why you're a jackass, Cal – because you try to close everybody out. Because you think it would make a differenc
e if you didn't carry whatever it is all alone." Matty's eyes narrowed. "Or is it fear that it wouldn't a difference to Taylor? Dammit. Cal, let us help you. You can't spend the rest of your life hiding out on the Flying W."

  "Are you sending me off your land?"

  "Oh, don't be an ass. Of course I'm not. But you can't hide out from the past – or the future."

  * * *

  "…So I told him not to be an ass and to quit trying to hide out," Matty concluded her tale.

  If Dave Currick hadn't seen Cal's hungry gaze following Taylor's car nearly two weeks ago, he would be more pessimistic about the two of them. If he hadn't heard Cal's cold words, he would be more optimistic.

  "Dave, maybe if you talked to him…"

  "I might just mention that flower shop in Jefferson where I got your wedding bouquet with the Indian Paintbrush in it."

  He kissed the top of her head, and she snuggled closer. But her brows knit. "I don't think Cal's thinking along the lines of sending Taylor flowers."

  "No, I don't think so, either. But you never know when it might come in handy…"

  Cal would be here soon – after finally agreeing to come to her office. Taylor straightened the papers into two stacks. Each represented a task completed to the best of her ability. The ones he'd instructed her to deal with, and the ones he hadn't.

  Those were the ones she handled almost tenderly. It was stupid to have put so much of her heart and her hope into them. But she hadn't been able to help herself. They represented the one way she could think of that he might stay in Knighton.

  "And sign here – the last one."

  He did.

  "You're now the majority owner. Since that means your vote would carry even if all the minority owners banded together, you're running the show." She was proud of her composure. "And from what Greg Salisbury tells me, they're more than a little anxious about their new owner."

  "Let 'em wonder."

  "You … you're not going back? Even now?"

  "No."

  "You are one stubborn man, Cal Ruskoff." That brought his head up, and she repeated, "Cal Ruskoff or Bennington Caldwell Rusk Whitton, doesn't change a thing – you are one stubborn man. And it doesn't change that the question now is, how can you run the company from here?"