Dude Ranch Bride

by Madeline Baker

  A large buckskin horse paced back and forth in a peeled-pole corral, pausing now and then to paw the ground or shake its head. She didn’t know much about horses other than what little she recalled from the riding lessons she’d had years ago, but this one was beautiful. Its coat gleamed like burnished gold, its mane and tail looked like black silk. It snorted and laid its ears back as she approached the corral.

  “Hey! Get away from there!”

  Cindy whirled around and felt the color drain from her face as she saw a man clad in nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans and a pair of moccasins stride toward her from the far side of the cabin. Tall and lean and broad-shouldered, he had long black hair, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, a hawklike nose. His skin was a smooth copper color all over, just as she remembered. She almost sighed as he shrugged on a faded blue shirt, leaving it unbuttoned.

  “You! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed. And then wondered why she was so surprised. She’d known someone in his family owned the ranch. Deep down, hadn’t she come here hoping to see him?

  He stared at her. His eyes were the color of gray storm clouds, dark and angry.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked brusquely.

  “I asked you first.”

  “I work here.”

  “Well, I didn’t know that.”

  He grunted softly. He was sure of that. She never would have come if she had known he was here.

  She couldn’t stop looking at him. He had been handsome at nineteen; now, five years later, the promise of youth had been fulfilled. He had an arresting face, all sharp planes and angles that, taken separately, should have been ordinary. But there was nothing ordinary about this man’s face. Or his body. Heat flowed through her. She had a sudden urge to run her hands over that broad chest to see if it was as hard and firm as she remembered, to feel his sun-warmed skin beneath her fingertips. His jeans fit his long, long legs like a second skin.

  “Seen enough,” he drawled insolently, “or should I strip down to my shorts?”

  Ethan grinned when she blushed and looked away. He should be used to those looks by now, he thought. He had been propositioned more times than he could count in the last two years. Lonely women, unhappily married women, teenage girls, rich society babes like Cindy Wagner—he seemed to attract them all. But Cindy was the only woman who had ever captured his heart. Captured it and refused to let it go, even when she no longer wanted it.

  “I . . . I’m, that is . . . it was nice seeing you again, Ethan. I should be going,” she stammered. Head lowered, she swept past him.

  He turned to watch her. She looked good walking away, too, he thought, remembering all the days and nights they had spent together, the hours they had spent walking under the stars, holding hands. The times he had danced, just for her. All the nights he had gone home, hard and hurting, because she was a nice girl. . . .

  “Hey.”

  She stopped at the sound of his voice, but didn’t turn around.

  “I didn’t mean to bark at you like that.”

  She turned slowly, not quite meeting his gaze.

  He jerked his chin toward the corral. “He’s wild, that one, fresh off the range. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  With a nod, she turned and walked down the trail.

  He watched her until she was out of sight, admiring the sway of her hips, the way the sun cast blue highlights in her hair. Why had he felt the need to explain his reaction? Why did he care what she thought? Rationalizing, he told himself he couldn’t afford to offend any of the guests, especially the rich spoiled ones who were accustomed to voicing their complaints when they didn’t get their own way. He was here on sufferance, nothing more. But that wasn’t the real reason, and he knew it.

  He shook his head ruefully. He had sworn off white women. But he couldn’t help admiring the view as she walked away.

  Chapter Three

  Cindy walked swiftly down the path toward the office, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all the men in the world, Ethan Stormwalker was the last one she had ever expected to see again. Perversely, he was also the one she most wanted to see.

  Ethan. He was still the most ruggedly handsome man she had ever known, from the top of his black-thatched head to the soles of his Lakota moccasins. She had hoped that if she ever saw him again, she wouldn’t feel anything, proving that she was over him once and for all. For the first few weeks after they broke up, she had slept in one of his old T-shirts. She’d never washed it because it had smelled like Ethan, reminded her of Ethan. And then, when months had gone by and he still hadn’t called, she had burned every letter, every picture, every gift he had ever given her except one. But the pain was still there, and now, after seeing him again, she knew it was never going to go away, that in spite of everything, she was still in love with him. If she were smart, she would leave here, now, this minute. And she was smart. But she was also hungry.

  Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast early that morning. Checking the schedule posted outside the office, she saw that dinner was served from 5:30 to 7:00 p.m. If she hurried, she would just make it.

  And why should she leave? she thought as she made her way to the lodge. She didn’t want him to think that he had frightened her off. She had always wanted to visit a ranch. She was here. And she was going to stay, Ethan Stormwalker be damned!

  The dining room was large and rectangular. An enormous fireplace took up most of one wall, a huge rack of antlers hanging over it. Two long trestle tables, with chairs enough to seat twenty-four people each, occupied the center of the room. A half dozen square tables lined the walls. A handful of people were still seated at one of the long tables, talking and laughing over apple pie and ice cream.

  Feeling somewhat shy, Cindy took a seat at one of the smaller tables beside a window. A moment later the woman she had talked with in the office bustled into the room. She was tall and angular, her thick black hair just beginning to show streaks of gray.

  “Miss Wagner,” Dorothea Donovan said, smiling, “what are you doing sitting here all alone? Come on over and meet the Petersens.”

  “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” Cindy replied. She wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, or explain why she was there by herself.

  Dorothea frowned, and then smiled. “Whatever you wish. We’re serving chicken tonight. I’ll have Margie bring you a plate. What would you like to drink?”

  “Milk?”

  Dorothea patted her shoulder. “I need to go check some things at the office, but Margie’s in the kitchen. She’ll take good care of you. If there’s anything you want, just ask for it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dorothea beamed at her. She paused to speak to the Petersens for a few moments, then disappeared into the kitchen.

  A short time later, a plump woman wearing a big blue-and-white checked apron brought Cindy a plate piled high with half a fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, a hot flaky biscuit and a tall glass of milk.

  “I’m Margie,” the woman said. “If you want dessert, just holler.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Stormwalker is dancing tonight,” Margie told her as she headed back to the kitchen. “You don’t want to miss that.”

  Nodding, Cindy stared at the food on her plate, her mind filling with images of Ethan dancing at powwows. Of Ethan dancing just for her on warm summer nights, his copper-hued skin glowing, his hair silvered in the moonlight.

  She pushed the memories away and concentrated on the food on her plate. She would never be able to eat it all, she thought as she took a bite of mashed potatoes. But she did. The chicken was tender and juicy, the potatoes and corn delicious. The biscuit melted in her mouth.

  She was wondering what to do with her dishes when the family at the other table stood up. The woman paused beside Cindy.

  “Just leave the dishes,” she said with a friendly smile. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I’m Flo Pe
tersen, and this is my husband, Earl, and our kids, Linda, Nancy and Mary.”

  “Cindy Wagner. Pleased to meet you.” She smiled at the three girls, who couldn’t have been much more than a year apart in age. They were pretty kids, with long blond ponytails and large, dark brown eyes. She thought the oldest was probably twelve or thirteen.

  “We’re on our way to watch the dancing,” Flo said. “Would you like to come with us?”

  Cindy hesitated, about to refuse, but the thought of watching Stormwalker dance was far too tempting to resist. “Yes, thanks.”

  Rising, she dropped her napkin on the table and followed the Petersens out of the dining room.

  “There’s some form of entertainment every night,” Flo told her. “Movies, bingo, square dancing. And there are always games and such going on up in the game room at the lodge.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  Outside, they fell in behind a number of people walking toward a large outdoor amphitheater. A fire burned in a shallow pit in the center, casting long shadows over the large tepee that stood to one side, and the faces of the three middle-aged men who sat around a large drum. The bleached buffalo skull beside the tepee seemed to leer at Cindy as she took a seat beside Flo.

  “Stormwalker’s dancing tonight,” Flo said. “We saw him last week.”

  “He’s dreamy,” the oldest girl said, sighing.

  “I’m afraid my Linda has quite a crush on him.” Flo smiled fondly at her daughter. “When you see him, you’ll know why.”

  “Shh,” Linda said, leaning forward. “They’re going to start.”

  A hush fell over the crowd as one of the drummers stood and introduced himself and the other two men. His words were lost on Cindy as Ethan stepped into view. He wore a loincloth and a pair of moccasins. His face and chest were streaked with black and white paint; a pair of eagle feathers were fastened in his hair on the left side. His muscles rippled as he stepped to the center of the floor; the bells he wore around his right ankle chimed softly as he moved. A wide copper band circled his left biceps.

  He stood there a moment, his head bowed, his long black hair falling over his shoulders, hiding most of his face. He looked untamed and dangerous and utterly fascinating.

  The beat of the drum started as no more than a whisper, like the sighing of a summer breeze. Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes piercing the darkness, a predator assessing his hunting grounds. And then he began to move, his body weaving back and forth, the bells on his ankle a sharp counterpoint to the steady beat of the drum.

  She watched him, mesmerized, remembering other dances, other nights. She had seen him perform this dance before, at a powwow. The dance portrayed a young warrior laying a trap for an eagle. He climbed a high mountain, dug a pit and covered it with brush, then crouched inside, waiting, and when the eagle came, he reached up through the brush and caught the bird’s feet. She sensed his excitement, the danger, the thrill of the hunt.

  As the beat of the drum increased, Ethan’s steps grew faster and more intricate, but no less precise. There were times when his feet were no more than a blur. Perspiration sheened his body so that his skin seemed to glow in the firelight.

  It was beautiful. Magical. Almost mystical.

  The next dance was slower, softer, a courting dance. And after that came a friendship dance. The lead drummer invited everyone to participate. It was, he said, one of the oldest styles of Indian dancing. The steps were simple. Holding hands, everyone sidestepped to the left, starting with the left foot and moving in a circular manner.

  Cindy grinned as she noticed that Linda managed to grab one of Ethan’s hands as they made a large circle around the firepit.

  Cindy kept her gaze on her feet, afraid to meet Ethan’s eyes, afraid of what he might see in hers.

  When the dancing was over, she told Flo and her family good-night and walked back to her cabin. Knowing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she kicked off her shoes, then sat down on the bed, took a deep breath, picked up the receiver and called home.

  Her younger brother answered on the first ring. “Wagner residence.”

  “Hi, Lance, is Mom there?”

  “Cindy Lou, hey, how ya doing? Nice wedding.”

  “Shut up, squirt. Let me talk to Mom.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then she heard her mother’s voice.

  “Cynthia? Where are you, sweetie? Are you all right? We’ve been so worried. You’re not sick, or anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, Mom. Really. I just couldn’t go through with it.” She heard her dad’s voice in the background.

  “Your father wants to know if you want him to come after you.”

  “Not right now.”

  “Have you talked to Paul?”

  “No.” Cindy fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it. I talked to his mother earlier this evening. Paul and his sister went to New York.”

  Cindy laughed. Trust Paul to forge ahead no matter what. It was always business first with him. He wouldn’t let a little thing like a runaway bride interfere with that. “I hope they have a good time.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Elk Valley Dude Ranch.” Cindy paused a moment. “Mom? Don’t tell Dad where I am, okay? If he asks, just tell him you don’t know.”

  There was another moment of silence on the other end of the line. “All right. Is there any reason why you feel that way?”

  “I’m pretty sure Paul won’t call asking for me, but just in case he does, I don’t want him to know where I am. You understand?”

  “Yes,” Claire said, her tone neutral. “I understand perfectly.”

  “Oh, Mom, why didn’t I listen to you?”

  “Because you’re stubborn and hardheaded, just like your father. How long do you plan to stay there?”

  “I don’t know. Is Dad very upset?”

  She heard her mother take a deep breath. “Yes, very.”

  “I just couldn’t do it, Mom.”

  “You did the right thing. Don’t worry about it,” Claire said, speaking much more softly than before. “I’m just glad you came to your senses before it was too late. And don’t worry about your father. He’ll come around, you’ll see.”

  “I hope so.”

  She heard her father in the background, louder and more agitated this time, and then his voice rumbled over the phone. “Are you all right, Cindy Lou?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. I’m sorry that—”

  “I want this marriage,” he interrupted gruffly. “Paul would be good for you, and you’d be good for him. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and he’ll—”

  “Dad, I don’t love Paul. I never did. I let the two of you talk me into something I never wanted.”

  “Cynthia. . .”

  She closed her eyes and clenched her fist. “You can’t change my mind, Dad. Not this time. I know what I’m doing.”

  She could feel the frost building on the other end of the line. There was a long pause, and then he said, “Very well. Your mother wants to say good-night.”

  There was a momentary silence, then her mom came on the phone again. “Keep in touch now, hear?”

  “I will.” She blinked back her tears. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, sweetie. Good night.”

  ‘“Night.”

  Cindy took a quick shower and slipped into bed naked, thinking of all the beautiful nightgowns packed in her trousseau.

  “Oh, well,” she murmured. Turning on her side, she stared into the darkness, her mind filling with the sensual beat of a distant drum and the image of a tall, dark-skinned warrior with smoldering gray eyes.

  Chapter Four

  Cindy was at breakfast the next morning when Dorothea approached her. “If you’re still looking for a ride to town, my nephew is getting ready to go,” she said.

  “Oh, yes, I am, thanks.”

  “He’ll be leaving i
n a few minutes. You’ll find him out front in the ranch pickup.”

  With a nod, Cindy left the table. She made a quick stop at her cabin to put on some lipstick, run a brush through her hair and grab her handbag.

  The pickup, a big black truck, was waiting in front of the office. The picture of an elk’s head was painted on the side, with the words Elk Valley Dude Ranch stenciled in neat white letters above its antlers.

  Opening the passenger door, she climbed in. “Thanks for waiting for me,” she said, “I . . .” Her voice trailed off as the driver turned to look at her. Her heart slammed against her chest. “Oh, it’s you.”

  An emotion she didn’t recognize flickered in his eyes and was quickly gone. “You got a problem with that, Miss Wagner?”

  “No. No, of course not. I just didn’t realize you were Dorothea’s nephew.”

  “You ready to go, or have you changed your mind?”

  She pulled the door closed with more force than was necessary and settled back in the seat, her arms crossed over her breasts. “How long does it take to get to town?”

  “About an hour.”

  An hour. Alone with Ethan. She groaned inwardly. And another hour back. Before she could say she had changed her mind, he put the truck in gear and drove out of the yard.

  They passed half a dozen guests returning from an early morning trail ride. Flo and her husband were among them. Cindy waved at the couple as they drove past.

  It was a beautiful day, warm and clear outside. Frosty cold inside. Cindy kept her gaze focused on the view out the passenger-side window as the silence between them thickened. A heavy silence that made her decidedly uncomfortable.

  She slid a glance at Ethan as they turned off the ranch road onto the highway. He wore a pair of snug jeans, a chambray shirt and moccasins. He had a strong profile, lean and rugged. There had always been something about him, she thought, a sort of power she had never sensed in anyone else. And now there was something more. It was as if he had erected a wall between them. He drove with his right hand on the wheel, his left arm resting on the window opening. A black hat lay on the seat between them.