Wildfire

by Roxanne Rustand

  When Gus finally reached Tessa’s truck, the razor sharp glitter in his narrowed eyes certainly didn’t reflect any desire for sympathy. “So, you brought him here, after all.”

  “Just as we discussed,” she said evenly. “He won’t be in the way. We’ll just set an extra plate.”

  Gus snorted, holding Josh’s gaze with a fierce, protective expression for a long moment—a clear masculine challenge—before turning to grab Josh’s duffel bag out of the back of the truck.

  He limped his way up the steps at the west end of the building. “Changed the sheets. Brought towels. Ain’t a resort, but it oughta do.”

  Josh awkwardly ascended the steps with his crutches, hopping on one foot, all too aware that Tessa was right behind him in case he fell.

  That alone forced him on, even after his cast rapped sharply against the edge of the top step, sending waves of pain ricocheting up his leg.

  From the open doorway, Gus watched his approach with his arms clamped over his chest, and Josh had the distinct feeling that Gus would enjoy seeing him end up in a heap in the dirt—and would be even happier if Josh simply packed up and left.

  Odd behavior, for a man he’d never met until today. But then, he hadn’t exactly felt friendly vibes from Tessa, either.

  “You know,” he said as he finally made it up to the porch. “This probably wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I should just—”

  The porch started to tilt. Dark spots swam in front of his eyes…

  And then the bright sunshine turned to black.

  Please, God, help me get through this.

  Tessa’s silent prayer probably didn’t surprise God, but it certainly surprised her. After a decade of stony silence on her part, she needed help—and needed it from a Higher Source. Fast.

  And it was all because of the man stretched out on the rustic, pine-framed sofa in Cabin One, who was now regarding her with troubled eyes.

  “I never pass out,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

  “Of course not.”

  “I—” Confusion flashed in his eyes. “I…”

  “You fainted dead away on the stairs a few minutes ago. Gus and I hauled you in here, and we’re both hoping you’ll agree to stay horizontal.”

  He reached up to touch the back of his head and his frown deepened. “But…”

  “I caught you, but—hey, what are you now, six-two, two hundred plus? We went down like a felled tree. It could’ve been much worse, but you’ll probably have a bump on the back of your head tomorrow.”

  So would she, along with bruises on her back and shoulder after trying to cushion his fall, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Sorry.” He shook his head sharply as if to clear his thoughts, then winced.

  “I called the ER a minute ago. They said they told you to avoid stairs for the next ten days and to be really quiet, given the type of surgery you had. Also, they told me that they gave you some prescription pain meds before you left, and those can make you foggy.” She leaned forward in her chair and tapped the patient instruction sheets laying on the pine coffee table. “I found these on the floor of my truck. You should’ve told me before we tried getting you in here.”

  “I think those meds must’ve hit on the way out here. I…” He frowned. “I usually don’t take anything stronger than Tylenol.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted in a woozy smile, and with that boyish lock of dark hair tipping over his forehead and those dark, thick eyelashes, she could imagine him as a child. One who’d probably been able to charm himself out of trouble every time.

  Maybe that charm had worked on her back in college, but it would have no impact on her now. None. She was going to get through these next weeks just fine, and then happily wave goodbye.

  She leaned back in her chair. “Gus went to feed the livestock. Now that you aren’t looking quite as groggy, I need to go help him. You’ll be okay?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ll stay put? On this sofa until I get back?”

  His weak smile widened. “You betcha.”

  A laugh escaped before she could catch it. “You betcha? Where’ve you been all these years, Minnesota?”

  “Middle East, mos’ly,” he mumbled. The flash of humor in his eyes faded. “My Lara was from Minnesota. Fiancée…til she died.”

  Fiancée? And the poor woman had died?

  Tessa had been angry at him for years over his blissful ignorance of what had happened to her, but apparently he’d encountered sorrow, too.

  She backed away, feeling an odd flutter in her stomach at the thought of his fiancée. Of course he would’ve had girlfriends all these years. Maybe even a couple of marriages and divorces, after his fiancée passed away.

  Perhaps his significant other or some family members were in the midst of catching flights to Wyoming, ready to bundle him up and take him home.

  It’s not my business. Don’t meddle where you were never wanted.

  She hesitated, then turned on her heel, resolutely left the cabin and headed for the barn.

  She’d quit loving him long ago. It didn’t matter at all what he did—or with whom. She’d made a good life for herself and had no desire to muddy up her future with any more romantic relationships.

  After several that had gone nowhere, she’d learned that they just weren’t worth the time.

  SIX

  Yesterday, Tessa had spent most of the day on horseback searching for her missing cattle. Again, to no avail.

  Now, she was sitting across a desk from a loan officer at the Wolf Creek Bank—someone who held the future of Snow Canyon Ranch in a single manila folder—and wished she could be anywhere else.

  The woman’s name—Ellen Miller—wasn’t familiar. Which, all things considered, might be a good thing. Someone new to the area couldn’t have had any run-ins with Claire over the years.

  The woman drummed her fingertips on the folder. “An extension?”

  Claire’s all-too familiar words from the past filtered into Tessa’s thoughts. Act like you already won hands down—and only a fool will stand in your way.

  Tessa lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

  “On a twelve-thousand dollar loan for…” Ellen flipped the folder open and withdrew a computer printout. “Cattle?”

  “Breeding stock. An infusion of a new genetic line we—”

  The woman waved a hand sharply in dismissal. “I understand you’ve lost cattle to theft recently.”

  Surprised, Tessa settled back in her chair. “We found thirty head, but ten are still missing. Why?”

  “Are any of these missing cattle from this line?”

  “Three.”

  Ellen fixed a narrowed gaze on Tessa’s face. “And what, exactly, have you done about it?”

  Tessa fought back a wave of irritation at the woman’s supercilious tone. “The loss wasn’t carelessness. Someone cut a remote fence line. I reported the loss to the sheriff immediately. Then I faxed detailed descriptions of each missing animal’s color, markings, ear notches and registered brand to sales barns in four states. None of them have been auctioned so far.”

  “So you simply lost them.”

  “They could still be on national forest land or blended into someone else’s herd. Or they could be in someone’s freezer.”

  “And you don’t have insurance on your herd?”

  “You and I both know how expensive it would be for a thousand cattle and a horse herd. It just isn’t feasible, except on our bulls and senior stallion.”

  The faintest of smiles touched the woman’s thin mouth. “Sound business principles would say otherwise, dear.”

  Dear? Tessa narrowed her eyes. This loan officer was probably in her early forties, and her condescension was the last straw. “I think you’d discover that few ranchers in this county agree with you. In an ideal world, maybe, but not in everyday practice. Now, about that loan?”

  The woman made a tsk-tsk sound as she closed the manila folder. “I’m afraid there’s
really nothing I can do, because that contract was your legal agreement to pay on time. I did try—but our bank manager said no. He referred to another loan you had…a year ago?”

  Tessa blinked. “We were three weeks late. My mother was hospitalized, and until that time she still insisted on handling all of the business at the ranch. I wasn’t even aware of that due date until the reminder notice came.”

  “I’m sorry.” She stood up in obvious dismissal. “The current note is due the twenty-sixth of June. Is there anything else?”

  Tessa had expected as much, but the situation still rankled. If not for the drought, cattle prices over the past year, and the tractor she’d had to replace, there wouldn’t have been a problem. “You’ll get your money on time.”

  Her fists clenched at her sides, Tessa pasted a cool smile on her face, spun on her heel, and walked out into the lobby of the bank. She was halfway to the entrance when she heard someone call her name.

  “Well, if it isn’t Tessa McAllister.” Arlen Foreman sauntered toward her from his place in line at one of the teller windows. He was tall, elegant, and easily pushing sixty, with neatly trimmed white hair and mustache, and as usual, he was wearing his ever-present Indiana Jones fedora.

  She’d always suspected that he wore it for rakish effect—just another bit of showboating for the customers who used his upscale wilderness outfitting company. “Arlen.”

  “So,” he said, the sharp, assessing glint in his eyes at odds with his overly friendly smile. “I suppose you’re ready for a big season this year?”

  “I hope it’s a good one. High gas prices really hurt us last year.”

  “Really.” He chuckled. “I suppose you have a lot of those lower-end clients out at your place.”

  Tessa bristled at the insult. Yet he was probably right, in a way—he offered the luxury condos, a swimming pool, and a chef at the upscale ranch that served as a base camp for his company.

  She had a housekeeper who doubled as a cook when needed and no extra lodging facilities—other than her sister’s resort, which was a good forty-five minutes away—and Snow Canyon Ranch Outfitters was hardly likely to attract the crowd that arrived in private Lear jets.

  He leaned in close and winked. “Don’t forget my offer, sweetheart. It’s still stands.”

  “It won’t happen, Arlen.” At the corner of her eye, she saw Ellen Miller standing at the door of her private office, her arms folded across her chest. “At least, not any time soon.”

  The walls of the lobby seemed to close in on her, making it difficult to breathe. “Nice seeing you.”

  Without waiting for his reply, Tessa strode out of the bank to her pickup, climbed inside and rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

  Arlen she could handle, despite his pompous attitude and determination to buy her out. She’d find a way to come up with the loan money on time, to prove Ellen wrong.

  But Arlen hadn’t been far off-base about her fledgling business. This would be her third season, and she was still operating on a shoestring. How many customers did she lose each year to the glamorous websites and glossy brochures of her competitors, with their upscale facilities and big advertising budgets? If the economy took a downturn, her numbers would drop even further.

  And then, her dreams of financial independence would die.

  Josh levered himself off the couch and swung his heavy cast around so he could sit at the edge. Tessa had ordered him to stay put, but she’d based that on the fact that he’d been overmedicated and confused.

  He was much better now. He was too restless to sit still.

  And he couldn’t have come up with a better setup if he’d tried.

  He needed a place to recuperate, of course. He’d been concerned for Tessa’s safety. But he’d also hoped for just this sort of connection, where he could insert himself into the fabric of rural Wyoming life and finish the magazine assignment he’d been given.

  It was a perfect, fair arrangement, even if Tessa didn’t know all of his reasons for being here.

  He glanced around the snug little cabin, with its pine paneled walls, rustic furniture, and cheerful, bandana-print curtains. There was a kitchenette of sorts in one corner; a short counter topped with cupboards, flanked with a small refrigerator and a stove at either end.

  Ignoring the crutches propped against the end of the sofa, he hopped over to the refrigerator and peered inside, breathing as hard as if he’d just completed a five-mile run. The motion kicked up the pain deep in his belly. Bracing one hand on the counter, he doubled over his other forearm, realizing that maybe—just this one time—Tessa might have been right about him staying on the sofa. After three days here, he still wasn’t up to doing much.

  The screen door to the porch squealed open and slammed shut. He turned and found a tall woman standing just inside, with a cloth-covered tray.

  Slender, with an ageless sort of beauty that placed her somewhere between thirty and fifty, she had an arresting, regal presence, and once again, he felt the urge to find his camera and start taking pictures.

  Her stern, unyielding expression, lit by late afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows, would make a perfect study in black and white, but he had a feeling that she’d never agree to it. In fact, the surprising amount of antipathy in her dark eyes took him aback.

  “Tessa’s running errands, so I brought you an early supper,” she said. “Since you’re up, I’ll put it on the table. Eat while it’s hot.” She set the tray down, leaving it covered, and turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  She turned back slowly, telegraphing her veiled disapproval, and met his gaze squarely. “Yes?”

  He tried his most disarming smile. “Thanks. It smells wonderful.”

  “Is that all?” She stood as still and unyielding as marble, her hands held stiffly at her sides, but she radiated the attitude of someone who wanted to give him a lecture he wouldn’t forget.

  Maybe, he mused, she had anger management issues and needed therapy. “I’m concerned about Tessa,” he said.

  Silence.

  “I understand there’s been trouble out here.” At her impassive expression, he added, “The sheriff told me that someone shot at Tess three weeks ago, yet there’ve been no arrests.”

  “So why does that concern you?” Sofia’s voice was like the crack of a whip, sharp and challenging.

  “She was a friend long ago, and she saved my life this week. It sounds like she could be in danger, and I care about her.”

  The older woman made a low, derisive sound under her breath.

  “Okay, then I feel like I owe her. Is that fair enough?”

  “You’d best eat and rest, so you can heal and be on your way. That’s what you can do for her.”

  He watched the housekeeper turn on her heel and stalk out the door. “Is it just me, or do you and Gus guard her from everyone who comes this way?”

  He’d spoken softly, more to himself than to her, but Sofia stopped at the edge of the porch and sent a look over her shoulder that could’ve skinned a bear at thirty yards, then silently continued down the steps.

  So it is me. He hobbled over to the small kitchen table, settled into one of the two wooden chairs, and lifted the napkin from the tray.

  Steam wafted the rich aromas from a heated plated stacked with enchiladas and two burritos, and a smaller plate bearing a trio of sugar-crusted buñuelos.

  He whistled under his breath as he looked out the window at Sofia marching toward the house. He’d never met her, yet the woman clearly despised him.

  But why?

  “This was a big mistake, Tess.” Gus tossed a bale of hay off the stack in the main horse barn, then climbed down and hoisted it onto two others arranged crosswise on a wheelbarrow. “Mark my words, you’ll be sorry you ever let Josh Bryant set foot on this place.”

  “We won’t see him much. Sofia said she’d take his meals to him, and I’m sure he’ll mostly be resting in bed.” She trundled the wheelbarrow down the ai
sle to the first stall, sliced the baling twine, and sectioned off a quarter of a bale for Claire’s favorite old mare, Socks. “Anyway, I didn’t have much choice. Where would he go?”

  “Back to wherever he came from?” Gus took an equal portion and carried it into the next stall. “Coulda hopped on a plane in Jackson.”

  “Michael said the surgeon was really concerned about him traveling so soon. And anyway, his motorcycle is being rebuilt, and he doesn’t want to leave without it. It has a lot of sentimental value to him.”

  Gus grumbled under his breath as they continued down the aisle, delivering hay to each stall. “You gonna have your mother over tomorrow, like usual?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “You have any idea what Claire will do if she finds Josh Bryant here?”

  Tessa did have a pretty good idea, and it wasn’t something she wanted to deal with. On her best days, Claire was demanding, but her slowly advancing dementia had increased that ten-fold.

  For years she’d demanded that her three daughters call her Claire. Last week, Tessa had inadvertently called her Mom, and she’d exploded with rage.

  “Maybe she won’t remember Josh’s name.”

  Gus snorted. “It’s recent history that she forgets, darlin’. Not what happened ten, fifteen years ago.”

  “Just wishful thinking, I guess,” Tessa said on a long sigh. “She never actually met him…but I can’t lie to her, if she asks who he is.”

  “And you can’t go asking that boy to lay low, or you’d have to tell him why. Or is that something you maybe oughta do?”

  “‘That boy’ is thirty-five years old, Gus. And old history is just that. Why stir it up?” She grabbed another armload of hay, then looked up and found Gus had stopped to watch her, his expression weary. “There’s just no point anymore. Is there?”

  “You’d have to tell me. Would it be better to finally just get it over?”

  “What good would that do?” Tension curled through her stomach, drawing it into a painful knot. “We both know exactly how much Josh cared about me back then. He…he doesn’t even deserve to know. And he probably wouldn’t care, anyway—which would hurt all the more.”