Against the Rules

by Linda Howard

“With a cast on his leg?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Or his arm, or with his ribs taped up, or his collarbone broken. Nothing’s kept him down for long. This concussion has put him on his back longer than anything else.”

  She got up and went over to the door, sighing as she pulled on clean socks and stamped her feet into her boots. Lewis stood watching her with an odd expression in his eyes, and she looked up in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of it. “Lewis?” she asked uncertainly.

  “I was just thinking that underneath the big-city glamour you’re really nothing but a country girl.”

  “Glamour?” she laughed, tickled by the idea. “Me?”

  “You’d know what I’m talking about if you were a man,” he drawled.

  “If I were a man you wouldn’t even be thinking it!”

  His laughter acknowledged the truth of that. As they walked across the yard, Cathryn worked up enough nerve to ask him a question that had been in the back of her mind since she’d first met Lewis. “Were you in Vietnam with Rule?” she asked casually.

  He looked down at her. “I was in Vietnam, but not with Rule. I didn’t meet him until almost seven years ago.”

  She didn’t say anything else, and when they were almost at the stables he asked, “Why?”

  “You seem so much alike,” she replied slowly, not certain why they seemed to be cut out of the same mold. They were both dangerous men, hard men who had seen too much death and pain.

  “He’s never mentioned Vietnam to me.” A harsh note crept into Lewis’s voice. “And I don’t talk about it, either—not anymore. The only people who would know what I was talking about were there too, and they have their own troubles. My marriage broke up because my wife couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle me when I first came back.”

  The look she gave him was painful with sympathy, and he grinned—actually grinned. “Don’t drag out the violins,” he teased. “I’m doing okay. Someday I’ll probably even get married again. Most men moan and groan about marriage, but there’s something about women that keeps them coming back for more.”

  Cathryn had to laugh. “I wonder what that is!”

  Her new sense of closeness to Lewis carried her through the remainder of the day, which was as hectic and troubled as the morning had been. One of the stallions was colicky, and two mares showed signs that they would be foaling before the night was over. When she finally trudged back to the house it was after seven, and Lorna reported that she had already carried Rule’s tray up to him.

  “He’s in an awful mood,” she reported.

  “Then he’ll have to stay in one,” Cathryn said tiredly. “I don’t feel up to soothing him down tonight. I’m going to take a shower and fall into bed.”

  “You’re not going to eat?”

  She shook her head. “I’m too tired. I’ll make up for it in the morning, I promise.”

  After showering she fell across her bed, too tired even to crawl under the sheet. She fell asleep immediately, which was fortunate, because in what seemed like only a few minutes she was being shaken awake.

  “Cathryn, wake up.” It was Ricky’s voice, and Cathryn forced her eyes open.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked groggily, noticing that Ricky was still dressed. “What time is it?”

  “It’s eleven-thirty. Come on. Both mares are in labor, and Lewis needs help.” Ricky’s voice was totally lacking in hostility, but then she had always been interested in ranch work. It didn’t seem strange that Lewis had sent for the two women instead of waking some ranch hands to help him; they had both aided foaling mares before, though it had been years since Cathryn had done so. But the ranch was hers, and it was her responsibility.

  Quickly she dressed and they hurried to the foaling barn, where only a few dim lights burned in the stalls with the mares. They had to be quiet to keep from upsetting the expectant mothers, so they didn’t talk except in low tones. Lewis and the foaling man, Floyd Stoddard, were waiting in an empty stall.

  Lewis looked up as the two women entered the stall. “Shouldn’t be too much longer with Sable,” he said. “Andalusia will take a while more, I think.”

  But though they waited, Sable still didn’t foal, and Floyd began to get worried. It was almost two in the morning when he checked on her again and came back to the stall where they had remained, his face strained. “Sable’s down,” he reported. “But the foal’s turned sideways. We’re going to have to help it. Everybody wash up.”

  The two men stripped to the waist and washed in warm soapy water, then ran to Sable’s stall. Ricky and Cathryn rolled their sleeves up as far as they would go and washed too, though they wouldn’t actually be helping to turn the foal. The lovely dark brown mare was lying down, her swollen sides bulging grotesquely. “Hold her head,” Floyd directed Ricky, then knelt behind the mare.

  At a loud, distressed whinny from the other stall, they jerked their heads around. Lewis swore. “Cathryn, see about Andalusia!”

  Andalusia was down, too, but she wasn’t in any undue stress. Cathryn reported back, then considered the situation. Ricky was using all her energy holding Sable’s head down; Lewis was applying external pressure to help Floyd turn the foal.

  “Andalusia’s fine, but she’s ready now, too. I’ll stay with her.”

  Sweat was pouring down Lewis’s face. “Do you know what to do?” he grunted.

  “Yes, don’t worry. I’ll call if there’s any trouble.”

  Andalusia raised her pearl gray head and gave a soft whinny when Cathryn entered her stall, then dropped her head into the hay again. Cathryn knelt beside her, her gentle touch telling the mare that she wasn’t alone. The animal’s large, dark eyes rested on Cathryn with touching, almost human serenity.

  The mare’s sides heaved with another contraction, and the sharp, tiny hooves appeared. Andalusia didn’t need any help. Within minutes the foal was squirming on the hay, still encased in the shimmering sac. Quickly Cathryn slit the sac and freed the little animal, then took a soft, dry cloth and began rubbing it with long, rhythmic strokes. She crouched on the hay as the mare struggled to her feet and stood with her head down, her sides heaving. Cathryn tensed, ready to grab the foal and run if the mare didn’t accept the baby. But Andalusia blew softly through her muzzle and came over to investigate the little creature trembling on the hay. Her loving, motherly licking took the place of Cathryn’s cloth.

  The little chestnut colt struggled to place his front legs, but as soon as he had them braced and tried to make his back legs obey, the front ones would betray him and he’d collapse. After several abortive tries he managed to stand, then looked around in infant confusion, not certain what he was supposed to do next. Andalusia, fortunately, was an old hand at this; she gently nudged the foal in the proper direction and instinct took over. Within seconds he was greedily nursing, his thin little legs braced wide apart as he balanced precariously on them.

  When Cathryn returned to the other stall, Ricky was kneeling beside an unusually small foal, rubbing it and crooning to it. Lewis and Floyd were still working with the mare and Cathryn saw at once that this was a double birth. Her heart twisted a little, because so often with twin foals one or both of them failed to survive. From the looks of the frail little creature with Ricky, the odds were all against it.

  Soon the other foal was on the hay and it was larger than the other one, though the markings were almost identical. It was an active little filly, who struggled to her feet almost immediately and raised her proud little head to survey the strange new world she was living in.

  Floyd was taking care of Sable, so Lewis came over to examine the other foal. “I don’t think she’ll be strong enough to nurse,” he said doubtfully, taking in the limp way the foal was lying. But no one on the Bar D just left a horse to die. They worked all night with the foal, keeping her warm, rubbing her to keep her circulation stimulated, dribbling a few drops of milk from her mother down her throat. But she was very weak, and soon after sunrise she died without ever havin
g been on her feet.

  Tears burned Cathryn’s eyes, though she had known from the beginning what the outcome was likely to be. There was nothing to say. Everyone in the barn was silent, looking at the still little creature. But when they looked in the other direction they saw not death but glorious, beautiful life as the other two newborns pushed their delicate muzzles into every nook of their expanded territories.

  Lewis shrugged his shoulders, shaking the kinks out of them. “It’s been a long night,” he sighed. “And we’ve got a long day in front of us. Let’s go clean up and eat.”

  Cathryn had almost reached the house when she realized that Ricky wasn’t with her. Looking around, she saw that Ricky was standing with Lewis. She opened her mouth to call out, when suddenly Lewis’s hand shot out to grab Ricky’s arm. Evidently they were quarreling, though they hadn’t been just a moment earlier. Then Lewis slid his arm around Ricky’s waist and forced her along as he strode to the small house that was his private quarters. Not that Ricky needed to be forced, thought Cathryn wryly, watching the door shut behind them.

  Well, well. So Lewis was the cowboy Monica had mentioned. She hadn’t even suspected, though if she’d been less preoccupied with Rule she might have noticed the way that Lewis looked at Ricky. He had been watching Ricky that day when Cathryn had seen her hug Rule. Maybe Ricky didn’t know it yet, but Lewis Stoval was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. Ricky had better enjoy her last days of freedom, thought Cathryn, smiling. That should certainly take care of Ricky’s chasing after Rule.

  “How did things go?” Lorna asked as Cathryn moved slowly into the kitchen, groaning with every step.

  “Sable had twins, but one died just a few minutes ago. But Andalusia’s foal is a big colt, as red as fire, so that should please Rule. He likes red horses.”

  “Speaking of Rule...” said Lorna meaningfully.

  Cathryn flinched. “Oh, Lord. Lorna, I can’t. Not just yet. I’m dead on my feet and he’ll make mincemeat out of me.”

  “Well, I’ll try to explain.” But Lorna looked doubtful, and Cathryn almost gave in. If her body hadn’t been throbbing with weariness she might have surrendered to the urge to see him, but she was just too tired to face him now.

  “Tell him about the foals,” she directed, yawning. “And tell him that I’ve gone straight to bed for a few hours of sleep, and I’ll see him when I get up.”

  “He won’t like that. He wants to see you now.”

  Suddenly Cathryn chuckled. “Tell you what. Tell him that I’ve forgiven him. That’ll make him so mad that if you’re lucky he won’t even speak.”

  “But you won’t see him now?”

  “No, not now. I’m really too tired.”

  Later, lying drowsily in her bed, she wished that she had gone to talk to him. She could have told him about the foals and he would have understood if she had cried a little on his shoulder. She was teaching him a lesson, but she wished that she didn’t have to learn it with him. She wanted to be with him, to touch him and take care of him. It was a good thing that she had promised to see him later, because a day without being with him was almost more than she could bear.

  Lorna woke her that afternoon to take a phone call. Groggily she staggered to the phone. “Hi,” said Glenn Lacey cheerfully. “I just wanted to remind you of our date tonight. Guess where we’re going.”

  Cathryn was dumbfounded. She had forgotten all about having made a date with Glenn for that night. “Where?” she asked weakly.

  “I’ve got tickets to the Astros’ game in Houston tonight. I’ll pick you up at four and we’ll fly in to the city for an early dinner before the game. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds great,” Cathryn gulped, thinking bleakly of the man lying upstairs.

  CHAPTER 10

  If it hadn’t been for Rule, Cathryn would have had fun. On the surface she was happy, smiling and talking, but underneath she was miserable. It was as if he were on the date with her, invisible to everyone but her. If she laughed at something, she thought of Rule lying in bed waiting for her to come to him because he was unable to get up and go to her, and she felt guilty for laughing. She felt guilty anyway, because Glenn was an amusing, undemanding companion and she just couldn’t give him her complete attention.

  Once they were at the ball game she was able to concentrate on what was happening and push thoughts of Rule aside. She had never been a great baseball fan, but she liked watching the crowd. There were people of every shape, size and description wearing every type of outfit imaginable. One couple, obviously in a mellow mood, paid no attention at all to the ball game and proceeded to conduct a romance in the midst of thousands of witnesses. A man sitting just below them, wearing only sneakers, cutoffs, and a tee shirt tied around his head, cheered loudly and equally for both teams. Glenn was of the opinion that he didn’t know which team was which.

  But even crowd watching had its painful moments. A man with thick dark hair caught her eye and her breath squeezed to a halt for a painful moment. What was Rule doing now? Had he eaten anything? Was he in pain?

  She had upset him, and the doctor had told her to keep him quiet. What if he tried to get up by himself and fell?

  She was aware, as if of a deep chill in her bones, that if he hadn’t been furious before, he would be now. Yet she couldn’t have backed out of the date with Glenn at the last minute; Glenn was too nice to be treated so shabbily. Perhaps he would have understood and been a good sport about it, but Cathryn felt that it would have been tacky to stand him up after he had already gotten the tickets to the ball game.

  Sudden, bitter tears burned her eyes and she had to turn her head away from Glenn, pretending to look over the crowd. She ached to be home, just to be under the same roof with Rule, so she could look in on him and make certain he was all right, even if he were angry enough to eat nails. Love! Who ever said that love made the world go round? Love was a killing pain, an addiction that had to be fed; yet even in her pain she knew that she wouldn’t have it any other way. Rule was a part of her, so much so that she would be only half-alive without him. Hadn’t she already learned that?

  She loved Rule and she loved the ranch, but between them they were driving her crazy. She didn’t know which was more demanding, and the way she felt about both only complicated matters.

  Glancing at Glenn, she realized that she couldn’t imagine Rule sitting hunched over in a stadium, absently chewing on an already mangled hot dog and drinking warm, watery beer. She had never seen Rule relaxing at anything. He pushed himself until he was so tired that he had to sleep, then began the cycle again the next morning. He read a great deal, but she couldn’t say that it was recreational reading. He read thick technical books on breeding and genetics; he studied lineages, kept abreast of new medicines and veterinary practices. His life was built around the ranch. He had gone to the dance, but he hadn’t participated. He had gone merely to make sure that she didn’t get involved with any other man. Did anything exist for him except that ranch?

  Suddenly a wave of resentment washed over her. The ranch! Always the ranch! She would be better off if she did sell it. She might lose Rule, but at least then she would know one way or the other how he felt about her. She realized bitterly that she was far more jealous of the ranch than she had ever been of any woman. Ricky’s attempts to attract Rule’s attentions had been infuriating, but rather pitiable, because Cathryn had known that her stepsister had no chance of succeeding. Ricky didn’t have what it took; she didn’t have the ranch.

  If she had any guts at all she’d ask Rule right out what he wanted from her. That was the hard part of loving someone, she thought bitterly; it left you so insecure and vulnerable. Love turned sane people into maniacs, bravery into cowardice, morals into quivering need.

  When Glenn stood and stretched, yawning, Cathryn realized with a start that the ball game was over, and she had to look quickly at the scoreboard to figure out who had won. The Astros had, but only by one run. It had been a low-
scoring game, a duel of pitchers rather than hitters.

  “Let’s stop for some coffee before we start back,” Glenn suggested. “I only had one beer, but I’d like to feel a little more alert before I get in a plane and start flying.”

  At least he was still sane, thought Cathryn. Aloud she agreed that coffee sounded like a good idea and they spent a leisurely hour in the coffee shop at the airport. She was aware of the minutes ticking by, aware that if Rule was still awake he would be shaking with fury by now. The thought made her both eager and loath to return, wanting to put it off for as long as possible.

  When they were strapped into their seats in the plane, it seemed that she would get her wish. Glenn abruptly killed the engine. “Fuel pressure isn’t coming up,” he muttered, crawling out of his seat.

  The fuel pump had gone bad. The time it took to obtain and install a new one made it past midnight before they were finally in the air. Rather than wake everyone at the ranch by landing, Glenn took the plane back to its hangar and drove her home. After he had kissed her casually on the cheek and left her at the door, she took off her shoes like a kid sneaking in late from a date and tiptoed through the dark house, avoiding the places in the old floor that she knew would creak.

  As she tiptoed past Rule’s door she noticed the thin line of light beneath it and hesitated. He couldn’t reach the lamp to turn it off. If everyone had gone to bed without turning the lamp off for him it would burn all night. Not that there was much left of the night, she thought in wry amusement. Why not just admit that she wanted to look at him? It had been roughly thirty-six hours since she had seen him, and suddenly that was far too long. Like any drug addict, she needed her fix.

  Moving slowly, cautiously, she opened his door and peeped in. At least he was lying down, so someone had remembered to help him from his propped-up position. His eyes were closed and his broad, heavily muscled chest rose and fell evenly.

  A hot little quiver ran through her and rattled her composure. God, he looked so good! His silky dark hair was tousled, his jaw darkened with stubble; one powerful arm was thrown up beside his head, his long-fingered hand relaxed. Her gaze wandered down the sheen of his bronzed shoulders, stopped at the virile growth of dark hair that covered his chest and ran down his abdomen, then fought free to linger on the naked expanse of muscled thigh that was visible. He had the sheet pulled up to just below his navel, but his left leg was completely uncovered, the heavy cast propped on the pile of pillows for support.