Whirlwind

by Jennifer Mikels

  A frown etched deep lines in W.R.'s face. "You think maybe coyotes spooked them?"

  Brand threw him a meaningful look. "Did they gnaw through the fencing, too?"

  "I didn't know more fencing was cut."

  "Well, it was. Even more puzzling, it was cut at a point so far away from the road that the rustlers would have had to drive across hundreds of acres of our property before they'd be on the highway."

  W.R. tilted his head to the side questioningly. "What do you make of it?"

  "I think they're trying to throw us off guard. The cut was made and none of the cattle were taken. To me it all seems like a diversionary tactic. Well, anyway, I've still got a few men out checking on the herd."

  W.R. ran a hand across his forehead. "I talked with four other ranchers this morning. They're all missing cattle except old Zeke Marlow."

  Brand made a face. "He wouldn't know if he was missing cattle or not. He hasn't checked on his herd in years, so what he does have are like wild deer."

  "That's true. He doesn't keep track of his cattle, but that's because he hasn't got someone like you around to keep an eagle eye on everything."

  "I don't seem to be doing such a great job right now," Brand muttered.

  "You're doing all right," W.R. assured him.

  "Well, remember one thing," Brand stated. "They might have the stolen cattle corralled somewhere, ready to transport. If the brands have already been altered, we'll have a hell of a time proving they're ours even if they are caught."

  Standing silently beside Brand and listening to their conversation, Dayna hesitated, unsure if what she'd heard was even worth telling. She touched Brand's arm lightly, drawing both his and W.R.'s attention. "I heard something the other day, but I'm not sure it means anything." Dayna related quickly and simply the conversation she had heard between Hank and Cutler. Even before she had finished, Brand was smiling.

  He shook his head. "It's nothing, Dayna."

  "But what about the money? Don't their words seem strange to you?"

  "They were talking about the poker game set for tonight."

  "Hank told Cutler he'd better not back out," Dayna added. "That sounds a lot more sinister than some poker game." Feeling exasperated at not being able to convey the cloak-and-dagger tone of the conversation she'd overheard, Dayna stressed, "Hank sounded very serious. It didn't sound like they were discussing something as simple as a poker game."

  Brand laughed softly. "Sweetheart, out here poker games are not simple." Dayna was warmed by his endearment and looked at W.R. selfconsciously. The twinkle she saw in his eyes assured her that he, too, had noticed the affectionate term.

  Unmindful of the look Dayna was exchanging with W.R., Brand added, "They've held about four poker games since Cutler started working here and he said he'd be there for every one of them and wasn't. I think the hands are getting a little annoyed because he's always shooting off his mouth about how good he is."

  His explanation was logical but Dayna still felt uneasy, remembering what she had seen earner that morning. "But I saw Cutler and…"

  "Ssh." His finger touched her lips. "I appreciate your playing Mrs. Sherlock Holmes, Dayna, but I'd stake the best quarter horse on this ranch that Hank's innocent."

  W.R. nodded in agreement. "He's been with us too long, Dayna."

  "What about Cutler? This morning I saw him exchanging money with two other men."

  "I told you," Brand said lightly. "With the poker game set for tonight, that's really not so strange. And there are always a lot of parties going on after the Double R's annual rodeo. It's a big night with the ranch hands. Now don't worry about it anymore. Okay?" he urged.

  Dayna shrugged in resignation. "Okay," she agreed.

  W.R. massaged the back of his neck with his hand as if he needed to soothe knotted muscles. "Let's try and keep everything as low-keyed as possible concerning the problems we're having. We don't need any undercurrent of trouble with the rodeo going on today. I understand you drew Soft Touch."

  Brand laughed. "Sure did."

  "I was surprised when I heard you were competing."

  "I've got a score to settle with that old bull."

  "Hope he doesn't think the same thing," W.R. said wryly. With a parting nod to Dayna, he returned to his office.

  Their conversation had been light and bantering, but Dayna felt just the opposite as she recalled how she had baited Brand that day, how she had practically called him a coward. "You aren't competing, are you?" Brand nodded.

  "Why?" She couldn't keep the alarm from her voice as a feeling of guilt swept through her. "Is it because of what I said?"

  Tenderly, he cupped the side of her face with his hand, his fingers burying themselves in her hair. "No, it's not because of what you said. I made the decision before you ever arrived."

  "I didn't call you a coward."

  Her anxiety could be heard in her voice and his eyes narrowed slightly, searching her face for answers. "I have to do it to prove something to myself. Soft Touch is the damn bull that threw me. I have to ride him."

  "You don't," Dayna countered.

  "I do, Dayna."

  His voice held a note of finality. Dayna looked away, pulling free from him. "You're so stubborn," she muttered. "Go on, then, and break your neck. I don't care."

  Brand sighed in exasperation, but a moment later his hands were lightly stroking her hair as he forced her to look up at him. His voice was soothing. "Careful, sweetheart. For all your denials, you keep revealing concern—and jealousy," he added, making Dayna aware that he had seen her when he was with Christy earlier. "They're honest feelings that go hand in hand with a much deeper emotion."

  Brand's words haunted her even after they separated—there was too much truth in them. Was she in love with him? That thought afforded her none of the joy and euphoria that everyone sang about. She shook her head, refusing to believe it. After all the years of caution and sensibility it was impossible that she had fallen in love with a man she hardly knew.

  She returned to her room to shower and change. By the time she and Karen left the lodge, the grounds near the stables were filled with rows of pickup trucks and horse trailers. Country and western music blared from radios, the twanging sounds entertaining the stands of spectators sweating in the midmorning sun.

  As she saw the competitors pinning number cards to their backs, Dayna sensed their feeling of showmanship. It was a matter of pride—and a serious business to them—to make a good showing before these hometown people, people who had probably known some of them since the day they were born.

  Dayna and Karen overheard one wiry ranch hand, ambling ahead of them saying in a raspy voice, "Brand said to set it up in the barn for around eleven-thirty. Everyone should be settled down by then. Hank's to get the big coolers from Charlie before dinner so that the beer will be cold, and Cutler is supposed to pick up the beer sometime today."

  "He'd better, if he knows what's good for him."

  The man's comment went unanswered by his companion, who, totally preoccupied with joyful thoughts of his own imminent triumphs at the rodeo, said with determination, "I'm telling you I feel lucky." Rubbing his hands together with glee as if already victorious, he added, "I'm gonna take a good part of the winnings tonight."

  The other man guffawed. "The only thing you ever take back to the bunkhouse is a sure-fire reason for a hangover the next day. Just remember, even if you can't walk a straight line tomorrow morning, you'd better pretend you can. The boss never gets drunk, so keep that in mind when the room starts spinning."

  Dayna didn't listen further. Her attention shifted to Brand, who was standing with some of the other contestants behind the chute area. He was working something into the palm of his glove.

  "What's he doing?" Karen asked Bonnie, who had just come up beside them.

  "He's working rosin into the glove," Bonnie answered. "He'll tie leather straps around the top of his boots and his wrist later to make sure he doesn't lose the boots or the glo
ve during the ride."

  Dayna nodded in reply, trying to appear calm, but her stomach was somersaulting with anxiety. Bonnie's next words didn't ease her tension. "Brand holds the rope hard and tenses his whole body, using all his muscles to move with the bull. A smaller man can't do that. To be a good bull rider a man's got to have a strong arm, because those muscles keep the rope tight on the bull and himself seated."

  "Isn't the rope secured to the bull in some way?" Karen questioned.

  "The rider's grip is what holds it," Bonnie stated.

  Dayna looked away, tugging Karen's arm so she'd start walking again; then Bonnie would have no chance to mention the danger she was sure Brand would be facing. The sight of one hulking bull being led to the chute area made her start to walk quickly away. Up until that very moment she hadn't allowed herself to consider how dangerous bull riding was. But standing close to the animal, she was startled by his enormous size. Visions of Brand being crushed or trampled or gored by the lethal-looking horns ran through her mind. With dismay, she became aware of what she had been trying desperately to deny. Love. She was in love with Brand. The thought disturbed her deeply, and she found herself caught up in a state of uncertainty as she and Karen inched their way through the crowd until they found seats in the stands.

  The row in front of them held many familiar faces—the noncompeting ranch hands of the Double R had congregated there. Guzzling beer, they joked and wisecracked about the competitors, the fierceness or meekness of the animals, and the female spectators attending the rodeo.

  Their attention shifted suddenly as if they were a unit. All eyes were fixed on Christy, who was sauntering along the front row looking for a seat. Dressed in brief yellow shorts and a scanty blue halter top, the leggy brunette paused and lingered, obviously trying to catch someone's attention. Dayna understood who it was she was looking for as she saw Brand and Bonnie climbing the bleachers toward them.

  Hank, sitting in front of Karen, leaned to one side and made a whispered comment to the man next to him, drawing a whoop of laughter from him. Dayna caught the man's comment: "Bet we don't see our foreman at the poker game tonight."

  Dayna gritted her teeth, her eyes hurling daggers at the back of the man's neck. If anyone was going to be with their foreman tonight, it would be herself, she thought with steely determination.

  She felt even more confident of it as Brand winked at her before turning to sit down in the space the men in front of her had made for him.

  Settling down on the bench next to Karen, Bonnie remarked to Brand, "Think we're going to see a couple of good old boys flattened today."

  Brand's shoulders moved slightly with mirth, but Hank looked over his shoulder at Bonnie and asked, "Did you see number 6?"

  "Gentle Ride," Brand said.

  "Jake Everett's youngest drew him."

  "What a way to get initiated," one of the men commented with a shake of his head.

  "That's nothing," Hank chuckled, looking meaningfully at Brand. "Hear you got another chance at that ornery bull. You're a glutton for punishment."

  "He can be ridden," Brand answered smoothly.

  "Oh, yeah," Hank agreed. "Twelve times in over three hundred tries."

  Brand chuckled. "That's why he's called Soft Touch."

  The men laughed at his comment, but Dayna shared none of their humor as Hank went on, "I suppose since you rode him successfully once you figure it can be done again. But he's the meanest darn bull I've ever seen even after the ride. That set of horns he's got must be nearly five feet wide."

  Brand shrugged noncommittally and Dayna looked down, unconsciously wringing her hands. Inwardly, she felt as taut as a tightrope; Hank's words had only intensified her worry. She was tempted to lean forward and kiss the side of Brand's neck and beg him not to compete. She felt the possessiveness that is inevitable when someone else's body becomes as familiar as your own. He was her lover.

  She concentrated on the announcer, who was greeted by applause and whooping shouts as the rodeo began. When the steer-roping event began, Brand leaned back to answer one of Shelly's questions. His body was so close to Dayna's legs that the heat of his flesh penetrated her jeans.

  Dayna became caught up in the activity of the rodeo as she watched the speed and agility of the horses in the woman's barrel-racing event. It wasn't until a lull in the action that she realized Brand was gone. All the stomach butterflies she had suppressed returned. She tried to concentrate on the event, but as every contestant was bucked by the high-spirited, wiry mounts, her thoughts returned to Brand. Wouldn't he shortly be pitting himself against a much more dangerous animal?

  "He pulled leather," Hank commented with a snort of disgust, claiming Dayna's attention. She looked at Bonnie.

  "The rider's disqualified," Bonnie explained. "Took hold of the saddle."

  Dayna nodded as she watched the pickup man helping the rider off the bronc. But Karen's nudging elbow brought her attention to the chute area and the rambunctious bull it held.

  "Just as dangerous for the rider inside the chute," Bonnie muttered more to himself than anyone else. As Dayna frowned at him, he explained, "Bulls do their darndest to jam or crush a rider against the side of the chute."

  There was excitement all around her, but all she felt was tension. It was apparent by the enthusiastic applause that bull riding was the favorite event among the majority of spectators. But she questioned the sanity of the men competing. The prize money scarcely seemed worth the risks involved. She found the wisecracks of the cowboys seated nearby without humor as she watched each competitor receive a bouncing and jostling ride that should have broken every bone in his body. As each competitor scrambled to get away from the kicking bull, two of the clowns jumped in to divert the bull's attention and negotiate him back to a chute.

  The young man on Gentle Ride successfully completed the required eight seconds, but when he jumped from the bull, the animal kept spinning, trying to butt him.

  Dayna's heart was thudding even after the man was safely perched on top of the fence. "Why don't they use a pickup man?"

  Hank looked back at her and answered, "In bronc riding the horse avoids the man after he's thrown off, but a bull doesn't. He'll go after anything he sees, even a horse. He doesn't care what he gets. He's just hell-bent on stomping or goring anything he can find."

  She heard Brand's name announced, and for a split second, she imagined what could happen if he was thrown from the bull or if his leg was damaged again. Every instinct she possessed urged her to leave the stands as the bull slammed against the side of the chute. Brand stood poised above it, his weight not even on the animal yet. She couldn't leave; she felt paralyzed, frozen with trepidation.

  "He's the rankest bull I've ever seen," Hank commented, but Dayna heard admiration in his voice.

  Dayna drew a deep breath as Brand gave a signal and the gateman opened the chute. The bull charged forward and for eight bone-jarring seconds Brand was caught in a maelstrom of bucking, stomping, twisting, and spinning while the crowd yelled encouraging words. The bull leaped off the ground, all four feet in the air, while he kicked and bucked trying to jerk his rider off. Brand hung on with determination, his whole body moving with the animal, despite its ferocious efforts to be free of him. Finally, the buzzer rang and Brand, waiting until the bull was in a high arch, vaulted to the ground.

  Dayna gasped with alarm. The bull reversed its direction, his hooves coming down frighteningly close to Brand. She was shaking and breathless with heart-pounding fear.

  Brand rolled away while two clowns hurried forward to distract the bull. Brand made a hairbreadth escape to the fence as one clown slapped his derby hat at the bull and then scurried to the fence and the other clown rolled a barrel toward the animal, offering him something harder than a man to ram his horns at.

  "If he'd had clowns that good last time, Brand wouldn't have gotten gored," Bonnie stated with admiration.

  Dayna released the breath she had been holding and smiled at him
. "They are good," she said over the crowd's appreciative applause as they heard the high mark Brand had received.

  Her shoulders slumped slightly. She felt as physically drained as if she had been with him on the bull. Her adrenaline was pumping fast as she turned to Bonnie. "Brand's good, isn't he? I mean really good."

  With a hint of pride, Bonnie nodded. "He was on the professional circuit for a short time, but when his dad died he dropped out. He only enters local rodeos now, and not many of them since the accident. I knew the minute he heard Soft Touch was among the stock he would enter. He was hoping he'd draw him." Bonnie looked at her. He was aware of her anxiety and hoped she understood now. "A man has to prove things to himself sometimes."

  "I guess so," Dayna answered weakly, comprehending now why Brand had competed, and realizing it was that same stubbornness that had provoked his tenacious pursuit of her. It was a part of him that annoyed her at times, but also elicited her admiration.

  For the right woman, he could be the perfect man. She knew his gentleness, his sense of humor, and his skill as a lover. He was a man's man, yet he possessed the tenderness a woman sought. But as much as she wanted it to be so, she didn't believe she was the woman for Brand. Maybe, if they had more time together…

  She caught the last of the announcer's words. People rose to leave, and her lips curved in a wide smile as she saw Brand working his way up to her. When he reached her, she raised herself on her toes and offered him a light, congratulatory kiss. His arm tightened slightly around her back, insisting on a more intense kiss before he allowed her to move away from him. A few of the ranch hands sent knowing looks in their direction, but Brand paid no attention to them and Dayna suddenly didn't care who saw the emotion between them. "How's it feel to be a winner?" she asked.

  His eyes were caressing her again, and his hand touched her cheek before his fingertips slipped lightly across her lips. "I've been a winner since the day I met you."

  Her breath quickened as his gaze burned into her. "Are you free today? Or do you have work to do?" she asked.