Sandra Chastain

by Firebrand

  Five

  By the time Rusty and Cade reached the entrance to the canyon where Pretty Boy was found, the rest of the men were already there, including Eugene, who was sitting on the fender of the truck.

  “How’d you get here so fast, Eugene?” Cade asked gruffly. “You don’t know anything about finding stray bulls.”

  Eugene looked from Cade to Rusty and back again.

  “Well, I may not know anything about cattle, but there was this old bull moose once who stayed around the camp so he could mooch off the guys. He was always after the ladies, but he liked to eat good too. Some of us got up a betting pool once on how many ladies he had and how he managed to keep ’em close by. ’Course, if we was going to find out who won, we had to keep a count.”

  Rusty opened the door and shaded her eyes from the sun. Pretty Boy was somewhere up ahead, but because of the narrow entrance to the canyon she couldn’t see him.

  “What happened to the moose?” asked one of the hands.

  “He found himself a blind canyon just like this and set up moose camp. I figured if it was good for the moose, it ought to be good for a bull. Letty told me where this canyon was. Looks like he’s got a couple of lady friends in there,” Eugene observed from where he was sitting.

  “What do you think, Cade?” Doak rode over to the Jeep.

  Rusty was out of the Jeep before Cade could answer. She strode angrily over to one of the hands. “Give me your horse, Joe. You fellows make a tunnel. Doak and I’ll go in and drive the bull out. You keep him heading toward the ranch.”

  Doak looked first at Rusty, then at Cade, a shade of regret coloring Doak’s expression for an instant.

  Cade watched Rusty as she anxiously waited. He nodded. She was right. Silverwild was hers, and she had the right to make the calls. He’d been wrong to try to move in on her power, even if it had been for her own good to rest after the accident. That had nothing to do with it. He had done what he was accustomed to doing—took charge—and the men had seemed willing to listen to him.

  He watched as Doak and Rusty rode into the canyon and the men complied with Rusty’s directions, then he walked over to the truck.

  “Moose camp, Eugene?”

  “Well, it looked like things between you and Mrs. Wilder were a little heated. A good yarn always cools things off. Worked right well, didn’t it? At least the hands are cool. You still look a little frazzled. Trouble in paradise?”

  “More than a little,” Cade admitted. “I think I may have made a wrong move coming here.”

  “You mean with the future Mrs. McCall?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. This was supposed to be a business arrangement, Eugene. I could have handled that. It seems to have changed, and I’m not sure about what’s happening.”

  “Oh, I think you are, Cade. I’ve always thought that somewhere along the line you lost your sense of direction. You’ve been up in the ice and snow country so long, you’ve turned into an iceman yourself. Now you’ve fallen into the fire, and you’re beginning to melt.”

  “What can I do about it?”

  “As I see it, old friend, not a damned thing, except make sure you don’t drown in the thaw.”

  At that moment Rusty and Doak rode back toward the truck. Rusty was red-faced and visibly upset.

  “Something wrong?” Eugene asked curiously, as if he had expected her frustration.

  “Wrong?” Rusty swore, and flicked the reins of the horse against her thigh. “That bull isn’t about to let us drive him anywhere. He’s too—too excited. We’ll just have to wait until he’s … done.”

  Rusty could barely contain her fury. First her emotions had been stroked to the bursting point by McCall’s kisses. Then she’d ridden into a blind canyon for a bull who was aroused beyond anything she’d ever witnessed in all her years of breeding cows. Pretty Boy was awesome. He was ready to do his job, and he had no intention of allowing anybody or anything to separate him from the willing cows he’d gathered in the canyon.

  The sheer animal instinct of his purpose had fanned her already volcanic emotions to a near explosion. For ten years she’d ridden out with her men without ever feeling the least bit self-conscious about the breeding of the cattle—until today. She looked at the knowing smile on Cade’s face and cut the horse around, riding away from the men until she could bring her feelings under control.

  “Say Pretty Boy’s hot and bothered?” Eugene slid down from the fender and spit a pool of tobacco on the hard ground.

  Doak nodded. “They get that way, but this old boy’s a real sight. Maybe if he knew us better, we’d get around him. As it is, without a tranquilizer gun I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere.”

  Cade looked up. “Tranquilizer gun? Don’t you have one?”

  “Yep, but Rusty don’t like to use it. It isn’t as reliable as you think. If you get the dosage too heavy, you can kill the animal. If it isn’t heavy enough, you just make him crazy, and then you can’t get the antidote into him to bring him out of it. Of course, you can hit the wrong place and kill him with the dart.”

  “So,” Cade asked, “what do we do?”

  “We could wait until the fool wears himself out, which, from the looks of things could be days.”

  “I don’t want to do that,” Rusty interrupted as she walked her horse slowly back toward the group. “He could injure himself. But at the moment I don’t know what else to do. We’ll make camp and wait.”

  “Suppose it’s dark by then?” Eugene asked with a curious expression on his face. Cade knew that meant Eugene was working on an idea, though Cade couldn’t imagine what kind of moose story would help now.

  “Well, that would make it harder,” Rusty admitted. “He could slip by us and reach the open range.”

  “Do you have an idea, Eugene?” Cade looked at his old friend and waited.

  “Maybe. Can I borrow one of these fellows to go back to the bunkhouse with me?”

  “Certainly. Go with him, Joe,” Rusty said, “but I can’t imagine what you have in mind.”

  “Just a thought, but it might work. Come on, boy.” Eugene crawled back into the truck and sent it in a wild circle.

  “Are you sure he was the camp cook?” Rusty asked suspiciously.

  “Well, ‘cook’ doesn’t quite cover it. Eugene cooked. He also meddled in everybody’s business, made things work when they gave out, and generally considered himself the camp den mother.”

  Rusty made certain she kept Doak between herself and Cade as they waited, but even from a distance she was highly aware of the banked fire in Cade’s eyes. She didn’t know what might have happened on the mountain ridge if shots hadn’t sounded. But she decided that the time had come to make a decision about the preliminary contract before she lost all control of whatever future they might have together.

  The phrase “make love” had taken on an entirely different meaning for her now. Every time she was within ten feet of Cade McCall, she became a radio antenna. Her body sent out ready signals and she received a confirmation that was so powerful she could almost feel their electrical connection.

  Everything would be better once she got the rules down on paper, she assured herself. Cade would be forced to follow those rules. There would be no more encroaching on her rightful authority. She’d make certain that there was no more letting down, no more giving in, until she was ready. Until—

  Until the time was right.

  In the canyon she heard the high-pitched lowing of a cow, followed by the sound of hooves plowing the hard ground and the guttural bellow of the bull.

  Rusty let out a deep breath and heard a low groan, totally unaware until she caught the look on Doak’s face that she’d been the one to make that sound.

  It was noon by the time Eugene got back. Curious, the men gathered around, watching as he gathered up a large tin tub and an odd assortment of water buckets and brown long-necked bottles.

  “What are you up to?” Doak asked, scratching his chin.

&
nbsp; “Well, that old boy sure ain’t gonna stop to eat, but that’s plenty hot work in there. Just maybe he’ll stop to take a drink, wet his whistle now and then. I’m going to give him something that will change his tune.”

  Inside the canyon Eugene found a level spot beneath an overhang and stationed his tub. He proceeded to fill it with water from the buckets. He opened one of the bottles, took a deep sniff, and turned it up. After taking a long drink, he emptied it and another bottle into the water and stirred the mixture with a wooden stick.

  “That ought to do it. Let’s pull back and find us a warm spot to wait.”

  By this time Cade had figured out what Eugene was up to. He wasn’t certain it would work, but watching the show would at least relieve the tension between the men and Rusty and Rusty and himself, and if he was right, they’d be entertained at the same time.

  “What’s wrong with the ladies Pretty Boy picked out?” Eugene asked curiously.

  “They’re strays, not the caliber of cow that we want to use to prove my theory,” Rusty answered. “I plan to use only pure Charbray until we get a good sample of stock.”

  She climbed down from her horse and sat down on a rock along the canyon wall. “Are you sure whatever you’re doing is safe? That bull is the most expensive thing on this ranch. I wouldn’t want to take a chance of losing him.”

  “Absolutely,” Eugene guaranteed. “Believe I’ll take me a little nap. There’s food in the truck if anybody’s hungry.” With that, he leaned back into a crevice, using a section of rock as protection from the wind.

  Doak and the other men moved over to the truck and claimed sandwich bags and thermoses of coffee, leaving Cade and Rusty sitting together, and Eugene off to the side. After a few minutes Cade followed suit, picked up two more thermoses of coffee, and brought them back to share with Rusty, dropping down beside her.

  “Tell me about your wife,” Rusty asked as she sipped the hot coffee. “Why didn’t she tell you about your child?”

  Cade looked startled. He thought about her question for a moment, then tried to reason out an answer that made some kind of sense. “Janie was afraid to be alone. She wanted someone to be there for her. I was gone for long periods of time. I think Pixie filled that need for her and she didn’t want to take the chance I’d take Pixie away.”

  “And would you?”

  “I don’t know. She left me for another man. When he left her, she started to drink. From what I’ve learned about her condition, I could have won custody of Pixie in court.”

  From where they were sitting they couldn’t see the bull and his harem. It was just as well. Listening to their sounds was bad enough. It wasn’t long before Pretty Boy plodded into sight, stopped, sniffed, and found the tub. After a long drink he moved back into the canyon.

  “What about your husband?” Cade asked.

  “Ben? Funny, I don’t think of him as my husband, though he was for eight years. He was my father’s partner. Ben was so much older. Growing up, I knew him more as a second father.”

  “Didn’t that make it a bit uncomfortable—trying to be his wife, I mean?”

  “Yes.” She could have told him that after a few unsuccessful attempts there had been no lovemaking. In the beginning Ben had felt as awkward about it as she had. Then, after his heart trouble began, there’d been no further effort.

  “Did you love her?” asked Rusty.

  “Janie? I thought so at the time. Who knows? Love is hard to define, I think.”

  “I never loved Ben,” she admitted, “not in the way a woman should love a man. I … know that now.”

  Cade and Rusty didn’t look at each other. Their voices were low and unemotional. With the men nearby they simply talked, exchanging information with surprisingly little restraint. Being able to talk like this to a woman was something Cade hadn’t experienced before. He thought that Rusty, too, was surprised by their ease with each other.

  By the time Pretty Boy made his second trip to the water tub, his stride was unsteady, and his head bobbled. His bellowing took on a distinctly happy sound, and before long he’d deserted the ladies entirely and was concentrating on the tub.

  Rusty sat up and looked from the bull to Eugene and back again. “What exactly did you put in that water?”

  “My own secret formula,” he confessed matter-of-factly. “The boys back at the camp in Alaska called it Tundra Tonic. It’s good for what ails you,” he said, glancing at Cade.

  He ambled to his feet and started back to the truck. “I’d say that your bull won’t give you any trouble now. Just lasso one of them ladies and bring her along for company, and he’ll be as happy as an old rooster in the henhouse.”

  “ ‘Tundra Tonic’?” Rusty questioned.

  “ ‘Good for what ails you’?” Doak repeated, the beginning of a smile on his face. “Let’s go, boys. We’d better get that bull back home before his dose of tonic wears off.”

  “Ma’am.” Joe, the hand who’d gone with Eugene, stood on the ground, shuffling his feet. “Are you done with my horse?”

  “Ride with me, Joe,” Cade suggested. “That is, if Mrs. Wilder doesn’t mind? I’m sure she wants to oversee Pretty Boy’s return.”

  “Uh, no, Joe. I’ll let you have your horse back,” Rusty said easily. “Doak doesn’t need me to ride with him.”

  She got into the Jeep and slammed the door. “I’ve been doing some thinking. I’ll make arrangements for Pixie to start school in Coyote Wells on Monday. I’ll also ask Judge Meekins to come over tomorrow night to draw up our preliminary contract, and—” she caught her breath before finishing in a rush, “there’s the Cattleman’s Ball next Friday night, which I’ll expect you to attend as my … escort. If you agree.”

  She didn’t look at him. But he knew that she was giving him one last chance to change his mind. After he agreed, he was committed to—well, he didn’t know what exactly. To be a husband? To be a father? He’d been here two days, and he already knew that the trial period wasn’t a good idea. Six months would never be enough.

  But six months was a start.

  “Yes.”

  Pixie met them at the corral. With a cry of pleasure she slid under the fence and ran toward the bull.

  “Oh, Pretty Boy, you’re back!”

  Rusty felt her heart turn over. “Cade—look out, Pixie!”

  Doak, Eugene, and Cade all made a mad dash for the corral, arriving at the same time.

  Pixie, singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” was standing beside the huge bull, who was lowering his head for Pixie to pat him. The sound the bull was making wasn’t angry until he raised his head and caught sight of the men pressing toward him.

  “Pixie,” Cade said in a calm voice, “back away, slowly, now.”

  “But, Daddy,” Pixie argued, “Pretty Boy likes for me to pet him.”

  “Please, Pix, do as I say.”

  Pretty Boy was standing very still, his feet planted apart, eyeing the men nervously.

  “All right,” Pixie agreed. “I’ll come back and play with you tomorrow, Pretty Boy.”

  The bull lowered his head for one last pat and watched as Pixie ran back across the corral and under the fence to be swept up in Cade’s arms.

  The thundering behind them was the sound of the men trying to reach the safety of the fence before the bull made contact with his horns, lowered and extended.

  “I’m glad you found him, Daddy. I don’t think he likes being by himself. I think that’s why he ran away.”

  “Pixie, don’t you ever get into the pen with that bull again, hear me?” Cade said, his voice still taut with strain. “He could hurt you.”

  “No he won’t, Daddy. He let me pet him this morning. He likes to have his head scratched. I gave him my piece of toast. He likes toast with jelly.”

  Over Pixie’s head Cade caught sight of Eugene, who was nodding in agreement. “She’s right, Cade. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen it. She stood there singing ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ T
hen before I realized what she was doing, she was inside that fence, feeding him toast and jelly. And, believe it or not, he liked it.”

  Cade felt a lump in his throat. Pixie, who’d survived her mother’s death and two bouts of bronchitis and pneumonia, had casually stepped into the corral with a wild bull and escaped harm. He hugged her even tighter.

  Rusty walked over and slid her arm around Pixie too. “But, Pixie, sweetheart, I think you ought to wait until Pretty Boy is settled in before you start to play with him. Sometimes wild animals like to pretend that they like you when they don’t. Do you know the story of Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Eugene told it to me.”

  “You remember that the wolf pretended he was the grandmother so that he could eat up the little girl? Promise me you’ll wait until we’re sure that Pretty Boy isn’t doing that.”

  “Oh, but he isn’t. I know he isn’t. But—” she turned her great dark eyes toward Rusty and stopped, “but if you say so, I won’t go back into the pen again until you tell me I can.”

  “I think that would be best for now, Pixie,” Rusty answered. “Not every little girl would worry about a bull being lonely. I think you must be very special.” Rusty realized with surprise that she really meant what she’d said. She took Pixie’s hand as they walked to the house. Cade held his daughter’s other hand. As naturally as if they’d always done so, Cade and Rusty, with Pixie between them, made their way into the house.

  Letty watched, a broad smile on her face. Maybe Rusty’s plan to find herself a mail-order husband was going to work out fine. Maybe she’d just make up that extra room beside hers for Pixie. That child might need comforting during the night until she felt at home on Silverwild.

  And, Letty decided airily, you never knew where Cade might be. The two wings of the house were pretty far apart, even if they were connected by the hallway on the inside and the veranda on the outside. Yep, Pixie might like the little room next to Letty’s. She could still claim her regular bedroom during the daytime. Letty didn’t expect that daytime would be a problem. But then again, she decided as she caught Rusty and Cade’s expressions, maybe daytime would be a problem too.