by Francis Ray
“What are you having?”
“The rest of the stew,” Rooster said, slowly going to take his seat. “No sense throwing out good food. The way I figure, with just me and Duncan eating, we have enough for a couple more days.”
Duncan solemnly looked down at his bowl of stew. Rooster hadn’t sounded too pleased, either. Going to the refrigerator, she pulled a loaf of garlic bread from the freezer. “Mind if I use the oven?”
Duncan finally looked up. “You didn’t ask before.”
“Yes, she did, boss,” Rooster said, staring at the slow cooker. “I told her we didn’t mind. Oven is already on. I made a can of biscuits. I didn’t have enough cornmeal for the corn bread.”
“Thanks.” Raven glanced at the table. The small biscuits looked no bigger than half-dollars and were almost as burnt as the corn bread. She put the loaf on a cookie sheet she located beneath the cabinet and placed it in the oven.
Duncan picked up his spoon and dipped it into the stew. The lifted spoon wavered and then continued to his mouth. Raven inwardly winced each time he took another spoonful.
After working all day, he had to be hungry. So he was terse with her. Anyone would be if they worked all day and had to eat a leftover meal that was inedible even freshly prepared. He was taking care of those on the ranch just as he had helped her.
Duncan took his responsibilities seriously. Because of him, she had a good shot at permanently settling down in one place, making lifelong friends, and eventually thinking about marrying and starting a family.
The timer went off on the slow cooker. She checked the bread. It was ready. Rooster’s and Duncan’s gazes centered on the pot and stayed there. Raven came to a quick decision.
“Rooster, I hope you and Duncan will help me out here. I think I cooked too much as well. You can freeze stew, but not spaghetti.” She picked up the strainer she’d placed on the counter earlier. “What do you say to helping me out by eating some of my chicken parmigiana?”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” Rooster said.
She drained the spaghetti, then looked at Duncan. “How about you helping me out here?”
“If you have enough,” Duncan said.
“There’s enough.” Rinsing the spaghetti, she scooped a portion onto three plates, then put the chicken breast and sauce on top. “I’ll get the bread.” Placing the bread on another plate, she took her seat. “I’ll say my blessing, but you two go ahead.”
Raven lowered her head and when she lifted it she looked straight into Duncan’s implacable face. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Perhaps you better wait until you taste it,” she said, hoping to tease him into good humor. The man simply needed to smile more and lighten up.
“It’s almost as good as my cooking,” Rooster said around a mouthful of food.
“I take that as a compliment,” Raven said, her gaze on Duncan as he tentatively took a small bite of chicken, then closed his eyes. She watched his body relax.
“You might be right, Rooster,” Duncan said, cutting a larger slice of chicken.
She was about to cut into her chicken when there was a light knock on the back door. Duncan’s head came up. He quickly went to the door and opened it. Billy stood there, his hat pressed against his chest.
“Is Belle ready to foal?” Duncan asked.
“No.” Billy shook his head. “I was talking to a friend who works at the Marshall ranch. He said it looks like one of their horses was badly scratched by a mountain lion. Ramon said cats are territorial, but he thought you should know.”
Duncan hissed an expletive. “When? Where?”
“Yesterday. Near as they can tell, it was on the eastern part of the ranch,” Billy answered.
“Ramon is right, but tell all the hands I want them to keep an eye out,” Duncan said. “The problem might be a young male who has been pushed out or one trying to find his own territory. He’ll prefer elk or deer, but he could be a nuisance.”
Billy nodded. “I’ll tell them.”
“Thanks, Billy, for passing on the information,” Duncan said.
The young man seemed to stand taller. “Night, boss. Miss. Rooster.”
Duncan closed the door, and took his seat. “You know anything about mountain lions?”
Raven picked up her fork. “Enough to know that, as you said, they’re not generally a threat to humans—unless they’re sick or unable to hunt game. They might be a threat to a small animal, but not to people.”
“We have no way of knowing that isn’t the case,” he answered.
“We also don’t know if it is. Your food is getting cold.” She smiled across the table at him and took a bite of her chicken. “I know if I spot one to back away slowly, and I have my bear spray.”
“You’re smart for a city woman,” Rooster said, finishing off his slice of garlic bread and reaching for another.
“Why do you say that?” she asked, well aware that Duncan still watched her and afraid he was going to put the cave off-limits.
“ ’Cause,” Rooster said, just as the phone rang. He pushed up from the table and waved Duncan back into his seat. “Probably one of those pesky telemarketers. Don’t people know it’s supper time?” He snatched the receiver up. “Double D,” he said, then frowned at Raven and held the phone out to her. “He wants to speak to you.”
“Me?” Raven asked, her own frown forming. “I didn’t give anyone the phone number here. Who could it be?”
“Only one way to find out.”
She crossed to take the phone. “Raven La Blanc.” Her frown cleared. “Mr. Crane.”
Duncan’s head came up and around. She knew that look of censure. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t have any free time while I’m visiting. Thanks again, good night.”
Hanging up the phone, she took her seat and picked up her fork. The silence was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
“How’d you meet that snake Crane?” Rooster spit out the question.
“This afternoon,” Raven answered. Both men gazed at her with disapproval. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t getting involved. She’d learned in moving so much never to become involved or take sides. “It will be the first and last time, I’m sure.”
She sought to change the subject and get the men eating again. “How does pot roast sound for dinner tomorrow night, Rooster?”
He picked up his fork. “The boss likes beef.”
That was what she was counting on. She finally looked at Duncan. His beautiful eyes were narrowed; anger shimmered in them. She hadn’t thrown him off-track. “Excuse me; I want to make a few phone calls.”
Rooster shook his head as Duncan left the table. “Leave it to a polecat like Crane to turn a man’s stomach and throw him off his food.”
Duncan had barely touched his dinner. There seemed to be a person who annoyed Duncan more than she did. And Crane’s phone call might have put her in a precarious position. “I just met the man.”
“He wants to buy land from the boss and is making a nuisance of himself. He’s done a lot of talk about how much money the town would make—if the boss wasn’t in his way.” Rooster jabbed his chicken.
Raven was silent. Duncan had misjudged her; perhaps he had misjudged Crane as well.
“None of us can prove it, but he’s the one who started the rumor that the reason the boss’s wife left was that he abused her.” Rooster snorted. “He wanted people to turn against him. A man needs his neighbors and friends more so in these parts. Good thing folks know the boss is a good man.”
Whatever his faults, Raven would never believe Duncan would abuse a woman.
“Treated her like she was spun glass. Nothing was too good for her. Didn’t do no good. She hated the ranch and us. Treated us like dirt. The boss—” Rooster snapped his mouth shut. “I talk too much.” Hunching over his plate, Rooster continued eating.
Raven didn’t know what to think. The deceit and deviousness of
people never ceased to amaze her. Faith had only mentioned Duncan’s ex-wife once. Her eyes had glittered with anger that promised retribution if she ever saw the woman again. Raven wondered how could she have had Duncan, the home, everything, and thrown it away? Hadn’t she realized how blessed she was?
“Before you leave tonight, please tell Duncan that his plate is in the refrigerator,” Raven said. “He can warm it in the microwave.”
Rooster nodded. “Appreciate it. He don’t take care of himself. Didn’t hardly eat the grits and bacon I fixed this morning.”
“He probably had a lot on his mind,” Raven offered, then looked at Duncan’s barely touched plate. “We’re going out early in the morning together. Why don’t I cook breakfast for all of us? Pan sausages, eggs, fried potatoes.”
“In that pot?”
She laughed. What Rooster didn’t know about cooking would fill a library, but his heart was as big as the Montana sky. “No, a skillet.”
He sopped up the last bit of tomato sauce on his plate with his garlic bread. “Since you can cook almost as good as me, I guess it’s all right this time.”
Chapter 5
Duncan’s booted feet hit the stairs a little after six the next morning. His stomach growled. He smelled coffee and wanted to whimper.
It might smell good, but the way Rooster fixed it, it tasted like gall. Duncan wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on without solid meals. He’d warmed up the chicken last night that Raven had left in the refrigerator, but it hadn’t put a dent in his hunger or his anger.
He came off the stairs, his mouth set in a straight line. He’d come close to taking the phone from Raven last night and telling Crane to back off. He hadn’t for two reasons. It would have been extremely rude, which didn’t bother him as much as the second reason: he’d been jealous.
The knowledge still rocked him. He had to get Raven out of his mind. He alternately worried about her and wanted her.
Angry with himself, he burst into the kitchen, and a slice of heaven greeted him.
“Good morning, Duncan,” Raven greeted him. “Have a seat. I was just about to take the biscuits out of the oven.”
“I’ll get your coffee.” Rooster picked up the coffeepot and poured. “Go on and sit down. Me and Raven got this.”
Still in a bit of a shock, Duncan pulled at a chair, noticing again that he had a place mat and flatware. Raven’s doing. He wanted to cry tears of joy at the plate Raven sat in front of him with fluffy eggs, brown pan sausages, and golden fried potatoes. His mouth watered. Rooster placed a mug of coffee that wasn’t as black as coal by his plate.
“I’ll say grace so you can eat and go take care of the ranch.” She blessed the food, then handed him a fork, and scooted the pitcher of syrup closer. “Enjoy.”
He dug in. He took two ravenous bites before he thought to pour syrup. The biscuits were golden and baked to perfection. “This is good,” he said, then quickly amended, “almost as good as Rooster’s.”
Raven placed another plate in front of the chair where Rooster usually sat. “It should be. He helped.”
Rooster proudly took his seat and promptly placed three biscuits on his plate. “Making biscuits ain’t that hard. I’ve got to take care of the boss.”
Duncan rose to hold Raven’s chair. “Thank you,” he said, aware that she’d understand he was thanking her for being sensitive to Rooster’s feelings and not hurting the older man.
“What time do you want us to leave this morning?” she asked.
She looked eager and cautious. Raven was no fool. Duncan wouldn’t have put it past her to have cooked the meal to soften him up. “I spoke to Isaac Marshall, the owner of the ranch Billy referred to last night talking about the mountain lion attack.”
“We both know that mountain lions are territorial,” she said, not bothering to pick up her fork.
“Unless they’re pushed out of their territory,” Duncan told her. “And who’s to say there isn’t another one around here?”
“I’ll take whatever precautions you want, but please don’t forbid me to continue,” she said. “It’s important for several reasons.”
“Your safety comes first.” The thought of her being hurt made his stomach churn. He’d seen what the sharp claws of a bear and a mountain lion could do to human and animal flesh.
She leaned closer. “I appreciate your concern, but please, let me do my job.”
How could a woman tempt a man, make his body hard, his insides soft? He picked up a biscuit and put it on her plate. Rooster had already downed four. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”
“One day at a time it is.” Smiling, she finally picked up her fork.
The ride to the cave later that morning was completed in silence. Raven had a sneaky suspicion that Duncan might regret his decision once they arrived, but he wasn’t about to go back on his word.
She dutifully stayed on her mare and out of the way as he searched the area for mountain lion tracks. She was relieved when he didn’t find any. She didn’t want to encounter a mountain lion, she just wanted to do her job.
“All clear.”
Urging her horse forward, she dismounted and helped remove the brush from the mouth of the cave, then grabbed her high-beamed lantern and entered first. She’d set up the base camp a few feet from the entrance. She didn’t even slow down as she passed her supplies, this time leaving Duncan to follow.
Reaching the inner chamber where they’d kissed, she shook off the shiver of awareness and increased her pace.
Duncan caught her arm. “You really didn’t go any farther, did you?”
She looked up at him, fought to keep the slight trembling she felt in her body in response to his touch from increasing. She wanted to lean closer, to touch, to mold her lips to his. Bad, bad idea. “I told you I wouldn’t.”
“Sometimes people think lying is all right if it gets them what they want.”
She held his gaze. “I value my word as much as you do. I don’t give it lightly.”
He nodded, one quick jerk of his head. “Let’s get this done.”
“I appreciate you taking time this morning,” she told him, aware that he’d brushed her thanks aside.
“It’s necessary, but don’t forget, we take this one day at a time.”
“Of course. As you said, let’s get this done.”
Once past the large chamber, they went another twenty feet and came to a stop. The only visible passage was an opening too narrow for humans to have passed through, at least now.
“It’s a dead end.”
Raven stepped around him and started to reach her hand with the high-beamed lantern through the foot-wide opening. Duncan’s unyielding hand on her arm stopped her. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to see if there are other drawings on the walls, bear follows, the deep grooves they make during hibernation, on the floor,” she told him. “I need to know if this blockage is a recent one.”
“I’ll do it.” He stuck his hand holding his lantern though the opening.
“Duncan,” she began, then slipped under his outstretched arm. There was no sense in reminding him that he was too big for her to see around. She straightened, felt his body tense behind her, the incredible heat. He surrounded her. She felt slightly light-headed.
“Raven.”
It occurred to her that this was the first time he’d said her name. It had come out husky, needy. Neither of them could afford another kiss. She shook her head to clear it. “Please make a slow arc of the walls, ceiling, floor, expanding the area each time.”
After a second, he did as instructed. It took three very long minutes, but at the end she had her answer.
Duncan stepped back. “You hoped for more.”
She smiled sadly and turned. “I did, but what we’ve already seen is incredible. The drawings might have been hidden for centuries. I want to look at the main chamber again.” She started back the way they had come.
Reaching the area, Duncan shon
e the light on the floor beneath their feet and beyond. “I don’t see any evidence the cave might have been used by hibernating bears.”
“Me, either.” Lowering the lantern, she squatted by the last pictograph. “The floor is often studied as well for residue that falls from the drawings because the residue can be easier to radiocarbon-date.” She stood and nodded toward a drawing that followed the rough outcropping of rocks. “Because of the angle of the pictographs they will be more difficult to get a clear picture of.”
“Would it be easier if you were working with someone?” he asked.
Raven was surprised by the concern she heard in the question and understood what it had taken to ask it. Duncan wanted his privacy, but he also wanted the caves studied. “Perhaps, but it’s not unusual for one person to work alone. I can take shots of the drawings and reproduce them on my computer to study,” she told him. “In some caves they keep workers to a minimum for fear of disturbing the ecological balance or creating carbon dioxide.”
“Maybe you should call in every hour,” he said.
She shook her head. “If you had to report in every hour, how much would you get done?”
“I’m not working by myself in an unknown area,” he told her.
“It won’t be unknown for long.” She started back toward the front of the cave. “I won’t keep you.”
He didn’t say anything until they were outside. “I’ll go, but I expect you to call Rooster every two hours.”
“I have the alarm clock, water, a couple of granola bars,” she said.
“Then you plan to return after lunch?” he asked.
Too late she realized she should have kept her mouth closed. “As I said, I don’t like to stop working. I seldom eat while I’m working in the field.”
“Is that the reason for the Crock-Pot?”
“Partly.” She smiled. “Rooster and I have a bet on how good my pot roast will turn out.”