“I love it! But—” She stopped, embarrassed and reluctant to discuss her worries on such a gorgeous morning with a man she hardly knew.
“But what?” he prodded.
His eyes held such genuine interest, such gentle kindness, she couldn’t help confiding in him. “But I’d rather spend more time with Megan.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Can’t afford it.”
“Didn’t you get Marc’s military benefits or life insurance? If they were anything like mine, they should have left you with enough to take a few years off from teaching, at least until Megan goes to school.”
“Round-the-clock nursing care for Marc used most of the money—that, and hiring temporary help for Dad. We’re barely making ends meet now with my teaching salary.”
She halted, amazed that she had blurted out such intimate details. He must think her an idiot. But when she looked at Trace, his expression was compassionate, understanding.
“It’s been hard for you, hasn’t it?” he asked gently.
At the empathy in his voice, she fought back tears. “At least I’m alive. And I have Megan. Marc and Ryan…”
Struggling for composure, she urged Snickers down the riverbank and into the icy water. About a foot deep, the swiftly moving current swirled around the horse’s legs. “We’ll cross here.”
“Where are we going?”
She pointed to a rise on the other side of the river. “We couldn’t have crossed last week except at the bridge south of here. With the snowmelt, the river was running six feet deep even here at the ford.”
Trace angled Rogue into the shallow water, and she marveled again at his expert handling of the cantankerous horse no one but Ryan had been able to control.
On the other side of the river, they climbed a high hill. Before they reached the summit, Cat stopped and turned in the saddle to gaze behind her.
“You can see the whole ranch from here,” she explained with a wave of her arm that took in the entire spread. “It’s the best viewpoint on the property.”
The ranch house, barn, corral and outbuildings perched in the distance like a miniature village, surrounded by rolling pastures flecked with dark spots of color from the sleek hides of the herd, glistening in the sunlight among the lush grass. Dark, primeval forests edged the spacious bowl of meadowland and climbed the steep slopes of the surrounding mountains until the tree line gave way to barren stretches of rocks and snow.
As always, a gamut of emotions flooded her as she contemplated High Valley. Pride, contentment and affection she was accustomed to, but recently a new feeling had been added to the mix, a nagging fear she might have to give up the home that had been in her family for five generations.
She glanced at Trace and was astonished at the look of longing on his expressive face, evident even beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed Stetson, a yearning so intense it made her ache to witness it. His parents were dead, he’d told her. Maybe what she’d noted in his wistful expression was his desire for a home of his own.
“Come on,” she said. “There’s a special place I want to show you.”
They crested the hill, and she was pleased to note that the tall grass had been neatly trimmed inside the picket fence that encircled the hilltop. For generations, the small cemetery had served as a resting place for the Erickson family.
She slid from her saddle and tied Snickers’s reins to a fence post. Trace did the same for Rogue and followed her through the well-oiled gate.
“We brought Marc and Ryan home,” she said, pointing to the granite gravestones marked with the Marine insignia and their names, birth and death dates. Colorful flowers bloomed at the base of the markers, and recently planted shrubs of rosemary for remembrance. “Marc was laid to rest beside our mother.”
With a stunned look on his face, Trace removed his hat, approached the graves and knelt beside Marc’s stone. Without a word, he laid his hand on the smooth granite and closed his eyes. His sense of loss reverberated through Cat, and if she hadn’t known before, she was absolutely convinced at that moment how much he’d loved her brother.
She longed to go to Trace, to put her arms around him and comfort him. To be comforted and share their mutual loss. Even more, to feel the heat of him beneath her hands, the thunder of his heart beneath her cheek, to yield her mouth, her body, her heart to him…
Dazed and disturbed by her unexpected and inexplicable desire, she moved toward the gate, leaving Trace alone with his grief, giving herself space to analyze her puzzling and irrational response to a man she scarcely knew. For years, she’d believed she could never love a man, never yearn for him, never react to his touch as she had to Ryan.
Her response to Trace Gallagher had blown her assumptions into smithereens. The knowledge left her giddy and shaking, and she thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans to hide their trembling. Maybe too many years of sexual abstinence had unbalanced her hormones.
And her brain.
After several minutes, Trace stood and cleared his throat, then gazed at Ryan’s headstone with a puzzled frown. “You brought Ryan home?”
Cat braced herself for the pain that had always felt as fresh and sharp as it had five years ago, but today it had miraculously eased in Trace’s presence.
“We buried his dogtags, some pictures, a few of his favorite books…that’s all there was.”
Trace turned away, as if to be alone with his grief. He walked to the edge of the plot and lifted his head toward the surrounding mountains.
Suddenly, his shoulders stiffened and his muscles tensed.
“Look.” He pointed to a spot just below the saddleback of Preacher’s Ridge. “Do you see that?”
Cat followed his arm and noted two spots of sunlight flashing off glass. “The reflection? I see it.”
“What’s up there?” Trace asked.
“Nothing. It’s a wilderness area set aside by the Forest Service.”
“Any trails?”
“No.” Cat shivered at the gravity in his voice and shook her head. “Why?”
“Because that light’s reflecting off binocular lenses. Someone’s watching your ranch.”
Chapter Six
“It’s probably just some hiker taking in the scenery,” Cat assured Trance. “It’s probably just some hiker taking in the scenery,” Cat assured Trance.
“Those lenses haven’t moved,” Trace protested, keeping his tone purposely calm while wondering if he was overreacting. “Whoever it is, he’s studying the ranch. See? He hasn’t shifted focus the whole time we’ve been watching.”
“Like I said, maybe it’s a tourist who likes the view. A greenhorn like you,” she teased, “who’s never seen a ranch before.”
Cat tossed her head, sending her golden blond hair flying around her attractive face and seemingly unconcerned by his worry.
“Besides,” she insisted, “why would anyone case our ranch? We have nothing of value except cattle, and unless rustlers put wings on the herd or move them up over the mountains through dense forests and impossibly steep terrain, the only way to drive them out of here is the road we came in on. Any cow thieves would be caught and arrested before they got as far as the MacIntosh farm.”
Trace kept his eyes on the stationary twin reflections on the ridge above. His experience with terrorists had made him paranoid, or at the very least ultrasuspicious.
His notice of the watcher on the ridge, however, had stopped him just in time from making a terrible mistake. Moved by the sight of Marc’s grave—and his own, so carefully tended—and the obvious devotion of the woman he loved to her lost fiancé, he’d almost blurted out the truth to Cat. Overcome with emotion, he’d been on the verge of taking her in his arms and revealing his identity. Only the sight of the binocular reflections on the ridge had saved him, reminding him of the possible danger she faced.
“Maybe it’s that Snake what’s his name,” Trace suggested. “The man who almost ran us off the road yesterday.”
; “Snake?” Her voice rose with skepticism. “It’s a long, steep climb through thick underbrush to the top of that ridge. Snake’s too lazy and out of shape for such a trek. If Snake Larson’s going to cause trouble, believe me, it’ll be the in-your-face kind.”
Pulling his attention from the ridge, he turned to find Cat watching him, a furrow of worry between her brows replacing her formerly untroubled smile, and he silently cursed himself for bothering her with what was probably nothing of concern, only a curious hiker like she’d said. She had enough troubles without his adding more.
He gave himself a mental shake. Cat was right. Snake wouldn’t have made the effort to climb the ridge. And Trace was probably being paranoid about terrorists. As long as they had no idea who Trace was, they had no reason to follow him or keep the Erickson ranch under surveillance. His deliberations reminded him of his mission. Gabe and Cat had invited him to spend a few days with them. That didn’t give him much time to find out whether Marc had communicated anything that might lead to the terrorists.
The Pentagon shrinks had hoped returning to the ranch and seeing Cat would jog his memories. She’d shaken loose memories, all right, remembrances that made being unable to touch her an almost unbearable torture. So far, however, those ten crucial days prior to the embassy bombing remained as much a blank as ever.
For now, his only hope for clues to the terrorists’ identities would have to come from something Marc might have said to his family. But questions about Marc’s illness would be painful for Cat and Gabe, and Trace wasn’t looking forward to probing those emotional wounds.
Purposely turning his back on the watcher on the ridge, Trace draped his arm casually around Cat’s shoulder, resisting the urge to pull her closer. She smelled of soap and sunshine with her signature hint of honeysuckle, and her scent brought back a hundred memories and roused his hunger for her. Keeping a tight rein on his feelings, he led her out of the tiny cemetery, carefully closed the gate behind them and released her with reluctance.
He turned his attention to Rogue. Pleased by how well his horse remembered him, he swung into the saddle, and Cat mounted Snickers.
“What’s next on the tour?” he asked.
“We’ll cut through the forest, and I’ll show you Daddy’s timber.”
Cat guided Snickers down the hill then up another slope toward the tree line, and with a last glance toward the ridge Trace edged Rogue beside her. She was probably right about the watcher being a hiker. He was glad she had shaken off her sorrow, that her frown had disappeared and that she once again seemed to be enjoying their ride.
“How long’s it been since you had a day off?” he asked.
“A day off?” she said with a rueful smile. “What’s that?”
“Time for yourself. Between your job, the ranch and taking care of your dad and Megan, you’ll burn out fast without some time for relaxing.”
“Relaxation is a luxury I can’t afford.”
“Suppose you had the time. What would you do?”
“Do?”
“For fun?”
She gave a self-deprecating snort. “What’s fun?”
“When you were dating Ryan, there must have been things you enjoyed doing.”
The blush that he loved started at the V in her blouse and worked its way up her face, enveloping her skin in a delightful rosy glow.
“Besides that,” he teased.
She halted her horse just inside the tree line in the shade of an immense Douglas fir and gazed over the meadow they’d crossed, but her eyes seemed glazed, as if she were looking inward. “Mostly we made plans for the future.”
Today he could remember every cherished detail of those plans they’d made together, but just a few weeks ago, he’d been ignorant of everything.
Even though the amnesia hadn’t been his fault, he felt inundated by guilt. While he had been blissfully unaware, living in comfort in Asim’s palace, Cat, with her hopes and dreams smashed, had been struggling to keep the ranch going and to raise their daughter. Somehow he had to make up for all she’d endured alone over those long years. Some time for herself would be a small but symbolic start.
“If I could give you a whole day,” he said, “to spend however you like, what would you do? Go shopping?”
He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never tire of the lilting intonation of her voice.
Cat shook her head. “I must have been standing behind the door when they passed out that particular female gene. I’ve never liked to shop.”
She edged Snickers into the trees along the shady trail that was just barely wide enough for Rogue to trot alongside her.
“How about a manicure?” he suggested. “And a massage?”
“Like at some fancy spa?” She grimaced with apparent distaste. “Waste of good money, as far as I’m concerned. I get the same results with an emery board and a good soak in the bathtub.”
His beloved Cat was as practical as ever. Getting her to pamper herself would take some doing.
“There must be something,” he insisted in exasperation. It had been far too long since she’d taken time for herself if she couldn’t even remember what she liked best.
“A good book is something I’d enjoy,” she finally admitted. “And time to read it all the way through.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Everything—mystery, romance, science fiction. Just so long as the story’s good and the ending’s happy.”
She deserved happy endings. If he could help Wentworth nab the terrorists, she’d have one.
If not…
He hadn’t considered the possibility of failure, even though his chances of success were slim. If he didn’t find out or remember what he needed to know, he’d have to spend the rest of his life as Trace Gallagher. Failure meant losing Cat all over again. Only this time, he’d be losing his daughter, too. He shoved the disheartening possibility from his mind.
“Maybe I can give your dad a hand while I’m here. Then you can take that day off and enjoy a good book.”
She eyed him sharply. “Why would you want to do that?”
Because I love you. Because it hurts to see you working so hard, raising our child alone. Because you deserve to be looked after, cherished.
“Chalk it up to my Boy Scout background,” he said easily, “and call it my good deed for the week.”
“It wouldn’t speak well of our Western hospitality if I let our guest work while I put my feet up.”
Her words hardly registered. At the sight of a small glade off to the right, he’d halted Rogue and sat staring at the spot where Megan had been conceived. Dappled sunlight filtered through the majestic evergreens, filling the circular clearing with soft, golden light. Thick ferns carpeted the floor, and the unearthly quiet reminded him of a cathedral.
Cat stopped Snickers beside him. “You’re not seeing rustlers again?”
In the shimmering light, she seemed as insubstantial as a dream but even more beautiful than the Cat he’d made love to in this very place so long ago. The gentle breeze lifted her hair from the slender column of her neck, her delicate eyebrows quirked in bewilderment, and those perceptive blue eyes met his with an intensity that pierced straight to the center of his being. More than anything, he wanted to dismount, pull her down beside him and love her with a fierceness that would erase the loneliness of those lost, wasted years.
He fought to bring his emotions in line and finally managed to speak in a normal voice. “Just admiring what a beautiful place this is.”
Her questioning expression gave way to a look of tender contemplation. “Yes, it’s very special.”
As if unwilling to share the site with him, she dug her knees into Snickers’s sides and moved ahead on the trail. With a last glance at what had been their favorite meeting place, he followed and caught up with her.
Soon the trail angled southward, then southeast, until they had doubled back to the river. Unlike the shal
low, peaceful ford they had crossed earlier, the water at this point ran wide, deep and turbulent, frothing and foaming, and dropped rapidly in elevation over a series of jutting boulders and terraces carved out of the rock.
“This must be where Ryan and Marc went whitewater rafting,” Trace shouted over the roar of the waterfalls.
Cat nodded, her hair glistening with drops of water like diamonds from the spray of the current. “There’s another ford farther downstream. We can cross to the house there.”
Along the river, the trail narrowed until they were forced to ride single file. Trace swung in behind Cat, and as he did, he caught a flash of color darting swiftly through the trees on the slope above them. He stopped and scoured the forest, searching for another sign of who or what was moving parallel to them above the trail. The rush of the water, surging over boulders, covered all other sounds.
Cat turned in the saddle and saw him stopped on the trail. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
He shook his head and urged Rogue forward. The binoculars on the ridge had made him edgy. These forests teemed with wildlife. The movement he’d seen in the trees could have been a low-flying bird, a whitetail deer, even a brown bear. He had no reason to believe someone was watching them.
Except the strong feeling in his gut that, until now at least, had never been wrong.
TRACE GALLAGHER had turned strangely quiet on their ride home, and Cat wondered about the cause of his silence. She suspected their visit to the cemetery had made him introspective. His grief for his fallen friends had seemed strangely raw and fresh, untempered by time.
Of course, it could be he was quiet because he was all talked out after sharing so many stories of his life with Ryan and Marc.
Or perhaps, for some strange reason, the sight of someone watching the ranch had spooked him. While he’d contemplated the binoculars flashing on the ridge, his demeanor had grown still and deadly, reminding her of the lethal traps hunters set for bear—strong, silent and waiting to spring.
She discarded that last ridiculous notion, unable to think of a single reason someone’s presence on the ridge above the ranch should bother him. With summer tourists hiking and camping all over the area, strangers were passing through all the time, their visits bringing income to the coffers of town merchants. Except for the occasional campfire burning out of control, they seldom posed a threat.
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