He half listened to the conversation around him. How was it that Heather Johnson had become such a force that his well-being seemed to revolve around her presence? He'd done that to himself— allowed her to become too important, allowed his feelings for her to override common sense. She wanted nothing from him except a few pleasant physical encounters.
The knowledge hurt.
Maybe once Heather was gone, he would be able to get his emotions back on an even keel, look for a woman ready for a relationship, one without all the scars and baggage.
It grew dark and he gathered the girls and told Garrett goodbye. Exhausted, the twins fell asleep nearly as soon as he headed down the drive.
He'd gone about five miles, when up ahead, the rhythmic flashing of a vehicle's emergency lights could be seen through the trees. Mitch slowed and rounded the curve. He pulled to the side, the Silverado's headlights gleaming across the back end and bumper of a Blazer—his heart skipped—Heather's Blazer.
The front end of her vehicle was tilted down off the side of the road.
Mitch parked, jumped out and ran forward.
The driver's door opened and Heather, looking a bit shaken, stepped out.
"What happened?" he asked, taking her by her elbows and feeling her trembling.
She clasped his forearms and clung to him, her shaky voice belying her words. "It's nothing, really. A tire blew. The front right one."
He noticed a scrape above her eyebrow, along with a slight swelling that concerned him. "Are you all right?"
She touched the spot gingerly, then looked at her fingers. "Why didn't the air bags inflate?"
"The sensor for them is in the front bumper. You didn't hit anything."
"The car jerked off to the right and over the edge of the road. The steering wheel was yanked right out of my control."
Mitch released Heather to open the back door. Three wide sets of eyes stared at him apprehensively. Wet trails on Patrick's and Andrew's cheeks showed they'd been crying. All of them remained buckled into their restraints, Andrew in his car seat. "You guys all right?"
Jessica and Patrick nodded. Andrew stretched his arms toward Mitch.
Mitch leaned in the door and gave them each a comforting touch on the head. "We'll get you out of here and you'll be home in no time, okay?"
"No tine," Andrew said seriously.
"Right." He figured out how to unbuckle Andrew and his car seat and carried both to his truck. Heather helped Jessica and Patrick out.
It took several minutes to make room for the car seat and to situate the children in his pickup. Taylor roused and asked what was going on.
"The Johnsons are going to sit with you for a while. You can go back to sleep." He backed out and said to Heather, "They're fine. Shut the doors or the mosquitoes will eat 'em alive." He nodded toward her pickup. "You do have a spare under there."
"Yes."
He got into his lockbox for tools and a tow chain.
"I don't think I can jack up that front end the way it's sitting. We're going to have to pull it back up first."
"That's why I didn't try it," she said with a nod. "What do you want me to do?"
"Are you feeling all right?"
"Just a little shaken up is all."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Sit behind the wheel, and put your seat belt on. Shift into Neutral, and when I have you up here, move it into Park."
She nodded and got into the vehicle.
He got in his truck, where Taylor had draped her arm across Andrew, giving him the comfort he'd needed to fall asleep already. Mitch assured Jessica and Patrick that everything was fine, and shifted into gear.
He got the Blazer onto the road, unbolted the spare from its rack beneath the frame, then quickly changed the tire.
Someone would have come along if it hadn't been him, Mitch reasoned, but his thoughts shifted to Trina's concern over a murderer on the loose in the county. He was grateful Heather wasn't alone at her ranch.
They paused for a moment. "The kids are all settled in there now," he said. "I don't want you to drive. Ride home with me, and we'll come get the Blazer tomorrow."
She touched her head and glanced into the truck, obviously thinking of the safety of her children.
"Get in," he said decisively. "I'll pull the Blazer off the road."
"Get my purse, please."
Mitch and Heather rode with Jessica between them in the front. Jessica took her mother's hand and held it.
"I promised you we'd go riding tomorrow morning, and we're still going to do it," Heather told her.
"Can the twins sleep with you tonight, Jess?" Mitch asked.
She nodded. "Sure."
"I'll stay downstairs on the couch, so I can check on your mom every so often."
"I'm fine," Heather objected.
He didn't argue with her, just drove to the ranch. "Clean that cut while I get the kids ready for bed."
"But I—"
"They see you in the light and they'll be scared. Just go."
Heather's head was pounding, whether from stress or the bump or both, she didn't know. In the upstairs bathroom she glanced in the mirror and saw the dried blood and slight swelling that Mitch hadn't wanted the kids to see. She washed her face and blotted her bruised eyebrow.
She took the first-aid kit into her bedroom and dotted tincture of iodine on the cut and placed an adhesive strip over it. Finding a bottle of aspirin, she took two and changed into her nightshirt and robe.
A soft knock alerted her to Mitch's presence in the doorway. "The kids are all asleep."
"Thanks, Mitch."
"Are you dizzy or anything?" he asked, concern etching his features.
She declared she was fine.
"Get some rest. I'll come check on you later."
"I'll be fine."
"I know you will. But I'll check on you anyway."
She drank in the sight of him, standing with one hand on the door frame, his hips cocked in a decidedly masculine pose. She needed him to come close. To touch her and offer reassurance and comfort as he had the children. She really was fine. No one had been hurt and her little bump didn't amount to anything. But it had been a terrible scare. His strong arms around her would feel so good right now.
It was unfair of her to want anything from him. It had been unfair of her to allow their attraction to go as far as it had. She'd been selfish.
His gaze touched on her robe, herbare feet, the bed. Erotic memories of their night together in this room rose up to envelop her.
Seventeen
Holler if you need anything," Mitch said. He started to back out of the room.
"Mitch?"
He paused. "Yeah?"
Loneliness created an ache she'd learned to live with until now. She'd allowed herself to be vulnerable to the pain again. "There are blankets and pillows in that closet at the top of the stairs."
He nodded, turned and left.
Heather removed her robe, doused the light, and climbed into bed. Her shoulders and arms ached, and she worked at relaxing them.
She wasn't dependent on a man. Anyone alone on that road in the same situation would have needed a tow out of the ditch. Her calmness had been mostly bravado for the children's sake, and seeing Mitch's truck appear had given her a genuine sense of relief.
He would have been kind and concerned about anyone, but it warmed her to think he'd been especially concerned because it had been her and her family stranded on that road. She didn't want him to care that much, though, and she couldn't afford the guilt that went with hoping he did.
Heather rolled onto her side and hugged a pillow to her breast. She'd been self-conscious attending Garrett's party after being away from Whitehorn so long. But everyone had been friendly and welcoming, and she hadn't felt like an outsider at all.
At least not until she'd seen Mitch with the lovely young blonde. It had been impossible to not notice that she was enamored with Mitch.
Sh
e was the sort of girl he'd be better off with. If he could be happy with her, Heather would be happy for him.
But seeing them together bothered her.
Oh, it bothered her.
She couldn't look at him without remembering his touches. His kisses. She couldn't watch the shapely blonde lingering near him without wondering if Mitch would touch her in the same ways, kiss her in the same places.
When had she become preoccupied with musings like these? What invading force had taken over her mind and senses and impelled her to think disturbing sensual thoughts?
She wasn't supposed to care. Caring too much, letting him get too close, would start to chip away little pieces of the new person she'd worked so hard to become.
He was downstairs on the couch right now. All the kids were asleep. All she had to do was go down there and avail herself to the comfort and pleasure of being with him. Or could she? He'd made himself scarce the past several days. He'd tuned into his survival instincts and started construction on a sturdy wall between them. At this point, could it be breached?
If she went down, would he even give in to another night? It wouldn't be fair to ask him. Nothing had changed.
She was still heading back to California once the ranch was ready to sell. If she stayed much longer, she wouldn't be able to go. She'd be a prisoner again. But, then, why did she have to stay?
Heather thought the situation over. She had gone through all of the personal items in her father's study and left only important documents, like registration papers for the horses and deeds and warranties.
She given his clothing to the Stop-n-Swap, and the closets were empty of all but their things. The house could be shown with only the furniture remaining.
She could head out by next week. Mitch could finish the work without her here. He would have to figure out what to do with the twins, but something could probably be arranged.
She'd been procrastinating, drawing out her stay, and she knew it. She'd enjoyed her days and evenings with the children, their walks together, their slow- paced summer routine, her newfound ability to bend with situations. But it was time to get back to reality. Time to head out before she gave up her independence.
Sleep finally came for her, and she slipped into its uneasy arms.
She awoke rested the following morning, her headache gone, with vague memories of Mitch's quiet checks during the night. She showered and dressed and discovered the kids's rooms empty.
They were all in the kitchen, the mouth-watering smell of cinnamon and syrup in the air.
He'd prepared a mountain of French toast, and two stacks still remained in the center of the table.
"How's your head, Mom?" Jessica asked, frowning at the bandage and the faintly bruised area around Heather's eye. She got up, poured Heather a glass of orange juice and brought it to her where she'd seated herself at the end of the table.
"Thank you, darling." She took a refreshing sip. "My head's just fine."
"Ouchie!" Andrew called, pointing at his mother.
"A little ouchie," she replied. "Mommy's okay."
Mitch was picking globs of French toast out of the baby's hair.
"Are we still on for this morning?" she asked him.
He went and rinsed his hands at the sink. "I'm here. Eat your breakfast and, as long as you're feeling up to it, head on out for your ride."
Jessica jumped up and down in excitement. "Yes !"
"I wanna ride, too," Patrick said with a sticky- looking pout.
"Me, too!"
"Me, too!" Taylor and Ashley chimed in simultaneously.
"Not this time," Mitch said firmly. "This morning is just for Heather and Jessica. We'll have to stay home and do something boring, like. . .bake cookies. . .or catch a pigeon in the barn."
"A pigeon!" Patrick shouted. "Hey, cool! Can I keep 'im?"
Heather ate, then stood and stopped abruptly. "I don't have any way to get over there."
Mitch reached into his pocket and handed her his keys. "Take mine. We'll go get your Blazer when you get back."
She thanked him and she and Jess headed out the door.
Their neighbor, Martin Rollins, had known her father for years, remembered her mother, too, and told Heather he wanted to show her something. She'd just arrived and knocked at the back door when he pulled her into the kitchen.
His wife, Ella, smiled at the two of them. "What a pretty young daughter you have."
"Why, thank you."
"Here it is," Martin said. He wore his dark denim jeans loose, with the cuffs rolled atop his boots. His skin was sun-darkened and lined, his faded blue eyes kind. He held a black-and-white photograph toward Heather.
She accepted it and studied the picture. It was her as a child of perhaps eight or nine. She wore a dress with a white collar, chaps, and boots. She sat atop a bay, a pretty horse with a white diamond on her forehead. In front of them, holding the reins, was her father.
An elusive image flitted through her memory, the image of her father helping her onto the horse and smiling up at her, squinting in the sun.
"Let me see, Mom." Jessica stood on tiptoe, so Heather lowered the photograph. "Is this you? Your hair sure was weird."
"Thanks."
"Is this Grandpa?"
"That's him."
"Did he take you riding?"
"Sometimes.When I was small."
"He was a broken man after your mama died," Martin said with a shake of his head. Thin gray hair covered his tanned scalp in combed streaks.
Heather tried to hand the picture back, but he shoved it toward her. "You keep it. It'll just get lost in the jumble when we pass on."
"Thanks. I'll leave it here until we're done riding."
He walked outside with them. "All the horses in that north pasture are yours. I took what feed and hay was left in your barns. Makes it easier for me to keep them here. Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. I'm sure I owe you something for their keep. Vet bills, that kind of thing." She lowered the tailgate and took down a saddle.
Martin got the other one. "I have some receipts, but it's not much. Have you decided what to do with the horses yet? You want to auction 'em?"
"That would probably bring me the best price, wouldn't it?" She studied the horses grazing in the sloping pasture. Several ran gracefully toward a stand of trees on the hill. She'd forgotten how beautiful they were. She turned to him. "You want any of them?"
He studied the animals. "Well. . ."
"I'd be glad to trade for their keep and the vet bills."
"Maybe one or two. I'm not gonna rob, ya, missy. You got some fine horseflesh there." They walked toward the stable with the saddles. "My man, Lefty, brought a couple mares inside for you."
She thanked the wiry ranch hand who hefted a saddle onto the back of a spotted horse for her. Martin lifted the other one.
Heather rubbed the horse's forehead and spoke to her softly. She fastened her saddle and harnesses, while Martin did the other one, explaining to Jessica what he was doing. Heather double-checked all the straps and buckles on both saddles, then helped Jessica up. Martin handed her the reins.
"These my father's horses, too?" Heather asked as she placed a foot in the stirrup and swung up.
"Yup."
The mare's head, neck and forelegs were gleaming black, her rump leopard-spotted with white and gray. "What breed is she?"
"Rangerbred is what I'd call her. Your pa claimed they're Colorado Rangers. They're Turkish Arabians of some sort. He'd have papers for them. They're the best of his stock."
"There are registration papers in his safe," she said with a nod. She guided the horse out of the stable and Jess's mount followed. "We're going to start out in the corral this morning," she told her daughter.
"Ah, Mom."
"Don't Ah, Mom' me. We don't know these animals and I haven't ridden for a long, long time."
"I have!"
She laughed. "Those pony rides at the zoo don't count."
Af
ter a half hour of getting used to their seat and gait in the corral, she led them out and into a pasture.
Jessica had a ball, and Heather rediscovered her love of riding. She had the wild desire to break out of the fenced-in space and ride as fast and far as the mount would take her. She remembered the wind in her hair, the thrill of the ride. . .the freedom.
Jess galloped up beside her and the expression of joy on her lovely young face took Heather's breath away. Occasionally Jess reminded Heather of Craig, but most of the time she saw simply the unique girl she loved with all her heart. Today, the resemblance to herself, to the girl in that black-and-white photo was strong.
What kind of memories would Jessica carry into her adult life? She hoped only the ones of days such as this—the good times they'd shared. Their good times would be more plentiful than a singular long- forgotten day captured in a photograph.
Soon enough the sun was high and she took Jess back to the stable and showed her how to rub down and groom the horse properly. It struck Heather then that today was a memory for her, as well. Slowly, the ugly memories of Montana were being overshadowed by pleasant ones.
The realization reassured and frightened her at the same time. She needed to leave. She didn't want to have any regrets.
"Can we ride again, Mom? Maybe we can come tomorrow."
Heather lifted a saddle, her shoulder aching, and got it as far as a stool. She studied her lovely daughter's animated face. "Well. Maybe just once or twice more before we leave."
Maybe a few more good memories to take back.
"Wouldn't it be cool if we brought a couple horses home with us?"
Heather blinked at her. "To San Francisco? Sweetie, it would cost a fortune to board them."
Jessica got an odd look on her face and glanced away. "Well, no. I kind of meant back to the ranch."
Her daughter's words sunk in with surprise. Wouldn't it be cool if we brought a couple horses home with us? And she remembered Mitch's words the night before. We'll get you out of here and you'll be home in no time, okay?
Mitch and the kids thought of the ranch as home.
Eighteen
The Magnificent Seven Page 13