The Gentrys: Abby

by Linda Conrad

  She stood still as a fence post, studying Gray's body. He'd obviously changed some since she'd last seen him.

  Funny, they lived on adjoining ranches but she hadn't laid eyes on him in almost ten years.

  The last time she'd seen him, he'd been a boy of eighteen with a tight, lanky build and an even tighter expression perpetually plastered on his face. Now he was truly an adult male. Still firm and athletic, his shoulders had broadened and his body had filled out. Whew, baby. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to stem a zinging shock of nerves that she couldn't quite name.

  When she opened her eyes, she noticed his straight black hair was much shorter than she'd remembered. Thick and full, it didn't even touch his neck in back.

  In high school, his hair had been long and flowing, although he normally tied it back with a rawhide thong. For a young girl that hair had not only been a curiosity but also a terrifically erotic draw.

  Now the short, thick strands seemed to be begging for her touch. Her hand reached out, of its own accord, but she dragged it back and vowed to concentrate on his wounds.

  The memories still came to haunt her. Gray hadn't been particularly friendly with the rest of the kids at school. He'd stood aside and watched them with those dangerous, ebony eyes. But that didn't stop most of the girls from drooling over him—Abby included.

  But the eyes had stopped her. They scared her. There was just something in them that she couldn't understand. Something that made her uncomfortable—jumpy and nervous.

  Besides, Abby didn't go gaga for boys. She didn't want to date them. If they could be buddies, fine. Otherwise, she could outride, outwrangle and outwork any of them. And to this day, she liked it just that way.

  Nevertheless, she did remember Gray taking her side once and being her real-life hero. She found herself swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat by just looking at him. His eyes weren't staring at her now. They were closed, but she could see the pain etched across his features just the same. She reached for his shirt buttons and decided she'd put these idiotic feelings aside and take care of the injured man.

  Determined and dedicated, she managed not to think as she unbuttoned his shirt and rolled him out of it.

  There. See? It was easy to—

  Whoa! She found herself frozen in place and staring at his chest. It was broad, rippled and so manly it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. In the shimmering lamplight, she could see the sheen of sweat spreading over his smooth, hairless skin and shining like a glittering lake in the moonlight.

  She couldn't help it when her gaze dropped lower, heading for his waist—and lower yet—to the part of him covered by tight, worn jeans, and shouting to her that he was uniquely male. And more so than most, she'd noted.

  But her gaze suddenly returned to a patch of scars, spreading out across his abdomen like the wings of a bird. Gray had been cut. But they weren't recent wounds, and they really did have some pattern to them.

  The urge to follow the featherlike scars with her fingertips nearly consumed her. She longed to soothe his jagged skin—to heal his old, echoing pains.

  Abby pulled her hand back before she actually touched him, and shook her shoulders, trying to keep focused. He needed her help to live. She could do this. He was groggy and seemed to be going in and out of a semiconscious state. At times he could almost focus his gaze on her, at others his eyes were closed. She prayed that most times he'd keep those dark eyes shut.

  A half hour later, as she put the soapy water and wet towels away, she congratulated herself on remaining so calm and detached. She'd known that her practical nature would win out. After all, he was just a man. Normally, she had no trouble ignoring any minor tingles when she looked at a well-built specimen of manhood. Especially an injured one.

  Fixing for a little hot chicken broth for the two of them, she reflected on her actions today and felt good about them. She'd been strong, levelheaded and decisive. Exactly the qualities that her ranch management professor at college had said would be required of a professional foreman.

  Being the foreman on the Gentry Ranch was all she'd ever dreamed about doing with her life.

  After a while Gray became coherent enough for her to hold his head up and spoon a bit of broth into his mouth. As she did, she thought about how proud of her Jake would be.

  He'd been the ranch foreman for as long as she could remember. Always her idol and role model, Jake Gomez had encouraged her to go for her dreams and try for his job when the time came.

  Of course, convincing her older brother, Cinco, to give her the job was going to take every bit of strength and determination she could muster.

  Abby set aside the bowl of broth, relieved to see that Gray's features looked decidedly calmer. He didn't seem to be in as much pain. Maybe he'd sleep through the night.

  After she'd washed the bowls and spoons, she figured that if he could rest, perhaps she could catch a couple of winks, as well. She wouldn't really sleep soundly, she needed to be alert to any changes in Gray's breathing. But a cat nap or two couldn't hurt anything.

  Abby got comfortable by opening a few buttons on her shirt and loosening her heavy work belt. Then she shut off two of the lanterns and turned down the light on the one she'd kept next to Gray's cot. The lamplight flickered against the ceiling of the cabin, sending eerie shadows to play hide-and-seek with her mind.

  Abby shivered in the heat, but decided she was being silly again. Heading toward the bunk, she smelled smoke. But she'd put out the stove's fire ages ago after heating the broth. And the lanterns only smelled like kerosene, not smoke.

  Smiling at her own foolishness, she moved to the windows and made sure they were wide open. It hadn't cooled down much at all since the sun had set, but it was certainly more comfortable than when the sun was high in the sky.

  At the window she took a deep breath, intending to clear her head. But the smell of smoke was even stronger outside. Now she realized not only was she definitely smelling smoke, but pipe-tobacco smoke at that.

  But where … who … would be smoking? The first real sense of panic grabbed at her gut, sending adrenaline shooting through her veins.

  Quickly she barred the windows and barricaded the door, listening all the while for a sound from Patsy that might mean another horse or some intruder was nearby. But the complete silence of the darkness worried her even more than those sounds might have. Where were the night sounds? The usual whispers of tree frogs and crickets and the soft spring breeze through the leaves? All those normal noises were strangely quiet.

  Abby picked up her rifle from its place in the corner and sat down in the chair she'd dragged over beside Gray's cot. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if doing so would hold the world together, no matter what.

  The silence was deafening. And the smell of tobacco smoke was stronger than ever.

  Instinctively, she set the rifle down beside her and reached a hand to place against Gray's forehead, to satisfy herself that he was still breathing. He seemed peaceful enough, and his skin was cool and dry. But just then, a low drumming beat suddenly began pulsing through the night.

  Drums? The distant sounds set fire to her blood. Soon the vibrations rang inside her body. The pounding snaked through her, almost as if a living, breathing creature inhabited her arteries, taking over the beating of her heart.

  She closed her eyes and held on tightly to her sanity. Another sound, the magic sound of an ancient flute, drifted through the walls, haunting her unconscious mind.

  Keeping her eyelids shut against whatever evil might befall them, she reached out toward Gray. She needed the touch of another human being.

  When her hand touched only emptiness, her eyes popped open. Right before she fainted in a heap on the hardwood floor, Abby's brain refused to believe what her sight had clearly revealed.

  The cot stood cold and empty. Gray was gone.

  * * *

  Two

  « ^ »

  "Come with me, Gray, my son.
"

  "Father? Ahpi?" The very strong sensation of fingers gripping his forearm confused Gray. Was this really his father beckoning him to follow? Impossible. His father had died years ago. Did that mean Gray had somehow also died from the poisonous snakebite? Had his brother the rattlesnake sent him into the land of his ancestors?

  Gray didn't want to die. Intrigued by the memory of the girl who'd fought to save him, he wanted more time. He remembered her heroic efforts, even though he hadn't been able to talk to her or help himself. The echoing feel of her cool hands on his feverish body continued to calm his spirit.

  Gray looked around but saw only dark images, swirling clouds of ghostlike shadows. "Father, where do you take me?" He heard the shrill call of the red-tailed hawk and beyond that, the ever-present drumbeat of his own heart.

  "Nemene, our people, wish to speak to you through the misty shrouds of time. You will listen with your heart."

  "Yes, Ahpi. As you wish, but…"

  Before Gray could finish his sentence, he noticed the image of his own mother, standing next to him. The sharp pain of grief was the first arrow to enter his heart.

  "Mother."

  "No, my son. I am Pia, the mother of all the people, come to you in an image that will imprint itself on your soul. Banish the pain of your grief, Gray Wolf Parker. Your mother wishes it. Open yourself to the wisdom of the ancient spirits."

  Gray shook his head. This had to be some kind of weird dream or hallucination brought on by the snakebite. Or … maybe he really was dead.

  "No, son." The old woman answered his query without him having to give voice to it. "Your body has not left our earth home. We've come to give you puha … great medicine. We've come to give you your vision."

  "But why? Why me?"

  Gray could feel the smiles of many, even though suddenly his mother's image had disappeared and he could see no one through the wispy mists.

  "You are one of the people. That is enough," the shadowed figure said. "You work to bring the herd back to the land of the ancient hunters. The council honors you as chief … as you honor us in deed."

  Another voice spoke without being seen. "You will live to finish your quest. You will have a long and fruitful life, give many braves to the nemene. Your vision has been decided."

  Gray was confused. He still couldn't understand what they were trying to tell him. "But, father. I don't…"

  "Remember that a chief of the people provides protection and loyalty. Honor, my son, above all things will provide great medicine and long life to you."

  The voices and the low drumbeat began to fade. Once again Gray felt the pain. Funny. He hadn't noticed the throbbing ache in his leg until now.

  His ancestors had one more whispered thing to say. "Honor, Gray Wolf Parker. Do not forget. Honor always the one that has been chosen."

  And then they were gone.

  Gray took a deep breath and realized his eyes were closed. When he opened them, it took a few minutes of straggling to focus on his surroundings.

  The dim light from the lantern illuminated the tiny cabin where he found himself lying on a low cot. He tried to make out the forms and furniture, whirling in the flickering shadows from the lamp. But his head swam and his heart raced.

  He slowly swung his legs over the side of the cot and felt the burning sting in his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he put his feet flat on the floor and sat up.

  When he was sitting upright on the cot, he took a short inventory of himself and the place. He noted that his shirt was gone, his pants leg had been removed and someone had put an elastic bandage tightly around his wounded thigh.

  The girl? he remembered. His eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and he checked his surroundings to see if someone else might be nearby. And that's when he saw her.

  He'd practically stepped on her as he moved his feet to sit up. Sprawled out on the floor below him, she appeared to have passed out. With a sudden spit of panic, Gray reached down to touch her cheek. Warm, satiny and very much alive. He breathed a low sigh of relief.

  He smiled at her relaxed form. Through the haze of pain and delirium of the past twenty-four hours, he remembered her fighting strength and the gentleness she'd used to help him. Gazing at her now, he noticed she looked much smaller and finer boned than he'd imagined at first.

  Her hair shone with red highlights in the lamplight, and he could see the freckles streaking across her nose. She appeared to be more of a child than seemed possible, given all that she'd accomplished to save him.

  What was she doing sleeping on the floor?

  Gray reached for her. "Uh. Excuse me. Are you comfortable down there?" He shook her shoulder with as gentle a touch as he could manage.

  "Wha…?" She pulled away from him and sat up.

  Her hair spilled over her eyes. She brushed it back with her fingers and blew the rest of the strands out of her face.

  "You're here! And you're—" she took a deep breath "—alive?"

  "Yes, of course, thanks to you. I remember you saving my life, don't I?"

  Her eyes widened, and she seemed struck dumb. In the deep shadows of lamplight, he couldn't quite tell what color they were but they looked like they might be green. Green eyes had always fascinated him.

  "I only did what anyone would've. But I thought…"

  She squeezed her eyes tight, and when she opened them again they fixated on his face. "Do you mind if I touch you?"

  The question sent a chill running down his chest, exploding with a surprisingly intense heat deep in his gut.

  "What's the matter?" he ventured, as he took her hand. "You look pale. Are you ill?"

  She placed her free hand against her forehead. "No. But when I smelled the smoke and heard the drums … and then … you were gone." With the help of his extended hand, she got to her feet, standing over him as he sat on the edge of the cot. "Only I guess that's impossible, isn't it? I must've been dreaming."

  Drums? "Tell me about the drums," he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "Did they seem to come from everywhere at once? Did you feel them seeping inside you like they belonged to the air and the wind?"

  She nodded sharply, then stared at him. "Do you know what they were? Did you hear them, too?"

  He sat forward and leaned his forehead into his palms. Man, his head hurt.

  "I thought / must've been dreaming," he groaned.

  "Tell me about it."

  "I have to think." He rubbed his temples. "I can't think."

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Gray. We can talk about it later. You've been through a lot."

  His chin jerked up. "You know my name? But I don't know who you are. I remember your help in the dry wash, but I can't remember ever meeting you before." The frustration was evident in his dark-rimmed eyes.

  Abby swallowed the small ego buster. She clearly remembered the time he'd knocked Bigelow Yates off his horse when that bully had decided to use her as a lassoing post. A few of the dumber adolescent boys had oftentimes made her the brunt of their jokes back then. Probably because she'd fought back and refused to flutter her eyelashes and cry like the other girls.

  But although Gray had been her hero that day and had always treated her with respect, there was no reason on earth why he should remember. It was a long time ago, and they'd both changed over the years.

  "I'm Abby Gentry. We're neighbors. And … we went to high school together for a year."

  "Abby Gentry?" He shook his head and wiped a palm over his mouth. "As in the Gentrys? I can't…" He rubbed at his temples again.

  "Don't … don't try. I doubt if I was very memorable." She sympathetically placed her hand on his shoulder but quickly withdrew it when the feel of his bare skin sent a shock down her arm. "Let's, uh, try something easier. What were you doing in that dry wash without a horse? And how on earth did you let that rattler get the best of you? Don't you know better than to turn your back on a snake?"

  He grimaced and rubbed his hand across his mouth again. "Can I have
a little water?"

  Abby was startled. How cruel could she be? Here the poor man had been near death and fighting for his life until just a little while ago, and instead of treating him like a patient she was interrogating him.

  When she looked a little closer, she saw the dark, purplish circles under his eyes. "Sure. I'm sorry. Don't talk. Rest. The paramedic helicopter should be here soon." She quickly got him a cup of the bottled water.

  He took a sip, cleared his throat and handed the cup back to her. "I owe you an explanation." His gaze landed on her eyes, and his scrutiny made her nervous again. "In fact, I owe you much more … I owe you my life."

  Abby shook her head sharply. "Really, I was just glad I was trained to help. Don't give it a second thought."

  His lips crooked in a semblance of a smile. "I will do more than give it a second thought, Abby Gentry. Ask anything of me. My life is yours. Forever."

  Abby backed up a step, trying to put distance between them. She didn't quite know how to take his fierce and serious manner. Shaking her head over and over, she began to deny his words, but he silenced her with a raised hand.

  "We will not speak of it now. But I'll honor the debt with every breath." He eased back on the cot, staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. "I do remember that I was checking on the herd. My mustangs have been having some trouble with your fence lines for the past few weeks.

  "Then, when I discovered that a section of the Gentry Ranch fence was down near the dry wash, I began to worry that the ponies might've wandered through. I was riding Thunder Cloud…" He let his words trail off for a second. "We ride together in the old way. No saddle. No bridle or bit. No horseshoes. Anyway, I thought I heard a horse's whinny coming from the wash. I didn't want to force Thunder Cloud into the rocks, so I dismounted and left him on the rim."

  "You left your horse? I should go back and get him. I'll see to it that he gets fed and watered then returned to your ranch."

  He shot a surprised glance in her direction. "You're worried about my pony?"

  "Of course." She said it so directly, so simply, that Gray was amazed.