“This is Bottle Canyon. It’s called that because the entrance is narrow, and after a heavy rain, the gully fills with water and blocks the entrance. If Sebastian is here, we’re lucky. He can’t get out without our seeing him.”
Even with the headlights for illumination, it was hard to see anything in the canyon. Hank rolled down his window and Erica did the same. To their left, the slow trickle of water in the gully lent music to the night; to their right was an outcropping of rock and a steep canyon wall.
“Let’s chill here awhile, see if there are any signs of him,” Hank said, his voice a low murmur. He cut the lights and turned off the engine.
She nodded and stared out the window on her side as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. She was looking for the slightest movement, listening for any sound. Her concentration was broken when Hank’s hand found hers where it gripped the edge of the seat. He linked his fingers with hers. It felt entirely natural and right, but she stiffened slightly when he ran his hand up her arm.
“Erica—”
They heard a muffled grating sound to their left near the gully. It was followed by the crunch of gravel and stones.
Hank’s hand left hers, and he was out of the truck in an instant. “Sebastian?”
Erica slid slowly and cautiously out of the pickup. The canyon was shrouded in shadow, the moon only a faint glow. Somewhere she heard a coyote howl, a lonely sound.
“Shh,” Hank said.
She halted. They heard a rustling behind a large boulder.
“It’s Sebastian, I’m sure of it,” Hank whispered. “Sebastian,” he said in a commanding voice. “Come on out, fella.”
Nothing. Only silence.
“He’s bound to be hungry. There’s not much grass to nibble on up here,” Hank said, his voice normal now. “We want him to recognize us, trust us.” Hank reached into the bed of the pickup and pulled out a rope.
Erica moved forward, squinting into the darkness. She could make out shapes, but none of them looked like a horse.
“Sebastian?” she called. “Come on out.” Another shuffle, and then movement. “You want to go home, don’t you, boy?”
Hank moved up behind her. “Keep talking to him. I’ll walk around those rocks and grab him if he tries to cross the gully.”
Erica kept saying anything that came into her head. She told Sebastian that he was a good horse, that it was time to go home. She reminded him of their ride in the moonlight and what a good time they’d had. She didn’t scold him for interrupting a love scene between her and her perfect cowboy. She figured she could save that for later.
She moved slowly toward Sebastian, keeping him distracted from Hank’s whereabouts even though she could tell by the way he flicked his ears in Hank’s direction that he knew someone was approaching from behind. Soon she was close enough to see Sebastian’s eyes, which seemed to hold a sly gleam of amusement at the plight of these humans whose lives he enjoyed complicating.
Hank came into view over Sebastian’s shoulder. He held the rope at the ready, but she didn’t think the rope would be necessary. Five more steps, and she’d be able to grab the dragging reins. Four more steps, three. Two.
And then Sebastian tossed his head and stepped forward, entirely docile and submissive. She reached for the reins, raised them triumphantly to the sky and was almost bowled over when Sebastian nudged her shoulder, hard.
Hank laughed, slid the looped rope up over his shoulder and came around to Sebastian’s other side. “Good work,” he said approvingly to Erica. He rubbed Sebastian’s nose. “You old reprobate, you thought you were going to lead us a merry chase, didn’t you?”
Erica produced a sugar cube, and Sebastian gobbled it down. When he playfully nuzzled her, looking for more, Hank shoved his nose away and said, “Time to go home, Sebastian. There’ll be feed in your trough.” Hank led the horse to the truck and handed Erica the reins.
As they headed out of the canyon, dawn was sending pale runners of light up from the eastern horizon, tinting the sky delicate shades of peach and silver. Hank drove slowly with Sebastian trotting along obediently alongside, Erica holding the reins through the open window.
By the time they reached the buildings at the outskirts of the ranch where the hands were housed, they saw men coming in and out of the cookhouse, some of them headed toward the barn, some saddling up. The air was brisk and clear, and Erica’s stomach reminded her that it had been hours since she’d eaten.
They took Sebastian directly to the stable, where Cord McCall was using a coffee can to mete out each horse’s ration of feed. He looked around and nodded abruptly to them.
“Looks like Sebastian broke out of the corral,” he said.
Erica started to speak, prepared to tell him that it was her fault Sebastian got away and that they’d brought him back, but Hank put a restraining hand on her arm. “Let me handle this,” he said in a low tone. “You go untie Sebastian and bring him in.”
“But…”
Hank’s eyes locked with hers for a moment, and she decided to do as he said. It wasn’t normal for her to take orders from anyone, and it felt strange to be taking them from Hank now. Still, she did Hank’s bidding.
Sebastian’s ears twitched when he heard her stomach rumble. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” she told him. “Don’t worry, though. I don’t mean you.”
She led Sebastian back to his stall and shut him inside. He lost all interest in her once he saw the brimming feed trough.
She heard Hank and Cord talking to each other in the tack room, their tones casual, their manner light. Apparently Hank was handling the situation well.
“Goodbye, Sebastian. I don’t think you’d better count on me to take you for moonlight rides anymore.” She waited for some recognition that he’d heard her, but he was too busy scarfing up feed.
Yawning, the lack of sleep catching up with her, she headed for Hank’s apartment and was pleased to find the door unlocked. The kitchen was right inside the door, and she immediately spotted a frying pan hanging on a rack over the stove. When she found a spatula in a drawer and eggs in the refrigerator, she knew she was in business.
The only thing she really knew how to cook was eggs. She could make a fantastic western omelette, and she meant to prove it now.
HANK WALKED IN from the stable to find his apartment pleasantly fragrant with the smell of bacon and onions and freshly brewed coffee. His first reaction was one of embarrassment: all those baby toys everywhere, and most of the living room taken up with the playpen, and what if he’d left a dirty diaper in the bathroom?
Erica, her hair pushed behind her ears, looked over her shoulder as he entered the kitchen. “What did Cord have to say about Sebastian?”
“Not much,” he said. He kept walking straight through the living room into the bathroom, made sure there was a clean hand towel on the rack, then checked Kaylie’s changing table for dirty diapers. He didn’t find any and breathed a sigh of relief. When he recalled his bachelor apartment in New York City, he wanted to laugh. He’d been so uptight in those days, so driven. Now things were more casual, all because of Kaylie. And his life was happier because of Kaylie. He never forgot that.
When he came back to the kitchen, his heart warmed to the sight of Erica sautéeing onions. She looked at ease with her task, focused. He’d have thought that a kitchen would be the last place she’d feel at home.
He edged up close to her, reached around her and snitched a piece of bacon from the plate where it drained. He popped it in his mouth, savoring it.
“You told Cord that I took Sebastian out without permission?”
He swallowed and ripped a paper towel off the roll to wipe his hands. “That wasn’t necessary,” he said.
Erica poured beaten eggs into the pan. “What did you say?”
“He asked me if Sebastian got out of the enclosure, and I said yes. End of conversation.”
She turned to face him, eyebrows raised. “That’s all that was said?”<
br />
“I think he offered a grunt or two. He’s not a big talker.”
She swiveled back around. Her face was flushed from the heat of the stove, and she’d rolled up her sleeves. She wasn’t wearing lipstick, and he liked the way she looked without it.
She flipped the omelette over expertly, and he brought out plates and silverware. He had to shove aside one of Kaylie’s rattles to make room at the kitchen table for them. Then Erica was sliding half the omelette onto his plate.
He sat down, and after getting them both a glass of water, she joined him. “Is there something you’re supposed to be doing?” she asked. “Am I keeping you from it? I feel so guilty for being the reason you were out all night.”
“If we had continued what we started at the hacienda, I would have been out all night, anyway.”
He enjoyed her flustered look. “I was asking because I know I can go back to my suite and rest. I was wondering if you’ll be able to get some sleep, too.”
“Maybe.” He ate a bit of omelette; it was delicious.
She ate too, voraciously. “I’m starved,” she admitted.
He’d noticed that she ate three slices of toast slathered with butter and jelly, plus a number of slices of bacon. It was a welcome relief to see a woman who liked to eat. He was tired of Lizette’s constant dieting.
This reminded him that he was due to squire a trail ride in the afternoon and that Lizette would be there. He stood up and took his plate to the counter. “I’ll wash up, and then call my sister to see how it’s going with Kaylie. I may need to pick her up.”
“How will you get any sleep if you’re looking after a baby?”
“Good question.” He felt as though the insides of his eyelids were made of sandpaper, and he was so tired he almost couldn’t think straight.
He dialed the number of the Big House. Erica started to clear the table, but he covered the mouthpiece and said, “I’ll clean up. You cooked.”
“I don’t mind.” But her eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, and he realized that she must feel as tired as he was. Erica began to scrape the leavings on their plates into the garbage can, but he tucked the phone between his shoulder and jaw and inserted himself between her and the sink. “Go,” he whispered as Justine picked up the phone.
Erica’s inquiring look caused him to point to the living room. “Sit down on the couch for a minute. I’ll—Oh, hi, Justine. How’s Kaylie?”
Erica went into the living room. She turned on the TV with the remote control and flipped channels until the weather report came on. Hank began to rinse off dishes as Justine rattled off information: Kaylie had eaten all of her breakfast, had mushed up two cookies and spit them all over the kitchen table.
“We’re having a wonderful time. Don’t you dare come get her,” Justine said. “By the way, who were you talking with a moment ago? Lizette?”
“No, it wasn’t Lizette. Why didn’t you warn me she was going to show up?”
“I didn’t take Lizette’s reservation. I only saw her name on the list of guests this morning. Kaylie and I have been having so much fun that I’ve left my usual chores to the people I pay to run this place.” Justine sounded slightly prickly.
“Okay, okay. I was taken by surprise, that’s all.”
“I’d have thought you’d be glad to see her.”
He glanced toward the living room, expecting to see Erica sitting on the couch. She wasn’t there. Maybe she had gone into the bathroom.
“Look, Justine, I’m kind of tied up right now. If you’re not ready for me to pick Kaylie up and bring her back to the apartment, I’d better hang up.”
“No problem, Hank. We’re going to get out some of the clothes I’ve been saving for her until she grows into them and see if they fit.”
“Okay, maybe we can have a fashion show one of these days.”
After they hung up, Hank wiped off the counter and went into the living room. It was time to get some sleep, because if he didn’t, he’d have to ask Cord to lead that trail ride for him later today and he was pretty sure Cord wouldn’t be around this afternoon. He seldom was on weekends.
Erica hadn’t gone into the bathroom. She’d slid down to the end of the couch and rested her head on the two throw pillows there. Her hands were clasped under her chin, her legs drawn up onto the seat, and she was sound asleep.
Her face seemed more rounded, softer, as she slept, maybe because she was totally relaxed. Her hair fell in wavy tendrils across her cheek, and her breath rose and fell gently. The curve of her breasts beneath her peasant blouse, the cleavage rising above the neckline reminded him of how much he wanted her.
Should he disturb her? Walk her back to her suite? Probably. But it occurred to him that he wanted her here when he woke up.
First he clicked off the TV. Then he pulled an afghan down from the closet shelf, unfolded it and spread it over Erica. She stirred slightly, her mouth puckering for a moment, and he found himself thinking how kissable that mouth was. He knew, too, that he would be kissing it again soon.
But for now, all he did was gently tuck the afghan around Erica’s body and hurry into the bedroom, where he fell asleep almost immediately.
Padre Luis Speaks…
AY DE MI! What now?
Erica saw me in the cactus patch last night. She was not afraid. She is not afraid of anything, this woman. Then, though I waited to show myself to her again, Erica did not return home last night. She was with the cowboy all night long. Madre de Dios, why do I care? What does it matter?
I pace the confines of my office in the cactus, wringing my hands at their folly. It is odd that, despite being restricted to this space, I know where these people are and what they are thinking. I can only explain it by saying God works in mysterious ways.
Speaking of mysteries, that cat trotted through the courtyard today, widely avoiding the cactus. With her were her three kittens. I thought them quite attractive.
But I digress. I tried to attract the attention of the cat, but she would not look my way. I think she knows that it is my voice she is using and does not care to return it to me.
Por Dios, it is difficult to be a humble priest. But if it is God’s will that my voice is to be used by a mere cat, who am I to question? I pray for divine revelation, but it has so far been denied me.
When Erica comes back, perhaps I will be able to see her clearly. I hope mostly that it is God’s will for her to be together with Hank. But if not, I will not question. I am a humble priest and also an obedient one.
At least, I pray that I am.
Chapter Nine
When Erica woke up, her muscles felt stiff, and at first she wasn’t sure where she was. This definitely wasn’t her New York apartment or her suite. She sat up gingerly, took in the baby toys, the windup swing, the box of disposable diapers visible on the changing table in the alcove.
It all came back to her—her wild ride, then Hank, and the night spent chasing Sebastian, eating breakfast together and falling asleep on the couch. Where she still was. Where she was trying to get her bearings.
She heard a gentle snoring from the room beyond and pushed herself into a sitting position. Her contact lenses felt itchy, and she didn’t have any wetting solution with her. Perhaps Hank kept some in his medicine cabinet.
Blurry-eyed, she stumbled toward the bathroom door. Her foot smacked against something—the windup swing? the edge of the playpen?—and the snoring stopped. Since the door wasn’t closed, she peeked through the bedroom doorway. Her vision wasn’t so blurry that she couldn’t see that Hank was lying on top of the sheet in all his nude glory. And he was quite glorious.
Quickly she glanced away, then sneaked another look in midstep. Her foot came down on a squeaky toy, which went EEEeeekk. Hank was up from the bed in an instant.
“Wha—Oh, Erica, it’s you.”
“I’m sorry, I was only going in the bathroom for a minute, it’s my contact lenses, I thought maybe you might have some wetting solution, eyedrops. Uh, wow.”
Totally flustered, she stood helplessly as Hank yanked a towel off the chair beside the bed and wrapped it around himself.
“No harm done. That’s how I like to sleep. What time is it, do you know?”
“Past noon. Excuse me,” and she went into the bathroom and shut the door.
“You’ll find contact lens supplies in the drawer on your left—take what you need,” he called through the door as Erica collapsed against it. She’d seen nude men before, but never one like this. He was perfect. But hadn’t she known that when she’d decided he was the perfect cowboy?
She lubricated her contact lenses, washed her face and ran her fingers through her hair. When she went back into the living room, the afghan was folded neatly at the end of the couch and Hank was talking on the phone.
“I’ll come pick her up after the trail ride. Give her a kiss, okay?”
“I’d better go,” Erica said. “I didn’t mean to camp out on your couch.”
“It’s okay. What are you going to do this afternoon?”
“Catch a few more z’s. How about you?”
“I’m taking a group on a trail ride. Don’t worry, I can get by on a few hours’ sleep.” He paused, seemed to assess her mood. “I know it’s not much, but would you like to drop over for supper tonight? Kaylie will be here, but I could throw some burgers on the grill. I mean, if you don’t mind.”
Mind? Of course she didn’t mind. She was happy to be invited. She beamed at him, but at that moment she happened to glance out the window and saw Lizette trudging along toward the stables, a determined look on her face. Hank caught sight of her at the same time.
“Are you sure you won’t have something else to do?” Erica asked pointedly as Lizette disappeared from sight.
“Positive,” Hank said, and his voice had a hard edge to it.
ERICA SLEPT that afternoon, and when she woke up, she looked over her new clothes and tried to figure out what to wear for her date with Hank tonight. Or was it a date? She wasn’t sure.
And then there was the matter of ogling his nude body. Worse, he’d caught her doing it. What guy wouldn’t invite her over in hopes of getting lucky? But, she thought musingly, she might get lucky, too.
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