by Arlene James
She still hadn’t decided when Walt took his leave and everyone moved toward sleep, knowing they had a hard day coming. She decided that she wasn’t sleeping next to Rye. Maybe it would make Champ feel better. She unrolled her sleeping bag between Shoes and George. Rye watched what she was doing, his hands on his hips, a question in his eyes, and she realized that he was going to force the issue if she didn’t. He ought to be aware of what his son was feeling, anyway, for the boy’s sake. Aware that many interested eyes were on them, she finished laying out her bed, then rose, dusted off her hands and walked straight to him.
“Can we talk?”
“I think we better.”
“Um, let me get my briefcase.” She headed toward his truck, hoping he would follow. He didn’t disappoint her, but when she reached the truck, she simply turned and put her back to the fender. He didn’t get within four feet of her.
“Okay, what’s up? You forget the security precautions?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think it matters much now, though. We left behind whoever killed the cattle.”
“You don’t know that. If somebody’s trying to stop this drive—”
“You don’t know that!” she retorted.
“And falling boulders?”
She shrugged. “Could’ve been an accident.”
He gnashed his teeth at that, but he didn’t argue. “I still think we ought to be careful.”
“Fine. This isn’t about that, though.”
He brought his hands to his hips once more in an obviously impatient gesture. “Yeah?”
She took a deep breath. “I spoke with Champ this evening.”
Rye grimaced. “Look, I’m sorry if he—”
She shook her head. “No. He, um, was playing with these two action figures, and one of them was supposed to be you, I mink, and he was beating you up for making him go see his mother.”
Rye sighed and pushed both hands over his face. “He’s angry right now, but he’ll get over it.”
“It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because of the drive, I mean. They’re insisting you let her see him before they’ll let us cross the reservation.”
He looked as though he wanted to scream. His hair had fallen forward from a natural center part and framed his upper face within two wide curves like parentheses. He swept a hand through it in frustration. “I let that be my excuse,” he said roughly, “but the truth is Champ needs to see her. He needs to see that she’s not the demon I painted her to be. He needs to find some common ground with her. I think I knew it a year ago or more.”
“What happened, Rye?” She felt she had to know.
He trained his gaze on the ground and prepared to tell her. “I told you that Shoes came to work on my folks place outside of Durango.”
“Yes.”
“Well, he doesn’t live completely off the reservation. Never has. He doesn’t get back these days as much as he used to, but back then he went home just about every opportunity. I used to go with him. That’s how I met Di’wana. She was too young, and you know how the Chako protect their children, but that didn’t keep us from getting together. She was crazy to get married, wanted to live in the white world. I...I thought she was as in love as I was, so I let her talk me into eloping.”
Kara gulped, unprepared for the pang that hit her. He hurried on, pushing the words out through his teeth.
“I had to make a living. I’d had some success on the rodeo circuit, so I went back to it and took her with me, but it didn’t go easy. She...she didn’t know how to act in my world. My friends were a pretty sophisticated lot, and she embarrassed me,” he admitted, squeezing his eyes closed. “When we knew she was pregnant with Champ, I rented a little house outside Phoenix. I had lots of rodeo friends there, and it was convenient. I left her there, and I went on rodeoing. I came home as often as I could, but she was lonely. She wanted some excitement She resented my having the freedom to come and go when she didn’t. She started going out, meeting people, men mostly.” He wadded his hands into fists and relaxed them. “I think she slept with everyone I knew before—” he cleared his throat “—before someone told me.”
Kara crossed an arm over her stomach in a effort to still the roiling there. “Rye, I’m sorry.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Champ was about four. I...I took her back to the reservation, and I left her there. Champ and I went home, and I tried to stay drunk for the better part of the next year.” He shrugged wryly. “Guess I’m not an alcoholic, because it just eventually seemed to take more effort than I could put into it. But instead of trying to fix the mess I’d made of my life, I spent the next two years justifying it. I said some awful things to my son about his mother. Finally I realized I was just keeping the wound raw, and I stopped, but Champ’s a kid. He understood the anger and the pain instinctively. He’s having a harder time coming to terms with the idea of acceptance and...”
“Forgiveness?” she supplied gently.
His own ambivalence was demonstrated in agitation. Finally he said, “Shoes kept on trying to draw rein on me. The Chako, see, they have this notion that they’re actually responsible for the people they love. In their eyes, I’m as much responsible as her, and maybe they’re right. I know they’re right.” He put a hand to his head. “I’ve known it all along.”
Kara looked away. This then was what made him want his distance, not just his pain but his own guilt. She didn’t know how to help him with that, didn’t know that she had any right to try, considering that the boy and his feelings had to take priority. She said carefully, “Maybe we can take the longer route like Plummer planned. If we make good time tomorrow, then surely we can keep on—”
“No,” he said flatly. “And I’m not saying it just because I promised Plummer I’d get this herd through on time. There are some things I can’t fix, some things I can’t change, but there are some I can prevent. I won’t let my son grow up hating all women because of my failures. We’re crossing that reservation just like we planned. And he’s going to see his mother, make his peace.”
“What about you?” she asked softly. “Can you make your peace this way, Rye?”
He frowned and cupped a hand over his mustache, smoothing it. “I don’t count in this. Champ’s what matters.”
She nodded, understanding those feelings. “He seems to like Mother well enough. She hasn’t said anything about problems when we’re out on the trail.”
“He sees her as a grandmother type, like my own mother.”
“So it’s only me he has a problem with right now.”
He flashed her a guilty, apologetic look. “I think he senses... He seems to think any woman I might be attracted to is a threat somehow.”
There it was again, that something that was better than nothing. Even his son knew that Rye was attracted to her. That and a buck would get her a cup of coffee—most places. She wasn’t certain, anymore, that she could take comfort in it. She was right to keep her distance. They both were.
“We’d better get to sleep,” she said. “We’ve got a long day coming.”
He nodded, and for one moment, his gaze held hers, rife with regret and what might have been and could never be. She couldn’t bear to see it.
“Good night, Rye,” she whispered, hurrying back to her lonely place in the shadows.
Chapter Nine
It was a long, torturous day, and at the end of it the drovers were exhausted. Thankfully they had the luxury of real holding pens for the night, courtesy of Bridger Hoffman, who was there along with two of his sons to meet them. Unsolicited, the Hoffman “boys,” both of whom stood well over six feet, assumed night guard duties, while Bridger showed Rye how to fill the water troughs for the thirsty cattle, then the water tank on the truck. Like every other cowboy Rye had talked to, Bridger was thoroughly intrigued by the notion of a real trail drive.
“Tired as your bunch looks,” he told Rye, “I’d still go with you if I could.”
Rye had just about enough
energy left to smile. “Watch it. I could be persuaded to trade places.”
Bridger chuckled. “You wouldn’t say that if you had to work with my boys every day. Between you and me, they’re good hands, but they aren’t much when it comes to thinking. The whole lot combined—and there are three more at home—couldn’t think their way out of a piecrust with the oven getting hot.”
Rye laughed. It hurt, but he couldn’t help it. “I can just hear my daddy saying something like that.”
“Well, there’s hope, then,” Bridger said, clapping Rye on the back. It nearly put him on his knees. “You better get you some hard sleep, son.”
Rye nodded. “I intend to soon as I get something solid in this belly of mine.”
“You’ll be riding right by the house in the morning. Leave the boys off there.”
“We’ll give them breakfast first. Least we can do for all your generosity.”
Bridger Hoffman shook his head. “Plummer Detmeyer was a good cowboy and a good friend. That’s all the reason I need. He spoke highly of you and that girl of his. I have it in mind that he hoped you’d make a match.”
Rye blanched. He hoped to God Plummer hadn’t set up this whole thing just to get him and Kara together. That was one wish he couldn’t fulfill for the old man. Not for anyone could he risk that kind of involvement again, least of all with Kara.
They quickly established a routine, pulling out soon after daybreak and staying with it until they reached the night’s preselected campsite. Soon the cattle showed signs of adapting to the trail. The drovers hazed fewer wanderers and breakaways. The tough old cow they’d dubbed “Number One” had claimed uncontested leadership, no longer needing to be pulled along at the end of Kara’s rope. Rye could direct their way with less difficulty, experienced now with reading Plummer’s charts and using a compass. Dean was up to speed and turning out to be even more help than Rye had counted on. All in all, Kara felt they were in pretty good shape. But it was hard, gritty work, and exhaustion was a big problem. It became obvious early on that her mother was one of their greatest assets.
She took care of a myriad of details, was as good a navigator as Rye, and became adept at finding ways to get lunch to the men on the trail. Somehow she managed to keep their clothing and sleeping gear clean, finding and hitting a laundromat about every other day. Most important, camp was always ready when the drovers dragged in, dinner on the air. Her meals energized them and lifted their spirits. Only Pogo ever found fault with the woman, and it was pretty obvious why.
One night, the crew was treated to a heated argument about the merits of bug spray versus citronella candles for keeping mosquitoes and flies at bay, not that they had a problem with either. Dayna, however, liked to feel that she’d covered all the details. Pogo found the candles a safety hazard; Dayna objected to the harsher chemicals in the spray. When they’d shouted at each other enough to entertain everybody, they went off in opposite directions to grumble about each other’s pigheadedness.
“Old Pog has a woman thing,” Dean said, giving Kara a wink.
“Well, it won’t do him any good with that woman,” Kara replied confidently.
“Wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Shoes said. “Ask any of his ex-wives.”
“Wives?” Kara echoed, accentuating the plural.
George chuckled. “Always goes after the best-looking ones, happily marries them, happily lets ’em walk off again later. They’d all come to his aid in a heartbeat if he called them. Darnedest thing I’ve ever seen. They all love him. They all leave him. He goes right on to the next one.”
“Perhaps he just hasn’t come across the right woman yet,” Shoes said. “When he does, I doubt he’ll let her get away.”
“Well, it won’t be Mom,” Kara insisted, walking off into the pines toward the truck carrying her personal gear.
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Rye said, startling her as he stepped out of the shadows.
Her heart raced lickety-split, and it irritated her. He always had this effect on her, even when he didn’t come on her by surprise, but she tried hard to hide it. “That’s because you didn’t know my father,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Never met the man,” he admitted, “but your grandfather talked about him a lot.”
“I’m sure he did. They weren’t just father and son. They were two of a kind,” she told him proudly.
Rye looked doubtful. “If you say so.”
Kara was outraged. “That’s a hell of an attitude! What, may I ask, do you have against my father?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, only...” He thumbed his earlobe. “Frankly, Plum was pretty upset about the shape he left your family in. Didn’t seem to me like something Plummer would do himself.”
Now Kara was incensed. “What would you know about it?”
“Hey, you asked. I’m just telling it like I see it. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t as careful as the old man. That’s all I’m saying.”
Kara bit back an angry retort, conceding only, “We were all shocked that he’d let his life insurance policy lapse, but I’m sure he had his reasons. He didn’t know he was going to be accidentally shot by some hunter.”
Rye cocked his head. “Some hunter? You ever talk to the guy who did it?”
She folded her arms. It was a sore point, but over time it seemed to have lost its urgency. Knowing who had done it wouldn’t bring her father back, after all. “No. The woods were crawling with them, though. Probably whoever did it didn’t even know it.”
“Then how can you be so sure what happened?”
“What else could it be? The local authorities were satisfied it was a hunting accident. He didn’t have any enemies. No one stood to gain anything by his death. Knowing who did it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“No?” Rye muttered. Then he seemed to have a thought. “How’d you find out there was no insurance?”
“Payne told us, of course.”
“Payne.” Rye shook his head disgustedly. “Did you check your father’s bank records, his personal papers?”
“No reason to,” she said testily. “Payne’s always taken care of those things. That’s Payne’s area of expertise, finance.”
“Did Payne even say when your father stopped making the premiums?”
“What difference does it make?”
Rye threw up his hands. “Hell, Kara, the man could be stealing you blind, for all you know!”
“That’s absurd. Payne would never—”
“You don’t know that!”
“It isn’t any of your business, anyway!” she yelled, stomping her foot.
“Well, for once you’re right,” he snapped. “Forget that I ever said a word. You want to live blind? Fine. My job is to get you to New Mexico. Period.”
“You do that, then, and leave my family to me!”
He held out his hands as if warding off a fate worse than death. “Believe me, I want nothing more to do with your family.”
“That’s a fine thing to say after everything we’ve done for you!”
“Nobody but Plummer ever did anything for me! Not that I have anything against your mother. It’s the rest of the Detmeyers who make my skin crawl.”
“Me included, no doubt!”
He opened his mouth, but then he shut it again, all the fight seeming to go out of him. When he spoke again, his voice had gone all soft and rough, velvet on corduroy. “I wish,” he said, and not even anger could deafen her to the sound of desire. She blinked, and he was gone.
“It’s like something out of a bad movie,” she said, putting her hand to her forehead. “Who would do this?”
Rye looked at the slashed feed bags. This one couldn’t be pretended away. Though not as horrific as the slaughter of the cattle, it was no less blatant. “The same person who doctored the water trough yesterday,” he said flatly.
She sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
“You know I’m right. You didn’t want to admit it yesterday, but now yo
u have to.”
“I bowed to your judgment, didn’t I? I just couldn’t believe it was intentional.”
He pointed to the feed spilled all over the ground. “Is this intentional enough for you?”
She bit her lip and bowed her head. “Yes.” Suddenly she was glaring at him, hands dug into her hips. “But that doesn’t mean that it’s somebody I know!” He didn’t bother to point out that it didn’t mean it wasn’t.
“We’re going back to the original plan,” he said. “You go nowhere alone, and I mean without Shoes or me.”
“You don’t think someone on the drive could—”
“I don’t think anything. But I’m not taking any chances. Suppose you can get that dog of yours to stay in camp at night? The men have come to depend on his help guarding the cattle, but I think it’s more important we have warning if someone’s coming in at night.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Good. But there’s one more thing. I want you close to me in the night. You hear me?”
She nodded. “But that goes both ways. You were riding on the inside the day the boulder fell, if you remember.” He said nothing to that. “I mean it, Rye.”
“All right. Joined at the hip.”
She relaxed. He didn’t. “What else?”
He lifted his hat and swept back his hair. “I’m wondering if I should’ve brought Champ on this trip. I thought it would be an experience for him, but I also thought we’d be leaving the threats behind.”
“No one in the world could want to hurt him,” she pointed out. “Unless...”
“Unless they’re striking out at me,” he said. “But why? That’s what I can’t figure. The only person I’ve hurt enough to make them want to hurt me back is Di’wana, and she’s out of the question. No matter what I did, she’d never take it out on our son.”
“No,” Kara said softly, “she’d sleep with your friends.”