by Arlene James
“My thoughts exactly,” Pogo said.
“You’re right. Kara and I will catch up with you as soon as we can,” Rye said.
Pogo grinned, winked and clapped Rye on the shoulder. Dayna split a wary look between Kara and Rye, then put her arms around her daughter and kissed her on the cheek. “Take care of each other,” she said worriedly before hurrying away at Pogo’s side.
Kara slid an arm around Rye’s waist. He returned the favor by slinging an arm across her shoulders. “Guess she knows, huh?”
“I’d think everyone does. We weren’t exactly subtle.”
He nodded and said, “I’m assuming it’s all right with you.”
She turned against him and lifted her face to his. “It’s all right with me. It always will be.”
He hugged her tight, hoping she was being honest with him. He hated to think about leaving her hurting or, God forbid, ashamed. He hated to think about leaving her at all, but he knew it would come to that. The days when he could justify trying to make something like this work were long behind him. But there was no point dwelling on that now. Right now they were together, a team. He dropped a kiss on her crown. “We’ve got work to do, honey.” Arm in arm they went to it.
They saw the herd off, Rye shouting orders at his crew until they were well out of hearing range. Then they both had phone calls to make. Rye called the law back in Utah and the local brand. Afterward Kara rang up Chad Bevery, the reporter to whom Jesse had introduced her. Chad said something about broadening the scope of the coverage, but only after Kara had given him the details first. The tow truck and mechanic showed up soon enough. Meanwhile Dayna and Borden started leapfrogging the vehicles ahead to the next campsite.
Rye put on a pair of greasy coveralls much too small for him, borrowed from the mechanic, and crawled underneath the motor home to have a look himself. A pair of sheriff’s deputies showed up about the time he crawled out again. “So how’s it look?” one of them asked.
“It’s definitely a deliberate puncture.”
“What’re you going to do?”
Rye nodded toward the mechanic and tow truck driver as he peeled off the coveralls. “They’ve ordered another tank, but it’ll be tomorrow before it gets to us. Soon as the old tank’s out, we’ll tow the motor home into town. They say we can spend the night in front of the shop. They’ve got electricity and even a water hookup for us.”
“That’s good, then. Want to tell us about everything that’s been going on?”
Rye nodded and filled them in. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. After they’d gone, Kara asked, “Anybody say what this is going to cost?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“We’ll know soon enough, I suppose. Don’t worry. It’ll work out.”
“I suppose so. Meanwhile there are benefits.”
“Benefits?”
She grinned at him. “A real bed, for instance, all night long.”
“Have I ever told you how much I love the way your mind works?”
She laughed. It occurred to him suddenly that it was another thing he loved about her—one of many.
The mechanic finally got the tank out, and the crippled motor home was hoisted up onto the tow truck. They rode all packed together in the cab of the tow truck. Rye didn’t mind. Kara rode sitting on his lap. In town they had plenty of help getting the motor home in place and set up for occupancy. Indeed, the whole town seemed to have turned out, along with some fellow with a microphone, which he shoved into Kara’s face the instant she set foot on the ground.
“Ms. Detmeyer! Ms. Detmeyer! Chad Bevery of the Mountain Times is reporting that your operation has been sabotaged. Is this true?”
“Well, yes, actually.”
“So this historic trail drive is stalled?”
Rye stepped in then. “By no means. No spineless, lily-livered coward who skulks around in the dead of night is going to stop this trail drive. We’ve got the cattle moving even as we speak.”
“But is a skeleton crew able to—”
“Our crew are seasoned, capable drovers,” Rye said pointedly. “They’re a couple hands short right now, but our animals are broken to the trail, and this latest little stunt shouldn’t keep Kara and me out of the saddle longer than a day, two at the most. We’ll make the deadline.”
The reporter started talking about the codicil to Plummer’s will, but as he seemed to be speaking mainly to himself, Rye and Kara abandoned him. They had too much to do with the hours remaining to them that afternoon to worry about some independent reporter, but it was smart of him to record everything rather than try to write it all down. First order of business was to locate a laundromat. They were shown to a single heavyduty washer and dryer lodged in an outdoor stall behind the local car wash. They elected to use the car wash first, laying out the gasoline-drenched sleeping bags and clothing and chasing them across the concrete floor at the end of a high-pressure hose. It took two hours to put the stuff through the washer and dryer. Afterward, they wandered down to the local grocery to pick up some necessities. It was on their way back that an elderly cowboy named Hud Tenery, bowlegged from his years spent on horseback, hailed them and offered to buy their dinner, refusing to, take no for an answer.
Dinner at the only place in town turned out to be ribs, fried chicken nuggets, onion rings, baked beans and salad, accompanied by pitchers full of beer. They were minor celebrities, thanks to Chad Bevery. Every cowboy and wanna-be for miles around seemed to have turned out to buy them drinks and ask questions about the drive. The questions became pretty pointed after a while. What did they need most? Could they use a couple more hands? Was their route a secret? Rye could see no reason not to answer honestly, especially the questions concerning their route. The more eyes watching them the better. Everybody was interested and friendly. It actually turned into a pretty good time, almost a party. When someone dropped a quarter into the jukebox and punched in an old standby Western tune, Kara was instantly inundated with offers to dance, but she merely put on a smile and said, “Thanks, fellas, but I don’t dance with anyone but the guy who brought me.”
“In that case,” Rye said, pushing back his chair and standing, “this dance must be mine.”
Smiling into his eyes, she put her hands in his. He pulled her up and into his arms. Tables were shoved back so they had their own private dance floor. Kara closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. He thought he’d bust his buttons, he was that proud to partner her. He pushed away thoughts of the future, focusing instead on the bed that awaited them back at the motor home.
He made sure that bed didn’t wait too long, and the loving that followed was everything he’d come to expect and more.
Later, when he lay with Kara snug against him, his thoughts turned, oddly enough, to Plummer Detmeyer. If the old man had been matchmaking, he’d been more right than he knew. Kara was everything Rye had ever imagined in a woman, and it would have been grand to be part of the old man’s family, but that didn’t change the realities of the situation. Rye knew he was no fit husband for a woman like Kara, or any woman, most likely. Moreover, there was the situation with Champ. He hadn’t realized until Kara had been thrust into their lives how very insecure his son was and how much responsibility he himself bore for that. Champ wasn’t ready for a stepmother and might never be. Rye wasn’t ready for a wife. However much he would have liked to please the old man, he just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair, least of all to Kara. He knew she thought she loved him, but she didn’t really know him, not the Rye he became once the legalities were observed.
Only to Durango. She was only his until Durango.
Chapter Twelve
Morning brought an uneasiness that Kara had not expected. Alone here in the little motor home, it seemed somehow as if they were playing house like children who did not yet fully grasp what such relationships required. It felt odd to wake with nothing more pressing on her mind than getting breakfast. She wondered how the drive was doing, but it was
Rye who snatched up the telephone and called George to be certain, even at a distance, that all was going as it should. Rather than pleased, he seemed a little deflated that the crew and the herd could manage without them. At least there had been no more instances of sabotage—yet.
Kara scraped back her hair into a damp ponytail and made breakfast, rolling soft tortillas around eggs scrambled with bits of sausage, onion, peppers and cheese, while Rye made coffee strong enough to walk unaided. They lingered over the meal, uncertain quite what to do with themselves until, with a sigh, Kara brought out a calculator and the strongbox.
Even after they had each emptied their wallets, the picture looked grim. Rye rubbed his hands over his face, smoothing his mustache and tugging at his ear. Kara smiled, recognizing the signs of deep thought in him. Finally he said, “I can borrow some money from Jess.”
Kara shook her head. “I can’t let you do that. Unless...”
He lifted a brow at her. “What? Maybe you’d rather let old Payne make you a loan?”
She didn’t have to think long to reject that idea. Even if Payne wasn’t behind the sabotage—and she couldn’t quite convince herself that he was—it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to actively contribute to his own loss. Besides, she liked her original idea better. She tried to state it mildly. “You could always buy into the operation.”
“Buy into your ranch?” he said with chilling surprise. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“That’s a Detmeyer operation.”
She bit her lip to keep from suggesting that it could remain Detmeyer land in the larger sense if the two of them married. Instead she said, “Well, it will just have to be a Detmeyer-Wagner operation.”
He shook his head again and swept a hand through his hair. He needed a haircut, she noted, or maybe he was thinking of growing his hair long like Shoes. She smiled at the thought, trying to picture Rye with long hair in that fascinating weave of color shot through with silver. When he grumbled that he thought he’d shave his head, she burst into laughter.
“What?”
“I was just picturing you with long hair.”
He shuddered. “Think I’ll see if there’s a barber around this one-horse town.”
She smiled. “I could cut it if I had some scissors.”
“I keep a small pair for grooming my mustache in my kit,” he said hopefully.
So she cut his hair, trimmed it, actually, pretending at intervals to snip his ear or cut away huge chunks. He was peering at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, smoothing the cut with his fingertips and looking pleased, when someone outside pounded on the door. They went together to see who it was.
Thankfully, the new gasoline tank had arrived, and the mechanic was ready to get to work on it. Kara and Rye vacated the motor home immediately, taking refuge in the grimy little office of the two-pump gasoline station attached to the shop. A small television occupied one corner of a battered old desk covered with grease-smudged papers in various pastel hues. Rye scratched his chin. “I think I saw a satellite dish out there, didn’t I?”
“You don’t suppose it’s there for this, do you?” she asked, pointing at the dusty set. He shrugged and flicked it on.
“Let’s see.”
A dazzling array of programming flashed before them with the simple turn of a dial, not much of it worth watching in Kara’s estimation. It was on one of the morning magazine shows that she saw her own face, though it was a reporter’s voice that she heard. Rye’s hand froze on the dial.
“Good grief!”
“I don’t believe this!”
“That guy was a TV reporter?”
They instantly shushed each other and turned up the volume.
“So it is that a historic event harking back to the fondly held legends of the past is placed at risk by a person or persons unknown. As their hardy forebears faced drought and hostile opposition, marauders and starving Native Americans, barbwire and the harsh brutality of life on the frontier, so our valiant crew of modern-day cowboys face failure at the hands of unseen opponents with all the deadly convenience of the modern world at their disposal. Will they make it, this band of tough men and one strong, capable woman, or is the era of the trail drive dead and closed for all time? And just what have we all lost if that is so? Horace Vega Shiles, Channel Ninety-Nine, Sky Creek, Colorado.”
The camera returned to the homey, trendy main set and the show’s snappy and polished host and hostess, who made cooing, concerned sounds about the fate of the trail drive and hit again the fact that a—gasp—woman was the owner of the herd and part of the crew. In the midst of it, Kara and Rye stared at one another, mouths ajar, for about ten seconds, then burst into stunned laughter.
“National television! Holy Cow!”
“I cannot believe this!”
Rye seized her by the upper arms. “This is good. Honey, this is good. The more attention the better, I say. He’ll have to think twice before attacking us again.”
She looked deeply into his eyes. “You’re convinced it’s Payne, aren’t you?”
He really wanted to lie to her, but he never had yet, and he wasn’t about to start now. “I’m afraid so. He’s the one who stands to gain the most, Kara, the only one I can see, anyway.”
“It’s not just because you don’t like him?”
Rye grimaced. “I don’t think so. Something in my gut tells me it’s him.”
Kara wished she hadn’t asked. Payne, more brother than cousin. She thought of all those idyllic months they’d shared growing up, of all the teasing and petty arguments, the grudging respect that had grown to deep affection and even admiration. They were different. She’d always known they were different, but he did love her; she’d always known that, too. And yet he was the one with the most to gain. She closed her eyes. Oh, Lord, don’t let it be Payne.
“Look,” Rye said, pulling her into his arms. “All that matters now is that whoever is doing it doesn’t succeed. The news coverage will help. He, they, have to know by now that everyone’s watching.”
“Think we ought to call the herd again? They won’t know about the national coverage until somebody tells them.”
“That’s right.”
He whipped out the cell phone and dialed up George. While he explained all about the morning news program, Kara sat on the edge of the desk and smiled at him. She smoothed her hands over his chest and down his sides, admiring the way he was built. He nudged her knees apart and stood between them, still talking to George. He slid an arm across her shoulders, sliding his hand down her back. She sighed with great contentment. It was wonderful to be close to him like this, to openly touch and be touched with such affection. He flipped off the phone and stuck it into his back pocket before bringing both arms around her.
“Heavens, girl,” he said, laying his forehead against hers. “You sure know how to make me want you.”
“Do I?” She smiled at him dreamily. “You’re the only man I’ve ever made want me.”
“I doubt that. You just don’t see how the others look at you.”
“I don’t care how anyone looks at me but you.”
He took a deep breath. “I’d like to make love to you in the daytime,” he said huskily. “In a patch of warm sunshine somewhere with blue sky overhead.”
“And a soft, clean bed,” she added drily.
He groaned. “I hope I never have to sleep on the ground again when this is over,” he said in agreement.
“Maybe we could move the bed out of the motor home into the vacant lot out back,” she quipped.
He shook his head. “It’s built in.” He looked to the desk. “That’s a prodigious pile of paper there,” he said consideringly. She laughed, which encouraged him to come up with even more far-fetched ideas, such as building her a bed of used tires and grease rags or sneaking into a booth in the corner of the little café where they’d dined the night before. She teasingly suggested the back seat of a car. “But only a 1970 model or older,�
� he said with a straight face. “I’d break my back in one of these newer jobs.”
They were still teasing each other with tantalizing and downright silly possibilities when old Hud Tenery pulled up out front in his pickup. Rye looked questioningly at Kara before stepping away. Tenery got out and came inside, sweeping off his hat as if in the presence of royalty. “Miss Detmeyer. Mr. Wagner.”
Rye offered the old cowboy his hand. “Tenery.”
After the handshake, Tenery kneaded the brim of his hat until Kara feared it would disintegrate. Finally, he said, “Ya’ll see that program this morning?”
Rye smiled and folded his arms. “We saw it. Couldn’t believe it, but we saw it.”
Tenery nodded and went on in his gravelly voice. “A bunch of folks saw it, and some of us have been talking.”
“About?”
Tenery licked his lips. “It’s been a hard year for stockmen,” he said. “Some are just barely holding on. Me, now, I’m retired. Oh, I run a few head now and again just for the pleasure of it, but I butchered my cows rather than give ’em away last year, and the thing is, I’ve got some feed just moldering in my barn. I’d be pleased if you’d take it off my hands, free of charge.”
Rye looked at Kara in surprise. “That’s awfully generous of you, Mr. Tenery,” she began, “but—”
“Shucks, ma‘am, it’s nothing. Better it go to you than to ruin, and I’m not the only one that feels that way.” He whipped a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. “Now, you said last night that the herd’ll be bedding down at the Hetherton Sales Barn ’bout ten miles past Manco, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, this here is a list of what’ll be there when your bunch rolls in for the night.”
He handed over the paper. Kara shared it with Rye, and together they read over the list, their eyes growing large. It was everything they’d need to see them through to New Mexico and more. She could even replace the feed Jesse had given them! Tenery was talking as they read.
“We sorta come up with this idea last night after you left, but we didn’t really plan nothing, you know, till this morning. I guess everybody hereabouts watches that show, so we were all calling one another, hoping to help out. My whole party line was gabbing at once! Anyway, we’d be obliged if you’d let us do this, and you might as well say yes because all that stuff’s gonna be there anyhow. Couldn’t stop it now if I wanted to.”