by Arlene James
“You’re beautiful,” he said as she slipped into her bra.
She smiled. “If I am, it’s because you make me feel that way.”
“I love you, Kara,” he said then, and she felt her heart crack open. She didn’t dare turn to look at him, couldn’t bear to see the apology she sensed in his tone. “I can’t say that it changes anything,” he whispered, “but you deserve to know.”
She nodded, gulped back tears and made herself slip into her panties. Standing, she shook out her jeans and stepped into them. She snatched up her shirt and threw it on, angry. “Oh, yes, it changes everything!” she exclaimed, unable to hold it in any longer. “Everything!” She turned on him then. “Do you know what you are, Ryeland Wagner? You’re a coward! So you’ve been hurt. Well, it doesn’t make you special. Everyone’s been hurt one way or another. At least Di’wana has the courage to let herself love and be loved again. She won’t take her mistakes and her regrets to the grave with her!”
He sat up, draping his forearms across his knees. “I know,” he admitted. “You’re right. But Di’wana had something to go back to, Kara. I’m stuck with who and what I am. It’d be easier if I didn’t love you!”
“Not for me,” she said. “And walking away is still easier for you than trying to make it work!”
“I lose either way!” he yelled. “Whether I go or whether I stay and fail!”
“Then stay and succeed!” she said. “I’m willing to take the chance that we can make it work!”
He didn’t have to say that he was not. The expression on his face said it all.
“Oh, Rye,” she said. “I didn’t feel this sad for Di’wana!”
She grabbed her socks and her boots and ran barefoot back to camp.
Chapter Fifteen
Official permission to cross the reservation came that morning in the form of a hand-lettered document with a feathered seal attached.
“Suitable for framing,” Sarah Wagner murmured, fingering the heavy, handmade paper.
“I’ll bet there aren’t more than half a dozen in existence,” Jess added.
“Three in my lifetime that I’m aware of,” Shoes confirmed. He had been obviously distressed by the news of his cousin’s illness, but kept very much to himself. He split a look between Rye and Kara. “My uncle reveres one or both of you.”
“It wouldn’t be me,” Kara muttered. “I didn’t do or say anything.”
“I’m sure you impressed him favorably,” Shoes said with a little smile.
Kara wanted to think so, but it didn’t really matter. Nothing much did, really, not now. She had believed that the ranch was everything to her, the most important thing in her life. She knew better now. Things shouldn’t be that important, couldn’t once you’d loved someone, really loved them. Why couldn’t Rye see that loving someone and being with them was the most important thing in the world? He should have, after yesterday. He even admitted that he loved her, but he’d convinced himself that he was a failure at marriage, and he wouldn’t even give them a chance.
“We’d better get moving,” Rye said from his vantage point on the back of a horse.
“Be careful, son,” Sarah Wagner said, reaching up to hug him as he bent low.
“I will, Mom. Be sure George gets off okay, and tell him I’ll be in touch.”
“George will be fine,” his father said. “Wanda’s on her way to get him now, and that’s the best medicine there is for a man in love.”
Rye said nothing to that, just nodded noncommittally.
“You’re sure you want Champ to go along?” Jess asked one more time.
Rye nodded. “He’s had a shock, Jess. I want him with me. I’m sure we’ll be safe as long as we’re on the reservation. No one from outside can easily get to us, and anyone from inside is bound to realize the danger of discovery is heightened now.”
“And we have the news crew,” Kara added.
Rye made a face, but Kara still believed she had done the right thing by insisting that the film team be allowed to go along when they’d shown up early that morning, even before the Chako messenger. A team of four men with two cameras, they’d come in their own expensive, four-wheel-drive vehicle complete with satellite hookup, prepared to rough it right alongside the drovers and willing to pay their own way in return for documenting the final days of the drive for some program they were planning about the modern cowboy. It wouldn’t be daily news coverage, but they’d promised to announce the project immediately on national television so at least the saboteur would know someone was watching. The star reporter, Bradley Wamke, was a national celebrity and had survived live coverage of the Saudi conflict as well as a climb up Mount Everest. A trail drive should be child’s play compared to that.
Truthfully, Kara hoped that Rye’s apparent disgruntlement was centered more on the way tall, dark and ruggedly attractive Warnke had stared pointedly at her chest than the nuisance of having cameras around. She’d wanted to slug the guy, but more importantly, so had Rye, if the look on his face had been anything to go by.
“Daylight’s burning,” Rye reminded them irritably, and wheeled his mount to ride to the point.
Kara thrust the Chako document at Shoes. “Give that to Mom for safekeeping, will you?”
“Sure.”
Kara smiled apologetically at the Wagners. “Thanks so much for everything.”
“Our pleasure,” Sarah Wagner said, and the Wagner men nodded in agreement.
“Be careful, Kara,” Jess called as Kara hurried toward her horse.
Kara tossed a smile over her shoulder. “I will! Thanks again.”
They waved as she cantered her mount toward the front of the herd.
Rye had dropped a loop on the lead cow just in case some time on the loose had blunted the instinct to follow the mounted rider, so it was Kara who gave the signal, standing in her stirrups and flicking the end of her rope at the rear end of the nearest cow, yelling, “Let’s mo-ove!”
The start lacked the smoothness of those in days past. One clump after another balked, so Kara rode around, twirling that rope over her head and snapping it at the balkers, while the drovers hazed and prodded them along. It was a good quarterhour before the herd coalesced, but eventually they were back in mode, moving as a single, if somewhat sluggish, body. Kara was surprised to see the camera crew keeping track of her in the distance, the driver expertly picking his way past ravines and outcroppings while the cameraman hung out the window, camera steady on his shoulder. She didn’t have much time to think about it. As usual, the work demanded her attention, and she was agreeably surprised when she spied the lunch wagon in the distance.
Bradley Warnke made himself amenable during the break, complimenting her abilities and shooting questions at her with the same suave ease. Rye seemed to take offense just because Warnke made her laugh from time to time, so much so that the break was cut short and she found herself in the saddle again before the last sip of soup hit her stomach. She put aside the anger and hopelessness of the morning and allowed herself to smile at the evidence of Rye’s jealousy. The smile had given way to exhaustion by the time the campsite came into view, nestled in the convergence of three sandy hills and a natural spring.
“Walk ‘em through thirty or forty at a time,” Rye ordered the men, “then drag out salt blocks and a water trough and hay ’em after the last ones have tasted the spring.”
Shoes and Bord had already strung a wire on two sides of a makeshift enclosure. They would string a third and use vehicles on the fourth side, throwing down their bedrolls nearby. A single rider on horseback would be sufficient guard for the night, but there would be precious little privacy on the now treeless terrain. In a single day they’d gone from an alpine setting to near desert.
Warnke staked a claim on Kara’s attention the moment her boots hit the ground and maintained it right up to the moment she stepped into the shower.
“Do you mind?” she asked in exasperation, tossing a towel over her shoulder and reaching
for the edge of the tarpaulin enclosure.
“If he doesn’t,” Rye said, coming around the front end of the water truck, “I do.”
Kara just lifted an eyebrow and slipped inside, where she quickly stripped down to her smile. Well, at least he knew how she’d felt with Officer Cantu making herself too agreeable to him. Cleaned up and shivering cold, she took her hairbrush and a fresh towel to the fireside, where she began to get warm and dry her hair. Bradley Warnke came over with an expensive, furlined parka, which he draped over her shoulders, saying, “You look like you can use this.”
She spared him a glance. “Thanks.”
He crouched down beside her chair. “What’s with Wagner? He seems to want to keep me away from you, but when I asked if he had a prior claim, he just walked away.”
Kara smiled apologetically. Movement at the corner of her eye snagged her attention, and she turned her head to find Rye frowning at her from the dinner line. She looked him square in the eye. “Well,” she said to the reporter, being sure her voice carried beyond him, “it’s like this. I’m in love with Rye, but he has this problem with commitment. So I guess you could say we’re kind of in limbo.”
Warnke’s black eyebrows almost became part of his hairline. “The lady’s honest, I’ll give her that,” he said, rising to his feet. With a smile and a slight bow, he walked away.
Kara let her gaze flit over Rye and the others standing in line to eat, suddenly uncomfortable with so public a declaration, and then she saw Champ, standing next to one of the serving tables, one elbow hooked over the edge, his head cocked quizzically, a frown drawing his brows together and the corners of his mouth down. Kara caught her breath. Her gaze zipped to Rye apologetically, but Rye was studying his son, fingers slowly stroking his mustache. Kara got up from her chair, left the parka there and hurried away, aware that several pairs of eyes followed her. But not Rye’s. Rye Wagner had eyes only for his son in that moment.
Rye lifted the saddle into place and reached for the girth. He didn’t really much feel like riding night guard, but he figured he might as well. He wasn’t likely to get much sleep this night, anyway. Besides, it was only fair.
“Rye, I’m sorry.”
Straightening, he turned to face Kara, one hand on the saddle horn. “I didn’t hear you come up.”
“I’ve been standing in the shadows working up my courage.”
He shook his head. “No need for that.”
“I shouldn’t have made such a public declaration.”
He shrugged, still surprised by the initial rush of joy he’d felt at her words. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve been carrying on pretty publicly. Everyone knows you wouldn’t if you didn’t have feelings.”
“Everyone but Champ,” she said miserably.
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he got busy tightening the girth instead.
“How is he?” she asked, her voice rich with concern.
“I don’t know,” Rye answered truthfully. “He seems... I don’t know. Older, somehow.”
“He must be so very confused,” she said, “meeting his mother for the first time that he can remember, experiencing her culture, learning she’s dying. Then hearing me blurt out my feelings like that.”
“It’s odd,” he told her. “He seems, well, calm.” He tucked away the ends of the girth strap and lowered the stirrup, turning to face her once more. “Just a little while ago we were talking, and he made this statement that if anything should happen to me, there were a lot of people to take care of him. I promised him nothing was going to happen to me, but the really odd thing is that he made this list of people who care about him. You know, he named my folks and Jess and Shoes and Man Father...and your mother...and Crow Brother.”
Kara was as surprised as he had been by those last two. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “he’s spent an awful lot of time with Mom on this trip. She’s great with kids and truly fond of him. He’s bound to pick up on that.”
“And Crow Brother?” Rye asked.
Kara blinked. “He must’ve made quite an impression.” “Actually,” Rye said, trying to make it sound light, “Champ says Crow Brother is like another dad, because Crow Brother’s married to his mother.”
“Rye, you have to know that Champ adores you. He’d never choose anyone else over you. He—”
“I know. I know. It just kind of took me by surprise. I mean, it’s just been the two of us, really, and, well, Shoes and Jess. He’s never seemed to think of them as—”
“Shoes is his mother’s cousin. Jess is his uncle. He’s always known where to put them. Crow Brother is someone new, not related by blood. And he is married to Champ’s mother. It makes sense to assign him a, ah, parental role.”
Rye nodded, quite sure he wasn’t fooling her at all. “Yeah, you’re right Absolutely.”
She reached a hand out to him. “Rye, don’t be hurt. Champ loves you. I—”
He didn’t mean to do it. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t. It was best, after what had happened that morning, to keep his distance. He just didn’t know how to stay away. It was the most natural thing in the world to step forward and take her into his arms. His body seemed to know that, even if his head didn’t, and it acted on its own without even giving his head a chance to warn him.
“Kara, sweetheart, what am I going to do with you?” he asked against the crown of her head. Her hair felt clean and soft against his chin and lips. She smelled of woman and wood smoke, sunshine and earth.
“Don’t decide now,” she told him. “We have time, a few days, anyway. Wait until you see the ranch. Wait until—”
He covered her mouth with his, not wanting to tell her that nothing had changed for them. It was selfish, damned selfish, but he couldn’t let go yet Not yet.
She wrapped her arms around him and, as always, gave as good as she got. It was so hard to break that kiss and step back.
“I have to ride night guard, honey.”
“I know.”
He looked around them, knowing this was as private as it was going to get out here for now. “There’s no place to go tonight, no place private enough to—”
“I know. It’s all right. Maybe it’s even best.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “You can lay your bedroll next to mine, anyway.”
She smiled. “Okay. Promise me you’ll turn in right after your shift and get some rest.”
“Promise.”
She looked deeply into his eyes and said, “I love you, Ryeland Wagner.”
He didn’t want to say it, but he couldn’t help it. “I love you, too. I do. I love you.”
She closed her eyes as if to hold those words of his inside her. He wanted to cuss—or cry. God knew the kindest, fairest thing he could do was to stay the hell away from her. Why couldn’t he do it?
She pressed a kiss into the palm of his hand and backed away, smiling, and so incredibly beautiful it hurt to look at her. With a happy little wave, she left him. He put his hands to his hips and tried to breathe deeply, but it didn’t help. He felt like the biggest heel alive, because he knew he was going to hurt her. Bad.
Rolling rises gave way to flat nothing broken only by the barren, dramatic mesas pictured in so many old Westerns. It was a fit place for a crew of now scruffy cowboys and a slow-moving herd of beeves. According to Bradley Warnke, one almost expected a band of Indians to come screaming around a flat-topped mountain of rock, the cavalry hot on their heels, or a train of covered wagons to circle for camp. All Rye expected was disaster.
He expected to be sunburned by day and frozen to the bone at night, and at any moment he expected Champ to fly at Kara, fists whirling, demanding that she stay away from his father, or for Kara to demand a guarantee for the future, a public declaration of his own feelings, maybe even a marriage proposal. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that one of the other men might call him out for the way he’d treated Kara, or ought to treat Kara. He had a feeling that even Dayna was on the verge of as
king him what his intentions were, and his greatest fear was that he’d make promises he couldn’t keep just to see that smile on Kara’s face a little longer. He was almost glad that he couldn’t make love to her just now. Almost.
On one hand he craved that girl with an all-consuming hunger that both surprised and frightened him. On the other he knew that denying himself the joy of her body was the only way, the only hope he had, of making a clean break when they got to New Mexico.
Actually they crossed into New Mexico late on the second day, and by the third night were camping on the very edge of the Jicarilla Apache reservation. They’d paid a fee for the right to cross, and so were duly met the next morning by a representative of the tribe, a small handsome woman with an authoritative manner and a keen sense of business. She spread an aerial map on the hood of her truck and pointed out the approved campsites, just so there would be no misunderstanding. Both sites boasted pens and abundant water sources. She looked over the receipt for fees paid that Kara presented her, promised someone would check in with them each night and shook hands all around before taking her leave.
“That’s what I call efficiency,” Shoes said, admiration ringing in his voice. Rye traded a surprised look with Kara and dismissed the matter. He had cattle to move.
About midmorning it became pretty obvious that the Apaches had garnered for themselves one of the most lush, beautiful spots on the face of the earth. The desert and all its majesty disappeared into forested vales cut with babbling brooks and still, blue lakes, tall grasses and birdsong. The men bathed that night in a spring-fed pond so clear it was like glass and cold enough to shatter their chattering teeth, while the women kept to the motor home for long, hot showers and privacy. They woke shivering the next morning, and Rye watched in horror as snow clouds banked in the east. Surely to God they hadn’t come this far to lose at the last moment because of a freak snowstorm. He practically tossed the boys into their saddles, gnashing his teeth over the inconvenience of dodging around cameras and a microphonewielding Warnke trying to capture the moment for posterity. Only Kara, with a serene fatalism totally out of character for her, remained calm.