by Arlene James
Kara said softly, “I guess Payne must’ve hired Borden to keep us from getting these cattle to my ranch on time.”
“And when it didn’t work,” the sheriff mused, “he got desperate, took matters into his own hands.” He turned a page in his notepad and began asking questions about Borden Harris. It was Rye who answered this time. Before they were done, the place was crawling with police of one sort or another and an ambulance with a volunteer crew.
Rye allowed himself to be led to the ambulance for treatment. When he refused to allow himself to be transported to a hospital, the EMT took care of the wound himself, shaving Rye’s hairline a little higher and stitching the wound closed. His neck was stiff and every movement of his head made the wound pull and sting, but other than a pounding headache, that was the worst of it.
Somehow camp got made, dinner got cooked, all the questions got answered and the chores got tended before dark. Neither Payne nor Borden had been found, but the sheriff was confident they would be. Rye stubbornly refused to let himself be taken into protective custody even though it was obvious that he was Payne’s target, so the sheriff assigned a couple of men to watch over the drive until the fugitives were caught or the drive reached the safety of the ranch, whichever came first. Kara bullied Rye into taking analgesics and eating his dinner, then practically dragged him into the motor home. Because his wound couldn’t be gotten wet, a shower was out of the question, so Kara gave him a sponge bath, which he enjoyed inordinately. But then she shoved him into bed, pulled the covers up to his chin and instructed him to go to sleep. He didn’t see how he could. Yet his eyelids drifted closed and wouldn’t seem to lift again.
So he slept after all, very deeply, so- deeply that when he finally woke again, it was to full daylight and the bouncing of the mobile home as it moved across rough terrain. His head ached dully, but not as much as the night before. He got up, dressed and went in search of sustenance and answers. Both were close at hand. While Champ carefully warmed Rye’s breakfast in the microwave, Dayna explained that Kara had insisted he be allowed to sleep as long as he wanted. Escorted by one of the sheriff’s deputies, who was mounted on horseback and carrying a rifle, Kara had started the herd herself. Dayna had delayed departure from last night’s campsite as long as possible, but she explained that if she wasn’t on-site for the noon rendezvous and ready to get to work by ten-thirty, lunch would be late, hence they were on the move. Rye sat down at the table and let Champ proudly take care of him. He polished off the biscuits, ham and eggs, and nursed a second cup of coffee, while the boy watched.
The phone rang, and since Dayna was carrying it, she answered, reporting moments later that Borden Harris had been apprehended and confessed all. It was only a matter of time, according to the sheriff, before they had Payne in custody, as well. Less than an hour later, Rye answered the phone himself and welcomed with relief and satisfaction the news that Payne had been arrested in Colorado. It was over. Nothing but miles stood between them and the ranch.
By the time the crew came in for lunch, Rye was waiting on horseback. Kara tried to argue him out of joining the drive, but he wasn’t about to miss this. Tonight they would turn the herd loose on Detmeyer land once more. Rye knew it would be magnificent property. They had passed once again into lush countryside. The grass was thick as carpet on the rolling hillsides topped with timber displaying a rich variety of golds mingled with the evergreens. Land like this could support three times the number of cattle per acre as the Utah property had, and Rye was glad for Kara.
This was what they’d strived for, never mind the growing sadness that seemed to lodge beneath his breastbone like a fist. They had won. It was all over but the final drive. He regretted that he hadn’t been able to spend last night with Kara, but maybe it was better this way. He wouldn’t let himself think about it. Before dark they’d be on the ranch. Kara’s ranch, free and clear. And after that he supposed he and Champ would return to his family, at least until he got his feet beneath him once again and decided what to do with himself. He knew he had decisions to make about the future, but somehow he couldn’t make himself think about them. Just now he was going to take control of the herd and crew one more time. The last time.
Kara wanted to both laugh and cry as she watched the cattle spilling through the gate onto Detmeyer property, her property, hers alone. Oboe nipped at their heels, his barks sounding happy and somehow smug, as if he knew he was a hero for what he’d done yesterday. She wanted to feel triumphant, victorious. She should, yet she couldn’t seem to shake the sadness that came with knowing Payne had tried to kill the man she loved in order to keep this from happening. But even that was better than the thought of Rye leaving—leaving her. When she’d started this drive, she’d believed that making the ranch viable again was everything she needed to be happy. Now she knew better. She’d give up this place if only Rye would give her his heart.
Several of the men unsaddled their horses and turned them out with the cattle. Oboe seemed to take it as his personal mission to harass them until they kicked up their heels at him and cantered away so that he could follow, barking merrily. Only Charlie and Wes, along with Kara and Rye, chose to ride the remaining mile and a quarter to the house. The others climbed aboard various vehicles and made the trip quickly. When the riders reached the bottom of the long, meandering drive, Kara was surprised to find a welcoming committee. She said hellos and gave smiles to several of the locals, mostly friends of her late father’s. They’d heard about the drive and its “difficulties” and just wanted to let her know how glad they were to have the Detmeyers back where they belonged.
Rex Hardin, an outfitter and guide, who had been a particular friend of her father’s, stepped up to offer a hand to Rye, saying, “You must be Wagner. Saw you on TV. Guess old Plummer knew what he was about, choosing you for this job.”
“Thanks. I’d like to think so.”
“S’pose you’ll be staying on now that the Utah ranch is gone,” Hardin went on. “Just wanted to give you a welcome.”
To Kara’s dismay, Rye merely smiled weakly and mumbled that it was awful nice of them, before turning his head away. She knew he was going, so why couldn’t she just accept it? Why did she have to hope even when she knew it was useless? Doing her best to look pleased, she thanked everyone for coming out and promised she’d have them all up to the house for a celebration before long.
“Sheriff’s up there,” Rex informed her. “If everything’s not all right, you just let us know now.”
“I will, Rex. Thanks again.”
Hardin opened the pass gate, for the horses wouldn’t cross the widely spaced pipes of the cattle guard that bridged the drainage ditch cut into the drive. Kara and the others rode through and aimed their horses up the hill. When they topped the rise, she naturally paused to relish the sight before her. The big log house sat in the middle of a shallow green bowl, sheltered on every side by the autumn blaze of tall trees and a few evergreens. The ground in front of the deep porch was carpeted with fallen leaves and needles. Soon snow would blanket the hills around it, the air so clear and cold that it would almost sparkle in the sunshine. Kara wanted Rye to see it like that as well as painted in the shades of summer, from bright yellow-green to the rich hue so deep it was almost blue. Sadly she knew he probably would not.
They rode down into the shallow valley and gave their horses to Shoes, who waited patiently in the shadow of the porch. Wes and Charlie promised to help him rub them down and turn them out. Kara and Rye went into the house, finding the others sitting over cups of coffee in the big, modern kitchen. It was a strangely somber group. Her mother didn’t even look at her, her hands gripping Pogo’s on top of the table.
The sheriff had hard news for them, and he repeated it now for Kara’s benefit. “Payne’s told us everything. It was an agreement between father and son. Apparently there have been some bad investments. I understand they’ve been holding on by the skin of their teeth, pilfering what they could from the ranching
business, even pocketing the money that was supposed to pay your father’s life insurance premiums.”
Kara gasped.
“Apparently the bank is on the verge of collapse.”
Kara shook her head, speechless, unable to quite grasp it.
“A plan was set in motion some time ago,” the sheriff said uncomfortably. “It started, I believe, with the murder of your father.”
Pain such as Kara had never known doubled her over, a hand going to her chest. “You don’t mean—They didn’t—Oh, my God!”
“The agreement was that Smith would take care of his brother and Payne would take care of you,” Hernandez went on reluctantly.
Kara couldn’t believe it. “You’re telling me that Uncle Smith shot my father?”
“And pushed Payne to hold up his end of the bargain to get rid of you. Payne apparently couldn’t do it. He says he argued that it would look too suspicious so quickly following your father’s death. Then they waited a little longer, hoping the market would improve. When your grandfather died and the will revealed the codicil, they couldn’t wait anymore. Payne says he still might not have tried to stop you, but he was afraid that the woman he wants to marry wouldn’t have him if she found out he was broke. For what it’s worth, Payne tried to keep you out of it, focusing instead on Rye and delaying the drive.”
Kara was sick, violently so. She just barely stumbled out the door and off the back porch before her stomach gave up its contents. It was Rye who came after her. He brought her a glass of water to rinse her mouth and smoothed back the hair that clung damply to her cheeks, and then he just held her while tears slid down her face.
“This was supposed to be a happy time,” Kara whispered against his shoulder.
“I know, honey. I know.”
What else was there to say? Her father was still dead. Rye was still leaving. The idea that Payne hadn’t wanted to hurt her held no comfort at all, because instead he’d hurt those she loved, and that was even worse. Dusk had fallen before she once again felt strong enough to face the others. She was surprised when they went inside to find Dayna cooking supper, with Pogo hovering at her elbow. Her face was splotched with the tears she, too, had shed, but Kara knew from the tilt of her chin and the squareness of her shoulders that she was doggedly meeting life head-on, as always.
“You all right, baby?” she asked gently.
Kara nodded. “Do I have time for a hot soak in the tub before dinner?”
“Absolutely.”
“Take all the time you want,” Pogo added. “I don’t think anyone’s got much appetite right now, anyway.”
Kara gave his arm a squeeze in thanks as she moved by him. She was glad that he was there for her mother. Only now was Kara beginning to understand the depth of loneliness her mother must have endured during the past year and more.
Rye wanted to check on Champ, so Kara showed him the room Dayna had given the boy, then went off to take the bath she’d been yearning for. The others were packed in, three to a room, or sharing the motor home with Dean, but at least everyone would have a real bed tonight. Somehow her own bed did not seem as inviting as it might have. She dropped her clothes on it and walked into the bathroom.
It was good to soak in her own tub in her own bathroom, and by the time the water had become uncomfortably cooled, her outlook had lightened somewhat. Her father had been gone many months now. Some part of her would grieve him always, and she would never forgive Smith and Payne for what they’d done, but that couldn’t be changed. It was all in the past. Dayna was apparently making a future for herself with Pogo. Somehow Kara had to forge a future of her own. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she was determined that she would. She went in to dinner with more appetite than she had expected.
It was a bittersweet time. Come morning, the group would break up after weeks of functioning as a team. Dean was leaving at first light to drive the motor home back to his family in Utah. Kara couldn’t thank him enough for all he’d done for her.
“Oh, heck,” he said, “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’ll be glad to get home to my family, though. A man learns to be thankful for what he’s got, you know?”
Kara knew exactly what he meant. Everyone at the big plank table knew.
Wesley Randall’s wife would be picking up Wes, Charlie and their horses. They’d likely be gone early tomorrow, too. Shoes was in no hurry, he said. He still intended to stop at the Jicarilla Apache reservation on his way home and have a little chat with the tribal rep who’d met them on their way in.
Pogo stated baldly that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. It was Shoes who possessed the courage to ask Rye what his plans were. Rye cleared his throat and pushed a green bean around his plate with his fork. “I suppose Champ and I will leave pretty early. We’ll bunk in with my folks for a time. Then, well, we’ll see.”
Everyone at the table, including Rye, avoided Kara’s gaze after that. She told herself that it was up to her to put everyone at ease. “I wish George was here,” she heard herself saying brightly, too brightly. “I’ll have to give him a call, see how he’s mending, let him know how grateful I—” Her voice broke then. She swallowed down the remaining words, forced a smile and calmly got up from the table. “Good night, everyone. Sleep well.”
The unnatural silence that followed her from the room stayed with her for a long time.
With Champ sleeping soundly, Rye let himself out the screen door onto the front porch as quietly as he could. The thing needed a good oiling to stop it from squeaking. He’d noticed a few other things that needed tending, too, but it wasn’t his place to mention them. Besides, all in all, the place was in pretty good shape. Hell, it was the next thing to paradise. He loved the rustic opulence of the house, the high-beamed ceilings, the gleaming wood floors layered with rugs, the big rock fireplaces and massive double-paned windows. But it was the land that sparked envy in his heart. He’d never seen such lush, beautiful pasture, such lovely vistas, not this far south. It was a stockman’s paradise. But it wasn’t for him.
Shoes was talking about running a trail drive for paying customers between this place and Jesse’s in Colorado. He felt sure that he and Rye together could work out contracts with the tribes allowing them to cross the reservations regularly. He wanted to find a couple of old covered wagons and give the tourists a real authentic taste of the past. It was a good idea, a thoroughly workable one—for anyone but Rye. He could never bear seeing Kara on even a semiregular basis if they weren’t together. More to the point, he couldn’t begin to stay away from her given proximity; he’d already proven that.
It was just hopeless. But then he was hopeless, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that what he’d been trying to tell Kara all along? Wasn’t that exactly why he couldn’t stay? He turned into the darkness and leaned a shoulder against a post, willing the familiar resignation to fill him. He almost had it when the door creaked open at his back, and footsteps carried an all-too-wanted presence to his side. She slipped her hand into his.
“Will you come with me?”
He knew he should say no, but how many times had she gone with him, willingly giving herself, loving even against the odds? He couldn’t say no. It was beyond him. He couldn’t walk into that house and bed down alone knowing she was here, wanting him. He gripped her hand in his. “Yes.”
She led him off into the night and around the house, up the slope to a place beneath the trees where she had spread their open sleeping bags. “I wanted this last night,” she said, “but I didn’t want to make memories in the house that I couldn‘t live with later.”
His throat closed. He couldn’t have said anything even if he could have found the words. So he did what seemed best between them and kissed her. She cupped her hands over his shoulders and came to him so sweetly that she made his teeth ache. Yet he sensed that she meant to take from him tonight, and he was glad. After a long while she broke away and laid her cheek against his shoulder.
“You know, that first night,�
� she said, “that was for me. I wanted to give to you what I’d given to no other man—what no other man had seemed to want—because I wanted to bind you to me somehow, make you love me. Instead I realized how much I love you, and everything changed after that.” She lifted her head, her eyes shining up into his, a reflection of moonbeams. “You needed me, and I wanted to be there for you. It didn’t matter that you would leave. I couldn’t bear to see you wanting, needing, what you couldn’t have.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. The skin of her neck was soft and fragrant. He knew how it would taste, knew how every part of her would taste. He felt her breasts against his chest, the jut of her shoulder blades beneath his hands, her feet staggered with his. She would shiver and moan when he brushed her skin with his lips and mustache, arch her back and cry out when he sucked her nipple, and tomorrow she would have tiny, reddish abrasions where he had loved her with his mouth, but she wouldn’t complain. He loved that she treasured those small signs of his lovemaking. He’d never even thought about it with any other woman. He thought about it now, with the soft cloud of her hair brushing his temple. Her shampoo smelled of strawberries. He knew how it would feel to be inside of her and wanted it desperately, as desperately as he ever had.
“I don’t know how to help you now, Rye,” she said gently. “I don’t know what you need anymore. I only know that I need you tonight. I need you to love me. Just once more.”
He put his hands in her hair and turned her head slightly so that he could lick the sensitive skin behind her ear. She shivered, and he set his teeth in her earlobe, tugging and heating the hollow with his breath, tickling it with his mustache.
It was a fierce tenderness, a calculated wildness, a deliberate loss of control deliberately prolonged, stretched to its limits and beyond. In the end, he was utterly drained in every way, a tired husk without feeling or thought. Dawn found him without even the energy or presence of mind to ask what she was doing when she silently got up, dressed and walked away. He watched her all the way down the slope to the house, her pace determined, even, shoulders squared, the tangle of her hair swinging between her shoulder blades. Oboe appeared and fell in beside her. Every few steps her hand would come up and brush across her cheeks as if she was wiping away tears until finally she disappeared into the house through the back door. Only later did he understand that he probably would never see her again.