Shelby waited until everyone was settled before bowing her head. “Lord,” she said, “our family’s been through some rough times, but we’ve always come through together. We thank You for Your help and for bringing Katie to join us tonight. Amen.”
“Can I have a biscuit with honey?” JJ said.
“May I have a biscuit,” Lucy said.
“Sure,” JJ said with a giggle, “you can have one, too.”
Missy gave an exasperated big-sister sigh.
Luke ladled stew into JJ’s bowl and cut the meat into smaller pieces. He loved both his brother’s kids, but he felt a special bond with his nephew. He saw a lot of himself in JJ and wished his brother and sister-in-law luck when JJ hit his teens—they would need it.
He kept mostly silent during dinner, speaking only enough not to seem surly, listening to Katie’s account of her solo trip across country. He liked the way she laughed at herself for mistaking a state road number for an interstate in Missouri, driving ten miles behind a manure spreader, and silently applauded her quick thinking in following the snowplow over Wolf Creek Pass. Pretty dang good for a green Eastern driver.
“So where do you go from here?” Jake asked Katie while Shelby served the peach pie à la mode, with chocolate cake for Missy and JJ. “Once we let you go, that is.”
“I really hadn’t thought beyond bringing you the letters,” she said. “I’m kind of at loose ends right now.”
“Back to Connecticut?” Lucy asked.
“No, not there. I’ll have to return eventually to take care of some business, but not soon.” She massaged the faint ridges on her ring finger. “Right now I’m looking for a job.”
“What kind of job?” Shelby asked, cutting a second sliver of cake for JJ.
“I know a little about bookkeeping—I worked for a construction firm for a while.” She flushed. “And I love to cook. I don’t have any formal training, but I did some catering while I was in college.”
Lucy sat straighter. “Did you really?”
Luke could read his sister’s mind.
“Hold on, Luce,” Jake said. “The poor girl just landed—don’t try to draft her before she has time to take a deep breath.”
Lucy closed her mouth, but Luke knew she wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue for long.
Jake looked at his watch. “You’d better head to town if you’re going to open the Queen for the breakfast crowd.” He stood. “I’ll bring Katie’s bag in.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
KATHRYN HAD AWAKENED in so many different rooms since leaving Connecticut she needed a few seconds to orient herself. As driven as she’d been to flee from her husband’s betrayal, she still missed his warmth in the night, the many intimate details of living as a married woman. Longing to return to the comfort of the familiar tugged at her for a moment; she banished it with the memory of Brad’s and Britt Cavendish’s mingled laughter polluting her own private space.
Last night she’d been shown to Luke’s bedroom upstairs, since he now occupied the main floor guest room. Too tired then to notice much beyond the single bed covered with a bright Indian blanket, she now saw the framed museum-quality prints on the walls—Gauguin’s Tahitian women, Van Gogh’s sailboats drawn up on a beach, El Greco’s stormy skies over Toledo. Interesting decor for a cowboy bullfighter.
And here she was—Cameron’s Pride at last. The ranch and the Cameron family had assumed almost mythic qualities in her mind, but she had schooled herself not to expect too much. Finding the setting as idyllic as she had pictured, being welcomed like long-lost kin seemed too good to be real.
Lucy had brought her swiftly up to date before leading her out to the ranch: her father’s remarriage two years after Annie’s death, her brother Tom’s marriage and retirement from bull riding with a new career as a high school history teacher, and Luke’s crippling mishap only a few months ago.
Her thoughts stalled when they reached Luke Cameron, his brown hair and deep tan resembling his stepmother’s Indian-dark skin and black hair more than his father’s and sister’s redhead coloring. Her hand tingled as she recalled an instant of connection when their hands met, quickly broken when she mentioned his career as a bullfighter. Stupid of her—who could blame him for being bitter about his injury?
She lay for a few minutes longer, enjoying the luxury of not facing another day on the road. Later today she would take her leave with the proper thanks for the hospitality and carrying the precious box with her mother’s letters.
Her mind turned to Jake’s question: Where to from here? Her mission to reach Cameron’s Pride had absorbed her until now, but she needed to make plans for her future. Although she’d been frugal with her spending, her reserves wouldn’t last forever. At some point she would finalize the divorce proceedings she had set in motion. She should demand a hefty settlement from Brad, but she wanted nothing from him. For her own sense of self-worth, she needed to prove she could support herself by her own wits.
She could look for work near her mother’s relatives in New Jersey, but she’d never cared for the urban sprawl of the East Coast megalopolis. She might look for work in Maine—she had worked as a nanny on an island one summer in college and loved the open vastness of the ocean. Maybe she would just keep driving until she came to a town that took her fancy, someplace like Durango...
Loud whispers outside her door brought her back to the present.
“Hush, you’ll wake Katie.” The bossy big sister. “Uncle Luke’s gonna be mad.”
Kathryn smiled—apparently Missy and JJ were back. Tom’s wife, Jo, returned from a field trip to an archaeological site with Tom’s high school students, had arrived to pick the kids up after supper the night before. She had dropped her husband off first at their home because he had aggravated an old back injury helping to carry a student who had sprained her ankle.
And Kathryn had been changed back into Katie. Well, why not? Kathryn was Brad’s wife. She was done with him and with the name.
“Katie,” she said, savoring the name on her tongue. A new life, a fresh identify, one truer to her roots.
A pony-like thunder of small boots on the stairs followed the growl of a man’s voice from below. Katie looked at her watch—almost nine. She had slept like the dead for nearly ten hours. A chilly breath crept in from a window she had opened a crack the night before, so she added her UConn sweatshirt over her jeans and polo shirt. She brushed the tangles from her shoulder-length hair, wound it into a bun and descended to the kitchen.
Missy sat at the table under Luke’s stern eye. He turned to Katie with an apologetic grin. “Sorry about the brats disturbing you—they’ve figured out I can’t chase them up the stairs. Jo’s in town helping Lucy with the breakfast rush—she’ll be by to pick them up in about an hour.”
“It’s okay—I’m usually up much earlier. Is this a school vacation week?”
“We don’t get weeks off,” Missy said. “We’re homeschooled.” She held up a map she was coloring. “I’m studying geography.”
“What can I get you for breakfast?” Luke asked. “Shelby left a French toast casserole in the oven, and we’ve got eggs, bacon...”
“I can make scrambled eggs,” Missy said. “Grandma Shelby showed me how.”
“I’ll bet you can,” Katie said, “but I think I’ll try the French toast.” She noticed Luke’s mug was nearly empty. “Can I get you more coffee?”
He handed it to her; when their eyes met, she felt a hint of yesterday’s warmth. “Cream, two sugars,” he said. “Mugs are above the urn.”
She turned away, busying herself with the coffee while he pulled a Pyrex dish from the oven and served a generous portion onto her plate.
He pushed a pitcher toward her. “No maple syrup,” he said, “but we have chokecherry. My mom and grandmother used to put it up—now Jo and Shelby p
ick the berries and make the syrup.”
“I help pick, too,” Missy said.
Luke looked around the kitchen. “Where’s JJ?”
“He’s on the couch,” Missy said. “His tummy hurts.”
“Dang, I should have known when he didn’t ask for more French toast.” Luke wheeled around the big leather sofa facing the fireplace and reached down. “Yup, he’s got a little fever.” He spread a crocheted throw over the child. “Your mom will be here pretty soon, buddy.”
He returned to the table. “This kind of screws up our plans for today,” he said. “Jo was going to give you the six-bit tour of the ranch, but she’ll want to take JJ home.” He gave her a sidewise glance. “Or you could go with me.”
“If I won’t be in your way.” He must have a vehicle with hand controls.
“I’d be pleased for the company. Have you ridden much?”
“Horses?” She tried to hide her astonishment. “Not since summer camp when I was twelve, but I really enjoyed it.”
“Great. But we’ll have to find you some boots—you can’t ride in sneakers. Missy, get the boot box out of the front closet, will you, darlin’?”
Missy laid down her colored pencil and left the room, coming back dragging a packing box almost as tall as she.
“What size?” she asked.
“Eight, I guess,” Katie said.
Missy dived headfirst into the box and tugged out a pair of boots with pointed toes and stacked heels, tied together with a tag. She handed them to Katie. “Size eight.”
Katie laughed. “Your own shoe store.”
“We never throw away anything that still has some use in it,” Luke said. He peered at the boots. “Looks like an old pair of my mom’s—Lucy and Shelby both have smaller feet. See if they fit.”
Katie pulled on the boots and stamped her feet. “I feel like a cowgirl already.”
The cattle guard at the front gate rumbled and a car pulled up behind the house. Jo hurried into the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “This has been such an education—waitresses deserve hazardous-duty pay.” She smiled at Katie. “Let me sit for five minutes and we’ll hit the trail.”
“Afraid not,” Luke said. “JJ has a bellyache—best you take him home. I planned to check the south fence line today. Katie can ride along—we’ll stop at the cabin for lunch.”
Jo frowned with concern and exasperation. “He got up early and pigged out on chips we brought home from the field trip. Honestly, he’s worse than a pony in the feed room.”
“Could you saddle Rooster for Katie before you go?” Luke said.
“Will do. Missy, pack up your lessons and get JJ’s things, too.”
The door closed behind her, and Luke opened the fridge. “Roast beef sandwich or tuna salad? Snag some bread from the breadbox, will you?”
“Roast beef is fine,” Katie said and found a loaf of whole wheat—home baked, from the look of it—in the lithographed tin box labeled Bread and Cakes. Before Brad had gone upscale with his business and his lifestyle, she’d made his lunch every day to eat perched on a sawhorse or on the seat of an excavator. She had loved that chapter of their life, had even enjoyed washing his grimy work clothes.
She sighed. Taking his Armani suits to the cleaners didn’t give her the same satisfaction as laying out fresh shirts and dungarees each morning.
Luke set mayo and mustard on the table and assembled sandwiches with a practiced hand, adding a couple of apples and oatmeal cookies studded with raisins. By the time Jo returned, he had the lunches packed in saddlebags Katie brought him from a peg in the mud room.
“Rooster’s hitched in the barn,” Jo said, “and I saddled Dude, too.” She scooped up her son from the couch. “You guys have a good ride.”
Luke hung the saddlebags over the back of his chair and collected his hat and a denim jacket from a hook beside the door. He held the door for Katie, letting her precede him down the ramp. She followed him along the walkway, still wondering how a man in a wheelchair could mount a horse. When they reached the barn, she saw a sturdy brown horse hitched to the ladder leading to the hayloft.
“Katie, meet Rooster. He’s steady as they come—JJ rides him.” He held the horse’s reins while she climbed into the saddle, hoping she didn’t look as clumsy as she felt.
“That little tyke rides a big horse like this? I’d think a pony would be more his size.”
“Ponies can be tricky rascals,” Luke said. “Too smart for their own good sometimes. A well-broke horse is safer. JJ shinnies into the saddle like a monkey.”
He adjusted her stirrup length. “Knot the ends of your reins together so you won’t lose them if they slip out of your hands. And wait here while I get my horse.” He rolled his chair to the side door and gave a shrill whistle.
Katie laughed as the horse, already saddled, ambled into the barn. “What happened to him? He looks like someone dumped a bucket of paint on his rump.”
“Dude is an Appaloosa, greenhorn—a breed developed by the Nez Perce tribe in Idaho. Shelby got him from a rescue in Utah. Smartest horse she ever trained, she said.”
Luke set the brakes on his chair, and to Katie’s surprise, the horse sank to the ground at a tap on the foreleg. Luke tied the saddlebags in place, transferred to the saddle with a single supple twist of his body and secured Velcro straps around his thighs. He settled his boots in the stirrups and said, “Dude, up.” The horse scrambled to his feet and turned his head to take a treat from his rider’s hand.
“That’s amazing,” Katie said. “Was he hard to train?”
“Shelby said not—she had him all ready for me when I got home from rehab in Austin. Not much she can’t get a horse to do, especially one as smart as Dude.”
Katie gestured toward the horse’s head. “Did you forget his bridle?”
“Don’t need one.” He touched the loose loop of rope lying around Dude’s shoulders. “This is my steering rig, and Shelby taught him to answer to voice commands since I can’t cue him with my legs. Let’s move out.” He leaned a little forward in the saddle. “Dude, walk.”
He led the way out the side door of the barn and slid it shut before turning his horse’s head to ride along the creek bordering the pasture.
Seeing him in his proper element, in his cowboy hat and snug jeans, mounted on the spectacular horse, increased her awareness of him as an attractive man.
“Do we have far to ride?” she asked to mask her confusion.
“Maybe an hour if we step up our pace a little. You know how to neck-rein?” he asked.
“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never ridden Western.” She’d been holding one rein in each hand as she’d been taught at her long-ago summer camp.
Luke rode close, his knee touching hers, and put his hand over hers. “Both reins in one hand—you steer by laying a rein against your horse’s neck, like you’re pushing the direction you want to go. Try it.”
She almost snatched her hand away, but not because she found his touch unpleasant. The light pressure from his calloused fingers sent a wave of heat through her body she hadn’t experienced since her first date with Brad. A confusion of emotions rampaged through her mind: first shock and shame that she should react so avidly to a man other than her husband, and then hope glowing like a fitful coal beneath the rubble. She could feel again, she could respond, maybe even learn to love and trust someday.
She broke the contact by moving her hand holding the reins to the right, and Rooster shifted smoothly away from the pressure. “That’s a lot easier than the way I learned,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her inner turmoil.
“Mostly we’re on horseback for work, not recreation,” he said. “Neck-reining keeps one hand free for roping or leading another horse or opening gates.”
“And what do you do for recrea
tion?”
Luke laughed. “Go for a ride.”
“Well, I’m having fun right now, even if this is a working trip,” she said.
“So let’s move along. Rooster’s gaits are smooth as silk—Missy started on him before she graduated to a real cow pony. Dude, jog,” he said, and his horse moved into a slow trot. Rooster followed suit.
Katie found she could sit the quicker gait without bouncing around like a marionette with its strings cut. She tried to concentrate on her reins and ignore the breadth of Luke’s shoulders, his easy seat in the saddle just ahead of her. She had never looked twice at another man after she first met Brad in college; she’d be a fool to rush into any new relationship now. No law against admiring the scenery, though.
Luke glanced over his shoulder. “How are you doing, cowgirl?”
She felt her face flush. “Okay, I think. Maybe you should ask Rooster.”
He looked at her more closely. “I think you’re getting too much sun—it’s stronger at this elevation than you’re used to.” He dug in one saddlebag and pulled out a purple ball cap. “Lucy keeps these stashed everywhere. Her coloring, she has to cover up to keep from frying like a strip of bacon.” He handed the cap to Katie.
She set it on her head, fumbling with one hand to fit it over her hair tucked up in its bun.
“Just hook your reins over the saddle horn,” Luke said. “He won’t bolt with you.”
She did as he said, using both hands, but she had dislodged the clip holding her bun so her hair tumbled down over her shoulders.
Luke stared. “Dang, girl. Why do you keep that handsome mane bundled up like a schoolmarm?”
Katie tried to gather her hair into some order and finally settled for pulling it through the back of the cap.
“My husband didn’t like me to wear it loose,” she said. “Too casual, he thought. He wanted me to cut it to look more polished.” Again she rubbed the third finger on her left hand.
“Your husband sounds like a sure-enough fool. Sorry, but that’s how it looks to me. I’m glad you stood your ground.”
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