Cry Mercy, Cry Love

by Monica Barrie

  Gently, Heather pressed the play button on the recorder and began to listen to Emma Kline’s voice as she dictated Reid Hunter’s resume for Heather. This would be the third time she’d heard it but the first time she would be able to match the resume with the man.

  Emma’s clear diction and distinct voice called for Heather’s attention.

  ‘“Reid Hunter. Age, thirty-four. Height, six feet, one-half inch. Weight, one hundred eighty-five pounds.’”

  Then there was the barest of pauses as Emma said, “He’s a real hunk, Heather—at least on paper.” There was a little giggle before Emma began to speak in a serious voice again.

  “‘Eyes, Hazel. Hair, Brown. Born, Lander, Wyoming. Education, public high school, University of Wyoming. Employment. First job, G-bar-D ranch, Boise, Wyoming, five years. Army, Vietnam. Honorable discharge. Assistant Foreman, Pegasus Ranch, Butte, Montana, four years. Triple-K Ranch, Phoenix, Arizona, two years. Reason for leaving, personal.”

  Aren’t they all?” Emma’s taped voice commented. “That’s it on this one. No picture.”

  Heather turned off the recorder, entwined her fingers together, and rested her chin on their backs. Personal reasons...yes, thought Heather, a man like Reid Hunter would have strong feelings. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought rose. Reid Hunter had a better work record than most cowboys in their twenties and thirties, and Heather realized Reid Hunter’s reason for leaving the Triple-K would be one of his own moral code, not what the rest of the world would consider a good reason.

  Cowboys were different from other men—no matter if they were educated and held a Master of Business Administration degree—they were still cowboys; they were a breed apart.

  A light tapping at the front door pulled Heather’s mind from her thoughts. “Open,” she called. She heard the door open and heard footsteps come into the living room. “Evening, Tom,” she said as she recognized the special pattern of footfalls telling her who it was.

  “Evening, Heather. You said you wanted to speak to me tonight?”

  “Have a seat.” While she waited for Tom to sit and stretch out his long legs, she formulated exactly what she wanted to say. Tom was her right-hand man, a man whose instincts she trusted implicitly.

  “I want your feelings, your deep-down gut reactions to Reid Hunter.”

  ~~~

  The music from the jukebox beat a steady tattoo inside Reid Hunter’s head. But he ignored it, as he had for ten years. He lifted his beer and sipped it. He didn’t want to be here, sitting at a back table in a two-bit honky-tonk on the outskirts of Tahoe, but it was better than sitting alone in his room. Usually it didn’t matter if he was alone—most of the time he preferred it—but not today. At least this place had people in it. Live people, not the plastic executives who pretended to be alive so they could get a name put on their dotted lines and throw their money away on the crap tables. Here, Reid felt as if he blended, even though he didn’t. The old bar had once been a light wood, but now looked old, stained, and comfortable. The bartender looked like an old cowboy who had busted one bronc too many at the local rodeo and ended up behind the bar instead of throwing his prize money across it.

  Rodeo posters decorated the walls, and Reid knew every name on them. The crowd was thin—the usual Sunday-night people, he thought. There were maybe a dozen men in the place and half that number of women. Everyone was low-key, maybe because of the hour or because they’d all be getting up early the next morning.

  Reid pulled his eyes from the people and stared at his beer bottle. Since he’d left the Strand ranch, he’d been unable to get Heather Strand out of his mind. He thought about her again—about her beauty and about his own reaction when he’d discovered her blindness.

  At first, he’d felt sad—not the pity she’d accused him of, but just a sadness for someone who could not see what was around them. As he’d listened to her talk, he’d realized she was able to see in her own way and the sadness had left him. But, he was still bothered. He didn’t have the same prejudices about women that most ranchmen had, all the same though, he knew working for a woman boss was not the easiest thing in the world.

  A blind woman. That would be even harder. Reid wanted to know how she had lost her sight, or at least when. He didn’t know why, but it was constantly on his mind. He also wanted the job—more now than before, and before he had wanted it badly.

  Then his mind skipped back to Arizona and the Triple-K Ranch, where he’d been the foreman and loved it. He’d done his job well, and it showed. After the first year, Reid had started to change things. Slowly, he figured. Do it slowly and do it right. The first few things he’d done worked beautifully, and even Kingston had told him so. Rafe Kingston was a legend in ranching, and for him to compliment anyone was an accomplishment. Foremen came and went at the Triple-K as fast as a thunderstorm in the mountains.

  Three months ago trouble had started. The trouble was Kelly Kingston. Kelly was Rafe’s daughter, twenty-one years old and ready to prowl. Kelly had red hair and gray eyes. She was five feet, six inches of perfectly formed flesh and bones, and she knew it. So had Reid, and he hadn’t wanted any part of it.

  Reid shook his head to clear the memories, but the cool gray eyes stayed in his mind. Lifting the bottle, Reid took another pull of the cold beer. As he did, he felt someone come up behind him. He put the bottle down slowly and turned.

  “Hunter? Reid Hunter, you old bastard!” said the burly cowboy who stood above him. “Heard you were ‘the man’ at the Triple-K.”

  “Evenin’, Steve,” Reid said in a cool voice as he looked the man over.

  “What the hell are you doin’ in Tahoe?”

  “Having a beer.”

  “Jesus, Reid, what’s it been—six years?” asked Steve Higgins.

  “Must be,” replied Reid as he stood up. “Don’t mean to be impolite, but I’ve got to get up early. See you around,” he said as he gave the cowboy a half smile and started away.

  “Same old hard-assed bastard as always, aren’t you, Hunter?”

  “I guess so,” Reid replied as he walked out of the bar.

  “Damn,” murmured the burly cowboy as he watched Reid leave. “I never believed them rumors, but maybe they’re true.”

  THREE

  “Then you agree?” Heather asked Tom Farley. Seated comfortably in the ranch office, with Heather behind the large desk and Tom seated across from her. They could both hear the typewriter beating steadily as Emma Kline worked up her monthly report.

  “Between Hunter and the other man there’s no choice. Emma’s checked him out with the Triple-K people and they’ve verified his employment. Good recommendation,” Tom Farley declared.

  “You think you’ll be comfortable as his assistant?”

  “From the time I spent with him on Sunday and the questions he asked, yes.”

  “Okay, Tom. I’ll call him,” Heather said. Tom stood, knowing their business was finished and there was work to do. Before he reached the door, Heather called out to him. “Seeing anyone yet?”

  “No one special, Heather,” he replied. Heather caught the underlying sadness in his voice, but refrained from saying anything.

  “That pony about ready for Gregg?”

  “He’s ready,” Tom replied as he opened the office door.

  “Emma will have the figures tonight. Come by after Gregg’s asleep and we’ll go over them if you’re up to it.”

  “I’ll be by about nine,” Tom told her as he walked from the office, leaving the office door open.

  “Emma,” Heather called, “try getting Reid Hunter on the phone. Have him meet me for lunch tomorrow at the Pine Tree.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Emma called in her cheerful voice.

  Heather smiled. Emma Kline had been her father’s bookkeeper for almost fifteen years. When he’d died, Heather had made Emma promise to stay on and to not only be the ranch bookkeeper, but to act as her assistant as well. Emma was the local spinster, but Heather knew it had been by choi
ce. There had been someone years ago who had won Emma’s heart. Something had happened to him—something Emma had not shared—and Emma had never had the desire for another man.

  Heather sniffed the air. The day was dry and comfortable, and the scents of pine mixed with soil filled her senses and brought a smile to her lips. Suddenly the smile disappeared from her mouth as she thought about Tom and Gregg Farley. Tom had come to work at the ranch when Heather was in her last year of college. She remembered meeting Tom and three-year-old Gregg five years ago.

  Heather’s father had told her about the night Tom had knocked on the door seeking shelter for himself and his young son when their car broke down. Donald Strand had taken them in, and the next day he had learned the tall man’s story.

  Tom had been working for a bank in Carson City as a loan officer. One night he had come home to find his son with a baby-sitter and a note from his wife. She had left them. Tom, for some reason, decided to leave the small apartment they had lived in and drive to California. The old car had not made it, and Tom had ended up at the Strand Ranch.

  Donald Strand had offered Tom a job, even though he’d never worked a ranch before. Tom accepted the job and the small house for himself and Gregg. Ever since then he’d applied himself to learning how to work a ranch and had found he had a natural ability for the work. In the five years he’d been there, Tom had become a strong, independent man who loved what he did and loved his son just as much.

  Heather also knew it had taken Tom a long time to get over his wife’s desertion, although nobody could tell by his face or his actions. Now, five years later, Heather knew it was time for him to be seeing other women; Gregg needed a mother and Tom needed a woman who cared for him.

  “All set,” called Emma, pulling Heather from her thoughts. “One o’clock.”

  “Thank you, Emma. The only other thing I’ll need before you leave is the monthly figures.”

  “Almost finished,” replied Emma.

  “Good,” Heather responded.

  “Not really, hon. Sorry,” Emma said in a lower voice.

  “I knew that already,” Heather whispered. “Reid Hunter, you’d better be what I need!” she said under her breath. Heather knew the ranch was in trouble and needed to straightened out fast; and, she knew as well, after two days of deep thought, she, too, might be in trouble—in trouble because of the way her mind was going on about Reid Hunter.

  ~~~

  The first pinkish gray bands of light began to filter through the bamboo thicket. The smells of decay, rotting vegetation, and human filth filled Lieutenant Reid Hunter’s nostrils. He, his commanding officer, and the platoon had been on a search-and-destroy mission for ten days. Below them was the next village. In the ten days he’d been in the jungle, Reid had lost seven of the thirty men he’d started with—five in firefights, one to a sniper, and another to a Cong booby trap. Framed neatly in his field glasses, the village began to come to life. Children and women came from their huts, some to start the cooking fires, others to bring water.

  Damn! thought Reid, not one man. Where were they? Reid had seen dozens of villages like this one, devoid of men and boys over eleven. The Cong had come and taken them to fight on their side. The villagers had no choice. Reid had also seen villages that seemed like this one until they got within rifle distance. Then he found himself in a nightmare world of careening bullets from the hidden Cong in the huts and in the tunnels that were like mazes beneath the villages.

  “Let’s get ready, Hunter,” ordered Captain Aaron Fielding. Reid fought away his initial anger at the man’s voice. Fielding was on his first long patrol and he was the general’s hotshot new boy! He was interested in only two things, body counts and glory.

  “Sir, I’d like to hold off for a little while. Let’s see if there are any men down there.”

  “I said to get the platoon ready. If there are any men there, they’re Charlie, and they’re hiding.”

  “Sir,” Reid argued.

  “Move it, Lieutenant!”

  “Yes, sir!” Reid said as he turned and went back to his men. He didn’t like the feelings that flowed through him, about the captain and about the village. Reid moved through his men, his sergeant at his side, as he gave the men their orders. Five minutes later, they started down the hill. Reid and a corporal named Trigent, who spoke fluent Vietnamese, held the point. Reid wouldn’t stay in the main body—he wasn’t one to let his men take anything for him.

  They walked slowly into the village. The women and children stopped what they were doing and watched the American soldiers come toward them. Reid’s pulse raced. He tasted the fear rising into his mouth. Standing tall, and holding the M-16 in front of him, he kept a shallow smile on his face.

  When they reached the center of the village, they stopped. “Trigent, start your spiel,” Reid ordered.

  Trigent began to speak in the dialect of the area, and as he did, the rest of the platoon began to walk into the village. Reid made a mistake then—he began to relax as his eyes turned back to his men. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough.

  Suddenly he heard Trigent hesitate. The hair at the nape of his neck stood out and he whirled just as the shot rang out. Reid felt the corporal’s body hit him, knocked back by the impact of the bullet. Falling to the ground, Reid brought his rifle to the ready position as the bullets from his own men flew over his head. The firing stopped before Reid had fired a single shot.

  Reid stood and looked at the dead enemy. His eyes went wide in shock. Then, violently, wave after wave of sickness rushed through his body.

  “No!” The single word seemed to pull Reid from his nightmare. The coolness of the air conditioning pushed against his naked body, cooling the perspiration that glistened on his body, and he slowly realized where he was.

  On and off for ten years, Reid Hunter had had the same nightmare. In the first years following his return home, they had come nightly. Now they came infrequently. But, when they did, it was bad. Reid threw the sheet from his body and stood. He began to pace his motel room, trying to shake his tenseness. The feeling of horror and defeat continued to hold him in thrall. Will I ever stop dreaming it? he asked himself. Ten years of running, of trying to live with myself, of trying to find myself. Ten years and it’s still the same.

  “Think of something else!” he ordered, his husky voice loud in the room. Then he stopped and shook his head. He had a lunch date with Heather Strand in... Reid turned on the small table lamp and looked at his watch—5:00 a.m.—eight hours.

  A picture of Heather rose in Reid’s mind. The soft brown hair, pretty blue eyes, and perfectly formed face floated within the confines of his mind. Reid thought about their lunch date today. Would she ask any more questions about the Triple-K? If she did, would he tell her about Kingston’s daughter and the real reason he’d left? Or, had she checked out his whole resume? Had she found out his lies of the early years of his past and his real heritage? No. If she had, she wouldn’t be meeting me today, he thought.

  Reid reached for the pack of cigarillos that were on the nightstand. He pulled one from the pack and lit it quickly. Inhaling the acrid smoke, Reid began to force himself to relax. As the smoke drifted upward, playing a lazy pattern within the lamplight, he began to think about the dream again.

  After his discharge from the army, he’d returned to civilian life, Reid found he no longer cared for what was his. The only thing that mattered was his being able to try to live with what he’d done and make a new life. He’d arrived home, in Albuquerque, to the joy of his sister and brother, but soon they, too, discovered Reid Hunter was a far different man than he’d been before he left.

  Patrick Hunter had expected his brother to come back to the ranch and run it with him. He’d expected Reid to put the college education he’d completed during the four years before joining the army to good use at their ranch. Their father had died five years before and he’d left the ranch to his sons, Reid and Patrick, and to his daughter Gwen. Howe
ver, Reid had stayed only long enough to get his old clothes, buy a car, and sign over his rights to the ranch by giving Patrick full power of attorney. Then he said good-bye to the two people who loved but did not understand him and started the life of a homeless cowboy.

  “You can’t do this to us!” Pat Hunter had flared in anger. “You can’t walk out on us. We need you here.”

  “You’re doing just fine, both of you,” Reid told them. Gwen cried, unashamedly letting her tears fall. She knew what had happened, to a degree, and was both hurt and frightened for Reid: Pat was a different story. Reid had not shared what had happened to him with his brother. He knew that Pat would not understand. The enemy was the enemy—period! So Reid had left Broadlands, the ninety-thousand-acre ranch that his great-grandfather had built, put behind him the life of power, wealth, and family in order to retrieve what he had lost in Vietnam—himself.

  Reid had had plenty of money. Each of the three children had received substantial inheritances from their father along with a third ownership in the ranch. After Reid had given over his power of attorney to Patrick, he took his large inheritance and donated it to a charity he had helped form.

  A lot had happened during the last ten years—a lot and nothing at all. His sister, Gwen, had left the ranch six years ago to open a small business of her own in Santa Fe. She left bitterly, at odds with Patrick because of what he’d done to her. She had fallen in love with one of her college professors and Patrick had not approved. Patrick had forced an end to the affair and Gwen had felt she had no choice but to leave, bury the past, and start anew.

  For Reid it wasn’t that simple. He was still plagued by his past, and nothing seemed to rid him of it. Even Sunday night, when he was at that honky-tonk bar and Steve Higgins had come in, his past had come with it. Steve had known Reid when he first started out from New Mexico, had worked with him both at his own ranch and at the first job he’d taken. Reid had lied about his work background to get the job. When the foreman overheard Higgins telling the others about Reid, he’d called Reid into his office and talked to him. The foreman thought Reid was out to steal ideas or some nonsense like that. Reid had told him that he’d left the ranch and just wanted to work. Fortunately, the foreman understood him and let him stay on. Reid had taken Steve Higgins aside and told him if he ever repeated Reid’s background, he would break him in half. He never had to; Higgins saw too much in Reid’s eyes to take the chance.