Cry Mercy, Cry Love

by Monica Barrie

  “Broken?” she had asked.

  “When I was ten,” Reid had replied, and beneath her fingers, the skin of his face pull tight in a smile. “Most people can’t tell,” he told her.

  She had smiled as her fingers moved on. She wasn’t most people. She had traced his large eyes. His eyebrows had been thick, but not broad. Reid’s ears were in perfect proportion to his face and almost hugged his head. Her fingers found the indentations near his eyes and knew the crow’s-feet would only add grace and character to his face. Finally, she had traced his forehead, feeling the broadness of it, and the grooves running across it. From squinting in the sun, she’d thought.

  “Do you approve?” he had asked, but Heather had been able to tell from his voice that the question had been anything but lightly asked.

  “You’re a handsome man, Reid Hunter. You’ve got a strong face, a face that most people would trust. I approve,” she had said at last, smiling as she had tried to hide the heaviness of her own emotion. “If you want to go on, I’m ready now.”

  There had been a long silence then, until Heather had realized exactly what she had said. The tension flew from her and from the inside of the vehicle. She laughed at the sudden thought that had flashed in her mind and said, “To the ranch.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Reid had replied as he shifted the Land Rover into gear and started back onto the road.

  He was handsome. His face was strong, clean of line, not pretty, not soft, but held a strong masculinity and self-assurance. Once again, Heather realized she had hired the right man.

  With that thought, Heather finally stood and opened the drain. At the same time, she tried to calm the aching within her. Stepping from the tub, she wrapped herself in a terry towel. Five minutes later, she was in her nightgown, with a robe over it. She left the bathroom and went into the kitchen. There she put water into the teakettle and placed the kettle on the fire.

  Polaris came next to her and pressed against her leg. She bent, letting her fingers glide along his back. Heather lifted her hands to her chest and patted twice. “Give a hug,” she told the dog. Suddenly the large shepherd rose on his hind legs, his front paws gently falling on her shoulders as he stretched his neck to place his muzzle against the side of her cheek. Heather sensed the affection from the dog; his love and obedience made her feel warm. Her hands rubbed briskly along his fur for a moment before releasing him.

  “Good boy,” she said. “Okay, Polaris, run!” The dog barked once. Then she heard him walk to his door and slip through to freedom. The whistle from the kettle sounded and Heather pulled it from the fire and got a cup and teabag. She poured the water into the cup and smelled the tangy scent of the English tea. With a smile, she took the cup and sat at the kitchen table, listening to the night sounds of the Strand Ranch and wondering if Reid was settling in comfortably.

  Five

  April flowed quietly into May; May blended into June. With the heat of the early summer day filling the air around her, Heather paused at her work. Her ears had picked up footsteps. When they stopped, she did too.

  She heard Polaris get up from the floor and make his way toward the door. “Hey, boy,” came Reid’s voice and the sound of his hand scratching the shepherd. Probably behind his ear, Heather thought. Despite the heat in the studio, a curious chill ran along her spine. It was as if it Reid had touched her rather than the dog. Heather put a damp towel over the clay, then her fingers went to her wrist. She traced the time on the watch— three o’clock.

  “No problems,” Reid said as he saw her gesture. “I just wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have an idea for using the original homestead house and the three hundred acres on the south ridge,” he said.

  “And?”

  “And I want to talk about it. I wanted to know if you had time after dinner.”

  “Why not during?” Heather ventured, keeping her tone as businesslike as Reid’s.

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Miss Heather,” he said slowly.

  “If it were any trouble, I wouldn’t have offered. Time?”

  “I should be finished with my paperwork about six. Give me some time to wash and change. Seven?”

  “Fine,” Heather said with a nod. “Seven.”

  Heather turned back to the clay but did not begin to work immediately. She listened intently to Reid’s fading boot-falls, as he walked back along the path. When the sound was gone, she removed the towel and began to work the clay again.

  Slowly, her fingers traced the nose of the bust. It was smooth, straight, and strong, with just the barest discernible notch near the ridge. Shaking her head, Heather pulled her hand away from the clay.

  “Damn you!” she muttered to the sculpture. Polaris rubbed against her calf and Heather let her hand drop to his head. “I’m okay,” she said to the dog as she ran her hand along the top of his head. Polaris moved again, and Heather felt him stand, placing his front paws on her shoulders. She bent, wrapping her arms around him, and nuzzled her face against his soft fur.

  Heather knew Polaris sensed her frustration, understood the need emanating from her—a need unheeded by the one person who called it forth from its hidden depths. For almost three months, Reid Hunter had been the perfect foreman. Working hard, long hours, he drove himself and the men who worked for him mercilessly in an effort to reverse the decline the ranch had been in for the past two years. Not once had she heard a ranch hand complain; in fact, all she heard were murmurs of admiration and respect. Even Emma had commented on the difference of the ranch.

  Reid was an enigma. He was courteous to a fault, considerate of everything and everyone, and worked as hard as, if not harder than, anyone else. There were many nights that Heather heard him in the office after the ranch had quieted down for the night. Sometimes she went to him, just to talk. Other times she just listened to the low sounds of pencil on paper.

  Above it all, Reid Hunter never opened up. He never spoke about himself no matter what ploys she used. And Heather knew tonight would be no different—tonight she would again try to talk to him, try to get him to open up, just a little, about himself.

  The table was set and everything was ready. Heather was satisfied with what she had prepared. They would start with a light onion soup, followed by sautéed chicken breasts, which she had already cooked and staying warm in the oven. Fresh green beans were waiting in the steamer, and when they started the soup, she would turn the burner on. She went to the refrigerator and checked the wine. It felt cool to the touch and she knew she’d been in time. She’d almost forgotten it. Her fingers went to her watch; he would be arriving in a few minutes.

  Going to the cabinet above the sink, Heather reached up for the dishes. She took down everything she would need before pulling out the flatware. Then, putting each place setting on the large plates, Heather went to the dining room table and neatly set the places. When that was done, and with a sigh, she pulled the clips from her hair and shook her head.

  Feeling her hair come free, Heather smiled. She was ready. As she smoothed her dress, a simple cotton shift of soft blue, she started back toward the kitchen. When she was halfway across the floor, there was a knock on the front door.

  “It’s open,” she called. The front door opened and closed, and she heard the now familiar pattern of Reid’s boots on the floor. Before he spoke, she smelled the mild after-shave he’d used. Again, Heather felt chill of anticipation. Stop it! she admonished. But she knew it was a losing battle.

  “I don’t know which smells better, the food or you,” Reid said in his deep voice.

  “After the hours you put in today, I would imagine it’s the food. Drink? Wine?”

  “Sounds good,” Reid commented noncommittally.

  “Take a seat. I’ll be right back,” Heather said as she went into the kitchen.

  Reid smiled at her receding back and walked over to the cordovan-covered couch. He eased himself onto the cushions and let a smile crease h
is face. This room was as much the essence of Heather Strand as any other part of the ranch. Reid could almost feel Heather’s soft hands in the arrangement. The leather couch, so masculine, yet soft. Two matching leather chairs sat across from it, separated by a dark wooden coffee table. The paintings of landscapes and mountains decorating the off-white walls gave the living room of the Strand Ranch a homey, comfortable, and unpretentious feel.

  Reid’s appraisal of the living room faded as he thought about the woman he worked for, the beauty of her face and the depth of her love for the ranch. It had been over three months since the day he had begun working for Heather, but not once in all those days had he not thought of the time she had told him to stop the car and of the incredible feeling of her hands reading his face. Not one day had passed when he did not think of those hands and of the woman they were a part of.

  “Do you want to give me a hint?” asked Heather as she emerged from the kitchen, a wineglass in each hand.

  “A hint?”

  “Thank you,” Heather said with a smile. “I can’t possibly know where you are if you’re sitting still and not making a sound.”

  “Oh? I would have thought you could hear me breathing, with your hearing.”

  “It’s not quite that good, but I’m trying,” Heather smiled. Reid stood and took one of the wineglasses.

  Heather nodded to him, walked to the couch, and sat down. Reid sat on the opposite end and waited.

  “Well?” Heather asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “You said you wanted to talk with me,” she reminded him. Reid looked at her, unable to take his eyes from her face. She wore very little makeup, just a bit of lipstick and some blue eye shadow. He almost asked her how she put it on, but stopped himself in time.

  “You look very pretty tonight. Blue suits you.”

  “Thank you,” Heather said, enjoying the warmth his words gave her. “And?”

  “And I have an idea, but it will take a while to put it all together. We won’t be able to start utilizing it until next summer,” Reid began. Heather sensed a strange hesitation in his voice, one she had never heard before in their short acquaintance. The hesitation made her wonder exactly what Reid was trying to lead into.

  Heather sipped the cooled wine. Placing the glass on the coffee table, she sat further back on the couch, lifted her legs, and tucked them under her. Then, as she smoothed her dress over her folded legs, she spoke. “Will it cost a lot of money?”

  “A bit,” he replied.

  “Then I guess we can forget it. The banks won’t loan us any more money until we can show them an upswing on sales.”

  “I have another source for the loan,” Reid informed her.

  “I thought loan sharks operated out of big cities,” Heather joked.

  “It’s not a loan shark,” Reid said, ignoring Heather’s attempt at humor. “It’s a foundation.” Heather heard Reid take a deep breath and prepared herself for something different.

  Reid glanced from Heather to his wineglass and back again. He knew it would be hard for a rancher, man or woman, to separate from their property, to utilize it for something out of the ordinary. But what he had in mind would be beneficial to both the ranch and the people it involved.

  “There is a charitable organization that grants loans to businesses in exchange for the use of some of their facilities or for the use of some of their employees. I have a contact in that organization, and my idea would help both the ranch and them.”

  “You mean, if I were to lease some of the Strand land to them or hire some of their people, I could get the money we need?” Heather asked. She knew her surprise was evident in her voice, but this was too important to try to hide it.

  “It’s a little more involved than that,” Reid started.

  Heather interrupted him with a raised hand. “In that case, I think we should eat,” she said as she stood. Reid stood also and walked over to her. He took her elbow and guided her into the dining room. Heather did not fight his touch, and pulled away only when they were in the dining room.

  “Please sit,” she said as she pointed unerringly to one of the place settings. “I’ll get the soup.” Inside the kitchen, Heather poured the steaming liquid into two white china bowls. She paused for a moment as her hands shook. Relax! she ordered herself. He’s your foreman. Nothing else!

  Polaris’s low whine called to her. She turned to the dog and patted her shoulders. Polaris jumped up and nuzzled her cheek. “You’re a good boy,” she said as she straightened up and let Polaris go. “Run!” she ordered.

  Polaris barked once, but did not leave. “Go ahead, boy,” she said. She heard Polaris walk to the door separating the kitchen from the dining room and whine. Heather smiled, touched by the dog’s loyalty when there was another in the house. “Run!” she repeated the order. Polaris barked and finally left through his special door. “I wish I had a good enough reason to need you near me,” she whispered to the now absent dog.

  ~~~

  Reid watched Heather pour the coffee, full and content from the wonderfully prepared meal. As if by mutual consent, they had spoken of neither the loan or the use of the three hundred acres. With dinner over, and even though he wanted to postpone the inevitable, Reid began to speak. Before he could say more than three words, Heather interrupted him.

  “Wait until we’ve finished our coffee. I have a feeling that I want to enjoy the peace for a few more minutes.”

  Reid laughed at her words and agreed. “Miss Heather,” Reid said.

  “Heather! I won’t tell you again—after hours you call me Heather,” she ordered with a bantering scowl.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Reid drawled, liking the crease that furrowed her brow. As he spoke, Heather’s face relaxed. “Heather, for the last month everyone’s been wondering what you’re working on. The boys tell me that you always let everyone watch you work. But for the last month...” Heather knew the question was destined to come, but somehow she had hoped to avoid it.

  “Sometimes an artist needs privacy to work. I need it right now.” Heather didn’t like the way her voice sounded. The lie didn’t ring right and she was afraid Reid would pick up on it. “Are you finished with your coffee?” she asked suddenly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Reid replied.

  “Take me for a walk and tell me about your idea,” she said. Heather sat still as she listened to Reid’s chair brush along the carpet. She knew when he stepped behind her chair and stood just as he pulled the chair out for her. Then his hand was on her elbow. His hands, calloused and hard, felt good on her skin, comfortable and exciting at the same time. The gentle warmth of his palm, as it cupped her elbow, threatened to turn her legs to rubber. She stayed silent, content to be guided out of the house, pausing for a moment to lift her shawl free from the rack.

  The night air was cool, as most June nights were in the mountains, and Heather breathed deeply, taking in all the scents of the ranch. The horses, the flowers, and the freshly baled hay sent out messages of peace to her. The tall man who walked next to her, his hand never leaving her arm, gave her comfort.

  She was so involved in her thoughts, she almost missed Reid’s first words. Pulling her mind from its random wandering, Heather listened intently.

  “My idea is to lease the three hundred acres to the New Life Foundation, to use the land and the house for a summer camp for teens, and to hire eligible men and women who need jobs and train them as counselors and ranch hands. The camp would be set up as a miniature working ranch. The campers would be the actual ranch hands. They would learn to ride and to handle the real chores of a ranch.”

  “That’s marvelous,” Heather said, liking the idea instantly. “But why would this foundation be willing to give us money to keep the ranch going when they could just as easily buy another ranch and convert the entire property into a camp?”

  “They don’t want to be involved in the year-round running of a ranch. Something like this gives them the opportunity to have knowledgeable,
skilled people on hand if problems develop. Besides, the camp is only open for three months. The expenses to keep it operating year-round would be exorbitant,” Reid added.

  “From the sound of your voice, I think you’ve already spoken to some people about this,” Heather ventured.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Reid replied, and Heather caught the humor in his words.

  “I’ll have to think about it,” she told him. “Reid, how much money do you think we really need to get this ranch back on its feet?”

  Reid looked at her in the soft moonlight. He felt his blood race as his eyes traced the shadows on her face. He knew he was on dangerous ground emotionally. Before he answered, he forced away the feelings of need that surfaced whenever she was near.

  “We’re doing okay right now, but the sales of the horses are slow and prices have been pushed down. I have a feeling if you hold out for another six months, things will get better.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “About fifty thousand dollars,” he said bluntly.

  “But...” Heather began, stunned at the magnitude of the amount. “I thought we were doing better...I thought you had things turning around.”