The sounds of the night whispered to her as she reached the corral. Instead of stopping, Heather turned and walked to the far side, toward the large pond, two hundred yards past the corral. The pond where her father had taught her to swim. It was a place where she had spent many summer days sitting, letting her legs soak in the water as she played.
As these memories welled up in her mind, she thought about her father and mother. She thought about her father, and what his possible reactions to Reid Hunter. Would he have been against her and Reid? No, she had known her father well enough to believe he would have smiled on his daughter’s love.
Suddenly Polaris blocked her way and Heather knew she was at the pond’s edge. “Good boy,” she said as she ruffled the fur on his head and sat down. Bending, she dipped her fingers into the pond’s pleasantly cool water. She removed her boots and rolled up her jeans to let her feet enjoy the water’s coolness.
~~~
Reid and Tom Farley sat in Tom’s kitchen, talking about one of the problems that had cropped up during the day. They had spent the last two hours trying to iron it out. After the second cup of coffee for Reid and the third for Tom, they decided to try out their idea. Reid smiled as he stood and offered his hand. Tom Farley took it with a matching smile.
“I really appreciate the way you’ve been helping me out,” Reid said as he withdrew his hand.
“I knew the shape the ranch was in better than anyone. I’m sure glad you came along when you did. I think Heather feels the same way.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Reid said with a nod. Then his assistant walked him to the door and bid him good night. Outside, Reid paused as he looked up at the stars. It was a clear night, cloudless, with a small crescent moon riding low in the sky. The warm air smelled clean, and the ranch was quiet. Reid began to walk toward his house, but felt restless with excess energy.
He had hoped, when he saw Tom’s kitchen light on, that talking with the man would take some of the edge from him. He’d been wrong. Reid knew it was more than just unused energy coursing through his body. Tonight, sitting for Heather, watching her work on the sculpture of his face, had been the hardest part of his day. He knew it had been the last night he would be sitting, and although he was glad, he was sorry he would not be able to spend more evenings alone with her, even if all he could do was watch her.
Walking along the path leading to his house, out of the corner of his eye, Reid saw a shadow walk by the corral. He stopped, prepared for anything, but most especially a mountain cat. He turned slowly, breathing a sigh of relief. He saw two shapes and knew it was Heather because of the four-legged silhouette trotting next to her.
Reid stayed still and watched her walk toward the pond. A sudden warning chill coursed through him, but he fought it off. She had lived here all her life, she knew every part of this ranch. If she was going to the pond, it was because she wanted to.
Even though his logic was sound, Reid did not want to think of what might happen if she accidentally stumbled into the water. He waited a few more minutes after Heather disappeared into the darkness before he followed her.
When he was twenty yards from the pond, he saw her silhouette. She was standing sideways to him, knee deep in the water, Polaris at her side. His breath caught in his throat. She had shed her clothing, and the moonlight shaded her skin as if she were a painting. Reid knew he should leave, should take his eyes from her, but he couldn’t. Her body was too perfect, the smooth-flowing lines all cried out to him. Her high breasts stood proudly, a graceful arc in the night. Her stomach was flat, and her back curved delicately inward, blending into a tight, well-molded derriere that made his blood run fast.
He was rooted to the spot, captured by her lonely beauty, but he knew he could not move forward, could not reveal himself. Reid stood like a statue and waited until Heather dipped down into the water and began to swim. His desire fled as a new worry crept into his mind. She was blind. She couldn’t know where she was swimming. Then he saw the wake created by Polaris’s head near hers, guiding her around in the water.
Reid shook his head in wonder of the capabilities of the dog. A few minutes later, Heather and the dog came out of the pond at the exact spot where a dark pile of clothing waited.
As Heather lay down on the grass, Reid breathed easier and walked silently away. When he reached his house, he went to a chair on the porch. Slowly, taking as much time as he could, ordering his trembling hands to obey him, Reid took out his smokes and lit one, drawing in the first mouthful with a deep hissing inhalation. His only thought was of how beautiful, how desirable, and how much he wanted Heather Strand.
NINE
Friday came and brought with it a whirlwind of activity. Because of Emma’s absence, Heather worked in the office, taking calls and doing whatever she could. At two o’clock Reid came in from the range and took over. There was ordering and the many other things only he or Emma could handle. With a grateful smile, Heather left the confinement of the office and went to the studio.
Ever since she had awakened this morning, she had been anxious to get back to work on Reid’s bust. It was like an obsession to finish it as quickly as possible. Perhaps, she thought, when it is finished and fired, some of my feelings will go away. She wanted to believe it would be so, but the way her heart raced when she thought of him told her the falseness of her thoughts.
Closing the door to the studio, Heather eagerly breathed in the mixed scents of earth and clay that permeated the air. She began to feel even more excitement as she neared her workbench.
First, she uncovered the bust. Next, she checked the moisture. She had barely been in time. The first edges of dryness were setting in. Heather remonstrated herself for not getting up fifteen minutes earlier to come out and dampen down the clay before starting work in the office. But, she had been in time, which was what counted.
Quickly, Heather filled the porcelain basin with warm water and used her wet fingers to moisten the clay. Before she started the actual work, she let her fingers “see” Reid’s face. She traced his features slowly and almost felt the clay come to life. His full lips, cold in clay, still had the power to burn her fingers. The slight ridge on his nose caused a flicker of a smile on the corner of her lips. His cheekbones, broad and high, matched the arrogance and power that was in his voice. His eyes, Heather thought as her fingers moved gently over the clay duplicates, were large, well formed, and she knew they would possess both the soft gentleness and the fierce depth she sensed belonged to Reid.
Heather shook her head to clear away her thoughts of the man who had edged so deeply into her mind and heart and began to work with the clay. She smoothed certain areas, refining the angle of his broad jaw before blending in the earlobes until they formed the funny little half-bend. The mustache had presented her most difficult obstacle, but with patience and a dentist’s probe, Heather achieved the effect she wanted.
When the mustache was complete, her hands moved to the neck of the bust. Suddenly Heather stopped. Her left hand held the back of the neck. The memory of that explosive kiss, when her hand had seemed to move by itself to the back of his neck, flooded her mind. Her fingers began to move in slow circles on the clay, until she stopped at the exact spot where she had touched, that night, a small scar. Until just now, she hadn’t remembered it. Using the tips of her first two fingers, Heather pinched a half inch of clay up and, using her fingernail, made the slightest of indentations across the ridge. When she was done, and her fingers told her the scar was right, she nodded in satisfaction.
Once again, Heather explored the clay duplicate of Reid Hunter’s face, hair, and neck, even rechecking the small cleft in his chin. When she was finished, her throat constricted. She was done. The only thing left was for air-drying before firing the sculpture in the kiln.
A sudden wave of fatigue descended. Heather’s hand automatically went to her watch. She was not surprised to find seven hours had passed since she’d entered the studio. Seven hours of total absorption in what she lo
ved doing the most.
Within ten minutes Heather had straightened up her work area, cleaned the tools she had been using, and checked her specially designed kiln to make sure it was operating properly. With hunger urging her on, she left the studio and went to the house to prepare some supper and to wait out the time until she could put the clay in its oven.
Reid was sitting on the large chair behind the desk, holding the black plastic telephone receiver against his ear and looking out the window. The view from the office was on the sculpture-lined walk to Heather’s studio. Darkness had descended, but the light cast from the window illuminated the first three sculptures. As his eyes studied them again, he heard the phone lifted at the other end.
“Hunter Gallery, good evening,” came the familiar sweet voice.
“I tried your apartment, but I won’t complain about getting you on the second try.”
“Reid,” she screamed, and Reid grimaced with the semi-pain echoing in his ear. “Where are you?”
“Nevada. The Strand Ranch,” he told her.
“It’s about time. Don’t you think five months is a bit long?” she admonished. Reid felt the old, familiar stirrings of guilt begin.
“There’ve been longer times,” he replied.
“Let’s not fight. I miss you. How are you? What are you doing?”
“Slow down,” he said, grinning at her staccato questions. “I miss you too. I’m fine, and I’m the foreman here.”
“What happened at the Triple-K? I thought you liked it there?”
“Kelly Kingston happened there. She wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Reid told her, his voice turning serious again.
“The spunky little redhead? I told you so,” Gwen said.
“You were right. Still, that wasn’t all of it. I guess I just had to move on,” Reid admitted. “It was time.”
“Reid, you’ve been moving on for almost ten years. Don’t you think it’s time to stop?”
“I made my decision, and I have no plans to change it,” he said. No matter what he told her, nothing he could do stopped the tendrils of sadness from infiltrating his thoughts. “Don’t you want to know why I called?” he asked, changing the subject and blocking the old memories before they overtook him.
“I would hope it’s because you wanted to hear your little sister’s voice,” Gwen replied. Reid heard both humor and longing in her tone.
“No one has called you little since you turned fourteen,” he joked as the picture of a gangly, freckle faced tomboy rose in his mind. At fourteen Gwen Hunter had reached the height of five-eight. By seventeen, she stood a barefoot five-ten.
“And no one has ever called me string bean since I was fifteen and you beat the hell out of Richie Compton for saying it.”
“I never liked him anyway,” Reid said, savoring the memory of the boy’s bloody nose.
“Why did you call?” Gwen asked again.
“Partly because I wanted to speak to you, to give you my address, and to find out how you are.”
“I’m fine, what’s the address, and I’m glad to hear your voice again. When will I see you?”
“I’ll probably be able to take a few days at the end of the summer. I’ll try to get to Santa Fe,” he said.
“You’d better, please.”
“Gwen, anything new with the Foundation?”
“Everything’s going nicely. We’re getting good donations and Mike has set up a camp in the Catskills.” Reid nodded as he listened. Mike Bloom was the director of the New Life Foundation and was one of its prime forces.
“That’s great. I have news Mike will appreciate. I’ve set up the groundwork for another camp. I need the paperwork for leasing three hundred acres and a residence. The terms are one-dollar annual rental. The Foundation is responsible for all setup costs. We can use fifteen veterans for the four-month season and a married couple for the year-round custodial work. The camp should accommodate at least forty children. It’s what we discussed two years ago.” Reid paused. He took a deep breath and then continued. “I also want the lawyer to prepare a loan agreement for The Strand Ranch, Inc., as borrower and the Foundation as lender. The amount is fifty thousand dollars and the interest is six percent.”
“Reid! The Foundation doesn’t have that much liquid capital for a loan.”
“Yes it does. Tell Mike to authorize the loan from the reserve fund we set up in the beginning.”
“Reserve fund? Reid, when did the Foundation get enough money for a reserve fund?” Gwen asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“I gave it to them.”
“Your inheritance?”
“Let it be,” he said in a voice filled with warning. He had never told Gwen that when he’d left the ranch he’d given up the trust fund his father had left him as part of his inheritance. Ten years ago, Reid had wanted no part of anything that would remind him of his past life.
“All right,” Gwen replied, but Reid heard the reprimand in her voice.
“Gwen, how’s…” Although he tried, he could not get the name out.
“Patrick’s the same as ever,” she responded quickly, knowing exactly what Reid was asking.
“The ranch?”
“It’s...just fine.” Reid heard something in her voice, a hesitation before she finished speaking and something in her tone.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Gwen responded.
“What is wrong?” Reid repeated, clipping each word separately, demanding the truth by his tone.
“I didn’t want to say. I’m not sure, but there’re problems. I don’t know exactly what, but I’ve heard rumors of Pat being in trouble,” Gwen admitted.
“Tell me what you do know,” he ordered. Reid’s mind was racing, wondering what his brother had done to get one of the most profitable ranches in the Southwest into trouble.
“Chet Downing came to see me. Pat fired him the other day.”
“He can’t fire Chet,” Reid reminded her. In his father’s will Chet Downing, the ranch foreman, had been guaranteed a job until he retired, and then placed an advisory position afterward along with a minor amount of stock.
“Patrick did. Chet told me it was because he argued with Pat about a deal he made. Pat fired him and told him if he didn’t like the way he ran the ranch to go someplace else.”
“No matter what we think of Pat, he wouldn’t intentionally do anything to ruin Broadlands. He couldn’t,” Reid reminded her.
“Come back and see what’s happening,” Gwen asked. Her words whispered, but Reid heard them loudly as a cold shock flowed, through him.
“No, Gwen. I won’t go back.”
“Reid, it’s been ten years. It’s time we were a family again,” she said, and Reid heard the tears that were in her voice.
“You and I are our family,” he said quietly, then, as he turned the chair and looked out the office window, he saw Heather, accompanied by Polaris, walk into the light cast through the office window.
“Gwen, get the paperwork to me as soon as possible,” he said, giving her the address and the telephone number.
“Good-bye, Reid—take care of yourself.”
“I’ll call again, soon,” Reid said, ending the call swiftly.
“Don’t wait so long next time. I love you,” Gwen said softly.
“And I love you too, kid—take care. Say hello to Mike for me.” Reid hung up the phone just as the house door closed.
~~~
Heather entered through the kitchen door and went directly to the refrigerator. She removed three eggs and took down a stainless steel bowl and a frying pan from the cabinet over the stove. Quickly and efficiently, she went about the business of preparing a light supper.
As she filled the coffeepot and put it on the stove, the tangy scent of Reid’s tobacco reached her sensitive nostrils. She turned slightly and spoke.
“Hasn’t anyone told you it’s not polite to stare?” she asked.
“Uh-huh,” came his cryptic r
eply as he stood in the doorway.
“Did you eat yet?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Have a seat,” she told him as she went to the refrigerator and withdrew more eggs. For some reason his presence had not surprised her. Perhaps, Heather thought abstractly, because of all the time she’d spent working on the sculpture, hearing his voice was like her art coming to life.
“We should have the paperwork for the loan by the end of next week,” Reid said. Heather nodded her head in reply, but kept silent. She was enjoying his unexpected company after the long hours of solitude. “I think the...”
“Damn! I hear it,” she said, moving quickly to the stove and pulling the boiling coffee from the flame. She was upset that she had forgotten to turn down the heat. After a moment, she replaced the pot on the fire and lowered the flame.
“How can you tell how much to reduce the flame?” Reid asked, a genuine puzzlement in his voice.
“Close your eyes and listen,” Heather told him. Then she lit another burner and listened to the intensity of the high gas flame. “Can you hear that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now listen,” she said as she lowered the flame by two-thirds. “Hear the difference?”
“No,” Reid admitted truthfully.
“It takes time,” Heather informed him as she turned to smile at him. “Do you want cheese in your eggs?” The question took Reid off guard for a moment.
“However you’re having yours will be fine with me.”
“Plain,” she informed him.
It only took a few minutes for Heather to make the eggs and slip the bread in the toaster. Reid set the table over her protests and poured the coffee as she prepared the rest. They ate silently, enjoying each other’s company.
Cry Mercy, Cry Love Page 8