“You make good eggs,” Reid said.
“Thank you.”
“How’s your work coming?”
“I’m almost finished. I’m going to fire it tonight and by early tomorrow afternoon it will be done,” she told him.
“Good,” he declared. “Tom tells me you ride,” Reid said suddenly.
“Not by myself,” Heather told him as a tingle of anticipation began to weave through her mind.
“I’d hoped not.”
“I’m a rancher. I have my problems, but I’m still a rancher,” she told him smugly.
“I know. Quitting time is around three tomorrow. After I’ve paid the boys, would you like to take a ride with me?”
“I’d like that very much,” Heather said, conscious of the effort it took to keep her voice steady.
“So would I,” Reid added. “And Heather, thanks again for supper.” Before Heather could reply, she heard Reid stand and start out.
“Have a pleasant night,” she called to him.
“You too,” he said, closing the screen door behind him.
After several minutes, Heather stood and cleared the table. Then she washed and dried the dishes. Before returning to the studio to fire the clay, Heather called Polaris. She bent slightly and patted her chest. “Give a hug,” she said. The dog stood on his hind legs, placing his front paws on her shoulders, and nuzzled her cheek and neck. “Good boy,” she cooed as she patted his back. “Okay, run!” she commanded.
Polaris dropped to all fours and gave his single deep bark. She heard him turn and walk softly to his door. A moment later came the sound of his body as it scraped through the rubber exit. After he was gone, Heather filled a large mug with coffee to bring with her to the studio.
She was tired, yet excited—tired from the long, but satisfying day, and excited about tomorrow. First would come the clay, then a bath, and then sleep.
What about you, Reid Hunter? What is it about you that tears me apart and makes me want to reach out and break down those walls around you? With a low sigh, Heather left the kitchen and stepped into the pleasant Nevada night.
TEN
Within the confines of her bedroom, Heather listened to the coarse jokes the men tossed at each other while they were paid. The Saturday ritual was in full swing, but even the noise and excitement of the men paled in comparison to what Heather was feeling.
Trying to ignore the tension sweeping through her body, Heather concentrated on the men who would very shortly be gone from the ranch. First, they would clean up, dress in their finest clothes, and, no later than four o’clock, be on their way to town. The men who had steady girls would pick them up and take them out to dinner. The other men, who either did not have a girl friend or did not want a steady woman, would eat in twos or threes at a fancy restaurant and afterward hit the honky-tonks, to drink, dance, and hopefully find a willing lady to spend the rest of their time off with.
Heather smiled as she dressed for her ride with Reid. She tucked the blue and yellow plaid Western shirt into the waist of her riding jeans and buckled the wide leather belt. Her finger lingered on the buckle for a moment. It had been her father’s. He had given it to her when she had turned fifteen and she always wore it when she rode. Shaking away the memory, Heather picked up one of her riding boots. She ran her fingers across the leather of the Justin boot, feeling the familiar intricacy of the hand-stitched pattern. The leather itself was soft and pliable and felt like the old friend it was.
Heather slipped on the boots and rolled up the cuffs of her jeans twice. Her anticipation of the ride increased as the first of the cars drove from the ranch’s parking lot.
Going to her dresser, she picked up the hairbrush and deftly swept her abundant hair back, slipping it into the covered band she held between three opened fingers so her hair would stay behind her shoulders on the ride. When she felt she was ready, she left the bedroom and walked to the front door.
“Polaris,” she called. The dog’s answering bark arrived a second before he did. “You’re off duty today,” she said as she patted his head. “Run!” she commanded. Polaris barked again as he squeezed through the front door ahead of his mistress.
The walk to the stable was short, and Heather answered the cheerful greetings called to her by the departing men. She paused when she reached the stable. The smell of horse and grain was strong, almost, but not quite, covering the fresh scent of his aftershave.
“Reid?” she called.
“Over here,” came his voice from her left. She turned toward the sound and walked to him. “Tom said you usually ride Savage. Shall I saddle him?” he asked.
“Has he been ridden lately?” Heather asked.
“One of the boys rode fence with him Tuesday. That was the last time.”
“Then he should have some exercise, but I’ll saddle him if you don’t mind.”
“It’s no trouble,” Reid protested, watching Heather walk toward him.
“I like to do for myself,” she told him as she stopped in front of the roan gelding’s stall and reached out her hand. The horse whinnied as he picked up Heather’s scent and brushed against her hand. “Hello, boy,” she murmured.
“Your saddle, boss lady,” said Reid. Heather wasn’t sure of exactly what Reid’s tone held besides a slight tinge of resignation. The electric shock going through her fingers when their hands touched on the saddle wiped the question from her mind.
Five minutes later, she led Savage from the stable, holding the reins lightly in her left hand. Her father, because of the fierce way the gelding stamped his front legs, had named him. It had been a misnomer; Savage was one of the gentlest range horses Heather had ever ridden. He was surefooted and had a light mouth. Just the barest of pressure with the reins was more than enough signal for the horse.
“Ready?” Reid asked as his eyes took in her full figure.
“Can I have a hand?” Heather asked, wanting only to feel his touch on her.
“My pleasure,” Reid replied. Heather gripped the pommel as Reid stepped next to her. His hands went to her waist and Heather felt his strength as he lifted her into the saddle. She hadn’t needed help to mount since she was ten, but today she wanted some. Then his hands were on her boot, guiding it into the stirrup. She stopped the grin that tried to escape as she quickly slipped her other foot free of the stirrup before he came around the horse.
“Where are we going?” she asked as Reid slipped her other foot into the stirrup and then mounted his horse.
“Anyplace you’d like.”
“The old homestead?” she asked.
“Fine,” he replied. They started out side-by-side, Heather listening intently for Reid to set the pace. As they rode—walked, actually—she found herself content to enjoy the late afternoon sun warming her face.
It was a quarter of an hour later before Heather spoke again. “Let me know when we reach the plateau,” she stated. For some reason she knew Reid was gazing at her intently. “Savage has the smoothest canter of any horse I’ve ridden,” she explained.
“Is there anything you don’t do?” Reid asked, keeping his voice as light as possible. He liked the way she sat the horse—like an experienced rider, her back was straight and her seat firm, her knees placed lightly against Savage’s sides, and the reins held firmly in her right hand. Her left hand rested on her thigh.
“A few things. I don’t drive a car."
“Thank the Lord,” Reid muttered.
Heather’s bubbling laugh flowed from her lips as she reined in the horse. “Thank you, Reid,” she said, more seriously, and could not help the emotion that filled her voice.
“For what?”
“For accepting me as I am.”
“I haven’t had any choice, have I?” he said wryly, without thinking. He knew the words sounded entirely different from what he’d meant.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know,” he said. “Plateau’s over the next rise.” Heather felt the anticipation build as they crested the g
ently sloped hill. She knew the horse felt her excitement by the way his muscles tensed against her thighs.
“We’re...” she heard Reid begin, but her heels were already against Savage’s flanks. The roan whinnied once and sped up. Heather sat deeper into the saddle, letting her body sense every movement of the horse, closing off everything around her as she let herself become an extension of the gelding. She moved with Savage, letting her pelvis roll with each stride of the horse, never once rising out of the saddle. The wind on her face felt as good as the powerful animal beneath her, who cantered smoothly along the grassy plateau.
Heather bent low, never once breaking rhythm. Pressing her cheek against Savage’s neck, she was soon one with the horse. She did not let her mind lose itself completely, and she heard Reid’s horse next to hers. She felt safe, protected, and unafraid.
Reid watched Heather let her horse free. For the first few seconds he held his breath. His breath came back as he watched her, in awe, riding the gelding. There was no doubt in Reid’s mind that Heather was a good rider—none at all—as she held the horse in a controlled canter. He used his heels to urge his mount faster, and soon he was next to her. He watched as her body moved expertly with the horse. His eyes roamed along her length and his breath quickened with desire.
Forcefully, Reid brought himself under control. Turning his face forward, he scanned the countryside before them. The edge of the plateau was coming up, and he was almost saddened that he would have to slow her down.
It might have been five minutes, or five hours, or somewhere in between when she heard Reid’s warning call. Regretfully, Heather straightened, gently pulling back on the reins. Savage slowed to a lope, and then to a walk.
Heather sighed. She was aware of the light film of perspiration on her face when she stopped the horse. The barest trickle of salty moisture rolled between her breasts, making her conscious of the work involved in riding a horse. She liked the feeling and the release of tension it always brought with it.
“You ride beautifully,” Reid told her. Heather flushed with the compliment.
“I had a good teacher.”
“Your father?” he asked.
Heather nodded. “We’re almost there, aren’t we?” she asked.
“You really know this ranch, don’t you?” Heather knew it was more a statement than a question.
“I’ve lived—”
“—here all my life,” Reid finished for her.
Heather nodded as another bubbly laugh surfaced. “Besides, the homestead is only a half-mile from the plateau,” she explained. Then she paused, a strong desire filling her mind. “Reid, tell me what you see.”
Reid looked at the blue-eyed woman who was next to him and at the open, longing expression that filled her face. Strangely, her request did not evoke any sadness, he was simply glad she asked.
“I see beauty.” Heather heard the depth of emotion that carried in his voice. “Off to our left must be the granddaddy of this part of the Sierra Nevada—it’s the tallest mountain in sight. Its face is green, right up to the timberline, and there’s still some snow left on its peak. The colors of the trees are deep, but there’s a lot of shading. The homestead is off to the right, but we can’t see it from here.”
Reid paused for a moment, trying to put into words what he was seeing and feeling.
“Right below us is more level ground, sagebrush, Indian rice grass, and plenty of trees there too, but not like on the big mountain—small pines and some magnificent aspens, lots of cedar on the low slopes, kind of a grayish green.”
Heather heard Reid take another breath before he continued.
“The trees and the grass are only part of it. It’s more than just color—it’s space, and freedom, and I guess the biggest part is the peace. I mean, it’s open, quiet, and free.”
“I think I understand,” Heather told him, touched by his expressiveness.
“And it will be appreciated by the kids who will be here next year.”
“Tell me about them,” she prompted as they began to ride down from the plateau.
“They’re beautiful,” Reid said, still caught up in the emotions of the countryside. “Most of the children the Foundation helps are the children of Vietnamese refugees who have fled their homes.”
“Boat people?” Heather asked softly.
“Some. Most are the ones who got away in the last days before Saigon fell. But, all the children aren’t Asian—they’re a mixture of Vietnamese and American veterans’ kids. Most people have forgotten about the men who fought in the war.”
“It’s been a while since it ended,” Heather offered.
“Only for those who weren’t there. Here we are,” Reid said suddenly, changing the direction the conversation had taken as he stopped the horses fifty feet from the old homestead house.
“I laid out the boundaries last Sunday. When the Foundation starts work, they’ll put up a fence completely around the camp. Work on the homestead will start in the spring, and by June everything will be ready.”
“Don’t you ever take a day off?” Heather joked.
“Once a year or so,” Reid responded.
“I can believe that,” Heather said, and for some reason she did.
“Want to walk a bit?”
“Love to,” Heather replied. She dropped Savage’s reins over his head. It was a signal for the horse to stand still. Lithely, Heather slipped her right foot from the stirrup and began to dismount. As her leg crossed over the saddle, she felt Reid’s hands at her waist, steadying her. Reid lowered her to the ground and her back slid along his chest. Again, her body’s instant reaction to his took her by surprise. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stood tensely for a moment until she recovered. Only then did she turn.
Reid took her elbow and began to guide her. It took a few moments to adjust to the ground—her legs still felt the breadth of the horse.
“The training corral will be here,” Reid began as he explained the layout of the camp. Although she listened to his words and understood everything he was saying, something else held her attention. The something else was his hand on her arm and the melodious sound of his voice. For the first time since she’d met Reid Hunter, Heather quieted her internal war and began to enjoy his presence. She had no idea how long a time they walked, nor did she care. Every concern and every worry she’d had seemed soothed away by his voice.
Then, suddenly, his next words shattered her mood. “We should be heading back now. Tom wants to leave by six and I don’t want to leave the ranch shorthanded.”
Heather’s fingers automatically went to the watch face and she realized that they had been out for over two hours. It was five thirty. “I almost forgot,” she said, recalling that Tom and Gregg were driving to Carson City tonight so Gregg could go to the rodeo on Sunday. Turning quickly, she bumped into Reid. “Sorry,” she mumbled, his heady male scent making her heart pound loudly. She was very aware of his hands on her shoulders and of her legs threatening to turn into rubber.
Reid was unable to move out of the way of her sudden turn and his hands instinctively went to her shoulders to steady her. He looked down into her face and froze. He was aware of the heat of her skin on his hands rising through the fabric of her shirt, and all too conscious of her breasts pressed against his chest. The way the sun brought out fiery highlights as it played on her hair turned dry. Strangely, he had trouble breathing. “Heather,” he whispered.
She heard him call her name, but it was a sound made distant by the racing of her blood and the spinning of her head. Her arms went around his back and she lifted up onto her toes. Her lips met his and a flaming, lancing fire raced through her body. His hands dug into her shoulders as his mouth pressed forcefully against hers. Her lips opened and she tasted his tongue as it searched for hers. Everything in her world of sound and touch receded except for the feel of Reid against her.
For Reid, time stood still as he pressed Heather to him. His need burned deeply, and for the firs
t time in ten years, he knew he wanted someone with his heart and his mind, not just with his body. His desire for Heather flooded him: the desire, encased within something different, gave him the ability to understand what was happening, and to regret it. This was the first time he realized exactly what he had given up ten years ago.
“Heather...” he said again, the harshness of his voice sounding unbearably loud in his ears.
“No!” Heather said as his mouth left hers and he spoke her name. She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud as her hands pulled away from his back. One hand went to his face, to trace along his cheek. The sadness beneath her fingertips told her how much the single word had cost Reid.
She took a deep, shuddering breath as she slowly withdrew her hand. She turned from him and walked several steps away. “You must think I’m terrible,” she whispered, images of wanton women from the stories she’d read paraded through her thoughts.
“You’re anything but terrible,” Reid said as he walked up behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder and watched as one of hers covered it. The softness of her skin and its gentle heat made him swallow several times before he could continue. “I only wish….” he began, again searching for the right words.
“That you didn’t believe in what you believe in? I don’t think you’d be half the man you are if that were the case,” Heather said in a low voice, pressing his hand with hers. Stepping back, she forced a smile to her lips as she faced him.
“Wanna race back?” she asked in mock challenge, fighting away the helplessness of her feelings while at the same time trying to make up for again placing Reid at the disadvantage.
“No, thanks—I don’t like to lose.”
“Chicken!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reid agreed. He gazed at her, watching her face, but was unable to read the expression. He took her arm again and led her back to the horses. As he was about to help her up, he saw Heather grasp the pommel and pull herself neatly into the saddle. Then he smiled, thinking about when he had helped her mount at the stable.
“And don’t ‘Yes, ma’am’ me!” she ordered as she sat proudly on the horse’s back.
Cry Mercy, Cry Love Page 9