“Thank you again,” Gwen said. Heather noted no change in Gwen’s voice and was surprised. Usually when somebody discovered she was blind, they sounded different, more hesitant, as if trying to choose the correct words to express their sorrow. “I bet it hasn’t been easy, running this place,” Gwen added.
“Excuse me?”
“Being a woman, I mean. I grew up on a ranch. Women aren’t exactly a cowboy’s idea of a boss.”
“You think?” Heather joked as Gwen’s words brought a rush of warmth to her and a feeling of instant kinship with her.
The sound of the Land Rover pulling to a stop ended any further conversation. The hard slam of the vehicle’s door told both women about Reid’s mood when he walked into the office. Before he could greet his sister, Heather spoke up.
“Reid, I’ve work to do in the studio. When you leave here, would you call me? Emma won’t be back until later.” Without waiting for a reply, Heather turned to Gwen. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you’ll be around for a few days.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind,” Gwen said softly. Heather smiled at Gwen and then left for her studio. She had started work on a new piece two days ago but was having trouble transferring her idea to the clay. She wanted to try again today, and Reid’s being in the office freed her for a little while.
Walking to her studio, Heather’s thoughts were on her instant liking of Gwen Hunter and on Tom Farley’s strange reaction to Reid’s sister.
FIFTEEN
The slanting sun was just below the window of Reid’s kitchen, where he and Gwen now sat. When they had been left alone in the office, Gwen had begun to tell him why she’d come, but Reid had stopped her. He’d told her he wanted more privacy than the office offered. He’d pointed out his house to her, sending her there to put her things away and wait for him. Then, conscious of her presence on the ranch, Reid had concentrated on paperwork until Emma returned.
Reid gazed warily across the length of the small white Formica table as he tried to field Gwen’s questions. She had always been intuitive, always able to hear the words Reid left unsaid. He had been hesitant in asking her not to mention anything about Broadlands or their past when anyone from the Strand Ranch was near. She had raised one dark eyebrow in question as they sipped their coffee, watching each other.
“Have I ever done anything like that before? We agreed, a long time ago, no one would know about your past. Why are you reminding me?” Gwen asked.
“You’ve never before just shown up at a place I work. I wasn’t prepared.”
“There’s more to it,” Gwen stated knowingly.
“A lot more,” Reid agreed with a flash of white teeth and a flinty-eyed stare that said he wouldn’t go any further.
“You’re different somehow. I sensed it the minute I saw you. You’re more...relaxed,” Gwen said after a second’s hesitation. Gwen’s eyes, as hazel as her brother’s, washed across his face contemplatively. “The dreams?” Reid nodded.
“I still have them, but they’re fading. They’re not as intense anymore, not since—” Reid bit off the last word, suddenly aware he was saying too much.
Reid watched his sister’s eyes plead silently for him to go on. When she realized he wasn’t going to, she shrugged. “Whatever,” she said.
“Why did you come after I told you I wouldn’t go back?”
“Why did you come when I called for your help six years ago?” Gwen answered his question with one of her own.
“Because you needed me.”
“Patrick needs you now.”
“Patrick can go to hell!”
“Along with Broadlands?” Gwen snapped the question suddenly. “My God, Reid, don’t you think I know what Pat is? Don’t you think I know what he did to you—and to me? But what he did not the issue. Our entire past is about to disappear.”
“I thought you didn’t know what was happening at Broadlands.”
“When I spoke to you, I didn’t. Chet was mad at Pat, but his loyalty was still there and he wouldn’t say anything, so I started to check on things.” Gwen paused and stood, drawing herself up to her full five-foot-eleven-inch height. She smiled sadly down at Reid before she went to the stove. She took the coffeepot and brought it back to the table. “Coffee?” At Reid’s patient nod, Gwen filled both cups and set the pot on the table.
“After I spoke to you, I decided to dig into it and find out what was happening.” Gwen took a sip of coffee and stared at her brother for a long moment before continuing. “The problem began shortly after you left. I should have seen it then, but I didn’t. Pat was crazy. I guess he needed to prove that he could do everything on the ranch without you. Broadlands was doing fine—at least, when I left. However, in the last few years things haven’t gone well for him.
“He overstocked when the new FDA procedures went into effect. He wanted to build up prime stock and then make a big-profit sale. Only it didn’t work out. There was an epidemic of hoof and mouth two years ago.”
“I didn’t hear a thing about it,” Reid interrupted.
“It was contained. It effected only three ranches in Albuquerque. Broadlands was the worst. Two-thirds of the herd was infected—the government ordered the rest destroyed for protection.”
Reid paled. The words his sister spoke were the fear of any rancher. He knew without asking what the losses to Broadlands were.
“Pat used every penny he had in the bank to buy new stock and he almost pulled it off,” Gwen said. Reid held his sister’s eyes with his own as he nodded slowly.
“The market fell heavily last year,” he finished for her.
Gwen nodded. “He had to sell. He had no choice. He lost again.”
“I can’t believe it,” Reid whispered.
“Pat sold five thousand acres of land three months ago. That’s what he and Chet fought over.”
“He what?” Reid’s question exploded as the back of his hand slammed into his coffee cup, sending it flying across the kitchen.
“He sold off five thousand acres of Papa’s land, our land.”
“He had no right,” Reid whispered, still feeling the shock of Gwen’s words.
“He had every right. We gave it to him. We both signed the power of attorneys giving him full charge.”
“Not to sell the land,” Reid defended.
“To do anything he wants—that’s not the real problem. The real problem is why I’m here now.”
“What’s the real problem?” Reid demanded, his voice harsh with emotion.
“Pat needs help. He needs you to help him. I think he’s going to sell off more land,” Gwen said quickly, taking a rasping breath before speaking again. “When I was checking on this, I spoke to Mr. Samuels at the bank. He told me he felt odd about setting up the paperwork.”
“He should. Broadlands has supported that bank for over fifty years. Gwen, did you talk to Pat?”
“He told me that once I left I had no say in what he did.”
“He’s right, but he’s wrong,” Reid told her, a sudden smile on his face.
“He must be hurting very badly,” Gwen ventured.
“But not bad enough to break down and call us,” Reid replied, unable to hide the acid that filled his voice.
“For what?” Gwen asked, puzzled.
Reid ignored Gwen’s question for a moment as he chased the idea that had jumped into his head.
“Reid?” Gwen called in a low voice. Reid gazed at her, his mind stowing as the idea fell into place. “Please come back with me. We’ll talk to Pat. He’ll have to face us and work it out.”
“No.”
“Can’t you forget what’s happened? He won’t tell you, but he needs you...us!” Gwen said, desperation making her voice strong.
“I know,” Reid said softly. Not even the relief evident on Gwen’s face could stop the sudden flow of anger his thoughts had brought on. “I’ll go, not you.”
“Both of us.”
“He won’t be able to handle it. He can�
�t face both of us and bare his weakness. I’ll go, not you,” Reid repeated, holding his sister’s eyes with a riveting stare. He waited, unbending, until she nodded her head in agreement.
“You two are so different, yet so alike,” she said.
“I have some work to finish tomorrow. I’ll fly to Albuquerque tomorrow night,” Reid said as he stood and stretched. “There’re some spare sheets in the closet. You, little sister, can make up the couch for yourself. I think I’ve given up enough for one night.”
“Reid, thank you,” Gwen said. Reid saw her moisture-laden eyes and walked over to her, pulled her to her feet, and hugged her tightly.
“I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a little while.”
Heather sat on her front steps, breathing in the cool night air. The summer had not turned as hot as she had anticipated, and there hadn’t been another warm night since the night she’d gone swimming in the pond. She would rather have the cool mountain breezes each night than the hot and arid air that covered so much of the state in summer.
Nearby, blending with yet distinct from the night sounds, Heather heard Polaris’s paws as he ran across the ground. He, too, was enjoying this evening. She heard him stop suddenly, and his low but friendly growl of recognition carried to her ears. Someone he had recognized was outside. Heather wondered if it was Reid.
With the arrival of Reid’s sister Heather knew she would probably not see him tonight. But, that did nothing to stop her desires. A quick smile appeared on her face as she recalled Tom’s vivid description of Gwen Hunter earlier that evening. Gwen Hunter had found a new admirer today; Tom’s voice had held ample proof of that.
“She sure is pretty,” Tom had said, standing behind Heather in the studio. “I’ve never seen a woman who is so tall and who looks so good and walks so smoothly. You know, her eyes are the same color as Reid’s, but with just a bit more green in them. Her face has character—it’s not just pretty, but it’s...I don’t know, but when she smiles, all those laugh lines around her eyes crinkle up and it sure looks good.”
“What’s her neck like?” Heather had asked.
“Her neck? I...er...” Tom had stuttered.
“You’re the one who said it was too nice to break,” Heather reminded him. She heard him shuffle his feet for a moment before he spoke.
“To tell you the truth, Heather, I was just using a figure of speech. She was wearing a lacy shirt with a high collar. I didn’t really see her neck.”
Heather chuckled softly at the memory. Then she started to wonder what might happen if Gwen stayed at the ranch for a few days. She sobered instantly. What would happen between her and Reid if Gwen stayed for a while? Could anything more, or less, happen?
“Heather?” Reid’s voice called. For just a moment, she thought she was imagining it, until she felt Polaris sit at her feet and Reid sit next to her.
“Good evening,” she said softly.
“I need to speak with you for a few minutes.”
“Here?”
“This is fine, or we could walk.”
“I’d like that,” she said as she stood. Her heart screamed for him to take her into his arms. They walked silently in the direction of the corral. Heather, striding between Reid and Polaris, felt tension radiating from Reid as she waited for him to begin. When they were close to the corral, the now familiar sensation of electricity when Reid’s hand took hers and pressed it gently rushed over her skin.
“I’ve got some family problems. I’ll have to leave for a few days,” he told her.
“I’m sorry,” Heather said, ineffectually covering the leaping of her heart.
“It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days, and Tom can handle everything until I get back. Four days at the most,” he added.
A million questions came to mind, but she was still reluctant to break the unspoken rules they had established, even after her afternoon of introspection.
“I’ll miss you,” Heather whispered, struggling amid the sudden surge of emotions the words brought to her.
“Heather.” Reid began as he looked at her, framed by moonlight. He understood everything she had not said and watched as she proudly held her head high. “I’ll miss you, too.”
“Do you love me, Reid?” Before he could answer Heather moved against him, uncaring of any eyes that might be on them, disregarding for once the rules they had established, not caring if he were to draw away. This time Reid didn’t. His lips covered hers and she melted into his arms. Warmth spread throughout her body and mind. After a long, torturous minute, Heather pulled back, turning away as her hand sought and found his. As suddenly as her need to kiss him had come, another need had followed. She needed to talk to him—not about their love, but about herself. She had spent many hours thinking about this.
“Do you like my sculptures?” she asked, again not allowing him to answer her first question.
“Yes,” he said truthfully.
“You know, you’ve really changed the ranch. You’ve made a big difference here.”
“Not that big, not yet. There’s lots more to do.”
“But it’s started. You’ve also made something else possible. My retirement.”
“Retirement?” Reid echoed.
“I learned something today. It’s you who runs the ranch—you, Tom, and Emma. All I do is say yes when you ask something and put my signature on the line when necessary. I’m useless. This ranch is too small for a good foreman and a working owner. I guess that’s why my father never had a strong foreman.” Heather paused for a breath before she went on, and when she did, Reid saw a change on her face. “I’m useless as a rancher. I’ve been thinking about becoming a real artist—not just someone who plays with clay.”
“You are a real artist. You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen!” Reid stated. “I’m glad to hear you’re going to work on your art.”
“Thank you, but I’m just beginning. It takes a lot of work and time to become recognized. In order to do that, I’ve got to work on a collection for a show. It will involve a lot of time, and I just wanted to make sure...” Heather stopped, aware she did not know precisely what she wanted to say. Cursing her foolishness, she spoke again. “What I mean is that, when I’m ready, when it’s time for me to have a showing, I’ll have to leave the ranch for a while, and I...Damn it, Reid, you know what I’m trying to say.”
“I think so,” he replied in a low voice, but he would not elaborate.
They walked for a few more minutes in silence, both listening to the night. Heather’s thoughts reflected again on what she had been thinking during the afternoon at the pond—about her love for Reid and his true feelings. Suddenly her resolve to play by his rules faded further, replaced by a need to know the truth, to find the answer to the question she had asked a few minutes ago.
Heather could not bring herself to repeat the question outright—she was afraid of his answer. When Reid finally turned them in the direction of the house, he spoke.
“I won’t be running away. You go ahead and work on your collection. You’re an artist as much as I’m a rancher. I’ll take care of things for you—you won’t have to worry on that account.” For Heather there was no comfort in Reid’s reassuring words—no comfort, no hope, only a ragged, clawing pain stabbing deeply into her heart.
She whirled on Reid, pulling her hand from his. Her body ached for him, her need was one of desperation, but at the same time, a curtain of ice formed between them.
“No, I won’t worry on that account, Reid Hunter!” she whispered. Each word was sharp and distinct in the now heavy silence that hung over them. Heather stood, unmoving, as the a flood of emotion was released. All her doubts about their relationship rose into her mind. All she could do was wait for Reid to speak.
“I don’t know what I said to make you angry,” he began.
Heather cut off his denial sharply, unwilling to accept his words, but unable to fight him either. “I’m sure you don’t. Good night, Reid—I’ll see you t
omorrow. Maybe then you can try to be honest and open with me.” With those parting words, Heather turned and fled to her house. Her mind was aflame, but she refused to bend to the threatening onset of tears.
Perhaps he didn’t understand, but she couldn’t tell him she had not wanted him to say kind, wonderful words so filled with safety. She wanted him to grab her, to kiss her, to tell her not to go. She wanted to stay with him, here, forever.
But, Reid hadn’t said he loved her, and she knew he wouldn’t. He was a foreman and he wouldn’t cross the line, even for love.
Ascending the three steps to the front door, Heather was so upset she didn’t hear the two tall people who had inadvertently walked out from the office when she and Reid had kissed and watched in amazement the fight for which they had been unwitting witnesses.
SIXTEEN
Heather found no solace in sleep, so before any of the ranch hands had risen she was working in her studio. Her hands moved of their own volition, and for the first time in months, she let the abstract part of her mind take over. The portion of her brain guiding her talent urged her to express and gave her the ability to create. The form taking shape under her fingers was known only to herself, and she was so lost within her endeavors time did not exist.
Heather was unaware of the fatigue filling her body—nor did she notice the hunger her empty stomach warned her of. She was only aware of the clay and of what was happening under her fingers.
She knew if she stopped working, even for a moment, the memory of last night’s debacle would return in full force to destroy the motivation that kept her going.
Heather did not hear her studio door open or even sense Reid’s presence behind her as she worked. He stood there for a moment watching her hands move on the clay, fighting the sadness within him. He wanted to touch her, hold her, reassure her, but he couldn’t. It would be better if he didn’t.
“Heather.” She heard him speak but did not acknowledge him. Her hands continued what they were doing while her mind willed him to leave. She could not speak with him—not yet.
Cry Mercy, Cry Love Page 14