"Thanks, Miss," the young woman was saying. She was practically doing a tap-dance in her excitement. "C'mon, Jimmy, or we'll be too late. Wild mustangs! Yee-hah!"
Jimmy closely shadowed his girlfriend, who threw open the screen door and fled outside.
Blue eyes lit with laughter, Annie spun toward Chase, her straight chin-length black hair sweeping her broad cheeks. "Such enthusiasm makes everything we do worthwhile, doesn't it?"
He sucked on another mug of strong black coffee despite the growing heat of the day. "The horses are what's important."
She gave him a reproving look. "Anyone who loves them are important, too."
"Especially anyone who loves them as much as you do," he said agreeably.
This was the third year in a row that Annie had volunteered her whole summer vacation to run the office and to deal with the tourists, the last being a task Chase had abhorred. During the rest of the year, she was a remedial reading teacher, working with some of Phoenix's roughest high school kids. Of average height, slim and cursed with a baby-face (her words), she seemed a whole lot younger than her thirty-one years, hardly the type Chase had figured for being able to handle gang members. But that was before he got to know her.
Annie Sabin was strong-willed, tireless, and had a way of manipulating people into doing what she wanted.
Downhill, a good-natured "All aboard!" caught his attention. Buck Duran was rushing toward the truck, his limp becoming more pronounced the faster he went.
Shame stealing through him, Chase quickly shifted his focus back to Annie. "Buck's not going out with a full load. How far down is our count?"
"Actually, the numbers are up overall. First thing this morning, we had so many people show, I had to add two extra tours to accommodate everyone. I took one of them out myself. It seems the news of Doc's death has been a boon to business." Annie threw herself into a seat opposite him and poured herself a mug of coffee from the insulated carafe. Her eyes melted into his when she said, "Crummy that something so rotten had to happen to make business pick up."
"Sensation seekers. They probably hope the tour will take them to the spot where Doc packed it in."
"Maybe we should figure out how to take advantage of the situation, though," Annie said, even if she sounded reluctant. "If we put our heads together, I'll bet we can come up with some ideas."
Chase hated having to open the refuge to nosy tourists at all, but he knew they were an economic fact of life if he was going to keep the place running.
"We could talk about it over dinner," Annie suggested.
Chase knew Annie hated to eat alone. Her being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no friends for a whole summer had to be hard for her. And she was trying to be helpful as she'd been through all the recent difficulties. Still, taking advantage of anyone's death was repugnant to him.
"I don't know, Annie."
"Consider the horses. Remember how important they were to Doc," she said, touching his hand. Her eyes were filled with compassion when she said, "I'll bet he would approve of turning a tragedy in our favor."
Chase said, "Let me think about it," though he didn't figure he'd change his mind.
"Great." She grinned. "I'll run into town for some steaks."
Not wanting to dwell on anything so dark, Chase rose. "I've dawdled long enough." Though in reality, he'd read the outline on applying for a new grant before leaving his cabin earlier. "I'm going out to work perimeter fence in the far north pasture with Merle."
"In this heat?"
"Do I have a choice?"
Especially since they had to repair fencing that had collapsed. He didn't know when it had happened exactly. Merle had spotted the downed posts only late yesterday, but considering they rarely checked the far sanctuary fence other than when moving the herd to fresh pasture, the problem could be weeks old. An opening that size would be an invitation for a number of the mustangs to wander off the property... if they hadn't already done so.
Someone would have to check the herd as soon as the repair was finished. Several someones including himself if he wanted the count done efficiently and accurately.
But first, the fence.
Hoping the physical effort would blunt his frustrations at trying to make a go of the place, he left the porch, rounding the corner to get to the water spigot on the side of the building. There he filled a large thermos, grabbed another of coffee that Annie left on the stoop for him, and jumped into his Bronco. He took off down a side road closed to tourists that cut across the property.
Chase paid no mind to the ruts jolting him, nor to the dry dust swirling around and into the open vehicle. Used to the discomfort of ranch life, he sped toward the red cliffs on the other side of Bitter Creek, slowing only to ford the ribbon of water that was barely a few yards wide and little more than a foot deep at this crossing. A good-sized carp did a backflip in the air away from the vehicle.
Soon he was winding around hills, traversing a canyon, continuously achieving higher elevation until he was atop the undulating plateau. To the east, a band of mares grazed on black root grass. Ears twitching at the sound of the approaching vehicle, they lifted their heavy heads and stared, then seeing his truck – a familiar sight – one-by-one they resumed munching.
He took a deep breath and felt some of his muscles unknot. They were what it was all about. Taking responsibility for the tough little feral horses that no one else wanted gave his life meaning.
When they'd arrived on the refuge, they'd been scrawny, ribs poking at their hides. Worse, they'd been despondent, having spent months or years crowded into feedlots. Seeing their sides filled out with flesh, knowing they were healthy and comparatively content if not as free as they once were, gave worth to his daily struggle.
This good health was due in part to Oscar Weber's generosity in donating his services. Poor Doc. His mind wandered back to the funeral.
Kate Farrell.
He remembered how Kate had stared at him...almost as if she'd never gotten over him. Ridiculous, considering how long it had been.
Old guilt washed through him. And something else. Something more immediate.
Despite the familiar ponytail – her near-futile attempt to confine that wild red mane of hers – and the freckles nearly hidden by her tan, Kate was all grown up. And she'd developed into quite a woman, he thought, voluptuous curves softening her athletic build, wide mouth and full lips equally feminine.
A mouth he'd once kissed.
And, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't put Kate's dazzling green eyes from his mind. For a moment, he'd felt lost in them. Their intensity. Their depth. The memories they forced on him.
Determined, Chase forced his mind away from the woman he couldn't have.
Overhead, soaring on an air current, a hawk wheeled with its wings spread wide. The Bronco passed under the bird and picked up speed.
A few minutes later, he spotted Merle Zwick, the hired hand who was as adept with horses as she was with fencing or plumbing or replacing glass in a broken window. Hard work had added muscle to her tall and wiry frame encased in ripped jeans and a sweat-soaked white T-shirt.
As she set a post in a newly dug hole, she yelled, "Hey, boss, you finally rolled outta your bunk!"
Removing her Stetson, her hand protected by a heavy leather work glove, she wiped the back of a deeply tanned bare arm across her forehead. Strands of light brown hair that had escaped her long braid glued themselves to her damp face.
He cut the engine and jumped out of the truck, and fetched the thermos of water. "Thirsty?"
"That filled with beer?"
Merle knew he never took a drink any more. He kept the joke going. "Sure is. Cold and foamy."
"Mm-mm. Let me at it." Slapping her hat back on her head, she freed him of the heavy thermos. "I ran out a while ago." She lifted the spout to her mouth, guzzled some water and smacked her lips. "Never tasted better."
He noted that she'd staked the locations for the new posts along the entir
e length of downed fence, nearly fifty feet worth, but had only managed to drill a few of the holes so far. Not having been on site to see the damage before this, Chase crouched and inspected part of the old wood that was rotted in places.
He couldn't tell what had spelled the fencing's death knoll, though he figured the wind could be capricious enough to do the job. So could a herd of frenzied mustangs – Doc's death being uppermost in his mind – though he saw no sign of it. The recent rains had done a good job of obliterating whatever clues the earth might have held. Still, fencing didn't go down easy, not this much of it, not before anyone could notice, even if they didn't patrol the north border regularly.
How weird.
Too many weird things going on lately, not the least of which was Doc's death.
Shaking away the edgy feeling that not knowing for sure gave him, he rose. "How's it going?"
"It'll go a lot faster now that the real expert at digging post holes is here," she said, her flippant remark setting off a memory that could still make him cringe.
Her quirking eyebrows and flirtatious smile were automatic. Despite the bits of the old nightmare flashing through his mind, Chase gave way and grinned.
Razzing a man, any man, was just Merle's way. Always had been. A handsome rather than a pretty woman, she'd nonetheless never lacked for male attention because of her boldness, though he also knew that men used her rather than taking her seriously as she deserved. He had to watch himself not to get too close.
As for the post hole digger...he couldn't avoid it.
"You get behind the wheel of the tractor, and I'll deal with the shaft."
He never let anyone else near the hydraulic power shaft when he was on the job. How dangerous the equipment could be was too vivid to forget.
"You're the boss. Nothing like watching a big, strong man working with heavy machinery."
"Showtime," he muttered, getting started.
For the next couple of hours, they worked together efficiently, their rapport almost surprisingly easy.
Merle was one of the few residents of Bitter Creek Chase felt comfortable being around, maybe because she'd come from a background similar to his own. She, too, had been "trailer trash" to the town's finer citizens. She'd been without a father, and her mother had had the reputation of being a "loose" woman.
"Hey, boss, did you hear the one about the hooker with the heart of gold?" Merle yelled over the noisy machinery. "She used the Wall Street Journal to set her prices."
Chase groaned, though he enjoyed Merle's occasional spicy jokes because they kept him amused despite the drudgery of the work. Concentrating on the job, he suddenly realized Merle was yelling at him.
Chase yelled back, "What?" and turned to see what she wanted.
Only to face his past up-close and personal.
Kate Farrell had been an incorrigible kid, and in her faded jeans, red cowboy boots, turquoise shirt, and unruly bright red hair haloing her striking features and a dogged expression aimed directly at him, she appeared wilder than ever.
As untamed as the mustangs on this raw land.
As a teenager, he hadn't properly appreciated her potential, but as a man...
Merle suddenly cut the power to the tractor. For a moment, the stillness made his ears hurt.
And then Kate's lips parted, mesmerizing him. "Chase. It's been a long time."
Gut tightening at the sound of her voice, the melodic tone tempered with deserved sarcasm, he forced out the only return he could manage.
"What the hell do you think you're doing out here?"
Chapter Two
Kate started as if Chase had slapped her. Though she'd been unsure of the kind of reception she was in for, she certainly hadn't expected this. Then, again, Chase had always been rude when he'd felt cornered, and from his wary expression, Kate realized she somehow had the upper hand.
"The woman in the office told me where you'd be, of course," she said sweetly.
"Didn't Annie mention that the back road is off limits to tourists?"
"I'm not a tourist, Chase. I'm an experienced veterinarian," she told him as if he didn't have a clue. Knowing Doc, he'd probably bragged on her every chance he got. "I was thinking of helping out until you find someone to take over for Doc, but if you're not interested, I certainly don't want to waste your time."
She spun toward her pickup, ponytail swinging, but was stopped cold mid-stride when Chase hooked onto her arm. Giving his gloved hand a filthy look, she maintained that mien when she lifted her eyes to meet his. He immediately let go, raised both hands and backed off.
"Let me get this straight," he said. "You're volunteering your services."
"If I like what I see." She deliberately flicked her gaze over him.
That Chase was grimy and sweaty didn't detract from his appeal. His damp work shirt clung to his torso, clearly defining the musculature developed by hard work. His jaw line was hard, too, even more so than it had been when he'd been younger, a mere promise of the man he'd turned out to be. Natural interest curled through her, tough to ignore.
But she certainly tried, saying, "I wouldn't want to get involved in anything... unsavory."
Kate swore Chase flushed under his dark tan, and if she weren't so angry with him, she might feel guilty at the purposeful dig.
Twenty years ago, she'd been warned about Chase Brody's unsavory reputation, one mostly inherited from his father Vernon rather than being self-earned. And yet he'd made a point of telling her himself as if he'd been trying to scare her off. Not that she'd ever paid any mind to ugly gossip. That most of the upstanding residents of Bitter Creek had considered the Brodys trailer trash didn't mean spit to a young girl with a mind of her own. Even then, she'd formed her own judgments about people.
Though more often than not, Chase had been as truculent with her as he had been with anyone else, she'd liked him. She'd trusted him. Worse, she'd fallen in love with him.
Sheer lunacy on her part.
But that was the past. She knew him now. No chance that she'd be fooled again.
Realizing they had the full attention of the woman on the tractor, Kate forced a smile. "Hey, Merle." Though Merle had a couple of years on her and had hung out with a different crowd growing up, they were acquainted.
The other woman's gaze narrowed. "Kate."
She glanced at the downed fence. The refuge must really be short-handed if repairs were let go for so long. "Looks like you have quite a job for yourself."
"I'm not complaining."
Chapter Three
THE NEXT MORNING, Kate attended church with her family and came back to the Farrell Ranch for a late breakfast, a Sunday tradition. She still loved the sprawling ranch house she'd grown up in, though she didn't feel as if she belonged there anymore – one of the reasons she'd turned down her parents when, upon her return to Bitter Creek, they'd suggested she move in with them until she could find something more suitable than the cramped quarters behind the practice.
The smell of coffee and eggs, sausage and potatoes led them straight to the kitchen where the heavy, scarred wooden table was laden with enough food for a bunkhouse full of starving cowboys. The housekeeper had outdone herself before leaving to spend the day with her own family.
They'd barely started passing platters of food when Neil announced, "Skelly called last night."
Pouring herself a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, Kate's ears pricked up at the mention of their Chicago cousin. She'd spent some time with Skelly and his half-sister Aileen while attending a professional conference in the big city. And, of course, she caught his afternoon magazine show, The Whole Truth, every so often.
"There's nothing wrong?" she asked, hoping all was well with their Uncle Raymond, their mother's triplet brother whom they'd never met.
"Skelly's getting married today to Rosalind Van Straaten, heiress to Temptress."
Kate gaped. "As in the hair products and cosmetics company?"
"The same."
&
nbsp; "And he didn't have the good taste to invite his own first cousins," her father said, handing a plate of sausages to Neil. "Obviously, family means little to him. Isn't that just like a McKenna."
"The wedding is very small, a last minute thing," Neil explained. "As a matter of fact, it's a double ceremony. Our Irish cousin Keelin was visiting in Chicago when she met the love of her life – a man named Tyler Leighton, and --"
"Her father will be thrilled, I'm certain," Charlie interrupted in a harsh voice. "His Irish daughter marrying an American of all things, and, if the name tells, a Protestant to boot."
"Charlie, perhaps James has mellowed," Rose said of her other triplet who'd never left his native land.
"Leopards don't change their spots."
Kate exchanged a knowing look with her brother. A familiar argument they'd heard for too many years. Their father was unbending when it came to his opinions about their mother's family. And he did have good reason.
Rose's brothers James and Raymond had forbidden her to have anything to do with Charlie Farrell, a Protestant visitor to their country. When Rose hadn't complied, had insisted she meant to marry her beloved Charlie despite their wishes, her brothers warned her never to darken the McKenna doorstep again. In turn, Rose had wished for her brothers the same unhappiness they wished for her.
Shortly afterward, Kate knew, James and Raymond's falling in love with the same woman caused a further rift in the family. Raymond won Faye O'Reilly's heart and carried his new bride off to America, only to lose her giving birth to Skelly. And James married on the rebound, his marriage suitable if not exactly a love match. She'd gathered the details from reading Mom's letters from her own mother, Moira.
"Anyhow," Neil was going on, "Keelin and her groom will be driving west for their honeymoon, and she wants to meet everyone." He looked straight at Kate when he said, "Especially you."
That surprised her. "Why especially me? What in the world did Skelly tell her?"
"You'll have to ask her when they get here – possibly late Tuesday. She'll call again when she's more certain of their arrival time."
The McKenna Legacy Trilogy Page 42