Feeling suddenly lighter, Kate did as she was told. He had to be at least sixty-five, with the quick, lean build of a man of action, and sharp, intense eyes. Stripping off his towel apron, Cyrus waved Tanner into a chair, as well. "You may as well park that ugly butt of yours, boss. No sense in standing there looking all hangdog." He returned with a handful of cutlery, three steaming cups of coffee, a pitcher of cream and a pan of cinnamon buns. He set them down in front of her, then reached for a chrome napkin dispenser and a bowl of sugar from the lazy Susan. "Help yourself. 'Fore Tanner gets his sticky mitts on 'em."
Kate shot an amused glance at Tanner. He'd doffed his hat and hung it on the ladder-back chair next to him, and he was watching the cook with barely disguised disgust. Managing to keep a straight face, she glanced at Cyrus, who was breaking apart the steaming buns with two forks, the melting icing making Kate's mouth water. Somewhat belatedly, she responded to his welcome. "It's good to be here."
"Damned good to have you. Ol' Burt's been almost more'n Tanner could handle." Plopping the buns on individual plates, he gave her a penetrating stare. "Two boys, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, where are they?"
Tanner answered. "They're outside with the dogs."
"Well, jest bring 'em here later for some of these here buns."
Licking the icing off her fingers, Kate swallowed her first mouthful of the roll. "They'll like that."
Tanner shook his head when Cyrus started to shove a bun toward him. "I want you to show Kate where everything is, and I'd like you to take her through the storeroom, as well."
"Will do." Cyrus rested his arms on the table, giving his employer a pointed stare. "I hope now that you got some help up at the house, you're going to lighten up some."
The silence could have been cut with a knife. Clasping her hands around her mug, Kate avoided looking at anyone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tanner set his mug down. He didn't say a word; he didn't have to. Kate could feel the chill from two seats away.
Cyrus stared right back at him. "You can stare all you want. I ain't going to drop it. You've been holed up in this valley for twenty-eight years. Time to make some changes."
"Just show Mrs. Quinn around," Tanner snapped, shoving back his chair and standing up. Sweeping up his hat and settling it on his head, he gave his cook one final glare. "And make sure she knows the rules."
The slam of the outside door rattled the windows, leaving a strained silence behind.
Unsettled by the confrontation, Kate nervously wiped her fingers on a napkin, feeling as if she'd been privy to something she shouldn't have.
Cyrus heaved a heavy sigh, slowly shaking his head. "That boy's been up to his armpits in the swamp so long, he don't even know the alligators are all dead."
Kate folded her hands around her cup, not sure what to say, or if she should say anything at all. The silence finally got to her and she spoke, feeling compelled to defend him. "I imagine he has a lot of responsibilities with a ranch this size."
Cyrus's voice was gruff with emotion. "It ain't what is I'm worried about, Miz Quinn, it's what ain't."
A shiver sliding down her spine, Kate stared at her cup. Cyrus's comment made a frightening, disconnected kind of sense to her. It wasn't what she'd done that terrified her; it was what she hadn't done that scared her to death. And that was why she was here; she needed space to collect her resources while taking that final step.
The old man's tone was gruff with kindness when he spoke again. "Don't let Tanner get you down, Miz Quinn. He's ten times harder on hisself than he is on any of us." Disconnecting from her own disturbing thoughts, Kate looked at him, managing a polite smile. "I expect it will take us all a while to settle in."
Cyrus gave her a sly grin, "Oh, I 'spect you'll settle in right nice, Miz Quinn. You're going have Ol' Burt eating out of your hand in no time."
Kate shifted her gaze. It wasn't Ol' Burt she was worried about.
* * *
Chapter 3
«^»
Rain spattered against the window, the heavy skies filling the room with gloom. Kate cleaned carrots at the kitchen sink, listening to the sounds from Burt's room, monitoring the irritability levels in her sons' voices. It had been overcast and rainy for the past two days, and she was waiting for the boys to explode with boredom. The last time they'd had a chance to burn off any steam outside was on Wednesday, the day they'd gone down to the cook house to meet Cyrus. Granted, they'd run themselves and the dogs ragged. Cyrus had dug out an old wagon he used in the garden, and they had spent the rest of the afternoon building a fort and taking wild rides down the hill. They had burnt off so much energy and had such an overdose of fresh air that Scotty had fallen asleep at the supper table. But two full days of being cooped up inside was about their limit before they started tormenting each other. Today was the third.
She heard Burt say something and Mark answer, then heard them change the TV channel. Thank God for Saturday-morning cartoons and the big satellite dish beside the house. With a hundred and some channels, maybe they would keep the lid on things for a while longer, then she was going to throw them outside, no matter how wet they got. Tossing the carrots into the container, she turned on the tap and filled it with cold water, smiling to herself. She couldn't believe they had Burt Shaw in there watching "Sesame Street
." But then, there were a few things she couldn't believe – like the fact that the two of them had smuggled their bubble blowers into his room and turned it into one big bubble factory. She wouldn't ever have found out about it if she hadn't heard both Mark and Scotty giggling and known, as sure as she lived and breathed, that they were up to no good. Burt, in that cranky tone of his, had told her to get of his room and mind her own business. The boys had loved it.
The back door slammed, and Tanner entered the kitchen carrying a large plastic bag, his long oiled canvas slicker beaded with rain, dark splotches marking the wide brim of his hat. She recalled Cyrus's comment about him being harder on himself than he was on anyone else; with those grim lines around his mouth, she didn't doubt it for a minute. He looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Setting the bag on the table, he swept off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, then put his hat back on, careful to avoid her gaze. "Here's that sheepskin you wanted for Burt." Drying her hands on her jeans, Kate went over to the table and took the pad out of the bag. She thought it was unusually large until she opened it and realized there were two. "This is great. Where did you get them?"
"There's a place just outside of Calgary." For the first time since Wednesday, Kate caught a glimmer of amusement in Tanner's eyes. "He's not going to be too happy about this."
It was also the first time in two days that he'd met her gaze dead-on, and Kate experienced an unnerving flutter in her middle. Nervously fidgeting with the skins, she severed the contact. "Yes. Well…" Feeling very self-conscious, she smoothed her hand over the carded wool, then made an awkward gesture. "Thanks. It really will make him more comfortable." Sensing his gaze still on her, she turned to go, the flutter in her middle climbing up into her chest.
She stopped in the bedroom doorway, looked at the ceiling and heaved a weary sigh. Not again. This time they had made colorful paper chains and fans and hung them from the rigging over Burt's bed. And balloons. Balloons she remembered them saving from the school carnival. It looked like some sort of cheap bordello. Scott was lying on his stomach at the end of the bed, his head propped in his hands, and Mark was sitting beside Burt, the channel changer in one hand and the controls for the bed in the other. No doubt giving Scotty rides during commercials.
Burt gave her his best, bossy stare. "You can just turn yourself around and hightail it outta here. We ain't doing nothing, so there's no need to be looking at us like that."
Mark gave her his best angelic look. "Hi, Mom."
Scotty didn't even bother saying anything. He just gave her an absent wave.
Before Kate could
get one word out, both boys got wide-eyed looks of alarm on their faces and immediately scrambled over the safety rails and off the bed. Burt glared at a spot over her shoulder. "And you can just cart your ugly hide out of here, Tanner McCall. You'd think this was Grand Central Station, the way people keeping coming and going in here."
His wide, fearful eyes fixed on Tanner, Scotty reached for Mark's hand, a flicker of defiance in the angle of his chin when he stammered, "Os-Oscar was having a birthday party on TV, and Burt said he never had one. So we decorated his bed."
When Tanner didn't respond, Kate did. "Fine. You'll have to move, please. I want to put this sheepskin under Burt so his back doesn't get sore."
Burt gripped his quilt, giving her a hostile look. "You ain't coming near me with that thing. The only good sheep is a dead one, and I'm not having no sheepskin in my bed."
Kate felt as if her patience had just run dry. Just once she would like things to be normal. Just once. She peeled the quilt out of Burt's hands. "This is a dead one, Burt. And, yes, you are having it in your bed."
Scotty shot Burt a worried look, then leaned over and whispered a warning. "You better not argue when she gets that look, Burt," he instructed urgently.
Mark tried to assure the old man. "It is a dead one, Burt. A dead one will be okay, won't it?"
His size accentuated by his hat and the oilskin duster, Tanner entered the room, his expression perfectly still. He looked like a gunslinger in that outfit. Pushing around the other side of the bed, he ended the discussion when he dropped the rail and picked Burt up, blankets and all. There was an odd tone to his voice when he said, "I wouldn't put up a fight if I were you, old man. I think the lady means business."
Burt glared at him but only made a disgusted sound when Kate spread the sheepskin on the bed, then fluffed up his pillows. Once she had the bed arranged, Tanner laid Burt back down, then stood with his hands on his hips as Kate tucked the bedding back under the mattress.
Knowing from experience that the less she said right now, the less she would have to regret later, Kate picked up three dirty glasses and some scraps of construction paper and marched out of the room, keenly aware that she had developed a splitting headache in the past five minutes. Both her sons and Burt deserved to be spanked.
Tossing the paper in the trash for the burning barrel, she put the glasses in the dishwasher and shut the door with more force than necessary. Why did everything have to turn into some kind of sideshow around here? Why?
"I take it you have a three-party insurrection happening here."
Kate jumped and clamped her hand over her breastbone. Lord, she hadn't heard him come into the kitchen, and she hadn't realized he was standing so close behind her. Inhaling carefully, she turned, a blush climbing up her cheeks when she saw the glint of amusement in his eyes. She had the uncomfortable feeling that his amusement was directed at her. "Yes, well…" What could she say? He'd seen the utter chaos with his own eyes. It was a wonder he didn't fire her on the spot.
He stood with his weight on one hip, his thumb hooked in the pocket of his jeans, the duster pushed back. And she could feel him watching her. Folding her arms tightly under her breasts, she made herself look up at him. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, the angle making him look distant and unapproachable. And solitary. Very, very solitary. His absolute stillness, his steady, level gaze, his unsmiling expression, did funny things to her insides – things that didn't make any sense – and she looked away, nerves making her heart race. She wondered what lay hidden beneath that inscrutable exterior.
There was a long, unsettling pause, then he spoke, his voice roughened. "I made an appointment with the principal of the elementary school in Bolton for Monday morning. I figured you'd want to get Mark enrolled right away."
Alarm shot through her, and Kate reacted, her gaze swiveling to his. Experiencing the first cold fingers of panic, she stared at him, trapped in her own omission. She should have foreseen this. She should have dealt with it as soon as she got off the damned bus. All she could do now was tell him a portion – a small portion – of the truth. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Mark was so far ahead of the rest of his class that his teacher already passed him." Experiencing a rush of panic, she tightened her hands, her voice strained when she forced herself to go on. "There are only six weeks of school left, so I thought I'd give him a long break – and give him a chance to settle in here."
Tanner studied her, his eyes narrowed in a gauging, speculative look. He didn't say anything. Unnerved and anxious, Kate stared at him, afraid to take her next breath.
He dragged his thumb across his chin, his gaze cool and analytical, his eyes never leaving her. Finally he spoke, his tone a little too quiet, a little too edged. "Tell me something, Mrs. Quinn. Do you have legal custody of your boys?"
Feeling as if her knees were going to buckle, she leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes, her heart hammering heavily in her chest. She had never expected him to ask that. Never. But it was one question she didn't have to evade. This one she could answer truthfully. Feeling shaky inside, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. "Yes," she whispered, her voice breaking on emotion. "Yes, I do."
He stared at her for a moment, then reached down and took the bag with one hand. "Was he ahead of his class?"
"Yes."
He raised his eyes and looked at her, his face expressionless, the steadiness in his eyes making her think of a hunter's eyes, the angles of his face accentuated in the gloom. He was so still, so very still.
He held her gaze a moment longer, then picked up the receipt that had fallen out of the bag. Folding it in half, he stuck it in the breast pocket of his shirt. "Tell Burt I'll check in with him later. There are a few things I need to talk to him about."
Suddenly cold, Kate huddled in the warmth of her sweater. "Okay."
Tanner gave her one final glance and turned. Just then the back door opened and Cyrus called out, "Tanner? You in here?"
"Yeah."
"Hell's bells, it's rainin' cats and dogs out there." The cook came through into the kitchen, slapping his hat against his leg to knock the rain off. "The farrier's here. Wasn't sure what horses you wanted done and couldn't find Ross."
Tanner picked up a set of keys that had been lying on the counter and stuffed them into his jeans pocket, then turned up the collar on his coat. Another young man, his upper arm immobilized against his chest in a Velcro restrainer, followed Cyrus in, and Tanner shot Cyrus a questioning look.
The cook gave him a level stare. "I brought Buddy up here to set a spell with Ol' Burt. Figured I'd take Miz Quinn and them two boys down to see the new pups."
There was a long pause as Tanner stared back at him, then he spoke, his voice flat. "Then make sure they don't get in the way. We've got five horses that need to be shod, and Riley will be working in the barn."
Cyrus's chin came up, and his eyes narrowed. "Well, now," he retorted, his voice thick with sarcasm. "It's a good thing you told me that, Tanner. It's not like some old wrangler could figure that out for hisself."
Giving the cook a disgusted look, Tanner snapped a clasp on the front of his coat and headed for the door. Embarrassed by the byplay, Kate pretended she wasn't there, wishing heartily that it were true. It hurt that Tanner expected the boys to get in everyone's way, to be a big annoyance. She sighed. She had to be fair. There were times when they were annoying – very, very annoying – but she had already warned them that they were never, never to go in the barn unless they were told to do something or if she was with them.
"He jest gets a burr under his saddle now and again, Miz Quinn. Them two tads could get hurt bad down there, especially if no one was watchin' out for 'em."
Kate looked up at Cyrus, wishing that he'd talked to her first before setting off her boss. "I don't think this is a good idea—"
"Horse puckies. Ain't going to put nobody out." He turned to the young man. "You go on and settle yourself in there wi
th Burt. You can stretch out on that cot in the corner if yer arm's paining you some." He looked at Kate. "Buddy here dislocated his shoulder a couple of days ago – old bronc decided to peel him off the hard way." He strode across the kitchen. "Hey, you boys. You wanna go see some pups?"
Kate winced when she heard someone fall off the bed, then the two boys came boiling out of the room, wild excitement lighting up their faces. "Puppies? Real puppies?"
Cyrus chuckled. "As real as they get."
* * *
Kate loved the rain, and she loved being outdoors. It didn't matter if it was cold, or if the sky was so overcast that the clouds shrouded the valley. She knew she wasn't going to be able to get out that often, so she was determined to enjoy it when she could. The boys' jackets were all-weather with hoods, but she'd had nothing appropriate. Cyrus had found a yellow slicker, which covered her from her neck to just about down to her toes, and he'd jammed one of Burt's Stetsons on her head to keep the rain off her hair.
The barn was down the hill from the house, sheltered from the winds that Kate knew would howl in from the northwest in the winter. The boys ran ahead, the three dogs trying to bounce up on them, and Scotty's laughter carried clearly back to her. Squinting against the rain that caught in her eyelashes, she smiled and stuck her hands in the pockets of the slicker. In spite of everything, this was going to be a good place for them.
The farrier was already at work in the barn, shoeing a big bay gelding that was cross-tied in the alley between the long rows of box stalls. The horse had a white blaze on its face and bright, intelligent eyes, and Kate knew enough about these animals to know this one was a fine piece of horseflesh. As soon as the boys walked up to him, he dropped his head and nickered into Mark's outstretched hand. Mark thought he had died and gone to heaven.
BEYOND ALL REASON Page 5