Hugging herself to ease the ache in her chest, she looked at him, her voice steady. "No," she said with quiet certainty. "I won't."
Tanner stared at her for a long time; then finally he straightened and spoke, his voice gruff. "I'll see you in the morning, then." He made it as far as the archway, then turned and indicated the laundry basket. "Does that go up?"
Affected by his thoughtful gesture, Kate had to swallow before she could answer. "Yes."
Holding it under one arm, he picked a book up off the counter, then cast her one final glance. "Go to bed."
Biting her lip against the increasing fullness in her throat, Kate nodded. "I will."
She finished tidying up the kitchen, checked on Burt one last time, made sure the night-light and the intercom were on and then she, too, went up to bed. But as tired as she was, she couldn't sleep. She had too many things racing around in her mind, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't shut her brain off. She could see the digital readout on the clock radio on the dresser, and she watched the numbers change from 12:43 a.m. to 12:44. She shifted her gaze.
Lying on her side, her hand under her cheek, she watched the curtains billow and furl in the light night breeze, considering the fact that they were the only curtains in the whole house. She saw the fine hand of the Hutterite ladies in this – in the simple lace curtains, in the plain Shaker-styled, hand-crafted furniture in her room, in the large handmade tufted floor mat by her bed. Tears trickled down the side of her nose, and she wiped them away. She could just envision it – Tanner asking the ladies to fix up a room for the woman who was coming to look after Burt, trying in the best way he knew how to make her comfortable. It made her feel so desolate inside, that aloneness she sensed in him, and the meanness that had made him that way. She wondered why he had been targeted the way he had, and what had happened to make him withdraw into such a solitary shell. She wondered why there was such bleakness in his eyes when his guard was down. Tanner McCall's white squaw.
That recollection triggered a churning in Kate's stomach, and she abruptly sat up, pressing her forehead against her knees. Twenty-eight years. He'd been living like this for twenty-eight years. Locking her arms around her knees, she stared into the darkness. He must have been little more than a boy when he'd come to the Circle S Ranch, and she wondered why he'd done it. She knew that Burt's grandfather had settled in the area when he was a young man, and she knew that Burt had never marred. And she also knew that the old man loved Tanner like a son.
Resisting the unrelenting ache in her throat, she wiped her face against the sheet, then rested her cheek on her knees and watched the curtains move, thinking about what a paradox life was. She felt more emotionally entangled with Tanner McCall after ten short days than she had with Roger Quinn after ten long years. God, he made her feel things, made her want things, made her ache inside, and she sensed such a terrible, terrible loneliness in him. He made her think of an old song about a man wanting to change his lonely life, about wanting to know where love was. She could hear the melody, could hear the poignant words in her head, and she closed her eyes, fresh tears slipping from beneath her eyelashes. Two desperately lonely people – and a huge, gaping chasm in between. God, he made her feel so sad – and so alone.
Lifting her head, she wiped her face on the sleeve of her pajamas, her heart skipping a beat when she heard his door open. Not moving a muscle, she listened, hearing the creak of the third stair. Burt. She wondered if something was wrong with Burt.
Scrambling off the bed, she rooted through the bedding for her housecoat, stuffing her arms into the sleeves as she opened her door. Soundlessly, she headed for the stairs, dread making her stomach knot. Please, God, please, please don't let there be anything wrong with Burt. Reaching for the banister, she stepped onto the first stair, her stomach falling away to nothing when she heard the distinctive beep of a computer booting up. Gripping the banister, she pressed her other hand over her eyes, emotion filling her chest and nearly strangling her. She didn't want him getting up because he couldn't sleep. She didn't want him downstairs by himself. She didn't want him doing balance sheets at one in the morning. She didn't. But there was a line she had no right to cross. And it had nothing to do with him being her boss.
Poised at the brink of doing something incredibly foolish, Kate stared down the dimly lighted stairs; then, collecting her resources, she turned and went back to her room. She had her own ghosts to fight. With her own life in such a mess, how could she even think about wanting to do battle with his?
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
The sun was warm on Kate's back, the grass was finally turning green and the breeze carried the smell of spring. Just that morning, she'd found some daffodils blooming in a flower garden that had gone wild on the east side of the house, and the boys had brought her some crocuses yesterday. Burt fretted about the two blizzards that had hit southern Alberta that spring, and he fretted about it being such a cold, late season, worrying about the summer graze for the cattle. Kate realized that most of the fretting was because he was house-bound and that, for the first time in his life, he was unable to check the crop of new calves. She was hoping that now it had warmed up, she would be able to get him outside once in a while. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so removed from everything.
"Well, now, Miz Quinn. You could end up in Saskatchewan, with the wind and that sheet and all."
Kate finished pinning the wet sheet on the clothesline, then turned, the wind whipping her hair across her face. Holding it back, she squinted against the bright sunlight. "Good morning, Cyrus. Great day, isn't it?"
"It's a fine one, all right." He nimbly caught the trailing end of the last sheet as she lifted it out of the laundry basket, waiting for her to get it under control before he stepped away. The wind caught it, sending it flapping as she clipped it to the line; with the wind and the sun, the sheets would be dry in minutes, and smelling like heaven when she brought them in.
"You're looking a mite tired. Ol' Burt giving you a hard time?"
Kate's hand froze on the line; then she stuck on the final clothespin, her insides settling into a lump. Schooling her expression into a casualness she didn't feel, she turned. She forced a smile as she unhooked the bag of clothespins from the line and dropped it in the basket. "No, not at all. He doesn't give me any trouble at all." Remembering that her two kids and Burt Shaw were on their own in the house, she gave a little grin and amended her statement. "Well, hardly any trouble. My kids will do anything he tells them – and a few things he only suggests. All in all, it keeps things interesting."
Cyrus chuckled, shaking his head. "Ol' Burt's a hard man to keep down. Few years ago – he must've been, oh, seventy-four, anyway – anyhow, he got throwed from a horse and broke his leg. Bad break, too. He took the cast off hisself and was back on a horse in about ten days. Wrapped enough duct tape around it to choke a horse – said that was all it needed, tape and liniment."
Kate laughed and picked up the laundry basket. "I think I should have asked a few more questions before I took this job." Raking her hair back off her face, she looked at the cook. "There's a fresh pot of coffee on. Would you like to come in for a cup?"
"Sounds fine." He fell into step beside her, holding open the gate for her. "But I didn't jest come up here to scrounge a cup of coffee. Thought maybe you'd like to head to town for an hour or two. Figured I could get out the cribbage board – see if that old coot remembers how to cheat."
Kate stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked at him, considering his offer. It wasn't that she wanted to go to town; it was that she needed some things she wasn't about to put on any grocery list. "I'll have to check with Tanner first and make sure it's okay with him."
Cyrus looked directly into her eyes. "It was Tanner who suggested it. Said you're putting in some long hours, and he figured you could do with a break." Cyrus climbed the steps leading to the back porch, then held the door open for her, "We'll be moving out to the
south cattle camp tomorrow. There's over a thousand head of cattle to move afore branding, and with corrals and holding pens to get fixed up, we're going to be running thin around here for the next week or so. Tanner's going to be ramrodding the cattle camp this year, so you're going to be pretty much on your own as far as Ol' Burt's concerned."
Tanner was going to be heading the cattle camp this year – the implication being that he didn't usually. Kate experienced a rush of guilt. It had been two nights ago that she'd confronted him. He hadn't moved down to the bunkhouse, but he was still eating his meals with the men, and now he was moving out to the cattle camp. She was beginning to wish she hadn't said anything.
Realizing that Cyrus was watching her, she managed a smile. "There are a few things I'd like to pick up. A trip to town sounds great."
"Fine, then. Let's jest go tell Ol' Burt he's gotta get his wits about him."
Setting the laundry basket on top of the washer as she passed, Kate entered the kitchen. She took one look, closed her eyes and slapped her hand over her face. She should have known better than to leave them alone for fifteen minutes.
Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she raised her head, thinking things no mother should ever think about her own children. Mark Andrew and Scott Allan had Burt – and his bed – halfway out of his room, with Scott pushing, Mark pulling and Burt waving instructions with his cane from the comfort of his bed.
Ignoring the chuckle she heard behind her, Kate took another deep breath and jammed her hands on her hips. "All right. What's going on here?"
Mark, looking hot and sweaty, straightened. "Burt needs to be by the kitchen windows. He says he can see the barn and corrals from there, and he can tell if everyone's doing what they're supposed to be doing."
Scotty rubbed his nose on his sleeve and nodded. "Yep. That's right, Mom. That's what he said."
Burt folded his hands on his cane, looking as ferocious as possible, the foxy glint in his eyes ruining the image of a sick old man. She glared at him; he glared right back at her. "Don't stick your nose up at me, woman. And don't you interfere with these here boys. They're doing what they're told, and that's more than I can say for some."
Kate stared at him, her hands still on her hips. Burt continued to stare at her. She didn't dare let him get away with it. "If you don't quit pulling stunts like this behind my back, I'm going to take the wheels off everything in this house." Her tone became more pointed. "You could have simply asked, you know. You didn't have to turn it into some sort of cloak-and-dagger campaign."
Burt gave her a huffy look. "The lads were following orders."
"The lads should know better." She looked at Mark, releasing her breath on an exasperated sigh. "You'll have to move the table. You're going to shove it through the wall if you don't."
Giving them all one final stern look, she headed for the living room and marched up the stairs. She went into the bathroom, shut the door and gave in to the nearly hysterical urge to laugh. God, the next time she was apt to find them on the road to the barn, pushing and pulling and Burt waving his cane. It took her three starts down the stairs before she had a grip on herself – if they ever found out that she'd been upstairs laughing, they would turn her life into a living hell.
By the time she entered the kitchen, they had the chairs and table moved, and Cyrus was helping them with Burt's big easy chair. He flashed her a twinkly look and smoothed down his mustache, his face poker straight. "Where do you want this broken-down thing put, Miz Quinn? In Burt's room where the bed used to be?"
Not daring to look at him, she waved to a space along the wall between the kitchen and living room. "There will be fine," she said, her voice quavery.
The boys moved the footstool and lamp, casting worried looks at her. Kate clamped her teeth together. If she started laughing in front of them, she would never, never, be able to call her life her own again.
By the time they had Burt situated in front of the window and the electric motor of the bed plugged in, Kate was pretty much back in control. As she straightened his sheets under him and fixed his pillows so his head was supported, he watched her, his bright blue eyes twinkling with a sparkle that made her insides go all soft. "You're a good woman, Kate Quinn," he said, his voice gruff.
Kate's throat got tight, and for a minute she thought her eyes were going to fill up. God, but she loved this old man.
She finished tucking the blankets under the mattress, her voice catching a little when she was finally able to answer. "You're not so bad yourself, Burton Shaw."
In the end, the boys balked at going to town, wanting to stay with Cyrus and Burt. Kate had some reservations about leaving the two of them behind, but Cyrus insisted that he'd wrangled wilier colts than them and had always been able to outsmart 'em. Burt retorted that the only thing Cyrus had ever outsmarted was himself, which didn't count for much. Cyrus said Burt might as well shut his trap, 'cuz he wasn't going to get into a battle of wits with a man who was unarmed. Kate decided it was a match made in heaven.
The drive to Bolton was an eye-opener for Kate. Her only trip over the road had been on the night that Tanner had picked her up, and that journey had left her with an impression of hills and curves, but little else. The hills offered spectacular views, and the curves skirted picturesque little ravines, rocky outcroppings and stands of coniferous trees. To the east she could see the bleak and barren rolling hills of open rangeland, but here, caught between the barren hills to the east and the rugged, majestic Rockies to the west, was some of the most beautiful country she had seen in along, long time.
Cyrus had warned her about Bolton. Located to the north along the secondary highway, the town was situated on a plateau of land above a fast-running river, the mountains creating a breathtaking backdrop. Kate knew that during the years of active oil exploration in the province, Bolton had boomed as an oil town. In a weed-infested lot, she spotted a relic from the past, a rusty derrick lying like a prehistoric skeleton in the hot sun.
Leaving the highway, she turned onto the main access road that took her into the center of town. Huge poplar trees lined the wide, paved streets, and the sidewalks in front of the businesses looked new. Small – a population of around a thousand, according to Cyrus, with not much to offer but a cold beer on Saturday night and a fair-to-middling Chinese restaurant – it was not quite the poky town she'd been led to believe. Besides the hotel and the Chinese restaurant, there were several small but thriving businesses – all the ones she'd expected to see in a small ranching town, and some she hadn't, such as the quaint little teahouse on the corner. Quiet and clean, the town gave Kate a feeling of durability and timelessness.
After having driven around to get her bearings, Kate parked the Bronco and headed down the main street, stopping in at the small drugstore to get the things she needed. The clerk was pleasant, and two of the other customers went out of their way to speak to her. A friendly little town, or so it seemed. She recalled the comment Tanner had made about the narrow-mindedness of the people of Bolton. After seeing the town and meeting some of its inhabitants, it seemed oddly out of whack. Why would anyone in a town this size care one way or another about what was going on at a ranch twenty miles away?
Deciding not to think about that night with Tanner, Kate took her parcel back to the truck, then decided to go for a little stroll to check out the shops. Absently fingering the dime in her pocket, she thought about her own situation. She felt a little more secure now that she'd seen the town. It was small enough not to be one of Roger's targets, and it was big enough that a stranger like herself didn't stick out. Maybe fate had treated her kindly this time around. Spotting a small beauty salon squeezed between the post office and a small appliance repair shop, Kate waited for a pickup to pass, then crossed the street. Maybe she would be able to get an appointment to have her hair cut.
Half an hour later, with her hair trimmed to a manageable shoulder-length bob, Kate decided to check out the library she had spotted when she'd drive
n through town. Feeling more carefree than she had for a very long time, she rounded the corner, startling a huge raven from the gutter at the side of the road. The bird also startled her, and she stopped and watched it take flight, its wings snapping. It was the simple act of watching the bird gain altitude that altered her line of sight, and she saw it, her stomach giving a funny little skip. The Bruce T. McCall Sports Arena.
She stared at the huge lettering, trying to rationalize away the funny sensation in her abdomen. She recalled the comments from one of the drivers, about how it was going to rub salt in a few people's saddle sores when Tanner took over the Circle S.
The arena wasn't a new structure. Far from it. It was in excellent repair, but Kate guessed it to be at least thirty years old. Dragging her attention away from the huge lettering, she tried to dispel the sensation in her belly. She was making mountains out of molehills. McCall was a common enough name; there were probably a dozen of them listed in the phone book.
Determined not to look at the sign again, she gripped the strap of her shoulder bag and started walking. Tanner McCall's white squaw. Unsettled by the memory and driven by something that went beyond simple curiosity, she abruptly turned back, entering the video store she'd just passed.
Sticking a smile on her face, she approached the teenager behind the counter. "Could I borrow your phone book for a minute, please?"
The young girl smiled and reached under the counter. "Sure can."
Feeling a little foolish, Kate flipped it open, hoping for something that would dispel the uneasy sensation in the pit of her stomach. One McCall – B.T., with two numbers. Closing the book, she slid it back across the counter. Inhaling unsteadily, she forced another smile. "The sports complex across the street – the Bruce T. McCall Arena – who's it named after?"
The girl gave Kate a shy and slightly embarrassed smile. "I don't know all that much about him – he's pretty old now but he owns a ranch around here, and a big auction mart somewhere. He donated all kinds of stuff to the town." She gave Kate another embarrassed smile, making a self-conscious gesture with her hand. "Mrs. Kerby at the library knows all about him. She's kind of the town historian."
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