He paused, his jacket scrunched in his good hand, his shoulders stiff with tension. After a moment he turned, his expression solemn as he ran his thumb across the tape on his bandaged hand. Finally he shook his head. "No," he said, his voice husky with strain. "I don't want you to leave."
Letting her breath go in a rush, Kate closed her eyes, a thousand feelings speeding through her. And every one of them was tied to Tanner McCall. Waiting for the awful fullness in her chest to ease, she swallowed and opened her eyes. The archway was empty. She hugged herself, the ache spreading. God, she hadn't known she could want anything as much as she wanted to have him hold her.
* * *
The clouds were turning indigo and crimson when Kate finally rolled onto her back, the bedding crumpled and twisted from a long, sleepless night. She looked toward the window, the sky turbulent with heavy clouds, the first rays of dawn burnishing their undersides with a vibrancy of color. Her eyes gritty and her head throbbing, she shoved away the covers and got up, shivering slightly as she went to the window and pushed back the curtain.
Lord, it was a sight, this big, endless sky, the indigo and crimson shades now slashed with fingers of orange, the bottom edges of the dark clouds kissed with gold. The trees along the ridge stood in a ragged silhouette, the rain from the night before leaving the air clean and fragrant.
She stood at the window for a long while, watching the colors fade and change; then she rubbed her arms and turned back to the bed, reaching for her housecoat. It was too early to use the bathroom up here. She would wake the boys for sure, and she needed the absolute stillness, the solitude, of a silent house.
After she'd showered and dressed downstairs, she went in to check on Burt and found him lying on his back, one bony hand curled around the top of the quilt. His mouth was open, and he was snoring slightly, a thin trail of spittle at the corner of his mouth. Gently wiping his chin, she tucked the covers around his shoulders, then quietly closed his bedroom door, not wanting to wake him.
She had just put the coffee on and had everything assembled to make baking-powder biscuits when she heard the shower in Tanner's room. Going still, she stared down at her hands, then picked up the pastry cutter and began working the shortening into the flour mix, her insides knotting. She wondered if he would be leaving for the cattle camp first thing, or if they would all pull out later in the day. And she wondered how long he would be gone. She dumped the dough out on the counter and began working it. She didn't even want to think about what it would be like with him not there.
She had the biscuits in the oven and ham and cheese diced for an omelet by the time he came downstairs. He paused at the door, surprise registering on his face, then he dropped to the floor the canvas duffel he was carrying. "Good morning."
Kate noticed that the dressing was gone, replaced by a wide adhesive bandage. She pasted on a smile. "Good morning. I was going to make myself an omelet. Would you like one?"
He hesitated, then began rolling back his cuffs, his expression set. "An omelet sounds fine."
Kate set about preparing his breakfast, her pulse leaping into overdrive when he came over to the counter and got himself a cup of coffee. He was so close that she could smell the soap on his skin, and she closed her eyes, the surge of awareness nearly overwhelming her. Lord, but he was big. And male.
Forcing herself to disconnect from the feelings warring inside her, Kate looked away and took a deep, steadying breath. She wasn't sure whether she could get through this without coming undone altogether.
She busied herself at the counter while Tanner ate his breakfast, the silence between them thick with undercurrents. Knowing she couldn't avoid the situation without making him wonder, she took her own breakfast to the table, certain she wasn't going to be able to swallow a bite. But she was halfway through her omelet when Tanner pushed his plate aside and rested his arms on the table, his expression somber.
Finally he looked at her, his gaze shuttered. "If you need to get hold of me, use the cellular phone number. We might have some dead spots in coverage depending on where we are, but you'll get me eventually. Buddy is staying behind, and Ross and a couple of others will be riding in and out from here, so you won't he completely on your own."
Kate nodded, something in his face making her pulse race. Tanner watched her for a moment longer, then dropped his gaze and lifted his mug, the silence suddenly strained. Her insides churning with uncertainty, Kate looked down at her plate.
Tanner set his cup down. "I've left some cash in the top drawer of the desk, in case you need anything, and I left a message on Doc Casey's answering machine, so he knows what's going on." There was a pause, then he looked at her, a grim expression compressing his mouth into a hard line. "And I'm going to talk to the hands about the situation with your boys. I don't want any carelessness about strangers showing up."
Her stomach reacting, Kate abruptly set her fork down, her expression frozen as she stared at him. Of all the things she might have expected from him, this was not one of them. Realizing he was watching her with a steady, unreadable look, she gave herself a mental shake and looked away, her pulse suddenly uneven. She didn't know how to respond. Or what to say. She hadn't meant to drag him into her mess. Feeling as if she'd misused him in some way, she looked up at him, sickened by the fact that he had misconstrued her intent. "I'm not worried about the boys, Tanner," she whispered unevenly. "That's not why I told you."
Tanner stared at her, the expression in his eyes darkening, the muscles in his jaw tight. Finally he spoke, his voice strained. "I know."
Her heart suddenly hammering, Kate gazed back at him, the clamor in her chest making it hard for her to think. He did know. Maybe more than she wanted him to. Unsettled by that thought, she dragged her gaze away from his, needing to be absolutely honest with him. "I feel perfectly safe here," she said huskily. "And I don't want the men having to be responsible for us."
"They are responsible for you. As of today."
Kate looked up at him, caught off guard by the glimmer of humor in his eyes. She didn't know how to respond. The glimmer deepened, and suddenly the knots in her stomach relaxed. She gave him a warped smile, her tone dry when she responded. "No doubt they'll be thrilled."
It happened again, that disarming, sensual, intimate smile that did unbelievable things to his eyes and even more unbelievable things to her insides. The smile held, the creases around his eyes deepening, the glint in his eyes turning her heart to jelly. "No doubt," he allowed.
Smiling back at him, she fell victim to the sparkle of amusement, to the glimmer of intimacy that she saw in his eyes. Oh, yes. She could very easily care for this man. So very easily. Burt wasn't going to be the only one who was going to feel his absence the next few days.
Flustered by that random thought, she dragged her gaze from his, her pulse erratic. She had to stop doing that – letting her mind wander – or she was going to end up in very big trouble.
She heard his chair scrape back, and she looked up, experiencing a sinking feeling. He pushed his chair back against the table, then lifted his mug and finished off his coffee, his shirt stretching across his shoulders. He set the cup back down, then picked up some papers lying by his plate. "You be sure and take a cellular phone if you're out on your own. I don't want you stuck out in the middle of nowhere if you have car problems."
Experiencing an unexpected awkwardness, Kate rose, shoving her hands in her pockets. "I will."
He stared at her for a moment; then, sticking the papers in the breast pocket of his shirt, he turned and picked up his duffel bag. Anxiously fingering a safety pin in her pocket, she followed him to the utility room, an awful hollow feeling settling around her heart. She didn't want him to go. And it made it even harder, knowing why he was leaving. She felt as if she were driving him out of his own home.
He paused in the utility room and lifted his hat off a hook, then settled it on his head. Adjusting the brim, he turned to face her. "Buddy's going to the city today, and
he'll be picking up a portable intercom, so you have some way of monitoring Burt."
She met his gaze, her own solemn. He looked so tired and serious, so somber. She thought about the joyless existence he'd had, of never having anyone to love or comfort him, of always being separate and alone. It broke her heart just thinking about it.
He held her gaze for a moment, then he looked away, his profile tense. "If you need anything, let me know," he said, his voice gruff. "I'll check in when I can." He finally raised his head and looked at her, his expression desolate, something in his eyes making her heart contract.
Lacing her hands together to keep from touching the tension lines around his mouth, she swallowed hard and nodded. His expression cast in harsh lines, he collected his slicker, and with it clasped in one hand, along with his duffel bag, he pushed open the screen door. Shifting everything to his good hand, he glanced at her, his gaze dark and unreadable, then he turned and stepped outside. Catching the screen door so it wouldn't slam shut behind him, she watched him go down the back steps, her heart climbing higher in her chest. Lord, she didn't want him to leave. But what made it even worse was that she had a feeling that he didn't want to leave, either.
It was not a good start to what turned out to be a bright, sunny morning. Trying not to think about how empty the house felt, Kate launched herself on a make-work program, determined not to let that emptiness turn into something more. By the time she got Burt bathed and settled, and the boys fed and shipped outside, she had managed to cram everything back into perspective – at least she thought she had, until she walked into the living room.
She rarely spent any time in there. It was somehow Tanner's reserve, and she always felt as if she were trespassing when she went in. But as she entered the room, her gaze was drawn to the rows and rows of books lining two walls. Setting the vacuum down, she stared at them, remembering what Rita had told her about how the kids had made fun of Tanner in school. When she thought about the kind of childhood he'd had – the abuse, the neglect, the emotional poverty, the sick, twisted existence he'd been forced to endure – it was a miracle he'd even survived. She thought about what the mortification must have been like, going into junior high and being unable to read. God, each and every day must have been an agony of dread. And now he had amassed literally hundreds of books.
Drawn by some internal need, Kate started idling her way along the bookshelves, noticing for the first time the titles and content of the volumes. There was everything – books on astronomy, geology, world religions, two whole shelves on history and biographies, books on archaeology and anthropology, two sets of encyclopedias, one very recent and one several years old, rows and rows of National Geographic and three shelves of classics. But the most significant were the literally dozens of volumes on American Indian tribes and cultures, with a good portion of those focusing on the Plains Indians. Kate touched the worn bindings, her expression sobering. A man in search of his roots.
Straightening, she let her gaze sweep down the full length of shelving, a funny feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. This encompassed a lifetime of self-education – and a lifetime of shame. The result of a childhood of humiliation and loneliness. Disquieted by that realization, she moved slowly along, cataloging the vast collection of knowledge before her. She came to the sound system and paused, then crouched down and opened the set of doors beneath it, a funny sensation unfolding in her when she saw the collection of albums. She stared at them, the hollow flutter moving to her stomach. In all the time she'd been there, she had never once heard the stereo on, not even at night, after she'd gone to bed and he was working late.
She opened the next set of doors and found custom-built pull-out trays specifically designed for CDs. Dozens and dozens of CDs. Kate stared at them, her insides tightening into a painful knot. She hadn't realized just how guarded he was until now. How very little he gave away. He left no part of himself unprotected, even his love of music. And because of her presence, he'd denied himself this pleasure rather than open himself up for any kind of speculation.
Roughly closing the unit, she stood up, a chilling anger building in her. If she ever got her hands on Bruce McCall and his social-climbing wife, she would strangle them both.
Going to stand before the windows of the sun room, she stared out, a terrible emptiness settling inside her. That feeling was compounded when she recognized the rig heading toward the main road. It was Tanner's truck, hauling a six-horse trailer. She watched, trying to will away the ache that was growing around her heart. She knew he was leaving because of her. Because of what people would say. He had a lifetime of experience to draw from. His aloneness, his wariness, created such a vast hurt in her that she could barely stand it. He so desperately needed someone to show him what love was. Hit by a rush of emotion, Kate locked her jaw against the awful constriction in her throat. She had never realized until this instant, as she watched him leave, how much she wanted that someone to be her.
* * *
Chapter 7
«^»
It was the fourth night of steady rain since Tanner had left. Unable to sleep, Kate stood in the darkened kitchen, watching the rain batter the growing pool of water beneath the power pole, the illumination from the yard light blurred and indistinct. It was late, and the only sounds were the wind-driven rain lashing against the windows and the scraping of the lilac branches along the west side of the house.
Drawing her robe around her, Kate stuck her hands in her pockets and stared out, loneliness pulling at her. It was a bad night for feeling lonely. For some reason the rain seemed to intensify the feeling of isolation, of being separated from those who mattered.
Folding her arms, she rested her shoulder against the window frame, the emptiness expanding in her. She knew why she couldn't sleep. She was waiting for Tanner to call. He had checked in regularly for the first two days, just brief calls to make sure everything was okay, but he hadn't called today. And the longer she waited for the phone to ring, the more alone she felt, so aware of his absence that she was left with this huge hollowness in the middle of her chest. She wondered where he was and if he was cold and wet. She knew – logically, she knew – that the cellular coverage in this area was spotty; he'd told her so more than once. But on a night like tonight, logic didn't cut it. She just wanted to know he was somewhere dry and warm.
A sharp jangle behind her broke the silence, and she turned and picked up the phone before it had a chance to ring twice. "Hello."
There was a hiss of static, and the gruff, male voice seemed to come from a long way off. "I'm sorry it's so late, but we've been moving cattle, and I've been out of range up until now."
She could hear both the frustration and the weariness in his voice, and she wished he wasn't so far away. "Don't worry about it. I was up anyway." Tightening her hold on the receiver, she closed her eyes against the sudden ache, her voice very husky when she spoke. "It sounds like you've had a long day."
She heard him heave a frustrated sigh. "And it isn't over yet." There was a static-riddled pause, then he spoke again, his tone gravelly. "It's getting pretty ugly out here. We're breaking camp and moving the herd to a more sheltered location. If all goes well, Cyrus and a couple of the other hands should be home sometime tomorrow." There was another pause, then he spoke again, his voice clearer, as if he'd shifted the phone closer to his mouth. "How are things there?"
Wishing she could ease the weariness in his voice, Kate shifted the receiver, trying very hard to keep her tone light. "Wet. I think you could float a canoe in the north pasture."
There was a hint of amusement in his voice when he answered. "I don't doubt it." He hesitated, then spoke again, his tone gruffer than before. "You'd better warn the boys to stay away from the creek, Kate. With the spring runoff and all this rain, it's going to be pretty wild."
Kate stared off into the darkness of the kitchen, loneliness making her voice catch. "I will."
She heard him exhale heavily, and the weariness was bac
k in his voice. "I'll try to check in tomorrow, but I can't promise anything. We're going to be heading into the back country."
Sensing the desolation in him, Kate drew a shaky breath. Needing to reach out to him in some small way, she tightened her grip on the phone, the thickness in her throat growing. "Take care, Tanner," she said, her voice uneven. "And stay safe."
There was a long, static-filled pause, then Tanner answered, his voice gruff. "Call if you need anything. Okay?"
"I will."
Kate listened until she heard the disconnection; then she closed her eyes and clutched the receiver to her chest. Five minutes on the phone with him weren't enough. Not nearly enough. Feeling more alone than ever, she reluctantly replaced the receiver, the empty feeling expanding. He sounded so tired and so alone.
"Katie? That you?"
Raking her hair back from her face, she straightened, then turned toward Burt's bedroom. "Yes, Burt. It is."
The night-light by his bed cast his room in a soft amber glow, and the sound of the rain rattling against the windowpanes was heightened by the wind. He shifted his head to met her gaze, his voice slurred with sleep. "Was that Tanner?"
Lowering the rail, she pulled the covers up, then sat on the edge of the bed. "Yes, it was."
"Where is he?"
Realizing that the old man's hands were cold, she warmed them with her own as she relayed her conversation with Tanner. Burt watched her, his eyes sharp. When she'd told him all there was to tell, he tightened his bony fingers around hers. "Did he say when he'd be home?"
She gave him a small smile. "No, he didn't."
He stared up at her, watching her with an intentness that belied his illness. Finally he spoke, his voice gruff. "That boy's like family, you know."
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