Kate didn't think it would ever end, but two days before, everything fell into place. Cyrus stopped by the house with a bouquet of irises that he claimed came from the same neglected garden, but Kate knew enough about flowers to recognize some very exotic specimens among them. They were beautiful, and she told him so. She didn't, however, say anything about his blatant deceit.
He stood at the end of the counter, chewing on a toothpick, watching her arrange them in the crock. "If you get a match of time tomorrow, you should take them young ones over to where we've got the cattle mustered. It's something to see if you ain't ever had the opportunity. Branding itself might upset 'em some, but tomorrow they'll jest be sortin' the herd."
Kate shifted some of the blossoms to better display their colors, then stood back to view her handiwork. "I can't leave Burt, and with everyone so busy, there won't be any spare help here."
His eyes narrowed in contemplation, Cyrus smoothed down his mustache and moved the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "I expect it would do Ol' Burt some good to get out there hisself."
Kate shot him a slightly startled look. "I'd take him in a minute, Cyrus, but I can't get him in and out of the truck by myself. And I expect everyone will be leaving first thing."
Cyrus nodded, thoughtfully stroking his mustache. "Well, I've been thinking. Since we already fixed up that ramp off the veranda so you can wheel him right outside, we could rig something on top of that so you could jest roll him right up to the truck. 'Course, you'd have to shift him from the wheelchair to the front seat, but he's stronger than he was. He should just about manage that on his own."
She stared at him, suddenly hopeful. "Could we rig something before tomorrow?"
He gave her a wide grin, rolled his toothpick to the other side, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I think we jest might."
Kate didn't say anything to Scotty and Mark. Nor did she say anything to Burt. The boys were bad enough, but she couldn't bear to disappoint the old man. But when she came downstairs the next morning, a second ramp had been inverted on the first, making a straight loading platform. Before she said anything to anyone, she brought the truck around the house and backed up so the passenger door was aligned with the ramp. She wanted to hug Cyrus when she saw how easy it was going to be. At least this end was going to be easy. She would worry about the other end when she got there.
When she rolled Burt out onto the veranda, telling him that they were going to take a little trip, he said that sifting under a tree, watching grass grow, was no damned trip. But when he saw the Bronco parked there, with the passenger door already open and the chaise longue in the back, his mouth started to tremble and tears welled up in his eyes. She had trouble keeping her own eyes dry.
The sun was high over the horizon by the time they got to the mustering area, and heat and dust hung in the air, the din of hundreds of bawling, milling cows creating a pandemonium of noise. Burt, his eyes bright and sharp, explained the network of corrals and holding pens, and how the calves would be separated from the cows.
They bounced along a narrow prairie trail toward a stand of trees overlooking the largest corral, where all the other rigs were parked. Kate parked under a huge old poplar on the side of the hill, then draped her arms over the wheel, watching the action below. The dogs, their tongues hanging out, lay in the grass along the rail fence, intently watching what was going on, waiting for a signal to go to work. Kate reached behind Burt's seat and extracted a container of water. "Why don't you boys take some water down to the dogs? There's an empty ice-cream pail in the back you can use."
Scotty was in such a hurry to get out that he practically fell out of the truck, and Cyrus, who'd appeared between two trucks when they pulled up, picked him up and dusted him off. "Slow down there, sprout. You're going to be here a spell." Handing the water to Mark, he rested his arms on Burt's open window and grinned at Kate. "So you managed to drag this tough old carcass out here after all. You've got grit and fortitude, Miz Quinn. I'll give you that."
She gave him a dry look. "I had a little help from my friends."
He pretended he didn't hear, directing his comment to Burt. "Do you want to stay sitting in there, or do you want to set a spell out here?" He grinned, a twinkle appearing in his eyes. "A little dust on your teeth is probably jest what you need."
Burt opted to sit outside, and Cyrus set up the lounge chair under the tree, covered it with a sheepskin, then helped Kate get him settled. Dragging up an old stump, he sat down beside his old friend, then proceeded to start an argument. Smiling to herself, Kate found a vantage point in the sun that was upwind from the dust. They could squabble and spar all they wanted to; she had come here to watch.
It was powerful country, this open rangeland. Off in the distance the mountains rose up gray and rugged, their peaks still outlined with snow. The past few days of sunshine had transformed the countryside, and the usually barren hills were lush green, the foliage on the trees thick and verdant. Spring flowers bloomed among the prairie grasses, and the smell of silver willow carried sweetly on the light breeze. Just below her a hardy bramble of wild roses showed the first deep pink buds, and she could detect the scent of a few open flowers. There was no scent on earth like it: sunshine, silver willow and roses. She wished she could bottle it and take it home.
The light wind feathered some curls across her face, and Kate turned her face into the breeze and shook her hair back to clear it away. Her gaze landed on a horse and rider entering the corral, and her heart stalled in her chest, the sensation making her go all weak inside. He wasn't riding the bay gelding but sat astride a muscled buckskin stallion.
He rode deep in the saddle, moving to the rhythm of the horse's gait with an easy grace, his shoulders twisted to the side as he rewound his rope. The reins were looped over the horn, and he was guiding his mount with his thighs, and Kate had to close her eyes against the sudden rush of heat that made her lungs seize up and her whole body pulse.
Images and sensations from very, very early that morning skittered through her mind, images of Tanner, hard and aroused against her back, sensations of his fingers massaging her breast, of his hand stroking between her thighs, of pleasure, slow and erotic and consuming, of him slowly, slowly entering her, his hand cupped hard against her when everything exploded into a shattering release. And how hard it had been to leave him, to ease away from him and out of his hold when he drifted back to sleep, how much she missed him when she crept in to the empty bed in the boys' room. It was getting harder and harder to go. It didn't matter whether they made love or not – it felt as if she were stripping half of herself away every time she had to leave his bed and go back to her own.
Feeling as if she'd just got off some wild ride at the fair, she expelled all the air in her lungs and lifted her head, half expecting everything around her to be spinning. A flicker of amusement worked its way free; obviously thinking about Tanner's thighs was out of the question.
Making herself relax, she tightened her grip on her legs, then turned to check on the boys. Mark had found an old piece of rotted rope and was on top of the hill, swinging it over his head. Kate grinned. He'd barely known what a cowboy was until a few weeks ago, and now he was one. The boy stopped and dropped his arm, staring intently at the corral; then he turned and started coming back toward her, still watching the action below. Kate got a funny feeling in her middle when she realized he was trying to copy the actions of one of the riders. It took only one glance to identify who.
The sensation in her middle intensified, and she looked away, her throat suddenly tight. She'd caught glimpses of it before, of her son's quiet, unobtrusive attempts to copy Tanner's actions and mannerisms – to try to be like him. It broke her heart, watching one small boy trying to covertly model himself after the man. Tanner's relationship with the boys was the only dark spot in her life right now. Tanner pretty much ignored them, although she'd caught him smiling a couple of times over their pranks with Burt. And even though Mark might mimic him from a
distance, both he and Scott were pretty much intimidated by Tanner. He was just too big a presence for them.
One of the men standing by the corral swung open the front gate, and Tanner rode through, pausing to speak to Ross, who had dismounted to tighten the cinch on his saddle. With a parting comment, Tanner turned his horse toward the parked vehicles and cued him into an easy canter. She watched him ride toward her, and she stood up and stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, shaking her windblown hair out of her face. He was magnificent on a horse – effortless, smooth, commanding. He belonged there, just like he belonged on the open range. Both by right of his mother's people, and by right of his McCall heritage. She wondered if he realized that.
He reined his mount down to a walk as he neared, and it wasn't until begot closer that Kate realized the horse was testing Tanner's authority with every step. She started toward him, shading her eyes against the bright morning sunlight. She grinned as he stopped beside her. "I like your horse. He looks like he has a mind of his own."
The creases around his eyes deepened as he stared down at her, crisscrossing his arms on the horn. He gave her a warped half smile and answered, his tone dry, "He's Burt's."
Kate broke out in unrestrained laughter. She couldn't believe it. That explained everything.
He continued to watch her, amusement deepening his smile and making his eyes glint. "I'm glad you think it's so funny. I'd like to geld him right about now, except he's the best cow pony on the place."
Expelling the last of her amusement, Kate wiped her eyes, then reached out and stroked the stallion's muzzle. "So you've got a streak of ornery in you' too, huh, fella?"
Tanner spoke, his tone laced with dry humor. "Watch it. He'll bite you if he gets the chance."
Straightening the horse's forelock, Kate looked up at Tanner, a sweet sensation unfolding in her when she saw the way he was looking at her. It wasn't sexual. It was warmth she saw in his eyes – a warmth that was a mixture of amusement and tolerance and affection. That look created such a response in her that it was almost more than she could handle. And she wanted to touch him so badly that it was all she could do to keep her hands on the horse.
A strand of hair blew across her mouth, and Tanner leaned over and lifted it away. Kate's breath caught on a wave of sensations, and she closed her eyes and grasped his wrist.
He rubbed his knuckle along her jaw, then reluctantly pulled free of her grasp and straightened. Kate briefly rested her forehead against his knee; then, drawing a shaky breath, she looked up at him. "I wish," she said, trying to sound cross, "that you would quit doing that to me."
He gazed down at her, that same mixture of warmth and amusement and tolerance lighting up his eyes. "Sounds like you got your tail in a knot this morning. Kinda like old Buck here."
Hooking her thumbs in her pockets, she grinned up at him. "Kinda," she agreed.
He chuckled and straightened, picking up the reins. "I think maybe I'd better go talk to Burt. I could end up digging myself into a lot of trouble around you."
She walked beside him, dragging her feet through the thick tufts of grass. "Just don't let him talk you into sticking him on a horse." She glanced up at him, giving him a rueful smile. "He's going to try, you know."
His mouth quirked. "I know."
Burt was full of orders and opinions and bluster, but Kate could tell by the way he kept wiping his eyes that he was glad to be there, and even more pleased to see his horse. Kate sat on the ground at the foot of Burt's lounge, her elbow braced on the chair, her head propped on her hand. Scotty was throwing sticks for Mac to fetch farther up the hill, but Mark came and sat by his mother, intent on every word. Kate smoothed his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead, then brushed a smudge from his cheek. Mark fidgeted uncomfortably over her mothering, and Kate smiled to herself. None of that baby stuff here.
Tanner never dismounted. He sat hunched in the saddle, his arms resting on the horn, constantly monitoring what was happening below. They were discussing the plans for the following day when Chase rode up, lather dripping off the haunches of the palomino he rode. He grinned down at Burt. "Well, hell, you're here. I was planning on slapping my brand on some of those black calves of yours."
Burt scowled. "Keep your irons to yourself, Chase McCall, or I'll do some branding of my own."
Mark giggled, and Burt shot him a sly look. Kate rolled her eyes. She might as well have three kids. Chase swung down from his horse, lifting off a second rope that had been tied to the back skirt of his saddle. "I saw you up there watching Tanner and trying to get the hang of roping, sport. Figured if you were trying so hard to throw a loop like he does, you need a real rope to practice with."
Mark's face turned pink, and he took the rope without meeting Chase's gaze, his voice barely above a whisper as he thanked him. Kate wanted to hug her son, to shield him from his discomfort, but she knew that would only make matters worse. Needing to give him some reassurance and an avenue of escape, she pulled his hair back from his face. "Why don't you go show Scotty? Maybe there's something up there on top of the hill that you could practice on." Keeping his gaze averted, the boy scrambled up, and Kate watched him go, hurting for him.
She glanced at Chase. He was standing with one foot braced on the edge of Burt's lounge, his arms folded on his knee, the reins held loosely in his hand. He was studying the toe of his boot with a solemn intentness. Experiencing a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach, she glanced at Tanner, and her stomach dropped to her shoes. He was staring at the horizon, his face set in grim lines, and Kate experienced an awful sinking sensation. As if sensing her watching him, he straightened in the saddle, giving her a chilling glance before wheeling his horse around and heading toward the corrals.
A strained silence remained, and Kate glanced back at Chase, who was still standing with one foot cocked on the edge of the lounge, his arms folded across his knee. Only now he was watching his brother ride away, his expression unsmiling, his eyes solemn. Burt clutched at the light blanket covering him, obviously distressed. "You spurred him pretty hard, boy," he said, his voice quavering.
Chase watched the horse and rider, his face set in sober lines. Then he clenched his jaw in a grimace of self-disgust and abruptly straightened, looking like he wanted to hit something. Swearing, he turned, caught the horn and swung into the saddle, then turned. Something let loose in Kate, and she went after him. The lush grass was slick beneath her feet, the slope of the hill threatening her footing, but she finally caught up to him. Stumbling against the horse, she grabbed the bridle. "Chase, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking.
Swearing under his breath, he reined in, then exhaled heavily. Nearly sick with alarm, she touched his hand. "Please, Chase," she whispered unevenly. "What was that all about?"
Finally he looked down at her. He didn't say anything for the longest time, then he sighed heavily and looked away. "Tanner's mother was a trick rider before she hooked up with our old man. She used to perform at some of the smaller rodeos." He paused, the muscles in his jaw flexing; then he continued, his tone harsh. "When Tanner left the Bar M, the only thing he took with him was a lasso that she used in her act. Cyrus told me about it once a long time ago, when he was, falling-down drunk."
She stared up at him, the sick feeling turning to horror. "Oh, God," she whispered, the full impact hitting home. "How could you?"
He held her gaze for an instant, then looked away. "Because I'm a bastard." He paused, then continued, his voice turning gruff. "And because I saw what young Mark was doing up on that hill."
Before Kate had time to respond, Chase rode off, and Kate tipped her head back, her vision suddenly blurring. He had seen Mark up on the hill. He had also seen himself, as he had been so many years before.
* * *
Tanner didn't come home that night. Cyrus phoned up to the house when he got back to the ranch, telling her not to expect him, that he and Ross were spending the night at the camp to keep an eye on the herd. Feeling Tan
ner's absence like a constant weight, Kate acknowledged Cyrus's message. She was just about to hang up when he cleared his throat, hesitated, then told her that Chase wouldn't be up, either, that he was in the bunkhouse getting rip-roaring drunk.
Unable to sleep, she spent most of the night in the living room, staring at Tanner's books. She finally went to bed at two in the morning, then was up again at five, when the first of the neighbors rolled in. She knew that Cyrus was feeding everyone breakfast, and she stood at Tanner's bedroom window, hoping she would see his truck among the others that arrived. Ross showed up, but Tanner didn't. And Kate couldn't get that last image out of her mind, when he'd given her that hard, cold glance and ridden off.
The only thing that provided her any kind of respite was that Burt was worn out from his outing the day before and slept most of the day. And the boys seemed content to build roads for their Dinky toys in the old garden.
It was nearly ten o'clock in the evening when the Circle S rigs started pulling into the yard. Kate had a sickening feeling that Tanner's wasn't going to be among them, and she was right. She finally went to bed at midnight, listening to the boys' even breathing in the other bed, wondering where the two McCall men were, wishing that Tanner would come home. Feeling miserable and alone and very, very guilty, she finally fell asleep.
The sound of a vehicle rolling to a halt on gravel brought her sharply awake, and she stared into the darkness, her heart suddenly pounding frantically in her chest. Let it be Tanner, she prayed silently. God, please let it be Tanner. The sound of a truck door opening came in through the open window, then she heard a quiet command to one of the dogs, and the door closed.
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