High Country Baby

by Joanna Sims

  “I’d rather not ride in the rain,” she told Clint.

  He rode up beside her with Easy trailing behind him. “Your call.”

  “How long do you estimate we have before the storm hits?”

  “Two hours—three tops.”

  They agreed to get two hours of riding in and make camp ahead of the looming storm. She had built in several nontraveling days to enjoy the scenery and give the animals a rest. Perhaps it was time to take an early break to let the weather front move through.

  They made camp just before the rain came. She hadn’t expected it, but she managed to talk Clint into joining her in the tent under the guise of not wanting to be lonely. He didn’t know that she loved her alone time, and she didn’t intend to share that fact with him.

  The inside of her tent seemed much smaller now that Clint had joined her. He had to hunch his shoulders forward so there was some room for the top of his head.

  “Make yourself at home,” she teased him.

  His hunched shoulders were tense, his legs were half bent, half stretched out, and he seemed to be completely uncomfortable in her little temporary world. He smiled at her and she actually thought that she saw a hint of teeth.

  “You mind if I play?” He took his harmonica out of his pocket.

  “No.” She lay back. “I like it.”

  Clint played a soft, haunting tune while the rain tapped out a rhythm of its own on the canvas roof of her tent. She closed her eyes and unintentionally fell asleep.

  When the rain stopped, Clint stopped playing the harmonica. Taylor was asleep—he didn’t see any reason to awaken her to help him finish setting up camp. He unzipped the tent flap and stepped out onto the wet ground. Before he zipped the flap shut, he stared at Taylor. She had slowly started to gain his respect; she had prepared herself for this trip, and other than attempting to make the trip alone, she was a woman who made smart decisions. He was a man—he glanced at the generous curve of her breasts beneath the material of her shirt before he closed the flap of the tent behind him.

  * * *

  Taylor rolled onto her back, her eyes opened slowly. It took her a little bit to get her bearings—she was alone in the tent and her bladder was full. When she emerged from the tent, she saw that Clint had already set up the rest of the camp, tended to the horses and Easy, built a fire.

  “Sorry.” She joined him at the fire after relieving herself. “I fell asleep.”

  Clint shook his head and handed her a plate with fish reheated from the night before.

  He waited for her to finish before he smoked a cigarette.

  “Do you mind?” She pointed to the tequila bottle next to his leg. He didn’t bother to hide his nightly routine of drinking a healthy portion of the alcohol.

  He looked surprised but untwisted the cap and handed her the half-empty bottle. Taylor didn’t bother to wipe off the lip of the bottle before she took a swig, coughing in spite of her best attempts not to when the clear liquid burned her throat. He took the bottle back from her and she watched him, through watering eyes, take several consecutive swallows of the tequila.

  “How do you do that?” she asked him thoughtlessly.

  He put the bottle away. He was running low and he needed to conserve the rest. After one last draw on his cigarette he flicked the butt into the fire and blew smoke out of his nose.

  “Practice.”

  She laughed. The sound of her own laughter sounded good to her ears. There was a time that she loved to laugh—she used to laugh frequently. Years of trying to get pregnant without success, years of passing Christopher in the hallways of their childless house, years of meeting with attorneys and divorce proceedings and dividing property had taken a toll on her spirit—eroded her confidence.

  “Do you mind a personal question?”

  His hand moved upward in a gesture of consent.

  “What happened to your back?”

  His brow furrowed in thought, then it occurred to him that she was asking about his scar.

  “I was gored by a bull in Boise, Idaho.”

  He smiled a little at the shock that registered on her face.

  “I’d been riding bulls since I was a kid, so I should’ve been able to get out of his way. But that one got the better of me.”

  “How did you even survive something like that?”

  “I almost bled out by the time they got me to the hospital,” Clint recounted. “I didn’t get back on a bull for six months.”

  “Six months? I can’t believe you ever got back on one.” She shook her head in wonder. “Are you retired? Or just on a break?”

  “I got some money things I gotta clear up first—then I’ll be back at it. I think my knees got a couple more goes left in ’em.”

  “It must be nice to know exactly what you want to do,” she said aloud, even though she really meant to only speak the words in her head.

  “I’d think someone like you had it all figured out.”

  “Someone like me?” she scoffed. “On that note!” She stood up. “Do you think we’ll get more of the same tomorrow?”

  “Naw.” Clint tipped his hat back on his head so she could see his eyes. “Should be blue skies.”

  “Then we’ll make up some time. I had a spot picked out to spend a couple of days, but we’ll have to push it a little tomorrow to make it, I think.”

  She had already figured out the little movements he used to respond. A slight nod of his head was a confirmation for her plan.

  “Okay—good night, Clint.”

  “Night, Taylor.”

  There was a roughness in the way Clint said her name—it was unlike anything she had heard before. It was so compelling that she almost stopped and turned toward him to see the look on his face. The way he said it, like silk against sandpaper, made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She liked it—probably more than she should have.

  * * *

  Two days later, they reached the spot where she planned on staying for several days and truly taking in the beauty of the Rocky Mountains—the wildlife, the foliage, the majesty. She wanted to be able to take it all in without feeling as if she was on a schedule. Would she be able to find the answer for the next phase of her life hidden in the mountain peaks? She had resigned from her position at the bank, walked away from the only career she had known for over a decade. For the first time since she was a young woman, she was functioning without a net.

  “I’m going for a hike.”

  Taylor had awakened feeling refreshed and ready to explore the area surrounding their new campsite on foot.

  Clint was checking his horse’s hoof. He let the horse’s leg go and gave the buckskin a pat on the haunches.

  “You planning on goin’ off alone?”

  “Yes.”

  She had become accustomed to having Clint around. She had been able to embrace the good of having a man on the journey with her. But her increased comfort with the man didn’t change the fact that this journey was about rediscovering herself—self-reliance, rebuilding self-confidence. There had to be some time that the only person to rely on was the one she looked at in the mirror.

  “Do you know how to use that gun or is it just for show?”

  There was a decidedly chauvinistic tone in his question. The challenge had been issued.

  “I’ll make you a wager that I’m a better shot than you.”

  The look on Clint’s face was better than she could have predicted. He tipped the brim of his hat up so he could get a better look at her face. In his deeply set grayish-blue eyes, she saw a mixture of disbelief and admiration.

  “Lady—I ain’t got nothin’ to bet but two cigarettes and my last bottle of liquor.”

  “Loser—i.e., you cook dinner. I like how you cook freshly caught fish.”

/>   Clint laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that made her smile in response. “You don’t have to give me nothin’ when you lose—I’m shootin’ for my honor.”

  They set up targets.

  “Ladies first.” Clint tipped his hat to her.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Clint made a big show of backing away from her when she pulled her gun out of the holster.

  “Worried?” She unlocked the safety with a small smile.

  “Always, when a woman has a gun.”

  Clint watched closely while Taylor took her shots. He was looking for comfort with the firearm, safety and skill. He had to admit that he saw all three. She might be a city, socialite kind of woman, but she knew her way around a revolver.

  “Five out of five,” Taylor announced proudly.

  “Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” She reloaded her weapon, turned on the safety and holstered it. “Please.”

  Clint took his turn and scored four out of five.

  Taylor clapped her hands together and gave a little jump. “I won! Wait—did you lose on purpose?”

  Clint holstered his gun. “I never lose on purpose.”

  The cowboy took losing to her more graciously than she had expected.

  “Looks like I’ll be catching that dinner I owe you while you go on your hike.”

  It made her feel empowered. Underneath it all, Clint had been worried about her hiking alone and now that he’d seen her shoot, that he’d been beaten at his own game, he had confidence in her. And his confidence boosted her confidence in herself. It was a win-win.

  * * *

  “Wow!” Taylor put her hands on her full stomach. “You are an amazing cook! What did you cook the fish in?”

  “Blue Camas.”

  “That was the sweetness!”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your winnings.” Clint dug into his pack of cigarettes and pulled his very last one out of the pack.

  “I did.” Taylor smiled happily.

  Clint lit his cigarette and took a long, hard drag from it. He’d been without cigarettes before, so he wouldn’t like it, but he could handle it. When times were tough, like now, things like cigarettes and tequila gave way to gasoline for his truck and food.

  “How old are you?” Taylor asked her cowboy. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I’ll be thirty-two next month.”

  “Thirty-two? You’re younger than me?”

  “Guess so.” Clint flicked the cigarette butt into the fire. “Don’t know how old you are.”

  “Thirty-nine.” Taylor frowned. “And a half.”

  Clint crumpled the empty cigarette pack tightly in his fist and threw it into the fire, as well.

  “Was that your last one?”

  She got a nod.

  Taylor wanted to say something—had wanted to say something—for a couple of days now. “I’ll be right back.”

  Taylor went into her tent and searched for a small box that was deliberately packed on the very bottom of her backpack. She unlocked the box, opened it carefully—inside of the box was a long, thin piece of rolled tinfoil. She removed the tinfoil and put the box back in its place.

  After she left Chicago, she had driven to Denver to visit some friends from college before heading to Montana. Her friends had given her a parting gift and she had driven all the way from Denver to Bent Tree Ranch with the contraband in her glove box. Basically, it was her first real stint as lawbreaker—crossing state lines with an illegal substance while driving exactly five miles over the speed limit. Until tonight, she hadn’t really been certain that she would ever unlock that box. But she felt safe with Clint. In truth, she felt safer in Clint’s company than she’d ever felt in Christopher’s. Her cowboy wouldn’t judge her.

  When Taylor returned to her spot by the fire, she almost lost her nerve.

  “Clint?”

  “Hmm?” His head was back and the brim of his hat was pulled down low over his eyes.

  “I have an activity penciled in for this leg of the trip, but I may need your help.”

  Clint didn’t move his hat off his face. “Uh-huh.”

  Taylor carefully unwrapped the joint from the tinfoil. She picked it up, handling it as if it were breakable. The sweet, pungent smell of her friend’s favorite specialty marijuana was distinctive and strong. This was her first time personally handling a joint. She wasn’t even sure if there was a correct end to light. Clint, on the other hand, seemed like the type of person who may have had some experience with the Mary Jane.

  “Do you know which end is the right end?”

  Clint had been so close to sleeping—he had a full belly and had drunk more than his fair share of tequila. Usually Taylor was quiet when they sat together by the fire. She wasn’t a yappy female, which he had grown to appreciate about her. Tonight, for some reason, she was chatty. Was she more comfortable with him now? Was that the difference?

  Clint readjusted his hat so he could look at his traveling companion with only one eye open. When he saw what she was holding between thumb and index finger as if it were going to bite her, he realized that the option of sleep was no longer in his immediate future.

  Chapter Five

  “I’d like to believe that’s tobacco.”

  “Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. “It’s not tobacco.”

  “What’re you doin’ with weed, Taylor?” He sat up all the way. “That ain’t legal in Montana.”

  “I didn’t get it in Montana. I got it in Colorado. It’s perfectly legal there.” She examined the joint. “Which end do I light?”

  “Neither.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna smoke it—trust me. I’ve played by the rules my whole entire life and I’m not exactly thrilled with where it’s gotten me. No—it’s time for me to start breaking a few rules.”

  “I can’t stop you, but I ain’t gonna help you neither.”

  He didn’t want to have anything to do with Taylor’s plan to experiment with marijuana. That’s the last thing he needed for her to report back to Brock or Hank.

  “Fine. I’ll figure it out on my own.” She said. “Let me see your lighter for a minute.”

  When Clint hesitated, Taylor held out her hand for the lighter. “Just let me see it! Geez Louise! With all of those tattoos—who would’ve thought that out of the two of us you would be the square?”

  “I’m not a square—I’m a man who needs to keep a job.” He handed her the lighter.

  She took the lighter. “Do you really think that I’m going to run back to my uncle and tell him that I was smoking pot? Please. I told you—my family already thinks that I’m a few sandwiches shy of a full picnic basket. Why would I add pothead to their list of reasons to throw me in the loony bin? I mean—come on. Get real.”

  She was disappointed in Clint—no doubt about it, but she could understand his concern over his job. They had only known each other for roughly two weeks, but that wasn’t long enough to build trust.

  Taylor looked at one end of the joint and then the other—they looked exactly the same to her. So she picked one, put the joint in her mouth and tried to operate the lighter. It was a throwaway plastic lighter, the kind that she had seen at the counters of convenience stores over the years, but she’d never actually had one in her hand. She ran her thumb over the wheel one time, two times, and then a third time. Frustrated, she took the joint out of her mouth.

  “It’s broken.” She grumbled.

  During her attempts to operate the lighter, Clint had stood up and was pacing a little, his hand on his forehead beneath the brim of his hat. What in the world just happened? He’d been having a nice night—the job babysitting Hank’s niece turned out to be not a bad gig—and he couldn’t have seen this one coming from a mile away.

&
nbsp; Clint pushed the brim of his hat up so he could get a better look at her. “It’s not broken.”

  “Yeah—it is. Watch.”

  “There’s a safety,” he explained in a tone reminiscent of their first encounter when she had him at gunpoint. It felt a little like she had him at gunpoint again.

  Taylor pressed down on the small red safety tab. But, when she tried to run her thumb down on the striker, it didn’t work.

  “Come on!” Taylor shook the lighter. “I was in charge of a large team of people, you’d think I could operate a stupid lighter.”

  “Here.” Clint just wanted the whole thing to be over. “Let me have it.”

  Taylor extended her arm and the cowboy took the lighter from her hand after he broke the invisible line that had separated her side of the fire from his.

  “Look—you run your thumb over the striker, let your thumb land on the safety, push it down, hold it down and look at that—amazing—you’ve made fire.”

  Clint handed the lighter back to his unpredictable companion. He liked her better when she was in a quiet, introspective mood.

  “Hey!” Taylor said, pleased. “Look at that. I did it.”

  “It’s a miracle,” Clint muttered on his way back to his side of the fire.

  “Don’t be such a killjoy, Clint.”

  He rubbed his hand over his face, then took his hat off, dragged his fingers through his hair to push it back and replaced his hat.

  “Have you even smoked pot before?” he asked her.

  “I haven’t even smoked a cigarette before, if you can believe that,” she responded with a little shrug. “That’s why I’m doing this now. I’m doing all of the things that I’ve always wanted to do, but have put off, or wouldn’t dare do because Taylor Brand always puts other people first and always does the right thing. I’ve always wanted to try pot, so I’m trying pot. And, no offense Clint—but this is happening whether you like it or not. In my plan, you weren’t here.”

  “Did your plan include a lighter?”

  Taylor took the joint out of her mouth to answer. “Yours was closer. And I thought that you would be joining me, so I didn’t dig mine out.”