by Floyd, Susan
Dexter nodded. “I know you’re not Joanna, but I think that you’re every bit as brave. I think you have a form of courage that few people possess.”
She felt tears spring to her eyes. “I haven’t been through anything a thousand other people haven’t already been through. And they probably recovered a lot quicker than I have.”
“I’m not asking you to go, Clem. I want you to ask yourself the real reason you don’t want to go.” Dexter fastened the locket around her neck, his fingers lingering at the base of her skull. He gently rubbed the spot with the rough pad of his thumb.
“I can’t. I can’t change who I am.” She didn’t mean to sound so stubborn.
“Try.”
She shook her head. “I won’t. Not even for you. I changed who I was for my ex-husband. I’m not going to do the same for you.”
He laughed shortly. “Funny. I didn’t think I was asking you to change. I just want you to accept who you really are. If you wanted to go to college, you would have done it years ago. If you wanted to move to Arizona, you’d have done it when your parents moved. If you wanted to work in an office where the only thing that you have to fear is a paper cut, you’d have found a job. No, Clem. I’m not asking you to change.”
She started brushing Archie again, in short, agitated strokes. “Go away, Dexter.”
“Think about it, Clem.”
“Go away.”
He glanced at her, his eyes sad. “Before, I said there was very little you could do that would disappoint me. I was wrong.” Dexter walked out, leaving Clem to grapple with herself.
Later that night in bed, it occurred to her that that was the longest speech Dexter had ever made to her.
Clem wrestled with the competing thoughts. He was wrong. He was asking her to change. He was asking her to do something she didn’t want to do.
Yes, she was frightened, but that didn’t mean anything. Plenty of people never rode a horse, never even stepped inside a stable, and they went on to enjoy rich, fulfilling lives. She gasped as she realized she’d tried that already—when she’d married. That life had made her so lonely. Surrounded by all the people in suburbia, she’d never felt completely at ease. For years, she’d denied that she belonged on a horse. But even Nick, feckless as he was, had seen the truth and given her Archie.
She curled on to her side and clutched the locket.
Before, I said there was very little you could do that would disappoint me. I was wrong.
She tried to shut out Dexter’s serious expression. He was asking too much. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t pulling her own weight. She worked on the books. She did laundry. She cooked. Every task a valuable contribution to the running of the ranch. She didn’t need to be out in the thick of things.
You’re bigger than that. Clem, there’s only one life. And when it’s done and over, will you be someone who played it safe and got nothing or someone who risked it all and got everything?
Now Clem had to try to shut off her mother’s voice, as well. She’d spent her entire life listening to other voices. She just wanted to be left alone. She wanted to be left alone to make her own decisions. She sat up and turned on the light, taking off the locket. Joanna had worn this every day. It had been around her neck when she died.
With trembling fingers, Clem inserted her thumb-nail into the small opening and gently twisted. She expected to see a picture of Joanna, but instead there were two pictures, one on each side. One of Dexter and one of Randy, trimmed so close that she could only see their eyes and their smiles. Clutching the locket in her hand, she turned off the light and waited for sleep.
The next morning, Clementine woke up with a terrible headache.
When she went down to breakfast, Dexter smiled at her, but she refused to return it. She saw the hurt on his face, but he still made a point of saying goodbye to her. The only thing she could think about was the fact she was a disappointment to him. He didn’t need someone like her. He needed someone who had courage, who could take a spill and hop up ready to try again.
Clem threw herself into the laundry. But it seemed as if that chore got done a lot faster than she wanted. She cleaned the bathroom cabinets and the linen closet, as well. She worked furiously, hoping that the more she did, the less she would think about the fact that time was going by very slowly. When she finished she realized it wasn’t even noon. Six hours before the guys would even be showing up for dinner.
She suppressed the urge to scream and pounded down the stairs and out the door. She was surprised to discover herself heading to the barn.
Archie nickered in greeting, looking inquisitively between her and the saddle.
Clem was tempted. She nuzzled her face against her horse’s, he nipped at her ear. She combed her finger through his mane and remembered what it was like to ride him, feeling his taut muscles under her, the power and grace of his stride, the instant communication the two of them shared.
Dexter was right. When she was riding she did she feel as if her life was right. The only other time she’d felt that way was when she was kissing Dexter Scott. She suppressed a small smile, thinking back to that first impetuous kiss. How had she been so bold? She had kissed a complete stranger. She’d wanted to kiss him and she had. It didn’t help her plight one iota, and she was still embarrassed by it, but she was glad she’d done it.
She stroked Archie’s nose. “No, buddy. Not today. Tomorrow, maybe. Yes, definitely, tomorrow.” With a quick kiss, she left him and crossed the few hundred yards to the bunkhouse, where Clem saw her mother walking toward her.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Claire said.
Clem took the fresh linens from her mother’s hands. “I finished early and I thought I’d save you the work. I’ll do the bunkhouse.”
Claire shook her head, her tongue clicking in the back of her throat. “It’s not too much work. It’s nice to be busy again. I thought you were doing the bathrooms.”
“Done.” Clem tried to sound neutral, but knew she wasn’t succeeding.
Her mother walked into the bunkhouse and blinked and then turned, her lips pursed with disapproval.
“What a mess,” her mother sighed. “I swear, men should never be left on their own.”
Clem surveyed the scene. It was messy, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a stiff broom and some folding.
“Why don’t you take a break? I’m feeling a little restless. I’ll take care of it.”
Claire laughed. “You won’t see me turning down an offer like that! You just freed me up for a nap.” She stared at her daughter. “And when you finish this, what are you going to do?”
“There’s some paperwork,” Clem fudged.
Her mother’s eyes were sharp. “I thought you finished that up yesterday.”
“There’re a couple of things I couldn’t get settled.”
“Honey, you’re twiddling your thumbs around here. You need to go with them,” Claire said quietly. “You need to be there.”
Clem swallowed. “It’s hard.”
“The best things in the world are hard. And that’s what makes you feel so good when you accomplish them, sweetie.” Claire put a gentle hand on her daughter’s face. “You’re up to the challenge.”
After her mother left, Clem walked quickly to the bathroom and gathered up the towels. Frijole, who was basking on top of a couple of them, yowled in protest.
“Sorry, girlie.” Clem gathered up the cat, but Frijole was having none of it. She freed herself from Clem’s grip with an indignant meow and stalked out of the bunkhouse. Clem continued to clean, finally opening up all the shades and the windows to let some air and light in. The ranch seemed empty without the noise of the men. She wasn’t sure she liked having to wait until the end of the day to know what was happening.
You don’t have to, echoed in her mind. You could be right there.
Clem took a broom from its place in the corner and cleared out the cobwebs from the ceiling. That task done, she started to strip the beds that had linens. As she p
ulled the pillowcases off one bed, she found something—a photograph.
She almost dropped the photo, the eyes shone at her so brightly. She sat on the lower bunk and held the picture in both hands. This had to be Joanna. The family resemblance to Dexter was far too strong for her to be anyone else. Clem’s hand went to her throat as she saw the familiar locket hung around Joanna’s neck.
You know what you need to do. Clem could almost feel Joanna talking to her. You need to ride.
Clem exhaled a long breath. Joanna was right.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Quickly, Clem changed the linen and placed the photo back under the pillow.
THAT EVENING WHEN CLEM reached the courtyard, the baritones of men’s voices rose up to greet her. The courtyard had been transformed from an unloading dock to a party area. The trucks and trailers had been parked parallel to one another around the perimeter, and her father had rolled the large grill into the center under the lights. Latin music played in the background, piped in from the stereo in the living room. Claire had had the men set up a long picnic table and benches.
Even outside, her mother didn’t forget decor. The tables were draped with bright white linen, and she’d put out the china along with cloth napkins and her best silverware. Clem smiled. It was always the same. Rather than using the traditional paper plates or tin for special occasions, Claire Wells always set the table with her mother’s china. She never worried about any of it breaking. She knew the men who dined with her would be careful. After all, they made their living with their hands.
Clem could smell the tri-tip cooking on the grill, soaked in her mother’s secret marinade and smiled as she walked closer. A chill had already descended, but the night was still beautiful. The men sat around the table, the delicate white porcelain in their hands being piled high with whatever they could get.
Clem’s stomach growled. That was a relatively new sensation. She smiled, that was the cost of peace. Her mouth watered at the platters full of white and yellow corn and thick slabs of meat. Beans simmered in a large stainless steel pot set on one end of the enormous grill, and the bowls of coleslaw, chilled fruit salad and corn bread were rapidly emptying. Several coolers were filled to the brim with ice, chilling sodas and Mexican beer.
Her father was right in the heart of things, flipping the tri-tip with a long pair of barbecue tongs. He loved these parties, and presided over them with the jolly demeanor of Santa Claus, encouraging his guests to eat more. Her mother sat at the end of the table engaged in an intense conversation with one of the hired hands as she waited for her turn at the buffet.
“Get a plate, Clem,” her father called.
Clem got herself a plate, noticing that Randy had two plates. There was no doubt that he’d be going back for seconds or maybe even thirds.
“You’d better shake that pretty tail. The corn bread’s almost gone,” a voice whispered in her ear.
She swung around to see Dexter Scott’s moss-green eyes. They burned with the same smoky look he’d had days before.
“Don’t you make any noise at all?” she asked, using irritation to mask the butterflies that started fluttering in her stomach. “You scared the death out of me.”
She tried to put some coleslaw on to her plate, frustrated because she saw her hand trembling. How could he do that to her?
“Here, let me,” he said. He shifted his own full plate to his forearm, took hers, and then with his free hand heaped it with coleslaw.
“You do that well.”
“I do a lot of things well.” Dexter shrugged, as if it was no big deal, but the sparkle in his eyes belied his modesty.
Clem couldn’t quell the twinge of excitement. The butterflies had managed to migrate to her chest and throat. Even after the way she’d treated him, Dexter Scott was flirting with her.
“Did you guys have a successful day?” she asked.
He nodded. “Ryan found them, Clem, and they’re prettier than the last bunch.”
“Are they easy to get to?”
He nodded. “Easy enough if it doesn’t rain.”
She shook her head. “You might be out of luck. I heard a system was coming in late tonight.”
He tightened his lips. “That would be bad. They’re farther down the creek bed. It’s already up to their knees.”
“It probably won’t rise until the second day of rain.”
He handed her her plate. “Let’s pray for small favors.”
She took her plate and then whispered, “I’m sorry about this morning.”
“This morning?” he asked, his tone neutral.
“I was rude to you.”
“I didn’t notice.” Dexter searched the corn for a plump ear for her. He put it on her plate.
“That’s very nice of you not to notice. But I was angry and I was rude. I didn’t really want to listen to what you had to say.”
Dexter held up a piece of tri-tip and she held out her plate.
“Clem. I shouldn’t have said I’d be disappointed in you. I wouldn’t be. I like you just the way you are. Whatever you decide.”
Even though the words came out of his mouth, Clem noticed he didn’t meet her eyes. They walked to the picnic table and she realized with a twinge of disappointment that he had no intention of sitting next to her. In fact, he moved to sit next to her mother.
“So what are you planning to do tomorrow?” Clem asked, forcing her voice to be casual. She addressed the whole table, but she kept her eyes on Dexter.
“We’re going to try to beat the rain and bring the last of the suckers in,” answered Ryan, who was on her left.
“Yeah, if all goes well, we might make it home for Thanksgiving.” Across from her, Randy nodded. “We’ll be out of your hair quick enough.”
Clem winced at his tone. She hated the fact that Randy, jovial Randy, had become so distant. She swallowed. He’d been right about her—and had been brave enough, and kind enough, to say so. And she’d ignored him.
“You’re not in our hair at all,” Claire protested. “In fact, since Thanksgiving is just next week, I was planning to invite you to stay for dinner. You deserve some relaxation.”
“Yes,” Clem agreed. She tried to meet Randy’s eyes. “We appreciate all you’ve done for us. For me.”
Randy gave her a polite smile.
“So what time were you planning to go out in the morning?”
“Early,” groaned her father who had just come to join them. Clem scooted closer to Ryan to make room for him. “And I for one can’t wait for this to be over. My butt is so sore that Claire has had to rub liniment into it.” He winked at her. “Not that the rubbing’s a bad thing.”
“Dad.” Clem rolled her eyes. “So do you need any extra help?”
“No,” Ryan dismissed her concern with a confident shake of his head. “I don’t think that you’ll have to track down any extra guys for us. The ones we’ve been working with have been working out just great. With your dad, I think we have enough.”
“I wasn’t thinking about a lot of extra help. Just me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHEN CLEM WOKE UP the next morning, she saw the predicted thunderstorms had arrived. Torrents of rain prevented her from even seeing the courtyard from her window. She grimaced as she dressed. She’d certainly picked good weather to make her comeback. She brightened. Maybe they’d call it off today and she’d be given a reprieve.
When she walked into the kitchen Randy greeted her with a big hug, careful not to squeeze too hard. “Welcome back, Clem.”
She gave him a little shaky smile. “It’s raining pretty hard out there.”
Dexter walked into the dining room, covered head to toe with his rain gear. He shook off the excess water.
His eyes lit up when he saw Clem. “The rain looks bad,” Dexter said, his eyes sweeping over her face. “Maybe we should put this off a couple of days.”
Ryan shook his head. “Not a good idea. If we don’t do something, the cows’l
l get caught in that gorge. We have a little window now, and I think that we should just take it.”
“A little rain won’t hurt us,” Jim announced when he walked into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then looked at his daughter. “Clem, you’d better put on another layer.”
“We’d better get going if we’re going to get the cattle out before the creek rises,” Dexter said to everyone.
Clem drank down her orange juice and started to follow the men outside, when her father pulled her aside.
“How are those ribs?”
“Feeling better,” Clem said.
“You sure you want to do this? No one’s going to think any less of you. You’ve done a heck of a good job.”
Clem looked up at her father. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. The smart thing was probably to go upstairs and get back into bed.
“I’m really scared, Dad,” she admitted.
Jim Wells nodded. “I understand. I’m scared too.”
“You are?”
“Sure. Believe me, both Dexter and I would feel a lot more comfortable if we knew you were cooking instead of riding.”
She would, too.
“But, this isn’t about what we want. It’s about what you want. Now, let’s go and do good out there.”
Clem smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
“SO WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?” Randy addressed Dexter. “We have the rest of the cattle penned up past that ridge. They’ll need to come through the creek, then veer up along the gorge path if we want to get them to the field. The rain makes this more dangerous.”
Dexter looked at Ryan, who shrugged.
“Personally, I’d rather be in front of a warm fire,” Ryan put in. “But I’m so anxious to finish, I can taste it. It is steep.”
“It’s suicide.” That was all Clem had to say. What they were talking about was crazy. If it worked, the job would be done in a matter of hours. If it didn’t, the best case scenario was that they’d end up working through Thanksgiving all the way to Christmas and then some. Worst case scenario the path would erode under the pressure of the herd, sending both cattle and rider plunging into the gorge.