by Vicki Tharp
Sierra and I were in the lead. I didn’t know where I was going, but she apparently did and preferred a quicker pace than Hank’s mount. The trail sloped down and I spotted a hitching rail off to my right closer to the rocks.
I stopped Sierra to allow Hank to come abreast and pointed. “What’s down there?”
Hank’s glance followed my finger then he eyed me for a second as if deciding if he was going to tell me or not. Then he reined his horse to the right, following a narrow trail. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
As we rounded a rocky outcrop, Hank stopped and waved his hand at a pool of water about the size of the round pen. Even though the day had warmed, the sky was overcast. Steam rose from the water’s surface.
“Is that a hot spring?” I asked.
“Lazy S Ranch’s very own cowboy hot tub. Stays around a hundred degrees year-round.”
“You swim in it?”
“Not since I was a teenager. A popular spot for parties back then.”
“Did you and Jenna’s mother come here?”
The smile slipped from his face. Why had I asked that? Jenna’s mother was none of my business and neither was what she and Hank did or didn’t do here. My question was inappropriate and truthfully, I didn’t expect an answer. He pursed his lips and shot me a hard look, then turned his horse back to the trail, but with Sierra’s quick pace, I caught up within a handful of strides.
“So, Jenna told you I was her father.” His voice was low and he sounded a little deflated, as if talking about it stripped all the wind from his sails. I didn’t know all the reasons why that was the case, but from what I’d gathered, he’d been on the road much of her life. It didn’t take a genius to recognize their strained relationship. The hard set of his jaw made me want to explain that I hadn’t barged down to the barn this morning to extract the information from his kid.
“It just came out. That you were her father,” I explained. “I don’t even know if she realized she’d told me. She was pretty upset about Quinn this morning.”
Hank growled when I mentioned the boy’s name. I stifled a chuckle. I guess no matter how much or little time a man spends with his daughter, she’ll always be his daughter whether she wants to acknowledge him or not.
“Why is it a secret she’s your daughter?”
Hank shrugged. “Not a well-kept one. Link, of course, knows. The rest of the hands are new. They don’t know who I am. It was kind of a condition of hers for me coming back. Not that she had a choice in the matter, but I figured there were so many things she didn’t have control over, I could give her that. For a while at least.”
Though I didn’t see my parents much, I’d been very close to my father growing up. I couldn’t imagine not growing up with that bond or not wanting to acknowledge it. “That’s gotta hurt.”
He glanced over at me and held my gaze, his once bright blue irises now almost a dull, slate-gray. There was still a tightness around his eyes, but his earlier anger had been replaced by another dark emotion. He tried to speak but had to clear his throat before the words could escape. “You have no idea.”
We rode in silence for a mile or so. Sometimes I was slightly ahead, and sometimes he was. We’d given the horses their heads and were letting them set the pace. Then Hank came up beside me at a slow trot and brought his horse back to a walk. “Thank you,” he said. “For being there for Jenna when she was upset.”
His eyes were soft and had regained their bright color and warmth with his gratitude. At the risk of making Hank mad again, I asked, “Quinn seems like an okay kid. Is it really so bad they like each other?”
“Not so bad,” Hank admitted. “I know of his family. Quinn’s father is a ranch hand, like his father before him. Not a bad thing. I know the kind. This work is what they like. It’s what they do. It’s enough for them.”
“I don’t see the problem.”
“The problem comes when Jenna decides it’s no longer enough for her. If it happens tomorrow or next week, no problem, but what if their relationship continues? What if it happens later when she’s pregnant or has a kid or two? What happens then?”
Hank kicked his palomino into a slow lope, effectively ending the conversation but leaving me to wonder if he was still talking about Jenna and Quinn or if he was now talking about himself and Jenna’s mother.
I followed close behind and worked on keeping the rhythm the way I’d learned that morning, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch the gentle glide of his hips for a few strides and wonder if he would lose any of that tight control in bed.
Chapter 6
While Hank and I had been riding fence the day before, the rest of the crew had built a couple of holding pens, the largest of which was simply a temporary fence built in front of a box canyon lush with spring grass. The second was a day holding pen at the front of the canyon where we would drive the cattle gathered that day and hold them until we could vaccinate, tag, and castrate the calves before releasing them into the box canyon to stay until all the cattle were worked.
A small stream ran through the middle of the canyon providing water, but our remote location made it difficult to provide any hay, so we only had until the grass ran out in the canyon to get all the cattle caught and worked. Link estimated we had three days, tops.
By the time Hank and I had arrived, there were no cattle in the pens. In fact, there wasn’t even a secure place to put them.
“What happened?” Hank asked Dale as we rode up.
Hank and I dismounted as Dale walked over to us. Lottie, Jenna, and Quinn were busy restringing electric wire on old fence posts in front of the canyon. The rest of the crew was gone.
“I don’t understand it.” Dale stopped in front of us and shook his head. Even in the few short days I’d known him, I’d witnessed the stress and worry age him in front of my eyes. “Someone tore down the temporary fencing. It’s not irreparable, but it’s a pain in my ass.” He blanched when he realized the coarse language he’d used in front of me. “Pardon my French.”
“No worries,” I assured him. My language was atrocious, and most times foul language didn’t even ping on my radar, but I found it sweet that he felt the need to apologize for “ass.”
“Any idea who did it?” Hank asked.
Dale shrugged. “Wish I knew. This canyon is no secret, but it’s a little ways off the road. Someone would have to know the area very well to find it, especially at night.”
“And know we’re about to use it,” Hank added.
“I don’t get it,” I said, letting the rein slip through my hand so Sierra could lower her head and graze. When Hank raised a brow at me, I explained. “I understand someone stealing your cattle. It directly hurts you and benefits them. What does tearing the fences down accomplish, besides wasting your time and slowing you down?”
“It’s a distraction, and a worry,” Hank answered. “This ranch survives not only on our cow-calf operation but also on the horse training, the hay fields, the custom pack trips in the summer for the tourists. Each one of these is vital. The more time and energy doing one thing, the less you have for the others. Money’s always tight and we’re already short of hands this spring.”
I chuckled. “I guess that explains why you hired me.”
Dale cracked a smile and patted me on my shoulder. “That’s not why I hired you.”
“Hey Gramps, if it was break time, you shoulda told us,” Jenna teased from the fence line.
I guess it really didn’t matter why he’d given me the job—I was glad for it and had assumed I’d been hired because I was a warm body and not for my ranching skills set. To have Dale tell me otherwise intrigued me, but before I could ask, he wiped the sweat from his brow and readjusted the hat on his head.
To Hank, he said, “Take someone with you and go help round up the cattle. The rest of us will finish off the last of the fencing. Hopefully, w
e’ll be finished by the time you get back.”
Hank glanced my way as Dale strode back toward Lottie and the others. I tried my damnedest to act as if I was up to the task even though a part of me wanted to hide behind the bleachers like the skinny kid in elementary school not wanting to be picked for the dodgeball team. “Tie Sierra up to the picket line with the other horses and untack her. I’ll get someone else to go with me.”
“Sure,” I managed. The kid in me did the happy dance. It wasn’t that I minded helping. I just preferred not to do it all from the back of a horse.
“Grab your horse, Jenna,” Hank called out, as he put a foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over his horse. “You’re with me.”
Though I could tell she tried to hide it, a smile creased her face. I wondered if I’d read her wrong that first day. She didn’t have a problem with working hard. I thought she had a problem with not being taken seriously, and to her, riding the range and gathering cattle were what a ranch hand did.
I could tell by her animated expression that it was what she loved. There was no telling if Jenna and Quinn’s budding relationship would get serious, but I suspected that Hank didn’t have to worry that the ranching life wouldn’t be enough for her.
Jenna scrambled to her horse and threw on her saddle. I placed my hand on Hank’s leg to get his attention and said quietly, “You made her day. As much as she tries to push you away sometimes, I think she wants to spend time with you. But I don’t think she’s ready to admit that to you or herself.”
He glanced down at my hand for a beat then glanced back up. “I don’t know about all that.” Then the tip of his lips drew up as the sun broke through the clouds, highlighting the splash of blond stubble along his jawline. “But she’s not scowling at me, so it’s a start.”
* * * *
It was after dark by the time Hank and I made it back to the cabin for the night. Dale and Alby had volunteered to stay with the cattle overnight. The clouds had cleared by the end of the day and the moonlight illuminated the trail. Since it had taken me longer to untack my horse, Hank beat me to the shower.
I eased myself onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. My left shoulder ached and throbbed. I hadn’t realized how much I had learned to protect it instead of using it since it had healed. Easy to do when most of what I’d done for the past year involved little more than hanging onto my handlebars. Much harder to protect it while fixing the fence and rounding up cattle.
Along with my sore shoulder, the scrape on my side needed a good soaking to get it good and clean, and soon it would be easier to list what didn’t hurt on my body instead of what did. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hot bath and ease all my aches and pains.
Only we didn’t have a tub.
I listened to the fall of water in the shower, the occasional squeak of skin on enamel as Hank shifted in the cramped space. He was taking his sweet time tonight and I doubted there would be any hot water left by the time he finished.
I groaned with frustration. Then I remembered the cowboy hot tub Hank had shown me this morning. It was just this morning, wasn’t it? Deciding my next course of action came easily. I grabbed my towel from the hook by my bed, slipped my feet back into my boots and headed out the door.
The soles of my feet ached from standing and riding all day, but I ignored the pain as I walk-jogged my way down to the pond. The bright moon illuminated the individual hoof prints stamped into the dirt trail. I could even distinguish Hank’s horse’s more robust prints from Sierra’s petite ones.
At the water’s edge, heat rose from the depths and the faintest hint of sulfur lingered in the air. I glanced behind me to make sure I was alone, but I needn’t have worried, as I couldn’t even see the cabin from where I stood.
I laid my rifle on the large rock overhanging the water and shed my clothes, draping them over the hitching post. The rock was rough on my naked butt when I sat and dipped my toes into the water to check the heat level.
A soft moan slipped from my throat as I dipped one foot and then the other into the warm water of my enormous bathtub. With my shotgun within reach if needed, I dipped one leg in deeper, but I couldn’t feel the bottom. It could be two feet deep here or it could be twenty or more. I had no way of knowing so I pushed myself away from the rock, mentally prepared for a quick landing, a deep plunge, or anything in between.
I sank like a stone, my body engulfed in luscious heat. I didn’t want to surface anytime soon. Bubbles of laughter escaped me as my lungs burned and I kicked to the surface. I wiped the water from my face and scrubbed my fingers through my hair to wash out the dust from the day, then rolled onto my back to stare up at the stars.
Fluttering my arms to keep me afloat, the water lapped at my ribs and caressed my breasts. With my ears underwater, I could hear my heart beat. The hot spring amplified my senses. The redolent scent of the mud at the banks tickled my nose as the muffled sounds of frogs calling from the shore reached me. The moonlight obliterated a donut-shaped swath of stars around it. A splash in the distance—a moon silvered fish breaking the surface?
The contrast between the warm water and the cool night air made the tip of my nose feel frigid in comparison. My nipples puckered. A mental picture of Hanks large hands teasing them into peaks flashed through my mind. I quickly pushed it away.
Yes, he was handsome and striking in a Marlboro Man sort of way, and yes, I’d lost a little sleep the past couple nights as I heard him slide beneath the sheets without a stitch of clothing on.
I had to admit his determination to help his father-in-law and reconnect with his daughter were traits I respected. That didn’t mean he made me all weak in the knees. If anything, he was a nice, simple distraction to the fucked-up part of my life that I’d rather forget.
Nothing more.
As I floated and drifted back toward the rock, my aching muscles relaxed as the heat sank down through my skin, down through the muscle and deep down into my bones. My eyes drifted closed, but as they did, there came a subtle shift in the atmosphere around me. Dread landed a one-two punch to my gut. I jack-knifed up, my eyes shot open, and I reached for my weapon. The rock was warm and coarse beneath my hand, but my rifle was gone.
“Looking for this?” Hank asked as he held the rifle aloft. He had one booted foot on the rock as he leaned toward me. Besides the boots, the only thing he wore were a pair of jeans and a fox-in-the-hen-house turn to his lips.
I glared up at him. I didn’t know if I was more pissed he’d seen me naked or that he’d been able to sneak up on me. “I don’t remember sending out invitations.”
His smile grew impossibly wider, showing off a mouthful of white teeth. “Mind if I join you?”
“Free country,” I retorted. The edge in my tone indicating my displeasure with the prospect of him joining me was either completely lost on him or, more likely, ignored. Without hesitation, he put the rifle down and toed off his boots.
Keeping my eyes on him, I paddled away from the rock, careful to keep my body below the surface as I made room for him to jump. He unzipped his jeans and had them down to his upper thigh before I could even react. I turned my head and shielded my eyes. “Whoa, whoa!” I screeched. “Jesus, Hank, give a girl a warning!”
His deep chuckle was all the answer I got before he screeched out a bastardized version of “Yeehaw!” I shouldn’t have, but I peeked when he yelled.
I didn’t think he cared in the least if I witnessed him in all his glory, but I stifled my laugh when he surfaced. “Wow,” I deadpanned.
“Amazed?” He did a slow breaststroke toward me.
I nodded. “Never seen an ass that white before. You’d think it’s never seen the light of day. But I’m positive your rodeo groupies would tell me otherwise.”
“Bull riders don’t have groupies. They have buckle bunnies.” It impressed me how he could say that with a straigh
t face.
Then he feigned hurt even as his eyes sparkled with amusement. He drew closer until he tread water a foot away. “Such a low opinion of me.”
“Not of you.” I moved back a couple feet, but he stuck with me and quirked a brow. “Just your modesty,” I clarified.
“That’s okay,” he smiled as a dimple popped up on his left cheek. “There isn’t a modest bone in my body.”
“Clearly.” The word came out clipped. My breath came faster as I worked to keep myself afloat.
“Much to the distress of my mother.”
He reached out, grabbed both of my hands, and tugged me closer to him as he drifted nearer to shore where he could touch though I still couldn’t. I should have moved to shallower water, but I liked the feel of his hands on mine. I found his knees with my feet and rested there.
“What did you do to that poor woman?”
“You sure you want to know?” When I nodded, he continued. “Seems I had the awful habit of stripping off all my clothes in the middle of the grocery store aisles and playing with my little friend.”
My brow furrowed. “Little friend?”
He cleared his throat and dipped his head, indicating something beneath the water.
“You did not!” I chuckled when I realized what he meant.
“Apparently, I was quite infatuated with him. At least from what my mother has told me.”
I had to ask, “So how long did you torture your mother with your little peep show?”
“No too long,” he assured me. “Thirteen or so, I reckon.”
I barked with laughter and splashed him with a face full of water. He sputtered and sunk low. His eyes had narrowed like a wolf’s right before he pounced at me. Seeing it coming, I shoved off his legs and made a mad dash for the other side, but he caught my ankle before I’d made it three strokes. He dragged me to him, hand over hand as he worked his way up my leg. I was kicking and paddling, but my effort was wasted. When his hands reached the top of my thigh, he made a quick grab for my waist and hauled me to him, guiding my legs around his middle. I laced my hands around the back of his neck for support as he eased us back to the shallows.