‘That’s an excuse.’
He closed his eyes.
‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I know there’s more to this than what I’m seeing. I’ll shut up.’
‘Are you capable of shutting up?’ he demanded, and she looked up at him and a glimmer of a twinkle started behind her eyes.
‘Maybe not,’ she admitted. ‘Ask my family. They treat me as an annoying little buzz fly—no matter how they swat me, I’ll always zoom right back into their faces. But they love me regardless. ’Cause I’m cute. And I get things done. Like now. One of the mares in the top paddock was looking a bit lame this morning. I couldn’t see anything wrong—I suspect she stood on a stone and bruised herself but she needs checking again tonight. I’ll walk up there now.’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ he found himself saying, and she shot him a surprised look.
‘I’ll buzz,’ she warned.
‘I don’t mind your buzzing.’
‘Do you promise not to swat?’
‘No.’
She grinned. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m used to dodging. I’ll buzz and you’ll swat. An employee/employer relationship made in heaven. What’s more, you can carry my gear in case I need to do anything. Perfect.’
* * *
They walked up through the paddocks. The sun was sinking in the west, the night was warm and still, and they stayed silent.
Contrary to her promise she didn’t buzz at all.
She worried.
Letting things be was not Alex’s style. All her life she’d tried to fix the conflict between Matt and Ellie and her father. She’d never succeeded.
She wasn’t succeeding now. If anything Jack was growing more aloof.
It was his right, she thought, trying very hard to be fair. No matter how much Oliver needed a male figure in his life, she couldn’t force it, and the look on Jack’s face when she tried... She was starting to think she’d do more harm than good.
So now she shut up and walked beside him and tried to concentrate on the small sounds of the night, the birds coming in to roost, the frogs in the swamplands by the creek, the crickets complaining that their heat was fading. It didn’t work. She was totally focused on this man beside her. On his pain.
For pain it was. For the first time tonight, she’d clearly seen his refusal to help Oliver for what it was. It wasn’t selfishness but an aching certainty that help from him would achieve nothing.
She could badger him for ever about the moral imperative of helping, but to intrude on that pain?
She didn’t know all the facts, like she hadn’t known the facts about her father and Matt and Ellie. The world was a complicated place. It took figuring out.
Her sister’s letter had thrown her, made her unsure of her foundations, and in the face of that uncertainty she knew she had to back off from pushing this guy beside her.
‘You haven’t talked for five minutes,’ he said at last. ‘Are you ill?’
She smiled, absurdly relieved at his note of teasing.
‘Nope. Just enjoying this night. I grew up with a little-girl adulation of anything horsey. My parents sent me on summer camps—to ranches where I could ride my heart out. Matt—my brother—often came, too. I’m not sure that he liked horses as I did but he liked getting away from the friction between himself and Dad. But we used to ride. Because he was older the owners trusted him to take care of me. For a kid who lived in Manhattan it was the best of times, just my horse and my big brother. Only of course there were always other kids, always camp leaders watching. Out here, for the first time in my life I feel free and it feels fantastic. I wish I could bring Matt out here and let him feel it.’
‘Invite him for a visit.’
‘He’s too busy now, growing his own company,’ she said. ‘I wish I knew how they’re feeling—both the twins.’
‘Phone them.’
‘Be a buzz fly?’
‘Maybe they like buzz flies,’ he growled. ‘They have their uses.’
She grinned and to her own astonishment she found herself slipping her hand into his. She felt him freeze—and then she felt him deliberately, consciously relax.
Had this guy ever walked in the moonlight holding a woman’s hand?
He was her employer. She had no business asking.
No, she didn’t, but his solitude caught her as nothing had caught her before. She held, not tightly, but still she held.
They walked on and the silence deepened.
‘I’m not...good at this,’ Jack said at last.
‘Holding hands with a woman? Didn’t you have movie theatres when you were thirteen?’
‘There aren’t a lot of movie theatres out here.’
‘That’s an awful lot of catching up you need to do, then,’ she said lightly, and swung his hand and chuckled—and then stilled.
As did Jack.
The sound came from behind them, above. A horse, being ridden down the slopes from the upper paddocks, towards the creek.
Slow at first, and then faster...
A horse sounds different ridden to galloping free. The nuances are different—weight, the struggle between control and freedom.
Definitely ridden. Really fast.
Oliver’s yell sounded through her head as clearly as if he was yelling it now. ‘I will get a horse...!’
‘It’s one of the colts,’ Jack said in a voice that sounded strangled. ‘Oliver? Oh, my God, if he tries to jump the creek...’
And he started to run.
* * *
They didn’t see what happened. It took them what seemed half an hour but in probability it was only three or four minutes. Jack was well ahead by the time Alex burst through the clearing to the creek’s banks.
When Alex reached the creek, the horse, a young, chestnut gelding, was pacing, wild-eyed and frantic, riderless, no saddle, reins hanging free.
Jack was in the water, fighting the current, waist-deep, eyes everywhere.
It didn’t take skill to know what had happened. Oliver had simply decided to take the horse home. He’d set him at the creek, but the horse had balked and done a one-eighty turn these horses were famous for.
Oliver must be in the water.
There was debris everywhere. It had rained over the past few days and logs and leaf litter were being swept down.
Jack was searching with frenzy born of desperation, hauling logs aside, moving with a desperation that looked almost like madness.
She was in there with him, searching herself, not thinking of anything but one small boy, one tousled-headed kid who had to be here. Who must be.
The hills here were steep, and where Oliver had tried to jump was near a bend. There was always a mass of logs here, caught, gradually working their way free to where the creek widened as it turned.
Water was washing against a dam of logs.
Jack’s flashlight was sweeping the water, searching, searching...
A flash of...something.
The flashlight was dropped as Jack dived.
In the light of the dropping flashlight—a glimpse of red-blond curls, tumbling under the water...
Alex dived forward but Jack was before her. Right under the water. Then rising, holding, dragging a limp child from under a matt of wood and leaf and water.
Totally limp.
No!
But then, as Jack lifted him higher than his chest, higher than the mass of litter-strewn water, he stirred and whimpered and coughed—and then was violently, distressingly and wonderfully ill.
Jack staggered to the bank. He knelt, turned Oliver sideways to clear his airway.
Alex staggered to reach them, hauled off her T-shirt, using it to wipe his face clear, to make him safe, to let him breathe.
He held and held, while she cleaned Oliver and whispered to him that he was safe and Jack had him and he was fine, and she noted that Jack’s hold tightened rather than loosened, as if he was coming to terms with how close they’d come to tragedy.
‘Drummer...’ Oliver whispered, his first word, dragged out of him as if his throat was still half-choked, and Jack closed his eyes as if the word had physically stung.
‘The horse is fine,’ he said, sounding strangled. ‘It wanted only that. You nearly kill yourself and your first thought is for your horse.’
‘I didn’t want to hurt him.’ The little boy’s voice was a sob. ‘I wanted Cracker but he was too far away, and tonight I just wanted a horse. I just wanted...something.’
It was a cry from the heart, a piercing sob that shook the night. That shook Alex to the core.
There was a long, long silence where they all practiced breathing.
‘Well, he’s not the horse for you,’ Jack said at last, and she knew he was striving desperately for control. ‘Drummer’s hardly broken. He needs solid training before he’s a safe ride.’
‘I can...I can ride!’
‘If you got reins on Drummer and got him this far then I see that you can,’ Jack said. ‘But you and he both need work. If you need a horse that much, okay, in the morning we’ll talk about you taking and caring for Cracker. You can help me train Drummer. You can improve your riding skills yourself and we’ll go from there.’
‘You mean...?’ Oliver could hardly speak. He was still limp with shock and fear, and yet in the moonlight there was no disguising the look of blazing hope. ‘You’ll let me ride?’
‘If the choice is between that and killing yourself, I have no choice,’ Jack said grimly. ‘Now let’s get you home, young man. Your mother will be frantic.’
‘She’s not my mother,’ Oliver said in a voice that came close to breaking Alex’s heart. ‘She’s Brenda and she won’t even know I’m gone.’
‘She will soon,’ Jack said grimly. ‘Maybe after tonight both Brenda and I need to do a rethink about what one kid needs.’
* * *
Jack took Oliver home. Alex caught Drummer, led him to the home paddock and the stables beyond, calmed him, groomed him and checked him for damage.
She could see why Oliver had chosen him. He was, quite simply, magnificent.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she told him as she rubbed him. ‘You have the skills to be a great stockhorse and Oliver has the skills to be a great stockman. But you both need training. Jack’s your intermediary. I’m thinking it’ll work for you all.’
She rubbed him longer than she needed, waiting for the sound of the SUV returning. Finally it did. She waited longer, for Jack to appear in the stables. He came in looking grim-faced, stressed to the limit.
‘Is he okay?’ he demanded, tight and gruff.
The horse. Of course he’d be worried about Drummer.
‘He’s fine,’ she said. ‘And quiet. I’m thinking he’s figured he had a hand in something ghastly.’
‘Not that ghastly,’ Jack said grimly. ‘And it wasn’t Drummer’s fault. He’s never been asked to jump water before, so of course he did a U-turn.’ He looked grey, she thought. Grey and sick.
‘I’m so glad it turned out okay,’ she whispered.
‘Thank God we were there,’ he managed. ‘It seems sometimes, that not caring—’
‘Hey, it wasn’t your fault,’ she said, giving Drummer a final stroke and opening the stable door to let him into the safety of the home paddock. ‘You did what you thought was right. You forbade him to ride.’
‘His father taught him to love horses,’ Jack said. ‘I knew not letting him ride was cruel.’
‘And now you’ve fixed it.’
‘I’ve talked to Brenda,’ he admitted. ‘She’s so taken up with her own two girls and her financial mess that she hasn’t seen Oliver’s needs.’
‘And now she has?’
‘I don’t know if that’s possible. But he’s coming here tomorrow. He can take full care of Cracker, even help me train.’
‘Wow,’ Alex whispered. ‘Oh, Jack, that’s wonderful.’
‘Yeah, and you’ll go home and I’ll still be doing it,’ he said roughly. ‘If it wasn’t for you, Alex—’
‘This is none of my doing,’ she said roundly. ‘It’s your call.’ But she looked into his face and saw such a depth of anguish there that her heart twisted in pain. He’d been railroaded. He had no choice now but to care about this little boy.
And if he could care about a child...
Don’t go there, she told herself quickly. She had five more months of employment. That was all. Then she had to move on.
Which was what she wanted—wasn’t it? To return to the States with glowing references, get herself a job with one of the big horse ranchers, to prove to her family and her friends that she wasn’t just a cute blonde bimbo who’d trained to treat kittens.
That was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
It had to be. But this gorgeous, wounded hero standing right in front of her was changing something inside of her.
She wanted to take two steps forward right now, wrap her hands around his waist and hold him. And hold him and hold him, until the armour he’d so carefully built around himself disintegrated to nothing.
She took one part of one step forward—and he backed out of the stall and turned away.
‘I’m heading up the hill. I need to make sure Oliver didn’t leave any gates open,’ he said, more roughly than necessary.
‘Do you want company?’
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Go to bed.’
‘Is that an order, boss?’
‘If that’s what it takes,’ he said grimly. ‘Good night, Alex.’
‘Good night,’ she whispered, rebuffed.
‘Oh, and, Alex?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you for today,’ he said. ‘We got him out and we kept him alive. I’m not sure if I could have managed alone.’
‘Sure you could,’ she said, and she couldn’t keep her voice even. ‘You’ve practiced alone for long enough to be really good at it. I know I’m messing with your head, so off you go and practice some more.’
* * *
He checked the upper paddock, and every gate. He spent a lot more time up there than he should.
Alex was messing with his head?
Yes, she was. She knew it, too. It was like she could see right inside him and she knew how terrified he was to think a little boy could need him. And maybe she could sense how desperately he was trying not to care for her.
Don’t care, he told himself savagely. Don’t care.
Caring didn’t help. He knew it. The mantra, the feeling of hopelessness, had been drummed into him since he was eight years old. Caring just tore apart both parties instead of one.
Sophie had died and a part of him had died with her. He never wanted to feel like that again.
But Alex was back in the house. Alex with her constant interfering, her prodding conscience, her laugher, her skill, her...
Her status as an employee.
She’d shoved Oliver on to him.
Or not.
Yes, she had. After Brian disappeared he’d caught Oliver up in the top paddock, trying to catch one of the wilder colts.
He’d sent him home with a flea in his ear—the original ogre growling at small children.
It was because Alex was here, Alex with her laughter and her open friendship, that Oliver had dared come back again.
It always came back to Alex.
He walked on. He should go home to sleep.
Sleep? What a laugh.
He walked.
* * *
She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and thought. And thought and thought and thought.
She thought, weirdly, of her family. Of her father who’d pretended to care, had tried to care, but who hadn’t pulled it off.
She thought of Jack, trying desperately not to care—and who wasn’t succeeding either.
‘So throw your hat in the ring,’ she whispered into the dark, but she knew he already had, with his offer to teach Oliver, to let him come to the farm whenever he wanted. He couldn’t be blind to the unadulterated hero worship in the little boy’s eyes. By taking this step, he was exposed, all over again. He was hurting. He’d be hurting right now.
How could she sleep? She lay and stared at the ceiling and thought...and thought.
So many thoughts her head was likely to explode.
Give up.
What was a girl to do at two in the morning if she couldn’t sleep?
She could think of nothing but Jack.
Ellie’s letter... Surely she had to do something there. What she wanted was to get on a plane and go hug her—but to leave Jack?
No. Next best thing. She switched on her bed lamp and wrote long emails to Matt and to Charlotte. The letter Ellie had sent to Alex had been long and thoughtful and caring, an indication of how close they’d always been, but for some reason this night had her tuned to family nuances. Suddenly she was wondering whether Ellie could have maintained long, thoughtful and caring for two more handwritten letters? When Ellie was delirious about being in love? When relationships in the Patterson family had always been fraught?
So she wrote. Just to check they knew absolutely everything Ellie had told her. Just to tell them she loved them. It helped fill the void where she wanted Jack to be.
The emails were hard. She sent them and they did nothing to make her sleepy.
Family...
Jack.
Do not think of Jack.
Count stars? It had to be better than nothing. The night sky here was breathtaking but the veranda stopped her seeing the stars from her window.
Finally she tugged on the fleecy bathrobe that she’d thought was an indulgence until she’d seen this place. She’d nearly ruined it that first night and it had taken an age to clean but now her bathrobe was her best friend. She padded through the empty house, silent as a mouse, being even more silent past Jack’s door.
Taming The Brooding Cattleman Page 12