by Pat Warren
Slim leaned back in his chair. “I told you, Tish, you don’t need to get moving that early.”
“You promised me a ride in your plane tomorrow morning. I’ll be ready.”
“Okay, then,” Slim said. “Meet me at the hangar ’bout six.”
“Will do. Good night.” She stepped aside as Slim got up and walked toward the side door in the direction of his office, then she raised her eyes to Jeff. “Glad to have met you.”
“Same here. I’ll walk you to your room.”
A slight frown came and went on her forehead. “That’s not necessary, but thanks.”
“Sure it is,” he insisted, falling in step with her as she left the dining room. “Don’t you know there are mountain lions in these parts?”
She ignored that and briskly walked to the elevators in an attempt to discourage him, but Jeff’s long strides had no trouble keeping up. The doors of the car closed, locking them into a forced intimacy.
Instead of facing the front, Jeff faced her. “So, where are you from?”
“The East Coast.”
“Where in the East?”
“New York.” It was apparent that his closeness made her feel uncomfortable, as if he were invading her space. When he raised a hand as if to touch her, she swatted it aside, turning to glare at him. “Didn’t you think I meant what I said earlier about that hand of yours?”
Jeff shrugged, then gave her his best boyish grin. “I like to live dangerously.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you. There’s not much call for a one-handed doctor.” The elevator doors slid open and she stepped around him and out, marching to her room.
Jeff followed and almost bumped into her when she stopped abruptly at her door. “Look at that, we’re neighbors. I’m right across the hall.”
“How fortunate for me. If I need a doctor, I’ll be sure to call.” She slid her card key in, pushed open the door. “Good night, Dr. Kirby.”
His hand on her wrist, gentle but firm, stopped her. “Wait just a minute, Tish. Why are you running off like this? It’s only seven-thirty.” He could feel her pulse go into overtime beneath his thumb as he held her loosely, his eyes on hers as he noticed that she didn’t pull away. “Why don’t we go for a walk? The stars in an Arizona sky night are fantastic.”
Tish let out a long sigh. “Look, we should get something said between us right now. I’m not interested and…”
He stepped closer, so close he could inhale her fragrance. She smelled like wildflowers he’d once picked on a hillside. “Do you want me to show you just how interested I think you are?” Before she could respond, he dropped her wrist and reached up to glide two fingers along her cheek and down the silk of her throat, and watched her eyes darken, her breathing go shallow. Having made his point, he stepped back so she wouldn’t feel as if he had her penned in.
She didn’t move, looking as if she were stunned at her own reaction. Finally, she eased inside and, without a word, quietly closed the door.
Jeff knew she was still there, on the other side of the door, probably leaning against it. You’re interested, Tish, and so am I, he thought, then walked to his own room.
Chapter 2
The man across the plane aisle was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, Jeff thought as he sat up, jolted from his mind meanderings. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Apparently the flight attendant, a tall blonde somewhere in her thirties, noticed Jeff’s restlessness and walked over.
“Would you care to change your seat, sir?” she whispered, glancing toward the snoring passenger.
“Thanks, but I’m not sleeping anyway.” He handed her his cup from the tray table. “A little more coffee would be great.”
“Certainly.” Silently, she made her way to the galley, returning minutes later with a steaming cupful. “Can I get you anything else? A pillow or blanket?”
Jeff shook his head and smiled his appreciation before tasting the hot brew. As someone in the medical field, he knew he shouldn’t drink so much coffee, but during the long hours at the hospital, at times the caffeine was all that kept him going. That and thoughts of Tish.
Leaning back again, Jeff closed his eyes, thinking back again to that fateful week they’d met in Arizona….
From that first evening on, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. From the next table over at meals or pausing along the corral fence to study her as she worked a horse or gazing across the campfire one evening as several of the agents and guests gathered to sing songs with the majestic mountains in the background. He kept watch and smiled at her occasionally, but rarely spoke and never moved close enough to touch her. Though he wanted to…badly.
For her part, Tish kept him in her sights as well, sometimes openly staring, periodically tossing a glance over her shoulder as she walked away, her eyes occasionally searching a room for him. Now and again, he’d catch her gaze locked to his face, her expression thoughtful and contemplative. She made no move to come nearer, though she seemed on the brink of doing so.
He liked the way she carried herself, straight and proud, her demeanor that of a tall woman though she was no more than five-four or five. He liked the way the setting sun would get caught in the brown of her hair and turn it auburn. He liked the way her smile got all warm and fuzzy when she talked with the two children of a tourist couple.
She’d even arranged to give the older child, Luke, a boy of about twelve, riding lessons. He was gangly and awkward but, in no time, Tish had him smiling and almost confident astride one of the gentle mares. Afterward, he’d thanked her and started back toward his mother, then he’d impulsively run back for a fierce hug. Jeff had seen the surprised look of pleasure on Tish’s face before she’d turned aside.
Then there was that hot afternoon, about a week after they’d met, the day the new calves were branded. It was a miserable job that called for agility, strength and a certain hardening of the heart when the calves bawled and struggled and fought. Branding was not Jeff’s favorite job. He’d been told by East to do only the things he wanted to do while healing and regaining his strength, but he hadn’t turned down the job boss when he’d all but challenged him to help out. Jeff knew he was the youngest agent there, mostly inexperienced and unseasoned. He also guessed that the cowhands were out to test him, to see what he was made of.
Four hours into it and Jeff was ready to drop. Muscles he didn’t know he had hurt like hell, sweat was pouring into his eyes and only half the day was over. Mac was the job boss, the one releasing the calves from the chute, aiming them over to Jeff and three others in the corral with the branding irons. Mac was a mean one, short, bandy-legged and prematurely bald so he never took off his hat, and he had the temperament of a jailhouse guard. No one liked him, including Jeff.
That day, Mac was mainly picking on Teddy, a new hand who couldn’t have been shaving long, looking no older than nineteen. Mac kept yelling criticisms that the kid wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, good enough. The dressing down in front of half a dozen cowboys hanging on the fence finally took its toll on the kid and he looked near tears. That’s when Mac moved in for the kill, shouting that Teddy was useless, finally grabbing the branding iron from him, looking for all the world like he was going to press the fire-hot metal end onto Teddy’s tender flesh before he tossed it aside with a disgusted grunt.
To this day, Jeff didn’t know what came over him. Certainly, he was no hero and no match for Mac who outweighed him by a good thirty pounds. But during the years he’d been a runaway he’d run into his fair share of bullies and hated them all. Standing behind Mac, he dropped his own iron and yelled to get his attention.
Mac’s thick neck scarcely moved as he turned his head toward Jeff. “What’d you say?”
“I said leave him alone,” Jeff answered, his eyes angry, his stance challenging, feet apart.
Mac smiled and it wasn’t pretty. Then he took a step toward Jeff. “And who’s going to make me?”
“I am,” Jeff answered, and let loo
se with a right to the man’s gut followed by a left to his jaw that sent him sprawling, narrowly missing the fire where the branding irons were heated. Mac scrambled to his feet, fire in his eyes. He came charging at Jeff like a bull, but Jeff was younger and faster, so he moved aside in time. Furious now, Mac spun around and smacked a thick fist into Jeff’s shoulder, but Jeff held his ground.
The cowhands yelled encouragement but Jeff just wanted to end it. He waited until Mac came thundering close again, then let loose with a sucker punch to his already injured jaw. Mac went down like a felled tree. He tried to get up, flailing his arms halfheartedly, lifted his head, then fell back, out cold.
Jeff yanked off his gloves. “I’m through for today,” he said, and walked out of the corral. The boy he’d rescued was too stunned and probably too frightened to move, but the guys along the fence cheered and those nearest him patted his shoulder as he made his way to the barn. He was hot, tired and disgusted with himself.
He’d done exactly what East had repeatedly warned him not to do, settled something with his fists instead of his brain. He’d been young those years he’d lived on the run and the only way he’d survived was to be a street fighter out of necessity when bigger runaways had tried to take advantage. But he’d given that up ten years ago, or so he’d thought until Mac had gone too far.
Nearing the barn, Jeff heard running footsteps, then felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Teddy, looking awkward and shy. His crooked smile would have made an orthodontist’s hands twitch.
“Thanks,” he muttered, his face reddening.
Nodding, Jeff walked on and almost didn’t notice Tish standing in the doorway, in her eyes a new respect. Still, he marched on by, knowing he’d made a formidable enemy in Mac.
He went straight to his room, took a long, hot shower, then lay down on his bed, trying to rest his overtaxed muscles and his throbbing right hand. Ever since his ordeal of being buried alive, of not knowing if he’d ever see daylight again, he’d noticed that he had a much shorter fuse. He was grateful to be alive and wondered why others didn’t see what he saw, that each day was a gift. The petty arguments, the anger, the need to best someone smaller and younger, all of it made him see red. Jeff sighed, thinking he’d have to work on these sudden temper flare-ups or he’d become just like the bullies he disliked.
Feeling restless, he got up and tried watching television, but nothing held his interest. He flipped through a couple of magazines, but he didn’t feel like reading. Pacing, he thought of Tish Buckner and wondered why she showed signs of interest, yet only from a distance. And he wondered how he could change that.
Jeff hadn’t done a lot of dating, mostly because living at Condor with East when he’d been a teenager didn’t give him much opportunity. Except for school kids, the only people he’d spent time with had been SPEAR agents much older than he. And East had kept him on a fast track of learning, year-round classes to make up for studies he’d missed as a runaway, then college and finally med school where he spent the few free hours he had falling facedown on the bed, dead to the world with exhaustion.
Sure, there’d been a few women; after all, he wasn’t a monk. Enough so that he recognized that certain look in a woman’s eyes when she was sizing up a man, considering possibilities, wondering, imagining. That special male-female connection that is difficult to explain but is unmistakable to the parties involved.
And Tish Buckner was definitely sending out those signals.
Maybe he’d try getting her alone after dinner tonight, ask her to go for a walk, get to know her. Checking the time, Jeff saw that it was nearing six. He went back to the bathroom and took pains getting ready, combing his thick blond hair just so, choosing pressed chinos and a navy shirt, loafers instead of cowboy boots.
Patting shaving lotion on his face, he studied his image and spoke to the mirror. “That’s as good as it gets, folks,” then smiled at his flight of fancy. Was Tish causing him to talk to himself? he wondered as he grabbed his leather jacket and left his room.
She was already in the dining room, seated at Slim’s table for six as usual. Reggie Miller, a fortyish agent who thought of himself as God’s gift to women, was regaling two female agents and Tish with tales of his days as a lumberjack in the Pacific Northwest as Jeff took the last chair after filling his plate at the buffet table. There were greetings all around, though Reggie barely stopped in his recitation to nod toward him.
Apparently Reggie’s story had been quite funny since there was hearty laughter when he finished. Jeff concentrated on his food with occasional glances at Tish, biding his time.
“I heard about what you did at the branding,” Slim said in a quiet aside to Jeff. “I guess you loosened a couple of Mac’s teeth.” The normally taciturn manager grinned. “Wish I’d have seen that.”
“It’s about time someone punched out his lights,” Marge Collins on the other side of Jeff commented. “But I’d watch my back, Jeff. He’s a mean one.”
“I think Jeff can handle himself,” Tish said softly, her eyes on him.
“Then again, could’ve been a lucky punch,” Reggie said, anxious to turn the attention back to himself. “I did some boxing awhile back. That old one-two punch comes from street fighting, right, sonny?” he asked, his cool gaze on Jeff.
Every time he’d been around Reggie, the man had called him sonny even though he knew his name. It was a subtle put-down, but Jeff wasn’t about to rise to the bait tonight. One fight a day was more than enough. “Call it what you want, it worked.”
Reggie couldn’t think of a clever comeback, so he changed the subject to the ride up into the high country scheduled for the next day to deliver salt to the cows in the far pasture. “We could go together, Tish. It’s real pretty up there this time of year.”
Jeff heard her say something noncommittal before he turned to answer a question Slim had asked. The conversation shifted to other topics as they finished their meal. Finally, Reggie left the table to get his dessert and Jeff saw his chance. Sliding back his chair, he rose and walked around the table to Tish’s side.
“It’s a nice night,” he began, standing behind her chair, inhaling the fresh scent of her hair. “I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk.”
“I’d like to, Jeff, but…”
“But she’s promised to take me on in a game of chess,” Reggie said as he returned with a generous slice of pie. “I don’t suppose you play, eh, sonny?”
For the second time that day, Jeff wanted to hit a man, and he wasn’t very happy about it. “Some other time then,” he said more curtly than he’d intended, and left the dining room.
He needed fresh air, Jeff decided, to be outside where he could walk off his anger and this pent-up energy. Detouring through the kitchen, he stopped to praise Elsa’s barbecued brisket while he snitched a couple of small carrots and apples. He stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket, gave the cook a quick hug and escaped.
Finally outdoors, he stood on the back porch, breathing in the fresh mountain air. He walked out toward the barns, then stopped, closed his eyes and listened. Here, away from the people and buildings, it was so different. The world was alive with sound—the muted gurgle of water rushing over stones in the nearby creek, the flutter of wings as a night bird flew by, crickets singing and small, furry creatures darting about in the underbrush. A distant owl sent up a protest as Jeff slapped at a mosquito.
He slipped on his jacket and strolled. From the barns came the sounds of a horse whinnying, probably a stallion picking up the scent of a mare.
Walking briskly, he headed for the stables, circling the entire structure before going inside. The horses were housed in a long aluminum building with stalls on either side and cement flooring on the center aisle plus overhead track lighting, now on dim as Jeff pushed open the sliding door. Thoroughly modern, all of Red Rock’s barns were electronically monitored by the ranch manager or his assistant so that it wasn’t necessary to have a person on hand to check on the ani
mals at night. But the ranchers often wandered in to inspect their mounts or to tend to a sick cow or newborn calf.
Tonight, the horse stable appeared to be empty of humans, Jeff noted as he strolled down the center aisle. As he passed the stalls, he noticed ears twitch as the horses turned their big heads toward him, acknowledging his presence. One or two snuffle-guffed or snorted and from the far end came a short whinny. The combined scent of leather and animal hide wasn’t altogether unpleasant, he thought as he sauntered along, whispering a soft greeting to this one and that.
Snowflake, a two-year-old spirited white mare he’d ridden yesterday, bobbed her big head at him, inviting attention. “Okay, girl,” he said softly, “I see you.” He caressed her nose as she nuzzled him, sniffing out the treats in his pocket. Laughing, he gave her one of the carrots and walked on.
He spoke to a few more mares, reading their names from the metal plate attached to each stall door. Pausing at Belladonna’s stall, he greeted the big chestnut. “She gave you quite a workout again, eh, girl? Yeah, I saw you both and you looked like you were loving it.” He stroked her nose while the mare poked her way around toward his pocket. Funny how horses could ferret out a treat in moments.
“Has she been down here to see you tonight, Bella?” Jeff asked as he gave her an apple. “Or is she playing chess with that creep, all the while thinking of me?” He chuckled at that thought as he watched the mare’s big teeth make quick work of the apple. “Yeah, right.” With a last pat, he moved on down, heading for the males at the far end.
Domino, the black stallion he’d ridden earlier today, was restlessly pawing the floor of his stall. He let out a sharp whinny when he spotted Jeff and shook his proud head, ruffling his thick mane. “Yeah, I know how you feel, boy.”
Jeff wandered closer and saw the big horse settle down as he gave him an apple, though he was sure food wasn’t the stallion’s biggest problem. His back to the section he’d come from, he leaned on the door of the empty stall next to Domino’s. “Got a girlfriend down there you’d like a little time with?” he asked the stallion, male to male. “Is she playing hard to get?” Domino bobbed his big head as if in answer to his question. “Females! They’re like that, aren’t they, boy?”