Smoketree

by Jennifer Roberson

  He was genuinely concerned but made no effort to detain me. It took John Oliver to do that.

  He rose as I did. “Kelly, it’s not necessary for you to leave.”

  “I’m tired,” I repeated.

  “I read about it. ” His eyes were level. “It was in all the magazines, all over the TV…”

  I felt the first flare of anger and resentment. “I know that. I know perfectly well what kind of publicity it got.”

  Cigar smoke rose in a twisting gray trail. “I believe they said it was an accident.”

  “There was another driver involved,” I conceded.

  His wife slapped her hand down with a smack against the surface of the table. “I remember! He was killed in that grisly accident in California—” Her eyes widened and she stared at me. “You were driving. It was you behind the wheel. Wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I said, “it was.”

  I looked at Lenore’s surprised face, then her husband’s placid one, and finally I looked at Nathan Reynolds. He was observing me with a mixture of concern and compassion. That, more than Lenore’s avid interest and Oliver’s calm self-assurance drove me from them all.

  I fled the room, the foyer with its beasts, the Lodge, and stumbled down the porch steps.

  Right into the arms of Harper Young.

  Chapter Three

  He caught me by the arms swiftly, surely, and kept me from falling flat on my face. I regained my balance and thanked him breathlessly, embarrassed by the scene. I could feel the heat in my face as I tried to pull myself back together, and all the while he watched me.

  “What’s after you?” he asked at last.

  “Nothing,” I said instantly, and realized almost as instantly the answer wouldn’t hold up. Not when he’d witnessed my flight from the Lodge.

  “You just got here,” he said in a wry drawl. “Leaving so soon?”

  Automatically I brushed fingers through my hair, making certain the scar was covered by my bangs. “I’m just tired, and not all that hungry. Thanks for catching me.”

  “Feel like talking about it?”

  I swung around to look at him again. “No,” I said in surprise. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  He smiled faintly, though most of it was hidden beneath the thick moustache. “As you say, ma’am.”

  Color and heat rose again. I summoned a politely distant smile, knowing perfectly well he saw right through me. He had that direct, knowing gaze that stripped away the facade I was trying to rebuild. “Mr. Young—”

  “Harper.”

  I sighed. I was tired, but I was also hungry, and even as I told him I had no appetite, I felt the rumble in my stomach. I opened my mouth to make my final farewell, but he stepped in before I could say a word.

  “You’re that model, aren’t you?” He answered his own question with a nod of his wide-brimmed hat. “Yep. Cassie told me about you. About how you make all that money for having your picture taken.”

  The accusation—or observation—was so old it had whiskers. “Right,” I agreed. “I make a million each time the shutter snaps. ” I turned to walk away from him, knowing an explanation would make no difference.

  And yet he seemed to want one. “What’s it like, being a model? Is it true what I hear?”

  I paused and glanced back. His smile broadened irritatingly. His tanned face was lean and mobile, appealing in a dark gypsy sort of way. He was intensely male, with all the accompanying male characteristics and attitudes that make the breed so frustrating much of the time.

  I appraised him a moment, and smiled right back. “I doubt very much what you’ve heard has anything to do with the truth. But I also doubt you’d want to hear what it’s really like.”

  He shrugged. “Try me some time. Set me straight.”

  “Right.” I laughed. “You’d be bored stiff in thirty seconds.”

  “Maybe.” He glanced toward the Lodge. “Supper’s waiting. You sure you’re not hungry?”

  I thought about going back in and facing the Olivers so soon after my abrupt departure. I was hungry, but all my instincts told me not to go. Not yet. Courage is such a fickle thing.

  “I’m sure,” I told him. “I’m going to bed.”

  He watched me a moment longer, the lean face suddenly implacable, and then he tipped his hat and left me standing in the dirt.

  At midnight I gave up trying to sleep. I had stared at the dark ceiling over my bed for a very long time, trying to shut off my over-active mind. Nothing worked. Sleep was nowhere near. Perhaps it was a residue of jet-lag; perhaps it was the scene with the Olivers at the dinner table. Perhaps it was simply that I couldn’t forget I was the one responsible for Tucker’s death, as Lenore had so dramatically reminded me. The worst of the crying had been over for weeks; now I stared dry-eyed into the darkness of my cabin and wondered why I had been left behind. God knew the accident had been bad enough to kill us both. Perversely, it hadn’t.

  I finally decided on a venture outside, hoping the cold mountain air might clear my mind. I pulled on jeans and a heavy Irish sweater over my pajama top, as well as my tweed jacket that bunched up over the thickness of the sweater. I tugged at it until it was more comfortable, then stepped into fuzzy bedroom slippers and went out the door. I locked it behind me.

  The evening was chilly, clear and crisp as only mountain nights can be. Away from the diffused glare of city lights, the stars glowed in a black sky and the air sang with pine scent. My cabin was set apart from the others. The Olivers were the closest, some fifty yards away. No light shone from there and only faint illumination from the Lodge found its way through the darkness to me. But the moon shed enough light to see by.

  I blew out a breath and saw it cloud briefly in the air. Then I hugged my ribs and started walking, scuffing through the dirt in my slippers. Not the best footwear on a cold mountain night, but I didn’t care.

  I had no goal, I just wanted to walk. Eventually I wandered down toward the barn and went around it, stopping short as I saw the metal rods of a white-painted arena gleaming ghostlike in the darkness. I hadn’t noticed it on the ride in. It stood on the flatlands below the barn.

  The arena drew me like a magnet. I draped myself against the cold metal fence and hung there, relaxing and conjuring up a vision of horses circling the rounded rectangle in a bid for freedom. But the cold seeped through my blazer and my chin, resting against the top rod, felt frozen solid. My toes were complaining. I sighed and pushed off the rails, more than ready to head back. My mind was no easier but I felt a little more tired than before. It was something.

  The shadow darted at me from out of the darkness, from behind. I spun around, gasping automatically, and gave myself away. The shadow turned in my direction and came at me. Half of me wanted to run. Half of me was rooted to the ground.

  The rooted half won.

  The shadow formed itself into a human shape, and then I identified it. “What are you doing out here?” I asked, trying to make my heart return to its normal cadence.

  Patrick Rafferty halted before me. His clothes were dark, making him seem a part of the night. “I beg your pardon?”

  I thought about the imperativeness of my tone. “Sorry. You frightened me.” I paused. “What are you doing?”

  The horn-rims rested on his face, sharpening the gaze he directed at me. “What are you doing?”

  I considered not answering. I had asked first. Then I thought about how ridiculous the whole conversation was.

  I smiled at him. “Working the kinks out of my thoughts so I can sleep. How about you?” My smile grew. “Plotting?”

  He scowled at me. The moonlight limned the angles of his face and shadowed his hair and eyes. “Let’s just say, I was working.”

  I hid the laughter that welled up; maybe Lenore was right about him. If he wanted to act out his spy novels, let him. Fantasy is healthy for the soul.

  I looked beyond him. “What were you doing in the barn?”

  “I wasn’t in the barn
.”

  He had been, I thought. But what difference did it make? He had as much right as I did to wander around in the darkness, no matter what he was doing.

  “Good night,” he said abruptly, as if he had no more to say to me. He probably didn’t.

  I watched him go. He disappeared into the darkness quickly, so dark and silent, and within a minute or two I became aware of how vulnerable I felt. The world seemed huge and I so small; I started to head back toward my cabin, intent on rediscovering sleep, but yet another individual stopped me. “Midnight assignation?” crooned Harper’s drawling voice.

  I spun around and clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out, but also to stop the curse that came leaping to my tongue. My heart was doing flipflops again. “No,” I told him curtly, still frightened half to death.

  “I see.” He obviously didn’t, but that was immaterial. He was wearing a hat and a down vest, holding a big flashlight. But it wasn’t turned on.

  I sighed and hugged my ribs against the cold. “Since you ask—I was out walking. I couldn’t sleep. ”

  “Hungry, I imagine. You should be, with no supper.”

  I smiled at him. I doubted a denial would do much good. He smiled in return. “Ma’am, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to escort you up to the Lodge for a bite of something. I doubt you can stand to lose even a pound off those skinny bones of yours.”

  I blinked at him in shock. “Do you talk to all your guests like this?”

  “No. Just the ones who deserve it.” He smiled inoffensively. “Want some food?”

  I sighed, regaining some of my composure. Not enough, but some. “You didn’t come down here just to find a dinner partner. What are you doing?”

  “Checking the place. Part of my job.”

  “That’s right,” I agreed at once. “It is something glue might do.” I grinned at his frown of incomprehension. “Cass called you that. Sort of the glue that holds the ranch together. But why,” I asked, “are you doing it in the dark?” I looked pointedly at the flashlight.

  He hefted it briefly. “Batteries went out on me. But the moon’s bright, so I don’t really need it. I saw you easily enough.”

  “And the writer?”

  “I saw him. Now—shall we go?”

  I thought about food. I thought about my empty stomach. I thought about the cowboy’s company and decided I could overlook a little plain speech in exchange for something hot and filling. But I couldn’t let him get away with it. “People pay me for looking like this, you know. ”

  “They don’t pay you to starve,” he retorted bluntly. “Come along. ”

  Harper Young took me up to the Lodge and into the big, gleaming kitchen. On the outside the Lodge looked like an old-fashioned ranch house; the kitchen was a showplace of modern fixtures and utensils. Copper-bottomed pots and pans hung from a giant pegboard, gleaming accents to the adobe-colored walls. Counters held blenders and microwaves and other modern items of convenience. Not much of the old chuckwagon here, I thought, even if I was in the company of a genuine cowboy.

  Harper gestured toward a breakfast bar and I climbed up on a tall stool. I watched as he set a frying pan on a burner and filled it with a steak from the huge refrigerator.

  I started to protest. So much food—but he turned toward me with a two-pronged fork in one hand. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those damned vegetarians.”

  I looked at the glint in his blue eyes. “No,” I answered truthfully. “But—that’s too much. ”

  “Then the dogs can have what you don’t finish. ” The steak sizzled in the pan as he turned his back on me again. “There’s beer in the icebox… if you want a salad, make it. ”

  I felt the laughter well up again. “Isn’t this against a cowboy’s code of honor, or something? Cooking for a woman?”

  “We’re not all male chauvinist pigs.” He paused as I smothered a laugh. “Did you think I’d never heard of such?”

  “Well—”

  “Never mind,” he said grimly. “I’ve been underestimated before. ”

  I watched him pull spices down from a cupboard, sprinkling the steak and then spreading it with a thin film of steak sauce. He moved as if he knew precisely what he was doing.

  “You’ve been married, haven’t you?” I saw the line of his shoulders stiffen. “Or did you just live together?”

  “What makes you think it’s either one?” He didn’t turn; he didn’t need to.

  “A hunch.” I slid off the stool and went to the refrigerator and pulled out a long-necked Budweiser. “Which was it?”

  “That’s private.”

  “Yes,” I agreed affably. “Just like my affairs.”

  That brought him around. His face was very still a long moment, almost too still, and then it softened. Just a little. “Touche, ”he said quietly. “Well then, how about one of those for me?”

  I twisted the top off and handed him the bottle. I took one for myself as well, forgoing a glass; when in Rome, as they say. I climbed back up on my stool, watched him fry the steak, and sipped at my beer.

  “Which was it?” I repeated.

  “You don’t get anything for free,” he said over the sizzle of the steak. “An even trade.”

  I stared at his back. He still wore the hat, even inside the kitchen; I wondered if he slept in it. And then I lifted my brows in minor astonishment. What was I doing wondering how he slept?

  Harper turned around. “I was married, once,” he said. “How about you?”

  “I thought you said Cass told you about me.”

  “Cass doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does.” The words were mean, but the tone was gentle. Brotherly. And yet I knew that wasn’t how she viewed him. I’d seen that easily enough when we’d met Harper on the drive in.

  “I wasn’t married.

  “Spoken for?”

  I smiled a little. “You might say that. We didn’t really live together—our jobs kept us on different coasts too often for that—but it was close enough.” I gestured with my bottle. “I prefer it resembling meat instead of old boot leather, please.” He turned down the heat obligingly. “What broke you up?” I felt the tingling in every inch of my skin. Suddenly the kitchen felt cold, except it was me, not the room. I stared at him blankly. “Who said we broke up?”

  He shrugged. “Isn’t that why you came?”

  I laughed once. There was no humor in it, it was just a blurt of sound. “You thought I came here because of the end of an affair?”

  His mouth twisted beneath the moustache. “It’s been done before. Smoketree’s a nice place to escape to, if you feel the need to escape. Some do.” His eyes were steady on my face. “I’ve seen it before,” he told me gently. “Women and men. They come here to pick up the pieces, some of them; others come for the relaxation. I know which you came for. It’s easy enough to see. But not why.”

  “Then Cass didn’t tell you much at all.” I stared at the beer bottle in my hands. “Well, you have some of it right. I did come to escape. Picking up those pieces.” I shook my head. “I suppose I’m no different than anyone else.”

  He pulled the steak from the pan and put it on a plate. That he set down next to me on the breakfast bar, along with knife and fork.

  “Don’t underestimate me,” he said obscurely. “But don’t underestimate yourself, either.”

  I looked at him. His face was solemn beneath the hat. After a moment I lifted the bottle. “To your health.”

  He smiled. “And yours.”

  He drank while I ate. And all the time he watched me.

  At three in the morning I found myself staring at my travel clock in bleary-eyed confusion. Then I realized what had awakened me. Barking dogs.

  I lay there and wondered how long the noise would continue before someone saw to quieting them. I had slept heavily after the meal, too heavily; now I felt disoriented and too tired to move. But the barking continued and finally I sat up, shoving the heels of my hands across burning eyes.
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br />   I heard the shouting then. That got me out of bed instantly and I went at once to the window, drawing back the curtains to peer out into the darkness. And then I realized the darkness was lighted by the gush of flames from the barn.

  I dragged on my heavy terrycloth robe, crunched my feet into my slippers and went out the door without even bothering to close it. All I could think about were the horses.

  Lenore caught me before I had gone halfway. John Oliver brushed by us both, muttering something about lending what help he could. Lenore’s hand was on my arm as if to draw me back.

  “John will do what he can,” she told me confidently.

  “So can we.” I went on, paying no attention to her complaints that a burning barn was no place for either of us. But she followed.

  I saw Cass running from the Lodge with a bulky cylindrical object in her hands. She wore jeans, boots and a pajama top. Her face, highlighted starkly by the flames, was so tense she looked older than her years.

  I tripped over something in my path and regained my balance before I fell. It was a heavy garden hose writhing in the dirt as someone near the barn dragged it close, whipping kinks out of it. Glad to be able to do something, no matter how inconsequential, I grabbed a handful of hose and tried to untangle the coils. I felt the vibration of the running water in my hands. So little water; so big a fire.

  I could see figures silhouetted against the flames. They shouted and ran back and forth, heaving bridles and saddles and other bits and pieces of tack. Most of the barn had been utterly engulfed, but it burned from the rear. The doors were still clear, and it was there I saw Harper laboring under the weight of two saddles. He dumped them in the dust some distance from the barn and went back for more. I dropped the hose and ran.

  I heard the horses as I neared the barn. For an odd moment I wondered how a wrangler could so concern himself with gear as to forget the horses, then I realized there were no animals in the barn. They wheeled and circled in nearby pens, squealing with fear, but safe.

  “Stay back!” John Oliver shouted as I approached. I saw Cass darting by with her fire extinguisher. Little help, unfortunately, against a fire of this magnitude.