by Sheryl Lynn
“Did you see any sign of Tuff?”
“Nope.” Reb propped the shotgun next to the door.
“He’ll show up.”
“We’ll be ready for him.”
“And if he doesn’t show?”
“Then I’m going after him.”
THE WIND ROSE AGAIN, rising and falling, one moment a gentle rustling, another moment a thundering gust rattling the house and whistling down the chimney. Restless and fearful, Emily kept wandering the house, compulsively checking the door locks and window catches. Outside, within the ragged circle of light cast by the security lamp, nothing moved except leaves tripping across the driveway.
Each time she entered the kitchen, Copper wouldleap to his feet and stand with his nose touching the door, waiting for her to let him out. She’d tell him, “No, Copper, down.” He’d lower his head and creep back to the corner, giving her his best woe-is-me look.
Reb’s coolness began wearing on her nerves. He sat in the living room, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his arms folded loosely over his chest, while he watched television. She brought out the mending basket and made a halfhearted effort at patching the knee of a pair of Joey’s jeans. After pricking her finger with the needle twice, she gave up. It started to rain again. Drops pattered at the windows, and echoes inside the chimney sounded like a drum.
“Do you think Joey’s okay?” she asked.
Reb cocked an eyebrow. “He’s probably at Claude’s. Even teenagers get tired of being wet.”
Around midnight Emily began to doubt if she’d get any sleep. Jittery with nerves, she joined Reb on the sofa.
Reb played with her hair. He watched an old Gregory Peck movie on television, his expression unreadable, so she couldn’t tell if he even realized what his fingers were doing. Knowing exactly what she was doing, she shifted on the couch and ended up with her head resting against his shoulder. He made no objection, but continued finger-combing her long curls. She picked lint off his thigh.
“Emily.”
She froze, her hand hovering an inch above the worn-soft denim sheathing his thigh.
“You’re driving me crazy.”
He drove her crazy, too. She turned her face and met his sparkling blue eyes. Hot blood pulsed hard through her veins, warming her from the inside out, making her quiver in anticipation. All the desire she’d felt earlier coiled inside her, fresh and hungry and new.
Reb kissed her tenderly and placed his hand against her face, his long fingers hot. She returned his kiss with eagerness, twisting on the couch to find a less awkward position. Television, wind and worries forgotten, they necked, making the old sofa groan. She climbed onto his lap and straddled his thighs. He worked his hands under her shirt, always kissing, teasing, testing, tasting, a melody of slick teeth, wet tongues and the smoky scent of arousal. He unhooked her bra. Her body ached for his touch. She silently chanted her love for him, willing him to hear with every move of her hands and lips.
Lips bruised, her cheeks and chin burning from rasping his late-day beard, she let her head fall back. Each breath was a struggle, though her body sang, thrumming with life. He worked her shirt up her sides, and she lifted her arms, helping him. He stripped off her bra and tossed it behind him. Bathed in the silver light from the television, his face glowed.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe.
She felt beautiful.
He grasped her shoulders in both hands, holding her fast, her breasts thrust proudly forward. Her blue jeans felt excruciatingly tight, chafing skin that had grown overly sensitive with his touch.
“Are you going to look at me or make love to me?” she asked.
“Both.” He eased her backward, holding her steady until she had her feet on the floor.
She straightened, loving the heat in his eyes and his hungry smile. Slowly she unzipped her jeans while he watched every move. She wriggled to push denim and her panties off her hips and down her legs, then she stepped out of her clothes and between his legs.
He swept her onto his lap, playfully rough, erotically tender. She tore at his clothing, impatient in her eagerness to feel his skin against hers, to taste him and revel in the contrast between his hard muscles and her soft curves. The sofa was too small, and several times they nearly tumbled to the floor, but the intimacy of the confined space heightened her arousal. He whispered her name huskily between kisses.
Only afterward, content within herself to feel the ebbing echoes of her climax and his, did she feel the cold. Reb lay atop her, with one hand on the floor holding his weight off her, his head resting against her neck.
“We’re insane,” she said.
When he lifted his head, the troubled, distant look was missing. He wore a crooked, sleepy grin. “Have to say I agree, ma’am.”
She wanted to tell him she loved him—so much that the words ached in her throat. But the sweet spell of his mellow eyes was too precious to break.
With grace incongruous to his size, he rose. He stood for a moment, his tall, gorgeous body outlined in silver by the black-and-white movie playing on television. Emily melted all over again. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees as he pulled an afghan off the back of a rocking chair and tenderly tucked it around her nakedness.
“Don’t want to get caught with my pants down,” he said reluctantly. He picked his jeans off the floor and turned the legs right side out.
Watching the sinuous line of his back made her hot. If not for Tuff lurking around the ranch, she’d drag Reb upstairs to her bed.
After he dressed, he resumed his seat on the couch. Now sleepy, she snuggled against his side. Her eyelids drooped as she tried to figure out what movie played.
“My parents abandoned me,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
For a moment she thought she was dreaming. Was Reb really going to share intimate details about his life with her? But it was no dream.
Reb continued, “You’re right, I don’t understand families. I understand responsibility and loyalty, though.”
Feelings of sympathy rose within her, but Emily squashed the urge to fill the silence with chatter. Reb was offering her a piece of his carefully guarded self, and it was a gift she’d spoil with thoughtless words or misplaced pity.
“Might say I learned by bad example. My father split when I was little. I don’t remember him at all. Mom never recovered. She drank. She finally dumped me with her sister and took off. My aunt had her own problems, her own kids, so she couldn’t take care of me. I grew up in foster homes and on a boys’ ranch.”
Emily allowed a tear of sympathy to slide down her face. She grasped his hand.
“I liked the ranch. They kept us busy with school and hard work, but the counselors cared. They were good people.”
“Do you ever see your mother?”
“Not in years. I remind her too much of my father.”
Her loss, Emily thought. Any good woman would be proud to have a son like Reb. Though he spoke in a mild, almost sleepy way, she knew he hurt.
EMILY AWAKENED with a start. Disoriented, she stared into the darkness, unable to recognize any shadowy shapes, but knowing the windows were in the wrong place and her bed felt all wrong. Gradually she remembered she was in the living room, on the sofa. She must have fallen asleep. The afghan had tangled around her feet, and her toes poked through the crocheted stitches. Wind hammered the house, whistling under the eaves.
She stretched out her feet, seeking Reb. Unable to find him, she sat up, huddling inside the afghan, listening.
“Reb?”
Only the wind answered.
Imaginings tumbled through her groggy brain. Tuff had returned and drawn Reb into a showdown. Reb had decided this was too much closeness for comfort and had taken off, never to be seen again. Joey had returned, and he and Reb were seated at the kitchen table.
She found her jeans and sweatshirt, but not her socks or panties. Unwilling to risk turning on a light, she
dressed as quietly as she could. She felt around for the shotgun, which had been lying on the floor next to the sofa. It was gone, too. She tiptoed to the kitchen doorway and cocked her head, listening. An anxious whimper told her Copper was still in the house. He scratched at the door. She noticed a light on inside the bunkhouse.
More curious than frightened, she moved to the kitchen window and stared at the bunkhouse. She longed to know Reb better. He’d given her a taste, a morsel about his background, but she didn’t even know how old he was or his birthday or if “Reb” was a nickname or his given name. She didn’t know whether or not to take his desertion personally.
She started to turn away when the silhouette of a man appeared in the bunkhouse window. Then two men. Startled, she grabbed the sink and stood on tiptoe, nearly touching her nose to the window glass. The shapes disappeared. She blinked, wondering if the glass had distorted what she’d seen. The light winked off, plunging the bunkhouse into darkness.
Troubled, uncertain what she’d seen—or hadn’t seen—she poured a glass of water. When she looked outside again, Reb was striding quickly across the driveway to the house, with his head down, holding his hat, and his shoulders hunched against the wind.
A key turned distinctly in the lock. She startled.
Reb slipped inside, accompanied by a swirl of gelid air.
“Where did you get a house key?”
He sidestepped away from the outside light that shone through the glass and melded into the shadows. She took two long steps and hit the light switch. He squinted at her from beneath his hat brim.
Pained by the light, she averted her face. For a few seconds neither of them spoke or moved. When her eyes adjusted, she glanced at the clock. It was after six in the morning. Cloud cover hid the dawn.
She asked again, “Where did you get a key to my house?”
“Joey gave it to me.” Calmly, without guilt or shame, he returned her gaze.
Fear crept into her belly. “Why?”
“In case of emergency when he went to Denver. I forgot to give it back.” He held out the key to her. “Here, I’m sorry. I thought you knew I had it.”
A nasty little inner voice told her he was lying—but why? She’d already given him the run of the house. “Finding you gone scared me. Why didn’t you wake me?” She wondered if she’d really seen another man with Reb.
“You needed your sleep.” He set the shotgun next to the door, then pulled off his hat and pressed it to his chest. He wore a heavy parka instead of his denim jacket. The fingers of his leather work gloves were dark with moisture. He gave her an endearing smile that stripped away her suspicions and weakened her knees. “I was doing the chores. What I’m hired to do.”
The glass must have distorted what she’d seen. If Joey had been in the bunkhouse, Reb wouldn’t drag out her worry. Uncertainty subdued her. If she asked, it meant she didn’t trust Reb. Joey distrusted her, Claude thought she was the devil incarnate, her friends were hundreds of miles away, all the sheriff did was pat her on the head and Tuff wanted her dead. The only person who believed in her was Reb, and she needed desperately to trust him. “Did you get any sleep last night?” she asked.
“Enough.” He rolled his head and kneaded the back of his neck. “Not too comfortable, though.”
“Did you see any sign of Tuff?”
“Not a one.” He shivered, and his smile turned mischievous. “It’s cold out there. If the wind wasn’t so mean, there would be frost.” He cocked his head as if listening. “Hand me the bucket. Blossom’s sounding anxious. I’ll tend her for you.”
Undone by his smile, Emily dropped a lid on her suspicions. He left the house again, this time with an eager Copper hot on his heels.
By the time the sun had climbed high enough to lighten the sky despite the clouds, the wind had subsided to a brisk breeze. Fog crawled down the mountainsides. Emily dressed warmly before making breakfast.
Claude arrived while Emily and Reb ate. After tying his horse to the back-porch railing, Claude walked into the kitchen as if he owned it and sat at the table. His attitude rasped like sandpaper over her frayed nerves as she poured coffee and set out the cream and sugar.
“So the boy never came home,” Claude said. “I’ve got to check the fence and the cattle anyway, so I’ll keep my eyes peeled for him.”
Despite his gruff voice, Emily heard a note of worry. No matter what his feelings for her were, Claude loved Joey and would go to the ends of the earth for him. Her dislike of the old cowboy eased a little.
“I’ve an ache in my joints that says there’ll be snow before the day’s out. Bad sign, yessiree, bad sign all the way around. Snow this early in the fall means blizzards are on their way.” Claude sighed. “You sleep on my offer for the ranch, Emily?”
She had more important matters to worry about. “We’ll discuss it later.”
“You betcha we will.” He nodded sharply. “Get saddled up, Reb. Day’s a-wasting.”
She exchanged a worried look with Reb. “I need him here.”
Claude snorted. “Get your hat, Reb. I want to make sure we didn’t lose any calves.”
“No, Claude, I need him. I think Tuff came by yesterday. He might be looking for a chance to steal Joey’s truck.”
“Tuff’s mean, not stupid. He won’t come here.”
“I don’t care about the cattle,” Emily continued. “I want you to look for Joey. If you’ll hold on a minute, I’ll call the neighbors and see if he stayed with any of them last night.”
“Ain’t that a pickle! You don’t care about the cattle. Living in that big city with a rich feller makes you think beef grows in supermarkets? What do you think puts food on this table and those fancy duds on your back?”
His sneer was the last straw. She slapped both hands on the table. “I do! I put food on this table! Not to mention money in your pocket and hay in the barns.”
Claude’s eyes widened in an expression of clownish surprise. If Emily weren’t so angry, she’d laugh.
“Now you listen to me, Claude Longo, and you listen good. I own this ranch and I work my tail off keeping it out of bankruptcy. It’s costing me almost every penny I own, not to mention my self-respect, and I’m not taking any more crap off of you. You work for me. You will not come into my home and insult me! Get off that chair. Get out of my house. Go look for Joey.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Claude muttered in shock.
Huffing with fury, she stomped after him. The screened door shut in her face. “And when you find my brother, tell him to get back home, pronto!”
Tugging his hat down low, Claude hopped like a cricket onto the saddle of his horse. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And watch out for Tuff. If you see him, get to the nearest telephone and call the police.”
She stood glaring out the door, watching Claude’s wiry figure atop the fast-moving horse until he disappeared from sight. As soon as he was gone, her anger drained away. Reb cleared his throat.
Wincing, she faced him. His smile stunned her.
“You think this is funny?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, swinging his head and fighting the smile.
She rubbed her fist against her aching chest. “They push me and push me. Picking and prodding until I could just scream. What am I supposed to do? I try to be fair. I’m nice as can be. I hate losing my temper like that.”
“Ought to do it more often.”
She plopped into a chair. “Oh, please.”
“You spend too much time trying to make up for the past. Claude and Joey know you feel guilty, and they take advantage of it. They walk all over you.”
“So I should yell more often?”
Reb shrugged lazily and sipped his coffee. “Might not hurt. Especially with Claude. He respects a good row.”
“I’m trying to be nice to him.”
“Uh-huh. And the more you bend over backward, the harder he stomps on your toes.” He rose and stretched, catlike, arching his spine and flexing his shoulders.
Remembrances of last night infused her body, twisting her up inside. For a moment she forgot what they were talking about. Visions of him naked, long and muscular and lean, graceful as a dancer, hard as stone, gave her shivers.
“You think I’m a wimp.”
He shook his head. “If you want their respect, stand up for yourself.” He arched his eyebrows. “You earned mine. Let’s go.” He picked up the shotgun and checked the load.
That snapped her back to the present. “Where?”
“To find the duffel bag.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“We still don’t know for sure if Tuff came here last night. I don’t feel like waiting around for him. Unless you want to stay here alone.”
She hurried to dress in a warm jacket and made sure her gloves were in the pocket.
“I’ll put the leash on Copper. Pack a lunch and something to drink so we don’t have to break off searching. If we’re lucky, the storm knocked something loose.”
His words proved prophetic. A few hours later Copper playfully pounced on the tattered remains of a duffel bag. Emily had almost given up hope of the dog finding anything. They’d let him sniff and paw at the money he’d found, and he’d seemed excited about the possibility of finding more, but then he’d merely meandered through the forest. Having Copper actually find something left Emily speechless.
Reb examined the remains of the olive green canvas bag. The bottom had been ripped off. The sides had been ravaged by teeth and claws. It had been lying in a rut formed by a rivulet, now dark and hardened into mud. Emily followed the path of the water up, lifting her gaze to Hannah Peak.
Chapter Thirteen
Exhausted, Emily flopped into a chair. She and Reb had climbed, crawled and dug across the base of Hannah Peak until sunset. They had poked inside caves and fissures, pushed into thickets and dislodged loose rocks. Now she plucked a dried oak leaf off her shirt. Her muscles ached, and she was frozen to the bone. She couldn’t recall ever feeling so cold and miserable.
On the table in front of her lay a note. On a scrap of newspaper, in large, messy script, Claude had informed her he hadn’t found Joey, but that he would continue looking. Apparently she’d rattled the old cowboy—at least enough so that he’d worded the note politely.