The storm clouds billowed and broke. All her losses, past and future, crashed around her with the summer storm. She was glad she was alone, miles from anyone who could hear or see her, because sometimes a girl just had to let go. Deep sobs escaped in guttural moans while rain pelted her hair, her skin, her shirt.
Minutes later, she sniffed, stood, and brushed the mud from her butt. Buster was somewhere in the storm, alone, maybe hurt. She pictured her big gelding lying at the bottom of the slope, helpless in the rain. Flies would buzz at his sweet, soft eyes, and buzzards would tear at his shining hide. It would be all her fault for quitting when he was still eager to chase calves, for falling asleep when she should have been watching him, and for trying to do a job that was way too big for her cowgirl britches.
You should have asked for help. Cade would have come.
Swatting the thought away like a pesky fly, she resolved to take this one step at a time.
Step one: Find her horse.
Step two: Quit crying.
Step three: Figure out what the heck step three was.
Chapter 18
Jess’s sock was damp with rain and sweat, but she wrestled it on while she sorted through the sounds of the prairie—the tinkle of a songbird, the blatt of redwing blackbirds in the willows, and the splat of raindrops hitting the dry earth.
There was another sound, though. Something different—and welcome. She stood, her heart lifting.
Hoofbeats, faint but getting faster. Scrambling to the brink of the ravine, she caught sight of Buster and hoisted herself up over the rocks to greet him. He was a welcome sight—as opposed to the mounted horse behind him.
Cade.
She should have been relieved, but the stress of the past half hour made her inexplicably annoyed as he smiled down on her, all white teeth and summer tan. His ridiculously pretty horse seemed to be smiling, too, as if he knew what a fool she’d just made of herself.
Apparently, she wasn’t done, because the sight of Buster made a great, shuddering breath escape her as she swallowed a mighty sob of relief.
Dammit, she needed to stay cool so Cade wouldn’t know how bad she’d screwed up. She swiped at her tears, remembering too late how dirty her hands were. She’d probably pawed a streak of dirt across her cheek, which must look charming, what with her hair being drippy from the rain and her shirt wet through. When it rained in Wyoming, it really rained. Storms might not have staying power, but they were thorough.
“Need help?” Cade asked.
Deep inside her, a little voice cried Yes! Please!
But an old defensiveness born of too many dumb blond jokes reared its head and struck like a rattler.
“I’m fine.”
She was tired of men who patronized her, as if she couldn’t perform simple, everyday tasks. Maybe the task at hand wasn’t so simple, and maybe she’d been bested by a bunch of bovine babies, but still.
She brushed dirt off her jeans with her muddy hands, then grabbed her snakebit boot and hopped around awkwardly, trying to put it on. “Just fine.”
“Fine?” Cade grinned, looking her up and down. “I noticed that.”
His gaze stroked her like the palm of a warm hand, trailing a shimmer of lust from the top of her head to her toes. She was acutely aware that her shirt was wet through. Probably see-through.
His sure was. As she faced him, the sun emerged behind him and the rain cloud passed. The little voice started shouting again.
Give up. Go home. And take that cowboy with you!
She distracted herself by petting his horse while she clenched her thighs to cut down on the shimmering.
“Is this a client’s horse?”
“Nope.” He slid his gaze sideways. “He was Amber Lynn’s.”
“Figures. His eyelashes are longer than mine.” She stroked the velvet muzzle and felt the comfort of the horse’s scent, his soft eyes, his sturdy if spindly presence. “He looks like Barbie’s Dream Horse.”
“He’s Ken’s Dream Horse.” Cade faked a childish pout. “Barbie’s horse is pink.”
“Oh, right. He’s so manly. What’s his name?”
Cade grinned wider. “Pride. Like I said, he was Amber Lynn’s. Get it?”
It took her a second. “Oh. So he goeth before a fall?”
“Sure does.”
She laughed as Buster pushed his muzzle into her hand, searching for a treat.
“I think Buster’s in love with him,” Cade said. “He’s been following us around for the past fifteen minutes. Where were you?”
“Resting.”
She stared off over a landscape brightened to brilliance by the rain. The Highlanders had emerged with the sun, and the pasture was dotted with cow-calf pairs, dozens of them. Just looking at them made her so tired and frustrated that she was almost afraid to open her mouth. She was afraid a petulant mew would escape and finish shredding her dignity.
Swallowing, she managed to speak.
“You didn’t have to come looking for me, you know.”
“I wasn’t looking for you.” He moved his head, and a pool of rain in his Stetson poured, in a single silver stream, from the brim. “I was looking for those calves Heck was worried about.” His brow furrowed. “Is that why you’re here? Were you trying to do this job on your own?”
“Are you?”
“Well, yeah. But I haven’t been living in the city for the past few years.”
At least he hadn’t brought up her lousy roping skills. She supposed she should give him credit for tact, but her feminist ire had collided with the shimmering, and she was too confused to be anything but grumpy.
“I’m fine. It’s like riding a bicycle.”
He rested his forearms on the saddle horn and fixed his eyes on hers. “You’re not fine, and that horse is not a bicycle.” He sighed. “It’s Buster, though, and you know what they say. Good horses take care of fools, drunks, and children.”
“I am not a child.”
He gave her an indulgent smile, the kind a favorite uncle might bestow on a three-year-old. “I didn’t call you one.”
She shook back her hair, trying not to wince when a small waterfall cascaded down the collar of her shirt. “I’m not a drunk either.”
He gave her a level stare from those clear gray eyes while rain dripped in big, fat drops from the brim of his hat. “That rules out two out of three. Gee, what’s left?”
She set her fists on her hips, giving him a mock glare. “Are you calling me stupid?”
His brows lowered. “Anyone’s a fool who’d be out here alone. What if Buster throws you?”
“What if I’m struck by lightning? What if Buster grows horns and a forked tongue? What if the devil rises up from the canyon and hauls me off to hell?” She blew out an impatient sigh. “I told you, I’m fine.”
It really wasn’t fair, arguing with a man sitting high in the saddle while she stood there flatfooted. He looked handsome and confident, forearms on the saddle horn, hat tilted up, those pale, sky-lit eyes seeing everything. She almost broke down and told him she couldn’t do this.
Almost.
But she could. The strength to get this job done was at the core of her. So what if that core had shrunk down to the size of a peanut? A very small peanut, which she seemed to have misplaced?
Another sob, left over from her snake-induced panic, welled up like a knuckle-sized rock in her throat. The shimmering was still there, mixed with annoyance in a toxic stew garnished with terror of the snake and frustration with the prancing calves. Leaning her forehead against the swells of Buster’s saddle, she felt her self-reliance pour out in a moan that was a whole lot louder and more pitiful sounding than she’d planned.
He had his arm around her shoulders in an instant, his eyes filled with concern.
“What happened, hon? What can I do?”
/> “I’m just tired.” The part of her that had no pride collapsed into him. “I whistled, and Buster didn’t come, and I thought he was dead. And my dad’s sick, and the ranch is going to be sold, and it’s all gone wrong.” Sorrow squeezed her heart so hard, she could barely squeak. “I love this place. I love my dad. Nothing’s right. Nothing.”
* * *
Cade put his arms around Jess. They stood in the mud, rocking together while she cried. She never let herself lean on him like this, and he knew she’d start fighting her feelings in ten, nine, eight, seven…
“Oh God, I’m such a girl.” Shoving him away, she ran her hands over her face in a vain attempt to erase her tears. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”
He tilted his head, considering her muddied knees and hair, her damp shirt, her dirty face. “What were you doing down there, anyway?”
“Nothing. But look—you won’t believe this.”
Balancing on one leg, she removed her boot, tugged down her sock, and held out her foot to show him a bruise on the fair skin of her ankle.
“What did you do?”
He bent to take her foot in his hands. What was left of the rain poured out of his hat brim, right onto her bare foot. Yipping, she pulled away.
“Look.” Picking up her boot, she pointed to two faint holes in the leather. “It was crazy. A snake…”
The breath left his body as if he’d been punched in the gut. “What? What kind?”
“Rattler. But…”
He snatched the boot away and grabbed her arm. “I thought you said you were okay.”
Frog-marching her toward the horses, he swore and hoisted her roughly into his arms when she stumbled on her half-socked foot.
“Cade, stop. What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” He hoisted her higher against his chest. “It’s like you were born in that damn city. Don’t you remember rattlesnakes?” He dumped her beside the horses.
Teetering on her one boot, she grabbed his arm to keep from falling. “Be careful.”
“Careful?” He was so mad that the words got all jammed up in his throat. They made a growling sound, then burst out before he could think. “You be careful, dammit. You could be dead. You may be yet, because you’re too damned stubborn to ask for help.”
“I can do it,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t know how long Dad’ll be in the hospital, and the work has to be done.”
“Exactly! But does it ever occur to you I might want to help?” Waving the boot in the air, he pointed at the puncture holes. “Tell you what. Take a couple days off. But Saturday, we work together.” He bit off every word like buffalo jerky. “I’ll meet you at your place in the morning. We’ll doctor those calves as a team. And we’ll stay a team for as long as you’re here.”
Teardrops hovered on her lashes, and he wanted to drag her to his chest and kiss her, but he knew she’d push him away. So he stared her down, his mouth a thin, grim line.
“All right.” Her shoulders slumped. “You win.”
“I don’t want to win.” Savagely, he kicked a stone and sent it skittering across the prairie—which sent Pride skittering, too. “We don’t have time for this. That foot’s not swelling yet, but it will.”
“No, it won’t.”
He waved the snakebit boot. “You think you’re immune or what?”
“I think I’m not bit.” Balancing on one foot, she tore off her sock. “It didn’t break the skin. I checked. And if I was bit, I’d have died five minutes ago, while you were going on about how stupid I am.”
She stood there, wobbling on one leg with her hand on Buster’s saddle, holding up her bare foot. All around her ankle, he saw the bruise blossoming in shades of blue, purple, and green—but there wasn’t so much as a scratch.
Relief blended with a complicated cocktail of anger, fear, and dread. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do—but he had to do something.
Rearing back, he wound up like a big-league pitcher and threw the boot into the sagebrush, hard as he could.
And then he took her in his arms and kissed her with everything he had.
She fell against him, letting go little by little. He could feel the remnants of her anger simmering under his hands, but she kissed him with equal passion, and his heart rose like a bird winging into the sky—until she jerked away, pressed both hands to his chest, and shoved him onto his butt in the sagebrush. He missed a prickly pear by inches, and his heart folded its wings and fell out of the sky, landing beside him with a splat.
He looked up, stunned. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” She started to laugh, giggles burbling up like bubbles in a spring. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to push that hard. But you’d better go find my boot.” She climbed into the saddle and turned her horse toward home. “Meet me at the house. No, the barn.” She clicked her tongue, spun her horse, and was gone.
He watched her go, scratching his head, then strode out into the brush. He found the boot and carried it back to Pride, who shied at the sight of it. His stupid rage had obviously reminded the horse that humans were foolish and sometimes cruel.
“Sorry, pal.”
He let the horse smell the boot and mumble his soft lips over the leather until he lost interest in it. Then Cade climbed wearily into the saddle. He set the boot upside down on the horn and followed Jess, barely noticing how the sun’s last rays warmed the damp earth, making the scent of the plains rise all around him. The sharp tang of rabbitbrush blended with the scent of the earth itself, nourished by the rain.
As Jess’s fleeing figure topped the ridge and disappeared, he rode slow, images of her flashing through his mind like a flickering nickelodeon film. When he finally noticed the gold and pink hues of the sunset, her eyes seemed to float there, behind the clouds.
She was as much a part of this land as he was, but the road to a life with her would always be rocky and steep, pocked with potholes and racked with switchbacks.
But if he kept on climbing, if he pushed and struggled and did all he could, he might catch a glimpse of heaven in those eyes that floated up there, out of reach—at least for now.
Chapter 19
Cade pulled Pride to a stop once he reached the Diamond Jack. There was no sign of Jess, but a light burned in the barn, and the wide front doors stood open.
Night made the cavernous building a mysterious realm. Releasing his horse into a stall, he gazed up at the thick wood supports that stretched into the dark. Scattered hay glittered like gold confetti in light cast by a caged bulb that hung from a high crossbeam.
“Jess?”
Horses shifted in their stalls as he passed, one blowing out a soft breath, another thudding a hoof against the wooden stall door. A sleepless dove throbbed and muttered in the rafters, and mice skittered and chirped among the hay bales. The plains’ twilight sonata drifted through the stall doors—whippoorwills repeating their sad refrain, the yip of a coyote, the whirr and cry of nighthawks diving for moths.
A rustle too big for a mouse made him glance up at the hay loft, and there she was, next to the ladder, dangling her legs over the edge. Somewhere along the way, she’d kicked off the other boot, and her feet were bare.
Hadn’t he just told himself heaven floated above him?
And this time, there was a ladder.
Jess stood, her bare feet gripping the edge of the loft, and took a few steps, dipping her outside foot like a gymnast on a beam.
“Careful,” he said.
“Won’t fall. Never do.”
Arms outspread, she paced to the far end of the loft, spun gracefully, and danced her way back. Looking down, she laughed at his furrowed forehead.
“Quit worrying, Cade. You’re like an old woman.”
The comment stung. He probably wasn’t as much fun as he’d been back when they were kids. Then, he’d thoug
ht of nothing but love. He would have climbed any mountain, forded any stream, and fought a dozen mountain lions for her.
Now, he had responsibilities, goals, and due dates for the horses he’d taken in training. Up until yesterday, he’d had a mortgage—but he apparently didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Just taxes, upkeep, and feed, plus a hundred other everyday distractions.
The trick to love, though, was not to be distracted. To focus on what mattered. And what mattered stood at the top of the ladder, her nimble fingers dancing down the front of her shirt, undoing one button after another. When she reached the tail, she shimmied her shoulders, and the shirt slipped away, revealing a white tank top, still damp from the rain, stretched tight over her breasts. In the warm yellow light, it was almost transparent.
Turning, she headed toward the front of the barn, where the loft widened in front of the big square window at the peak of the roof. Her steps were slow and graceful, her hips swinging a sexy rhumba.
It was as if a gust of wind had blown through his mind and cleared out the cobwebs. He forgot due dates, responsibilities, and every goal but Jess. Grabbing a clean horse blanket from the stack outside the tack room, he climbed the ladder.
She lay sprawled across a blue Native American blanket she’d tossed over a soft bed of hay. Her arms were crossed above her head, and her blond hair blended with the gleam of clean straw. The denim that hugged her curves was worn to white in all the right places. She might think she was a city girl, but he bet those city boys saw the difference. She’d never lost her horsewoman’s thighs or the toned arms she’d earned bucking hay.
He memorized the moment—the drape of her limbs, the lashes shading her laughing eyes. But then she licked her lips, and his brain shorted out as if she’d zapped him with a cattle prod. Toppling into the straw, he caught himself just in time, so their bodies meshed instead of mashing.
“Hey.” She swept her fingers through his hair, just the way she used to, and just like that, they were Cade and Jess again. He remembered how proud he’d been of the love they’d shared—a grown-up kind of love, deep and warm, unlike the raging fires of adolescent obsession that had burned among their friends. Those fires flared up and died, gone in a flash. He and Jess had been the one permanent constellation in the ever-changing astrology of Grigsby High.
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