Two days before her finally scheduled branding—a day when the wind had been whipping rain, then sleet, then snow past her windows since early morning—she did not need a day with no school and four children underfoot.
She didn't know if it was because of his broken arm or for some other reason she had yet to fathom, but Josh, who was usually the most independent of her children, had been, these past few days, more underfoot than everyone else.
He hadn't even wanted to go to his friend Matt's birthday party this afternoon. "I don't think I'll go. You might need me," he'd said to her last night when she'd reminded him.
"Not go?" Ellie had been equal parts puzzled and aghast. "Of course you'll go. Why ever wouldn't you go?"
"The brandin's comin' up," Josh said. "I oughta help get ready, even if you won't let me ride." It had been a sore point between them since she'd informed him that she wasn't having him in the middle of roping and tying and branding with a broken arm.
"You can keep the tally," she'd told him.
He hadn't thought it much consolation.
"There will be other years when you can do the rough stuff," she'd promised. It was a promise she was fairly sure now that she'd be able to keep. Thanks to Rance.
Without Rance's help they would be in nowhere near as good a shape as they were. She owed him a tremendous amount, and she knew it. She thought Josh knew it, too, and that he was both grateful and annoyed that he had to be grateful, when he'd have preferred to do things himself.
At least, she guessed that was what was bothering him.
He was so closemouthed these days, she really couldn't tell. He was either underfoot, staring stonily at her and Rance, or he was up in his tree house, glowering down. When Spike had built the kids that tree house, he'd said, "They'll need a place to go where they can think—a place of their own."
Ellie thought Josh was doing entirely too much thinking—she just wasn't sure about what.
The one thing she did know was that he needed to go to Matt's party. He needed to remember that he was ten, not forty. He would only get to be a child for a few years. And whether he wanted to or not, she was determined that he was going to enjoy them.
"You're going to Matt's," she told him. "You deserve a break, Josh." And at his continued disagreement, she hauled out the big guns. "Your dad would think so, too."
Sandra agreed when she arrived. She also made an offer Ellie couldn't refuse. "I'll take Josh in to Matt's," she said, "and I just happened to notice that there's a new Disney film playing in town that I wouldn't mind seeing."
There was a sudden stillness in the kitchen.
Sandra looked at the hopeful eyes of her grandchildren, then said to their mother, "I wonder if you'd mind if I took Daniel and Caleb and Carrie, too?"
Ellie didn't mind.
In fact, Ellie was thrilled.
It would give her a chance to wash the walls in Carrie's bedroom. It would give her an opportunity to work on the outfits she was making for Clarissa. Carrie's birthday was just a little more than a week away now.
She was expecting a freshly painted bedroom and dalmatian puppy sheets for her birthday. She wasn't expecting new clothes for Clarissa. If Ellie could get them done, the gingham dress and the bright blue cowgirl outfit would be a lovely surprise.
Her children needed more lovely surprises.
And she could definitely use this time alone. She just wished she didn't have to be alone with her thoughts, as well.
Her thoughts, far more than she wanted, revolved around Rance.
He was doing so much for them, she felt guilty. And yet she couldn't tell him not to. She wanted him to stop so she wouldn't be beholden. And she didn't want him to stop because she needed his help—and she wanted him there.
That was the part she didn't like to think about.
It was something else that could get the guilt going—this wanting Rance the way she did. It had done her no good at all the last time she'd wanted Rance, she reminded herself. She'd loved him, she'd given herself to him—and he'd been only too happy to walk away.
It would happen that way again if she was foolish enough to let him see how much she still cared about him. She did her very best not to.
But it was hard.
Some nights she had the most erotic dreams. Not about Rance specifically. They weren't that blatant—as if her subconscious knew she'd be shocked and would resist frantically if it came up with anything that obvious.
They just made her edgy, hungry—in capital letters, AWARE.
She thought he might have put her to bed one night, too. But she wasn't sure. She remembered sitting on the sofa working on Clarissa's cowgirl outfit, nodding off once or twice and pricking her thumb with the needle every time she jerked back up straight and tried to stay awake. And the next thing she remembered, she woke up in her bed.
Dressed.
On top of the comforter, with the other half pulled over her, as if she'd been tucked into a sleeping bag.
The question was, who had tucked her?
And there was only one answer. Rance.
The thought made her face go warm and her body go soft. She didn't want that to happen. She didn't want to think about Rance anywhere near her bedroom—even if she was asleep. But her body didn't seem to be paying much attention to her mind these days.
Had he put her to bed?
She wanted to ask him. She absolutely, positively could not.
But she'd watched him out of the corner of her eye for the past few days, trying to get a notion of whether he really had done it. But it was hard to tell when she didn't dare look him full in the face.
It would be a good thing when he left after the branding, as he'd told her this morning he was planning to do.
The words, when they came, had been a salutary dash of reality. Of course he was leaving! She hadn't ever expected him to stay, had she?
Of course not, she assured herself now, poking the needle through the gingham of Clarissa's dress and staring out into the increasing snowstorm.
She'd always known he would leave. But he couldn't leave, she thought, getting up and going to the window to look up the road for any sign of him, if he didn't get back in the first place.
It was well past four. She'd enjoyed the afternoon's solitude.
But now she was worried about Rance.
A little rain never hurt anyone, she'd assured herself when he'd left this morning to make a circle of the herd, to check the couple of heifers who still hadn't calved, to round up a couple of strays and repair a break in the fence that Early Smith, one of her neighbors had called to tell her about.
In fact she hadn't really thought much about the weather. She'd just been so aware of him there in the kitchen, his tousled dark hair tempting her fingers to smooth it, that she'd been only too glad once he'd gone.
She'd thought he might come back by midday. Since most of the cattle were within relatively easy reach of the ranch house now, once he got the strays, he didn't have to stay out in the weather—unless he wanted to.
Maybe he did. Maybe he was avoiding them, eager to have the time he'd spent with her over, desperate to be gone. After all, he didn't know the kids weren't home and they'd have some peace in the house today.
And maybe it was just as well he didn't know, Ellie thought.
There was such a thing as too much temptation.
By midafternoon, when the rain had changed to sleet and then, quite abruptly, to snow—fairly heavy snow—she spent more time going to the window to look for him than she did sitting in the rocker by the fireplace.
It didn't seem fair that she should be in here enjoying a nice fire and a quiet house while he was outside in the cold and wind and snow, doing work that by rights should have been hers.
She paced the floor, bounced on her toes, went to the window every few minutes, craned her neck and squinted, trying to discern Rance, riding Sunny, coming back home.
He didn't come.
The phone rang, and
she jumped, then snatched it up, as if it might somehow be him on the other end of the line.
It was Matt's mother. "I know I said I'd bring all the kids home after the party, but I was wondering if you'd mind," she said with a somewhat desperate laugh, "if it didn't end until tomorrow?"
"Are the roads that bad?"
"Bad enough," Matt's mother replied. "And, to be honest, the three boys who live out in the country are the ones who get along best with Matt so I don't mind having them stay over. What do you think?"
"I think it's a great idea," Ellie said. Not just because of the weather, either. It would be good for Josh to spend more time with his friends, to realize that life on the ranch could continue without him having to work there all the time. Perhaps he would rediscover the joy of being a child.
"We'll bring him home tomorrow then," Matt's mother promised and hung up.
Ellie went back to the window. No Rance. She turned on the radio to get the weather forecast.
"A sudden fast-moving storm," the newscaster called it. "In and out. It'll be gone before you know it. Look for a foot of new snow."
The phone rang again.
"Well, we've made it back from the movie," Sandra said, "but I slid into the ditch right before the turn up to the house."
"Are you all right?" Ellie demanded.
"We're all fine. And we've got a pizza in the oven. But I won't be bringing anyone home tonight."
"But—" But Ellie knew there was no arguing with a car in the ditch and a freak spring snowstorm.
"Enjoy," Sandra urged her.
"It will be just me … and Rance," Ellie said a little faintly.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then Sandra said, "How handy."
Ellie knew what her mother-in-law meant. Tell him. Her stomach churned at the thought. Worse, it churned at the worry that he still wasn't anywhere to be seen.
Surely the same thing that had happened to Spike hadn't happened to him.
It was the one thought she'd been trying desperately to keep at bay all afternoon. She remembered all too clearly the worry that she'd felt when Spike hadn't come home that day. But then she'd thought he might have hurt himself, broken a leg, been a long way from home.
She'd never let herself think of the worst possibility.
Now she couldn't help it
She grabbed her jacket off the hook by the door, pulled on her boots, then hurried out to catch Peaches. The old nag would hate being made to do anything in this weather. But she was sturdy and reliable.
And Ellie couldn't wait any longer.
Her voice blew past him on the wind.
He thought he was hearing things, dreaming. He thought he might very well perish out here in the storm alongside this damnable cow.
He supposed he really shouldn't blame the cow. It was his fault for not seeing she was having trouble sooner. If he had, he could have got her to the barn. He would have had Ellie there then—or Daniel. Someone with smaller hands. Someone who could reach in and grab that leg that was laying wrong. Someone who could save this cow—and her calf—before they froze to death or died from complications in the birth.
"Rance!"
It was clearer now. High and pure on the wind. But he still didn't believe it. He was kneeling hunched on the ground at the business end of the cow and a quick squint over his shoulder didn't show him any angels singing on high—and that was the only company he expected.
"Rance!"
Her voice was strong and sharp and, it seemed, almost right next to him. He stopped struggling with the calf and looked around. Ellie was maybe twenty feet away from him, pushing through the snow atop her swaybacked old sorrel Peaches.
He straightened up, unbent painfully. All his joints ached. His hands and arms were raw and cold. "God," he said, "am I glad to see you!"
She was off the horse in a second. "What's wrong?"
"Calf's got a leg back. The mother's too small. I can't turn it. She isn't going to last much longer. Think you can do it?"
"Of course," Ellie spoke without hesitation, already stripping her gloves off.
With Ellie's smaller hands, what had been impossible for him, was just a matter of waiting until the contraction abated, then carefully easing the obstructing leg around.
Rance held the cow's tail out of the way. He crooned soothingly to her. He tried to stay between Ellie and any hooves that might come flying in her direction.
"I think I got it," Ellie breathed after a moment. She was kneeling, too. Her hair was whipping into his face. "Okay, sweetie," she murmured to the exhausted cow. "Your baby's ready to come now. All you've got to do is push."
But the cow was too tired by this time. "We'll use my rope," Rance said. He played it out, and Ellie, knowing exactly what to do, went back in to slip it around the calf.
"A cowboy's forceps," Rance remembered his grandfather calling his rope. "Move out of the way now," he told Ellie. "I'll pull."
She scrambled aside and let him take her place. Then she knelt next to the cow, rubbing her and stroking her. "It'll be all right. It'll be all right."
And on the next contraction, when the cow did what feeble pushing she was still able to do, Rance pulled, as well. A slick, unmoving calf landed almost in his lap.
Instantly Ellie was clearing its mouth, rubbing it, coaxing it. "It's breathing," he thought she said, but her words were blown away by the wind.
And then it twitched. It jerked. It struggled to move in her arms. And Ellie sat back on the ground, grinning.
Rance grinned, too. He laughed. He said, "We did it! You did it!"
And Ellie looked straight at him for the first time since he'd set foot on the ranch as she said, "I could never have done any of this without you."
Rance hauled himself up. Then, with the calf still lying between them, and the wind howling around them, and the snow coming down on top of them, he leaned over and kissed her.
It wasn't a passionate kiss, though God knew there was passion in it. It wasn't a hungry kiss, though Rance knew he'd been starved for her for what seemed like years. It almost wasn't sexual at all.
It was an affirmation—of life, of hope, of what they could accomplish together.
And then the calf wriggled, and the cow moved, and they broke apart—aware of each other—and aware that, for now, there was time for nothing more.
Rance put the calf where the cow would know it was alive and could lick at it. Then he hauled Ellie to her feet. She stumbled as she came up and fell against him. His arms went around her to steady her. He held her in the circle of them—and she didn't pull away.
She leaned lightly against his chest, watching the cow nudging and bathing the calf. "We need to get them into the barn."
"As soon as she can move," Rance said. "I'll carry the calf. You're shaking. You must be freezing. Why don't you go on back to the house?"
Ellie shook her head. "I'm fine." But he felt a breath shudder through her even as she spoke. "I don't want to go back right now. I'll come when you do."
They settled the cow and calf in the barn. They fed Daniel's Lilly Belle, then fed and brushed the horses. It was all very methodical, purposeful, proper. They did it all without speaking.
Then together they went up to the house and into the kitchen.
The silence was deafening.
Rance looked around, then frowned at Ellie. "Where is everybody?"
She told him.
"They're … gone? All of them?" There was a note of something in his voice. Doubt? Wonder? Urgency?
She wasn't sure—of anything—except she felt it, too.
"All of them," she agreed. "Until tomorrow."
She took off her jacket. She took off her hat. She shed her boots. And then she stood, sock-footed in the kitchen, and she didn't run from him.
Probably she should have. Probably there was no probably about it!
But she didn't run because she couldn't. She'd been running from Rance since he'd come back into her lif
e. She felt like a pin who'd been resisting and resisting a magnet, all the while being drawn closer, being pulled inexorably in. She was too close to hold back any longer.
Her resistance was gone.
"You need a shower," Rance said hoarsely.
"Yes."
"So do I."
"Yes."
Their eyes met. Their fingers touched. Curled. Held. But Rance didn't lead. He waited.
That was what decided her. His waiting gave her courage. His leaving it up to her was what she needed, to have the choice to say yes or no.
She said yes.
She wanted him. It would be sex, she told herself. Not love. Not love like she'd had with Spike. But the moment she thought it, she knew it wasn't true.
There was love in whatever she felt for Rance still. Of course it wasn't love like she and Spike had shared. Once she'd told Spike she couldn't love him the way she'd loved Rance. But the way she had loved him had been better. It had grown deeper, stronger, firmer than anything she could have imagined.
The loves were different, she decided. They didn't—couldn't—compare. But they were both a part of her.
Rance had given her a son. He had, in fact, given her the whole rest of her life through that gift. Without his having left her expecting a child, she never would have turned to Spike. She never would have known the depth of Spike's love, the joys of not only Josh, but of Daniel and Caleb and Carrie. She never would have been the woman she'd become.
She had all that because of him. And she would have this night of love to remember, to share, to hold in her heart with her other dearest memories.
Spike she would hold in her heart forever.
Tonight, because she loved him, too, and always would, she would hold Rance in her arms.
They shared the shower.
They undressed each other slowly, wordlessly, marveling with their eyes and lips and light finger touches the beauty of each other's body. They ran the water, hot and hard. They played with the spray, laughed and lingered. She soaped his back and he soaped hers. Then somehow the soap seemed to take on a life of its own. Ellie found herself following it up the length of his legs, around his hips, and as his fingers dug into the hair on the top of her head, she pressed kisses to his thighs. She felt him shudder. His legs trembled.
Cowboy on the Run Page 10
