The Rancher Meets His Match

by Patricia McLinn

  She could have stopped that. If she’d said no—not even that; a look would have done—he would have stopped. He’d given her every opportunity. She hadn’t, because she’d wanted his kiss, his touch, his lovemaking, more than she’d wanted her next breath.

  She’d fallen in love with Dax Randall.

  She was crying because she’d been fooling herself. She thought she’d been so smart, with this reintroduction to romance. They’d agreed to a no-ties, no-future flirtation. The physical desire had been stronger than either of them had counted on.

  But when it came to the basic premise of their no-ties agreement, he’d stuck to the bargain. She hadn’t.

  He should have been so safe—because he’d made it so clear he didn’t want any commitment. But it didn’t matter. She’d lost her heart and, deep down, she’d been hoping he would lose his, too. He hadn’t.

  And that was the long and short of it. She couldn’t change his feelings—or him. He’d told her from the start how it was. It was no fault of his that her heart hadn’t listened.

  She rolled to her back, and the lingering tears slid down the indentation above each cheekbone.

  But she knew Dax—and if he knew she’d fallen for him, he would take on the fault, take on the guilt. That was the man he was—and part of why she loved him. She couldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t lay that guilt at his door. No matter what.

  She would finish her stay in Wyoming without putting either one of them through the heartache of letting Dax know her true feelings. Then she’d go home to North Carolina and get down to the serious business of getting over one laconic Wyoming rancher. It shouldn’t take any more than a lifetime.

  But first, she had to face the time until her flight on Monday.

  Less than two days. Less than two days with the man she loved.

  * * * *

  Dax took her riding Sunday afternoon. Maybe it was selfish. He had a task that needed doing before they showed up at the café tonight for the annual shindig to close Shakespeare Days and he wanted Hannah with him this last day.

  Last day.

  The knowledge of it hung heavy over him, though they didn’t talk about it as he showed her another area of the ranch on a day that was a pure throwback to summer, with a bright blue sky and July breezes.

  They talked as they rode. About the ranch, about the scenery, about his friends and neighbors she’d met. Most times talking was more chore than pleasure for him. Maybe because he’d spent so much time alone. He’d never known talking could be this easy. Even when the talk shifted to Will.

  “He says he wants to ranch with me,” he heard himself saying. “But I don’t want him saying that because it’s the only thing he knows. That’s why I want him to go to college—so he sees what his choices are. I had to break with my father to have any choices. I don’t want Will having to break from me to have them.”

  “That’s wise of you, Dax. No matter what he does, he’ll be happier doing it because he loves it and not just because he couldn’t see any other possibilities.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes . . . It’s selfish, but part of me was real worried when he showed so much interest in space and astronauts and such.” He’d never admitted that to another soul. “And when he stopped being interested in space, I worried about that, because he was unhappy.”

  “You’re a good father, Dax. I know you’d do anything for Will.” The topic of what he’d do for Will edged close to their situation, so when she turned the conversation by asking, “What was your father like?” he was relieved enough to answer.

  He told her. A lot. Not everything. Not about the day he left for good and his father looked him full in the face— one of the rare times he did—and the expression of surprise on his father’s stern face. As if he didn’t recognize his own son who’d lived and worked beside him his whole life.

  “He must have cared for you to teach you so much.”

  “He cared about the land. He didn’t want anybody running the Circle CR who didn’t care for it right. He taught me because I’d be the next caretaker.”

  When he shot a glance at Hannah she regarded him with neither disgust nor pity. She simply seemed to understand. Still, he stretched in the saddle, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “What were your parents like, Hannah?”

  She talked lovingly of a laughter-filled, busy household in a close-knit community. She answered questions so readily about her growing up, and the past few years of raising the twins, that when the conversation circled back to his ex-wife, it didn’t seem right to sidestep her questions.

  “You never heard from her again?”

  “Only divorce papers to sign. Kind of surprised she bothered. It didn’t matter for me, but it was good it was settled for Will.”

  “Maybe she wanted to remarry. Or maybe she thought you would want to.”

  His sandpaper laugh held no humor. “Probably did it because she was sure I wouldn’t want to get married again. As for her, well, the papers came from a lawyer and I figured she was tied up with him. Quite a step up from a small-time rancher to a lawyer in Dallas.”

  “Not everyone would think so.”

  “Most women.”

  She didn’t argue, and he called himself a fool for letting that get under his skin. He shifted around in the saddle, trying to find a cure for that and succeeding only in making Strider edgy, when Hannah abruptly spoke again.

  “Dax, I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” he said absently. On second thought, maybe his movements hadn’t made Strider edgy. Maybe it was the whirl and whoosh of the rising wind. It still blew warm, but the gray-edged clouds looked like winter to him. “Clouds on the horizon.”

  But Hannah pursued her own thoughts. “I’m sorry for not being honest about the tablecloth.”

  He blinked away from surveying the sky. “The tablecloth?”

  “I’ve appreciated your honesty. I should have given you the same sort of honesty about the tablecloth instead of misleading you, or letting you mislead yourself. But as for inviting Sally—I’m not sorry for that. For one thing, I’m sure you don’t tell me everything, either.”

  Now that was a hit. He deserved it, and he didn’t like it. And she saw it. She put a soft hand on his arm as she went on.

  “I’m not saying that’s wrong. Not the way things are between us. After all . . .”

  Now she would talk about her leaving. He tensed.

  “It’s not as if we have to tell each other everything.”

  He relaxed, but not all the way. He still didn’t like the trail this talk followed. When she continued, he liked it even less.

  “Besides, I’m glad Sally came to the dinner. For Will’s sake and for hers.” Her wistful tone seemed to lodge under his ribs. He ignored it. “I’d hoped it might help things between the two of you, too, but that’s my failing, not yours.”

  “Failing?”

  She sighed deep enough to stir the remaining leaves on the trees. “Failing. Fatal flaw. Call it whatever you want. It gets me into trouble, this thought that I might be able to change somebody.”

  “That guy you married.” From what she’d said about him, that ex-husband of hers needed a damn sight of changing.

  “Yes. I thought I could change him and make him a happier person, but he liked the way he was. But I was unhappy when I couldn’t change him because I didn’t really like the person he was.”

  “And you see me the same.”

  “Oh, no, Dax. I’m not saying that at all. You’re a wonderful man, it’s just . . .”

  The melting warmth of her voice calling him a wonderful man chilled beneath the reservation of her next words. Part of him didn’t want to know, but he’d never run from painful truths. “What, Hannah?”

  “I hate to see this rift with your mother. I hate to see you sad.”

  “You thought inviting her to my house would fix that?” He didn’t temper the harshness in his voice.

  “I thought it might be a start. You need t
o start somehow.”

  He said nothing, because he had nothing to say.

  “Remember you told me how people built over the original homestead on the Circle CR?”

  He saw no connection, but she had the reins. “Yeah.”

  “How building over the old meant the people didn’t have to make a new design and how sometimes those old walls got more and more rotten until they dragged down what had been built around them? And then there was nothing left at all.”

  He didn’t recall being that dramatic, but he wouldn’t split hairs. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve thought about that. A lot. And I don’t think you can build something new and strong around the walls of something that’s not strong in the first place. It only gives the new walls a weak core.”

  “People have been doing it for years. Works well enough.”

  “Maybe with buildings, but not people—oh, I know they do that, too, but it doesn’t work, especially if you want more than well enough.”

  He stared at her, and she looked right back. “What’re you saying, Hannah?”

  She drew in a breath, as if she might be nervous, but her words came calm and steady. “I’m saying you haven’t had good relationships with women because they’re based on your relationship with your mother. You blame her for leaving, and you think every woman will do that.” He opened his mouth and she rushed on. “But it’s what’s going on with your mother that’s important now. You need to tear down the wall you’ve set up between you.”

  He said nothing.

  “You know what you’re doing?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re doing what your father did. He blamed your mother for Drew’s death and he never forgave. He shut himself off from everybody and hurt her and June and you. Now you’re blaming your mother and shutting her out and that’s hurting her and June and Will and yourself.

  “I’m not saying you don’t have good reason to be angry and terribly, terribly hurt. Nothing can take away the pain of having your mother leave you like that, but you’ve got a chance to make the present and future so much better than the past. Give your mother that chance. Give yourself that chance. You deserve it. Not forgiving her is hurting you, Dax. It’s even hurting Will. And— Why are you stopping?”

  He didn’t say a word. Just got off Strider and came over to help her off Spock. She held back.

  “Are you angry at me for sticking my nose in your business?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because I don’t regret anything I said. And I don’t regret inviting Sally.”

  “Hannah—”

  But she swung her far leg over Spock’s wide rump and he caught her by the waist, forgetting whatever he’d meant to say.

  “Why are we stopping here? Oh, that’s the path we took into Kearny Canyon, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. This is where the irrigation ditch cuts out from the stream. I’m ditch boss, and it’s time to cut off the water for winter.”

  “Ditch boss? What’s that?”

  “People on a ditch line get together to share costs and work. One person’s voted boss to open it in spring and close it come winter, keep track of repairs and such.”

  “They all must trust you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s on my land and I’m closest.”

  “Is the ditch boss always the one who’s closest?”

  “No, but—”

  “Dax, just take the compliment of people trusting you, and do what you have to do.”

  He didn’t argue anymore, but he didn’t agree, either.

  Hannah watched him climb down a slight embankment, before disappearing around the side of a big boulder.

  He is one stubborn man.

  She leaned against the slim trunk of a young cottonwood tree and squeezed her eyes shut against threatening tears. I have fallen in love with one stubborn man.

  A sound alerted her to his quick return. She straightened and forced a smile as he went to the pouch tied behind Strider’s saddle. He gave her a sharp look, but said only, “It’s sticking.” He pulled out pliers.

  “Can I help?”

  “No. Thanks.” He took two steps, then slowly faced her.

  “Am I like him? Do I look like him?” His jaw was tight, making him sound fierce.

  “What?” Dazed by this sudden intensity, she couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. “Like who?”

  “Like that other man. The one you were married to. The one you want to forget. The one you wanted to change.”

  Like Richard? Two men could not be less alike.

  “No. You don’t look like him at all.” Though maybe that wasn’t the whole truth, because at the moment she couldn’t recall Richard’s face. But she knew the broader answer was absolutely true. “You’re not like him at all.”

  “Good.” He made it more a growl than a word. Before she could react, he’d disappeared again.

  She tried not to think, but simply to absorb the sun’s heat, the sharp, dry tang of sagebrush, the regular breathing sounds from the horses, punctuated by the creak of leather. All this she would take back with her. All this would be part of her forever. As loving Dax would be.

  Had she said the right things to him about his mother? Should she have said more? Less? Was there any hope that someday he would— No, no, she wouldn’t hope. She’d learned the foolishness of that.

  A grumbled curse word announced Dax’s return.

  One side of his shirt had come out of his pants and two more snaps had come open at the top, revealing a sheen of moisture down the center of his chest.

  “Damned thing stuck like a—” He swallowed the last word as he stowed the pliers and retied the pack. “Next time I’ll bring the big pliers and lubricant. Or send Will. He can—What?”

  He’d come to stand just in front of her.

  She didn’t answer. With two fingers she brushed away the beads of sweat between the cords at the base of his neck, then kissed the spot. With her tongue she placed a new moisture there, and felt a surge in his pulse. Reaching up, she flicked her tongue over the single droplet in the hollow beneath his bottom lip.

  He stood absolutely still, except for the tumult she could feel under the surface, the blood pounding, the breath rasping, the muscles tightening.

  She unsnapped the rest of his shirt, and the hot breeze caught one side, billowing it away from him and against her, fluttering and tickling against her breast and arm. Like that first walk along the stream. Only this time it really did reach for her, touch her. She wanted him to do the same.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, he traced the rise and peak of her breast with the back of one gentle finger. “I want you, Hannah.”

  The gruff rumble of his voice rubbed against her nerve endings as strongly as his touch. “I want you, too, Dax.”

  “Now?” he asked, but already reaching for a rolled blanket from behind Strider’s saddle.

  “Now.”

  “It’ll be hard and scratchy.” He kissed her hard and long.

  She had the sun’s heat, the sharp scent of sagebrush, the shifting, creaking leather sounds from the horses, and Dax, always Dax, to add to her memories.

  * * * *

  Even making love, and being as close as two human bodies could be didn’t settle Dax’s uneasiness.

  At the party at the cafe Hannah stayed by his side, talking to him and smiling at him. And yet part of her wasn’t there at all. He could stretch out his hand, feel her skin against his, wrap her in his arms. And yet he couldn’t hold her.

  He’d have walked barefoot over the Big Horns before he told any of this to the dozen people who asked him if he felt okay during the course of the evening. But he knew in his gut it was true.

  He couldn’t reach her because she was leaving in the morning and he was staying. No way around that.

  By the time they left the cafe—long before the others—the wind had done its job, blowing out the day’s warmth and ushering in the cold. In one day, summer had gone and fall had dropped to its knees
before the power of winter.

  He cranked up the heat in the truck and brought Hannah close to his side, but he felt her shiver before he stopped in front of her cabin. He turned off the engine, but neither moved.

  The silencing of the engine opened the way for the sounds of the night—the nearly bare branches of nearby trees sighing and clicking, the wind’s raspy breath as it encountered the truck, parted resentfully around it, then rushed to rejoin and continue on its hurried way.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  He put his hand on the key, but paused before pulling it out. “If I come in, I won’t be leaving till morning.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hannah—”

  “Yes.”

  * * * *

  She gave up sleep that night with no regret. They made love. Once or many times. It didn’t matter. It was one act of love with many scenes.

  She’d never known she could be so happy, so at peace, so right while her heart ached.

  This was what she had of Dax, this was what she would carry with her forever. So she wasted none of it in sleeping.

  She experienced every second of his holding her, touching her, loving her. Every second as the seconds dwindled.

  Twice, when she thought Dax had drifted into sleep, she watched his face. None of its formidable strength softened in sleep—if anything, he appeared less vulnerable. That was what he presented to the world—rock-hard bone and sinew. His eyes were what gave him away.

  Both times, as she watched him, his dark lashes lifted and she looked directly into those dark eyes already burning. For her.

  She didn’t know if he really was asleep when she finally slipped from his arms with the first hint of dawn easing light into the reluctant world.

  With her mind carefully blank, she stood in the shower for long, still moments. When she came out, she put on her underwear and the two-piece knit dress she’d chosen for the long day of traveling ahead of her.

  Usually by this point in a trip, no matter how wonderful it had been, her thoughts were turning to home. To what awaited her at work. To what event was coming up next week. Or whose birthday would be celebrated in the family or neighborhood.