by Alice Sharpe
“Since when are you getting old?”
“Since the birthdays keep piling up.”
Tyler’s antenna went up again. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his mother was dissembling, which was so unusual it stuck out. Rose Hunt told things as she saw them. There wasn’t a beat-around-the-bush bone in her body.
And yet hadn’t he noticed yesterday that she was moving a little slowly and hadn’t she been untypically short-tempered the night before? This was the woman who once did a drive with a broken foot, who never quit anything, ever. If she was backing out of an obligation now knowing what it would mean to the ranch—the loss of income and reputation—then she had to be suffering. Since his father’s death, Rose had been like the Rock of Gibraltar, allowing Tyler to manage the ranch as she more or less took care of their guests and the necessary staff at the lodge. She’d danced at his wedding and cried when Julie left.
If she said she was tired and feeling her age, then at the very least, she was just those things. More likely she was underplaying things rather than exaggerating them. Drat.
Perhaps he’d been leaning on her too much, asking her to be too stoic. Perhaps without knowing it he’d pushed her past her limits. “I don’t know how we’ll manage to pay everyone back, but your welfare comes first. We’ll think of something.”
“There is another option,” she said.
“What kind of option?”
“Get a fill-in for me.”
“Who? I can’t think of anyone we can get on such short notice. I mean, we’d need someone who could manage the team and wagon as well as rustle up the kind of grub you’re famous for.”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “Andy can drive the wagon. He was going to help me at the camp anyway, so he’s a logical choice.”
“Andy can make a decent cup of coffee if you don’t care about stomach ulcers, but he can’t cook.”
“So we get someone else for that job.”
Tyler thought through their current roster and tried to think of anyone, man or woman, with the skills to handle the specific requirements of cooking over open fireboxes and all the rest. He’d been trying to introduce some conveniences for food prep, things like gas burners and refrigeration, but Rose had steadfastly refused to modernize all the way.
“Someone like Julie,” she added.
“Julie?” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait just a minute—”
“Let me remind you that she rode out with us for several years. She knows how to cook and manage a fire. I packed all the food yesterday and the menu is in the kitchen by the phone. Everything is ready to go.”
“Julie won’t do it,” Tyler said. “Why should she? She didn’t like helping out when she had a vested interest in the place, so why would she consent to dirty her hands now? Anyway, I think she left with Lenny—”
“No, she’s still here. I spoke with her already,” Rose said. “She agreed to take my place as a favor to me.”
He leaned against the doorjamb and stared at her. The feeling he was with a stranger returned full force. How could he handle seeing Julie again after what had happened the night before? “Is this all a put-on?” he asked. “Are you really sick?”
“Of course it’s not a put-on. I’m just reminding you that at this late date we have two options. One, we cancel and refund. Two, Julie goes and does her best.”
“So, it’s a done deal. I have no choice.”
Rose said nothing.
He knew they couldn’t afford a loss of this magnitude. He rubbed his forehead and glanced out the window where he saw John Smyth ride by. As Tyler watched, Smyth tossed a lasso and roped a post. He got off his horse and walked up to release the rope, remounted and rode off toward the barn as though he’d been doing it his whole life.
“I bet he could help,” Tyler mused aloud, nodding at John’s retreating figure. If Andy was driving the chuck wagon, they’d be a little shorthanded on horseback. “That guy seems capable of doing anything.”
“No,” Rose said emphatically.
He raised his eyebrows in query, surprised at her tone of voice.
“I don’t like him,” she added.
“I kind of got that feeling. He seems like a nice-enough guy. What’s your problem?”
“There’s something about him that puts me off. I think he’s trouble. You shouldn’t have much to do with him.”
“I’ve never heard you talk like that before,” Tyler said. His sense of unreality was growing greater by the minute. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Can’t a person just not like another person?”
“Not when one of them is a guest of the other, paying good money for a good time,” he said. “I believe I’ve actually heard you say as much to some of the wranglers.”
She shook her head. “I’m just off-kilter right now. Let me be. What happens on the trail is your concern, not mine. Go on now, get going.”
He stood and for a second wondered if it was wise to leave her to deal with this alone. Really, though, what choice did he have? The cows needed the pasture, the ranch needed the income from the guests and the guests needed him to hold things together. And there were half a dozen reliable people around the place to help her if it came to that.
“We’ll miss you,” Tyler said, tugging on his hat.
“You’ll all be fine. Have a little faith in your wife.”
His wife. That was a joke.
“See you in a week,” he said.
* * *
A FEW YEARS BACK, one of the wranglers had asked if he could spend the winter rebuilding the chuck wagon. As the thing was very old and had a myriad of problems, Tyler had given the man the okay. Turned out the guy was a real craftsman and had taken the job to heart, ordering replacement pieces and adding on all the bells and whistles he could think of.
The result was beautiful and never failed to seduce guests with its charm. The natural wood pieces were shiny with varnish, while the trim had been painted a weathered-looking green. Large red wheels handled the rocky terrain with ease. The built-up back housed a dozen wooden cubbyholes and cabinets intended to hold supplies, while a table that folded down from them formed a work space. A big box below called a boot was devoted to storing cooking gear. The inside bed was empty to accommodate bedrolls, personal items and emergency supplies. The canvas awning stretched atop the bows that formed the overhead superstructure were covered with linseed oil to keep the contents dry and clean. Oak barrels for water and wooden kegs for sugar and flour were strapped along the sides.
Andy was in the front of the wagon, hooking up the horses, two big Belgium palominos named Ned and Gertie who took care of all the wagon duties on the ranch. Tyler stopped to lend a hand. “I need you to drive the team,” he told Andy as he fastened the harness on Gertie.
“Me? What about Rose? She can do it. I’m assigned to help three of the guests.”
“We’ll have to share the load. Mom is sitting this one out.”
“Who’s going to cook? Me?” Andy asked, his silver gaze darting around the yard as though looking for an exit.
“No, you’re just the driver,” Tyler assured him as he looked up to see Julie trotting across the yard toward the wagon, buttoning her jacket as she ran. Her hair flew out behind her and caught the morning light like a raven’s wing. “That’s the cook.”
Andy glanced over his shoulder. “Julie? I wondered why she was back. Are you and her—”
“No,” Tyler said. “There is no me and her.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Andy finished his job and looked Tyler in the eye. “I’ve been here a long time, boss. I remember when you brought that little gal home after you was hitched. I never saw two people so into each other. Really surprised me when she upped and left.”
“Sometimes things just don’t work out,” Tyler said. “You know that. You were married once, right?”
“Long time ago. But me and her was never as close as you and Julie were. My Lily
wanted a whole different life.”
Tyler didn’t respond although the truth was that was exactly what Julie wanted, too. Ten minutes of passion in the straw wasn’t going to change any of that.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” he said instead, and patting Gertie’s golden neck, walked around to the back of the wagon where he found Julie studying the contents of the cabinet while gathering her hair into a high ponytail. She looked up as he approached.
There was something about her eyes. Dark brown like the finest chocolate or the richest coffee, they were set slightly slanted in her face making her look as though she knew a secret of some kind, something juicy and sexy, something he wanted to know. She looked at him that way now and it just about split his heart in two pieces or maybe it was the fatigue he also saw on her face, the smudges under her eyes...
She’d come to him for help and what had he done? Punished her. Turned on her. Tried to make love to her.
She cleared her throat and met his gaze. “I know my still being here is awkward and that coming along on the cattle drive is the last thing you wanted—”
“Or that you wanted,” he said.
“I couldn’t say no to her.”
“Do you think she’s really sick?”
“She’s sure acting out of character. I don’t know what to think.”
“I don’t either.” He looked down at the ground to get a breather from those eyes, and then back. “Tell me the truth. Did you put her up to this so you could run away from your other problems?”
“You make it sound as if my ‘problems’ were a matter of late rent or something, and not fighting for my life.”
He dipped his head a little, a gesture it was clear she understood implied doubt, for her eyes flashed. But when she spoke, her voice sounded resigned. “I’m sorry. I swore I was going to leave you out of this. The answer to your question is no, I am not in cahoots with Rose.”
“I just wanted to know. I mean two days ago she was running around here barking out orders as usual and now she’s sitting in that room of hers like she’s a sick animal tucked into a cave. How could it happen that fast?”
Julie touched his arm. “She’s got lots of people here to help her if she needs it and besides, everyone gets sick once in a while, right?”
He looked down at her fingers on his sleeve and wished he could touch her. Oh, hell, he wished so many things when it came to her.
“Tyler, have there been any small crimes around the ranch lately?”
He felt like she’d taken a shot at him. What was going on? “What do you mean?”
“Thefts, maybe...break-ins...” she hedged.
“Did someone steal something from you?”
“No. I don’t have anything to steal.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“I was just wondering. Listen, forget it. Let’s just try to stay out of each other’s way, and get through this trip, okay?”
He handed her the menu list he’d found by the phone. If she could be businesslike, so could he. “It’s a deal,” he said. “Rose got everything ready yesterday, so you’re good to go. I want you and Andy to take off as soon as you can, so you can make the river camp and get things set up. Today will be a short ride to get everyone acclimated, so we’ll join you midafternoon. We’ve got a couple of avid fly fishermen on the ride, so maybe there will be trout for dinner.”
“Same camp as before?”
“Same camp. Andy went up with me last week to check things over—he knows the way.”
He knew that she knew the way, too. He wondered if she remembered the last time they’d ridden out there together, the night they’d spent...
Probably not.
Probably better that way.
Chapter Six
They left within the hour, Julie taking the time to run back to her cabin and call Nora. She couldn’t stand the thought of her friend worrying about her for several days on top of her concerns for her brother and the stress of the long hours she worked. And she wanted to hear what conclusions Trill had reached the night before.
Nora didn’t answer her phone, which was highly unusual as the thing was always on her body somewhere, tucked into a pocket or a handbag, connected to a headset if she was driving. She lived in constant fear she wouldn’t be there for George when she needed to be. It was the main reason Julie did her best to call when Nora wasn’t working because she always took her calls.
But not this time. This time the phone just rang four or five times and switched to voice mail. Julie gave a quick hearty hello and told Nora she’d be out of touch for a week and not to worry. And then she left cabin eight and went to work.
First, she acquainted herself with the supplies and ran numerous trips between the wagon and the house to ask Rose for last-minute instructions. She found a pot of beans soaking in the wagon so they’d be ready to cook later in the day, and all the usual perishables stuffed into iceboxes. Way back when, cowboys existed on beans and corn bread and whatever they could tote in a wagon—good, substantial food to be sure, but not real fancy. This trip, however, was a vacation as well as a job, and someone spending thousands of dollars expected a delicious meal at the start and finish of every day.
Julie knew from experience that Tyler had already rounded up most of the herd, but there were always last-minute details to attend to before the two hundred or so cows and calves would start the trip up into the mountains. They would follow far behind the chuck wagon to minimize dust settling on food and stores. Wranglers would help the novices get used to their horses and the rigors of the trail, but today was a purposefully slow day so as not to overtax anyone. Frankly, the pace was always pretty slow. Calves could not move that fast and the horses needed respect as well.
Groups of guests and wranglers would trade positions as the drive continued, riding drag at the back of the herd for a while, then taking on the flanks. The cows always seemed to know exactly where they were going. Tyler stressed that herding them was really just a matter of troubleshooting problems while letting them find the easiest route with a little guidance around the edges.
She’d made a human head count before they left. The menu for the night was relatively easy, but she’d been cooking for one person—herself—for the last year and her taste ran more along the line of broiled fish and steamed vegetables. No way around it, cooking rib-sticking food for almost twenty people was going to be a stretch.
She’d met all of the guests as they delivered what personal items they wanted transported that wouldn’t fit in their saddlebags including their assigned bedrolls. As the wagon rumbled along the trail to the first campsite, Julie attempted to connect the names with the faces in her mind.
There was the woman with the accent riding Snowflake, the white mare with the gray nose—Meg, no last name, please. Then there was Dr. Rob Marquis, a late arrival who appeared unaffected by a night camped out in an airport. The lawyer from Boston was named Red Sanders. Two cherubic-looking brothers from either Iowa or Idaho—she couldn’t remember which—named Nigel and Vincent Cresswell. Carol and Rick Taylor were a friendly repeating husband-wife duo Julie remembered meeting three or four years back and were traveling with their grown son, Bobby. Then there were a group of three women, all secretaries at the same brokerage firm on Wall Street—Sherry, Mary and Terry. The odds of keeping their names straight were astronomical, but as they appeared to travel in a pack, it shouldn’t be a problem.
That left John Smyth whom she’d met the night before and who had apparently delivered his bedroll when she was on one of her forays up to the house. It was hard not to speculate about the man. Was it possible he had searched her cabin? And if he hadn’t, had he seen anyone else hanging around the cabins? She had to find a way to get him alone and ask him without involving Tyler. He’d look apoplectic when she brought up possible crime that morning and she was determined not to involve him again.
And now, here she was, sitting beside a fifty-eight-year-old grizzled co
wboy with a shotgun at his feet and a six-shooter strapped to his waist. His saddled horse was tethered with a line hooking her halter to the back of the wagon. Julie almost wished Roger Trill would show up—let’s see how a city cop handled the odds out here.
Andy seemed to sense she was looking at him. He grinned at her as he grabbed his thermos out from under the seat. “Boss says you and he are done,” he said as the wagon dipped in a rut.
Julie took the thermos as Andy used both hands to guide the team. She hadn’t expected Tyler to talk about her with his men. “Yeah,” she finally said, staring toward the horizon as they traveled the worn trail through green pastures. Tiny pink wildflowers carpeted a meadow off to the left; a hawk flew circles overhead, its high-pitched call suggesting there was a nest nearby. Julie took a deep breath and for a second, it was hard to believe she’d ever been gone.
“Do me a favor, missy. Pour me a cup of that coffee, will you?”
“You still take your own thermos on horseback?” she said, amused.
“Sure. I been riding Shasta so long she knows when I grab for the thermos, her job is to move real smooth. Easier in a wagon, ain’t it, Ned?”
The bigger of two gold horses tossed his head as though he’d understood Andy’s comment and was agreeing.
Julie did her best to pour the coffee without spilling it. The thermos was large and old, maybe an antique, the cylinder dented from repeated falls or kicks or whatever...but the coffee that poured forth was steaming-hot and black as tar. She handed the hot cup to Andy as he bunched the reins in one hand.
“Grab yourself a mug and join me,” he said, lifting the cup.
“No, thanks,” she said as she screwed the top on.
“You ask me, he still misses you,” Andy said after trying a sip and sighing with pleasure.
“Who misses who?” Julie asked.
“The boss. He misses you. Have to admit when I saw you last night I thought maybe you’d come back for good. You was the best thing that happened to this ranch. It was different after you left.”
