The Rancher's Conditions

by R. S. Chapman

  “Okay, okay, okay.” Erik stopped her with a laugh. “I get your point. I guess you’d call it overkill, but it’s the . . .”

  “I know. The kid thing again, right?” Layne interrupted him quietly.

  Erik nodded. “Yeah, the kid thing.” He started toward the door. “There’s a goblet of really cheap wine, white wine, actually, waiting for you when you come down, and you can help me fix dinner, if you’d like.” With that, he was out of the room and on his way down the staircase.

  Layne threw her suitcase on the huge king-size bed and took another look around the room. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, as she took a diving flop beside the suitcase. “Simply unbelievable!”

  ~ ~ ~

  After a few wrong turns and their resulting dead-ends, Layne found Erik in the kitchen.

  “Ah, there you are, thank God!” she said breathlessly. “Another wrong turn or two, and I would’ve merely given up and awaited my death.” She looked around the room, with its large stainless-steel double-door refrigerator–freezer combination and the stainless steel six-burner restaurant stove, and the two additional ovens built into the wall. A chef’s kitchen, for sure!

  “This is probably a stupid question,” she said, “but do you enjoy cooking?” If he didn’t, this was certainly a tremendous overkill and waste of equipment.

  “Well, as a bachelor, I’d better enjoy it, I guess. I like to bake too, but please don’t tell anybody. I have a tough-guy reputation to uphold.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Layne grinned back. “This is quite interesting. I’m beginning to find things out about you.”

  Erik cocked an eyebrow. “Such as . . .?”

  “Such as you’re really a softy, a total softy.”

  Erik cast her what was supposed to be a pathetic glance. “Oh God, please don’t tell anybody,” he pleaded, before his sad expression blossomed into a smile. He looked her up and down, in a slow, leisurely examination. “You, on the other hand, and I mean this in a totally positive way,” he hastened to add, “are not, in any way, a softy. You are hard as nails.”

  “What?” Layne looked at him in surprise. “Thanks for the nice compliment!”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Erik realized he could have worded the compliment differently. “What I meant was,” he quickly added, reaching to put his hand on her arm, “you know exactly who you are, you know exactly what you want. You’re not afraid to say what’s on your mind, and that’s refreshing as hell.”

  “Oh,” Layne replied with a pout, “thanks for the interpretation.” She covered Erik’s hand, still on her arm, with her own. “Other than in one regard, I was joking about your being a softy. You wouldn’t be who you are or where you are today if you were.”

  “Whew,” he joked, “glad we got that straight.” He became serious. “What do you mean, by one regard?”

  Layne’s eyes locked with his. “You’re a softy with me,” she said softly. “Once we got the check fiasco behind us, you’ve been nothing but a kind and gentle friend. A total softy, and I love it.”

  “Oh. Well, still don’t tell anybody . . .”

  He was too close. She had to back a step or two away. Their friendship could easily explode into something much more if she allowed it.

  “What can I do to help?” Layne asked, removing her hand from his. Those funny things had started to happen again. “Set the table, fix a salad, slaughter the steer for dinner, what?”

  “You want a steak? Again?” Erik asked.

  “Surprise me. I’m fine with anything. Do whatever you want with me.”

  “Wow, you’re easy to please. Steak it will be!” He pointed to a cupboard. “The dishes and bowls are in there,” he said, “and” — he pointed to a drawer under the counter — “the silver is in there. We’ll use the breakfast nook. It’s easier.”

  Layne’s mind wandered to her words, do what you want with me, as she found the settings for the table. She realized that, if push came to shove, she would allow whatever Erik wanted, and join in wholeheartedly. A few what ifs also entered her thoughts. What if she was setting their table, what if Erik was fixing their dinner? Man and wife their?

  And then, as if on a set schedule, Joyce Callaway swept into her mind, washing away all Layne’s their and do whatever you want thoughts. Even though Erik tried to convince her that there was no romantic relationship, he obviously had no idea of Joyce’s designs and the treachery going on behind his back. Until that particular problem was settled, one way or the other, she had to repress whatever feelings threatened to burst to the surface. And they were knocking at the door, more and more. She was a friend, which was all she could allow herself to be.

  Those were her thoughts, until Barb’s words swept in, casting Joyce Callaway aside. If you care for him, fight for him! Now the inner turmoil started. Show the feelings that were growing inside her, possibly ready to burst, or let things rest, take a wait and see attitude? The problem was, the more time she spent with Erik Rivers, the harder it was to keep her feelings in check.

  Could she remain only as a friend? Could he remain only as a friend? But, Layne realized with a cold chill, the huge elephant waiting in the wings was the very probable custody case. That would blow anything and everything to pieces.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Erik said, startling her. “You’ve got a far-away look on your face.”

  “Caught dreaming, wasn’t I?” she said, reaching down to run a finger around the rim of a plate. “I was just admiring your china. Did you pick this out yourself?”

  “It’s a hand-me-down, actually,” Erik replied. “From my mother.”

  “These are beautiful, Erik. Take care of them. They shouldn’t be for every-day use, you know. They’re very precious pieces.”

  “They’re just for special occasions, like now. . .” His words were interrupted by a tune on his cell phone. He checked the caller’s number flashing across the screen. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’ve got to take this call.”

  Layne tried to busy herself as she watched him leave the kitchen, but apparently he didn’t get far enough into another room, because she could hear smatterings of their conversation. When it appeared that he was talking to a woman, Layne started humming, drowning out Erik’s words. She did not want to hear. Her imagination was too vivid to get primed by his words to another woman, but as usual, it was too late. That Callaway woman had crept in again . . .

  ~ ~ ~

  After their late dinner, Layne and Erik chatted easily as she rinsed the dishes and utensils before he placed them into the dishwasher. Then she followed Erik into the den to enjoy an after-dinner cocktail.

  Sitting side by side on the massive leather couch, he glanced at his watch. “I think we should be getting to bed,” he said, “it’s going to be an early day tomorrow.”

  Layne checked her watch and was surprised that time had passed so quickly. “Exactly what time does this early day begin?” she asked.

  “Well,” Erik answered with a slight grin, preparing to measure her reaction, “if your door’s unlocked, I’ll poke my head in about four-thirty. If it’s locked, I’ll be pounding on the door about the same time.”

  Holy crap! “Four-thirty? In the morning?” She managed. She’d never seen four-thirty in the morning in her life. “My door won’t be locked. You may have to come in and pour cold water on me.” She paused for a moment. “On second thought,” she said, “I think I will lock the door. My morning-face may be too shocking for you to see that early. I don’t want to ruin your thoughts of me as being pretty.”

  “That’s something that will never happen.” Of course, the only way he could prove that would be if he woke up beside her in the morning . . .

  “Well, at any rate, I’d better be getting to bed,” she said, giving his cheek a short, friendly kiss. “I
know my room is somewhere upstairs, but I’m not sure where the stairs are.”

  “Follow me,” Erik replied, “I’ll lead the way to the stairs.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The rap on the door woke Layne out of a deep, sound sleep, and for a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Slowly, the realization came, and she groaned softly, snuggling deeper under the covers.

  Another loud, no-nonsense rapping resulted in her throwing her covers back, and swinging her long legs over the side of the bed. She sat quietly for a short moment, head in hands, wondering why on Earth she’d agreed to come along on the roundup.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” Erik yelled through the door, “time to rise and shine.”

  “Okay, I’m up.” She plodded into the bathroom and covered her eyes from the brightness when she found the light switch and turned it on. A glance in the mirror confirmed it. She’d slept like a log, possibly without a single toss or turn. Gotta get a bed like that.

  Reaching in, she turned the shower on full-force, and while she waited for the warmth to appear, she rummaged through a closet and found a shower cap. Apparently Erik thought of everything, because there was also a hair drier, woman’s deodorant, nail polish in a variety of colors, tampons. Tampons? Layne slowly closed the cabinet door, washed with the realization of quite possibly not being the first female to use the bedroom.

  Again, Joyce Callaway snuck into her thoughts. Or could it have been ‘the others’? Why not? Layne reasoned. Erik was a normal young male, full of normal desires and drives. Why did she believe she was the first? The one and only? And in that regard, the first what? Certainly not the first conquest. She would never be anyone’s conquest! And more than likely, if it ever came to that, not the first lover either. After all, before her fiancé cheated, they’d had an active sex life. She shook her head to rid her mind of those disturbing memories and images before stepping into the warm stream of the shower.

  Several minutes later, examining herself in the full-length mirror, she decided she was ready. Hair in ponytail, western shirt tucked into tight, sexy jeans, cowboy boots, and just enough makeup to be presentable.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Good morning,” Erik said, turning to Layne as she came into the kitchen. “How’d you sleep?” He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, but he could not tear his eyes off her. She was beautiful, truly beautiful. He hoped his wranglers could perform their duties on the roundup. Layne could be quite a distraction.

  “You look . . . nice this morning.” He put down the spatula in his hand and took a step toward her. “Oh hell,” he said. “Whom am I kidding? You’re beautiful! Drop dead, friggin’ gorgeous!”

  “Wow, that’s a very nice compliment for this early in the morning!” She took a leisurely head-to-toe appraisal of Erik. “You probably already know this, but you look fantastic this morning too.” Oh yes! “What’s for breakfast?” she asked, tearing her mind and thoughts from him.

  “We’ve got to stoke the furnace this morning. It’s gonna be a long day. I’ll scramble us some eggs, got a few hash browns going already, toast, and sausage. Sound okay?”

  “I usually just have black coffee,” Layne replied meekly.

  Erik turned from the stove to face her. “I learned my lesson long ago,” he said, “so I’ll never argue with you again about what you want to eat. But,” he cautioned, “I strongly suggest that you have a good breakfast. We don’t stop what we’re doing just because someone’s hungry.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Layne thought for a moment. “Um, one other question. I asked about this before, but as the only girl, at least I assume I’m the only one, I doubt if my bladder is going to last all day.”

  “Yes, we did talk about this before. I’ve got it covered. I’ll bring a big beach towel and hold it up for you. You could do that.” He smiled at Layne with a childish grin.

  “I don’t think that’s going to work,” she replied. “Get serious. Really, what will I do?”

  Erik took her into a gentle, friendly hug. “We are always prepared,” he explained. “The guys have this problem too, you know. There are draws, valleys, bushes, and clumps of trees well out of sight of everyone. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’ll be okay, and alone.”

  Well, that should work. She had no desire to put on a show for the cowboys! “Thank you,” she said, looking up at him. His arms around her felt so good, but she backed away. His closeness, body to body, was doing those strange things to her again.

  ~ ~ ~

  Erik had planned to assist Layne into the saddle of the mare, but stopped midway. He was genuinely impressed as he watched her easily swing up onto the horse. “Looks like you’ve done that before,” he called to her.

  “Once or twice,” she called back, adjusting herself in the saddle. “There’s a riding stable close to where my parents live. Someday I’m going to have my own horse.”

  Erik, on the white stallion he rode at the fair, came up to her side and nodded to her horse. “She’s yours, if you want her. Her name’s Blaze.”

  Layne cast him a surprised look. “You’d actually give her to me?” she asked, reaching to stroke her mane.

  “If you want her, yes.” There was a bit of ulterior motive in his offer. He was no dummy. She’d have to spend time at the ranch whenever she wanted to ride Blaze, and that meant seeing her more often. “You understand that the saddle and all the tack goes along with her. It’s a complete deal.”

  “You can’t just give all that to me. I can’t let you do that, Erik.”

  He smiled at her. “She’s my horse, and I can do whatever I want with her.” His smile grew serious. “There are no strings attached, Layne. This is just a friend giving a gift to a friend. Isn’t that what friends do?”

  Layne was silent for a moment. She didn’t know how to respond. “But I don’t know a thing about taking care of her,” she finally said, not knowing what else to say.

  “I’ll always be here, and there are plenty of hired hands to care for her, believe me.”

  That seemed to settle matters, and Layne could only say thank you. She settled into the saddle with a new awareness of the animal under her. Blaze was now her horse, her new companion and responsibility! And yes indeed, it would mean many trips to Rivers End Ranch.

  As the morning wore on, cattle were gathered from every corner of the summer pastures and herded into a large, makeshift corral until the first drive to the winter pastures closer to the ranch. The breeding bulls were kept at the ranch, separate from the cows, and the bull calves were castrated and inoculated when they were only a few days old, so the roundup was merely a matter of exchanging one pasture area for another.

  Finally, by late afternoon, most of the cattle were rounded up and ready for the drive to their winter grounds. With a few exceptions when Erik went after a wayward calf or two, Layne stayed mostly by his side, but now she found herself riding alongside a young cowboy.

  “Have you been on a roundup before, ma’am?” the wrangler asked politely.

  “No,” she replied, “this is my first. I didn’t realize so much went into it.”

  “Yeah,” the young cowboy agreed, constantly running his eyes over the milling herd. “Most folks think there’s lots’a whoopin’ an’ hollerin’ like the movies, but that ain’t the way it is. Doin’ that would stampede the herd all over creation. Slow and easy is best.”

  As the herd was leisurely driven from the gentle foothills and over the green, lush pastures toward the ranch, Layne kept to Erik’s side. She was a bit saddle-weary, but aside from that, she was truly enjoying the day. And, by his furtive glances, she knew he was impressed.

  Erik straightened in the saddle and looked off to the side of the main herd body. “See that little guy over there?” he said, nodding to a calf that strayed from the group. “Think you can get it back where it belongs?”r />
  Layne stood tall in the saddle and saw the wayward critter. She looked at Erik in amazement. “You want me to get it back to the herd?”

  “Only if you want to.” He smiled. “I know you can do it.”

  She checked the calf again. What if she scared it off and another cowboy had to rescue it? What if Blaze refused? All sort of bad things swept through Layne’s mind. But, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  “Okay,” she replied as she turned Blaze away from Erik and started off at a trot toward the calf.

  The mare responded beautifully to Layne’s gentle commands, and each time the calf started to change direction, she headed it off until once again it was a member of the herd.

  Erik never lost sight of Layne as she and her horse guided the little animal back. What a partner, what a wife, she’d be! Increasingly, his thoughts were on Layne and the possibility of a future with her, but she was only his friend, and presently that was all he had to work with. Certainly something to build on.

  Layne rode up to Erik’s side. “How’d we do?” she asked, including Blaze in whatever praise was forthcoming.

  Several cowboys had been watching too, and gave her a ‘hats off’ ovation as Erik beamed at her with genuine admiration. “You’re hired!” he said. “That was as good as any of us could do!”

  A wave of pride washed through her. She could live this rancher’s life. Basking in this thought, another realization roared through her, almost separating her from the horse. As much as she told herself that she would, and could, be only a friend until this Joyce Callaway situation was settled one way or the other, this had fallen completely by the wayside. She finally became fully aware that she was falling in love with Erik Rivers.