He shook his head. “If I thought that—” he glanced over his shoulder “—if, I changed my mind the minute I clapped eyes on him. He’s too big for trail riding.”
“Bullpucky.”
He whipped around to face her. “Yes, he is. Too showy, too.”
“Too showy?” Gigi asked, exasperated. “Now you sound like a damn fool.”
He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous out there for her.”
“You’re starting to care for her.”
“Of course I care for her. I wouldn’t have paid a fortune for her horse if I didn’t care for her. I’d have to have veins full of ice not to feel sorry for the woman.”
“You don’t feel sorry for her,” Gigi said, “and you know it.” She held up her hands. “I know, I know, there’s a part of you that sympathizes with what she’s going through, but Clinton, I’ve never known you to be intimate with a woman without having feelings for her first.”
“I haven’t been intimate with her.”
“No?” she asked, and it was the same look she’d given him when he’d stashed a snake in his room…and then denied it to her face.
“No,” he said, moving to his dresser. “Not really. Oh, I don’t know what the hell to say to you except leave me alone already. I need to pack.”
“You only just met her, but she’s already slipped under your defenses. I can tell. What’s more, watching her fall off that horse of hers today about scared you to death.”
“I’ve seen people come off horses before,” he muttered.
“Yes, but not someone you care for. Julia flat out refused to ride and that’s the closest you’ve ever come to settling down. Thank God you came to your senses beforehand.”
“We’re not talking about Julia.”
“And you’re acting like a recalcitrant child,” Gigi said, coming into his room and forcing him to turn and look at her. “Let her ride her horse tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”
“Knock, knock.”
They both glanced at the door. Sam.
“I’ll just leave the two of you alone,” Gigi said. But his grandmother shot him a look that clearly said, be nice to her.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Gigi left behind what felt like twenty tons of silence. Clint went back to packing.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“It’s fine.”
But you’re still not going on the roundup.
He wanted to say the words out loud, he truly did, but he realized Gigi was right. He did care for her. Damn. How the hell had that happened so fast?
“No, it’s not fine. You told me not to do it, and I did.”
“We all make mistakes,” he said, wanting to stay angry with her, but he couldn’t do it. She appeared beyond miserable, and it was exactly that look—that expression of misery—that’d gotten him into trouble in the first place. He just couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting to erase her sadness.
“It was reckless of me to do what I did. On a horse I don’t even own…not anymore. But there was a reason why I did it.”
“I’m sure there was,” he said, trying—and failing—to maintain his stern facade.
But she wasn’t looking at him, not now. She was staring out the window behind him. His room was much like hers. Bed to the right, window next to that, dresser on the wall opposite the bed. As she gazed out that window, he saw the most gut-wrenching look of loss cross her face.
“What is it?” he asked, instantly alert. She wasn’t about to tell him she was engaged or something, was she? He hadn’t started to care for yet another woman who didn’t know the meaning of fidelity, had he?
“I’m going blind.”
He gaped at her.
They were not the words he was expecting and he found himself saying, “What?” just so he could make sure he’d heard her correctly. “You’re going where?”
“Blind,” she said. “I’m going blind.”
“But you’re—” He was about to say “fine.” That she appeared to be okay.
I’m still recovering from my injuries.
“It’s true,” she said. “After I woke up, I kept telling the doctors something wasn’t right with my eyes. My peripheral vision wasn’t there. It took yet another brain scan to narrow it down to a central retinal vein occlusion brought on by a brain embolism. They’re almost positive the embolism was the result of the car accident. I was bleeding inside my head and they theorize a blood clot migrated to my retinal artery, but of course no one can say with any certainty. They also can’t tell me why it’s getting bigger, only that it’s there.”
“Can’t they do something about it?” he asked because he just couldn’t believe she was going blind.
She shook her head. “They tried blasting it apart with some kind of new-fangled ultrasonic device, but it didn’t work. Short of drilling a hole in my head, no. They already did that once,” she said, running a hand through her short curls. “It used to be past my shoulders.”
He stared at her in disbelief.
“So when you said you knew I’d been going through a rough patch, you had no idea just how rough that patch has been.”
“You’re going blind,” he said, still not wanting to believe it.
“Slowly, but inexorably,” she said. “Taking Coaster out today, it might be my last time to try my hand at something new. Tomorrow might be the day my vision gets to the critical point.”
“Good grief.” He knew it wasn’t the best thing to say under the circumstances. Knew he should pull her into his arms, but that seemed so inadequate.
“And that’s why I’d really like to take Coaster out on the roundup if I’m able,” she said. “You guys have no idea what a gift it was for you to bring him here. I never thought I’d see him again, but now I might be able to take him out. To see the hills…and the horses. I want to go on one last adventure with him. One last gallop across the fields.”
He went to her then, couldn’t help but do anything else. “You sound incredibly brave.”
She shrugged. “I don’t feel brave.”
Clint met her gaze and thought how impossible it seemed that those stunning green eyes would one day be sightless. Would he be able to read what she was thinking then? Would they seem to sparkle like they did now? Or would they go dim? Like a window suddenly closed.
“You’re the bravest person I know,” he said, hugging her. God, when he’d seen her in that arena, about to chase those cows, he’d been horrified. And impressed.
“Can I go on the roundup?” she asked.
“You know you can,” he said, pulling her closer.
But she wiggled away from him. “Don’t,” she said. “Not now. If you hold me now, I might crumple and I’ve sworn never to do that again.”
He stood there, helpless. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah. Don’t treat me like I’m made from glass.”
His gut kicked. “I won’t.”
She turned to go.
“Sam—”
But he could tell she didn’t trust herself not to lose control if he said something kind.
“Damn,” he muttered after she’d disappeared out the door. Now what to do?
“SHE’S WHAT?” GIGI SAID when he tracked her down in the basement less than fifteen minutes later. “Going blind?”
Clint nodded, took his hat off his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Said she didn’t know when it was going to happen, that it was supposed to happen gradually. But I imagine that was a big reason why she sold her horse.”
“My goodness,” Gigi said. There was a window to the right of the walk-in pantry, a tiny rectangular one, but it allowed enough light into the basement to reveal Gigi’s stricken expression.
“Honestly, Gigi, I didn’t know what to do. What to say.”
His grandmother shook her head, nibbling her lower lip. “Neither do I,” she said, looking around for something. The basement was more of a storeroom. He saw her spot whatever it was s
he was looking for. A chair, he realized. Gigi sank into it.
“What can we do for her?” she asked, her blue eyes wide.
“I asked her the same question. She said not to treat her like she was made of glass.”
Gigi nodded slowly.
“I’ll have to admit, Gigi, I’m not too sure she should go on that roundup now.”
“What?” Gigi asked. “Don’t be ridiculous. That roundup is probably all she has to look forward to. Don’t you see?” she said. “It’s why she came here. She wanted to see the mustangs before she—” Gigi covered her mouth with her hand again. “Goes blind,” she said from between her fingers. “Heavens to Betsy. That sounds so horrible.”
He hadn’t thought about that yet, Clint admitted. Hadn’t had a chance to do much more than assimilate what Sam had told him. “So you think she should go?”
“Of course I do. We’ll have to keep a close eye on her, but she has to go…now more than ever.”
But Clint still didn’t like it. Honestly, he felt as if he’d been poleaxed. What kind of woman showed up at a ranch and foisted herself on strangers knowing the whole time she was going blind?
A frightened woman, he realized. One who’d had nowhere else to turn, and no place to run.
Chapter Sixteen
She’d told him.
She’d had to tell him.
But as she lay in bed that night, she regretted it. Not because she was afraid her blindness might turn Clint off, or that he might be afraid to get close to her….
All right, fine.
That was a very real concern, especially since he seemed to avoid her for the rest of the day. He didn’t even knock on her door the whole long night.
Gigi had told her to report to the barn at six with her bag in hand. The house was quiet as a library when Sam grabbed her jacket from the coatrack near the front door and the black duffel bag Gigi had let her borrow.
It was cool outside, but she felt well protected from the elements. She wore her most comfortable boots and as many layers of clothing as she could tolerate, but being late April, the sky was still dark, the horizon nothing more than a dull, gunmetal-gray. Overhead, stars still twinkled. And as she had so many times in the previous months, she took a mental picture of everything.
A rooster crowed in the distance. Sam took a deep breath. Long after she left here, she would remember that smell of the place. A combination of fresh-cut hay, pine-scented horse shavings and the pungent daisies next to the house.
“You ready?” Dean asked as she entered the barn. The fluorescent light that stretched up the barn aisle buzzed as if it’d just been turned on.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Dean smiled. “Heard you fell off yesterday.”
“My fault. My horse was boxing a cow and I wasn’t ready for him.”
“Clint said he’s never seen someone come off so gracefully.”
Graceful? That’s what he’d called it? She sure wouldn’t have guessed that after looking into his eyes. “Yeah, well, I like to jump horses. Can’t tell you how many times the horse decided it didn’t want to go over a fence at the last moment. Usually I kept going right on over that horse’s head.”
Dean winced. “Speaking of your horse, Clint said for you to go ahead and saddle Coaster.”
So she would get to ride him after all. Sam nodded, feeling the knot in her stomach unwind.
“Where’s Clint?” she asked, glancing around. She would bet Gigi was out by the chuckwagon making sure she had all her supplies, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“In the arena. That’s where we stage all the horses before we go.”
Ah. “Well okay then. I better saddle up.”
Sam was nervous. Whether or not they’d catch up with the Baer Mountain Mustangs today, she had no idea. But sooner or later, she’d get to see them. In the meantime she was going to cross some rough terrain, on an unproven horse. Not that she had any fears about Coaster. Okay, maybe just a few, but worse case, she could turn back. Or maybe Clint had thought to bring an extra horse. She’d have to ask him about that.
By the time she finished saddling Coaster, men were leading horses out of the arena. She could see them through the barn’s double doors. The sun had climbed higher in the horizon, turning everything a sort of muted gold. She paused and admired the view. It looked like a scene from an Old West movie. Long-coated cowboys, all of them wearing western hats, milling around on horseback. In the center of the action Clint sat his dapple gray. The gelding was easy to spot among so many bays and chestnuts. Behind him on the chuckwagon, Gigi’s white hair was clearly visible. She wasn’t driving. That job fell to a grizzled cowboy who made Elliot appear a stripling.
“You ready?” someone asked her. She shook her head slowly as she took it all in.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“You need a boost up?” the man asked.
She had no idea who the guy was. “No. That’s okay.”
Whoever he was, he was about Clint’s age, and handsome, if one was into movie star good looks. Really. He was too pretty to be a cowboy with his brown eyes and cleft chin. “I don’t see a crane around here,” he joked, eyeing Coaster behind her.
“Believe me,” she said, “I’m used to getting on him.”
“Well, have at it. Looks like Clint is ready to head out.”
And he hadn’t even said good morning to her yet. Of course, he was busy, but she couldn’t help but wonder if things had changed between them. That other morning in her bedroom seemed like nothing more than a distant memory, and while she hadn’t expected him to come into her room and give her a good-night kiss last night, she’d been hoping to see him before she went to bed. All she’d seen was Gigi.
“All right, Coaster,” Sam said, putting her left foot in the stirrup. “No sudden turns today.”
If her horse thought it was strange to be wearing a different type of saddle again, he never gave anything away. Honestly, the western seat was far more comfortable than its tiny English counterpart. She felt as if she was sitting in a lounge chair.
“…remember, last one through the gate has to make sure it’s closed. I don’t need to tell you what a mess we’d have on our hands if the horses escaped to the wrong pasture, so be on the ball.”
Clint’s eyes fell on her. She smiled. He nodded, then said to his men, “If we’re all ready, let’s head on out. Cappie, you go first.”
“Cappie” appeared to be the chuckwagon driver because he lifted his hand and then flicked a whip over his horse’s back.
And that was that. They were off. Sam kept expecting Clint to hang back. He didn’t. She told herself not to feel hurt. He was busy. The last thing he was going to do was blow kisses at her. It was just silly to expect that, and yet for some ridiculous reason, she kind of did. She would have been happy with just a smile.
The man who’d teased her about getting up on Coaster sidled next to her, his brown eyes twinkling. She glanced down at him—and it was down—the horse he was riding was closer to a pony.
“I’m Lorenzo,” he said, holding out a hand, his leg bumping the rope tied to the front of his saddle. They all had ropes—except her—not that she’d know how to use it.
She had to lean down and twist her body to take it. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Sam.”
He smiled, his grin teeth-whitening commercial bright. Wow. With his dark skin and dark eyes, he looked as if he belonged on the set of a spaghetti Western, especially in his cowboy attire.
“Is that your horse?” he asked.
How to answer that? Obviously, he hadn’t heard the story. That meant he wasn’t one of Clint’s regulars, but a day worker, something Gigi had explained was a cowboy for hire. “No,” she said. “He belongs to the ranch.”
“Really. He looks like a show horse.”
That piqued her curiosity about him. “Actually, he is a show horse. He’s been shown on the quarter horse circuit….”
She gave him Coaster’s back
ground as they rode along. And if Lorenzo—she couldn’t believe his name was Lorenzo, as though he was some kind of Italian soap star or something—thought it odd that she knew so much about a horse that wasn’t hers, he didn’t say anything. And, frankly, it was nice to talk to someone during the long trip up the hill. Gigi was hip-deep in conversation with Cappie and she didn’t want to intrude. Clint ignored her.
Fortunately, she was distracted by the scenery. They rode toward the Baer Mountains—the green, snow-capped peaks looked like scoops of mint ice cream. The valley they were in curved upward, toward the hills, the incline gradual, but enough of an angle that she was grateful Coaster had been kept in shape during the months she couldn’t ride. She, however, had some catching up to do. It took hours to reach the top. She suspected she might be sore tomorrow.
“Best take some aspirin,” Lorenzo said when they finally stopped. Obviously, he’d seen her grimace as she’d slid to the ground.
“Thanks. I think I will.”
Coaster’s halter hung from a strap on the side of her saddle. She took his bridle off and slipped it on, tying him to a tree. “Keep up the good work,” she told the horse, scratching his neck for a couple of seconds. “We’ll make a cow pony out of you yet.”
“You sure about that?”
She spun on her heel to find Clint staring down at her. “Hey,” she said. She’d thought for sure she’d receive the silent treatment until later that night—if not for the rest of the week.
“You look tired. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, lifting her chin. No need to worry about me. Go back to directing the troops.
But she identified the thought as childish as soon as she thought it.
“If you’re hungry,” he said, “Cappie’ll have the hamburgers grilling in just a sec. Why don’t you wait a second and I’ll introduce the two of you.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I can introduce myself.”
“Just the same, I’ll guide you over to the cart.”
She stepped back from him. “Clint, I’m not blind…yet.”
He winced.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said, verbalizing the exact thought she’d had earlier. “I’ll tell you if my vision starts to change.”
The Wrangler Page 11
