He’d led the trail ride group through the woods and stopped just at the edge of the trees with the river and the herd revealed close in front of them.
Camera shutters were snapping faster than upstate New York mosquitos. Most of the riders were still dropping their reins on the horse’s withers. But the horses Chelsea had chosen were sufficiently mild-mannered that all they did was graze where they stood while the ranch guests ignored their mounts.
The elk, in turn, were used to the trail ride horses. As long as they were downwind, the elk tolerated their presence. The head bull, a five-pointer, had a decent harem of a dozen cows and nearly as many calves—though most were big enough that they’d be heading out on their own soon.
Then, without warning, a roar of fury sounded from beyond the trees they’d just ridden through. Not a bear, though out of instinct Patrick laid a hand on the butt of his rifle sticking up out of his saddle’s scabbard. He’d never had to shoot one and they were mostly busy feeding on fish at this time of year, fattening up for hibernation, but they could need some scaring off. He also had a bear-sized can of pepper spray on the other side of his saddle.
But it wasn’t a bear.
The Henderson Ranch helicopter cleared the treetops with only feet to spare. It flashed by directly overhead, swooped down to race low over the river, and shot westward. By the way it flew, Mark would be the pilot. He probably hadn’t even seen Patrick’s group hanging close by the trees.
The elk scattered.
The horses jolted a few steps with surprise, dropping several of the riders abruptly to the soft grass. But the animals were used enough to the helo for them to stop close by and return to grazing once they remembered that they weren’t afraid of it.
Except for Rolo. He decided to take the pretty single mom for a fast ride downriver.
Patrick kicked Minotaur into a gallop and raced after her—she was far less sure of her seat than her daughter. No grab for the dropped reins or any attempt to slow Rolo’s run, which the horse took as permission to stretch his legs for a change. She clutched the saddle’s pommel with both hands. Down, around the bend in the river, he closed on the racing pair. Rolo plunged into the water just steps before Patrick could reach the dangling reins.
Rolo wasn’t a fan of running water and jerked to a halt. The woman flew up and over his head in a high arc before plunging into the river. It had narrowed and so ran deeper and faster here.
Patrick didn’t slow Minotaur for a moment, instead jumping the horse straight into the current. He managed to arrive far enough downstream in time to scoop her into his arms the very first time she surfaced. Minotaur liked the water and gamely swam them back to a shallower area as Patrick settled the woman across his lap.
“You okay, Clara?” Her name had been easy to remember. Even if she had African rather than English ancestry in her coloring, she had the same beauty and athleticism of Clara Bow, the “It Girl” of Roaring Twenties Hollywood. Horses just weren’t her thing apparently, whereas Clara Bow had been an expert horsewoman.
“I think so,” she clung to him. “Most of all just surprised. The river’s so cold.”
“Glacial melt, even in September.”
“Brrr!” She gave a mock shudder as she clung more tightly to him. Her very fit figure pressed harder against him. The river water soaking through his shirt was chilly, though he was finding it hard to complain. She might be a mom, but she was a very pleasant armful—and her loose blouse, now plastered to her body, declared she’d still be a top contestant in any wet t-shirt contest. The early afternoon sun was warm and they’d both dry quickly. Hopefully not too quickly, the wet look was very nice on her. Maybe after everyone—especially her daughter—was asleep tonight, they might wander off to watch the stars together for a bit.
He rode back along the bank while she remained clinging to him. He gathered up Rolo’s reins—he’d stopped to graze on the bank, all content after enjoying his run—and walked them back around the river bend to where he’d left the other riders.
The helicopter had landed a couple hundred yards upstream. The elk were nowhere to be seen. Mark, the old guy, and the amazing brunette were mingled in among the riders. He could hear by their tone that they were making sure everyone was okay and getting some laughs. Good. He’d worried about the mood. Ranch guests didn’t much like being dumped out of their saddles, especially not the beginners. A more advanced rider might grumble a bit when tossed, but they took it much more in stride.
It was only as he rode up to them that the brunette turned to look up at him. Again, he had no idea how to read her expression.
Then he spotted the devastated look on the face of Clara’s teenage daughter. That had him looking down in surprise at the woman cradled in his lap.
Oh.
He just wasn’t going to catch a break today.
Lauren had caught Emily and Claudia’s hints that Patrick was taken with her. Couldn’t have missed them any more than a runaway train coming into Grand Central Station.
Yeah, right.
So taken with her that just a few hours later he was cradling a very pretty black woman tightly against his chest in much the same position she must have been.
Men never changed. She supposed it was a good thing as it made them predictable.
At first, Patrick had looked quite noble. Mark hadn’t seen the trail ride clustered close against the pines as he overflew them, but from the back of the helo, she certainly had. Horses jolted and riders tumbled even as she shouted to Mark to ease off—too little, too late.
Then one mount had raced off with its rider in tow.
Patrick had ridden after the runaway in a flash, flying across the deep grass at a full gallop. As Mark had slowed and circled back, she’d just been able to see Patrick make a fantastic jump—his horse launching from the edge of the bank and plunging into the river with a huge cloud of spray. Impossibly, he and the horse had emerged from the water still together, even his cowboy hat in place. He’d gathered the rider out of the river before the spray even had a chance to settle. So not the klutz. He’d looked magnificent as he’d ridden to the rescue.
Why magnificent? What was it about a tall cowboy in a Stetson that made a woman get all mushy? Well, maybe a little weak in the knees. Mushy wasn’t in her repertoire. No, not even weak knees! Especially not on a day that already included her fainting in front of Colonel Gibson.
As soon as the JetRanger was down, they had all hurried back to help the remaining riders. And then Patrick had reappeared with his arms full of very attractive and very clinging woman. Maybe that was his thing. Gathering helpless females into his arms.
Since she didn’t remember it—and rather suspected that she’d been more sack-of-potatoes than possessively clingy—she didn’t see any point in being jealous of her own moments in his arms. Instead, she turned to console the woman’s upset daughter. The girl’s sad face almost made Lauren smile.
She herself had once had a huge crush on Brad Pitt after seeing Fight Club, then been devastated by his wedding to Aniston while Lauren had still been a high school sophomore. She’d never been a big fan of movies after that—not that she had been much of one beforehand. She’d rather be playing Ultimate Frisbee in the park or volleyball at school anyway. With her height, she was a major asset at the net. Not All-State or anything fancy, but the Vanguard Panthers had ruled the Upper East Side her last two years on the high school team.
By the time Brad moved on to Jolie, she was over him. She was already an MWD handler for the US Army 75th Rangers by then and Brad was welcome to sleep with whoever he wanted to. Though she still never watched Aniston in movies or Friends reruns, not even when looking for a late night distraction.
Lauren helped the girl down from her horse and walked her over to the riverbank while the others were getting organized. No flat rocks here for skipping, she selected a round stone and arced it out where it landed with a barely audible plonk!
“It was never going to happen, you
know. I’m Lauren, by the way,” she kept it easy, off hand.
“Mirisa,” the girl sighed deeply. “I know. He’s too old. But he’s so totally handsome. And he rides a horse named Minotaur—he controls the beast. Just like Theseus, the beloved of Ariadne. I just adore Greek mythology. Imagine Patrick Gallagher the cowboy as the hero of the Cretan labyrinth,” she said the last like a headline and followed it with another heartfelt sigh.
Lauren tried to remember what she had loved at thirteen. The New York Yankees’ box scores. That was another thing to hold against Colonel Gibson, dragging her two thousand miles from Yankee Stadium. She hadn’t seen a game in so long that she barely knew the roster anymore, never mind their stats. It was September and their season would be ending soon. Each game she missed was one she’d never get back.
“Greek mythology? What are they feeding you kids these days?”
Mirisa stuck her tongue out at her, which Lauren took as a good sign.
“You see his horse?” Lauren leaned in and whispered confidentially to the girl.
“Uh-huh,” Mirisa looked over her shoulder. She still had some things to learn about subtlety.
“Notice anything about its coloring?”
“Not really. It’s all reddish and spotty.”
“A lady named Chelsea told me that his horse’s real name is Minnie, because he looks like he’s wearing Minnie Mouse’s dress.” Chelsea had casually cornered her as Mark and Michael had been gathering the fishing gear for the helicopter. She was the ranch’s horse manager, and had ever so casually told her about Patrick’s horse. At the time she’d thought the cheery redhead was just making conversation, but she was less sure now.
Mirisa slapped a hand over her mouth to cover a bright squeal of delight. “Oh my gawd! He totally does. A horse in a mouse dress!” A storm of giggles slipped out. She recovered a little, then looked over her shoulder again, once more bursting into giggles.
Lauren followed the direction of her gaze, figuring it was safe as their cover was completely blown.
Patrick now stood on the ground, shed of the clinging woman (at least temporarily), and holding Minnie’s reins. He was looking right at them with a very perplexed look on his face, as confused as if he’d just risen from the mud puddle once more.
His cowboy shirt clung damply to his chest.
Mirisa might now be giggling at him and his horse, but Lauren was finding it hard to look away. Colin Firth in the Pride and Prejudice lake scene came to mind. Her mother’s kind of movie rather than hers, but they’d watched it on TV together when it was first broadcast in the US back in the ’90s. She’d already been enamored of Brad back then, but the wet-shirt scene was very memorable.
Patrick looked even better.
She turned once more to face the river, selected another stone, and heaved it high and hard.
Patrick puzzled at Mirisa’s excessive cheerfulness—without any more long looks and deep sighs—that had continued throughout the afternoon.
And then there was Lauren’s look, which he also couldn’t unravel. By the time they reached camp a couple hours after the helicopter incident, all he could conclude was that some women were very unpredictable. At least he’d found out Lauren’s name when Mark had called to her that it was time to go catch some fish.
Lauren Bacall made her a no-brainer to remember, as if he’d forget. That same elegance and impossible beauty. Would a smile light her up like it had Bacall in To Marry a Millionaire or would this Lauren always be the cool and emotionless Bacall in Key Largo? Bacall was known for her wildly emotional marriage with Bogart, both the fighting and the loving—but she was often a different woman on screen. Did this Lauren have that heat hiding away inside her? It was hard to imagine. He suspected she was much more the Key Largo Bacall—the one that had the director, John Huston, actually twisting her arm painfully up behind her back in one scene, trying to make her show any emotion at all.
Devin and Drake had driven out with the chuck wagon—stocked with some of Nathan’s marinated steaks and other treats—by a much shorter road than their own round-about trail ride (though it would take a sharp ranch guest to figure out how little distance they’d actually traveled from the main house). And tomorrow’s route back would be even longer. The cousins had set up the tents already and had a campfire going. It made for happy arrivals of the beginner-stiff riders, despite the mild walk-trot pace he’d set throughout the afternoon. He, and the cousins who looked and acted like twins, showed the campers how to tend and picket the horses.
Then, despite their groans and complaints about aching muscles, he walked the guests up to the top of a small knoll for the view. It was a planned event, because otherwise they’d seize up and be unable to move the next day.
The knoll also offered an incredible vista to the north and west. The beauty of the Front Range and the wildness of the Rockies. And, just at the base of the far side of the knoll, was one of the best fishing streams on this end of the ranch. Maybe, if the gods were with him, he could spy out the fishing party.
The oohs and ahs, soon followed by the electronic shutter clicks from everyone’s cell phone cameras that could never really capture the Big Sky country, told him of the success of the first purpose. He held back, giving the guests the front-row positions.
And down below the small JetRanger helo, emblazoned with a herd of running horses—like right out of the final scene of Hidalgo—told him of the success of his second ploy.
If Mark, Lauren, and the old guy were camped there overnight, would he be able to make an excuse to leave his group and go over? Just to check in and make sure everything was okay, of course.
Then a hand slid into the back pocket of his jeans. He wasn’t the only one who’d decided to stand at the back of the crowd. He looked down at Clara in surprise and found it very hard to look away. She’d changed out of the loose blouse, which had long since dried and would have been fine. Now she wore a form-hugging t-shirt with a low V-neck. He was at the perfect angle to see that she wore nothing beneath it, and her wet t-shirt contest assets were definitely in the prize-winning category.
“There are good days,” Lauren lay back in the sweet-smelling grass along the riverbank. “Then there are better days.”
“Beginner’s luck,” Mark groaned as he cleaned the last of the four fish—the three cutthroat trout and the mountain whitefish that she had caught for their dinner.
Michael was building a small campfire to cook them. They’d both been skunked and she’d declared her part of dinner prep done.
There are good days, then there are better days. How long since she’d even thought that? She wasn’t sure, but too long. Since before Jupiter’s death. Maybe a long time before. Lauren kept her next thought to herself. Was I past ready to get out of the military and Jupiter was only the final straw? That was a new thought.
“What kicked you out?” Mark washed his hands in the stream, then sat down beside her. No question what he was talking about. Out of the military. She didn’t appreciate the mindreading.
Death of my dog. But she wasn’t ready to say that. Had said it too many times in the past.
“Sometimes you’re just in for too long,” which oddly was true now that she’d given a voice to it. She’d seen so much of awful. It was alarming how willing people were to kill each other, even booby-trapping toys to injure children and increase the burden on the enemy. If she never saw any of it again, it would be too soon. “How about you?”
“Emily came down with something incurable: pregnant with our first, Tessa.” And his face went soft, which looked strange on the tall, powerfully-built soldier. Though he might be retired, he hadn’t lost any of the attitude.
Would she, over time? Probably not. She hadn’t been exactly known for her “mellow” in high school either. And kids? Not likely.
“I found something even more important than flying for the Night Stalkers: being alive to watch my family grow. Knocked us both for a loop, but it’s the best decision we eve
r made other than joining in the first place. That and getting together. You got a man, Lauren?”
“I had a dog,” it surprised her when that slipped out. “And The Unit. Until recently that was enough.” And now she had neither.
Michael kept tinkering with the fire, squatting over it and adding one stick here and a twist of dry grass there. It smelled of crackling pine one moment, the wide prairie the next, and somehow also of the slowly heating circle of stones. There was a reality to it. A weight of presence that eluded her. Even the fire and the stones belonged close beside the quiet bubbling of the nearby water over the river rocks.
“You look like you’re praying, Colonel Gibson.” And like he was hiding something, but she knew the direct approach wasn’t going to uncover it. Emily had already tried that and reported failure.
His shrug wasn’t a denial on either account.
Mark fished three beers out of a cooler and handed them around.
A small group of ducks floated down the river, occasionally ducking their heads underwater to snatch some plant or tiny fish, but mostly taking a free ride through the quiet of the evening.
“Proposed to Claudia over a fire even smaller than this one,” the colonel’s voice was barely louder than the crackling wood and a brilliant blue bird that perched on a nearby bush to call loudly once before continuing south.
A glance showed that Mark hadn’t heard this story. So they both kept quiet and sipped their beers.
Michael tipped his head back and looked up. “Sky as big as this one, just different. Arizona desert. Dry. Softer blue. Taste of creosote and flint on the air. Coming up dawn rather than an hour to sunset.” So many words at once appeared to exhaust him and he fell silent again.
Already the long shadows of the mountains were stretching across the prairie toward them. Blinks of light attracted her attention to the east. A line of people up on the ridge behind them, taking pictures with the flashes on automatic despite it still being daylight or she might not have noticed them. The trail group, now off their horses.
Big Sky, Loyal Heart Page 4
