Big Sky Secrets

by Linda Lael Miller

  Ria swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, looked away, looked back. “I understand,” she said quietly. “And, for what it’s worth, Meredith, I’m not your enemy.”

  Meredith’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she sighed so deeply that Ria’s heart ached in sympathy. “I know,” she replied. “You were there for Quinn when it counted, and I’ll always be grateful to you for that.”

  Ria waited a few moments before pushing the envelope just a little further. “So maybe—someday—we could talk to each other without winding up in a shouting match or a catfight?”

  Meredith smiled, thinly, weakly—but she smiled. “That would be good,” she replied, after a few moments of hesitation. “When—when we’re ready—”

  Translation: if we’re ready, ever.

  Since she was starting to feel as though she might cry herself, Ria made her excuses and went into the house to see if Quinn needed help. She’d accumulated more than her backpack could hold, over these few days—Bones’s bed, the big bag of kibble and all the other canine gear, chew toys and a leash and special shampoo.

  Meredith waited in the car.

  Half an hour later, Quinn and Bones were on their way, the giant swirl of dust trailing behind Meredith’s Jaguar swallowing them up.

  Feeling strangely, poignantly hollow, Ria slowly went into the house, and instantly, confronted by the emptiness of the place, that hollow inside her was swamped, overflowing, with loneliness. She leaned back against the closed door for a while, closing her eyes, willing herself to be strong, keep it together.

  Quinn was Meredith’s child, after all, not her own. The girl belonged with her mother, if that was at all possible, and with some rough going ahead, Meredith needed Quinn, too, though whether she’d ever admit as much or not was anybody’s guess. People had only so much change in them, Ria reminded herself, some more than others.

  Meredith might backslide, or she might continue to make progress. There was no way to know.

  When she’d recovered a little, Ria went into the bathroom, splashed her face with cold water at the sink, dried her skin with a hand towel and marched herself back outside.

  She still had flowers to weed, soil to hoe, hoses and sprinklers to drag from here to there and back again. Later, she promised herself, she’d take a luxuriously long shower, with no worries that she might run out of hot water because Quinn had already used most of it up. Then she’d have an early supper—something light and quick, like a green salad—and, finally, she’d cap off the evening by balancing her books and paying a few bills.

  She would get through this latest transition just fine, she assured herself, the same way she’d gotten through everything else.

  She’d get used to living alone again, too. After all, it wasn’t as if she had a choice in the matter, and heaven knew she’d had plenty of practice at flying solo.

  Same song, second verse.

  * * *

  ON SATURDAY MORNING, Ria woke up at the usual time, i.e., the butt crack of dawn, even though she knew there would be no farmers’ market today, no flowers to cut and arrange in buckets of water for transport, no finicky old truck to load or start up with the turn of a key, a few hard pumps to the gas pedal and a fervent prayer or two.

  The annual Parable County Rodeo had officially opened the night before, kicked off with the usual fireworks and marching bands and a whole lot of community spirit—not that Ria had been there to participate.

  Oh, no. She was in survival mode and, for her, that meant staying close to home, working until she was ready to drop and not thinking about Landry Sutton, or Quinn, or even Bones, if she could possibly help it.

  Mostly, she couldn’t avoid the memories; they tended to sneak up on her at unguarded moments.

  She considered the rodeo. By today, the event of the year would be in full swing, complete with crowds, a carnival of impressive scale, for such a small community, with all kinds of rides and games, lots of deep-fried everything readily available and vendors from far and wide, selling all manner of goods, from boots to dinner plates, low-end jewelry to solid gold and silver belt buckles, hand-painted vests and handbags—name it—all with a Western theme.

  Ria wanted no part of the hoopla, or so she told herself. By 10:00 a.m., however, she’d run out of chores to do, and she was restless.

  Surfing the internet was out, since she was still a little paranoid about accidentally running across more unflattering pictures of herself, and even knowing that the to-do had already dwindled to nearly nothing didn’t help.

  “What I need,” she said aloud, standing in the middle of her kitchen with a cup of herbal tea cooling in her hand, “is a dog. Or a cat. Or both.”

  She sighed. And now she’d been reduced to talking to herself—out loud no less. What was next?

  As it turned out, Highbridge was next. He drove up in his Bentley, honked his horn to bring Ria outside and made her laugh for the first time in days.

  When the most dignified man she’d ever known climbed out of that august car of his to smile at Ria, she saw that he was wearing a ten-gallon hat, denim pants, a plaid shirt with a Western-cut yolk and mother-of-pearl snaps, even a bandanna around his neck. And there were honest-to-God boots on his feet.

  Ria stared at him in delighted wonder, temporarily speechless as he affected a loose-hipped amble and came toward her.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, in a very bad American accent, pausing at the bottom of the porch steps.

  Previously, Ria couldn’t even have imagined Highbridge’s dour self in such a getup—she’d never known him to wear anything but his staid butler’s garb, and sometimes suspected that he even slept in a starched shirt, long tails and spats. Now, seeing her usually taciturn friend dressed like an extra in a pretalkie film featuring Tom Mix or some other old-timer, was absolutely mind-blowing.

  “Is it Halloween?” she teased. “Or did you lose a bet?”

  He chuckled. “Neither,” he said. “I’m on my way to the rodeo, over in Parable. You see, my illustrious employer is competing in an event—saddle-bronc riding, I believe—and I thought it only proper to show support.” He paused, and his mouth took on a wry twist, quickly gone. “Or rush him to the nearest hospital, if that proves necessary.”

  Ria’s eyes widened. The news shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. She hadn’t seen Landry since the night he’d stopped by to inform her that he was still alive, so the rodeo thing had gotten by her.

  She’d been so wrapped up in not obsessing about him, or about Quinn and Bones—and doing it anyway—that she could barely think straight.

  On top of that, the mother-daughter peace treaty being hammered out in a Three Trees hotel room—another thing to obsess about not obsessing about—seemed to be taking forever.

  “Landry can’t be entered in the rodeo,” she finally blustered. “That’s too dangerous—he might—”

  Ria ran out of steam then, though only briefly, because she was already shoveling metaphorical coal like crazy.

  “He sure enough is, though,” Highbridge replied, in another bad attempt at cowboy-speak. “If his score is high enough—and assuming he doesn’t get himself crippled or killed, of course—he’ll be riding again tomorrow.”

  “No,” Ria insisted. As if she had any say in the matter.

  Highbridge smiled. “I thought you might like to accompany me,” he said, in his own very British accent. “To the rodeo, I mean.”

  “Just let me get my purse and lock the house,” Ria replied hastily. On one level, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop Landry from competing in one of the most dangerous sports going, but on another, she was determined to try.

  When she and Highbridge finally arrived at the Parable County Fairgrounds, some forty-five minutes later, Ria could barely sit still.

  The moment the car came to a stop, she bolted, ran ahead to the ticket booth, leaving Highbridge behind without so much as a “so long.” She waited impatiently in line, paid the price of admission with a
bill still damp from being clutched in her palm. A man stamped the back of her hand, and she dashed for the arena.

  When she got there, the bleachers were jammed with fans from near and far, and the aisles were hopelessly crowded. She stopped, gasping for breath, wondering what, if anything, she could do.

  And then the announcer proclaimed over the loudspeakers that the next event would be saddle-bronc riding.

  It was an omen, Ria decided. She’d arrived just in time to—what? See Landry break his fool neck? Throw her arms around him and beg him not to ride? She still didn’t know.

  But instead of finding a seat in the stands, as any sensible person would have done, any sensible person who wasn’t wildly in love with a crazy man, that was, Ria ran, pushing her way through cowboys and stock-tenders toward the no-woman’s land behind the chutes.

  In the process, she literally collided with Zane Sutton. He gripped her by the shoulders to keep her from falling and gave her a quizzical grin. “You’re not supposed to be back here,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

  Ria was way past the point of caring whether she was safe or not. “Where’s Landry?” she asked, twisting in Zane’s gentle but very firm grasp.

  Zane inclined his head in the direction of the catwalk, just behind the chutes. “He’s up next,” he replied, letting her go at last.

  She whipped her head around instantly, looking for Landry.

  And there he was, standing on the ground beside the steps leading up onto the steel scaffolding where cowboys waited their turn to ride, calmly adjusting his hat and watching as the first competitor in the lineup got ready for his chance to risk life and limb.

  Ria rushed toward Landry, but there were a lot of cowboys milling around in between, and by the time she reached the place he’d been standing, he’d climbed onto the catwalk and lowered himself into the chute and onto the back of twelve to fifteen hundred pounds of hatred on the hoof. The gate was being hauled open.

  Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, and all Ria could hear, besides a faint thudding sound, was the rush of blood in her ears. Somehow she got to the fence, squeezed in and watched as the ride began.

  This, too, unfolded with maddening slowness—it seemed to Ria that each second was a freeze-frame, part of a slide show.

  For her, that was the longest eight seconds in history.

  Landry leaped off the horse when the buzzer sounded, piercing the swath of silence that had surrounded Ria until that moment. Crossing the arena, he finally spotted her. A cocky grin slanted his mouth.

  He paused to grab his hat, paid no attention to the tallying of his score on the big digital reader board affixed to a beam above the announcer’s booth.

  It was a time out of time, it seemed to Ria. She existed. Landry existed. Everything and everybody else was gone.

  Like a figure in a misty dream, Ria raised her left hand so Landry could see it. Then she slid Frank’s wedding band off her finger and tucked it into her jeans pocket.

  Seeing this, Landry narrowed his eyes briefly, as though not quite believing what they were telling him. Then a smile broke across his face, and he bounded toward her, scrambling over the fence.

  And that strange sense of inhabiting a separate world, a magical place with a population of two, didn’t let up.

  He stood in front of Ria, looking down at her, his hands resting on either side of her waist. Neither of them heard his score when it was announced, as it must have been, and neither of them cared.

  Finally, Landry took Ria’s hand and shouldered through the gathering, pulling her after him, his strides so long that she had to hurry to keep up with him.

  On the way out, Ria caught sight of Highbridge, seated halfway up in the bleachers. He took off his huge hat and nodded to her, his mouth twitching slightly with his rendition of a grin.

  Obviously, he knew precisely what was going on, but Ria didn’t have the chance—or the inclination—to stop and explain. What could she say? Thanks for the ride into town, but I won’t be needing one for the return trip? Her cheeks burned.

  She and Landry reached the smaller lot behind the arena, where cowboys and other participants parked. There were trucks and horse trailers everywhere, but only a few people.

  “Landry,” she gasped, “slow down.”

  “Hell, no,” Landry replied. Reaching his truck, he opened the passenger-side door, picked Ria up bodily and practically flung her into the seat.

  She was still catching her breath when he climbed into the rig on the other side, reaching past the steering wheel and the gearshift to take her left hand in his, run the pad of his thumb over the bare skin where the ring had been.

  “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gruff, his eyes watchful.

  Ria drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I’m sure,” she replied.

  The ride back to Three Trees was a blur, just as the rodeo had been.

  Ria’s heart thudded in her throat the whole way, but this time it wasn’t because she was afraid. Oh, no. This was pure anticipation.

  When Landry drove right past Ria’s driveway, she was a little confused.

  Then, minutes later, his mailbox came into view. He slowed down just enough to keep all four truck wheels on the ground as he made the turn, and sped up again as soon as it was behind them. He stopped the rig within a few feet of his odd but impressive house—part framework, part rustic mansion—shut off the engine, took off his hat and thrust a hand through his hair.

  When Landry looked her way, she saw the whole vast expanse of the big sky right there in his eyes. “I love you, Ria,” he said. “I know it’s crazy, and it’s too soon, and all the rest of it, but it’s true just the same. Nothing in my life has ever been truer.”

  Ria couldn’t speak, she was so stricken with love for this man.

  He put his work-roughened hands on either side of her face, leaned toward her and touched his mouth to hers. Since neither of them had thought to unfasten their seat belts, the position was an awkward one, but that didn’t matter.

  Landry kissed Ria, a mere brush of their lips at first, soon transforming into something much deeper, something demanding and totally, completely right. By the time the kiss ended, Ria had gone blissfully weak.

  Taking his time now, Landry got out of the truck, came around to her side, lifted her off the seat and carried her toward the house, then inside.

  She didn’t notice a single detail about the place, not then. It could have been a castle, or a cave in the side of a mountain.

  Ria was aware of only two things: the hard, hot substance of Landry Sutton and the fire he’d ignited inside her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RIA WAS DAZED, stupidly happy, when Landry kissed her again, this time in the privacy of his bedroom. It was a lingering kiss, a demand, an exploration, a conquering and a surrender—all of that, and more.

  But it ended too soon. Ria looked up into Landry’s handsome face, confounded.

  He ran his fingers over her hair, then kissed her briefly on the forehead.

  Her blank expression must have amused him, because he chuckled. “Woman,” he said, in a sexy rasp, “I just came from a rodeo. What dirt I didn’t eat is ground into my hide, under a couple of layers of dried sweat—in other words, I need a shower before the next event.”

  A tingle of anticipatory relief teased Ria in some very sensitive parts of her anatomy.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said, unbuttoning her jeans.

  Landry uttered a single exuberant swearword and fled.

  The moment she was alone, Ria slipped out of her shoes, then pulled her T-shirt off over her head and tossed it aside. Next, she unzipped her jeans, shed them without hesitation and flung them after the T-shirt. She was down to her bra and panties now, but she kept them on—she wanted Landry to peel them away, to bare her breasts and the tangle of curls at the juncture of her thighs with those strong, skilled hands and—

  Stop thinking, Ria ordered herself. Stop now.

&nb
sp; Her imagination was in overdrive for sure, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d have a spontaneous orgasm, all by herself. That, like the bra and panties, was Landry’s department.

  And pleasing him in return would be hers.

  Through the closed door to the master bath, Ria heard the shower spray turn on. Her heart beat in time with the pounding rhythm of the water, and little pulses throbbed in the usual—and unusual—places, all over her body.

  Hurry, Ria urged Landry silently, but, at the same time, she was deliciously certain that he wasn’t a hasty man, not when it came to lovemaking. The few incendiary, soul-consuming kisses they’d shared had been previews of coming attractions, she reflected, smiling at the unintended pun. The main feature was still ahead, and that, too, would probably turn out to be a prelude to something even greater.

  This thing Ria felt for Landry was a mystery, a phenomenon of nature, a thing of liquid fire, molten lava stirring in the darkest depths of a volcano long disguised as a peaceful mountain. She’d never experienced anything like it, never even imagined it was possible.

  Looking back over the past year, she realized there had been tremors from the day she first encountered Landry Sutton, at a party Zane and Brylee had given, an outdoor shindig with live music and catered food, and half the county in attendance.

  Zane had been the one to introduce them, and Landry’s smile had immediately knocked Ria back on her figurative heels. His attention was strangely nourishing, she’d thought, a little panicked, as inexorably persuasive as spring sunshine blanketing a field, penetrating far beneath the surface, awakening seeds from their long winter’s sleep, tugging at them until they cracked open, sprouted and finally broke ground, there to grow and blossom and bloom in the light.