by Hope Navarre
Moving up to his head, she stroked his cheek. “Thanks for listening. But, as usual, you don’t have a bit of advice to offer, do you?”
He shook his head, then lowered it and nudged her boot.
“Heavens, I almost forgot.”
Amazed that Babe remembered their long-ago routine, she turned around and held up each of her feet. He touched first one then the other with his nose as if inspecting her shoes. She’d taught him a wide array of tricks. This one had amused her family, schoolmates and every farrier that had ever shod the little white horse. Did he remember the whole trick? It had been years since they’d done it.
With her back to him, she planted her hands firmly on her hips and demanded, “Are you done yet?”
On cue, he flipped her hat off her head.
“Hey!” She bent to retrieve it and he gave her rump a quick push with his nose. In her youth, she would have sprawled in the dirt and laughed herself silly. Now she simply snatched her hat up, slapped it on her head and turned to applaud. Babe lowered his head in a bow.
“Good boy.” Smiling, she patted his neck, but her grin faded as the weight of her troubles pressed in again.
“Playing games with you won’t help me, Babe. What should I do?”
The answer was nothing.
She would have to leave things as they were. Neal would go his own way when he was ready. She couldn’t follow him even if she wanted to. She had too many responsibilities in her life. And then there was Adam.
She was meeting him for dinner tonight. She enjoyed his company, and she knew Adam enjoyed hers. He didn’t pressure her or leave her feeling mixed up or angry. He made her feel safe.
But with Neal, she had always felt wild and free.
She shook her head. That was the past. What she had to do was make a future for herself and for Chance.
Babe walked away from her and stopped at the tank beside the windmill. He stuck his head in, way in. The tank shouldn’t be that low.
Frowning, she walked up beside him. Only a few inches of water covered the bottom. Glancing up, she saw the rusty metal vanes of the windmill were turning, but no water poured out of the long pipe that ran to the tank.
“Dang, fella, looks like it was a good thing I came this way.” There were cattle and horses depending on this water source. She stepped up onto the wooden platform to check the pump and pipes at the base of it. With a sudden sharp crack, the old boards gave way, and she plunged into darkness.
* * *
NEAL CLIMBED THE steps of the porch at the O’Connor ranch with weary relief. A full day in the saddle had been a little more than he was ready for, but he’d managed it. He was nearly healed. Now all he had to do was find the courage to try eight seconds on a bull.
He paused outside Martha’s screen door and looked down at himself with a grimace of distaste. He pulled off his hat and slapped it against his clothes in an attempt to remove some of the dust. It didn’t do much good.
Martha pushed open the door. “My word, don’t you look hot and dusty. Don’t stand out here all day. Come in and have some lemonade.”
Chance squeezed by her to wrap his arms around Neal’s leg and grin at him. Neal signed, “Hello.”
“Lemonade sounds great.” He dropped his hat on Chance’s head and swung the boy up to his shoulders. Chance held on to the oversize hat with one hand and wrapped an arm across Neal’s face.
“Hey, I’ve only got one eye that I can see out of.” Neal moved the boy’s hand. Chance couldn’t hear his comment, but Martha could. It was getting a little easier to joke about his injury. Maybe one day he’d become used to his scarred face and each little reminder of what he’d lost wouldn’t hurt as much.
Did Chance feel the same way about his hearing? Would he learn to make jokes about his handicap to keep others from laughing at him? Maybe the two of them had more in common than he had thought.
“Come on—you’re lettin’ flies in the house,” Martha scolded, but the twinkle in her eyes belied her stern tone.
Neal ducked through the doorway. The cowboy hat toppled off Chance’s head, landing at Martha’s feet as she stood holding the door open.
“Men! All I ever do is pick up after ’em,” she grumbled, snatching it up.
Neal somersaulted the boy off his neck and set him on the floor with a thump. Chance staggered a few steps with his arms outstretched and rolled his eyes, and then he signed the same word several times.
Neal looked at Martha. “What’s he saying?”
Martha grinned as she handed him his hat. “He says, ‘Again! Again!’”
Neal laughed as he hung his hat on a peg by the door. “Nope, I’m too thirsty. How do I sign that?”
Martha demonstrated and he repeated it. Chance pouted a moment but brightened when Neal drew a piece of candy from the front pocket of his jeans and held it out. Chance quickly tore off the wrapper and popped the Life Saver gummy into his mouth.
Martha opened the refrigerator and pulled out a tall glass pitcher filled to the brim with lemonade and slices of fresh lemons. She filled two glasses and handed one to each of them. Neal downed his in one long drink.
“That hits the spot.” He held out the glass and she filled it again.
“Now that you’ve cut the dust, try tasting it this time.”
He gave her a sheepish grin and nodded.
Pouring another glass, she glanced out the door and asked, “Is Robyn coming soon? She’s going to be late for her date if she doesn’t hurry.”
Neal froze with the glass halfway to his lips. “She’s not here?” he asked sharply.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I THOUGHT ROBYN was with you.” Martha’s startled gaze met Neal’s.
A spiral of worry formed in the pit of Neal’s gut. “She was with me until about four hours ago. We split up at the creek. She said she was going home.”
“She hasn’t been back.” Martha set the pitcher on the table carefully and clasped her hands together. “Where could she be?”
“She probably found some work to do and forgot the time.” He was trying to reassure himself as well as Martha.
“I don’t think so. She’s meeting that young doctor in town for dinner tonight. She wouldn’t forget about that.” Martha moved to the doorway and scanned the yard before she turned back to Neal.
Another date with the handsome Dr. Cain? No, Robyn wouldn’t forget that. That explained a lot. She wouldn’t admit she cared for him because she cared for someone else. Maybe he’d waited too long to come back, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
None of that mattered now. She was long overdue, and a dozen unpleasant reasons for it crowded into his mind. After setting his glass on the table, he grabbed his hat and started out the door. “I’ll saddle a fresh horse and go look for her.”
Martha followed him onto the porch. “Thank you, Neal. Do you have your cell phone?”
“I do.”
“I’ll call if she comes in before you get back. You can call when you find her.”
He reached for her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “Try not to worry. I’ll find her.”
“I know you will.”
“If she’s not back by dark, get a search party started. Call Jake—he’ll know what to do. Tell them to spread out from Hunter’s Creek where the south fence line crosses it. That was the last place I saw her.”
“All right.”
Within minutes, he was urging a chestnut gelding into a ground-eating lope across the dry prairie. He pressed the big horse hard, knowing he might need every minute of daylight he had left. The picture of her lying injured and alone somewhere out in the vast grassland ate at his soul.
If they hadn’t quarreled, if he hadn’t kept insisting they talk about the past, she would have been safe at ho
me by now. He wasn’t much for praying, but he sent a quick plea heavenward now. Please, God. Let me find her and let her be okay.
At the top of the hill above Hunter’s Creek, he pulled the blowing horse to a halt and studied the ground. Riding in slowly widening circles, he searched for a clue to which way she’d gone. The hard, dry ground held little sign, but at the base of the hill, he found a clear print where she’d crossed a shallow draw, heading due north.
He scanned the rough, broken country ahead. Why would she go that way? There wasn’t anything out there except the ruins of an old homestead. He urged the lathered horse on and kept scanning the ground for more signs. He didn’t see anything. Half an hour later, he crested a rise and stared at the crumbling stone buildings and old wooden windmill below.
He blew out a sigh of relief as he recognized the horses standing beside it. One was the bay Robyn had been riding and the other was her old gelding, Babe. His relief was short-lived, however, as he scanned the area and failed to see any sign of Robyn. He urged his tired horse down the hill.
Pulling to a halt beside the two horses, he noticed the bay’s reins were tied to the windmill. At least the horse hadn’t just wandered there after losing his rider. Neal stood in the stirrups and opened his mouth to call her name when a sudden string of swearwords erupted from the ground in front of him. His horse shied in fright as a rock came flying out of a big hole in the windmill’s platform, missing his head by inches.
Relief poured through his veins, making his knees weak as he dismounted. If she was swearing and throwing things, she couldn’t be hurt too badly.
* * *
ROBYN PACED AROUND the bottom of the old well for what seemed like the thousandth time as she searched for a handhold she might have overlooked. The well had been dug by hand, probably a hundred years ago. She judged it to be over fifteen feet deep and at least eight feet wide. The sides were rocked up with tightly fitted stones. The fact it had lasted this long without caving in was proof of how well it had been constructed.
She had tried to climb out using the pipe that led to the pump above, but the ancient cast iron had been too brittle with age and rust. It had snapped off ten feet above her head and now leaned uselessly against the wall.
At least she had the answer as to why the tank was almost empty. The shallow well had dried up in the long drought. It hadn’t been dry long, because the ground under her boots was still soft and damp and the smell of wet moss was almost overpowering from where it still clung to a few bottom stones.
On the walls above her, the moss had dried out completely and disintegrated into a fine gray powder whenever she touched it. The stuff coated the front of her shirt and jeans from her attempts to climb out.
At last, her eyes found a small crack, and she wedged her sore fingers into it. Pulling herself up, she found a toehold for first one foot and then the other. She found another hold on a jagged stone and tried pulling herself higher, but the corner of the stone broke away and she fell, landing on her backside in an undignified heap. Again.
She threw the broken piece of stone against the wall in disgust, but it bounced back and rolled to a stop beside her. A check of her smarting fingers showed another torn nail. She had been at it for hours now, and she was still no closer to getting out.
“Damn, damn and double damn!” she shouted louder this time as her frustration grew. She picked up the piece of broken rock beside her and threw it toward the opening above her. It sailed straight out the hole just like the one before it. Her aim was spot-on.
“Great,” she muttered. “I just need to find some way to throw myself out.”
“From the sounds of it, I’d say you aren’t dead, at least.”
“Neal!” She looked up and her heart thudded with relief when she saw his head and shoulders framed in the opening above her. “Oh, thank God!”
“Are you okay?” he called down. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.” She stood and used both hands to brush the damp dirt off her rump. “Nothing damaged except my pride.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Man, am I glad to see you.”
His eyebrow shot up. “Now that’s a switch. Here I’ve been thinking you couldn’t wait to see the last of me. Was I wrong?”
She didn’t answer his gibe, and he began to move some of the splintered wood, widening the opening at the top of the well. “Yessiree, you got yourself in a pickle this time, Tweety.”
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the obvious amusement in his voice. “Just get me out of here and gloat later, okay?”
“You forgot to say please.”
Clenching her jaw, she took a deep breath and said, “Please.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He leaned over to peer in. “What are you doing down there, anyway?”
“Looking for a shortcut to China, you idiot!” She stamped her foot. “Get me out of here!”
He patted the air with both hands. “Temper, temper. I’ll get a rope.”
He tipped his hat back with one finger. “In a little bit.”
“Neal Alexander Bryant, if you don’t get me out of here in the next five minutes, I swear you’ll live to regret it.”
“You’re in a pretty poor position to threaten anyone, Robyn Louise O’Connor.” His face disappeared from the opening.
“It’s Morgan,” she yelled, but he didn’t answer. Crossing her arms over her chest, she muttered, “God, I hate that man.”
His head popped back into the opening. “I heard that,” he said and disappeared again.
Clamping her lips closed, she refrained from uttering any further comments and waited. She could hear him talking, but she couldn’t make out his words as she waited impatiently. What was he doing? Having a conversation with the horses?
After an eternity, the end of a rope snaked its way down into the well. She reached for it, but it was jerked away from her hand. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, she fumed. Let him have his little bit of fun.
The rope came down again, very slowly. This time she waited until it dangled in front of her face to reach for it. It was snatched away before she could touch it.
“Ha-ha, Neal. Very funny.”
His head and shoulders appeared in the opening. “I think it is.”
Babe’s long head loomed beside Neal’s. Pushing the horse aside, Neal said, “Get out of here before you wind up in the well, too.”
“You get me out of here, right this minute,” she yelled. “Right this minute! Do you hear me?”
Neal planted both hands on his hips and waited for her tirade to end. Then he asked, “Are you finished yet?”
Babe promptly knocked his hat off. With a muttered curse, Neal bent to catch it as it landed on the rim of the well and teetered.
“Babe, no!” she screamed, but it was too late. The horse’s boost sent Neal tumbling into the opening. He managed to grab on to what was left of the wooden platform. For an instant, he dangled above her. Then the sound of splintering wood rent the air. She pressed against the wall as he fell into the well beside her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ROBYN STARED IN disbelief at her would-be rescuer lying in the dirt at her feet. She looked up to see Babe nodding his head in a bow. He stretched his long neck down as if he expected her to toss him a treat. “Oh, Babe, how could you?”
Neal groaned, and she dropped to her knees beside him. “Are you hurt?”
He rolled over and sat up with a dazed expression on his face. “I don’t think so.”
He looked to the opening above them. “Did your damn horse just push me in?”
“Yes, it’s an old trick I taught him. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“A trick?” His tone was incredulous. Grimacing, he rolled to one side and p
ulled a flattened mass out from under himself. He stared at it for a long moment. “Dang, this was a new hat.”
Her sorely tried temper began to boil. He was worried about his stupid hat? She pounded a fist into his shoulder. “You moron, look what you’ve done!”
“What I’ve done?” He pulled away from her and rubbed his arm.
“Once again, your juvenile behavior has landed us in trouble.”
“Oh, no. You can’t blame this on me. You got in this hole all by yourself, honey, and your old piece of buzzard bait up there pushed me in.”
She couldn’t argue with his logic, much as she wanted to, but she didn’t dare let go of her anger. As long as she stayed angry with him, she could ignore how he made her feel when he was near. He made her feel like she needed to be closer still, as if she needed the warmth of him against her heart to thaw it and bring it to life again. And he made her feel guilty.
She stood and wrapped her arms across her chest. “I am not your honey.”
Pushing to his feet, he surveyed the walls. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”
He reached out and touched the dry gray stuff on the stones, then glanced at her clothes. She brushed at them quickly, but the effort was futile. He turned back to the wall. All her efforts to climb out were clearly marked where the moss was crushed and smeared.
She was startled when he reached out and brushed lightly at her cheek. “Hold still,” he said softly.
The feel of his hand on her face was almost more than she could bear. Against her will, her eyes closed and she leaned into his touch. His hand stilled and she covered it with her own.
“Holy moly! Look at your hand!”
Her eyes flew open at his outburst. After grabbing her other hand, he held them both in front of him. Her nails were broken, some of her fingers had bled from small cuts and her palms were scraped raw. She curled her fingers closed and tried to pull away from him, but he pulled her resisting body into a tight embrace.
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. All I ever seem to do is hurt you.”
Robyn found herself pressed to the hard wall of Neal’s chest as his arms tightened around her. The familiar feel of his strong body against her weary one overwhelmed her. She heard the deep regret in his voice, and her hard-won defenses began to crumble.
