He looked skeptical, as if he knew she was lying. “Just keep your sense of the absurd,” he warned. “And now you had better go out to supper.”
“Are you coming?”
“No. Someone has to keep the ranch going.” A hard edge shadowed his voice.
“You can’t be all alone?”
“No. Jimmy and Carlos are checking the tanks. Two others are riding fence. Dan’l usually feeds and waters the horses, but he’s helping with the cooking today, so I’m doing it. I prefer that to cooking,” he added wryly.
It also gave him an excuse to avoid the family gathering. She suspected that was why he was out here doing a hand’s work. Instead of voicing her thought, she asked a question. “Tanks?”
“Watering holes for the cattle. We have to keep them in shape even when the cattle are grazing in higher pastures.”
“Five hands,” she said dubiously. “It doesn’t seem like very many to run a ranch this big.”
“We hire cowboys for spring and fall roundups. We can’t afford much more. Cattle prices have dropped. Times are hard for ranches like the Sunset.”
Jessie remembered the numerous grooms and servants at the big breeding farms in Maryland, Kentucky, and Tennessee, and she’d expected the same here. She was a voracious reader of newspapers as well as books. She’d read that ranchers were having difficulties, but she’d really not understood how severe they were.
He had already turned away, though, and she sensed that he regretted saying what he had. His back was straight, unyielding, even as his steps were uncommonly graceful. Her gaze followed him. Despite his disturbing presence, or perhaps, because of it, she didn’t want to leave. For the first time since she’d come to Sedona, she’d felt totally at ease. For a few moments anyway. Until his obvious impatience drove away that altogether too brief feeling.
Ross muttered to himself. A lamb. She was a lamb, and one who could easily be sheared by some of the experts in the family.
Unfortunately she was an appealing lamb. He’d surprised himself at finding himself fascinated with her, though he winced at being labeled a mouse. He suspected he knew whom she considered Humpty Dumpty. He chuckled at the aptness of the description of Cullen. She had no pretensions, and he liked that. He liked her sense of humor and her lack of awe at the Clementses. He also liked her instant rapport with Timber. Most people backed away in terror. She treated him like a big pussycat, and by God, the beast loved it.
He thought about warning her, but then he might end up being one of the shearers. His motives would most certainly be suspect. His own future was at stake, and he would do nearly anything to protect Sarah.
He pondered over the selection of horses for Jessica’s ride. She said she hadn’t ridden in a number of years. He was having second thoughts about not tagging along, but he really didn’t want to ride with April. She was pure poison for someone like him. He suspected that his attraction for her was his unavailability; she wasn’t used to being denied.
He had known her as a child, and he’d not particularly liked her. She’d been spoiled and demanding. When he’d once scolded her for running her pony too hard, she’d slapped him and said he was only a servant and had no right to give her instructions. He’d never forgotten that. It was a constant reminder of his status in the family.
He didn’t mind teasing her but he had no intentions of being used. Not now. Not ever.
And he didn’t like her suggestion that Jessica use Firebird. The horse was still young and unsteady. And April knew it; God knows he had warned her about the horse enough. Perhaps she just wanted to show off her superior riding skills, or even scare the newest member of the family.
He didn’t have the time to chase after sunsets and nursemaid two young women, but he didn’t trust April.
He cursed under his breath. He would go if Alex didn’t return. Ross didn’t particularly care for Alex, but the lawyer was a competent horseman. Jessica would be safe with him. For now.
seven
Jessie knew she would pay for this adventure. It had been far too long since she’d been on a horse, and her muscles weren’t prepared but, dear God, how she looked forward to it.
Pleasure surged inside her as she mounted a well-behaved sorrel gelding and settled onto a well-worn western saddle. It was heavy and clumsy, unlike the light racing saddles she’d ridden with her father’s horses. She felt it a barricade between her and the horse, but the gelding had been already saddled. And when in Rome …
“His name is Carefree. Ross’s choice,” said a young dark-haired teenager who stood by the horses.
“You must be Dan’l,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a shy smile.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome, ma’am.”
“Please call me Jessie. I don’t feel like a ma’am.”
His smile spread into a grin. “Yes ma’am—Jessie.”
She had come out a few moments early. She’d wanted a few moments with the horse, to get acquainted with him. She tried to remember everything Ross had told her about cutting horses. They can move quickly and think for themselves. You have to be alert every moment. As if to prove his words, Carefree stamped restlessly. Jessie leaned over and whispered a few words to him.
April and Alex, a cellular phone stuffed prominently in his pocket, strode over from the house. Jessie watched as Alex helped April mount a large bay mare, then swung into the saddle himself. He was, she noted, an experienced but not a natural horseman. He was a little stiff, his hand tighter than necessary on the reins.
April, on the other hand, apparently had the family talent for riding or else she’d grown up on horseback. She looked graceful and natural. Jessie told herself she should have expected that. April was one of the golden people who did everything well.
It was April who took the lead, starting to move toward the mountain behind the ranch house.
The sun was already lying low in the sky. Jessie was mellow from the recent feast of beef and vinegary coleslaw and beans. Warmed by the banter during the meal, she dismissed some of the undercurrents she’d felt earlier. Every family, she supposed, had its competitions.
Her horse had a fine easy gait. Keeping pace with April, she moved to a trot, then a lope. Carefree held his head low and relaxed, and she knew immediately he was well trained. Unlike his name, he obviously had learned very good manners. Ross?
They’d ridden about thirty minutes when she heard a loud beep. Alex looked at her apologetically, then slowed his horse to a walk and pulled out his cellular phone.
The phone seemed out of place here. Almost obscene. She could barely see the house and they were surrounded by piñon, pine, juniper, and cypress. The red rock cliffs stretched ruggedly in front of them. She could well imagine herself in the past century, untouched by civilization. Until the blasted phone rang.
Alex said something into the phone, then moved toward her. “I have to get back. A client’s son has just been arrested for vandalism, and the police won’t release him.”
Jessie would hope not, but she held her tongue.
April had apparently sensed they were no longer with her, and she’d turned around and was trotting back.
“We have to get back,” Alex said.
April shrugged. “You might. We don’t. What do you say, Jessica? Are you game?”
It was a challenge.
“I think we should all go back,” Alex said.
April merely raised an eyebrow and waited for Jessie to answer.
Aside from the challenge, Jessie simply didn’t want to go back. The pleasure of riding was too strong. She simply wasn’t ready to return. She wanted to fly across the prairie. She wanted to feel the horse’s muscles stretch under her as she had as a girl. She wanted to bring back all the joy she’d once felt.
And April apparently grew up here. She probably knew every foot of land.
“I’ll go with April,” she said.
Alex started to protest.<
br />
April put her finger to her mouth. “Don’t be such an old man, Alex. We’ll be fine. We can get to know each other better.”
He shrugged. “Be back before dark, or Ross will be combing the entire ranch for you.”
April nodded, then as if it were all settled, she turned her bay and started in an easy canter toward the mountain.
Alex hesitated, then said, “Stay close to April.”
“I will,” she said. “I can take care of myself. I’ve done it since I was a child.”
Approval flickered in his eyes. “I know.”
The answer was not altogether comforting. It indicated once again the extent of the knowledge others had of her. Just how much? Darn it. How much?
Alex had never given her a straight answer about that. She started to turn her horse back in the direction April had taken, but Alex didn’t move. Instead, he seemed more than a little reluctant to leave her.
“I’ll return in time to take you back to the lodge,” he said.
“You won’t have to worry about driving me after today,” she said. “I know the way now.”
“I don’t worry about it. It’s a pleasure.”
She raised a doubting eyebrow. “Your duties as chauffeur?”
“But I have such a pretty passenger.”
It would be nice to believe that. But she had seen the way he looked at April, and it was exactly the way April had looked at Ross. Currents again. Vaguely uncomfortable ones.
It was as if he sensed her discomfort. “You had best hurry if you want to see that sunset,” he said. Then he turned and trotted away from her, his body a little stiff. She watched as he disappeared, and for a moment she enjoyed the solitude. She drank in the taste, smell, and sights of an area not quite a desert, but with the same stark beauty as one.
She turned the horse and with a light tightening of her legs pushed her sorrel into a trot. April was far ahead now, the silhouette of rider and mount beginning to disappear into the shadows surrounding the mountain of rock.
“Dammit,” she said. She wondered about turning around and catching up with Alex, but she wasn’t going to give up that easily. The red rock beckoned to her. She could catch up to April, she was sure of it.
“Come on, boy,” she said, dropping her weight in her heels. She squeezed his side with her lower legs and rose into the two-point position. The horse moved into a canter, then stretched into a full gallop.
The dry wind brushed her cheeks and whipped her hair around her face. Pure joy surged through her as her body moved with the gelding’s. She gave him his head, though she kept a steady grip on the reins, and for moments she just relished the feel of the wind and the horse and the clean air and cloudless sky and the bright orange ball that was the sun.
She looked for April, but didn’t see her. At the moment she didn’t care.
She had always loved the wind flowing through her hair, the freedom she felt. All those feelings came flooding back. Breezing a three-year-old at five-thirty A.M. while her father held a stopwatch on her. The exhilaration of speed, of muscles stretching beneath her, of being in control of so much strength. She tried to remember everything her father had taught her. Relax your hips, drop your weight into your stirrups. Goddammit, that’s not the way to hold the reins. She heard his voice in her heart, his instructions in her mind.
She was racing the wind. And the past. It kept flooding back. As did other thoughts. Had her father galloped over this ground?
Jessie looked up. They were nearing a stand of junipers and pines, many of their trunks split by lightning. Fast. They were going to be hitting the trees in a moment. She knew what the branches could do to both her and the horse. It was too late to swerve out of the way, even if she knew which direction to take. She would stop, then try to find out where April had gone.
She pulled on the reins, yelling “Whoa.” The horse slid to a stop so quickly he sat back on his haunches. Jessie kept on going, right over the horse’s head. She reached out her arms to protect her head and rolled onto her shoulder, coming to a rest on her back. Unable to breathe and hurting like hell, she lay there. The horse limped several steps away, then turned and looked at her as if she were the world’s stupidest human alive.
He was right.
Jessie tried to move. Slowly. One digit at a time. Her left wrist, the one she’d thrust out to break the fall, was all grinding pain. She felt it gingerly. Not broken, but most certainly sprained. It had happened to her before, just as she’d fallen before. Now she felt like a total fool. And an aching one. Deep bruises were already beginning to color her arm, and her blouse was ripped beyond repair. At least she wasn’t beyond repair. Or she didn’t think so. She wasn’t entirely sure.
She looked at the horse again, wondering why it had not wandered away. Then she remembered. She’d heard western horses were trained to stay still when the reins trailed the ground. Ground tied. This, apparently, was one of those horses. As well as one that took the word whoa quite literally.
But he was favoring his right front leg. She wondered whether he’d somehow injured it when she went sailing over its head, or had lost his footing when he sat back.
She leaned down and checked it. It wasn’t broken, thank God. She’d been around horses enough to know a bad injury.
She bit her lip against the pain and, even worse, the shame. If she had injured the horse by letting her own pleasure overcome good sense, she’d never forgive herself. Neither, she suspected, would Ross.
She went back to her own wounds. She was already stiffening. She put her good hand down on the ground, then realized she had apparently put it on something that pricked, then stung.
Jessie turned around. Whatever it was had apparently fallen from some kind of cactus. She tried to stand, but didn’t quite make it. Every bone in her body complained.
She looked out over the landscape. No sign of April. No sign of anyone. And the sun was setting. Its glow didn’t look nearly as glorious—or as friendly—as it had the previous evening.
She considered her alternatives. She could sit and wait for someone to find her, but no one knew where she was. And she didn’t want to stay out here. She knew how easily a horse spooked. It was better if she got Carefree back to the stable where his leg could be tended.
And she should be able to find the way. There were, after all, roads, and people and tourists. She just wasn’t sure in what direction.
And where did April go?
She tried again to get to her feet. She swayed for a moment. Then she limped over to the sorrel. He nickered nervously and she ran her hand down his neck. “It’s not your fault.”
Carefree tossed his head, as if agreeing with her, then eyed her warily. She partly leaned against him, then picked up the reins. Whatever had stuck in her hand burned, but her other arm was useless. She started limping out from under the trees and noticed, for the first time, how quickly daylight was fading. In the past few moments, the sun had dipped behind a faraway mountain. The sky had turned dark blue with a crimson edging. In minutes, it would be dark.
No city lights here.
She swallowed hard. She’d been told the country was alive with rattlesnakes. There were cactus—prickly pear—everywhere, the same kind already burning through her hand.
No lights on the horizon. At least the mountain was at her back. Or had she gone to its side during her mindless race?
She decided to toss away her pride. “April,” she said in a loud voice. Then again in one several decibels higher.
An owl hooted somewhere. An evening bird answered.
Jessie bit her lip, trying to stifle a growing fear.
Surely, when she didn’t get back before dark, they would send out someone. In the meantime, she would move along. She looked back at the huge rock. She tried to remember the angle she’d seen from the house. But now it looked different.
She wished she wore riding boots as she stumbled along the rocks and brush. Her loafers and slacks provided precious little prot
ection. She ached all over, and shooting pain ran through her wrist.
But the horse was of even more concern. He continued to favor his foreleg. Jessie picked her way through some brush, trying to keep from falling. Then she stilled. Listening. Night noises. Different than those at home. No grasshoppers whistling, or dogs barking. No familiar, comforting sounds. Instead, she thought she heard things moving through the brush, heard the hoot of an owl. She wished Ben were with her. Except he would probably be as confused, and frightened, as she.
She was afraid that if she kept going she could tumble into a gully. Then she had an idea. Horses could usually find their own stable. They had an instinct that she didn’t. Of course, Carefree could leave her behind, but probably not with the injured leg. Decided, she pulled the reins back and tied them on the saddlehorn. The horse stood there.
“Go home, love,” she said.
The beast didn’t move.
She gave him a slap on his rear. He turned his head around and looked at her. She couldn’t see exactly what kind of look. It was too dark. She imagined it was an accusation, though.
But the gelding lifted his head as if listening. “Go home,” she urged again. Carefree started to move, and she moved beside him. Now her muscles were screaming in protest, as much from riding as from the fall. Between the two, she wondered how she could keep going. How she could put one foot in front of another.
But she did.
She didn’t know how long she walked. Concentrating on just staying upright. Wondering whether she should have just stayed put. She remembered hearing that. When you’re lost, you stay in one place and let someone find you. She had taken care of herself too long to do that.
She also wondered how April had disappeared so quickly. But she really had no one to blame but herself. She had been the one to race recklessly over country she didn’t know. And yet … it had given her such joy, such unexpected pleasure. How could she have left that part of her life for so long?
You know why.
She bit her lip, remembering. The night held too many memories, and it was very, very dark now. She could barely see the blur of the horse in front of her. She didn’t know if she could go any further.
Perfect Family Page 10
