Just Her Type

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “When the half-hour was over, and you didn’t come back, I was so scared you were hurt.” Her fingers rose to his cheek. Touching thick dampness, she gasped at the blood on her hand.

  “Just a cut from a flying piece of debris. I’ll have Doc look at it after he’s done with Lacey.”

  She pulled away to meet the fearful eyes of her son, who had been sitting in rare silence. Holding out her hand to Douglas, she drew him to his feet and into her arms.

  Doc Langhorne opened the door, and she asked, “How is she?”

  “She’ll live.” He closed his eyes, swaying.

  Luke put his arm around the doctor and assisted him to the settee. A crash erupted through the room.

  Mackenzie was shoved to the floor. A blizzard of glass iced the floor and furniture. Something struck the wall across from the window. Coffee scorched her arms. She cried out in pain.

  Luke shouted, “Stay down! Don’t move!”

  She gripped Douglas’s hand. Noise warned that the riot had moved toward them.

  “Get in the bedroom, Douglas!” Mackenzie ordered. She ran down the stairs. She did not intend to lose her press to drunken cowpokes. The front door burst open. Glass shattered, and a man laughed drunkenly.

  Picking up one of the metal strips used to frame a page, she raced toward him. “Get out! Get out of my shop!”

  The man fled. Mackenzie gave chase. She halted in midstep as she saw a quartet of men on the street. Rutherford’s men. She stared at them. They stared back. A board squeaked behind her. She glanced back at Luke. With a shout, the cowboys jumped toward them.

  The metal strip was knocked from her hand. She shouted Luke’s name. The only answer was the sound of a fist striking bare flesh. Her captor twisted his fingers through her hair and forced her lips toward his whiskey-drenched ones.

  Luke jerked her away and shoved her behind him. His fist sent the drunk reeling. She screeched a warning, but it was too late. The cowboy’s three friends grabbed him. The one who had kissed her raised his fist. She grasped his arm.

  A gun was fired, and Sheriff Roosevelt emerged from the shadows. “Let him go, boys. Let them both go.”

  When the cowboys obeyed, Luke held out his hand to Mackenzie. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  She nodded, too afraid of her quivering voice to speak. She saw Luke smile as he rubbed his knuckles. He had enjoyed this! Had Wyoming changed him so much, or had being a tenderfoot been a guise from the beginning?

  The cowboys staggered away. When one fell face first in the road, Horace grinned. He put the drunk’s arm over his shoulder and lifted him to his feet.

  “I’m a nursemaid,” the sheriff said with a rueful smile. “Here’s one, at least, who’s done celebrating.”

  “Thanks, Horace,” Mackenzie said.

  “I’d say anytime, but I hope it’s not.” He turned toward the jail.

  “Do you want some help?” asked Luke.

  “You’ll help me best by taking care of Mackenzie and Douglas.”

  “And Doc Langhorne and Lacey?”

  The sheriff’s smile faded as Luke explained. “Jim, eh? Tell Doc I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  As the two men disappeared into the shadows, Mackenzie whispered, “This should make a good story. ‘Independent reporter bruises knuckles to rescue editor.’ How does that sound?”

  “Like I’m a hero.”

  “I guess you might be.” It was easier to joke than to speak of how Luke soon would be leaving.

  “Then I guess I should get my reward.” His arms swept her into his embrace and his kiss. As she answered his fervor with her own, she could pretend for a few minutes that this was forever. Tonight he was hers. It was all she had. For that moment, it was all she wanted.

  THIRTEEN

  “All done, Mackenzie.” Luke placed the putty knife on the floor. With the tip of a rag, he cleaned a spot on the new glass in the door.

  “That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed.

  “Now, for my fee.” He laughed and pulled her into his arms. “This is going to be expensive for you, sweetheart.”

  “It’s only expensive if I don’t want to pay.”

  Arching his eyebrows like a melodrama’s villain, he growled, “You’ll pay me, my dear, or suffer the consequences.”

  “Are you going to tell me what this is going to cost me?”

  “Yep.” When she laughed, he grinned. “I want the rest of the day alone with you, Mrs. McCraven.”

  Her happy expression faded. “I can’t take time away now.”

  He picked up a hand-lettered sign and propped it against the window. “There. You’re closed. Simple, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not that easy.”

  “Don’t you think you could spend one afternoon with me before—” He did not finish, but she heard the words in her heart. Before I leave.

  Why was she arguing when she wanted to spend every moment possible with him before he was gone forever? With her face pressed to his flannel shirt, she whispered, “Douglas is visiting at Parker’s house today. We could leave—”

  “Now.” He laughed and slapped her on the bottom. “Get your prettiest bonnet, Madam Editor, and let’s see the countryside.”

  Minutes later, with the Closed sign in the window, Mackenzie settled herself in the saddle of the horse Luke had hired for her. She let out a shout and raced out of Bentonville with Luke at her side, picking the road that climbed toward the mountains.

  The open fields burst upon them from clumps of trees. In some, cattle grazed. The stickiness of the day lessened once they were away from town. When they reached a side road in the foothills, they slowed the horses.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” Luke said softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like these mountains.”

  Mackenzie looked at the unfinished beauty of the mountains. Each crag waited for wind and rain to sculpt it. Her gaze moved up to the peaks, to which, even in the depths of summer, clung snow shawls. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

  “Magnificent.” Luke grinned. “I’m not usually at a loss for words, but that’s the only one I can think of.”

  “Majestic.”

  “Yes.”

  “Regal, superb, glorious …”

  “All right. Madam Editor, could you describe the golden sunlight twinkling on the outcroppings? Or the greenish glow from the pine?”

  “I wouldn’t try to describe something which must be experienced to be understood. If you’re thinking of trying to paint a picture in words for your Eastern readers, all I can say is good luck.” Scanning the horizon, she whispered, “I don’t know how you can conceive of returning to the east. To leave this wild land for the cities where you live would be like chaining my soul to the earth.”

  “I’m beginning to understand that. I can’t imagine you anywhere but in this wild country, for it’s part of you.” He held her hand over his heart, capturing her with his eyes. “Like you’re a part of me, sweetheart.”

  Mackenzie savored the heat of his kiss on her lips as they rode into a clearing by a small creek. She turned to see Luke’s reaction to her favorite spot and noticed the slow smile spreading across his face. Admiring the walls of pine etching their shadows through the high grass, she tried to see them as he did.

  Luke dismounted and held up his hands. She slid into his embrace. Breathless from his eager kiss, she whispered, “Do you want something to eat?”

  “I wouldn’t mind nibbling on you.” His eyes sparkled as he reached for a box and a blanket he had strapped on the back of his horse, and he handed them to her while he drew the horses to one side to tie them out of the sunshine.

  Her smile wavered as she saw thickening clouds coming over the mountains. She hoped they would not bring rain before nightfall. She wanted this afternoon with Luke.

  Spreading the blanket on the ground, she untied her bonnet and opened the box. She drew out a bottle of lemonade.

  “Here. Allow me,” said Luke as he sat next to
her. He poured a generous serving.

  She sipped it. Leaning back against the shaggy bark of a birch, she smiled. “This is a rare luxury.”

  “The lemonade?” He set the bottle back in the box.

  “Being here with you.”

  “I wasn’t sure I could persuade you. I don’t think you’ve taken more than an hour off since I arrived.”

  She smoothed hair back from his forehead. “Anything is possible if you want it badly enough.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “You to love me.”

  He placed his cup on the ground. His broad hands arched around her face and brought her lips to his. When her arms slipped around him, he drew her back to the ground. The rustling grass came up to surround them.

  With unhurried pleasure, he explored her lips. The tip of his tongue traced their softness, leaving her mouth tingling. She laughed as he teased her ear with his eager breath.

  He smiled. “Do you find my loving so funny?”

  “Very funny.” Her voice faded as his fingers moved over her breast to her collar.

  Easily he undid it and pulled back her blouse with a slowness which sent an agony of anticipation through her. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him as he bent toward her. The touch of his lips on her skin was like a flash of lightning. Twisting her fingers in his hair, she held him against her, wanting every bit of this rapture. There was no need to be anyone but herself, for she was the one he loved. She could forget the Bugle, her son, everything else in his love.

  As her clothes fell away, she pressed closer to him. Lying in the green bower, she discovered him anew with the excitement she had savored the first time he held her. She leaned over him, brushing his dark hair back from his ebony eyes. The flame leaped from his eyes to consume her. Wanting to cede herself to the fire, she sought the pleasure awaiting her. Each hard texture of his body was a delight. When he quivered with craving, she let him draw her lips back to his as he raised her above him. When he found a welcome deep within her, her hands clutched his shoulders. The rapture soared along her. Hearing his low moan, she leaned forward to taste his parted lips. His arms clamped around her, holding her to his chest as he claimed her mouth.

  Frenzied sensation fled through her, depriving her of all but the need. Even that vanished as she was seized as if by the power of a tornado wind. For one second, she was poised on a pinnacle before falling into the arms of the man who shared this love.

  A distant rumble intruded on the steady heartbeat beneath her ear and roused Mackenzie. When she shifted, a strong arm held her in place. She opened her eyes at a husky laugh.

  “You don’t want to go anywhere, do you, sweetheart?”

  Reaching up, she stroked Luke’s hard jaw. Another rumble resonated along the hillside. She looked up to see the darkening sky.

  Luke growled a curse in her ear. “Can we get back before the storm?”

  She reached for her clothes. “We’ve got to hurry. I don’t want to get caught out here.”

  His hand slipped along her bare shoulder. “Sweetheart, we have to talk about—about things. I don’t like the sorrow I’ve seen in your eyes all week.” He caught her face between his hands and kissed her.

  As she finished buttoning her blouse, she whispered, “You’re going away soon.”

  Stepping behind her, he fastened her skirt into place. Thunder crashed, nearly drowning his whisper. “You could come with me.”

  “East?”

  “Don’t make it sound like a curse.” He slapped his hat into place and reached for the box. As he hooked it to his saddle, he asked, “Why not?”

  “I can’t live in that warren of halfhearted rabbits. Back there, I’d be nothing more than an extension of you.”

  “I’m sure Carter would hire you.”

  “As society editor?” She laughed when he grimaced. “I’m sorry, Luke. This is my life, and I don’t want to change.”

  “Even for me?”

  “Do you really want me to change?”

  “Why do you have to be right so often? We—” He was interrupted by lightning striking across the valley. “Let’s get off this hillside. Then we’re going to have to figure a way to work this out.”

  Mackenzie did not answer. She could not share his optimism. If she could not go with him, and he could not stay with her, they had only now.

  They raced ahead of the storm. Within minutes, she knew they could not beat it back to Bentonville. The sky darkened to a deep black as clouds roiled over their heads like wounded beasts. Lightning flashed, leaving an afterglow that burned her eyes. Her horse trembled as the earth shook with thunder.

  When she pointed to an overhang, Luke nodded. He did not try to speak. The rising wind careened through the trees. She jumped to the ground and tugged on her horse’s reins.

  “Be careful,” he shouted. “We aren’t too far from a chasm.”

  “It’s Eleven Steps Creek,” she called back. “That’s how many steps it takes to go down the steep hillside.”

  Sitting with their backs against the stones, they watched the lightning. Luke filled the silence with tales of the huge snowstorm they had had back east in 1888. It had been as devastating as the ones of the previous winter in Bentonville.

  “Snow was up so high, you—”

  She put her finger to his lips. “Listen!”

  His arm tightened around her. “What is it?”

  “Sheep.” She strained to hear the bells. “A flock of them. This is Connolly’s range.” When a flash of lightning revealed Luke’s puzzlement, she said, “Cattlemen don’t like sheep. The sheep eat the grass so low it won’t grow back that season.”

  “Then what are they doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” Mackenzie started to rise. A sharp sound sent her back into the shadows. “Guns!”

  “Where?”

  “I can’t tell through the wind.”

  Noise erupted around them. A flurry of gray fled past their shelter. Hoofbeats underscored the shots which were sharper than the thunder. Terrified sheep scrambled to flee.

  “No,” Mackenzie whispered as Luke pulled his feet under him. She grabbed his arm. “They’ll kill you if you try to stop them from rimrocking that herd.”

  His brow furrowed. “Rimrocking?”

  The guns fired again.

  “We’ve got to hide.”

  He shoved her into the deepest shadows. She did not moan as her elbow struck the rock. Voices sounded only feet away.

  “… all of them?” came the shout.

  “Yep. Got rid of them sheepherders, too. Running like scared babies.”

  “Good. Tell Krafft to rimrock ’em! We’ve got to be out of here before those slimy sheepmen get to Roosevelt. Connolly said there’d be a few extra bucks if we hurried.”

  Mackenzie’s breath burned in her chest. Connolly’s men would have kept the sheepherders from discovering their identities. If they found her and Luke here now, the cowboys would kill them.

  More shots severed the night. She hid her face in her hands as she heard the screeches of the sheep being driven over the cliff.

  Only when the last sounds ceased did she dare to move. She looked up to see Luke peering from the overhang. “I think they’re gone.”

  “I’m sure they’re eager to spend their bonus money in town,” he snarled. “How often does this happen?”

  “Not often.” Her voice trembled as she rose to her knees. “There’s never been any proof that the sheep weren’t killed accidentally. No one listens to a sheepherder, even if he reports such a crime.”

  “Not even Horace?”

  She shivered. “Once he had a sheepman convinced to take a case to court. The man was found dead by the rails east of town. Walked in front of a train, they said.”

  “And you believed that?”

  “No, and neither did Horace. Cameron was helping him, but, if he found out anything, he never told me or Horace.”

  Grimly he nodded. “Let’s get back
to Bentonville.”

  Mackenzie wanted to urge him to be discreet, but she knew how useless such a request would be when he pulled his horse to a stop in front of the sheriff’s office.

  The sheriff was pouring a cup of coffee when they entered the office which was as cramped as the Bugle’s. A small desk sat by a cell, behind it a wall filled with notices of wanted men.

  “Did you two just get back from your ride? Douglas told me you left him a message that you were having a picnic.” Giving a cup of coffee to Mackenzie, he poured two more.

  “We need to talk to you about something we saw up in the hills,” Luke said quietly. His eyes drilled into Mackenzie. “Don’t we?”

  She did not answer. So precarious was the balance between the three cattle barons, she was unsure what would happen if the truth was exposed.

  When she remained silent, Horace pulled out the chair for Mackenzie and leaned against his desk. “Look, if you don’t tell me what you saw, how do you expect me to do anything about it?”

  Luke nodded. “I think the term Mackenzie used was rimrocking.”

  “Rimrocking?” Horace stood straighter. “Where?”

  “Northwest of town,” she whispered.

  “Connolly’s?” When she nodded with reluctance, Horace sighed. “I’d heard reports of sheep heading that way. I sent word to steer clear of Connolly’s spread. I guess they didn’t listen.”

  Sitting on the corner of the desk, Luke laced his fingers together on the knees of his muddy denims. “So what do we do?”

  “Nothing,” said Mackenzie.

  “Nothing?” Luke swore. “Mackenzie, those men are criminally liable—”

  As she went to the door, her shoes sloshed with the water trapped in the soles. She did not look back when fingers grabbed her arm, for only one man could make her tingle with just the brush of his skin against hers. “Let me go, Luke. I don’t want to hear any more about this.”

  “You will when it’s printed in the paper.”

  “It won’t be in the paper.”

  “Tell me why. You didn’t want me to speak to Horace.” He gestured toward the man who was listening intently. “Now you’re telling me you won’t print this in the Bugle. This is hardly the crusading editor Mackenzie Smith.”