by Janet Dailey
Pushing a shoulder into the gate, Layne swung it shut and braced it in position with her body until she pushed the latch into place. When it was secure, she turned away from the fence to follow after the tractor and hayrack, which was chugging to a stop by the shed. The cessation of the tractor’s chugging motor made the sweep of silence seem loud. Layne slowed her steps for a minute to take it in.
The morning sun was already warming the air and infecting all who breathed it with a dose of spring fever. Layne wasn’t immune to its heady stirrings, and the vague promise of something wonderful swelling inside her put a smile on her lips.
Just ahead of her, Creed had vaulted from the tractor and pulled over the hose from the elevated gasoline barrel to fill the gas tank on the tractor. His heavy winter coat had been abandoned in this mild weather in favor of a lighter-weight jeans jacket, lined with wool. Its snug fit lessened the appearance of bulk and emphasized the muscled trimness of his large build. For all that outlaw toughness about him, Layne felt a quiver of pride each time she looked at him. Love did that to a person, she supposed.
With his back to her, that wide expanse of shoulders made a broad and inviting target. Along with the burgeoning sense of spring inside her, there was a spark of mischief. It flared to life as Layne spied the small drift near her path. From experience, she knew that wet snow would pack into an excellent ball.
She glanced quickly again at Creed to make sure he still hadn’t turned around, then scooped up a big handful of crusty wet snow and patted it into a round ball. There were no more than ten feet between them. At that distance she couldn’t miss. Layne took aim on a point between his wide shoulders and gave it a throw.
The snowball’s trajectory was a little high. Layne winced as it splatted just above his collar. Creed stiffened, then slowly turned, hunching his shoulders forward while he reached a hand behind his neck to brush the snow out from beneath his collar.
“Did you do that?” His accusing gaze gleamed narrowly at her.
“I’m sorry.” But suppressed laughter gurgled in her voice. “I must be out of practice. Actually I was aiming lower.”
“You think it’s funny, don’t you?” Creed growled with mocking menace and took a step toward her.
When Layne saw his glance slide to the nearby snowdrift with its telltale depression made by her hands, she knew exactly the retaliation he had in mind. She started backing up, laughter still tugging at the corners of her mouth while she lifted her hands to stave off his threat.
“Creed, no,” she protested with a sideways tilt of her head, the gleam still in her olive-brown eyes.
As he moved purposely toward her, Layne turned to run, but she turned too sharply. Her foot slid out from under her on the muddy ground, and she nearly fell. Before she could regain her footing and escape, Creed caught her from behind.
“Don’t! No!” Breathless laughter bubbled through her words.
He had her by the waist while his hand forced its way inside the opened front of her jacket and pushed at the buttons of her blouse. All her wiggling and twisting went for naught as the buttons popped open and cold snow was rubbed across the bare skin covering her ribs.
She gasped in a shriek at the sudden iciness freezing her warm flesh. Trapped by the solid wall of his body, there was no way she could pull away from the contact. As the snow quickly melted and it was just the wetness of his hand on her rib cage, she didn’t really want to avoid it.
With the slacking of her struggles, Creed loosened his hold on her so she could turn partway around. His hand remained inside her blouse while his thumb stroked the underside of her breast, deliberately evocative. A lazy, smoldering look was in his eyes when she glanced sideways at him, breathing irregularly under his familiar caress.
“Do you still think it’s funny?” he murmured.
“You big brute,” Layne accused, but her low voice was vibrant with other emotions, too conscious of the aroused impression his hard male outline was making on the curve of her hip.
“I wonder if I’ll ever get my fill of you.” The admission came thickly from some deep place inside of him as he rolled his mouth onto her lips and sensually ate at them.
The approaching sound of a pickup’s motor brought a stir of impatience in him. Reluctantly Creed pulled away, turning to see Mattie driving up to the gas tanks. He disentangled himself from Layne and started toward the tractor.
“Don’t mind me,” Mattie said with a knowing smile as she stepped from the truck.
“I was putting gas in the tractor. It should be full now,” Creed said, indirectly denying that her arrival had anything to do with bringing an end to the embrace.
Layne’s smile was turned inward as she shoved her hands inside her pockets once more and used them to hold the front of her jacket shut. She had already learned in the last few days that Creed was a little self-conscious about any public display of affection. It amused her in a very tender way.
It didn’t bother her that, thus far, Creed hadn’t declared his feelings toward her. Love was a word that didn’t come easily to a lot of men and especially Creed, she suspected. Yet he talked all around it, saying things like “never getting his fill of her.” The meaning was just as clear.
“Do you need gas in that truck?” Creed glanced at Mattie as he lifted the nozzle out of the tractor’s gas tank.
“Yes.” Mattie took it from him and inserted it in the pickup’s tank opening. “Oh, before I forget it, Creed,” she said when he started to move away, “the Powells are celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary this Saturday. They’re going to have a buffet supper instead of the usual cake and ice cream thing. Mary insisted that we had to come. And, Layne,” Mattie added quickly to include her in the conversation, “they said to be sure to tell you that you were more than welcome too. I don’t know if you remember Tom, but he stopped by a couple of weeks ago.”
“Vaguely,” Layne said with a nod, recalling a rancher who had come by for coffee quite a while back. She’d been busy doing something and he hadn’t stayed long. She wasn’t sure if that man was Tom Powell, since a couple of people from neighboring ranches had dropped by for a short visit over the last two months.
“Would you like to go?” Creed asked.
“Yes.” Layne didn’t hesitate. The people at the party would be his friends and neighbors, as well as Mattie’s.
“You must think it’s a dull bunch of people that live around here,” Mattie said with a small laugh. “The weather usually keeps us from doing much socializing in the winter, but our get-togethers are fun. You’ll enjoy it. And it’ll give you something else to write about.”
Conscious of Creed’s tight-lipped expression and the hard, boring look he sent her, Layne was tense, although she was careful not to show it. “I’m looking forward to the party.” He still disapproved of her perpetuation of the lie she’d told Mattie.
“I’m going to a livestock sale on Saturday,” Creed announced, averting his gaze from her briefly to direct it to Mattie. “So we can start buying some calves to fatten for market. You and Layne can go to the party and I’ll meet you there after the sale is over.”
“That sounds good,” Mattie said, nodding. “We’ll probably go early to give Mary a hand with all the food.” She returned the hose to its hook by the gas barrel and climbed into the truck. “See you later.”
Creed watched her drive away, then started toward the machine shed to get on with the day’s work. Layne fell in step with him, darting a glance at his closed expression. The line of her mouth straightened out.
“You think I should have said something, don’t you?” She said what she knew he was thinking.
“Yes.” It was a clipped answer.
“There isn’t any easy way to back out of a lie, Creed,” Layne insisted, going over old ground. “I can’t very well tell her that I’ve changed my mind about writing that series of articles without explaining why. I just can’t break the truth to her a little at a time, the way you seem to
think.”
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell her,” Creed stated firmly.
“I’d rather it be later.” The determined set of her chin warned him that she wouldn’t be swayed by his arguments. She had too much to lose.
The subject was dropped. But Layne knew it was only for the time being. The secret bothered him. In Creed’s opinion, Mattie had a right to know Layne’s identity.
Layne had taken Mattie at her word when she said the dress for the party was informal. The oval yoke of her cream-colored blouse was edged with ruffles, which were repeated around the stand-up collar. Her flounced skirt of brown herringbone tweed buttoned down the front, and the tops of her designer boots were just visible below the hem as she descended the stairs at a skipping run.
“I’m ready!” she called out cheerfully and picked up the suede jacket she’d left draped on a chair back in the living room.
There was a rustle of paper sacks and the sharp clip-clip of a pair of heels walking hurriedly from the kitchen. “Do you want to take this sack of dishes out to the car?” A furrow of absent concentration creased Mattie’s forehead as she entered the living room and shoved the sack into Layne’s arms without waiting for an answer. “I’ve got to get the tablecloths. I almost forgot I told Mary I’d bring them.”
“Mattie.” Layne stared at the woman. “You look lovely.”
She didn’t mean to sound so shocked, but the transformation was startling. It was the first time she’d ever seen Mattie in anything but a pair of slacks, usually an old pair of jeans. But here she was in a dress and high heels instead of jeans and work boots. The scarf and hair rollers were gone, and her youthfully freckled face was framed by soft, henna curls. The peacock-blue color of her jersey dress made her eyes appear more definitely green, although the mascara on her lashes called attention to them too.
“What? Oh, thank you.” Mattie was too harried to take any more than passing notice of the compliment.
“I’m serious,” Layne persisted, recovering from her momentary speechlessness. “I’ve never seen you dressed up before. You’re a beautiful woman, Mattie.”
The sincerity in her voice finally penetrated the woman’s preoccupation. The tablecloths were draped over one arm as Mattie paused and looked down at herself a trifle self-consciously.
“I guess I haven’t taken as much trouble about my appearance as I used to when John was alive,” she admitted. A faint smile touched her mouth. “I used to turn a few heads when I was all dolled up.”
“I’ll bet you still do,” Layne declared.
“They can turn all they like and it won’t make any never-mind to me.” She dismissed the notion that she had any interest in how men might look at her now. “We’d better get going so we can get these things over to Mary’s before the party starts.”
Spring was more than a promise in the air. Crocuses were poking their heads out of the flower bed in front of the house while a robin hopped in the grass, looking for an afternoon snack. Layne skirted the mud puddles that had collected in the driveway, runoff from the melted snow, and walked to the car. The sack of dishes and the tablecloths were stowed in the back seat. When all was secure, they started off.
During the drive down the long lane to the highway, Mattie told her more about the couple whose anniversary they were going to celebrate. After they reached the main road, they barely traveled a quarter of a mile before Mattie slowed the car.
“What’s that up ahead of us?” Mattie peered at the indistinct forms along the ditch and the grassy shoulder of the road. “Pronghorns?”
“No.” They looked too dark to Layne to be antelopes. “I think it’s cattle.”
As they approached the animals, Layne’s guess proved to be correct, and Mattie muttered a curse under her breath. “I swear those dumb animals wait until I’m all dressed up and have to be somewhere. It happens every time.” She pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped it. “Come on. We’ll have to go chase them in.” She took no notice of Layne’s startled glance as she climbed out of the car. “I knew I should have worn my boots and carried these heels.”
Layne hurriedly scrambled out of the car after her. “Couldn’t we just go up to the next ranch house and try to get hold of Stoney or Hoyt, so they could come out here and drive the cattle back?”
“Lord, girl, they’re way the hell on the other end of the Ox-Yoke. They won’t be back to the ranch house until chore time.” She made it clear that no help could be expected from that quarter. “I’ve done this more times than I care to recall.”
Sighing her misgivings, Layne set out after Mattie. Her tall-heeled boots were not designed for chasing cattle, but at least they gave her more support and balance than the spindly heels Mattie was wearing.
When the half-dozen cattle observed their circling approach, they took off at a trot. Mattie broke into a run, the jersey skirt wrapping itself around her legs as she hurried to head them off and turn them back to the break in the fence. Layne was right beside her.
As long as they had the smooth surface of the highway to run on, it wasn’t so bad. Fortunately there was no traffic. But the minute they had to leave the concrete and pursue the cattle along the roadside ditch, they were in trouble. The footing was slick and the ground was uneven. The best either of them could manage was a staggering run.
The cattle were anything but cooperative. After twenty minutes of chasing, Layne and Mattie finally herded them to the section of fence where a broken post sagged the wires. Only the cattle pretended they didn’t see it and stood in a wild-eyed bunch, looking at the two out-of-breath and bedraggled women with red glints in their hair.
“Oh, you dumb—” Mattie stopped as if reluctant to use the energy it would take to swear at the beasts. “Come on.” She waved a limp hand at Layne. “We’ll have to push them through. Watch your step. It’s a bog at the bottom of this ditch.”
The warning wasn’t really necessary, since Layne had been forced to jump the marshlike combination of mud and grass twice to head off a cow. Her legs were shaking and the backs of her calves ached from running in the high-heeled boots, but Layne plowed through the tall ditch grass, half sliding down the slope and inching her way the last couple of feet to the bottom.
It was difficult to tell where the solid ground ended and the mud began, but she made her guess and leaped across the ditch-bottom. The cattle nervously crowded close to the fallen fence post. All they had to do was step over the downed wires and they’d be back on home range. But they waited until Layne started up the slope, waving her arms, before they bolted in panic, nearly stampeding themselves.
A yelp came from Mattie. Layne swung tiredly around and paused to stare in amused dismay. Mattie had misjudged the width of the ditch. One foot was buried in mud up to her well-turned ankle. For an instant she stood poised in that position, then she lifted her foot. Only the shoe didn’t come with it.
“Damn,” she said softly and hopped to keep her balance on one foot.
With all the running and chasing, her hairdo was drooping. Her dress was disheveled and her slip was showing. Layne guessed that she didn’t look much better but she started to laugh just the same.
“Oh, Mattie, you look ridiculous,” she declared between breathless gasps of laughter while she pressed a hand to the ache in her side.
“Well, you don’t look like a raving beauty yourself,” Mattie retorted before finally seeing the funny side of the predicament. She laughed too. “Don’t just stand there. You’ve got to help me get my shoe.”
Layne wiped at the tears of laughter in her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re damned right I’m serious. That’s my good shoe in that mud. I’m not going to walk off and leave it there,” Mattie asserted.
“You mean ‘hop’ off,” Layne corrected with more bubbles of laughter while she moved down the slope to rejoin Mattie. “I hope you don’t expect me to reach down in that mud and fish it out.”
“Check the trunk
of the car and see if there’s anything we can use to hook onto my shoe,” Mattie suggested.
Layne scrambled across the ditch and returned to the car parked on the shoulder of the road. She checked out the tools in the trunk, but the tire iron seemed the most likely one suited for the job.
After several unsuccessful attempts they finally retrieved Mattie’s mud-soaked shoe. Then the fence had to be jerry-rigged to keep the cattle from getting out again until more permanent repairs could be done. In all, the delay cost them an hour.
Cars and trucks were parked in the ranch yard by the score when they finally reached the Powell ranch. They had managed to straighten their clothes, brush their hair, and retouch their makeup, but there was nothing they could do about Mattie’s shoe.
Creed came out of the large, modern ranch house as they started up the walk. An eyebrow shot up at the sight of Mattie walking with one shoe off and one shoe on.
“Where have you two been?” he asked. “Mary expected you almost two hours ago.”
“What does it look like?” Mattie wagged her muddy shoe at him. “I had to hunt for my glass slipper.” She continued past him to the door but Layne paused to explain.
“Some cattle got out on the highway so we stopped to chase them in.” As she recounted the details of their zany escapade, his smile kept getting wider and wider. “So there we were prancing about in this mud like a couple of comic ballerinas, trying to hook the heel of her shoe with the tire iron.”
His low chuckle evolved into deep, hearty laughter at the picture of absurdity she painted. Layne laughed with him, taking secret delight in the rich, full sound of his laughter.
It finally subsided into a broad smile. “And I thought you’d had car trouble.”
“Do you know that’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh? I mean really laugh—not one of your smug chuckles,” she told him.
