by Cathie Linz
By God, she was sick and tired of getting laughed at!
Seeing the fury spitting in her eyes, Dylan belatedly realized his error. “Now don’t go getting all fired up about things…”
“Things?” she repeated, jabbing her finger at his chest. “We’re not talking things here, cowboy! We’re talking about respect. Respect for my opinions, for my feelings, for the fact that I want something you don’t have. Security.”
“A highly overrated commodity.”
“In your opinion, not mine!”
“Now, honey…” he began, trying to placate her.
“You see?” she exclaimed. “That’s what I mean. Stop patronizing me! You’ve never thought I knew anything about ranching, never given me credit for trying to do my best by this ranch. We managed for a month before you showed up. I did the same chores Shem and his sons are doing now. But do you acknowledge me as an equal? No. You’re like my parents, acting like I’m a child and this ranch is some new toy that’s caught my eye.”
Unsure how to deal with Abbie in this kind of volatile mood, Dylan fell back on humor as a means of kidding her out of it. “You’re no child, I’d be glad to testify to your parents on that account.”
“You’re not taking me seriously.”
“Because you’re being ridiculous. A little ridiculous,” he amended. “All of this because I told you sugar rots your horse’s teeth?”
Infuriated by his lack of understanding, Abigail was tempted to knock his teeth down his throat. “That does it. The chase stops here,” Abigail declared, drawing a line in the dirt with her boot heel. “No more stolen little touches, no more serenading me with that damn guitar and no more kisses!”
“If you don’t want me kissing you, you shouldn’t kiss me back,” he said in a voice he no doubt used on recalcitrant horses and stubborn children.
“Don’t worry, I won’t!”
“Won’t what?”
“Kiss you back. Kiss you, period.” Her curt words were like staccato gunshots. “This conversation is over.”
As Abigail stomped back to the ranch house, Dylan turned to find the barn cat sitting on a nearby post. “Horses are easier to figure out than women.”
The cat apparently was a female, because she stuck her nose in the air and haughtily jumped down and walked away. “You women always stick together,” Dylan called after the cat.
Abigail got a lot of work done on the book in the next few days, but then she’d practically barricaded herself in her office since her fight with Dylan. She hadn’t joined the others at mealtimes, instead grabbing a sandwich when the growling of her stomach became too much of a nuisance.
A knock on the door interrupted her editing of chapter nine. Raj tentatively poked her head around the door frame. “Is it okay to come in?”
Abigail nodded. “I could probably use a break about now,” she admitted, rolling her head forward and lifting her shoulders up in an attempt to ease strained back muscles.
“This may be the best thing you’ve ever written,” Raj said as she handed over the stack of pages she’d just read.
“You really think so?” Abigail asked uncertainly.
“You bet. This hero and heroine sure have some humdinger fights. That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you and Dylan aren’t speaking at the moment, would it? What happened between you two?”
“I’d had it with his treating me as if I were some kind of bimbo.”
“When did he do that?”
“He laughed at me.”
“Oh-oh.” Raj knew how sensitive Abigail was about that.
“I think it’s just as well we cleared the air. Dylan and I have entirely different priorities. His priority is to get me into bed before he takes off. Mine is to finish this book.”
“Ziggy stopped by for dinner tonight. Said he’d come tomorrow night, too. He was sorry you weren’t joining us but said he understood your need to work. Then Shem talked about the muse, and Hondo thought it was some kind of intestinal problem.”
As Abigail smiled, Raj said, “Ah, finally! I was wondering what I’d have to do to get a smile out of you.”
“I’m sorry to be such a wet blanket,” Abigail said.
“You’re not a wet blanket. A slightly damp sheet, perhaps. But that’s okay. You’re a writer. You’re entitled.”
“Because I’ve got the muse, right?”
The two women cracked up.
Early the next morning, another sabotaging incident, even more serious than the others, brought Abigail back to earth. She went outside to drive the forty minutes into Big Rock and the post office when she found all four tires on her car had been slashed. This time, Abigail called the sheriff herself, insisting that he come out to take a look at the damage himself.
Shem felt badly because he’d been on night-watch duty when the incident occurred. “I’m no great prognosticator, but I should have seen something like this coming,” Shem said, hanging his head and crunching his hat in his gnarled hands.
“You couldn’t have known,” Abigail reassured him. “I’ve already called the sheriff.”
“He’s not exactly known for his judicious judgment, ” Shem warned her.
“I didn’t know Sheriff Tiber was Jewish,” Hondo said. When his father smacked his arm with his hat, Hondo looked even more bewildered than usual “What? What did I say this time?”
Sheriff Tiber didn’t show up until almost six that evening, and then he only made a cursory inquiry at best.
“Teenagers,” he said, spitting his chewing tobacco to one side of where they stood.
“Why would teenagers want to slash my car’s tires? Unless someone put them up to it? Someone who wanted me off this ranch.”
“And who might that be?”
“Hoss Redkins. I’ve told you before, he said I’d be sorry if I didn’t sell to him.”
“Of course you’d be sorry. He’s made you a generous offer. That doesn’t mean he’d arrange to have your tires slashed. Listen, I know that you’ve been away from town since you were a child, but I can tell you that he’s an upstanding citizen of Big Rock. He casts a mighty big shadow in these parts.”
Which put the unjudicious sheriff smack in the middle of Hoss’s big shadow. Abigail was getting the picture now, and it wasn’t a pretty one.
“This wouldn’t have happened if Dawg was still alive,” Hondo muttered over dinner that night.
Needing some company, and reminding herself that there was safety in numbers where her attraction to Dylan was concerned, Abigail had joined them around the scarred pine dining table that her uncle had made when she’d been just a little girl.
“Dawg was a good watchdog?” Raj asked.
Hondo nodded. “He was the best damn Chihuahua to ever bless this earth. For such a little dog, he had the biggest bark.”
“That’s what many women have said about me,” Ziggy noted, making Raj and Abigail almost choke on their steaks.
Seeing the women’s reaction, and wanting some attention himself, Hondo said, “Women say that about me, too.”
“What about you, Dylan?” Randy challenged him. It was the first time he’d spoken during the meal, making Abigail wonder if he was holding a grudge against Dylan for that incident at the dance a few weeks back, when Dylan had refused to let him cut in on him. “What do women say about you?”
Seeing the two men together, it was only now occurring to her that Dylan was actually much younger than Randy, probably by a good ten years at least. But Dylan was by far the more confident and mature of the two.
As if aware of her eyes on him, Dylan turned to face her. “You and I have to talk,” he said quietly.
“No, we don’t,” she stated just as quietly.
“I asked you a question, Dylan,” Randy reminded him with an angry edge to his voice.
“Maybe you should ask Abigail what women say about me,” Dylan challenged.
Abigail couldn’t be sure if he was challenging her or Randy or both of the
m.
“Women say Dylan is as inscrutable as the Great Sphinx,” she replied.
Putting more mustard on his steak, Hondo said, “Are you saying Dylan smells? Because if you are, you should be around Hoss Redkins, the guy stinks like garlic all the time!”
Dylan knew he was in trouble with Abigail, and after dinner tonight he realized just how much trouble. She hadn’t cooled down much since her temper tantrum in the barn a few days ago. It was time he called in reinforcements. So he called his dad.
“It is good you called. I have been having bad dreams,” Konrad Janos told him. “They involve you.”
“They’re just dreams, Dad.”
“Dreams are omens of things to come. Have you killed a ladybug or destroyed a robin nest?”
“Of course not. You raised me better. I know it’s unlucky to kill a ladybug…”
“It is bad luck to destroy a robin nest, as well. To do so means that within the course of a year, you will break a bone.”
“I’ve broken bones before, Dad. It kind of goes with the territory, you know.”
“And I have never worried about your safety with your riding. Not until now.”
“Have you been talking to Gaylynn?” Dylan asked suspiciously.
“You think I need to speak to your sister to know something is going on with you?”
“No.”
“Good.” Abruptly he said, “Tell me, which is greater, the dandelion or the oak?”
Accustomed to his father’s ways, Dylan wasn’t surprised by the abrupt change of subject. As he pondered the answer, he knew that the oak would be too obvious to be right, so he said, “The dandelion.”
“Only if it has achieved the greatest fulfillment. A mature dandelion is greater than a stunted oak.”
“Meaning what, Dad?”
“That you have yet to fulfill all your potentials. You remember what I told you about Roms having two successive lives? That God gave us the chance to live as we wanted, to make all the mistakes we could possibly make in our first life, and afterward make up for it in our second life?”
“Yeah, and you also told me that, unfortunately for me, this was my second life and that I was supposed to correct the mistakes I’d made in the first one.” His dad laughed, clearly delighted that Dylan remembered this. “You’ll be pleased to know that in this second life, I finally learned how to sing,” Dylan added.
“It is the Rom box. Your sister has told me that there are secondary effects. I have seen them with your brother. You should see the way babies are drawn to him. Have you heard that he and Brett are thinking of starting a foster home? One that is done up right, Brett says.”
“I hadn’t heard that.”
“And so you have called your father because you are having trouble with love, yes?”
“I thought the Rom box was supposed to take care of all that.”
“It brings you love, not peace.”
“That’s reassuring to know,” Dylan grumbled.
“What is her name, this woman who has finally caught hold of my youngest son’s heart?”
“Abigail.”
His father repeated it, as if testing the sound of it. “It is an old-fashioned name, I think. Is she old-fashioned?”
“She’s as stubborn as a mule.”
“I am willing to bet she says the same about you, no?”
“She does.”
Konrad chuckled. “Just remember that you cannot ride one saddle in two directions. In the old days, the Rom way would have been to kidnap the woman you wanted as your bride.”
“Well, if I get desperate enough, I may end up having to do just that,” Dylan joked.
But after he hung up, it did occur to Dylan that the old way might be the best way after all.
By the end of the week, Dylan had tried all the orthodox methods, tried talking to Abigail but he couldn’t even get two minutes alone with her. She was bound and determined to avoid him, using her friends to keep him at bay. She clearly thought there was safety in a crowd. And Dylan had to admit that pouring out his heart in front of Ziggy or Shem was daunting, to say the least.
So he tried getting Raj on his side. She, at least, was still speaking to him.
Right after dinner, Abigail hightailed it off to that office of hers, mumbling something about being behind on her deadline. Dylan admired her behind as she sashayed out the door. Today she’d worn a white blouse and blueand-white-flowered skirt. The denim vest she wore with it should have masked her breasts, but after feeling them brushing against him when they’d kissed, Dylan had developed X-ray vision and X-rated thoughts where she was concerned. More than once, he’d caught Abigail glancing over and, as if she’d been able to read his mind, glaring at him over a forkful of mashed potatoes.
“Raj, dinner tonight was really delicious,” Dylan said as he picked up a plate and followed her into the kitchen.
“Clearing the table is woman’s work,” Randy called after him in warning.
Returning with Raj for another handful of plates, Dylan picked up Randy’s plate. Seeing that Raj had returned to the kitchen, for a moment Dylan was tempted to dump the leftovers on Randy’s lap, but the hired hand had practically licked his plate clean.
So Dylan had to make do with leaning closer to growl ominously, “Can the conversation or I’ll have them serve you a big batch of fondue.”
Randy took off like a bat out of hell, leaving Dylan alone with Raj. Knowing she was a rodeo fan, he began by sharing some amusing anecdotes about his life. Then, when she was softened up some, he said, “Maybe you could help me out with something.”
“Sure, if I can.”
“It’s about Abbie…”
“Whoa, hold on right there. Abbie and I are friends—”
“I know that,” he interrupted her. “And as her friend, I want you to talk to her.”
“About?”
“About me.”
“We’ve already talked about you.”
“And?”
“You don’t want to know,” Raj assured him dryly.
“I know she’s got this stupid thing about cowboys and not wanting to get involved…”
“It’s more than a thing. She made a vow.”
“A vow? You mean, like a nun or something?”
“Well, she’s sworn to be celibate where cowboys are concerned.”
Dylan tried not to panic. “So she’s taken some falls in the past. That’s no reason not to get back up on the horse again.”
“It’s not me you have to convince. It’s Abbie.”
“I would if I could talk to her for two minutes without an audience.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Raj said. “Why are you so determined about this?”
“Damned if I know,” Dylan muttered under his breath. All he knew was that he’d never felt this way before. He wanted Abbie more than he’d ever wanted a woman before. The wanting went home deep and it was threatening to take over his life. He had to have Abbie. Maybe then, he’d get his peace of mind back.
That didn’t mean that Dylan was looking to get hitched or anything like that. Long-term wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. But for the time he was here, he and Abbie could have some memorable times together—times that could last a man a long time. But he had to catch Abbie first.
“Listen,” he told Raj, “I don’t want you to be alarmed if I should do something…something in regard to Abbie that might be a little outrageous.”
“Care to fill me in ahead of time?”
“No. That way you won’t have to lie and say you knew what was going on.”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve told her that I think you’re worth taking a risk on.”
With a confident grin, Dylan assured her, “I’m worth a lot more than that. And I aim on convincing Abbie of that!”
Gypsy kidnappings were perhaps best done at midnight, but the reality was that riding in the dark was hard enough without a struggling female in his arms, one that he found distracting a
s all get-out. So he had to snatch her in broad daylight.
Dylan made his plans carefully. He left a note for Raj, telling her that he’d taken Abbie up to an old homesteader’s cabin in the high country in a far corner of the property, knowing that neither she nor anyone else at the ranch would be able to find it, and that they’d be back in a few days.
So he tracked Abigail down taking an afternoon stroll to her favorite place, the hillside directly behind the ranch house. She liked sitting at the top beside the two tall fir trees standing sentinel up there, and had even created a perch of sorts on a fence rail. Dylan had Traveler pick his way carefully among the quivering aspen groves below.
Dylan decided to approach Abigail from the front, rather than sneaking up on her from behind. She was wearing jeans and a red shirt. Dylan grinned. Knowing that red was a lucky color in love, he’d worn a red bandanna himself.
She looked surprised to see him. She looked even more surprised when he leaned over and scooped her into his arms and onto the back of his horse.
What do you think you’re doing?” she shrieked.
“Kidnapping you. So sit back and enjoy it.”
Seven
“Are you crazy?” Abigail turned her head to shout, only to have her long hair blow into her mouth. Spitting it out while making growling noises of frustration, she went on to yell, “Have you been drinking? If you think this is some kind of joke, I am not amused!”
“The amusement comes later,” Dylan assured her with a devilish grin before tightening his arms around her waist. “Don’t get any wild ideas about getting free,” he warned her. “One of us could break our necks.”
That sounded threatening. Which left Abigail wondering if she’d been had. Had she been looking to Hoss Redkins as the source of all the trouble she’d had, when Dylan was really to blame? Or had Dylan done Hoss’s dirty work for him, and the ensuing arguments between them just been a smoke screen for her benefit? Abigail didn’t know what to think anymore.
