The Trailblazer

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “I guess that’s about it,” Freddy said, tightening the cinch of Maureen’s saddle. “You’re sure you don’t want to ride down?”

  “Mikey and I will walk. We’ve bonded.”

  Freddy laughed. “I do believe you have. Why don’t you go first so I can follow and keep an eye on his hind leg?”

  “Sure.” Holding Mikey’s bridle, Ry surveyed the camp one last time. He was reluctant to leave because he knew the walk would be uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the only reason.

  Freddy settled herself in the saddle and gathered her reins. “Listen, I could still ride down leading Mikey and send a helicopter back up for you,” she said. “Nobody would think the worse of you for it, Ry.”

  “Oh, no?” He grinned and shoved his hat to the back of his head as he gazed up at her. “Can you picture Duane and Curtis watching that helicopter coming in without their making a few choice comments about the dude from New York who thought he could ride a horse?”

  “They’d never say anything to your face.”

  “What a comfort that would be.”

  “So, shall I send a chopper?”

  “No, you shall not. I can make it. I was stalling because...because to tell the truth, I’m sorry the whole thing is over. I had a great time.”

  Her laughter bounced against the rocky cliff and echoed out into the valley. “The ride crippled you, you smell like a landfill, the horses kept you up all night and you have to walk several miles down a rocky trail to get back home. If this is what you consider a great time, I suggest you get a life,” she said, her hazel eyes dancing.

  He smiled at her. “I was thinking the same thing.” Then he turned and wrapped the end of the reins around his fist. “Come on, Mikey,” he said to the horse as they started out of camp. “Let’s show the women what grit is all about.”

  * * *

  FOLLOWING BEHIND the battered twosome was its own kind of punishment, Freddy decided. The boots Ry had borrowed were made for riding, for occasional dancing, but not for walking down a mountain path. The smooth soles slipped on loose shale, and the heels tilted him forward, sabotaging his balance even more.

  A mile down the trail, she called a halt and offered to trade. He wouldn’t do it. She was forced to continue behind him and watch the stain of sweat widen across the back of his shirt. She knew he must be thirsty; she certainly was. But they wouldn’t be able to drink until they reached the pond, which would take another hour.

  He had every right to hate her. If he complained to Westridge and asked for her resignation as a condition of the sale, she couldn’t blame him. But the hell of it was, she knew he didn’t hate her and wouldn’t get her fired. She’d thrown torture after torture at him, and he had the nerve to announce he’d had a great time. Talk about knowing how to hurt a girl!

  Ry had his head down watching the trail for loose stones, and Freddy was concentrating so hard on Ry and Mikey that she didn’t hear a horse approaching until the little party rounded a bend and Ry came face-to-face with Eb Whitlock’s big palomino. Ry stumbled and nearly went down, but he grabbed a bush and kept himself and Mikey steady. Freddy was grateful he’d reached for a smooth-barked manzanita instead of the prickly pear next to it.

  “What do we have here?” Eb boomed, reining in Gold Strike.

  Freddy smiled. “Eb! What luck. Do you have water?”

  “I reckon you need a sight more than water. Your friend looks like he’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

  “I’m okay.” Ry pushed his hat to the back of his head and gazed with apparent interest at the man on the palomino. As usual, Eb was decked out in a belt buckle big as a dinner plate and a bolo tie heavy with turquoise.

  Freddy realized introductions were in order, although the grapevine had probably already supplied Eb with the identity of the man in front of him. “Eb Whitlock, I’d like you to meet Ry McGuinnes, from New York City.”

  “Figured as much.” Eb handed over his canteen. “Have a drink on me, McGuinnes. Sorry I can’t hail you a cab. You look like you could use one.” He laughed at his joke, flashing teeth arranged as perfectly as piano keys.

  Ry accepted the canteen with a friendly smile. “No problem. Could you hold on to Mikey for a minute?” he thrust the reins into Eb’s hand without waiting for a reply, walked over to Freddy and held out the canteen. “Compliments of the man on the very big horse.”

  Freddy swallowed a burst of laughter. Eb had always ridden huge geldings. Leigh used to say he’d show up on a Clydesdale one of these days. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quivering with humor as she met Ry’s gaze and accepted the canteen. She could hardly refuse such a gallant gesture, although she was sure Ry needed water more than she did. After one quick gulp, she passed the canteen to him without bothering to wipe the mouth of the jug.

  There was a brief flash of awareness in his eyes, as if he’d noticed her omission, before he lifted the canteen to his lips and drank greedily.

  She admired the way the trail had toughened his appearance. His cheeks were stubbled with a day’s growth of beard and his face had acquired the healthy bronze color of an outdoorsman.

  “What happened to Mikey?” Eb asked, breaking into Freddy’s absorption in Ry.

  “We’re not sure,” she replied. “Maybe a broken branch or a sharp section of boulder got him.”

  “Somebody said they saw a big cat up there not long ago.”

  “If that’s what it was, we didn’t see it,” Freddy said. “We’re just lucky Mikey didn’t cut himself up any worse.”

  “I thought I heard a horse scream up here last night,” Eb said. “Then this morning, I remembered Curtis or somebody telling me you’d taken the prospective buyer up here, so I decided to investigate, make sure you were okay.”

  How typical of him, Freddy thought. “You’re a good neighbor, Eb.”

  Eb touched the brim of his hat in a subtle salute. “I try to be, even if it means baby-sitting my competition.”

  Ry took the canteen from his lips.

  “After all, we’ve known each other for a long time, Freddy,” Eb continued. “Why, I remember—”

  “Excuse me, but does anybody else want some more water?” Ry asked. “Freddy? Did you get enough?”

  “I’m fine.” She was amused and somewhat grateful that Ry had broken into Eb’s story. Eb was a conscientious neighbor, but he had a tendency to wax nostalgic a little too often.

  “Well, then, let’s take care of our wounded patient,” Ry said. “I believe this is how they do it in the movies.” Taking off his hat, he walked up to Mikey and poured the rest of the water into the upended crown of the hat before offering it to the horse. Mikey tossed his head and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Mikey,” Ry coaxed, wiggling the hat to make the water slosh inside. “Didn’t you ever watch ’Gunsmoke’ in reruns?”

  Freddy laughed. Ry had just splashed water into a ninety-dollar hat, but it probably needed some seasoning anyway. “You have the wrong horse. He’s a ’Seinfield’ fan.”

  “Just my luck.” Ry adopted a New York City accent. “Try it, Mikey. You’ll like it.”

  The horse snorted and stuck his nose into the hat to suck the water in noisy swallows while Ry exchanged a grin with Freddy.

  Eb glanced around and looked impatient. “Tell you what, McGuinnes. You can climb on behind me and I’ll lead Mikey down the trail.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that, Whitlock.” Ry kept his attention on Mikey. “Thanks, anyway.”

  “Why not? Gold Strike can carry both of us. Hell, he could probably carry a knight in full armor.”

  “Probably, but I just wouldn’t feel right about it.” He clamped the dripping hat on his head and handed Eb the empty canteen. “I’ll walk with Mikey, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Freddy bit her lip to hide a smile. She figured Ry was telling the literal truth. He’d no more be able to hoist himself up on Gold Strike and spread his legs over that broad back than fly to the moon on gossamer wings.

 
“Suit yourself.” Eb wheeled his big horse, stirring up a cloud of dust that made Ry choke. “By the way,” Eb called over his shoulder as he started down the trail, “how do you like the True Love?”

  “Love it,” Ry called back.

  Eb flashed his large teeth again. “Too bad. Oh well, welcome to the neighborhood.”

  “Thanks, Eb,” Freddy called after him. Then she glanced down at Ry. “There you have a real Western gentleman. He wants the True Love so bad he can taste it, but when he finds out you’ll probably buy it out from under him, he greets you as his new neighbor.”

  Ry wiped the grit from his face with the back of his sleeve. “And you could barely tell he hates my guts. What a guy.”

  “Hates you? I hardly think so! Just because you’re both after the same piece of property doesn’t mean he takes that personally.”

  “Oh, it’s not just the True Love he’s after.” Ry wiggled his eyebrows. “He’d like to slap a brand on you, little filly.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She laughed to cover her flush of embarrassment. Leigh had warned her about the same thing, but Eb was old enough to be her father. She wanted to believe his goodwill was motivated by nothing more than neighborly concern. “He’s never even asked me to dinner.”

  “He doesn’t have to. He’s your neighbor. And he was hoping to buy your ranch. That would put him in a pretty sweet spot, being your boss and all.”

  Freddy looked away from his penetrating gaze. “You’re making some big assumptions on very little evidence.”

  “I’m sure it seems that way, but I make my living playing hunches. I make a pretty good living, so I’ve learned to follow my instincts. Trust me, Whitlock hated me on sight, first because I threaten his acquisition of the ranch, and second because he perceives me as a possible threat to his acquisition of you.”

  Heat swept over her. “Why would he think that?”

  “Easy. I just spent the night alone with you, which I’m guessing is more than he’s ever done.”

  “It was only a trail ride!” Not strictly true, she thought. She’d helped him off with his pants and massaged his bare thighs until he became sexually aroused.

  “Whitlock isn’t so sure.” He peered up at her. “Come to think of it, neither am I.”

  Freddy took a deep breath. “Believe me, when I planned this, I had no intention of—”

  “I know. Neither of us could have known.” He gave her a long, assessing look. “As I said, I thought you were a man.”

  “And I thought you were a big-shot businessman.”

  “That’s exactly what I am.”

  She shook her head. “You’re far more than that,” she said softly.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’ve earned it.”

  He held her gaze for a moment. “You know I’m going to buy the ranch.”

  “I know.”

  “Which will make me your boss.”

  Her heart beat a quick rhythm. “I know that, too.”

  The fire in his eyes was a controlled blaze. “I’ve seen personal involvement ruin a lot of business relationships.”

  “With your experience, I’m sure you have.” Her mouth was as dry as the desert floor. “And I want to be the foreman of the True Love for a very long time.”

  “Then I guess we put our personal feelings on hold.”

  “Yes, I guess we do.”

  6

  BY THE TIME they reached the pond, Ry’s troubles had shifted from his thighs to his feet. He could see no point in toughing it out for the sake of vanity—Freddy had witnessed one of the more vulnerable moments of his life when she’d applied the Bag Balm to his thighs. So when they reached the water, he tethered Mikey and leaned against the tree to pull off his boots.

  “Now you understand why cowboys ride instead of walk,” Freddy said.

  “I do indeed.” Without rolling up the stiff cuffs of his jeans, he waded straight into the water. “Good God!” The icy water immediately numbed his feet, and although he tried to grip the algae-covered rocks with his toes, they refused to cooperate. Arms flailing, he landed on his tender rear. On impact, his hat sailed into the water and he grabbed it just before it floated away like a child’s toy boat. He slapped the dripping hat on his head and sat there, too disgusted to move.

  Freddy dismounted and sauntered over to the pond. “How’s the water?”

  She was a real smart aleck, he thought. As he sat and fumed, a plot formed in his mind, a plot born of twelve hours of the most extreme discomfort he had ever remembered. Now his butt was numb, which wasn’t all bad, but he’d never immersed his body in such cold water in his life. She’d seen what he was about to do. She could have warned him. Now it was payback time.

  “Ry?”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her step closer.

  “Are you okay?”

  The sudden lunge was excruciatingly painful, but worth it. On the football field, his unsportsmanlike tackle would have earned him a flag, but this wasn’t a sanctioned game. In two seconds, Freddy was splashing and sputtering next to him in the water.

  “Ry McGuinnes, that was the nastiest, meanest—” She started to struggle to her feet and he grabbed her arm to jerk her back down.

  “Leaving so soon, Miss Singleton?” He looked her over and noted with satisfaction that her jeans and shirt were soaked. Her hat had flipped backward onto the embankment and water dripped from the ends of her hair. He held her wrist in an iron grip. “The water isn’t too cold for you, is it? Since you failed to warn me about it, I assumed you’d want to join me in a little swim.”

  She glared at him. “My boots will be ruined. And I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “And I thought you were a lady. A lady would have cautioned me about the cold water and the slippery rocks. A lady wouldn’t have taunted me once I fell in.” He’d begun to notice something else. Beneath the soaked front of her blouse, her nipples shoved against the material in protest against the chill. Now that he’d given in to the need for revenge, other needs began asserting themselves, as if they’d only required the merest crack in his armor of self-control to slip through.

  “I’m only trying to save my ranch!” she protested, her chest heaving.

  This dunking was either a very good idea or a very bad one, he thought, longing to unfasten the snaps of her shirt. He looked into her eyes. “And I’m only trying to save my hide,” he said pleasantly. She had such beautiful eyes, the same dusky color as the sagebrush growing along the trail.

  “Why don’t you just give up?” she cried.

  “Why don’t you?” He studied her expressive mouth. The water was cold as a snow bank, but her mouth would be warm...so warm.

  “What do you need this ranch for?” Her eyes misted, dew on sage. “Can’t you go buy some more pork bellies or something and be just as happy?”

  “Not anymore.” He reached up and grazed her lower lip with his knuckle. Had she flinched, he would have released her and climbed out of the water. But she didn’t flinch. Instead, her pupils widened in awareness. He sucked in a breath. “Instead of discouraging me, your behavior has only made me more determined,” he said.

  Her lashes swept down and pink tinged her cheeks. “To buy the ranch?”

  He paused, allowing time for her imagination to work. “That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”

  “Of course.” She said it too softly for the words to carry any conviction. “Anything else would be a mistake. We already settled that.”

  “Yes, we did.” He slid his damp hand behind her neck and she shivered, but whether from the chill or from anticipation, he couldn’t know. “But I thought you weren’t going to sabotage me anymore, either.”

  “That wasn’t really sabotage.”

  “No?”

  Her gaze reconnected with his and the turmoil in her eyes betrayed her inner struggle. “Some things just happen.”

  “So I’m discovering.” He guided her closer, watching the battle rage until
at last her lashes fluttered down in partial surrender.

  Their breath mingled for a long moment as he hesitated. Logic tried for a foothold in his brain and failed. He had to taste her. With the first brush of his lips, her breath hitched, and he knew she was strung as tight as he. Misgivings assaulted him, but the velvet promise of her mouth beckoned. He skimmed over her lips once again and his heart lurched when he discovered them parted in welcome.

  Had he imagined anything less from this woman? With a groan, he settled his mouth firmly against hers. And was lost. Her warmth rose to meet him; her passion ignited in concert with his. Her vibrant spirit had led him through hell. Now she offered heaven.

  And he took—greedily, angrily, venting hours of frustration with his lips and tongue. She gave without restraint, matching his assault with one of her own. Water sluiced between them as he pulled her close. They might have been naked from the waist up, so drenched were their shirts. His heart pounded as her breasts cushioned the tautness of his chest and he could feel the distinct imprint of her nipples. She wound her arms around his back, pressing, kneading, wanting. Desire defied the icy water as heat spread through him, warming his groin, his thighs, his calves, nibbling on his toes. Nibbling on his toes?

  He lifted his mouth a fraction. “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes.” She pressed against him. “Don’t stop.”

  “On your toes?”

  “Down to my toes,” she agreed, her tone impatient. “Don’t talk. Just kiss me like that again.”

  The rubble came again. “Not down to your toes, on your toes.”

  She drew back and frowned. “I have on boots. Two-hundred-dollar boots that may never be the same after this. What are you talking about?”

  Ry released her and scrambled to his feet. “Your father’s blessed bass! Is every damn thing in this country booby-trapped?”

  She sat and stared at him as the sensual haze cleared from her expression and her jaw clenched. “Yes! Yes, it is!” She struggled out of the water, her boots squishing. “Especially to people who don’t know the territory. Get that through your thick Yankee head, will you? You don’t belong here!”