“He wants to. Says he wants to try a bull, too.”
“My God, that’s insanity!”
“He asked me not to tell you, but I been feelin’ bad about that, ’cause I figured you should know. And now I find out he don’t want no rodeo. Maybe I jumped to conclusions about that greenhorn.”
“Maybe we both did.” She glanced at Duane. “What were you thinking of putting him up on, Grateful Dead?”
Duane shifted his chaw. “Come to think of it, I did mention that particular bull.”
Her stomach twisted at the thought. “Duane, I’m sure you’ve been worried about this change of ownership, just like I have. So I have to ask. Was the bull riding just a way to make him hightail it back to New York?”
Duane shook his head vigorously. “No, ma’am. I swear that wasn’t my idea originally. But now that I know he’s against the rodeo, it’s a thought, ain’t it?”
“Absolutely not! The ranch doesn’t belong to him yet. He could still sue both me and Westridge.” Freddy told herself that was her chief concern. But a picture of Ry beneath the furious hooves of Grateful Dead kept spoiling her calm objectivity. A few riding lessons and a few turns on the bouncing barrel didn’t make somebody a rodeo cowboy, but Ry didn’t realize that.
She heard the whooping and hollering before she and Duane rounded the bend leading to the corrals. “What the—?” She urged Maureen into a faster trot around the curve. Ahead of her, the hands sat on the top rail of the main corral cheering a wildly bucking bay and its determined rider. Her blood ran cold as she saw who was on board.
“Oh, Lordy, he’s on Gutbuster,” Duane said.
“Not for long.” Freddy leaped from her horse and threw the reins to Duane. “Hold Maureen,” she called as she ran toward the corral. She made it just as Gutbuster spun and showed his belly in his famous “sunfish” move. Ry rose in a graceful arc and came down with a sickening thud that plowed his shoulder into the trampled dirt.
Freddy climbed the fence and shoved one of the hands aside as she jumped into the corral. “Somebody get that damned horse!” she cried as she ran toward Ry.
He lay completely still on his side, his back to her. His cherished black hat rested brim-side up nearby. Fear closed her windpipe. Dropping to her knees, she pressed two fingers against his neck just as he rolled over, bumping into her knees.
“And I thought you didn’t care,” he said with a wicked grin.
She jerked her hand away. “What in hell do you think you were doing?”
He pushed himself to a sitting position and started brushing the dirt from his shoulder. “Celebrating. And why are you swearing? I thought that wasn’t allowed in the Code of the West?”
Anger shot through her, replacing her bone-deep fear. She jumped to her feet. “I should have you horsewhipped! You deliberately waited until Duane was with me and Leigh was out on a trail ride with the guests, didn’t you? Of all the stupid, irresponsible, insane—” She paused, remembering something, he’d said. “Celebrating what?”
He stood and gazed at her, his blue eyes sparkling. “Our offer was accepted this morning. The closing’s in two weeks. You’re looking at the new owner of the True Love Guest Ranch.”
“I’m looking at an idiot! The sale’s not final yet, and until it is, I’m still the foreman around here. You are not to ride one of our broncs again. There’s no telling what could happen to you. Although I doubt that anything could crack that hard, skull of yours, people have been known to die coming off a bronc.” To her dismay, she realized the last sentence came out almost a sob.
He leaned down, picked up his hat and whacked it against his thigh to knock off the dust. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sweet on me,” he said. Then he put on his hat, adjusted the brim and walked away.
Duane hurried up trailing a litany of apologies. “I shouldn’t have fixed him up with that barrel, Freddy. I can see that now. I never dreamed he’d talk one of the boys into saddlin’ Gutbuster. Guess I should have knowed it would happen, though. He’s the kind that likes provin’ himself, but I won’t teach him no more. I won’t—”
“Never mind, Duane.” Freddy gazed after Ry as he walked to the opposite end of the corral and climbed the fence. On the other side stood several of the hands waiting to congratulate him. Covered with dust and looking proud as a peacock, he couldn’t be distinguished from the other cowboys who were shaking his hand and clapping him on the back.
“They say he made the eight seconds,” Duane said. “Curtis had a stopwatch on him. I wonder if he’ll change his mind ’bout the rodeo now.”
Freddy barely registered the information. She was too busy assimilating her feelings. When she’d seen him lying so still in the middle of the corral, she’d felt as if someone had ripped out her heart. And until the moment he rolled over, she’d sent a stream of prayers heavenward on his behalf. As foreman of the ranch, she had reason to be upset when someone took foolish chances, but she’d been more than upset. She’d been frantic.
“You won’t want to hear this, but I’ve seen a lot of rodeo cowboys,” Duane said. “There’s a rhythm to it you can’t teach. He’s got it. Born with it, probably.”
She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat. “But he’s a commodities trader,” she murmured, resisting with all her might the urge to run across the corral, wrap her arms around him and beg him not to take such reckless chances.
“Not today he wasn’t. Today he was a cowboy who rode a bronc to the buzzer.”
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, the ranch van hauled nine German tourists to the True Love, and that afternoon another twelve arrived. Because German groups had spent time at the ranch before, Freddy had picked up enough of the language to get by. So she was able to interpret the complaint when one of the couples said they’d been expecting to sleep in the John Wayne Room. They’d traveled halfway around the world to sleep there, they insisted.
Freddy stood with them in the large living room and tried to explain that they were lucky to get the honeymoon cottage, which was bigger, had a better view and more privacy. The couple shook their heads and began demanding the room they’d dreamed about “for many months.”
Ry walked in just as Freddy was starting her fourth polite explanation of why the room was unavailable. He paused to listen and finally sauntered over to the group. Then, in perfect German, he offered to exchange sleeping accommodations with the couple.
The woman practically threw herself into Ry’s arms, and the husband beamed and pumped Ry’s hand enthusiastically. They chattered so fast in German that Freddy lost most of the conversation, but she would have had trouble following a conversation in English with Ry standing so close and looking so virile, his thumbs hooked through the loops in his jeans. Washing had shrunk them to a delicious fit that defined his shape beautifully. His boots and hat had seen more wear in a week than most cowboys gave them in a month, giving him a rugged aspect that could only be bought with experience on a cattle ranch.
One look into his laughing eyes as he talked with the Germans and she remembered those eyes darkening with passion, those lips capturing hers, those long tanned fingers caressing her. Yet after that last impassioned kiss, he’d made no move in her direction. Was he clever enough to realize that by backing away, he’d make himself even more appealing? Perhaps. Standing next to him now, she had to exercise self-control to keep from laying her hand on his arm, just to see if he’d react.
Partly to distract herself, she snagged a passing maid and gave the woman instructions to move Mr. McGuinnes’s belongings to the cottage and prepare the John Wayne Room for new guests. By the time she turned back, the couple were gone.
“Where are they?” she asked Ry.
“I suggested they order a cool drink and sit out by the pool while their room is cleaned. Otherwise, I figured they’d monopolize your time until the maid makes the switch, and you look like you have your hands full.”
“Thanks. I do.” With you. “What w
ere they saying? My German’s not that good.”
He laughed. “They said I don’t look like a guest.”
“They’re right. You don’t. And what were they saying about John Wayne? I thought I heard something about a spirit. Don’t tell me they’re into seances, or something.”
“No. They said I could be a reincarnation of John Wayne, I guess because I’m tall and I’m wearing Western clothes.”
“And speaking German. They’ve probably seen dubbed versions of his movies. It must have been a fantasy come true to stand here talking to a real live cowboy who speaks German.”
“You think I’m a real live cowboy?”
She didn’t dare tell him her exact thoughts, that he was the best-looking stud in the valley. “Let’s just say a tourist would think you were. Where did you learn German?”
“I picked up most of it on business trips.”
She was beginning to get a picture of the astounding reach of Ry McGuinnes. “Then I assume you know some other languages?”
“Oui, ma chérie.” His gaze probed hers, seducing her as his mouth curved into a slow, sexy smile.
She was losing her composure fast in the spell cast by those suggestive eyes. There were reasons that she hadn’t thought it wise to become his lover, but she couldn’t think of a single one at the moment. Then she remembered the calendar page he’d apparently destroyed. “Did you rip a page out of my desk calendar the other day?” she asked abruptly.
The sensuality faded from his expression. “Yes, I did. Crumpled it up, too, so I didn’t think you’d want it back.”
“Are you in the habit of doing that with other people’s possessions?” she pressed, relieved to have found something to dispel the passion that had begun to materialize between them.
His expression hardened. “No, I’m not. I still have it. Maybe I can iron it out for you, if it’s so important. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get down to the corral and lay claim to Red Devil before Leigh changes her mind about letting me ride him.”
“Red Devil?” She was now fully ready to be perverse. “I’d choose a different horse if I were you. He’s thrown two of the hands already. The surgery didn’t calm him down much.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you worried about the horse or the rider?”
“Neither, come to think of it,” she retorted. “You probably deserve each other. Personally, I don’t like riding a horse that gives me a fight.”
His teeth flashed white in his tanned face and his eyes gleamed with a wicked fire. “But that’s the fun of it, Liebchen.”
11
RED DEVIL TRIED a little crow-hopping and tossing of his head, but Ry felt in control as he walked the big chestnut horse away from the corrals. Leigh had told him Red Devil had been “cut proud,” the cowboy way of describing a gelding who acted like a stallion. Ry liked that. Once the ranch deal went through, he’d own a third of Red Devil, but he’d decided to buy out Chase’s and Joe’s shares of the horse.
He hadn’t made the decision lightly. The commodities market had taken some strange turns in the past few days, and he’d had to scramble to protect his assets. Just before he’d walked out of his room and discovered Freddy embroiled with the German couple, he’d completed a telephone call getting him into the corn market and out of soybeans, both in the nick of time. He’d burned the midnight oil figuring ways to hedge his bets on the gold and silver market so he’d wouldn’t have any trouble coming up with his share of the ranch down payment. And through all that, he’d continued to take part in ranch life.
It was a test, to see if he could manage his investments from Arizona. If he could do it without suffering significant losses, he’d be able to spend more on the True Love, more time riding Red Devil, more time polishing his bronc-riding skills. And more time with Freddy. She was resisting him, perhaps from some instinctive sense that he represented change in her life. He wanted to find a way to make her welcome that change, because, try as he might to put her out of his mind, he wanted Freddy.
Just then, a white sedan came down the road toward him, driving fast and sending up a rooster tail of dust. Ry frowned and got a firmer grip on Red Devil’s reins. Damned city people. Then he smiled at himself. He was acclimating fast.
The car slowed as it came alongside Red Devil. The horse pranced sideways and arched his neck. Ry reined him in and gripped with his thighs. “Easy, Red. Easy,” he murmured.
The tinted window of the sedan buzzed down and a man in suit and tie stuck his head out. The car’s air-conditioning wafted around Ry and he found himself thinking the guy was a wimp to need air-conditioning. It couldn’t be much over ninety.
The man took off his sunglasses and squinted up at Ry. “Say, cowboy, am I headed in the right direction for the True Love Guest Ranch?”
Being addressed as a cowboy made Ry’s day, even though the man’s attitude wasn’t particularly respectful. “Straight ahead and take a right at the fork,” he said, tightening the reins as Red Devil pranced some more.
“That’s quite a horse you have,” the man said.
“Yep.” Ry almost wished he chewed tobacco so he could spit in the dirt after that reply.
“Thanks for the directions.” The automatic window buzzed upward and the car took off, spewing fumes and leaving a billowing cloud of dust to settle over Ry and Red Devil.
Cursing and wiping grit from his face, Ry loped away from the dust and exhaust fumes. Only later, as he traversed the now-familiar western end of the True Love, did he figure out who the guy might be. An environmental engineer was due out any time, to check the water and make sure nothing toxic was buried under the True Love. Ry longed for the necessary paperwork to be finished. Chase had mentioned during his last phone call that he might make it out in time for the closing. It wasn’t necessary—everything could be handled by mail—but Ry could understand Chase’s eagerness to be part of the process. Besides, without a rig to drive someplace, the trucker seemed to be getting very bored.
Ry thought of the impact the ranch would have on a hot-blooded young rebel like Chase and laughed. If the Gutbuster incident got Freddy’s undies in a bunch, wait till she tried to control Lavette.
* * *
THE COUPLE WHO’D wanted the John Wayne Room wasn’t Freddy’s only problem that afternoon. The environmental engineer arrived and she had to provide him with a map of the buildings and outbuildings. Then several of the German guests announced they were vegetarians, precipitating a conference with Belinda on the menu, which was ordinarily built around beef. A young woman started sneezing and insisted her room be cleaned again with damp cloths to pick up all the dust. Freddy suggested allergy medicine, but the woman claimed she never took pills.
“So she comes to a guest ranch in the desert in May,” Freddy mumbled to herself as she located Rosa, the housekeeper, and requested the second cleaning.
She’d just ducked into her office to call the bunkhouse and ask for six horses to be saddled for a sunset ride, when Dexter appeared in the doorway leaning on his walker, his best hat sitting jauntily on his head. “Hi, Dex,” she said, picking up the phone and punching in the bunkhouse extension. “What can I do for you?”
“Ice cream.”
She’d forgotten. She glanced quickly at her calendar and sure enough, today was ice-cream day. One look into Dexter’s face alight with expectation and she ditched the idea of putting off the ice-cream trip until the next day. “Sure,” she said. “Right after this call.”
“Okay.” He pivoted his walker and stumped toward the double doors leading to the porch.
In ten minutes, she’d arranged for the sunset ride and had asked Leigh to handle any problems with the guests or the environmental engineer. As Freddy pulled the van up to the arched entryway, Dexter had barely made it down the flagstone path. She guided him in with as little fuss as possible, knowing he hated needing the help. But these days, his ice-cream trip was more important than his vanity.
As they headed toward the main road
, a lone rider stood on a rise about a mile to their left. Even from that distance, Freddy recognized Ry on Red Devil. Red Devil tossed his head but otherwise stood quietly. Ry seemed to have perfect control of the big animal, she thought with a pang of resentment. Why should this greenhorn be able to master a horse when some of her experienced hands had failed? Yet Ry sat like a king in the saddle as he gazed out over the land.
Freddy returned her attention to the road, but the picture of Ry surveying the ranch stayed with her. Her father used to do that, and so had she, on occasion. She remembered the possessive feeling of those moments, and she grew uneasy. The True Love belonged to the Singleton family, no matter who held the deed. At least, that’s the way it had always been.
Dexter craned his head backward, still looking at Ry silhouetted on the promontory. “His mother—no—his girl died,” Dexter said.
“His wife died,” Freddy said. “I know. He told me.”
“May 24.”
Freddy felt as if someone had dropped ice cubes in her stomach. That was the date on the missing calendar page. But maybe Dexter’s comments weren’t related to each other. “What about May 24?” she asked.
“She died.”
Freddy swallowed. “How do you know that, Dexter?”
“He said.”
“He told you his wife died on May 24?”
“Yep.”
* * *
SOMEHOW Freddy made it through the rest of her duties that day. Ry ate in the dining room, but he’d been appropriated by the couple now sleeping in the John Wayne Room, and Freddy spent most of the meal counseling the young woman with the allergies about not going outside during the early morning and late afternoon, when the pollen count was highest.
Then the sunset-ride crowd came in, and Freddy got caught up in their stories of seeing a pack of coyotes chasing down a rabbit. Some of the riders seemed to think Freddy should do something about protecting the cute little bunnies, so she spent another hour convincing them that they were looking at real nature, not something created as a theme park.
The Trailblazer Page 14
