The Trailblazer

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  All his clothes gone, he placed a knee on the bed and leaned toward her. “Is that how you want me to make love to you, little lady? In German?”

  “No, cowboy,” she murmured, reaching to cup his face and pull him down for a long-awaited kiss. “I want to understand every word you say.”

  But he didn’t need many words to tell her how much he wanted her. Braced above her, he roved her face and neck with his hungry lips. She reached upward to receive his kisses at her breasts. His touch had already become achingly familiar, and she responded with lush abandon as he stroked her hips, her thighs, the backs of her knees. When he caressed her between her thighs, he groaned softly. “I think we’ve found out why your panties were drenched, chérie.”

  She gasped with longing and gripped his shoulders as he probed deep. “Love me, Ry.”

  He braced his elbow beside her head as he reached for the box. “And what else did you ask for?” he murmured in her ear. “Staying power?”

  “That might not...be necessary.”

  “Ah, but it would be more fun.” He nibbled at the lobe of her ear. “Help me with this, chérie. I want to feel your hands on me.”

  She took the packet and ripped it open with shaking fingers. Then he whispered instructions in her ear as she fumbled with the task, bringing them both to a fever pitch of excitement. Finally, she managed, and in a breathless voice announced her success.

  His response was hoarse with need as he moved between her thighs. “Never has incompetence felt so good.” Poised above her, he smoothed her hair back from her face. “We’ve made love in so many ways, but this was what I really wanted.” He eased forward. “This.”

  “Yes.” She lifted her hips to meet him, tension throbbing through her, demanding release. “Please, Ry.”

  He slipped both hands beneath her hips, and with a sharp intake of breath he plunged deep. At that first thrust she erupted into a dazzling climax, calling his name as she writhed in his arms. He moved with each spasm, heightening her pleasure until she became delirious with sensation.

  Gradually, she regained the ability to breathe, and her heartbeat slowed a fraction. Yet he was still within her, the sweet pressure producing tiny aftershocks, and a renewed curl of tension. She looked up to find him smiling gently as he gazed at her.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Good didn’t begin to describe the pleasure he’d given her, but she had no idea how to tell him that she’d never reacted so quickly and thoroughly with anyone.

  “There’s more.” Lacing his fingers through hers, he stretched her arms above her head, lifting her breasts for his mouth. Nuzzling her pert nipples, he began a slow rhythm with his hips.

  Each sensuous thrust set off a responding pulse beat within her, fueled even more by the flick of his warm tongue against her breasts. Sanity slipped away again, to be replaced by the ever-tightening grasp of need. He had pleasured her well the night before, but now he touched elements far more basic as he again and again probed her moist center, claiming his place there. With a cry of surrender, she arched upward as he pushed her once more into the shattering world of release.

  Before she’d completely recovered, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled to his back, carrying her with him and holding her tightly locked against him. She braced her hands on his chest and absorbed his hot gaze as it traveled over her breasts and down to the juncture of their thighs. He glanced back up into her eyes. “Love me,” he murmured. “Ride me, chérie.”

  With a smile of female anticipation, she rose slightly on her knees and settled back down over his heated shaft. He moaned. Her palms flat against his chest, she repeated the motion in a faster rhythm. He clutched the sheet in both hands as his breathing grew labored. Faster she moved, and faster, until he was gasping. She gave him no mercy. She wanted his surrender to be as complete as hers.

  His shout of release seemed torn from his soul. As she leaned down to kiss him, he looked into her eyes and she knew he was hers.

  14

  AT FIVE MINUTES before two, Ry and Freddy walked into the lobby of Frontier Savings and Loan. He’d assured her that after a shower at the hotel and the use of a comb and lipstick from her purse, she didn’t look as if she’d just spent two hours making love.

  More specifically, a stranger wouldn’t know it, he amended to himself as he ushered her past a large Remington sculpture of a cattle stampede and over to a cluster of desks to the right of the teller windows. He had only to gaze into her languorous eyes to read the aftermath of passion written there. The merest brush of her sleeve against his and scenes flashed through his mind—Freddy tossing her underwear across the room, Freddy stretching out on the bed and inviting him to make good on his boast, Freddy arching in surrender at the moment of climax. They’d discovered paradise in that hotel room, and he still carried a bit of it with him.

  “We’ll wait,” Freddy said, nudging him. “Won’t we, Mr. McGuinnes?”

  He snapped out of his daze long enough to realize Freddy had been communicating with the loan officer at the desk nearest Ballesteros’s empty one. And Ry had been out to lunch—literally. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

  “Would either of you care for coffee?” the woman asked.

  He glanced at Freddy, who shook her head. “No, thanks,” he said. “We’ll just have a seat until Mr. Ballesteros arrives.” Ry wondered if Ballesteros was engaged in a little rendezvous of his own. Probably not. Just because Ry was in an erotic fog didn’t mean everyone else was.

  As they sat in imitation-leather chairs, Freddy leaned toward him. “You’ll have to sharpen up, there, McGuinnes,” she said in a low voice. “If you stand around staring off into space, people will wonder what you’ve been up to.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “You’re a powerful force, Miss Singleton. I’m not sure I realized what I was letting myself in for.”

  “Ah.” She studied him, a wary look in her eyes. “Second thoughts?”

  “Yes. I was trying to figure out how we could have managed this meeting with simply a phone call so we wouldn’t have had to leave the room.”

  Her lips curved provocatively. He wanted to kiss off every bit of her newly applied lipstick.

  “Miss Singleton? Mr. McGuinnes? I’m Jose Ballesteros. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Ry looked up as a short, round man with an olive complexion held out his hand. Apparently, they’d missed his entrance into the building. They really would have to pay better attention to the world around them.

  “No problem.” Ry stood and shook his hand firmly.

  Freddy followed suit, and Ballesteros took a seat behind his cluttered desk. “Were you able to find out anything about the petroleum drums?” he asked, pawing through the papers on his desk.

  “The drums were taken out,” Freddy said, leaning forward. “I was there. I saw the trucks loaded with the drums pull away and drive down the road.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Ballesteros said cautiously, glancing up at her. “Do you have any documentation as to when that was done?”

  Ry shifted in his seat. “We’re running into some difficulty with that and we thought you might be able to take a notarized statement from Miss Singleton.”

  Ballesteros met his gaze. “Not a good idea. We can do that, but she’d have to sign a statement that she’s responsible for anything that’s found buried there, ever. That kind of liability is too broad, in my opinion.”

  “You’re right.” Ry shook his head in frustration. “I guess we have to find that receipt.”

  “What if we don’t?” Freddy asked.

  “Then I’m afraid, in order to get financing, we have to dig.”

  “Who’s we?” she persisted.

  “Well...” Ballesteros obviously wasn’t enjoying his role as the bearer of bad news. “The present owners claim they have no responsibility in the matter, and technically they don’t. I’m afraid the expense of either proving the drums aren’t there, or getting them out
and cleaning up the area if they are, will fall to the person who was the owner at the time the drums were installed.”

  Ry had figured that one out, but he wanted Ballesteros to deliver the message instead of him. And he wanted her to realize just what a jerk Whitlock was turning out to be.

  “So, since my father and mother are dead, the responsibility falls to me,” Freddy said in a surprisingly calm voice.

  Ballesteros steepled his fingers. “I’m afraid so. If I were you, I’d do everything I could to find a receipt or locate the trucking company. In the meantime, the financing decisions will be put on hold. I’m sorry. This is a very hot subject right now. And you’d better hope that if the drums are down there, they didn’t pollute the water supply.”

  “They’re not down there,” Freddy said, an edge to her voice.

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Ry stood. “We’ll find a way to prove it. Thanks for your time.”

  As they left the building in a much less euphoric mood than when they’d arrived, Ry reflected that there was nothing that spoiled paradise quicker than a snake.

  On the way back to the True Love, he glanced at Freddy’s rigid profile. “Now do you see what your friend and neighbor has done? He’s not only thrown a monkey wrench into the sale, he may have set you up for a very costly procedure.”

  “Which I couldn’t begin to pay for on what I make as foreman of the ranch.”

  “You won’t pay for it. I will.”

  ’That’s crazy. It’s not your responsibility, and it’s bad business besides! I won’t let you do that.”

  “I want the ranch, Freddy.” And the foreman, if she’ll have me. “Whitlock may think this will discourage me from pursuing the sale, but he’s mistaken.”

  “I still can’t believe that Eb—”

  “Be realistic, Freddy. This was all calculated by him. He knows the drums aren’t there, but my partners and I don’t. If you can’t pay to have it checked out, then we’d have to, and we have no idea what sort of pollution problem we might run into. Any logical businessperson would back out of a sale with that sort of snag. If the drums have polluted the groundwater, the property’s value will drop drastically.”

  “But none of that’s true!”

  “I know, and the one thing Whitlock didn’t count on was that I’d credit the memory of a ten-year-old girl over that of a grown man.”

  Her voice softened. “And you do?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he said with a chuckle. “It makes sense. A couple of weeks ago, you would have resorted to almost anything, including rumors of buried petroleum drums, to scare me off the True Love. If you really wanted Whitlock to have the property, you’d agree the stuff was down there, and I’d ride off into the sunset.”

  Her throat moved convulsively. “I guess I don’t want that anymore.”

  “Good.” His heart squeezed. She hadn’t made a passionate declaration, but it was a beginning. He had a long way to go, however, and he still hadn’t confessed his plans for selling the property. Guilt nagged him, but caution held him back. Before he confessed, he wanted her to care more about him than she did about the True Love Ranch.

  * * *

  THERE WERE four drawers in the aging file cabinet. Freddy directed Ry to pull them all out and carry them to the dining room, where no one would need the tables for at least two hours. She called Leigh down at the corrals and asked her to come up and help. Then she enlisted Belinda, so there was one person to a drawer.

  “Anything that looks like a trucking company receipt, or a hauling receipt, or trash removal, or anything remotely sounding as if it could be what we need, sing out,” Freddy said as they began the search.

  An hour and a half later, several possibilities had been found then discarded. The tables were piled with folders, and the drawers were almost empty. Leigh slapped her hand on the table in frustration. “Eb Whitlock is a horse’s ass! I have half a mind to ride over there and tell him so.”

  “He’s just being an aggressive businessman,” Ry said. “Unfortunately for his plans, he’s also dealing with one. I’ll call in the morning and get somebody out here with a backhoe. Can you pinpoint the location for me, Freddy?”

  Freddy’s chest tightened with anxiety. “I sure hope so.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean, you hope so? If he had gas pumps, the drums would be right under that area, so you must remember where the pumps were.”

  “I do. Somewhere behind the big corral.”

  “Somewhere behind the big corral?”

  Tears threatened. She’d been on an emotional roller coaster for too many days, and it was taking a toll. “I was ten, Ry! I don’t remember exactly.”

  He rose from his chair. “Hey, it’s okay.” He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her, in full view of Leigh and Belinda. “We’ll dig up whatever we have to in order to satisfy those creeps.”

  She started to struggle away, but he held her tight. “Belinda and Leigh don’t care if I give you a hug,” he said gently. “And you look like you could use one.”

  “Hey, kiss her if you want,” Leigh said. “It’s been a long afternoon.”

  Ry chuckled. “I just might.”

  “Don’t worry,” Belinda said. “I think I can remember where the pumps were. And Dexter can remember, too. We’ll find the right spot.”

  “Somebody’s talking about me.”

  Freddy peeked over Ry’s shoulder. Dexter stood in the doorway of the dining room. Balanced on his walker, he surveyed the stacks of files with disapproval. “What a mess!”

  “We’re trying to find the receipt from that trucking company,” Freddy said.

  “They are.” Dexter swept an arm toward Leigh and his wife. “You’re not.”

  Freddy laughed. “No, I’m hugging Ry.”

  Dexter nodded. “Good.”

  “Yeah.” Freddy leaned back and smiled into Ry’s face. “He’s one of the good guys.”

  “That’s it!” Dexter exclaimed, clomping into the room with his walker. “Good guys! Good guys!”

  Freddy disentangled herself to turn and stare at Dexter.

  “Dragging!” Dexter said, obviously very excited. “No, lifting! Big. Real big! Round! Thataway!” He pointed in the direction of the road.

  Leigh pushed herself up from the table, her attention focused on Dexter. “Are you talking about the drums, Dex?”

  “Yeah! Good guys!”

  Disappointment swept over Freddy. She had thought maybe Dexter was remembering something significant, when he was only making a comment about the men who had done the hauling. Apparently, he’d liked them. “I’m sure they were good guys, Dexter. But we need the name of the company.”

  Belinda jumped up so fast, she knocked over her chair. “That was the name of the company. There was a trucking company back then that called themselves Good Guys!”

  With a gasp, Freddy ran for the Yellow Pages. She hurried back, flipping through the book. Then her shoulders sagged again. There was no Good Guys Trucking Company. “I guess they’ve gone out of business.”

  “Or somebody else bought them out,” Ry said, reaching for the book. “Give me a few minutes in your office, chérie.”

  “Ooh la-la!” Leigh said as he left the room. “Big sister, my hat’s off to you for catching a stud who speaks French.”

  “Good Guys,” Dexter said again, nodding. “I remembered.”

  “Yes, you did.” Freddy walked over and squeezed his arm. “It’s not your fault they’re out of business.”

  Belinda started reloading files into a drawer. “We’ll have to clean this up pretty quick. Dinnertime’s almost here.”

  “Right,” Freddy agreed. She and Leigh lifted stacks of files and settled them in the drawers. Leigh started to pick up a drawer that was full. “Let Ry do that when he comes back,” Freddy said.

  Leigh set the drawer down with a grin. “My, how quickly you’ve become used
to having a big, strong man around.”

  Freddy gazed at her sister. “It’s a little scary, isn’t it?”

  “I think it’s lovely,” Belinda said, patting her last files into place. “Now, I’d better go see how everyone’s coming along in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, Belinda,” Freddy said. “We couldn’t have—”

  “I found them!” Ry strode into the room waving a piece of paper. “Cunningham Trucking bought out Good Guys sixteen years ago.”

  Freddy was almost afraid to ask. “But do they have any records that go back that far?”

  Ry’s jubilant grin provided the answer. “The senior Mr. Cunningham saves everything, according to a disgruntled secretary. She promised she would have no trouble locating the receipt, and she was glad that there was some justification, at long last, for keeping all those dusty files. I gave her your fax number. She expects to send it within the hour.”

  Freddy had hurled herself into his arms before she realized it. She kissed him soundly, and whirled away to pump Dexter’s arm. “You did it,” she said, grinning at both of them. “What a team.”

  Both Dexter and Ry looked immensely pleased with themselves. Ry turned to the old man and held out his hand. Dexter shook it with enthusiasm.

  Leigh sauntered up, eyes sparkling. “Congratulations, and all that. But it’s time to get back to work, Ry, my friend. Freddy says you’re the man to call when it comes to hefting file drawers, and we’ll have dinner guests coming in any minute now.”

  “No problem. I’ll—”

  “In fact,” Leigh said, glancing around Ry, “someone just came through the front door with a suitcase. Freddy, were we expecting another guest tonight?”

  “Not that I know of.” She looked at the man silhouetted against the open doorway, a battered suitcase in his hand and a cowboy hat on his head. “Maybe he’s looking for a job,” she said in a low tone. “I’ll go see.”

  But before she could approach the stranger, he plunked down his suitcase and strode into the dining room, his boot heels hitting the pine floor with a confident thump. “T.R. is that you? Didn’t recognize you without your briefcase and three-piece suit.”