Chase the Clouds

by Lindsay McKenna

  “God,” he breathed softly, “you ought to wear your hair down all the time, Dany.”

  That simple compliment began her second day of the drive. Breakfast was over by five, and they were all in the saddle by five-thirty, pushing the lazy, sluggish herd even higher into the brush-laden hills. Sam’s expression was one of forlorn wistfulness as he rode off, leaving her. Dany gloried in those few parting seconds. It was as if he had reached out, invisibly kissing her lips in farewell. Sighing, she gloried in the beauty of the Sierras, the call of the mating birds and the lullaby of lowing provided by the herd.

  Bomarc moved easily beneath her as she and five other cowhands continued to push, cajole and drive the end of the herd up a particularly steep, rocky incline. The temperature had risen steadily, and at first opportunity, Dany pulled the gelding to a halt and strapped the coat behind her saddle. Rolling up her sleeves she put on a pair of deerskin gloves and took up the lasso in her right hand. Bomarc scrambled nimbly over a series of small hills, easily catching up with the reluctant herd.

  The sun was nearly overhead when a Hereford with long, bent horns broke from the herd. Dany pressed her leg against Bomarc, and they scrambled down into a V-shaped ravine after the sullen Hereford. The cow, having made the trek for many years, was determined to make good her escape. Instead of dodging back toward the herd, she clawed up and over the lip of the ravine, scrambling for the heavy brush and forest three hundred yards ahead.

  Dany yelled encouragement to the gelding, leaning forward as the horse lunged over the top, sending a spray of rocks and dirt flying in all directions. Wind tore past her face as she guided the horse to the right side of the cow. Giving a loud yell, Dany slapped the lasso against her chaps. The sound echoed like pistol shot. The cow doggedly ran on, desperately moving for the cover of the brush.

  “Damn!” she breathed angrily. She saw the low-hanging branches looming closer as Bomarc ran hard, his hoofs pounding deeply into the slushy mud and snow. She squeezed him hard, asking for one last spurt of power. The gray dove ahead of the old cow and, at the last second, leaned to the left, colliding heavily with the animal.

  Dany heard someone yelling far behind her and disregarded the cry. The forest was close and they were going too fast, the cow stubbornly resisting the gelding’s nudge. Leaning over, she drove the gray into the cow, taking the rope and slashing it down across the Hereford’s eyes. Both horse and cow collided heavily as they jointly made a swing to the left, back toward the herd. Dany threw her weight to the right, suddenly feeling Bomarc falter, slipping in the mud and the carpet of slick pine needles. She was going down! Throwing the reins forward, Dany let go of the rope, bringing her arms up to protect her head. The ground came rushing up in a thunderous crash. She felt Bomarc’s weight on her leg and heard the horse grunt heavily. Blackness rimmed her vision, but she lay perfectly still as the gelding rested momentarily against her left leg. The gray got shakily to his feet, mud dripping off his sweaty body. She didn’t move, waiting for the blackness to disappear before she tried to get up.

  “Dany! Dany!”

  She turned groggily toward Sam’s voice, watching Altair slide to a stop. Sam dismounted, running over to where she lay. “Dany…” he breathed heavily, leaning over her. “Are you—”

  She gave him a silly grin. “I’m okay,” she muttered.

  His eyes broadcast his undisguised concern as he cradled her head and shoulders against his body. She glanced down at her muddy arms and legs and shook with silent laughter. Sam looked down at her strangely, undecided as to her condition.

  “I’m okay,” she managed between giggles. “Oh, God, I must look like the original mud pie!”

  Sam managed an unsteady smile as he gently squeezed her arms and legs to make sure nothing was broken. Dany rested against his shoulder, her ear pressed against his chest. His heart was pounding thunderously, matching the cadence of her own.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” he growled. “Didn’t you hear me calling you back?”

  She slowly sat up. “No. That cow really wanted to escape.”

  “You should have let her go, Dany,” he remonstrated, getting to his feet. “You could have hurt yourself badly in those woods. Look at those low-hanging branches,” he ordered, his voice taking on a sterner note.

  Properly chastised, Dany said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  Handling her as if she were fragile cargo, he helped her stand, seemingly afraid to release his protective hold. Reluctantly, Sam withdrew his support and rested his hands against her hips. “Better get back to the wagon and get a change of clothes,” he suggested.

  She nodded, moving over to where her horse stood. Running her hands down each of Bomarc’s legs, she checked for injuries. Finding none, she finally stood up. Sam had mounted, scowling. Flipping the reins over the gray’s head, Dany swung back into the saddle, joining him. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “You take too many chances,” he growled.

  “Me?” And then she smiled impishly. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to get me to do?”

  He grinned hesitantly. “Lady, if this kind of ground doesn’t faze you, then we won’t have much of a problem getting you confident to ride.”

  “I don’t know which is worse: taking a chance riding in a show or taking a chance on men,” she muttered.

  Sam laughed. “Sometimes one isn’t much safer than the other,” he commented.

  “Oh, yes, it is. I can always mend a broken bone or a torn muscle. You never heal a wound to the heart,” Dany murmured.

  He regarded her darkly. “You can,” he said, “with time.”

  Eight

  By the end of the second day, the first plateau of hills had been scaled. Dany stood by a stream, admiring the setting sun as it spread its reddish rays over the warming land. The temperature had risen all day, and by nightfall there wasn’t a cowhand who hadn’t rolled up his long-sleeved shirt. Men and horses had sweated heavily all afternoon with water being consumed at a phenomenal rate. Juan had just set up the camp and a fire crackled pleasantly in the background. Someone had taken out a harmonica, and the forlorn tune wafted like a ghostly melody between the large conifers, adding to the magic of the moment.

  She had discovered a stream and washed her hair less than an hour ago. It hung in dark, thick sheets about her shoulders. Taking a washcloth, she scrubbed herself free of grime. Bomarc stood patiently while she put him in the stream, washing the dried mud from his shoulder and flank. One of the cowhands shook his head as he rode by, and she returned the grin. She hadn’t seen any of them giving their horse a bath.

  Softly humming a tune, Dany had enough energy left to help Juan in preparations for the dinner. The Mexican bobbed his head, thanking her profusely. Soon, small chunks of onion, potato and carrots simmered in beef broth within the huge blackened kettle sitting over the fire. The hands were unsaddling their tired mounts and wearily waiting for their mug of steaming hot coffee.

  Juan finished kneading the biscuit dough, asking Dany to roll it out on the uneven surface of the back of the chuck wagon gate. “I hear you gave old Lizzie a run for her money, señora.”

  Dany lifted the rolling pin, sprinkling more white flour on it. “Lizzie?” she laughed.

  “That old boss cow. Pete said she tried to make for the brush, but you stopped her. You fell?”

  She scratched her nose, unknowingly leaving a patch of flour on the tip of it. “Yes. Bomarc and I took a small spill. We got her turned back, though.”

  “Bravo! They said you were magnificent!” His almond eyes fairly gleamed with pride.

  “Sam said I was stupid,” she muttered, flattening out the dough more. “There,” she murmured. Taking a plastic glass, she dipped it in flour and began to cut out the biscuits, quickly putting them on the baking sheets Juan provided.

  “Who said you were stupid?” Sam rumbled from behind her.

  Dany gave a start, whirling around. “Oh!” she gasped.

&nbs
p; Sam looked down at her, unable to contain a grin. He reached over, rubbing the flour off her nose. “Are you always this messy in a kitchen?” he teased warmly.

  Dany blushed scarlet and looked down, groaning. White splotches of flour decorated her arms and her jeans. “I should have worn a tablecloth like Juan,” she muttered, returning his grin.

  “Something, anyway. Now, getting back to your earlier comment, who said you were stupid?”

  She returned to her duties. “My words, not yours,” she corrected. “About chasing Lizzie back to the herd.”

  Sam leaned lazily against the wagon, watching her. “I didn’t say that. You’re new at this, Dany, and I just don’t want you taking chances, that’s all.”

  “I know. And you think you have worries now. Wait till we get to Santa Barbara.”

  “Are you always that reckless?” he wanted to know.

  Dany shrugged her shoulders. “There’s a difference between being reckless and taking a calculated risk.”

  “That’s why Altair loves you. He’s the same damn way. By the way, do you want to ride him tomorrow?”

  Her eyebrows moved up. “Me?”

  “Sure. Why not? You’ve handled Bomarc well. I don’t think it’s wise that I ride Altair for eight solid days. I want him to remember your touch and your cues.”

  She nodded, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Why did it always itch when her fingers had something on them? “What kind of country will we be in tomorrow?”

  “Rolling hills. Like the state of Virginia.”

  “Good! I was getting tired of all this brush,” she admitted. “Have you seen my chaps? They look like they’ve gone through World War III already!”

  He grinned, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his dark hair. “Makes you a veteran now, Dany. After dinner, I’d like to take you for a walk. How about it?”

  She stopped making the biscuits, gazing up into his strong face. Perhaps it was being outdoors for two days. Or maybe it was the infectious magic of the Sierras. But she wanted to be with Sam. “Yes,” she whispered, “I’d like that, Sam.”

  “Good.” He touched her nose again. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were born with flour on your nose,” he teased as he was leaving.

  * * *

  The night remained warm, with a slight breeze drifting through the shadowed mountains from the west. The stars hung like sparkling crystals in the sky as they walked slowly up an unseen trail. The fragrant pine scent wafted up from the carpet of needles beneath their feet, and Dany inhaled deeply. She was acutely conscious of Sam’s body only inches from her own. A silent unspoken strength exuded from him as surely as warmth did from the sun. On a purely feminine whim, she had tied a red ribbon around her thick ponytail. She felt his hand grip her elbow and steady her as they climbed to a rock outcropping.

  “Sore?” he asked as they halted at the rim.

  Dany nodded, scanning the darkness. “I was lucky I didn’t break a leg or ankle today when Bomarc fell,” she admitted.

  “We both know that. You laid there and started laughing like a ten-year-old kid,” he muttered.

  She laughed softly, continuing up the narrowed trail ahead of him. She gingerly tested the earth before placing all her weight on each foot as they progressed. “Well, I can imagine how funny I looked drenched from head to foot in mud and pine needles!”

  “That you did and I’m glad you came up laughing. Most women wouldn’t.”

  “Most women aren’t Grand Prix level trainers, either,” she reminded him tartly.

  His hands slid about her waist, pulling her to a stop. Dany held her breath, feeling the warmth of his leanly muscled body against her back. He pointed to the right. “And riders,” he reminded her gently. “We’re about ten miles across the valley from where a pair of condors make their home.”

  She remained still within his arms, his male scent a special, inviting fragrance to her senses. “Didn’t you say they were rare?”

  Sam leaned against the rock, drawing her against him. “Yes. They’re on the endangered species list. We have a pair that mates and has one or two young ones every year. I’ve had officials from the Sierra Club come up and watch them for a month so a scientific record can be compiled on them.” He sighed. “We really don’t know that much about them. They’re loners who stay as far away from civilization as possible.”

  Dany twisted her head, drinking in his troubled face. “Like you?”

  He smiled absently, gazing down at her. “A loner, or staying as far away from civilization as I can?”

  “Both.”

  “What do you think of loners?” he breathed, rubbing his cheek gently against the side of her head.

  Her pulse pounded at the base of her throat. “That—” she stammered, losing her sense of equilibrium in the face of his overpowering presence, “that they are either very self-assured people or they are afraid to get involved emotionally.”

  “Then you’re a loner by your own definition,” he whispered, sliding his hand up the expanse of her arm and resting it on her shoulder.

  Dany compressed her lips. “Are you accusing me of being afraid to get involved again?” she flared.

  “Yes, I am, honey. I was that way for a long time after my divorce, too.”

  Dany stiffened, moving out of his arms. She wished for her coat now, suddenly chilled as she turned and met his shadowed gaze. “No one heals in nine months, Sam! Not if they really loved the person they left.”

  “You loved him, but he didn’t love you?”

  Pain wrung in her chest. “If you must know, yes! Please, can’t we get on another subject?” she whispered in anguish. Why must he keep bringing up her dead marriage? Her mistake?

  “I’m sorry, honey,” he murmured.

  She rubbed her arms in displeasure. “My personal life is my business, not yours.”

  “When I care about someone, I make it my business,” he replied, his voice hardening. “Plus, I’ve stumbled onto some information that might upset you a great deal.”

  “Meaning what? You’re talking in riddles.”

  “Did you know that your ex-husband is going to be showing at Santa Barbara, Dany?”

  She heard herself inhale sharply. “What?”

  Sam remained against the rock, watching the play of emotions across her face. “The show brochure came a day before we left on the drive. He’s riding the favorite French candidate, named Falcon. You’re going to be riding against him, Dany. I don’t know how you feel toward him. I worry that you might be a little more emotional than normal, and I don’t want to see you injured. It’s as simple as that.”

  Tears pricked her eyes and she swallowed convulsively. A collision of feelings exploded within her. Jean was back! And in all of his international glory. Well, he had finally gotten what he wanted: the best Grand Prix horse in Europe to ride. And Sam…all his courting and courtesy were nothing more than to test the waters of her emotional stability to make sure his horse had a chance to win!

  “How do you feel about riding against him?” Sam prodded coolly.

  Gritting her teeth she snarled, “Like I feel toward you!”

  “Anger isn’t going to make it, Dany. Why are you upset with me?”

  She tried to brush past him, but he reached out, easily capturing her shoulder. Turning her around, he pulled her close. “I asked you why,” he demanded.

  “All—all this care you’ve given me is nothing more than a show! You just wanted to make sure I was in good enough shape mentally and emotionally to ride that damn horse for you! I should have known better. Now let me go!” She tried to twist out of his grip. His fingers tightened, biting deeply into her flesh.

  “Stop it!” he growled. “Dany…stop struggling!”

  She found herself helplessly trapped against his rigid body. “I can’t figure you out, woman,” he breathed angrily, his face scant inches from her own. “One moment you’re fighting me because I show you some affection. The next
second you’re angry because I’m concerned for your safety. What in the hell do you want from me?” he ground out.

  Pinned completely against him, Dany felt his heart pounding thunderously. She made one more effort to escape from his grip. The ribbon that she had tied in her hair loosened as she twisted her head, the rich cascades falling around her shoulders, glinting like blue cobalt in the thin wash of moonlight. She felt his hand cupping her chin, drawing her face upward. Her lips parted in response as she heard him groan her name, his arms capturing her totally.

  His mouth fell upon her lips in a plundering, breath-stealing kiss. This time, there was no tenderness, no gentleness. Fire erupted from her as his tongue invaded the moist recesses of her mouth, plunging her into a spiraling vortex of utter sensation. His mouth moved insistently against her lips, and suddenly, she felt his steel grip easing. Her legs would not hold her, and she leaned heavily against him.

  “Dany…Dany…” he whispered roughly. His fingers moved through her hair, capturing the tresses, pulling her head back. She melted into his arms, helpless to stop him from assailing her again. Her hand had moved upward against his chest, weakly pushing him away. But this time, this time his mouth brushed her throbbing lips. He kissed away the pain, his tongue grazing the outline of her lips, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, coaxing her gently to become a partner. His hands moved caressingly up her rib cage, lingering against the fullness of her breast, making her shiver with need. The roughness of his face against her cheek, the warmth of his breath, the male hardness insistent against her hips, threw her into a cascading waterfall of flaring desire.

  Gradually Dany floated back to earth, still in Sam’s arms. At first she thought she was trembling. But it wasn’t she. It was he. His breath was coming in gulps, and she sensed his need for her in that raw moment. She could barely stand after that shattering kiss. Touching her lips, she gazed up in wonder at him. His eyes were hooded, watching her with silvered fire deep in their recesses. Dany shivered, never more fully aware of her ability to arouse a man. She had never been kissed like this…. A small moan echoed in her throat as she began to understand for the first time how much she had missed in her hollow, one-sided marriage.