by Janet Dailey
“What the hell do you mean, it’s not yours?” Will’s voice vibrated with temper. “Half of this damned ranch is yours now. It’s time you accept the responsibility.”
Responsibility. Beau felt the surge of old anger, every bit as hot and strong as it once had been. How many times had Bull Tyler hurled that word at him, always following it with accusations that Beau was worthless, more interested in partying, chasing skirts, and pulling stupid pranks than he was in shouldering his workload. And every time it had ended in a shouting match between them.
Pushed by that old fury, Beau rose to his feet, fists clenched tightly at his sides. At the same moment Will stood to meet him. Realizing his temper was on a hair trigger, Beau swung away.
“Go to hell, Will.” He pushed the words through his clenched teeth and headed for the front door.
Will called after him, “Dammit, Beau! You can at least sleep on it.”
He didn’t waste any breath answering him, not stopping until the front door closed behind his back and the chill of the night air washed over him. He paused and drank in a deep breath of it and wondered why he had bothered to come home for Bull’s funeral.
“Fixing to run away again, are ya?” Jasper’s voice came from the porch shadows on his right. Beau jerked his head around, quickly locating the old cowboy’s dark shape sitting on the long bench. “Can’t say I’m surprised, considering this wouldn’t be the first time you did it.”
“And I’m telling you the same thing I told my brother—go to hell, Jasper,” Beau muttered.
Wisely, Jasper didn’t immediately respond. He waited a couple beats, then released an amused sound that fell somewhere between a chuckle and a harrumph. “Sorta gives a whole new meaning to that old phrase ‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going.’ ”
“Don’t try to lay some guilt trip on me, Jasper. It won’t work,” Beau stated. “I don’t know what Kool-Aid you two have been drinking, but the visions you’re getting have no basis in reality. I’ve been gone too long.”
“It’ll come back to you quick,” the old cowboy countered in an idle tone.
“So what?” he challenged. “For you and Will, this ranch is the center of your universe, but it isn’t mine! I have a job, a home, and friends waiting for me back in D.C. I’ve made a new life for myself, and it isn’t here. Why should you expect me to give it up?”
“Your brother needs you.”
“Sure he does.” Beau didn’t try to keep the mockery out of his voice.
“You don’t believe that, do you,” Jasper stated. “I guess you have been away too long or you’d remember a Tyler breaks his own horse, no matter how many times he gets thrown. Nobody else does it for him. Will can’t break this one by himself. That’s a hard fact to swallow. So he did the most natural thing in the world—he turned to family.”
For the first time, Beau had no ready comeback and fell silent, letting Jasper’s calmly issued statement sink in. He shifted his attention to the night’s darkness just beyond the porch. Overhead, the sky was a glory of stars—stars that, with all the light pollution, didn’t show up in D.C.’s night sky.
Here on the ranch, the constellations greeted him like long-lost childhood friends. He could pick out the Big Dipper, the North Star, Orion, and the Seven Sisters. And stretching across the Texas sky in a breathtaking spill of light was the Milky Way.
Again Jasper’s easy drawl invaded the silence. “ ’Course, you’re right. It is damned selfish of Will to think you might come to his rescue. Why should you care that we’re short of hands and it’s past time for spring roundup? I’m sure you’ve already used up all your vacation time, and your job’s too vital to expect any extra leave—”
Beau cut across his words. “You’ve made your point, Jasper.”
“It’s about time.” The old cowboy rolled to his feet, steadied himself, then moved stiffly to Beau’s side.
“I never said I was staying,” Beau warned.
“I never said you were,” Jasper agreed. “At least now you’ll sleep on it, like Will asked ya.”
“Will’s like Bull. He doesn’t ask; he tells.”
“And you bristle at just about anything that isn’t your idea, just like you always did,” he observed. “It amazes me how you ever took any orders in the army. I’ll bet your tongue’s scarred from all the times ya had to bite it.”
Beau was too intent on the set of headlights coming up the lane at considerable speed to take any notice of Jasper’s good-natured gibing. “Who would be coming to pay their respects this late in the evening?” With a nod of his head, he directed Jasper’s attention to the oncoming vehicle.
By then both men could make out the shape of the big, white SUV as it swung into the ranch yard. “That looks like Natalie’s ride,” Jasper murmured. A second later the SUV swung into the ranch yard and took aim on the barn area. “The mare’s in trouble or Sky wouldn’t have called her. We’d better git over there.” As quickly as his arthritic knees would allow, the cowboy started down the steps to his truck, parked in front of the house. “You comin’?”
Common sense told Beau that both he and Natalie would be better off if he stayed right where he was. But she was too close, and the pull of her was too strong for him to stay on the porch.
Calling himself every kind of fool, Beau went down the steps and straight to the pickup’s passenger side, sliding onto the seat as Jasper clambered behind the wheel.
By the time they reached the barn, Natalie had already disappeared inside it. With all his senses in high anticipation, Beau forced himself to pause long enough to hold open the barn door for the slower-moving Jasper, , then followed him inside.
Letting his long strides carry him past Jasper, Beau made his way down the wide alley between the stalls to the lighted one, all the familiar smells of hay and horses swirling around him. The aging Border collie, already curled in his straw bed for the night, noted Beau’s passing with a lift of his head and a wag of his tail.
The gate to the stall stood open. Beau stopped a step short of it. The sweating buckskin mare was on her feet, hobbled and snubbed to a post at the rear of the stall. Sky was at her head, stroking her neck and shoulders, murmuring to her in the singsong Comanche way he had that invariably soothed the most nervous horse. But it was Natalie he focused his attention on.
Her sleeves were rolled up, long, rubber obstetrical gloves covering her bare hands and arms all the way to the shoulders. He studied her bent head, the dark sheen of her hair standing out against the mare’s dun-colored coat. She looked so damned small next to the stoutly muscled quarter horse that Beau couldn’t check the surge of protectiveness that swept through him.
Jasper halted next to him. “What’s the problem?” he asked, directing the question to Sky.
“The foal’s coming nose first.” His voice maintained its crooning tone. “She’s working to pull the front legs. Just pray it’s not too late.”
No further explanation was needed. Regardless of how long he’d been away from the ranch, Beau knew, as well as Jasper did, that once the birthing process began, there was roughly a fifteen-minute window. If the foal wasn’t born within that time frame, it was a sign of trouble. Both the foal’s life and the mare’s could be in danger. No wonder Natalie had come roaring up the ranch lane like it was a highway, in an attempt to shorten the precious moments being lost.
Natalie offered no comment. She was too intent on working the unborn foal farther back into the birth canal so she could maneuver its front legs into the proper position.
“Got one.” Her low mutter of victory quickened Beau’s pulse. He held his breath as she went deeper, working to unbend the other leg and pull both feet into position. Seconds crawled past.
“Done!” She stumbled backward, catching her balance. Beau began to breathe again. “Turn her loose, Sky. Let’s hope she can finish this by herself.”
Working swiftly, Sky unfastened the hobbles, freed the rope, and stood back to give the mare plenty o
f room. Glancing to his right, Beau saw that Will had come in to watch with the others.
Horses most often gave birth on their sides, but Lupita didn’t take the time to lie down. Bracing her hind legs apart, she strained once. Muscles rippled as her foal slid into the world and dropped to the soft, clean straw.
Will gave a whoosh of relief. Jasper was laughing and cheering. But Beau’s eyes were on Natalie. She was staring at the foal.
“Something’s wrong,” she said. “It’s not breathing.”
In a flash she was bending over the newborn foal, extending its head and clearing the membranes from its nostrils. With a clean towel, she began rubbing the little body, almost roughly. “Come on . . . ,” she murmured, tickling the foal’s nose with a piece of straw. “Come on, breathe . . .”
There was a little sputter, then a cough as the baby sucked in its first breath of air and began to stir. Natalie sank back onto her heels, her head sagging, her shoulders slumping for a moment before she checked the foal again. “Congratulations, Lupita,” she said, grinning. “You’ve got a fine boy!”
The mare had shifted toward her baby and begun licking him clean. Behind her, Sky was busy tying up the long umbilical cord. It had been severed, as it should be, when the foal dropped, but until the mare passed the placenta, the trailing end had to be kept clear of her hooves.
Alert now, the foal raised his head. With the membranes cleared away, his true color could be seen in the shadowy stall. Natalie noticed it first. “Oh . . .” she breathed. “For heaven’s sake, will you look at that?”
Beau gave a low whistle as his eyes caught the gleam of a brilliant golden coat and the damp threads of a creamy mane. “Unbelievable,” he murmured, and it almost was. A random mix of recessive genes from the foal’s buckskin dam and chestnut sire had produced the rarest of colors. The tiny foal was a palomino, the first in memory on the ranch.
As if to make up for his rough entry into the world, the little fellow was already struggling to stand. He worked his rear up onto his impossibly long hind legs, toppled into the straw, and promptly tried again. The third time, with nuzzling encouragement from his mother, he made it. Wide-eyed and quivering, he stood for the first time, gleaming like a little piece of the sun.
Sky glanced back at Will. “Now you can get Erin.”
But Will had no sooner turned to go than Erin burst into the barn. Still in her pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and flannel robe, she’d evidently seen the lights from across the yard and discovered that her father was missing from the house.
“Is it born?” She was out of breath, her long hair tangled from sleep. “Is my foal here?”
Erin pushed forward past the watchers. Natalie had stripped off her gloves and moved back to stand near Beau. Only Sky remained in the stall with the mare and foal. Straightening, he turned and gave her a rare smile. “Come on in, Erin,” he said in a voice that scarcely rose above a whisper. “Quietly, now.”
Erin knew how to behave around mares with new foals. She walked softly into the stall, making no sudden moves. Only when she was close enough did Sky step aside, giving her a full view of the foal. “Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, he’s so beautiful!”
“Come and touch him,” Sky said. “Since he’s to be yours, you’ll want him and his mother to know your smell.” Beckoning her close, he took her hand and rubbed it along the foal’s back. “That’s it. Now put your arms around him. Lean over his back and give him a hug. You’ll want your scent all over him. And you’ll want him to know that scent means something good.”
Almost sobbing with excitement, Erin did as she was told. As she embraced her foal, a quiver passed through the small body. Lupita raised her head and nickered.
Sky touched Erin’s arm. “That’s enough for now. I think this little fellow’s ready for a meal.”
Released, the foal tottered under his mother, butted instinctively for a teat, and began to suck. His creamy little tail twitched with pleasure as he drank.
Beau glanced down at Natalie. Her cheeks were wet with tears. As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked up at him. “Sorry,” she muttered. “For a vet, I’m way too emotional. It’s late. Time for me to go.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Beau said.
“No.” Her eyes flashed him a warning look before she turned to gather up her gear. A moment later she said good night to the others and strode out of the barn.
Beau watched her leave, aware she was right not to trust being alone with him. Every time she was around, he had trouble keeping his eyes off her, let alone his hands. As much as he might wish otherwise, she wasn’t his girl anymore. She was another man’s wife. The sooner he accepted that, the better off both of them would be.
CHAPTER 3
It was almost 10:00 p.m. when Lute walked through the front door of the Blue Coyote. He’d hitched a ride to town with a cowboy named Ralph who had a ’93 Chevy pickup and a girlfriend who worked the late shift at Burger Shack. One of these days he’d have his own car, Lute vowed as the pickup pulled away. And it wouldn’t be a twenty-year-old piece of crap like Ralph drove, either.
Inside, the antiquated sound system was playing Hank Williams, which fit the retro theme of the place. There were autographed photos of old-time rodeo stars on the walls. A set of massive, mounted longhorns, wider than the span of a big man’s arms, hung over the big-screen TV above the bar.
Stella, the busty, middle-aged redhead who owned the place, knew all her customers by name. Tonight she was dressed in a black silk shirt embroidered with roses and a tight denim skirt. “Howdy, Lute,” she greeted him. “Have a seat and tell Nigel here what you’re drinkin’ tonight.”
Nigel, who served as bartender and bouncer, seemed out of place in the Western-style bar. With tattooed arms, a wrestler’s build, and a shaved head, he looked more like a biker than a cowboy. But he knew his job, and if anybody messed with him, they didn’t do it a second time.
Lute ordered the cheapest beer on the menu, paid for it with the last of his pocket change, and nursed it while he scanned the crowded bar. Just his damned luck, Slade Haskell wasn’t here. But since Ralph wouldn’t be by to pick him up for a couple of hours, he had time to kill.
Jess, the only waitress in sight, bustled past him with a tray full of drinks. Lute watched her walk away, liking the tight fit of her jeans, her black T-shirt, and the perky little pink boots on her feet. She was young and thin, with limp brown hair and a tired expression on her pretty face. Lute wouldn’t have minded getting to know her. As a half-blood Comanche with scarcely a dime to his name, he had more sense than to hit on the girl. But once he had money and a car, things would be different.
He’d finished the beer and was fidgeting with the empty bottle when Slade walked in. He was wearing his work clothes and looked pissed, like maybe he’d had a fight with that hot wife of his. Lute bit at the edge of his lower lip, wondering whether this might be a bad time to approach Haskell about a job. Trouble was, he didn’t know when there might be a better one, and he was tired of shoveling shit all day.
Deciding that tonight might be his only chance, Lute pushed off the bar stool and wandered over to the booth where Slade Haskell sat alone. “I heard a rumor you might have an opening for a driver,” he remarked, trying to sound cool and offhand.
Glancing up, Slade looked him over. “You asked me about a job a couple weeks ago. You’re the kid working out at the Tyler spread, aren’t you?”
“I work there,” he admitted, “until I can find something that pays better. Cleaning out stables isn’t exactly something I want to do the rest of my life.”
“So you were the one in there when she checked on that mare.” His gaze narrowed on Lute in thoughtful study.
“That was me.” He nodded, and wondered how much more he should say—and where it might get him. “Quite the reunion it was between two old . . . friends.” He hesitated deliberately to stress the latter word.
“Really.” The single-word response from Slade seemed to encou
rage Lute to say more.
“I got the feeling they were old flames,” he volunteered. “But something told me the fire wasn’t out as far as Beau was concerned.”
“I knew it,” Slade muttered, more to himself than a response to Lute’s statement. Before he could add more, the waitress, Jess, stopped by the table with her order pad in hand. In the blink of an eye, Slade lost that half-angry brooding look and flashed her a grin. “Two Coronas for me and my friend here,” he boomed, and gave a wink. “What time are you off tonight, girl?”
A shadow flickered across her face. “Not till closing. Then I’ve got plans.”
“Too bad.” The grin remained. “Well, maybe next time.”
“Sure.” She walked off to get their drinks.
Lute stared after her. “Slade, is that girl a—”
“Naw. Just a nice, friendly waitress. Best kind.”
“Does she let you . . . you know?”
“Hell, boy, I’m a happily married man. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” He sank into a sullen silence while Jess brought their beers and set them on the table. For the space of a quick breath, her gaze locked with Lute’s. But what he read in her sad doe eyes wasn’t an invitation. It was more like a warning.
Slade took a long swig of his beer. “About that work I mentioned. Still interested?”
Lute’s pulse jerked. “What do you think I’m here for? Tell me more.”
“Not much to it. You keep your job with the Tylers and phone me every few days about what’s going on out there—stock coming and going, new equipment, new people, any trouble on the ranch, whatever. If I don’t pick up, you can leave a voice message. It’ll be like you’re my eyes and ears. Long as you do your job, I’ll pay you fifty dollars a week. You can come by and pick up the cash from Stella when you’re in town.”
Fifty dollars a week for doing almost nothing. It wasn’t a fortune, but for now it would make the payments on a cheap car. And if he proved himself, maybe the job would lead to better things.
