Red Thunder Reckoning

by Sylvie Kurtz

  She looked away and busied herself straightening halters and lead lines on the hooks along the wall. The scars didn’t matter. She was curious about them, of course, but they didn’t matter.

  “I won’t ask about them,” she said, rearranging brushes in a caddie.

  “About what?”

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “The scars. If you want to talk about them, I’ll listen, but I won’t ask.”

  His intense gaze studied her, but he didn’t expand on the scars’ origin. She picked at dried grass on the bit of a bridle, trying to ease the strange pressure building inside her.

  Blue, who’d observed his master’s confinement from the aisle, tentatively nosed his head into the tack room. Ellen peered down at him. “You can come in if you want.”

  The dog gave her an uncertain glance, then, tail wagging in a slow arc, he made his way to Kevin’s side. Kevin seemed to relax as he petted the dog’s head.

  “I’m sorry Apollo bit you.”

  “I was the closest.” He shrugged with his left shoulder. The lean muscles flexed and extended, racehorse sleek, shiny with sweat.

  Her throat parched. She needed iced tea. She took a step into the barn’s aisle. A dry breeze ruffled her skin, making it prickle. “I wish he’d bitten Bancroft.”

  “He was just defending himself.”

  “But you were trying to help him.”

  The keenness of his gaze made her insides swirl in a warm wave of feminine awareness that took her off guard. She hadn’t felt this kind of heat in years. She hadn’t expected to ever feel it again. Not after Kyle. Not after Garth. Certainly not for a stranger.

  He’s not even the settling kind of guy, she thought, raking a strand of wet hair away from her face. You don’t need that kind of complication.

  “He had no way of knowing that hit on his rear didn’t come from me,” Kevin said. “I was in his line of sight and he had to defend himself.”

  The pack slipped from his shoulder. With a hand, he dragged it back onto his swollen muscle. His fingers splayed to hold the pack in place. The sun caught the tanned skin, throwing bone and ligaments into relief.

  She swallowed hard. “Still…I feel responsible.”

  He shifted so he could look at her more directly. “I should be the one apologizing for losing my temper.”

  Ellen gulped. A trick of the light, surely. For a second, she thought she saw Kyle in the piercing sadness of his eyes.

  I have to go, Ellen. Why can’t you understand?

  She blinked and the mirage disappeared.

  You’re a fool. Kyle is dead. Fantasizing about Kevin Ransom won’t alter the fact.

  He wasn’t Kyle. He was simply a hired hand. He was here for two weeks—to work—then he’d leave. If she lost sight of that, she might as well give up on the ranch, because she was obviously too feebleminded to care for these animals. They deserved her full attention.

  “If you hadn’t, I would have.” The venom in her voice took her aback. Not since Garth’s trial had she felt this base need to see someone punished. “Bancroft deserved what he got and more.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  She stared at him for a moment and studied the play of dusty light on his sharp features. “You’re really upset about this.”

  His forehead creased. Elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling between them, his gaze scrutinized the ground. “It goes against everything my grandmother taught me.”

  “Everyone feels anger.”

  “But not everyone acts on it. It’s a negative reaction.”

  “To a negative situation.”

  He shook his head, seeming to pluck at words from somewhere deep inside. “If I’d been in control, I could have diffused the situation in a more positive way.”

  The attachment he bore for his grandmother fascinated her. She must have meant the world to him to continue to guide him from the grave. Ellen’s hand tightened against the door frame. What if…? She shook her head. The past was a dangerous place to dwell. “Did your grandmother expect you to stay in control every minute of your life?”

  He looked up. The dark depth of his eyes robbed her breath. “She would say that control gives you freedom.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “When you’re ruled by emotions, they control you. You’re a prisoner at their mercy.” His features twisted in a mask of pain. The words sounded almost like an apology. For what? As far as she was concerned, he’d done nothing wrong. “But when you control your emotions, you’re free to choose. They have no power. They—” He shrugged and looked away.

  She couldn’t help feeling she’d missed something important. She took a step forward, meaning to comfort him, then stopped suddenly and reached instead to straighten a saddle pad.

  “Control,” she said. “Is that why you move from job to job?” She’d worked long and hard for her own independence; she could understand his need.

  “No.” His gaze sought the window and narrowed. She half expected him to continue, but he kept silent, lost in his own world.

  Kyle came to mind again. He’d talk about horses and riding and rodeo for hours, but when it came to emotions, the words always seemed to get stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat.

  He’s not Kyle.

  She dusted a cobweb from the corner. “It’s a need some people have—to keep moving.”

  “Sometimes you have to go to come back.”

  Something about his voice made her gaze seek his once more. Something urgent. Something…needful. Her heart beat heavily in her chest and a sense of regret skimmed over her like a ghost. “Is there someplace you’re working your way back to?”

  He was silent for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he shook his head. “No.”

  He stood up and placed the ice pack on the workbench.

  “It really ought to stay on longer.”

  “I’m fine.” He brushed by her. “I’ll check on Apollo. See if his pulse is down. Something’s not right with those Thoroughbreds.”

  Something wasn’t right all around, she decided as she headed for the house. Somehow, she’d failed him, too.

  THE NEXT DAY STARTED with an argument. His shoulder had stiffened to the point that any movement was excruciating, but Kevin had no time to baby his injury. To keep his job, he had to pull his weight around the ranch. He’d tried to hide his discomfort, but Ellen saw through his one-handed handling of the feed buckets. Each time he went back to the feed room for another ration, she dug into him.

  Some things never changed.

  He smiled. There was comfort in that. Comfort in knowing her experience hadn’t broken her resilience, her spirit.

  And comfort, too, in the soft pink light of morning speckling the barn aisle, in the slow rhythm of work before the heat set in, in the contented munching of oats and swishing of horse tails.

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said, measuring grain into a red bucket, “I forgot. Real men don’t feel pain.”

  He took the bucket from her, wanting nothing more than to crush her against the wall and kiss her senseless. It had once been his most potent weapon against her quick wit. He smiled at the memory of Ellen fighting his kiss while he stroked her breast until her nipple tightened and her comeback exploded into a soft curse of need and she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back until neither of them remembered why they had argued in the first place.

  His shoulder brushed against the door frame and an arrow of pain shot clear down to the tip of his fingers, reminding him of the role he had to play. “I’m feeling it all right.”

  “Did you ice it this morning?” She frowned up at him and the genuine care in her gray-green eyes speared a shot of guilt through him. That was pure Ellen through and through. He used to tease her, calling her Statue of Liberty because of all the strays she took in. Give me your tired, your poor… Your broken. Your needy. From partner all those years ago, he realized, he’d slipped to being simply one of
her scarred boarders.

  And that was the way it should be. She deserved a happy future.

  So why did it bother him so much?

  “I’ll do it after the morning chores.”

  He entered Perseus’s stall and clucked at him. The bay gelding stiffly moved over. Kevin clipped the bucket in place in the corner. The cat grooming itself on the partition didn’t pause in his task. Everything was as it should be.

  “By that time, you’ll have ripped the muscle apart.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Of course.” Even from the aisle he heard her derisive snort. “What was I thinking?”

  He took the next bucket from her, trapping her hand in his on the handle. The touch sparked a hum that vibrated through his hand and moved up his arm. “And you’re not pushing yourself to prove who knows what to who knows who?”

  Her chin cranked up. Her eyes challenged. Her lips pursed. And the urge to nip that lower lip and take her challenge down a notch ricocheted through him like a bullet gone wild.

  “It’s my ranch,” she said. “I don’t want to lose it.”

  “It’s my job. I need it.”

  “I gave you the day off. With pay.”

  “I’ve still got one good arm. I don’t believe in charity.”

  She huffed at him and climbed awkwardly to the hayloft. The sight of her trim rear sashaying up the ladder made him forget the pain in his shoulder. Her footsteps in the loft shook bits of hay and dust through the ceiling’s cracks onto his shoulders, calling him back to reality.

  She was out of bounds.

  He picked up the last bucket of grain.

  All of this—the ranch, the horses, Ellen—were part of the dream that haunted him at night. They could have been his. If only he’d held his temper in check. He’d promised Nina to make things right, not make them worse. He would help Ellen keep her dream, but he would not hurt her again.

  Pudge didn’t let Kevin get the bucket to the hook before he devoured his mere mouthful of grain.

  “Luci! No!” Ellen yelled from the loft. “Damn, she flew the coop again.”

  Kevin latched Pudge’s stall. “I’ll get her.”

  “It’s too late. She’s already rolled.”

  “Mud bath?”

  “From neck to tail.” She laughed and the sound thrummed through him, song-happy. “You’d think I was running a spa. If I could get a bridle on her, she’d make an awesome jumper the way she sails over that fence every day. Hey, maybe you can work more of your magic on her.”

  “It’s a matter of trust.”

  “In her case, it’s also a matter of pain. She’s still very tender at the poll.”

  He measured out flakes of hay and stuffed them into nets. “I’ll take a look at her this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon, you’re going to ice your shoulder and rest it.”

  “I don’t need my shoulder to look at a horse.” He chuckled.

  This was the Ellen he remembered, the Ellen he loved. Easygoing, bossy…in-your-face beautiful inside and out. Falling back on old rhythms was proving too easy. Watch your step.

  “Shoot!” Ellen muttered.

  “Need help?”

  Blue appeared at the barn door. Worry creased the skin above his eyes. He glanced toward the front gate, then back at Kevin. A navy truck coasted to a halt. The driver leaned on the horn.

  “Bancroft,” Ellen said through gritted teeth as she climbed down from the loft.

  She slipped on the last rung of the ladder. He steadied her with his good arm and was rewarded with an intoxicating whiff of moonflowers. Holding her was entirely too appealing. He had no business letting his hand linger on the curve of her hip, no business hungering for the feel of her skin, no business aching to kiss her. He let her go and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets.

  She nudged by him and stopped at the barn door. “It’s not a van, so he’s not here for Apollo. What do you suppose he wants?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.” He strode toward the front gate. Blue and Ellen flanked him like centurions in battle.

  Bales of hay and feed sacks filled the back of the navy pickup. The cab contained only one man.

  “What can I do for you?” Ellen asked the driver when they reached the gate.

  “I got a load of feed for Mr. Bancroft’s horses.” Through the open window, he handed her a clipboard. “If you’ll sign here, I can drive up and unload it for you.”

  Ellen and Kevin studied the form intently. Other than the greasy thumbprint on the edge, Kevin saw nothing out of the ordinary about the bill of receipt. But Bancroft didn’t seem like the type of man motivated by altruism. Why had he sent the feed? Why now, so late in the game?

  “They’re fed,” Ellen said. Her eyes narrowed. “Take it back.”

  “I got orders not to leave till I’ve unloaded the feed.”

  “Not my problem.”

  The driver shifted a wad of chewing tobacco from one cheek to the other. “It will be when I unload here.”

  “Why the sudden generosity?”

  Chewing on his wad of tobacco, the driver shrugged. “Mr. Bancroft likes to take care of his own.”

  She scowled as she took the pen and signed her name. “In other words, he doesn’t want me to forget they’re his animals.”

  The driver spewed a line of tobacco juice. The brown gob landed just shy of her boots. Kevin’s fingers twitched at his side. “I do what I’m told.”

  “That’s reassuring.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. She nodded at Kevin. “I’ll get the gate. You supervise his every move.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  An hour later, the truck bounced back out on the farm road. He and Ellen and Blue stood over the sacks of grain stacked in a corner of the feed room.

  “What do you think?” she asked, hands on hips.

  “An apology?”

  “I doubt it.” She cocked her head. “Electronic bugs?”

  “Unlikely.” As angry as he was, Bancroft had no reason to eavesdrop on them. The horses were well cared for and he knew it. A man like Bancroft peddled in opinion, in influence—bought and sold like commodities. Kevin straightened Blue’s bandanna. The dog licked his hand. “A way to impress the judge?”

  She flipped the end of her braid over her shoulder. “I hope not.”

  Or maybe he’d read him wrong. Maybe winning at any cost was Bancroft’s goal. Maybe he wanted to discredit Ellen by hurting the horses and blame their decline on her. “Drugs?”

  She frowned. “He wouldn’t dare, would he?”

  “Let’s have a look.” He took a penknife from his pocket and slit a bag open. He plunged his hand in the sack and let grain slide through his fingers. No signs of powders, but that didn’t mean anything. Bringing a handful of feed to his nose, he sniffed. “Looks and smells okay.”

  “Still, you can’t tell.” The creases on her forehead deepened. She kept rubbing one wrist with her opposite hand. “Why is Bancroft suddenly so interested in the feed the horses he’s sending to slaughter are eating? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe you’re chasing ghosts in the wrong place,” he said, seeking to alleviate the tension stringing her so tight. Watching her shoulders stiffen by the second without reaching for her and massaging her worry away was an unexpected form of torture. But mixing duty and desire would get him nothing but trouble. He reached for the bone feather in his pocket. His thumb worried the carved ridges. Stick to the plan. Maybe he was letting his feelings for Ellen get in the way of his judgment. “Maybe feed is just feed.”

  “Maybe, but why take a chance?”

  “Have the feed tested, then.”

  She nodded. “Bag up a sample from every sack. Break out a few flakes of hay, too.” She pivoted on her heels. “I’ll call Dr. Parnell.”

  He’d been wrong, Kevin thought as he scooped feed into plastic bags and tagged them. Nothing here was as it should be.

  Whether the feed was drugged or not, it was a message. T
he horses were Bancroft’s. He had no intention of losing them. And Ellen was getting in his way.

  JUST AS ELLEN PLACED a baking dish of oven-fried chicken on the table, the phone rang.

  “Go ahead,” she told Kevin, pointing at the food, then answered the phone.

  “You missed your appointment,” Taryn said.

  Ellen turned her back to her guest.

  “How do you know?” She dumped the peas and red potatoes in separate bowls and took them to the table, carefully avoiding Kevin’s gaze. He didn’t know about the physical therapy, and he didn’t need to know about her vulnerabilities. They were none of his business. He was just a hired hand.

  “I was at the doctor’s office with Shauna for her six-month checkup and ran into Kim in the hallway. She said you didn’t show for physical therapy and weren’t answering your phone.”

  “Something came up.”

  “Yeah?” The curiosity in Taryn’s voice made Ellen blush.

  She reached for a glass and filled it with iced tea, proud she’d hit her mark with no splashing. “Boy, you must be hard up for excitement if how I spent my day provides entertainment.”

  “So it wasn’t a roll in the hay with the hired hand that tied you up?”

  “Taryn!” The image that popped into her head was much too vivid. The scent of sweet hay, the rustle of it beneath a quilt, the light and shadows playing on bare muscles, the taste of salty skin—they were all so real that a strange liquid sensation slid through her.

  “Could have been just as effective as therapy,” Taryn offered.

  Ellen tossed her braid back. Therapy made her sore from head to toe. Making love—what little experience she’d had with it—had left her feeling…languid. And the thought of sliding her body against Kevin’s was far from relaxing. “Somehow, I doubt it.”

  “Okay, I’ll move on. For now. There’s nothing wrong with the horses, is there?”

  Ellen breathed silent relief. She didn’t want to talk about Kevin. That subject was too confusing. She bustled from the counter to the table with butter and bread and the pitcher of iced tea. Kevin pretended concentration on his meal. Blue snored by the door. “Bancroft had a load of feed delivered.”