“What’s wrong?” Jess and Susannah asked at the same time.
“They’re falling out on Caroline’s side. Not enough pressure.”
As if a pipe had sprung a leak, the remaining cows on the far side of the creek were refusing to go into the water, and instead started trotting beside the stream. In an instant, the cows on Ford’s side had started running, as well. Dust roiled in the air, and the only sound was the thunder of hundreds of hooves. All the horses were now speeding up, while two black torrents of cows stampeded toward the north end of the valley and a four-board fence in front of a wall of trees.
The only thing in their way was Nugget, with Ford on his back.
Galloping just ahead of the cows on his tail, Ford sent Nugget into the creek again, directly across the path of the original runaways. As if bent by his will, the flow of animals curved just shy of the fence, turning in upon itself to become a slowly milling congregation of unhappy, but uninjured, cattle.
Wyatt took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “The boy is good. I’ll give him that.”
Watching through her lens, Jess said, “Wait. Somebody’s on the ground.”
Susannah stood at her shoulder. “Can you tell who?”
“I can’t find the horse. It went into the trees on the hill.” She brought the camera up and focused the lens, scanning until she found Dylan kneeling on the ground beside a prone figure.
“Lizzie,” she said, feeling hollow inside. “Lizzie fell off.”
* * *
DYLAN SAW THE moment when the drive started to go wrong, but there wasn’t much he could do to stop a train from behind. He figured Ford would turn them in on themselves and end the run. His big brother was talented that way.
The problem was seven kids in the middle of a cattle stampede. Horses tended to bolt when the cows did—they were all herd animals and reacted instinctively. Most of the teenagers could probably handle the situation and would sit back, relax and keep their heels down. They’d stay in the saddle okay.
But Lizzie was a nervous rider at best. As long as Major, her pony, did exactly what she expected, she was happy. If he made any sudden move, she panicked.
And so Dylan was watching when Major took off, just like the rest of the horses. Lizzie did all the wrong things—hunched her shoulders and jerked on the reins, giving Major something to pull against and a reason to keep running. Her hands came up and she wobbled in the saddle. Then, with a scream you could hear above the cow noise, she went down.
He threw himself off Leo and landed beside her on his knees, panting. “Lizzie? Lizzie, can you hear me? Are you okay?” He put a hand on her shoulder, brushing her blond hair away from her face. “Say something, sweetie.”
“It hurts.”
“What hurts? Your arm? Your leg?” She lay on her side, and he wasn’t sure he should move her.
“Everything.” She sniffed. “I want to go home.”
“We need to make sure you’re all right, first. Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?”
Eyes closed, she wiggled her fingers. The toes of her boots moved. “Yeah.”
“How about your hands and feet? Your arms and legs? Do those move?”
He checked her over and couldn’t see any obvious bone breaks. “Let me help you sit up, sweetie.”
“It’ll hurt.”
That was probably true. “But you don’t want to lie here in the grass. We want to get you someplace more comfortable.”
With a lot of coaxing, he got her on her feet. He thought she might have twisted her wrist. “How about getting up on Major again? Miss Caroline found him and brought him back. He’s sorry he ran off. The cows spooked him.”
“No!” She jerked away from Dylan’s hold, which indicated an overall lack of injuries on Lizzie’s part. “I never want to be on a horse again. I want to go home.”
Caroline rode up, holding Major’s reins. “You can’t walk, Lizzie. It’s too far.”
“I can go in the truck. It’s right up there.”
“Are you going to climb the cliff? They can’t drive down here.”
The girl put her face in her hands and started to cry. Dylan stared at Caroline and shrugged. “She could get on behind you.”
They finally convinced Lizzie to ride Allie with Caroline, but only to the site where they would eat lunch. Then she would never get on a horse again.
Dylan signaled to Wyatt to move the truck to meet up with Caroline and Lizzie. Ponying Major alongside Leo, he helped Ford and Garrett get the cattle drive to move forward again. He’d stayed up until after three sanding wood last night, but at least with all the action going on, he wouldn’t risk falling asleep in the saddle.
The cows didn’t like going through the creek any better the second time, but the wranglers’ tempers had gotten shorter with the setbacks and their voices firmer, so the whole herd made it across without losing any more calves or personnel. Ford led them through the gate in the fence, the boys and Becky and Lena kept a strong presence along the sides of the string, and Dylan pushed the very last of those dogies straight through into the lunch pasture.
“And all we have to do after this is repeat the process,” he told Jess as he sat down beside her on the log she’d chosen. “Minus the creek. We don’t have to cross water again today.”
“You look tired.” She frowned at him. “Something tells me you didn’t go back to bed last night.”
He grinned at her. “That would be the problem. One way or another.”
She frowned harder. “I would punch you but I have a sandwich in one hand and a drink in the other.”
“I’ll consider it done. Did you get some good pictures?”
“Loads of great shots, till the drama took over. Do you think Lizzie really wants to go home?”
“At this moment, she does. The shock of hitting the ground is a jolt to your emotions as well as your body. She’s been so careful, she hasn’t come off before this. Maybe when she realizes she’s not hurt, she’ll calm down.”
“The rest of the kids managed pretty well.”
“Most of them have fallen at least once. Even Nate. Sometimes being too careful works against you. Taking a fall can boost your confidence.”
Jess turned her head and their eyes met. Dylan heard the echo of what he’d just said, saw the same recognition go through her mind. The moment went still—no wind, no chattering kids, no bawling cattle, just the two of them alone, acknowledging a new understanding.
Ford produced one of his piercing whistles, and the silence broke. “Time to get lunch cleaned up so we can move on,” he announced. “Make sure all your trash gets to the truck.”
Dylan shook his head, put his hands on his knees and pushed himself upright. “What the trail boss says is law. I’ll take your trash.”
But, as usual, she had to be independent about the issue. “I can manage.” She walked with him to the truck. “You’re going to be short a helper—”
“Wrangler, we call them.”
“Short a wrangler. And there’s an extra horse. Will that be a problem on the rest of the trip?”
“It’s definitely less than ideal. We could move these cows with three or four experienced people, but keeping an eye on the kids and the cattle complicates the process. I do have an idea about how to solve one problem, though. If you’re willing.”
“Me?”
“You could ride Major. The pony Lizzie was on.”
She laughed. “You want to put me on a horse somebody else fell off of? The prospect doesn’t thrill me.”
“Lizzie fell off because she panicked. You won’t do that. Will you?”
Again, their gazes held. “No, I don’t think I would. He’s a good horse?”
“The best. And you’d be a big help. It’s more fun than riding in the truck, too.”
“Now, that’s a solid argument. Okay, I’m game. Do I have to wear a helmet?”
“Yes. Wouldn’t want to damage that high-powered brain of yours.”
�
��You said I wouldn’t fall off.”
“Does your magazine have a lawyer on staff?”
“Yes.”
“You’re definitely wearing a helmet.”
Once she’d climbed into Major’s saddle, Dylan realized he’d have to lengthen the stirrups. “You’re quite a bit taller than Lizzie. We’ll have to make some adjustments.” He put a hand on her knee. “Bring your leg forward so I can get to the straps.”
So there he was, with Jess’s slender, shapely thighs right at face level, trying to keep his mind on buckles and straps. “Can you bring your foot down so I can see how long...that’s right.” He cleared his throat. “Now stand up in the stirrups, and forgive the intrusion, but—” There was no way to tell how far off the seat she was except by touch, so he slipped his hand between her legs. It had to be his most awkward moment with a woman. Ever.
Dylan stepped back quickly. “Okay, you’re set. Just keep your heels down and your chin up. You’ll do great.” Jess’s cheeks looked as red as his felt. To avoid her gaze, he turned to Leo and swung himself into the saddle. “As they used to say on TV—head ’em up and move ’em out!”
Garrett took over the tail end of the drive. Marcos moved over to work with Nate and Becky, while Justino, Lena and Thomas stayed with Dylan and Jess. Ford threaded the leaders through the gate and the procession restarted, with the uphill portion of the trip ahead of them.
Despite his confident talk, Dylan worried that a cattle drive wasn’t the optimal setting for Jess’s second experience on horseback, but she proved him wrong. She took a few minutes to get used to Major’s gait, which was shorter and faster than Cash’s, but once settled she became a working part of the team. She kept Major close to the herd, applying the pressure they needed to move the cattle forward. And she did it with a smile, clearly enjoying the adventure. Her cheerful attitude infected Thomas, who’d done his work with a scowl most of the morning, as well as Lena’s and Justino’s outlooks. The afternoon became the fun experience they’d hoped it would be for the kids, at least on his side. All thanks to a snobby journalist from New York.
They reached their destination at about three in the afternoon. Ford opened the gate to the pasture but then circled around behind to help push the cows through rather than lead them. Recognizing the cool green grass they’d been craving all day long, the calves and their mamas trotted straight across the field for as long as they could stand before coming to a dead stop and starting to graze. After all the effort, the day turned peaceful as the humans sat on their horses and simply watched the result of their labors.
“So how do we get back?” Thomas asked. “Is somebody coming to pick us up?”
Dylan looked at him. “You’re sitting on your transportation.”
Marcos groaned. “Man, my butt is tired,” he whined. “I gotta get off.”
Lena didn’t say anything, just took her feet out of the stirrups and slid down from her horse. “I have to walk around. My legs are all cramped.”
“We can break for a few minutes,” Ford conceded. “Caroline’s got candy bars in her saddle bag and Garrett carried water. We’ll all feel better with a snack.”
And they did, for a while. But at the end of the day, when five adults and six teenagers rode their horses up the hill and stopped outside the barn, determining who was the most exhausted would have been a challenge. Dylan had found himself falling asleep in the saddle more than once on the way back, to the point that Jess had reached over and pushed him up straight, afraid he was going to fall off the horse. Fortunately, they were almost home at that point. He contemplated skipping dinner and going straight to bed. Then his stomach growled, reminding him that he should eat, too.
They all led their horses into the corral and were parked around the fence, slowly removing saddles, bridles and blankets, when Wyatt emerged from the barn. Dylan was bringing Jess’s saddle to the tack room, and so was within earshot when his oldest brother spoke with Ford and Caroline.
“Lizzie called home and no one answered. She reached her dad on his cell phone. Her parents are in Las Vegas.”
Caroline gasped. “They didn’t inform me they would be leaving town. When are they coming back?”
“That’s just it,” Wyatt said. “She told them she wants to leave the ranch. Today.”
Ford lifted an eyebrow. “And they said...”
“They have a room reserved for three weeks. They’ll be home ‘sometime’ after that.”
Garrett had heard, too. “Who’s listed on her paperwork to call in case of emergency?”
“Her aunt.” Wyatt cleared his throat. “She and her husband are in Vegas, too. There’s nobody left in Bisons Creek to take Lizzie in.”
Dylan filled in the blanks. “Except, of course, for us.”
Chapter Seven
“Not bad for an older woman.”
Jess glanced over as Dylan put his dinner plate on the table and sat down next to her. “Thanks. I think.”
“You are thirty-five, after all. Who knew you still had it in you to wrangle cattle?”
To celebrate their cattle drive accomplishments, the teenagers had been given the night off from cooking. Ford had grilled steaks and ears of corn while Susannah had baked potatoes and thrown together a big salad. Dessert would be the chocolate cake she and Lizzie had spent the afternoon baking. Now everyone had settled at the long table in the bunkhouse to enjoy the meal.
Jess gave Dylan a dirty look. “You’re asking for trouble, cowboy. I have that article to write up, remember. Insult me, and I’ll get even.”
He sighed and rested his head on his hand, poking at his steak with his fork. “Yeah, we still have that to deal with, don’t we? Couldn’t you just write about the camp instead?”
“Not unless you want to explain to Trevor Galleries why they’re not getting the punch for their advertising dollars.”
“The one time I spoke with Patricia Trevor, she struck me as a person who keeps a close watch on her bank balance. In fact...” Sitting up straight, he cut a piece of meat, but didn’t eat it. “In fact, I wondered why she called me in the first place. She doesn’t usually feature Western art. She’s more interested in glitz and glamour, from what I’ve seen of her ads. But she said my reputation alone would bring in business. I guess that’s where you come in with this blasted article.”
“Since the new gallery she’s opening is in Denver, maybe she expects Western themes to be more popular here.”
“Could be. Of course, Denver considers itself pretty sophisticated.”
Jess eyed his plate. “Why aren’t you eating?” When had she started worrying about him? And why? He had three brothers to do that.
“I’m too damn tired. And too damn hungry not to.”
As a distraction, she glanced at the girl huddled over her plate at the end of the table, also not eating. “I wish I could say I’m surprised that Lizzie’s parents would leave without telling anyone.” With a sigh, Jess forked up a mouthful of potato and butter. “But I’ve seen much worse.”
“Not lived it, I hope.”
She glanced around to gauge who might be listening. Not that she had secrets, after yesterday afternoon’s confession. “I was usually safe. But then, Lizzie is safe. I bet she feels abandoned, though. And that’s cruel.”
“But the other girls will help her out. Caroline is here. And you’re staying, which will give her something else to focus on. Maybe she can consider this her own private writing retreat.”
“Anything I can do.” She smiled, but then remembered she hadn’t yet canceled her return reservation to New York. “By the way, you haven’t noticed my phone lying on a table somewhere in the house, have you?”
“No, but I can check more closely. It’s not in the kitchen or living room?”
“Not that I saw. I talked to my editor this morning before we left and got the okay to stay out here for a week, as long as the article came in on deadline. I remember putting the phone down on the dresser in my room, but it’s not t
here. I figured I wouldn’t need it on the cattle drive.”
“Service out there isn’t reliable, anyway. And the cows drown out most other sounds.”
“I noticed.” She also noticed that he’d pushed his plate away with only half his dinner finished.
He noticed her noticing. “After all the calories Susannah has been feeding us, I don’t expect to be wasting away anytime soon.”
“I’m sure I won’t.” Her cheeks heated up at being caught watching out for him. “My jeans will all be too tight when I get back to New York.”
“I doubt the guys there will complain.”
Rolling her eyes, she stood up from her chair. “I’ll take your plate if you’re finished. Do you want cake?”
“Is that a rhetorical question? It’s chocolate.”
“Right.”
Friday night, Jess had learned, was movie night, when the kids were allowed to watch television from dinner until bedtime. Tonight’s movies were science fiction, which landed at the bottom of her preference list. She was prepared to be polite, but as she dried dishes while Dylan watched, she discovered she didn’t have to.
“I’m not a sci-fi fan,” he confessed, handing her a salad bowl. “Ugly monsters bursting out of people’s chests? No, thanks.”
“What would you rather watch?”
“Cowboy movies, which they’re not making too often these days. Or anything historical—pirates, gladiators, even World War II. The more accurate, the better.”
Jess dried the bowl without responding. How could something as simple as a movie preference set her pulse racing? So they shared a taste in films. Big deal. Anyway, movies based on Jane Austen books probably did not fall under Dylan’s “historical” category.
He passed her the serving platter. “I even enjoyed the films they made from Jane Austen’s books. Not much action, but there’s something so beautiful about England. And, of course, there are the horses. I’m a sucker for a movie with horses.”
Jess dropped the platter, which shattered on the concrete floor. “Oh, damn! I’m so sorry!” She hunkered down to pick up the pieces.
“Stop, we’ll get a broom.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Really, Jess, you’re going to get—”
A Husband in Wyoming Page 11
