by BJ James
“And questions you aren’t ready to answer yet.”
There was no rancor in his observation, and Savannah looked for none. From the moment she’d faced and acknowledged the depth of what she felt for Steve, she’d acknowledged that love and loyalty could not always go hand in hand. For the summer, with help from Sandy and Bonita, she’d skirted the problem, drifting along, happy and content, reveling in first love. Now autumn was upon them. The time of harvesting what one had sown.
“Not even Sandy could head him off if I’m among the missing tomorrow. But...” Spinning about in his path, she caught him around the waist, determined to hold back the inevitable, preserving for a little while what they had. “There’s no hurry now, is there?”
Tossing her Stetson and his away, he folded her in his arms. He would worry for her when she drove the rough road home in the pitch of night, but he couldn’t send her away. “No hurry at all.”
Music flowed over them as they sat together, watching darkness gather in the canyon in layers like drifting smoke. The hum of the generator didn’t encroach on the peaceful moment, and nothing distracted from the strains of the adagio that was her favorite.
The day and her surprise when she’d found the player and the trove of treasured compact discs was her most discerning and touching discovery of the unpredictable man she’d been given to love. Her surprise wasn’t that he liked music, nor even that Mahler and Martucci, and Grieg were among them. It was the origin of the music, its import.
Adagios. His mother’s music, her favorite.
“How old were you?”
As always in the quiet times, when they were even closer than in the aftermath of making love, he followed her thoughts. “I was eleven when we realized the weakness was more than simply that she was not strong. Twelve when the diagnosis was confirmed. From then, the ALS moved swiftly.” He used the initials for the tongue-tangling paralytic disease. Lou Gehrig’s disease, ALS. By any name, a slow and excruciating death sentence for the body of a vital woman, the imprisonment of an intelligent mind that would stay whole. “At the end, when all voluntary motion was lost, when her body was a cage, these were her escape, her one salvation.”
“And yours.” Savannah took his hand in hers. “Because it was all you could give her.”
“Until I was seventeen. Then nothing was enough.”
In golden moonlight it was easy to imagine how he’d been at seventeen. How handsome, with the first look of manhood about him. She didn’t need to be a mother to know a mother’s pride in such a son. “As long as she could see and hear, the music and you were enough.”
Martucci gave way to Grieg, and when the music ended darkness was complete. Autumn was in full tilt now and the celebration almost upon them. Knowing her schedule hardly left room for breathing, Steve walked with her to the truck, kissed her, murmured something into her hair and waved her on her way.
The road was an empty track before he turned away to the solitude of his night.
Humming as she worked, Savannah curried Lorelei until she shone like glistening black water. Steve had ridden out to repair a stretch of broken wire discovered along the way of their customary evening ride, and she was alone in the stable. The cough of an engine and the squeak of brakes went unnoticed as she launched into one of the more lively adagios.
Footsteps muffled by hay and her own exuberance stopped short of Lorelei’s stable, as the clap of a single pair of hands announced an intruder.
Whirling in astonishment more than fear, speechless, Savannah stared into the loveliest blue eyes she had ever seen.
“Well, well,” a femme fatale dressed in impeccably tailored Western garb spoke before Savannah could find her tongue. “Who are you?” Eyes that on second glance were too hard for real beauty swept over her. Assessing her, measuring her with calculated care. “You look more like a hired hand, but with a manicure and a little war paint, you could pass as one of Stevie’s latest buckle bunnies.”
“Stevie?”
“Of course.” The woman stripped her gloves from her hands, baring blood red nails. A superior smirk further marred her beauty. Her cool stare raked over the disheveled Savannah, the practiced eyes noting the evidences of a recent tryst and a swim in the misty pool at the base of the small waterfall. “Don’t pretend, and don’t play innocent. Not with me.”
Savannah bristled. “I’m not pretending, I never play innocent. And who the hell are you to walk in here asking questions and giving orders?”
“You don’t know.” Brows arched in a wicked cast. Artfully ruffled blond tresses tumbled down an elegantly clad back. “You really don’t.”
The woman paced a step nearer. Her bosom, straining against the tasseled blouse was generous, her leather clad hips were full, her legs long. “Are you too far in the boonies to know how to put two and two together?”
“I can add, if that’s what you’re asking.” Enough, Savannah thought, to know that a few more pounds and the seams of the leather costume would burst. “That doesn’t mean that I know who you are.” Stepping away from Lorelei, she nodded at the figure standing in the gloom by the door. “Or your friend, either, for that matter.”
“My name is Tad Jasper, ma’am.” A man of the same cut as Steve stepped into the light. Hat in hand, he spun the brim nervously. “I’m an old friend of Steve’s. We rode the circuit together.”
“Mr. Jasper.” Savannah acknowledged the introduction.
“No, ma’am,” the nervous cowboy rushed in. “Just plain Tad.”
Savannah inclined her head, an unconsciously regal gesture, as he turned back to the blonde. “That leaves you.”
There was nothing beautiful about the smile that bared perfect teeth. A wave of her hand flashed red talons. “Then, by all means, let me introduce myself.” Her pause for effect was almost laughable. “I’m Angie Cody.”
“Cody?” The name was all that Savannah could manage as a coil of dread settled in her stomach like a serpent. “Angie Cody?”
“Ahh.” The blonde was beginning to enjoy herself. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
Savannah shook her head mutely.
“Not in the newspapers?” Angie Cody was obviously grieved that her fame had not preceded her to what she considered backwater country.
“Our local paper isn’t exactly cosmopolitan. The society page consists of who is visiting whom, and what student made the dean’s list at which college. Other than that, unless you raised a prize bull, or bred a champion horse, I doubt you would make news here.”
“Then, perhaps, from Stevie?”
Savannah drew herself to her full height and moved to the stable door. “Steve has never mentioned any Cody other than his mother and father.”
He hadn’t discussed this woman, but Angie was one of the names he’d called in three days of delirium. Dread growing colder, coiling tighter, she waited for the dramatic revelation the blonde was building toward with malicious relish.
“Surely, being the honorable man he claims, he hasn’t misled you. Surely he’s mentioned me.” Angie lifted a beringed hand and fluffed her hair again.
The theatrical concern only sustained Savannah’s dismay, but she was too much the fighter to give this woman the satisfaction of her victory. “I have no idea who you are, or what you mean to Steve.”
“Oh, my poor dear!” Angie Cody preened a bit, allowing herself a small, pleased smile. “I thought you would know! That Stevie would have the decency to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Savannah had endured all she intended of this woman.
The sharp knell of a river stone beneath a hoof preceded the splash and thrum of a racing horse. Steve, returning from repairing the fence. Perhaps concerned about the strange vehicle parked by the barn.
Perhaps not, Savannah thought, as she matched stare for stare with the hard but beautiful woman who bore his name.
Angie heard the beat of the hooves, and the masterful confidence took on a reckless tone. A frown marked a forehead rarely
allowed to wrinkle. Brilliant nails curled into soft palms. Her game of cat and mouse ended abruptly as she rushed to deliver the blow she’d been savoring. “Surely you aren’t so obtuse that you haven’t realized that I’m Stevie’s wife.”
Wife. The word she’d suspected, expected. Dreaded. The knife thrust in her trusting heart twisted. Savannah felt as if she’d been dealt a killing blow, but none of her pain at her lover’s duplicity was revealed on her face.
Gathering the tools she’d needed with Lorelei she put them away, then opened the stall door and stepped through. “My chores are finished and I should be heading home.” Her voice was level and she was pleased by the cool, calm tone of it. “After such a long absence, you must be looking forward to a private reunion.” Glancing at Tad Jasper, who seemed even more ill at ease, Savannah wondered at his role in this. “A reunion for just the two of you.”
“I assure you I’m looking forward to seeing Stevie alone after so long.” Angie ran a nail down Savannah’s sleeve. “If you’ve kept him from being lonely, you really won’t be needed anymore.”
“What the hell!” Steve stood in the doorway, his stance militant, his eyes blazing.
“Steve!” Angie rushed to him, her arms outstretched as if she would embrace him. “Darling, you look marvelous.”
She was a pace away when he caught her wrists, holding her away. “Angie,” he spat the name. “What are you after now?”
Blue eyes blinked innocently. “Why, Stevie, I’m here because I’m you’re wife.”
He cut her short. “Ex-wife. Very ex.”
“I know, darling. That was a mistake I’ve come to correct.”
“The only correction I want you to make is to take your lap dog,” a jerk of Steve’s head was the first indication that he was aware of Tad Jasper, “and hightail it out of here before I throw you out.”
“Darling, you don’t mean that.”
“Try me.” Steve released the slender wrists that jangled with bracelets, and backed away.
“But, darling...”
Savannah had seen and heard enough. “This looks like a discussion that could take awhile. If you’ll let me pass, I’ll be going.”
“Savannah.” As she approached the door, Steve held his ground, blocking her way.
“Move, please.” Stopping abruptly, she kept her distance from Jasper and both Codys.
“This isn’t what you think,” Steve protested.
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”
But he did. It was there in her eyes. The hurt, the betrayal. The mistrust. With an angry gesture he ceased his pleading and moved from her path. “Go, then. If you believe so little in me.”
Oblivious of Angie Cody and Tad Jasper, Savannah stared up at Steve for a long while, searching for the man she’d loved and trusted. In his closed expression she found only bitter anger. After a moment she stepped past him and walked out of his life.
Chapter 14
“What the hell is this all about?” Steve’s bitter words lashed through the baleful stillness of the barn.
Savannah was gone, lost to him. She’d walked out of his life with a hurt and stunned finality, driven away by a faithless and deceitful woman. A mistake from another life. His own guilt, his long, silent reluctance to speak of the past, only fueled his anger. “What now, Angie? What are you after this time?”
“You know as well as I, darling.” Angie took a gliding, provocative step to him, raised a hand to his cheek and found her wrist caught in again a crushing grip.
Keeping her captive in his savage hold, in the murky light of the barn, Steve was a menacing specter as he glared down at her. His face grim with rage, his teeth clenched, he bore the look of a man pushed to the edge. A dangerous man, who could break her wrist with a snap of his own, and wish it was her neck.
“Damn you! Damn you for coming here.” His voice sank to a growl. “For hurting her.”
Blinded by his own distress, with innate gentleness fled from him, he bore down on the small bones of Angie’s wrist. At her cry of pain, Tad Jasper made a move toward them. A swift, threatening glance from Steve stopped him in his tracks.
“Hey, man.” Jasper backed away with a capitulating gesture. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then you picked the wrong company.” Flinging Angie from him, Steve watched dispassionately as she fell in a heap on a bed of straw. “You don’t want trouble, Tad? Put as much distance between yourself and Mrs. Cody as you can.”
Jasper knelt by Angie, brushing straw from her hair. He touched her as a lover would, a man too truly snarled in a web of hypocrisy to recognize it. As if she were made of glass, he helped her to her feet. “I guess I’m in for the long haul. What Angie wants, I’ll help her get.”
“Which isn’t me. The three of us know that.” To Angie he said with deadly calm, “It was never me, was it? Once the glamour and the money were gone, other pastures were more enticing.”
If he was honest, Steve knew he must admit the marriage hadn’t lasted even that long. The ultimate break came when the final injury ended his chances for the national championship and his career at once. But it was simply a culmination of something begun months before. Angie wasn’t cut out for the periods of unexpected solitude that were as much part of the rodeo as the excitement. She couldn’t deal with injuries curtailing her social life. And she hadn’t.
For months before the end of the short marriage, he’d coped alone, in whatever town, and whatever rodeo, while Angie caroused. She could always find the biggest and wildest party, like water seeking its own level. At first he felt it was innocuous, a lively woman searching for the excitement as necessary to her as life. In the end, he was glad when she elected to leave. Glad enough to give whatever she asked to make it happen.
That generous spirit vanished long ago.
When he looked at her carefully, objectively, there were cracks in the perfect facade. The sophisticated Western costume was an old one. There were worn and tattered places in the leather, a button dangled by a thread. Her makeup was little too heavy, her hair a little too brassy. The extraordinary beauty was slipping into the harshness of discontent. Perhaps that explained why the most striking of all the buckle bunnies, who once could pick from any number of champions, had attached herself to the less than illustrious Jasper.
Steve knew then why she’d come. He asked again, this time needlessly, “What do you want, Angie?”
“Why do I have to want anything?” Her shoulders were drawn back, her breasts thrust against clinging fabric. “What law says I can’t visit you, just to see how you are? For old times’ sake.”
A laugh erupted from Steve. “You never cared in old times, why would you now?”
“I cared,” Angie protested, disturbed that Steve was so thoroughly immune to her seductive ploy. “Wasn’t I always there by your side when you needed me?”
“You were by my side, all right. In the winner’s circle, and on the way to the bank. But when my ribs were smashed, or a shoulder displaced, you could be found at the nearest bar.”
“She was young,” Jasper interjected. “Too young to understand what it was like for us.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Tad. Angie was born old. She’d been around the circuit a time or two when I hooked up with her.” Steve regarded her with low-keyed disgust. “From the looks of her, she’s been around and down a time or two since.”
“Damn you, Steve Cody!” Angie would have launched herself at Steve again, but this time it was Jasper who held her away.
“I was damned the day I met you, Angie.” Steve didn’t flinch, he watched her, as unperturbed as he would if she were a stranger. “But not anymore.”
“You’ll pay for that.” Angie pulled away from Jasper, viciously tugging her clothing into order. “You’ll pay with everything you have.”
“Ahh.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “We finally come to the crux of the matter. Money. That’s what it all comes down to with you, isn’t it, sugar?”
The last was a long, soft drawl, the name one Steve knew she despised.
“It was certainly all you were ever good for,” she flung at him. “There were men out there, real men, who made you look like a boy.”
Steve smiled at the slandering of his virility. “You should know, sugar. You should know, as well, that I’m broke, so even the little I was good for isn’t there anymore.”
“No?” A wave of her hand encompassed the stables and the canyon beyond its walls. “A half million dollars on the hoof, and maybe more in land, what do you call that?”
“I call it a potential half million on the hoof, and an equal debt in land. With any profit to be realized in a far distant future. And, debt or profit, I call it mine.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken.” Angie played her trump card. “I call it ours. Half the stock and half the land you’re standing on belongs to me.”
“I’m sure you can’t wait to tell me how you arrived at that conclusion.” Jasper was forgotten as Steve’s narrowed gaze pinioned the gloating woman. Beyond the wide door of the barn, Gitano stirred, the saddle creaking as he stamped and pawed restlessly in the lowering sun. He was the bedrock of every dream for the Broken Spur, and he was forgotten in a riveting moment.
“Arriving at the conclusion was simple.” Glee became triumph. “When you and Charlie struck your bargain for the ranch, our marriage was very much intact.”
“No.” Denial was quick and sure, and wrong.
“Yes.” Angie smiled, perfect teeth framed by lips too darkly drawn against the encroachment of petulant wrinkles. “You were still in the hospital when the papers were to be signed. It was a while before you could.”
Steve remembered the transient aphasia, the weakness in his hands, resolved only shortly before he left the hospital. He’d signed a stack of papers at the time of his release. And though they’d been apart more than a year, one of them ended his marriage.
