“It’s a yes,” she told him impulsively. If it wasn’t for everything going on around them, she’d have easily agreed to meet him later. She could do this guilt-free.
He searched her expression, clearly astonished.
As the silence stretched, she told herself to hold her ground, not to lose her nerve.
He eased slightly farther away. “You’re messing with my head.”
She wasn’t.
He shook his head. “You’re manipulating me. There’s no way you’re showing up at my house.”
Her first instinct was to correct him.
But thankfully, good sense returned before she could open her mouth. What was she thinking? She couldn’t meet Seth at his house for a clandestine fling. It was the craziest idea she’d ever had.
She stepped fully away from him, smoothing out both her clothes and her expression. “What was your first clue?”
* * *
Seth had suspected from the beginning that Darby had the power to mess with his mind. But even his worst fears hadn’t come close to reality. He couldn’t forget about her, couldn’t concentrate on work.
It didn’t help that Judge Hawthorn had accepted the petition to hold a referendum. In a long speech, saying he was acting in the best interests of civic order and for the good of Lyndon City, he ruled in Darby’s favor, granting the referendum.
By Friday afternoon, Seth realized he had to take a break from the fray. He’d left the office early and driven the two hours to his family’s ranch, intending to put some miles between him and Darby, clear his head and put together a plan for fighting the referendum.
Back at home, things were comfortable, logical and predictable. The fields were still green and lush. Herefords dotted the Valley and the hillsides amongst the red and orange maple groves, the Rockies rising up, white-peaked in the distance, while the wide Lyndon River flowed endlessly through the middle of the spread. Barns, outbuildings and corrals stretched out to the north. A horse whinnied in one of the pens, snorting its curiosity at his arrival.
He got out of the pickup, his cowboy boots puffing the dust at the edge of the driveway turnaround. His brother, Travis, was the only Jacobs still living full-time in the two-story house that overlooked the river.
“Prodigal son,” he heard Travis say from an open barn door.
“I’ve only been away two weeks,” Seth pointed out, crossing the driveway to meet his brother. “And you were in Lyndon with me half the time.”
Travis stripped off a worn leather glove and shook Seth’s hand.
“How are things going here?” Seth asked.
Travis was number two in the Jacobs birth order. Seth was the oldest. After Travis came their sister Abigail, then Mandy and finally their baby sister Katrina, who’d left Lyndon Valley years ago to go to boarding school and become a ballerina. She’d only come back last year when she fell in love with their neighbor, Reed Terrell.
“Same old, same old,” Travis replied, lifting his Stetson then replacing it on his head at a different angle. “Everybody’s out on the range, rounding ’em up. I just replaced a couple of shoes. You here to work?”
“Taking a break from the fray,” Seth admitted. “But I could work while I’m doin’ it.”
Travis grinned. “You thirsty?”
“Yeah,” said Seth, turning toward the house. “Got any of Dad’s Glen Klavit?”
“That kind of thirsty?”
“That kind of getting away from the fray. Judge Hawthorn threw a wrench into the works. And the good citizens of Lyndon are making me nuts.” Seth didn’t bother mentioning that it was one particular Lyndon citizen who was threatening to push him over the edge.
“I heard about the ruling. You think she’ll win?”
“A lot of people want that railroad.” Seth couldn’t imagine them voting it down. “But I have to fight her, and that’s going to take a lot of energy away from other things.”
Travis slapped him on the shoulder. “On the bright side, you’re not likely to get physically injured fighting Darby Carroll, where I just got kicked in the shoulder by an ornery mare.”
“Cowboy up,” Seth automatically responded.
“She called here,” Travis added unexpectedly.
Seth stopped and turned. “Darby called here?”
“She did, indeed. Wanted to thank me for helping out with Joe, and then went on about the referendum, of course. She seems quite fearless.”
Seth would have liked to ask what she’d said, but the whole point of coming out here was to forget about Darby.
“I particularly don’t want to talk about her.” He hooked his Stetson on a peg inside the door and ambled his way into the living room. He glanced at his watch, noting it was nearly seven. “You got anything to throw on the barbecue?”
“You don’t want to talk about her?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why not?”
Seth turned to face his brother. “Wouldn’t explaining the reason be, in fact, talking about her?”
Travis’s gaze took on a speculative gleam. “I saw the way you looked at her at the Association dinner. Something happen between the two of you?”
“Nothing happened.”
“You want something to happen?”
“Can’t a guy get a drink and a burger in peace around here?”
“Whoa.” Travis held up his hands in mock surrender.
Then his cell phone rang, but he gave Seth a long, suspicious look before retrieving it from his pocket.
“Yeah?” he answered.
His expression stilled. “Where?”
Seth felt his senses go on alert.
“We’ll mount up. Right now.” Travis stuffed his phone back into his pocket and turned for the front door.
Seth swiftly fell into step. “What’s going on?”
“Stampede coming up on Barrel Ridge. There’s only two cowboys on the herd, and they don’t think they can turn it.”
“Headed this way?” asked Seth, grabbing his hat and setting his brain on the potential for damage and injury.
They jogged down the front stairs. Travis beelined for the barn, while Seth rang the brass bell hanging on the porch to alert hands and their families. Hearing the signal, any available cowboys would rendezvous at the barn, while mothers would get their children into the nearest building.
Things went wrong on a cattle ranch, and people had to react quickly. It might be a rogue bull, a grass fire or a stampede. There’d be time enough for explanations later. For now, people just needed to get out of the way.
Seth loped across the driveway into the barn, stopped at the tack room to load up then headed straight for the stall of Yellowtail, one of the fastest, steadiest horses on the ranch.
Travis was saddling up Nomad, a six-year-old he’d trained from birth while two other cowboys, Frank Stone and Nevada Williams, scrambled to get their own mounts ready.
“North around the pond?” Travis shouted to Seth.
“Seems like the best plan,” Seth agreed, settling the bit. “I’ll take point if you can clean it up.”
Travis nodded. “Stone, ride with me. Nevada, try to stay on Seth’s heels.”
“Got it, boss,” Nevada swung into his saddle.
Seth tucked in the cinch strap and mounted up.
The four men left the barn on a gallop. Seth was relieved to see the yard deserted. If they couldn’t turn the herd, bedlam was going to strike here in about ten minutes.
Seth crouched low, while Yellowtail stretched into a full gallop. She was a big, long-legged mare, and she liked nothing better than having a job to do. She easily outpaced the other three horses, smoothing out the uneven ground, responsive to Seth’s lightest cues.
He crested the first h
ill and saw the stampeding herd in the distance. Their path was exactly as he’d expected, and he gave an arm signal to the others, telling them to go around the pond. They’d come up on the east side of the herd, turning them west, circling them back, letting them run off any lingering steam in the open meadow.
Yellowtail’s ears pricked up. She knew the drill. Seth guided her past the pond, down a short trail through an aspen grove, then out to the wheatgrass hillside. He watched the lead cattle, studying their body language, letting Yellowtail navigate the way down the slope.
It was suicide to get in front of the cattle, so he brought his horse alongside, checking quickly over his shoulder to make sure Travis and the others were close enough for backup.
He gave a shout, easing Yellowtail into the flank of an outside cow. It shifted its path, nudging the one next. Seth narrowed the gap, shouting, waving his hat, closing down the pathway.
He heard Nevada call out behind him, making sure the next wave of cattle started to turn. The minutes seemed like an eternity of thundering hooves and choking dust. He would have given pretty much anything for a kerchief to cover his mouth and nose.
He spat out the gritty taste, lowering his hat to protect his eyes. A heifer sprang out, but Yellowtail was on her in a flash. Seth quickly rebalanced in his saddle as they chased the animal back to the main herd.
The turn was working. The animals’ pace was slowing. Through the waves of dust, he could see Travis and Stone far across the herd, and the original two cowboys completing the circle. The cattle started to bawl, moving to a walk, settling down.
Nevada moved up beside him. “That’ll get your adrenaline flowing.”
“Been a while since I’ve done that,” Seth noted, swiping an arm across his sweaty forehead.
“Good to see the city hasn’t made you soft.”
Seth laughed. “Bein’ the mayor is a lot like bein’ a cowboy. Difference is, herding voters is more like herding cats. At least the Herefords are predictable.”
Travis whistled, and Seth glanced up.
“Might as well pen ’em up,” Travis shouted.
Seth waved his agreement, and he and Nevada took up positions, moving the cattle the last couple miles to one of the home fields, where the herd could graze for the next few weeks before the final roundup.
It was nearly ten by the time Seth and Travis made it back to the ranch house. They were both in need of a shower, but instead they stretched out on the deck chairs of the veranda, each twisting the cap off a bottle of beer.
“Welcome home,” said Travis, raising his bottle.
“I’ve missed it,” said Seth, taking a drink and letting the cool liquid soothe his dry throat.
“Not enough excitement for you up there in the big house?”
“I like the logic and simplicity here,” Seth explained. “Roundup good. Stampede bad. Mission, stop stampede. And now the stampede is stopped, and we can relax.”
Travis laughed, lifting one booted foot to rest it on the bench seat of a picnic table. “That’s not how it works in politics?”
“In politics, the cattle would be clustered in a secret corner of the field, plotting how to take down the fence, hijack the transport truck and firebomb the barn. While the horses would have unionized by now and demanded more oats.”
“You clearly have a burr in your butt.”
“I clearly do.”
“Darby Carroll?” Travis asked.
Seth glared at him.
“Hey, you flat-out refuse to talk about something, I gotta figure it’s the one thing that’s bugging you the most.”
“You’re starting to sound like our sisters.”
“What?” Travis scoffed. “You think I care about your feelings? I just want to harass you.”
Seth took another drink, gazing at the distant mountains, black against the rising moon.
“She’s smart,” he said into the silence. “She’s committed and hardworking. And she kisses like there’s no tomorrow.”
“You’ve been kissing your archenemy?”
“I have,” Seth admitted.
“Go, big brother.”
Seth chuckled. Then he sobered. “I just needed to get away from it all.”
“‘It all’ being Darby?”
“‘It all’ being the complications and machinations of the mayor’s office. To top it off, the governor’s office left me a message this morning.”
“The governor of Colorado?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t called him back yet. I’m guessing the president of Mountain Railway called him, expressing concern about the situation.”
“‘The situation’ being Darby Carroll’s crusade against the railroad.”
“That would be the one.”
Travis contemplated while he took a swig of his beer. “You might want to stop kissing her.”
“I might have to stop kissing her,” Seth allowed. “I don’t see myself wanting to stop.”
Five
The summons from the governor’s office took Darby by surprise. She was told the state had put together a commission to consider new state-wide regulations for rail expansion, and they wanted to hear from her. Marta offered to hold down the fort at Sierra Hotel so Darby could travel to Denver and, hopefully, inspire the state to intervene in the Lyndon Valley rail project. It was an unexpected development, but it could easily work in their favor. If the decision was taken out of the town’s hands, they’d definitely have a better chance of success.
Optimistic, Darby got up at 3:00 a.m. to make a dawn flight out of Lyndon to Denver. Though she got stuck in a middle seat between two large men and in front of a crying baby, she polished her presentation on the way.
She didn’t have time for breakfast after landing. She was too nervous, anyway. Instead, she rushed to the state capitol building, determined to be on time and impress the members of the committee.
Shown to a waiting room, she was surprised to find Seth already there. He looked crisp and fresh in a well-cut suit and a pressed white shirt. His burgundy-and-navy tie was precisely knotted. His face was shaved close. And his hair was perfectly trimmed.
“Good morning, Darby,” he offered, not seeming at all surprised to see her.
“Good morning,” she returned, attempting to hide her own surprise.
She hadn’t counted on rebutting his arguments. Then again, she’d done it before. At least with Seth, she knew what to expect. Still, it was hard not to feel outclassed by his professional appearance. He must have flown in last night and stayed at a hotel.
She took a seat in a chair in the small room. “You’re presenting, too?”
“I am.”
“That’s too bad.”
“You hoped to have the floor all to yourself?”
She pulled a comb out of her purse, ran it through her hair and refastened her ponytail. “I did.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Not your fault. I should have guessed they’d want both sides, and you are a natural choice.”
“The governor does like to keep things fair.”
“I’ll definitely be counting on that.” Trying to keep her confidence at a peak, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her navy skirt and checked her white blouse beneath the matching navy blazer.
“You’ll do fine, Darby,” Seth told her kindly.
In return, she put as much condescension into her voice as she could muster. “I’m sure you will, too, Seth.”
A woman appeared through a set of oversize double doors. “Mayor Jacobs? Ms. Carroll? The commission is ready for you both.”
Great. They were presenting together. Not that she was going to say anything he hadn’t heard before. But she’d prefer not to
have him frowning or smirking while she made her points.
The room was opulent and airy. Arching, white beams glimmered around them, and the domed ceiling was covered in a mural. In the center was a huge, U-shaped table, and their footsteps echoed on the marble floor as they approached.
There were about thirty people sitting around the table. To a person, they were sixtysomething men with gray hair or balding heads. All wore dark suits and tight neckties. Another dozen or so people sat on chairs around the edges of the room, mostly women, obviously support staff.
Darby didn’t know why she was surprised at the continuing gender divide in politics. Here, as in the military, women needed to support each other.
She took one of the two vacant chairs at a long table in the hollow end of the U-shape. There was a microphone in front of her, a glass of water, a pen and a pad of paper. She placed her purse on the floor and opened up her leather folder full of handwritten notes from the plane, laying them out in front of her.
Beside her, Seth sat smoothly down. He didn’t have a briefcase, nor did he produce any speaking notes. The Chair invited him to go first.
Speaking from memory, Seth’s presentation was organized and sharp. It highlighted the economic interests of Lyndon Valley, his election platform, Mountain Railway’s record across the country and the expected benefits of the railway to the region. As he had at the Rodeo Association dinner, he kept the members of the commission engaged and interested with anecdotes that illustrated his points.
Darby, by contrast, fumbled. Her facts and figures were all there, as was her rationale and passion. But she lacked Seth’s eloquent, effective delivery style. And when it came time for questions, it was clear that the railroad supporters outnumbered detractors.
The hours dragged on, past the expected noon end time. As the clock crept toward 2:00 p.m., Darby realized she wouldn’t make her return flight.
One of the commission members, a portly, older man who clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice, launched into a lengthy dissertation on his positive experiences with the railroad as a young man, using up an additional half hour. By the time the Chair brought the gavel down on the discussions, Darby was tired, hungry and disillusioned.
A Cowboy's Temptation Page 7
