The Rancher's Secret Wife

by Brenda Minton

  He stopped, holding tight to the cold metal pipe of the arena. In a flash he was back in Afghanistan, hearing the explosion, feeling the heat and the pain and then seeing nothing. He remembered his friends, the men in his care, yelling and some moaning in agony. He remained in the darkness, waiting for the light to return.

  He’d been waiting for over two months now, but the light wouldn’t return. The last images set in his mind were of the front of their vehicle blowing off and the driver disappearing in the blast.

  The hymn “Amazing Grace” played through his mind. But the words switched: I could see, but now I’m blind. He continued to grip the metal pipe of the fence, holding on for a long moment to something real, something that wouldn’t give, wouldn’t change. He could walk along the outside of this corral, and in a few minutes he would be in familiar territory. He fought back the fear, the doubts that sometimes came at him. God hadn’t dealt him a bad hand or let him down. A roadside bomb, not God, had taken his sight.

  It was not that it was always easy to accept, but he was working on it. He had to or it would consume him. Each time the fear hit, he replaced it with what he knew was the truth and real. He slid his hand along the fence and kept walking until he touched the corner post. He smiled. Yeah, this was progress—one step at a time.

  He turned and kept walking, now on the side of the arena where the chutes were located. A gate clanged again, and a bull bellowed loud. He paused, unsure.

  “Reese,” Jackson called out over the other noises, the clanging gates, the men talking and the bulls bellowing. “Come on over, we’re trying to get Gage to hold on to a bull and not get tossed like a rag doll.”

  The cane hit something solid. Reese touched the metal of the chute and walked around it. Jackson said something about a new bull, and Travis let out a whoop and holler, probably running a bull back into the holding pen. Reese stopped next to Jackson and waited.

  “Who’s on now?”

  Jackson grunted. “Jake Thompson, from down the road.”

  Jake was a teenager they’d known since he’d moved to the area a few years ago. “How’s he doing?”

  “Good. Gage had better start holding on or he’s going to be off the pro tour and this kid will take his spot.”

  The buzzer rang. He jumped a little and waited. A minute later the gate opened.

  “Gage needs your help or he isn’t going to stay on a bull any time soon.” Travis bumped against him. “Sit with me, and Jackson is going to put him on Hammer.”

  “I’m not sure how I can help him.” He hit the gate with his cane and reached for the latch. He walked through and Travis followed, closing it behind them.

  “He’s going down in the well every time the bull turns into his hand.”

  Down in the well meant the bull would spin and the rider got pulled to the inside, into the vortex of the spin.

  Reese sighed and remembered back to when he’d ridden bulls and then to the last few years when he’d been out of the sport but coaching his younger brothers. He would sit for hours and watch, give them tips, help them when they couldn’t seem to keep their seat.

  He’d been a decent coach. They’d brought their friends. They’d brought guys home from the circuit who had mentally pushed themselves from the game and couldn’t stay on a bull for nothing.

  “I can’t help him, Trav.”

  “Yeah, you can. Gage, get back in here!” he shouted out to their younger brother.

  “Travis,” Jackson’s voice growled from not too far away. It was a warning for Travis not to push.

  “I’ll give details of what Gage is doing wrong, and Reese can tell him what he needs to do to fix the problem. Come on, guys. If Gage doesn’t do something he’s going to get hurt, and Reese is the one who can help.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” Gage muttered as he walked past them. “I’m just about sick of this whole mess.”

  “You’re sick of everything.” Jackson’s voice grew louder. “Reese, don’t let Travis push you.”

  “I’m not.” He leaned against the fence. “Has anyone seen Dad?”

  “Gran had a near miss in town. Larry called and said he almost T-boned her in the middle of the intersection by the Mad Cow.” Jackson answered, grunting as he spoke, which meant he was getting the bull rope on Hammer.

  “Granny?” Reese couldn’t believe it. Their grandmother had to be the brightest, most with-it woman he knew. “What’s gotten into her?”

  “I don’t know, but Larry said she was babbling about her granddaughter.” Jackson moved past him, moving him to the side a little. “Won’t be long before the whole town knows. And then they’re going to wonder why she’s living in the barbershop and you’re out here.”

  “I’ll figure something out.” Reese moved as Gage stepped in close to climb on the bull. “Where are you, Travis? Get over here so you can give me the play-by-play. And what do I get for doing this?”

  “A trip to town for you to get a haircut. You obviously don’t know how bad you look.” Jackson moved next to him again, climbing on the side of the chute where the bull clanked against the metal gates and bellowed low as Gage settled on his back.

  “Really, you think I can’t see how bad I look?”

  Jackson groaned. “Sorry.”

  “No, really, it’s okay. What do you think I should do about it?” He rolled his shoulders and started thinking about a place to sit down. A hand touched his arm.

  “We can sit down over here.” Travis moved him away from the chute, around the corner to the risers where spectators sat when they held events.

  “Married life is making you soft, Trav.” Reese eased down and stretched his legs out in front of him. Man, it did feel good to sit down.

  “You should try it.” Travis laughed. “Oh, wait. You have. Kind of.”

  “Funny.”

  “I have more bad news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Heather made you an appointment to get your hair cut. Jackson is hinting because he didn’t want to be the one to tell you that the females in this family can’t mind their own business.”

  “Nice, real nice. And is it your job to drive me to get this haircut?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got an hour before the appointment.”

  “Great.”

  “Jackson is opening the gate.” Travis leaned close.

  Reese waited. The gate creaked as it opened, and then the bull snorted and hooves pounded.

  “Tell me.” Reese leaned forward, listening.

  “Coming out of the gate he’s leaning hard left. It’s every time, like he’s waiting for something that doesn’t happen. And then he tries to correct. He can’t get his free arm up.”

  Hooves pounded. The bull snorted. Jackson yelled for Gage to get off his seat and ride the bull. He needed to make corrections, meaning get back in the center of the bull’s back. Reese could almost visualize his brother bouncing farther and farther off the back end of the bull and not moving himself forward into position after each jump of the animal.

  “What’s he doing with his free arm?”

  “Straight back, behind him. Every time the bull goes forward, Gage gets back on his pockets and flings around like a rag doll.”

  Reese shrugged. “You know as well as I do that he’s not using his arm to correct the moves. Instead it’s pulling him back.”

  “Gotcha.” Travis moved again, shifting and leaning forward. “He’s off.”

  “Six seconds?”

  No answer.

  “Are you nodding?” he asked his brother.

  “Sorry.” Travis leaned back. “Yeah, six seconds. I’ll go tell him what you said and then we’ll head to town for that haircut.”

  “He needs to ride again, and Jackson needs to run the camera and get a video of it. Tell him to keep his chin tucked and his elbow bent. Maybe that’ll keep him from getting flung backward. It’s mental. He’s got something on his mind or he’s afraid of getting hurt.”

  “Got
it. Hey, did Adam MacKenzie call you about Camp Hope?”

  “Yeah, I’ve talked to him. I’m not sure if I can do that. I think I’d be more trouble than I’m worth.”

  “Way to sell yourself short, brother.” Travis let out a breath that Reese imagined was followed by a disappointed shake of his head. “I’ll be back.”

  Reese stood, and Travis walked away leaving him to navigate on his own. The arena was in front of him, to the right the chutes. He turned to the right, taking careful steps between the arena and the bleachers. He could hear Travis giving Gage the tips that might or might not help him stay on a bull. Reese started to say something about focus, but he couldn’t force Gage to get his mind on the sport. Something else had to be going on for Gage to be taking this many spills.

  He’d love to stay and think about Gage’s problems, but he had enough going on in his own life to keep him busy. He didn’t have to guess where Travis would take him for the haircut. He knew how Heather’s mind worked.

  Chapter Seven

  “Little baby, you have to stay in there for a few more weeks.”

  Cheyenne stretched in the little chair that Myrna had given her, resting her hand on her belly as she glanced at the clock. The contractions weren’t regular, and they were light. She breathed a sigh of relief. At this point, talking to her unborn child and to herself seemed like more of a problem than the contractions.

  From her chair she could see the front of the shop, and through the windows she could see the street. There hadn’t been much traffic today, but she’d had a few customers. She watched as a truck pulled to a stop parallel to the curb. The big red Ford blocked her view of the street. The passenger side door opened, and Reese stepped out, easing to the ground and then holding the door for a long moment. She could see him getting his bearings. Before Travis reached his side, Reese had a smile in place.

  Her heart squeezed a little, watching as the two men walked across the sidewalk to her door. She’d forgotten the appointment Heather Cooper made for Reese. She jumped up and slipped her feet into the shoes she’d bought the previous day—extra wide for swollen feet.

  This is what her life had been reduced to. She couldn’t eat chips because her fingers would puff up so big that she couldn’t bend them. She had to wear wide shoes because being on her feet caused them to swell like water balloons. And every night when she tried to go to sleep, heartburn hit with a vengeance.

  None of it seemed to be really important when she thought about what Reese Cooper faced each day. Somehow he managed to smile. He managed to be strong. She tried to stop the flow of thoughts that included how he made her feel, because she didn’t quite know what she felt. It seemed like dangerous ground, to feel something.

  The two men were still outside. Travis leaned close. Reese said something. They laughed and then Reese shook his head. She tried not to be the hormonal female who thought they were talking about her. Instead she swept the floor and made sure she had shampoo and a towel at the sink.

  The door to the shop opened. She set the shampoo bottle on the edge of the sink and turned, pasting on a welcoming smile that faltered a little. Reese folded his white cane and took off the sunglasses he often wore. He eased the sunglasses into the pocket of his button-up shirt and then slid the cane into the pocket of faded jeans.

  “I’m assuming you’re here.” He grinned, flashing white teeth in a suntanned face.

  “I’m here.”

  “I knew that. You’re the noisiest quiet person I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m not.”

  He took a few steps forward and she waited.

  “You are. You move a lot. And sigh.”

  “It’s your imagination.”

  He smiled again and this time leaned a little. “And you smell like lavender.”

  “It’s shower gel.” Heat crawled into her cheeks. “I mean...”

  She had no idea what she meant. She rarely did with Reese around. She especially didn’t know how to handle this Reese, the one who flirted and teased. She shifted her attention to Travis, who had taken a step back.

  “So I guess the two of you are good if I leave for a while?” Travis grinned and winked at Cheyenne. And she ignored him, because he thought he knew something about them, and he didn’t.

  “I think we’re good.” Reese slid his hand up to the bend of her arm and held tight. “Where are you going?”

  Travis had already made it to the front door. He stopped to answer. “I have to run to the feed store and of course Vera’s, for pie. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “That should be good.” She watched Travis walk out the door and cross to his truck. She looked at Reese again. “Do you think we could take off the hat?”

  He smiled and removed the bent-up black cowboy hat. “No problem.”

  She took it from him and set it on the counter. “You need to shave.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve been told. To be honest, it isn’t that easy.”

  “I can do it for you while you’re here.”

  “I might just let you.”

  She led him to the back of the shop, to a chair in front of the sink. She guided him into the seat and he eased down, staring straight ahead. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t think about his life, what he was thinking or what he wanted. Instead she gathered what she would need: the plastic cape, towel, shampoo. She found a razor and shaving cream.

  “What are you doing?” He turned in her direction.

  “Getting ready. Lean forward a little.”

  “Could you do me a favor?”

  She stopped and looked down, at hazel eyes staring up at her, not seeing her. “I can.”

  “I’d feel a lot less alone in the dark if you’d tell me step by step what you’re doing.”

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think...”

  He smiled and offered an easy wink. “We’re all learning.”

  “Okay.” She smoothed the towel and leaned the chair. “Tilt your head forward so I can wrap this towel around your neck.”

  He leaned and she draped the towel, but she hesitated. A jagged scar marred the skin on the back of his neck. She touched it, and he turned toward her hand.

  “Shrapnel,” he explained.

  “I see.” Her throat constricted, and she took a deep breath, blinking away the moisture blurring her vision. “Lean back.”

  She turned on the water, got it warm, and he put his head back. Okay, she could do this. She could make him nothing to her, just a person who needed a haircut.

  “You’re not going to hurt me.” His head rested on the padded edge of the sink, and she nodded as she squirted shampoo in her hand. “Cheyenne?”

  “I know I won’t. I’m getting the water the right temperature.”

  She poured a little shampoo in her hand and hesitated before massaging it through his hair. He closed his eyes, a hint of a smile curving his lips. He whispered that she had an amazing touch.

  She couldn’t comment.

  “Rinsing. Close your eyes,” she whispered moments later.

  He nodded a barely perceptible nod with his head still resting on the edge of the sink. After the water ran clear, she leaned him forward and rubbed the towel through his hair. Sandy brown, it curled at the collar of his shirt.

  “Okay, let’s move to the barber chair.” The antique had been in the shop and no way would she get rid of it. It was part of Dawson history. Some said a former president, long before he’d been president, had once had a haircut in that chair. The residents spoke fondly of his fishing trip in the area and what a gentleman he’d been.

  Reese pushed himself up from the chair, and she took his hand. “Watch for that footrest. It’ll get you.”

  “Got it.” He stepped over the metal bar in question

  “Over here. Have a seat and I’ll get my clippers.”

  “I don’t want to have my head shaved, just trimmed.”

  “I’m not going to shave your head.” She laughed a little, and it sounded tight and uneasy.
“Relax.”

  “Can you?”

  “What?”

  “Relax. I can feel your hands tremble every time you touch me. Are you worried?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Think how I feel. You could dye my hair pink, and I’d never know.”

  “Someone would tell you.”

  He laughed at that. “Would they?”

  “Maybe after a day or two.”

  He sat down in the old pump-up barber seat. The hydraulics still worked, and the foot pedal raised him to a height that made it easy for her to reach. She ran a comb through his still-damp hair, and then she lifted her scissors and snipped the first inch of hair. He closed his eyes and remained quiet while she cut.

  “It already feels better,” he whispered as she put her scissors away and reached for the clippers to trim the back.

  “I’m sure it does. Now hold still. I’m going to clean it up along the neck with clippers.”

  She turned on the clippers and finished the job. When she looked at him with his hair cut, she remembered back to that day in Vegas. He’d been tall and straight but relaxed. He’d held her arm as he’d guided her back into the restaurant, to a corner booth. She’d been a mess, a sobbing mess nearly ready to collapse. She’d bumped into him as she’d hurried out of the restaurant.

  “All done?” His question brought her back to the present.

  She nodded and then she answered. “Let me get shaving cream, and we’ll take off a few layers of facial hair.”

  “It isn’t that bad. I shaved a few days ago.”

  She smiled and touched his cheek, brushing her palm across the stubble. “It’s pretty bad.”

  “Go for it, then.”

  She walked away, returning a moment later with shaving cream and a razor. “Hold still.”

  “Or you’ll cut my neck?”

  “I wouldn’t do it on purpose.”

  He laughed, and it was a soft, throaty chuckle. “Well, that’s good to know.”

  She wet a towel with warm water and draped it over his face for a moment. When she moved it, he turned to face her. She ignored questions she saw in his expression. With hands that trembled, she squirted shaving cream into her palm and then brushed it across his face. He closed his eyes and exhaled as she ran the razor across his cheeks the first time. She held his jaw with the tips of her fingers on her left hand and shaved him with her right—a swipe with the razor and then rinse.