Carried Away by Love

by Vickery, Rebecca J.

  Taking in his frown, she thought, or maybe not... Didn't look like this meeting was going to be too comfortable. She dropped into a chair and clasped her hands in her lap.

  * * * * *

  "Skye..." He trailed off. What he wanted to say was, What the devil am I going to do about you? Then he leaned forward to rearrange some papers on the desk. "Stay as long as you want. I'll protect you as long as you're here, you should know that. But I'm not sure I can trust you, so all the money and weapons will be locked up." Clint watched her as she stared down at her clasped hands and refused to meet his eyes.

  A bit louder, he demanded, "Skye, look at me!" When she slowly raised her head, he asked, "Are you on drugs? Are you going to go through withdrawal, or try to get a fix?"

  She met his eyes without flinching. "A few months ago, the answer might have been yes. But I'm clean. It was tough going, to get all the junk out of my system, but I did. I don't even take an aspirin these days, and I'm not drinking either."

  Relief warmed his soul. This answer he believed. She hadn't fidgeted or looked away. "Good. Do you want to work with the foals today and help Mr. Harbin a bit? Rest whenever you need to."

  "Sounds good. I love working with the foals." She stood, but instead of leaving, she stepped closer to touch the brass horse sculpture on the front edge of the desk. "Clint... I know you don't believe me about Arthur Jenkins, but he...well, I'm scared of what he'll do, and if he shows up here—"

  "If he shows up here, he'll have to deal with me. What can you tell me about him?" Grabbing a pen and pad, Clint prepared to write down what she would tell him.

  Instead of answering, Skye held up a hand as if fending off a blow and began backing away. "I sh-should get out to the kitchen and help Mr. Harbin clean up, and then I'll go see the foals." She turned and walked fast, her socked feet quiet on the hardwood floor.

  "Skye! Skye!"

  He decided to let her go when she pretended not to hear him.

  * * * * *

  Clint leaned back in his chair and tapped the pen on the desk edge as he thought about what Skye told him in the truck the night before and how she'd just reacted to his questions. He recognized fear when he saw it...and her eyes filled with terror when he asked about Jenkins. Why? Because he had hit her? Or was there more to it than that?

  Did she fear he would lead Jenkins to her and she might be arrested? But surely, the man knew her permanent address. She'd admitted to being on drugs previously. Maybe there was an arrest warrant out on her – some trouble she couldn't clear up. How could he find out without endangering her freedom?

  Or, am I more worried about her disappearing again?

  He threw down the pen and pushed the chair back to stand and head for the door. Chores called – he needed to make sure there was enough feed stored, there were pregnant mares to check on, and stock to be moved – and he could always think much clearer when he was with the horses. Shrugging into his coat, he wondered: How does a man decide between the woman he still has feelings for and the right thing to do?

  Chapter Three

  Skye pulled the over-sized denim jacket around her and stepped carefully down the path toward the foaling barn. Any wet spots were now pure ice and all she needed was to slide and fall down. Mr. Harbin tugged a toboggan down over her ears and shoved a pair of wool mittens into her hand before she left the house. She appreciated his kindness when she felt the cold air blowing down from the mountain ridges to the northwest. Felt like tiny bits of ice traveled in the wind and she glanced at the clouds banking behind the mountains.

  Might be a storm coming – in more ways than one. She shivered and hurried to the barn.

  One side of the barn door slid open easily enough, and after she passed through, she closed it quickly to keep the newborns from catching a chill. Skye stopped to remove her mittens and tuck them into her pocket and to let her eyes adjust to the darker interior. The mingled smells of warm horse, disinfectant, and hay hit harder than she would've thought possible.

  Closing her eyes, she let the memories flood over her. This very barn was where Clint first kissed her. They'd helped a mare through a difficult delivery and saved the foal. He'd grabbed her close, and kissed her breathless. Six months later, on Valentine's Day, he'd proposed, and slid a heart-shaped diamond onto her ring finger in the very stall where he first kissed her. She'd never pictured him as a romantic, but he had his moments.

  Skye opened her eyes and walked down the aisle to the third stall on the left. She ran a finger over the wood framing the doorway. So many good memories here. A white-faced, sorrel mare nickered at her from inside. Large-bellied with her unborn baby, the horse moved slowly to poke her head out over the lower part of the Dutch door. Crooning baby-talk to her, Skye stroked her soft muzzle before moving on to find the head groom in charge of the foal barn to get her assignment.

  The newborn foals were handled daily, ears and head stroked, feet lifted, and every inch touched from head to tail. The practice made for gentle stock, well socialized, and easier to train. Skye enjoyed every minute of working with the foals. When the foal was a month or so old, the mare and her offspring would be moved to other quarters. There were currently six foals requiring attention and two heavily expectant mares.

  Finished playing with the last foal, right down to his short baby-fuzz tail, Skye gave the mother a quick rubdown, and then washed up before returning to the house. Lunch had to be prepared and she should help Mr. Harbin.

  She cut the final thick-sliced chicken sandwich in half and added it to those on the platter as Mr. Harbin poured up the large pot of stew he'd kept simmering all morning. They carried them to the table and, as she returned for the cornbread muffins and butter, Mr. Harbin went to the back porch to bang on the old dented pot hanging there.

  "Come eat!" he yelled, and banged again.

  Skye poured up coffee and glasses of tea and ice water as the cowboys filed in and told her what they wanted. Keeping working men fed was a huge job on a ranch, and she'd almost forgotten how much work it required. But... She suddenly realized she thought this much more rewarding than posing in front of a camera or stalking down a runway in next to nothing.

  Clint stopped in front of her as she stood frozen in thought. "You doing okay?" he softly asked.

  "What? Oh – yeah, just woolgathering. Coffee and iced tea?" At his nod, she watched him move on to take his place at the head of the table. She carried his tea over and filled his coffee cup.

  "Food looks good." He paused a minute for Skye and Mr. Harbin to take their seats, then said, "Thank you, Lord, for allowing us to have food on the table, a mild winter so far, and healthy stock. Amen."

  Hands flew in all directions as bowls were passed to be filled with hot stew, cornbread was buttered, and sandwiches disappeared from the platter. Quiet reigned over the dining room for several minutes while they ate. Then a question from Tom broke the silence and the men shared their opinions.

  Skye sighed and took another spoonful of the stew. Why had she thrown all this away? For some dream of being famous? To prove she was more than a country bumpkin? Or had fear of the man at the head of the table been the reason? Not a physical kind of fear – she knew he would never harm a hair on her head. Their lovemaking had been unbelievable; their time together so special – but fear of being trapped in a dead-end life, with no choices – doubts about being under the control of such a strong man for the rest of her life had been overwhelming.

  She felt Clint staring at her and looked up to meet his eyes. She saw concern and – could that possibly still be love? – even after she ran away two days before the huge Valentine's Day wedding, and left him to tell all his friends and family.

  Clint hastily shifted his gaze to Danny, the youngest hand, and told him to be sure to check the water troughs for ice again. "With the temperature hanging below freezing, they'll freeze back pretty quick on top, even with the warmers underneath. And check that trough in the east end. I think the warmer may be down on it. Let
Tom know if it is, so it can be fixed."

  Danny nodded as he shoved half a cornbread muffin in his mouth. "Ye-sir."

  The talk turned to the weather and opinions on whether the snowstorm to the northwest would come through their valley or stay on the other side of the hills. The meal soon ended and the men returned to work.

  Skye helped Mr. Harbin for a while, and then, exhausted from the unaccustomed work, she went to her room for a warm shower and a nap.

  * * * * *

  Clint stood outside her bedroom door. Mr. Harbin said she'd been sleeping so well he didn't have the heart to wake her earlier to help with supper. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and closed it behind him. She looked so peaceful lying there wrapped in a blanket, her short hair sticking up on her head, her hands pressed together and nestled under her cheek, he hated to wake her. But he had news and she would think he'd betrayed her if he didn't tell her tonight.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he touched her shoulder. "Skye, wake up, sweetheart. We need to talk."

  She pulled back, but then relaxed as she recognized him. "What is it? Oh – I need to go help Mr. Harbin." She tried to sit up, but stopped when his hand returned to her shoulder.

  "Stay put. I have to tell you something. Supper's been over for a while – kitchen's all clean. Mr. Harbin put a plate for you in the microwave, in case you get hungry."

  "All right." Skye relaxed back against the pillow and tugged the blanket tighter around her. "I can tell this is something I don't want to hear, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but you have to hear it anyway. Sheriff Wilmont, over in town, got a call about you today and thought he should call and let me know, in case I'd seen you. He said Arthur Jenkins was looking for you and wanted to be notified if you showed up around here. Claims you went nuts and attacked him. Said he's worried about your state of mind and you might even be suicidal."

  Skye pushed up and gave a harsh laugh. "Nuts? He's the one with a mental problem." She smoothed her hair with her hands and glared at Clint. "You didn't tell him I'm here, did you? What did you say?"

  "Said I'd call him if I had anything to report. I suspect Wilmont already knows you're here. Word travels fast out here, remember? Ranch telegraph... But, Skye, you can't run. Look at yourself... You're—"

  "Perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she interrupted. Tossing aside the blanket, she scooted off the bed on the other side.

  Clint stood and blocked her way as she came around the footboard. "Skye, the storm is heading this way, after all. I don't want you out wandering around in snow and ice where you could freeze to death."

  "Well, unless you lock me in this room or turn me over to the sheriff, I am leaving. I will not wait for some crazy man to come haul me away to feed me drugs and rape me if he pleases." Her voice became loud and shrill as fear took over her actions. Her 'fight or flight' instincts kicked in. She tried to shove past him, but he remained in front of her.

  Clint cringed at the idea she might have been raped. That never occurred to him, and this was the first time she used the word. "No, Skye!" He caught an arm with each hand and wanted to shake some sense into her. Didn't she know he would protect her with his own life if necessary?

  The sudden fear, which flared in her eyes caused him to gentle his hold. "Skye, please... I don't mean to frighten you, but you have to be straight with me. Look at me and tell me what he did to you. Did he force you to sleep with him? Maybe while you were doped out of your mind?"

  "I tried to tell you..." She gasped for air as deep, wrenching sobs began tearing her apart. "At Granger's, I tried to tell you ... but you didn't believe me ... you don't want to believe me. It makes it easier for you, doesn't it?" Skye jerked her arms free and slipped past him.

  When he reached for her again, she held up a hand and almost screamed, "Stop! Don't touch me..." She backed up a step and crossed her arms protectively over her middle. Then she went on, defiant, determined to make him hear her this time, "You took me into your home three years ago when mom and dad died in the car accident, and you helped me deal with it – all of it. You loved me."

  Her voice softened... "You were my first lover ... you wanted to marry me, for us to have children." She swiped away the tears and tried to hang onto her control.

  "I'm the same person inside, even if I made some stupid mistakes. I was young and frightened then, too afraid I would be trapped in a situation I might come to hate. I was afraid I would be lost ... lost in your strength, in your life. I tried to talk to you, but you didn't understand. And I ran... Then I learned I was so ... so wrong about everything, but it was too late." Skye dropped her arms to her sides, her hands clenched into fists.

  "I know I can't make things the same as they were, or ever get back what I gave up, but now – right now – you have to make a choice." With tears still slipping down both cheeks, she stared up into his eyes. "Choose, Clint! Either you believe me and trust me, or I'm out of here – storm or no storm."

  * * * * *

  Clint watched the emotions raging through her eyes, the tears slipping down her cheeks, shocked at what she'd revealed. He did hear her this time. He'd never have guessed his spirited Skye was afraid of being married to him, of getting lost in his life and having no life other than what he planned for them.

  When she'd come to him with doubts a week or so before the wedding, he brushed them off as normal pre-wedding jitters. He'd been too busy scheduling ranch business so he wouldn't be missed for a week and arranging the wedding and honeymoon. He hadn't paid his soon-to-be-bride much attention at all, he realized. He'd put the ranch and his plans first and left her pretty much to her own devices.

  Skye grabbed her knapsack from the closet floor and began gathering her few possessions. She had no idea where she would go, but she refused to be caught in Arthur Jenkins' clutches again. He could pursue her all over the country, even have her arrested for assault, but as the old saying goes, you can't get blood out of a turnip. And if she could stay out of his physical reach, he couldn't get anything else either.

  Chapter Four

  Clint dropped down to sit on the bed. He stretched out a hand. "Come here, Skye." When she didn't move, he added, "Please, come over here. I'm not your enemy."

  Skye gazed into his solemn dark eyes and dropped her bag. Taking a couple of steps toward him, she stretched her fingertips out to meet his. When he didn't grab her or make any move except to give her a half smile, she stepped closer and clasped his hand with hers.

  He gently enclosed her small hand with his large one and used it to draw her to stand between his knees. "I'm so sorry, Skye. I didn't know you were scared. If your mom had been here..." Clint shook his head, as he saw tears fill her eyes again. "I should have seen to it that you had a woman to turn to, someone to talk to about the wedding, and to share your feelings with. But I didn't even think of it. Guess a ranch full of men, even if they love you, can't fill in for a woman sometimes."

  "I know now, I shouldn't have run. But I was so mixed up, then I saw that ad in the paper for models and..." She gave a self-deprecating little laugh. "I saw it as a sign – something I was supposed to do. I thought I could change the world, make enough money to buy whatever happiness I wanted and still have some to make the world better. But after a few months, it was awful. And I was too ashamed to come back here...to admit I messed up."

  Skye reached out to stroke the side of his oh, so handsome face. "I hurt you, and I left you. I'm not going to ask you to forgive me – I wouldn't – and I haven't forgiven myself." When he would have spoken, she placed her fingers over his mouth. "But I do need you to trust me, please. I never lied to you and I am not lying now. Jenkins will come here or he will send his lawyer. He will insist I finish out my contract or buy out of it. He claims I owe him money and I can either pay him or sleep with him and he'll forgive it. It's best if I leave before he gets here. He's a nasty man with some influential friends. He can hurt the ranch. That's why I didn't come before. But when he hit me, I panic
ked and ran here – to safety."

  Clint moved her fingers from his mouth and planted a kiss in the palm of her hand. "I was going to say, I made my choice a long time ago, Skye. I do trust you and I believe you. It was the drugs and alcohol, not you, I didn't trust. This is your home whether we are married or not, whether we have a relationship or not. I promised you that when we sold your parents' place and you moved in here. We'll talk about all the personal stuff later. Once we have a chance to think everything through." He was glad she seemed to be listening to what he said.

  "We can fight Jenkins, together. I'll call and set up an appointment with our lawyer tomorrow. See what legal avenues we have. But I need you to promise you won't run off without talking to me first. I couldn't deal with it." He took both of her hands and squeezed them.

  "Okay. I won't leave again without letting you know," she reluctantly agreed. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Thank you. It's wonderful to still have a home. I'm starving. I think I'll go warm up my food. Want to share?"

  She drew back before he could put his arms around her then bounded out of the room and down the stairs. It wasn't a good idea to let him hug her in a room where there was a bed.

  * * * * *

  The next morning Clint replaced the phone receiver and went to find Skye.

  "She's already gone down to the foal barn. She was worried about one of the mares. Thought she's going into labor," Mr. Harbin told him and shoved two tins full of muffin batter into the oven.

  After tugging on his coat, hat, and carrying his gloves, Clint walked out onto the back porch. Small snowflakes circled toward the ground as thick gray clouds hovered above. The weather forecast predicted heavy snows and at least a foot of accumulation by midnight. The men were busy bringing the stock in closer and making sure the hay rings were filled in all the pastures. The sounds of cattle and horses complaining about the move and tractors hauling the hay filled the air.