LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  Sara noticed that the doorway had a ramp leading up to it.

  Dolinger opened the door quietly, motioning her into a mudroom with low sinks and a potter’s wheel in one corner, and from there into a huge, brightly lit, cheerful yellow kitchen. He gestured silently to a bathroom off to one side, and Sara went in and shut the door.

  She filled the sink with hot water and scrubbed her face, arms and hands and finished off with a cold rinse that managed to take away some of the weird buzzing in her head.

  Drying off, she went back into the kitchen to find George Dolinger, sleeves rolled above the elbow, efficiently breaking eggs and frying bacon in a large iron frying pan on the range, nodding while a delicate redheaded woman in a wheelchair talked to him from a spot by the table where she was making and buttering toast.

  Sara wondered if she were hallucinating. The whole cozy domestic scene was far removed from what she thought of as typical behavior for Dolinger. But there he was, mouth still firmly turned down at the comers, flipping eggs in the frying pan.

  “Hi,” the woman said with a wide smile, rescuing two slices of golden toast and popping two more into the machine. “I heard you come in, and I can’t resist a midnight feast, so I got up and came out to join you. I’m Judy Dolinger, and of course I know who you are. Sara, isn’t it? Dr. Sara Wingate.”

  Sara went across the room and extended her hand in greeting. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Dolinger.”

  “It’s Judy, because I intend to call you Sara. Right?” Her smile was engagingly wide, and her startling red hair was as wild as Sara’s own. Judy had deeply set brown eyes, soft and very beautiful. They were her best feature, because her face was narrow and her nose rather pointed. But the warmth shining from those wonderful eyes made Sara feel immediately welcome and at home, a feeling she’d never dreamed of having anywhere around George Dolinger.

  Judy’s slight body was wrapped in a deep blue velour robe, and as she maneuvered easily in her wheelchair from cupboard to table setting out catsup, strawberry jam and cups, Sara had the impression that whatever the reason for Judy’s disability, it wasn’t recent. The woman was totally at ease in her wheelchair, an ease that obviously came from long experience. And Sara noted now that the kitchen was designed to accommodate her, the counters low, the cupboards within easy reach.

  “George was telling me you did a magnificent job on poor Sergeant just now,” Judy said.

  Sara was stricken dumb.

  George Dolinger, miserable George Dolinger, had actually said something nice like that? Words failed her, but Judy carried right on, urging Sara to a seat beside her at the table, whisking the overflowing from the range, asking whether Sara wanted cream and sugar or catsup for her eggs.

  The food was ambrosia to Sara, and she had to stop herself from gobbling.

  George wasn’t eating. He filled a huge mug with coffee for himself and sat drinking it, but Judy had an egg and a slice of toast, directing comments and questions at both Sara and George as she nibbled at the food.

  Sara was flabbergasted at the difference in George’s whole demeanor when he talked to Judy. His voice was gentle, and the nastiness that Sara had come to associate with his every word and expression was totally absent . Dolinger became a different person around his wife, just like Jekyll and Hyde, Sara couldn’t help thinking. And how had these two absolutely different people ended up together in the first place?

  Curiosity finally overcame her. She forked up the last morsel of bacon and golden egg yolk and asked, “Did you grow up around here, Judy?”

  Red hair bobbed as Judy nodded. “I was born not ten miles from here, on a small farm back in the hills. I guess Floyd’s never mentioned it to you, but he’s my brother.”

  Sara couldn’t keep the amazement from her voice. “Floyd, from the clinic? Floyd O’Malley?”

  “Yup, the very same,” Judy said. “He’s twelve years older than me. He’s worked for Doc ever since—” she glanced quickly over at her husband, and Sara had the feeling the rest of the sentence wasn’t at all what Judy had been about to say “—ever since we were first married, hasn’t he, George?”

  Dolinger nodded curtly and got up from the table. “I’m going out to check on Sergeant, and if he’s doing well, I’ll tell the grooms to go to bed.”

  Sara made a move to get up as well, but Judy held out a restraining hand. “Sit still for ten more minutes and finish your coffee,” she insisted. “George can call you if there’s anything seriously the matter, can’t you, George?”

  Sara watched Dolinger meekly agree, even though she felt he didn’t want to. She had the feeling he agreed with most of Judy’s wishes.

  When the door shut behind him, Judy was quiet for a while, and then she said in a rush, “George doesn’t want me to mention it, but Floyd’s drinking too much again, isn’t he, Sara?” She waved a hand and then added, “Sorry, that’s hardly the way to phrase a question like that to someone you’ve only just met. Anyhow, I know he is, and I know it probably causes you problems and I feel badly about it. If there’s ever any real trouble with Floyd, I’d appreciate knowing. Doc’s always been really good about it, but I understand you’ve taken over most of the work lately on account of Doc’s eyes.”

  Sara felt that things were moving too quickly for her to absorb. Her weary brain seemed unable to comprehend all this new and startling information. “Doc Stone has a problem with his eyes?”

  Judy clapped a hand over her mouth. “Damn, I talk too much; it’s because I don’t get out enough. I swamp people with words when they come and blurt out stuff I probably shouldn’t. Floyd told me. I figured you’d have to know, working with Doc the way you do. But of course Doc’s pretty closemouthed. And stiff-necked as well. Anyway, Floyd said that Doc seems to be losing a large portion of his vision. He’s been to different doctors, but there doesn’t seem much any of them can do. It’s a terrible shame, isn’t it?”

  Sara felt shocked and saddened, and also absolutely horrified when she realized that many of the problems and mistakes her boss had been making were probably due to his failing eyesight. And to think she’d been blaming it all on carelessness when actually the old man couldn’t see.

  Remorse made her cringe as she remembered threatening to report him. She felt terrible.

  Judy was watching her closely, and now she said, “I probably shouldn’t have said anything, Sara, but darn it all, it’s better if people know exactly what a person’s problem is, don’t you think so?”

  Sara nodded, and Judy went on, “Men are so darned stubborn that way, they can’t ever talk about what’s really bothering them. With me, of course, it’s obvious I’m disabled, in this wheelchair and all, but with this problem Doc has, unless you know what’s wrong...”

  “Yes, I see exactly what you mean,” Sara agreed faintly. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you told me. Thank you.”

  Judy’s eyes suddenly sparkled with tears. “I love Doc Stone, he’s been absolutely wonderful to Floyd over the years. He hired him the spring after my accident, and Floyd’s been there ever since.”

  Judy didn’t appear to mind talking about her disability at all. Sara dared to ask, “What happened to you, Judy?”

  The other woman shrugged. “Oh, I fell off a horse. We were fooling around, Floyd and I, racing a couple of horses we had no right to be on because my mother was only boarding them for someone. Floyd’s horse happened to bump mine, and I fell off and fractured several of my vertebrae.” Judy frowned and added sadly, “Floyd was home for the holidays from his first year at vet school, and after this happened to me, he refused to go back. It was so stupid of him, but he felt responsible. Dad was dead, and our mom was older and not well, so we weren’t very well off. Floyd spent the money intended for his education on my medical bills, and until Doc Stone hired him he was working in the sawmill. The job Doc gave him meant he could work with animals again.”

  “And Dol...” Sara flushed and started again. “Your husband. How did you
meet him?”

  “George? Oh, he’d been our neighbor for years. He was quite a bit older than me, more Floyd’s age, and at first when he wanted to marry me, I refused point-blank.” Judy’s mobile face was mischievous now. “I figured he was just sorry for me, and who needs that? But he kept right on asking and bringing me flowers and perfume and things, and after a couple of years, when he never stopped asking, I guess I just wore down,” she admitted with a wry grin. “Marrying George was right for me, he’s a wonderful husband,” she added. “Even though Floyd and George don’t get along all that well, my marriage was the best thing I could have done.”

  Sara was rapidly reassessing many of her ideas and feelings about people she thought she knew. She happened to glance up at the wall clock and was shocked to find it past 2:00 a.m.

  “Look at the time! I’ve got to go check on Sergeant and get on home.” She met Judy’s lovely gaze and said, “It’s been so great meeting you. Maybe I can drop in again when I’m out this way?”

  Judy’s wide, delighted smile flashed. “I’d love that,” she declared. “I promise next time I won’t talk your ear off about family problems, either. I’ll show you my pottery instead.” Excitement was evident in her voice and her eyes. “George’s built me a kiln out back of the tool shed, and I’m experimenting with different glazing. I can’t wait to show you.”

  Sara hurried down to the barns her head swimming with new, disturbing insights.

  Dolinger was just coming out, but he turned back and accompanied her as she went over to Sergeant . The huge stallion was up, and the cast was holding nicely.

  “As long as he stays pretty quiet, he should be well on the road to recovery in a week or so,” Sara said. “I’ll keep a close eye on him.” She deliberately met Dolinger’s eye. “I very much enjoyed meeting your wife. Thank you for introducing me and for the delicious meal as well.”

  She had to smile inwardly at the nonplussed expression on his face. He didn’t seem to have the faintest idea how to deal with a sincere compliment.

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see how Sergeant comes out of this,” he finally replied gruffly, and Sara had to smile to herself. The man was anything but a jovial sort, but at least Sara knew now that there was a heart beating somewhere inside him.

  Wasn’t love the most remarkable thing, when it could take a man like Dolinger and actually turn him into a nice guy? For limited periods of time, of course. But one couldn’t expect miracles, after all.

  Exhausted, she drove home and collapsed into bed, smiling like a fool and clutching the note she’d found hanging by a nail on her door.

  Sara-- have sabotaged your cell and all lines into Bitteroot. Feel this is the only way to insure your company for longer than an hour. Sleep well, my pretty lady. Will pick you up at 2:00 p.m. tomorrow, no excuses accepted. xxxxxxx M, P.S. Adeline showed me your baby pictures, loved the one of you on the furry rug. I like your hairdo better now, but your outfit back then was great. M.

  Obviously the picture was the infamous one of Sara at six months, bald as a balloon, with not a stitch on. Trust Gram.

  By two on Sunday, Sara was ready to believe that Mitch actually had done something to her cell and the other phones, because by some miracle, there wasn’t one single emergency call for her. She’d slept in, had time for a long leisurely breakfast with the family and actually managed a discreet makeup job before Mitch arrived. He was riding Misty and leading Steamboat, and he snatched a kiss as he held the horse for her to mount.

  Soon they were following a rough trail that seemed to lead straight up the mountain, and Sara was proud of the familiar way she felt with Steamboat. Today she actually imagined that she was in control of the animal, instead of the other way around.

  “How did the stallion make out last night?” Mitch wanted to know as they plodded comfortably along a more level patch of trail.

  Sara told him the details of the repair job she’d had to do. She’d thought a great deal about the things Judy had revealed last night.

  “Did you know Floyd had a sister married to George Dolinger?” she asked Mitch, and he nodded.

  “Yeah, she was quite a bit older than me, but I seem to remember lots of gossip when they were married. She’s in a wheelchair, isn’t she?”

  Sara described Judy for him and told him what the woman had said about her injury and how it had affected Floyd.

  Mitch listened. “I probably heard all about it at one time, but being away from here for so long, I’d forgotten,” he commented when she was finished. “Dolinger must care a lot for her. It can’t be easy, having a wife in a wheelchair. And it sounds as if old Floyd’s never forgiven himself for that accident.”

  “It’s so stupid of Floyd to waste his life over something that happened a long time ago. Judy certainly doesn’t feel he’s responsible at all for what happened. She’s happy, and Dolinger knows he’s darned lucky to have her.” Sara added, “Dolinger’s not the nicest person I’ve ever met, except when she’s around. She brings out a good streak in him.”

  Mitch mused silently that probably Sara did the same for him. Around her, he felt more at peace with himself than he did on his own, and the restlessness inside of him eased somewhat. He still felt rotten over quarreling with his father and saying the things he had. He must have a mean streak a mile deep to throw up his brother’s death to the old man. And yet part of him still stubbornly felt that Wilson deserved being told how things were.

  Steamboat was falling behind Misty on the trail, and Mitch reined in to give the lazy gelding a chance to catch up. Sara looked lovely today, lithe and slim in her faded jeans and strapless ribbed sun top. She had a pink-checked shirt over it, hanging loose and unbuttoned, and the soft, tawny skin of her neck and shoulders glowed. She’d found a loosely woven straw hat somewhere, and the afternoon sun made intriguing patterns through it, sunshine and shade across her nose and cheeks.

  “Did you and Dave have any problems in the bar last night?” she asked as they drew abreast again.

  Mitch shook his head. “It was fairly quiet. Apparently your mom and gramma offered a huge spaghetti dinner around seven, and all the rowdies paid six bucks and ate until they nearly burst. So they didn’t have a lot of empty room for beer after that. They tried, but then finally gave up and sort of rolled on home.”

  Sara laughed. “Well, Dave’s beer sales might drop, but it’ll be worth it if the noise and the fights stop, as well.”

  “Dave’s a great guy,” Mitch remarked. “He’s easy to talk to, and he doesn’t keep handing out good advice like so many older men do. You’ve got a fine family, Sara.”

  Sara beamed at him, obviously pleased that he liked her stepfather and the others. “I hope my sister Frankie comes for a visit soon. I’ve tried to call her, but my vagabond sister’s off on the rodeo circuit. She’ll probably phone some evening from Wyoming or Calgary, just to let us know she’s alive and well.”

  “That’s exactly what I used to do,” Mitch said, and a feeling of nostalgia coursed through him all over again. Would he ever get over missing his life as a rodeo cowboy? The path grew steeper and the trees thinned out as they climbed, and for a while there was only the creaking of the saddles and the noise of birds and crickets in the hot afternoon.

  Then they crested the mountain’s top and dropped into a rugged valley bisected by a tumbling stream. The valley narrowed until its rocky sides were only half a mile apart, and the nearby sound of a waterfall thundered just ahead.

  “Wild Horse Canyon,” Mitch announced, leading the way through thick pines and snarling underbrush into a green clearing.

  Sara’s breath caught with wonder. The waterfall was just above them, gushing over a precipice, making prisms and catching rainbows of light in the late afternoon sunshine, dropping down until it formed a pool that shimmered at their feet. The glade was ringed with huge pine trees, and moss covered the earth where the horses paused.

  Mitch swung out of his saddle and reached up to steady Sara as she dismo
unted, hands spanning her waist and lingering, holding her when her knees buckled a bit after the long ride.

  “They say the wild horses come to this pool for water in the evening and then graze along the banks. We’ll choose a spot and set up camp back among the trees, downwind so they won’t get spooked.”

  It was a magic place, Sara decided as they shared the thick roast beef sandwiches and huge oatmeal cookies Gram had packed for them. There was an aura about the surroundings, a feeling that this was either the first or last unspoiled place in the world. Other people must have come here from time to time, but there was no trace of them. No wonder the wild horses felt safe here.

  The sun hung heavily over the crest of the mountain and finally dipped behind its peak. They’d unsaddled the horses earlier, led them down to drink and tied them loosely some distance away to graze.

  Mitch folded the saddle blankets under the plaid quilt they’d spread for their picnic. The saddles made ideal backrests, and they slouched comfortably side by side, chatting about anything that came to mind. Mitch had taken his hat off, and hers. Now he slid an arm around Sara’s shoulders, and his hand stroked gently up and down her arm, a slow, mesmerizing rhythm that sent shivers through every nerve ending.

  She felt lethargic, half asleep and yet highly conscious of the man beside her. Silence fell between them as the sun’s warmth lingered in the stillness of evening. A charged intentness seemed to fill the tiny glade where they lay, and she knew the exact moment when Mitch would turn slowly toward her, leaning on an elbow and gazing down into her face.

  “Your eyes absorb the color of the sky, do you know that, Doc?” he said, and then he dipped his head to bring his lips down to meet hers. His free hand glided across her midriff, and with the drugging delight of his kiss came the tentative touch of his fingers on her breast, cupping its fullness, and, as the kiss lengthened, deepened, she felt her nipple swell and strain against his palm as desire throbbed and grew between them.