by R. C. Ryan
He saw the sudden frown that clouded her features.
He filled two mugs with coffee. “How long has that mustang been trained for the saddle?”
She accepted the coffee from him and sipped. “A couple of months. I guess that’s not nearly enough. We have a herd of mustangs that roam freely across our land, at least the part of our land that isn’t fenced. This one kept hanging around the pasture, and I figured I’d add him to our stock. He’s always been a bit high-strung, but until today he’s never done anything like that.”
Quinn nodded and leaned against the counter while he drank his coffee. “Something definitely spooked him. Maybe it was me. Maybe the storm. Whatever it was, I’d be cautious around him until you decide whether or he’s just skittish or a real danger.”
“Yeah. I was just thinking the same thing. If I’d been alone out there, I could have been killed.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why do I get the feeling that I already said that?”
She fell silent, staring intently into her cup. She could almost hear the bits and pieces of her earlier conversation with him flitting through her mind as she searched her memory.
At her silence he decided to keep things light.
He set aside his empty mug. “I ought to get on my way.”
Her head came up quickly. “I know you need to get back on the trail, but as long as it’s so late, why not stay another night?”
At his arched brow she was quick to add, “That way, you can get a fresh start in the morning.”
Was she afraid to be alone, now that she’d been injured? Was her arm more painful than she let on? He gave a negligible shrug of his shoulders. “Suits me.”
She visibly relaxed. “Good. You going to pass those chocolate chip cookies over, or are you keeping them all for yourself?”
His grin was quick and potent. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. I guess now I’ll have to share.” He shoved the bag across the table and watched as she helped herself to a handful before passing the bag back to him.
He refilled his mug and topped off hers before taking a seat, stretching out his long legs contentedly.
They sat together, watching the last of the day’s light fade into darkness, drinking their coffee and munching on cookies.
It was, Quinn thought, such a simple thing. But after his long, solitary time on the trail, it seemed all the more satisfying. Though he was a loner by nature and by choice, he missed home and family when he was out in the wilderness. What he missed most, he thought, were simple things. Discussing ranch problems with his father and grandfather. The laughter and teasing that was always present in his relationship with his brothers. The ebb and flow of conversation that was as natural to all of them as breathing.
Though most of his friends were married, he’d never considered it an option. What woman in her right mind would want a man who spent half his life in the wilderness chasing after wolves and the other half seeing to his family ranch?
Not that he gave much thought to marriage. He figured he’d never miss what he never had. And though there had been plenty of willing women, there had never been that one special one who made him ache with need.
Now where had that come from? He glanced across the table and felt again the quick rush of heat he’d experienced when he’d kissed Cheyenne. She wasn’t so much an ache as an itch that needed scratching.
Dangerous territory, he thought.
Needing to do something, he stood and began clearing the table.
Cheyenne got to her feet. “You did the dishes last night. It isn’t fair that you do them again.”
“Fair?” He turned her protest into a joke. “Woman, who said anything in life’s fair? You need to rest that shoulder.” He pressed her back into the chair. “If you want to help, sit here and keep me company.”
Cheyenne watched as he quickly dispatched the dirty dishes to the dishwasher. With a few quick wipes of the table, the countertops, the sink, the job was done easily.
“Now that wasn’t hard to watch, was it?”
“Not at all.” It was on the tip of Cheyenne’s tongue to say he was very easy to look at. Again she had the distinct impression that she’d already told him that.
Aware of where her thoughts were heading, she decided to match his light tone with her own. “You keep that up, you may have a shot at taking over Micah’s job if he ever decides to retire.”
“A word of warning.” He chuckled. “I may have picked up a few cooking tips along the trail, but most of them are just to stave off starvation. Anything fancy, I’m not your man.”
“Fancy doesn’t exactly describe my taste in food.”
“No, but having tasted Micah’s flapjacks, I’d say you’re already spoiled. Anything I offered would be like yesterday’s oatmeal. Lumpy, and tasting like glue.”
“Thanks for that warning. I guess Micah will have to stick around for another few years.”
Quinn held up the coffeepot. “There’s just enough left for two more cups.”
When he’d filled their mugs, he said, “I wouldn’t mind sitting by the fire before I go up to bed.”
“Great idea.” Cheyenne was oddly pleased that the evening wasn’t over. Smiling, she led the way to the great room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Quinn tossed a fresh log on the coals, sending a shower of glowing embers dancing up the chimney. His interest was snagged by the array of framed photos on the mantel. He focused on the largest one.
“This has to be your dad. You look just like him.”
Cheyenne walked up beside him. “Yeah. Funny. I’m the image of my father, except for his red hair. My brother, Buddy, looked just like our mother. She was from the Northern Cheyenne Arapaho. Buddy’s given name was Daniel Eknath O’Brien, but we never called him anything except Buddy.”
“Eknath? Yeah. Definitely Arapaho.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m surprised that you know that.”
He shrugged. “Ela has been with our family since my dad was a boy. We’ve all picked up words and phrases from her. She told us that her name means ‘earth.’ What does ‘Eknath’ mean?”
“ ‘Poet. Saint.’ ” She smiled dreamily. “It suited him. He loved reading and writing. He always kept a journal. When I was a kid, he let me read parts of it. Beautiful passages about this part of the country, and its changing seasons. My mother always hoped he would become the great American writer who would introduce the Arapaho culture to the world.”
Her smile grew. “Buddy was four years older than me, and I was his shadow. Wherever Buddy was, my folks knew they’d find me trailing behind. I absolutely adored him. In my eyes, Buddy could do no wrong.” She shook her head. “I still find it hard to believe he’s gone.”
“What happened?”
She stared into the flames of the fire. “An accident on the highway. His truck skidded off the road. He died before the authorities could get to the site.”
“Was he alone?”
She pointed to another photo, of two young men standing beside the barn, wearing matching smiles. “That’s his friend Austin Baylor. He was driving behind Buddy and saw everything. Austin was too late to save him.” She took a deep breath. “They’d been drinking at the Watering Hole, a bar in town.”
Quinn nodded. “Everyone in this part of the state knows the Watering Hole.”
“Buddy wasn’t much of a drinker, so it wouldn’t have taken much for him to get drunk. Dad and I were shocked that he’d drink and drive, though. It was really out of character for Buddy.”
“I’m sorry. How long ago did this happen?”
“Two years ago.” She shivered despite the heat of the fire. “My dad was really devastated. Buddy had pretty much taken over the operation of the ranch. Dad had finally reached a point in his life where he was able to kick back and move at a slower pace. That suited both of them perfectly, since Dad was a slow-and-easy kind of guy and Buddy was a take-charge person who never even knew what slow meant. They’d been a perfect balan
ce for one another. And then Buddy was gone. My poor dad was lost.”
“You had to be just as affected by it.”
She nodded. “My heart was broken. It still is. Everywhere I look, I see Buddy, and all the things he loved here. It took me the longest time to accept that he was really gone. But I had to, for my dad’s sake. He was determined to move forward, despite our loss. Wes Mason, our foreman, wanted to hire a couple of wranglers to fill Buddy’s position, but when Austin offered to step in, Dad insisted that Wes give him a chance to prove himself.”
She sighed. “Dad knew that Austin was carrying a load of guilt after witnessing Buddy’s death. Austin kept bemoaning the fact that he could have done more. Dad thought it would be a chance for Austin to put the past behind him.”
“That sounds like a good arrangement. How’s it working out?”
She pointed to a photo of an older man with his arm around a younger man’s shoulders. “It wasn’t long before Dad was calling Austin his second son. It’s funny. Dad was a stickler for rules. Everything had to be done a certain way.” She chuckled. “His way. But in Austin’s case, he was always willing to go that extra mile. No matter how many things Austin did wrong, or how badly he messed up, Dad would have a logical explanation. I’d hear him telling the wranglers that Austin was a city boy. He’d never been on a ranch before. The crew was expected to cut him a lot of slack. Dad insisted that he’d get the hang of things when he’d had more time under his belt.”
“Did he?”
She shrugged. “We can all see that he’s really trying.”
“So he’s still here. What about his family?”
Her voice lowered. “He never talks about his past. According to Buddy, it was a really sad story. Austin had been in foster care, then living on the streets, when Buddy saved him from an attacker one night in Laramie.”
“Was Buddy in college there?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “After that they bonded and became friends, and when Buddy graduated he brought Austin here to work on the ranch.”
“I can see why your father wanted to keep him around.” Quinn paused, wondering how to ask the next logical question.
Finally, gathering his courage, he asked, “What happened to your father?”
He saw the pain in Cheyenne’s eyes. “A ranch accident. Dad had taken one of the all-terrain vehicles up into the hills. When he didn’t return, we went searching and found him in the snow. Apparently he’d taken a steep hill too fast, and the vehicle flipped on him, pinning him. Chief Fletcher said it looked as though he froze to death out on the trail.”
She fell silent, and Quinn thought it wise not to press for more details.
With a shake of his head he muttered, “That’s a heavy load of bad luck to shoulder. What about Austin? Where is he now?”
“Up in the high country with the wranglers. He keeps saying that he wants to learn everything he can about ranching, and there’s no better way than by spending time with the whole crew.”
“That’s good. It sounds as though he’s found a home here.”
She looked down at the cup of coffee in her hands. “I really feel that I owe it to Dad and Buddy to give him as much time as he needs to learn the ropes of ranching.”
Quinn moved closer to the framed photograph of a beautiful young Arapaho woman in flowing native dress, her dark, waist-length hair spilling over her shoulders. “Your mother?”
She nodded.
“She was beautiful.”
Cheyenne dimpled. “My dad was absolutely crazy about her. And she felt the same way about him. I’ve never known two people more perfectly suited to be together. Her Arapaho name was Lolotea. It means ‘gift from God.’ Dad always called her Lola.”
She settled herself on the sofa, tucking her feet underneath her as she reminisced. “When cancer took her, Buddy and I thought our dad would never get past his loss.”
“How old were you?” Quinn sat beside her, on the opposite end of the sofa.
“Seventeen. A senior in high school. Buddy and I did our best to comfort our dad, but he was inconsolable. It’s funny.” She stared down into her cup. “I can still remember the first time I heard my dad finally laugh again. He and Micah were talking about something that had happened years earlier. It was an old story, one we’d heard many times. About an ornery mare that had tossed my dad headfirst into a creek. He came up mad as a spitting cat. Suddenly Dad and Micah were convulsed with laughter. Buddy and I sat there drinking it in, and thinking there had never been a lovelier sound than our dad laughing.”
She looked up and found Quinn studying her. “It taught me something special. I learned that every person has to work through grief in his own way. And when we reach that other side, that happier, less painful side, it seems all the sweeter because of the pain of the past.”
Quinn nodded and realized that his own cup was empty, though he couldn’t recall drinking the coffee. He’d been mesmerized by this woman and her story.
It occurred to him that he could sit and listen to that soft, breathy voice all night. Added to the voice was that sweet, expressive face that gave away every emotion she was feeling. “You’ve told me about everybody in the family except you. Where’d you go to school?”
“Homeschooled until high school. How about you?”
He nodded. “The same.”
“The town was just too far from the ranch to travel back and forth every day. But once I was old enough to drive, I felt a real sense of freedom. And when it was time for college, I followed Buddy to Laramie.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “Still his shadow.” She shrugged. “I really only went to college to please my father. He never had any formal education, and it was a source of pride that both his children graduated from college. In truth, all I ever wanted to do was be a rancher like him. But once I got caught up in college life, and got over my homesickness, I found that I really liked learning so many new things in a different setting.”
Quinn laughed. “You sound just like my brother Jake. His first thought was to get his college degree online, so he could stay home and be with the family. Our pa was having none of that. He practically had to kick Jake out of the house to get him to go. Then, after Jake got over his rebellion, he discovered that he was a really good student, and decided that he could become an even better rancher if he took the time to study veterinary medicine.”
“How did your folks feel about letting their son go?”
Quinn’s smile faded. “Like you, we all had to deal with our life decisions on our own. Our mother’s been gone since I was ten.”
“I’m sorry. What did she die of?”
Quinn frowned. Even after all these years, he hated having to answer this puzzling question. “She went missing without a trace.”
Cheyenne clapped a hand to her mouth. “What was I thinking? I’ve heard about your mother’s disappearance. Not when it happened, of course,” she added with a nervous laugh. “I was probably around five or six. But through the years I’ve heard bits and pieces of the story. Have you ever found out what happened?”
He shook his head and tried for a flip answer. “It’s our big deep, dark family mystery. ‘Where did Seraphine Conway go? And why did she leave her loving family without a word?’ ”
Cheyenne reached a hand to cover his. “That’s just horrible. I can’t even imagine losing a parent without knowing the why and where and how of it. It has to eat at your soul. I’m so sorry, Quinn.”
At her touch he felt the quick sexual rush and was reminded of the kiss they’d shared.
His head came up sharply and he turned to her with a look so fierce, she was reminded of the animals he studied.
Wolf eyes. A predator’s eyes, and she the prey.
At once she removed her hand and struggled to her feet. “Well, I think it’s time I went up to bed.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He reached out for her empty cup.
When she handed it over their fingers brushed and they both turned away quickly.
>
Quinn deposited the two mugs in the sink in the kitchen and followed Cheyenne up the stairs.
At the door to his room he paused. “If that shoulder gives you any trouble, let me know. I don’t mind losing sleep to drive you to town. In fact, I’d feel a lot better if a doctor looked at it.”
“Thanks, Quinn.” She started to reach out a hand, then seemed to think better of it and clasped her hands in front of her. “For everything. ’Night.”
“Good night.” He waited until she reached the door of her bedroom. When it closed behind her, he stepped into his room.
Buddy’s old room, he thought. Now that he knew a little more about the man who’d once lived here, Quinn could see it through new eyes.
He circled the room, seeing the framed photos of a younger Buddy on horseback, in a hay wagon, in the bull-riding ring at the fairgrounds in Paintbrush. There was a small photo atop the dresser of Buddy and Cheyenne, arms around each other, grinning like two conspirators. There was no disputing their relationship. Their dark hair and eyes and wide smiles were identical.
As he stripped and climbed into bed, Quinn thought about the tragic losses Cheyenne had suffered in the past years. It must seem as if her entire family had disappeared in the blink of an eye.
What would it be like, he wondered, to lose everyone who mattered most? He lay very still, staring at the crescent moon in the midnight sky outside the window. There were times, even now, when the loss of his mother was like a quick, unexpected knife to his heart, and she’d been gone for better than half his life. Plenty of time to get used to it. And yet he never had. None of his family had. Especially their father.
Quinn couldn’t imagine what he’d have done if he’d been forced to deal with not only the loss of his mother but of his father and siblings as well.
Just thinking about them had Quinn eager to head home. He’d been gone way too long. He wanted, needed, to touch base with his family. To sleep in his own bed. And to get back into the routine of hard, challenging ranch chores alongside Josh and his father and Big Jim.
It had felt good to clean the stalls here and to handle the dozens of ranch chores that had piled up overnight. It would be even more satisfying to tackle the chores on his own family ranch.
