“She just felt sorry for me, that’s all.” And that rankled. He didn’t want pity from her.
What do you what from her?
Oh, hell.
Chapter Six
The Flying Ace was a family operation and always had been. One of Ace’s earliest memories was of being held in front of his father on horseback and working cattle. He couldn’t have been more than two or three years old, because by the time he was four he had his own pony and rode alone.
He remembered his father telling him how his father, Earl Wilder, had propped him before him in the saddle and worked cattle.
Ace had done the same with his boys, but today would be the first time he’d taken all three of them at once, and the first time they would take an active role in gathering the herd for the move to the high pasture.
He wanted, badly, to take them on the drive, but they were way too young, he knew, to be in the saddle from dusk to dawn. On the one hand he was impatient for them to grow up so he could share with them what, even after all these years, was still a thrall to him. The pride in the accomplishment of raising a good herd of cattle, of tending them, of moving them up into the mountains for the summer, herding them back down in the fall, cutting the beef for sale from the stock to be wintered over. To share that with his sons....
On the other hand, they were growing so fast that mostly all he wanted to do was hold on to them and somehow make them stay babies and protect them, so they would never have to know hardship, loss, heartache
But without the hardships, the losses, the heartaches, he admitted, there was nothing by which to judge the good times.
Aw, hell, who was he to be standing around philosophizing about life? He did well just to make it from one season to the next. One day to the next. And that’s what he would keep doing, making it from one day to the next.
On this day he and his sons would gather some cattle.
“Hang on to the horn with both hands,” Ace told Grant. “If a cow decides to wander off, this horse is going to cut out after it. If you’re not holding on tight, you’ll be left hanging in the air.”
Riding beside him on the bay mare Frank had chosen for her, Belinda said, “Would it be better if Grant rode with me?”
Ace chuckled. “How good are you at holding on? That horse of yours will react the same way this one will. She’s a cow horse, Slim.”
Belinda pursed her lips. “You mean she could just cut and run, whether I tell her to or not?”
“That’s a fact.”
“Oh, goody.”
Ace laughed again. “You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re a good enough rider to handle it.”
“Oh, well, my stars,” she drawled, patting her hand over her heart. “A compliment from the great Ace Wilder. I’m not sure my little ol’ heart can stand it.”
Ace resisted the urge to turn his head and look at her. “It’s going to be a lonely little compliment, seeing as how there won’t be any more like it, since you don’t seem to appreciate them much.”
“I never said I didn’t appreciate compliments.” She grinned, eyes twinkling. “It’s just that you’re so stingy with them.”
“I wouldn’t want your head to swell. You know you look good, on or off the horse. I had to send Trey out to the main herd so he’d quit drooling all over you.”
Belinda turned her face into the breeze and closed her eyes, savoring the feel of the horse beneath her, the wind and sun on her face. She smiled. “Trey knows how to treat a woman.”
Ace snorted. “It’s like you say, if you ever told him yes, he’d run spitless the other way. He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you, and you know it.”
A little jitter of...something...made its way through Belinda’s stomach. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Ace. He was staring straight ahead, and from his profile. she couldn’t read his expression. “A woman like me?”
“Oh, no.” He glanced at her out of the corner of one eye, but didn’t turn his head. “You’re not getting any more compliments out of me.”
“There was some doubt in my mind that your answer would have been a compliment.”
“Yes, sir.” Jack grinned, nodding his head slowly. “Round three, in progress.”
“Round three of what?” Belinda asked.
“I’m sure I have no idea,” Ace muttered with a glare for his brother.
Jack chuckled and then let the subject go. He could stir the pot a little, he supposed, but just then he would rather concentrate on the feel of Clay’s little arms hugging him from behind. God, what a feeling, having a kid hug you, depend on you and know you won’t let him down. Jack envied Ace his three sons, and there was no getting around that fact. And he envied the boys, for they had a father who loved them, tucked them in at night, listened to them, held them, taught them, showed them by example—and a damn good one—how to be a man.
Jack shook his head at himself. It was old news that he hadn’t known who his father was until he was twelve. Spilt milk, as they said.
“Uncle Jack,” Clay complained. “I can’t see back here. Your back’s too big.”
“Well come on up here, then.” Jack twisted in the saddle and swung Clay around to sit on his thighs. The boy probably could have managed just fine riding his own pony, the way Jason was doing. But Ace wasn’t taking any chances on letting the kid hit his head again when the bruises were still visible. Jack couldn’t say he blamed him, either.
Up ahead of the three adult riders, Jason, on his spotted pony, flapped his rope in the air. “Get along there, cow. Move it on out. Hasten forward quickly, there.”
Belinda clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back a burst of laughter. Hasten forward quickly, there? She chanced a glance at Ace and caught him grinning like the lone rooster locked in for the winter with a thousand hens. “Hasten forward?” she managed.
“I can’t believe he remembered that,” Ace said, shaking his head.
“Where on earth did he come up with it?”
“It’s a direct quote from none other than Teddy Roosevelt.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He was an Easterner, new to cattle country. That’s just how he talked. At least until he got ribbed for it.”
“Head ‘em up,” Jason called, waving his coiled rope in the air. “Move ’em out.”
“Now that,” Belinda said with a chuckle, “I recognize.”
As she watched Jason herd the cattle and shout out his one-liners, Belinda’s eyes misted over. Look at him, acting so grown-up. Imitating his father, the look of concentration on his face, the ease with which he sat his horse. God, he was growing up so fast.
“See that cow over there, Grant?” Ace pointed toward a cow in the middle of the dozen head he had purposely left for them to herd today. “The one with the white spot on her left flank?”
“Whassa fank?”
“Flank. Her rump. See there?”
“Dat one?” Grant pointed.
“That’s the one. You’ll want to keep your eye on her come next spring.”
Grant craned his neck to look up at his father. “How come?”
“Because she only had one calf this year. Every other year, she throws twins.”
“Twins? Like Tommy and Timmy Wilson?”
Ace laughed. “Yeah, like Tommy and Timmy, except these twins are calves.”
“Is that good, Dad?” Clay asked from his perch on Jack’s lap. “A cow that has twins?”
“You bet it is, if she can nurse them both so we don’t have to bottle-feed one. Getting twins is like having an extra cow, but one you don’t have to feed. Twice the production from a single cow.”
Belinda smiled to herself. She knew that Ace didn’t expect the boys to understand about production, beef prices and all that. But they would remember what he said, and come to understand the business of ranching that much sooner for having been exposed to it firsthand this way.
He was so good with his boys. Belinda’
s throat ached at the realization that Cathy would be pleased at how good a father Ace was, at how he was raising her sons.
What could be better, she thought, than a warm Wyoming morning, a clear blue Wyoming sky, and watching Ace Wilder teach his sons about cattle, about life.
As they topped a low rise and saw the rest of the herd spread out before them, they all, without a conscious signal, drew to a halt.
“Golly,” Jason said in awe. “Look at ’em all, Daddy. Are they all ours?”
Ace shifted in the saddle. “Every last one of them, son. There you have it—the Flying Ace Ranch, on the hoof.”
It was, to Belinda’s mind, an impressive sight, that huge shifting mass of black and red beasts, with riders coming in from all directions bringing more cattle to add to the herd.
Belinda turned to look behind, at the rangeland spread out to the south. It went on forever, it seemed. Stark. Beautiful. It rolled up into hills, which stretched into green mountains.
“Oh, look,” she called softly. There on the crest of a hill to the west a herd of horses raced the wind. “Are they yours?”
“No,” Ace said quietly. “They’re wild.”
The way his voice rolled over the word wild sent something primitive shivering down Belinda’s spine. She knew, of course, that there were still small herds of wild mustangs roaming parts of the Rockies, but...to see them. To watch them run, with their tails flying out behind them, the sun gleaming on red, black, brown, white hides.
“No corrals for them,” she murmured. “No saddles, no riders bouncing on their backs.”
“No oats,” Ace stated. “No sweet feed, no curry comb, no safety from predators, no warm barn in the winter.”
Thoughtfully, sadly, Belinda turned her horse toward the cattle. “Freedom has its price, I suppose.” And sometimes, like today, watching Ace teach his sons about life and cattle and ranching, she wondered if freedom and independence—hers—were worth the cost.
Things were changing. Belinda felt the shift inside herself, and it frightened her. She still got that jittery, vulnerable feeling whenever she was around Ace, but lately, particular today with him and the boys and Jack on horseback, she hadn’t been able to find that deep core of anger that was her defense. The fear was still there, but more and more she found herself unable to come up with a pithy one-liner to maintain that distance between her and Ace.
And what was she doing about it? She was taking him a beer. Go figure. It was late, and he’d been buried under paperwork in his office since the boys had gone to bed. And she was about to say something to him that she didn’t think she’d ever said before. It was probably a mistake, but it needed saying, so she would say it.
When she stepped into his office, he was turned away from her, scrolling through screens of spreadsheets on his computer. Reluctant to disturb him, she gave herself a minute to gather her nerve while she let her gaze roam the trophies, blue ribbons and huge, silver belt buckles in the crowded trophy cases along the wall behind the desk. Awards for Wilders going back at least three generations, awards for their cattle, for their horses, and one for a dog. There were county and state fair ribbons for pies, cakes, and breads baked by Betty Wilder, Ace’s mother, and even, Belinda remembered with a smile, a couple with Cathy’s name on them.
“You’re looking exceptionally amused about something.”
At the sound of Ace’s voice, she chuckled and shook her head. “I was just thinking about Cathy winning those blue ribbons at the state fair for her pies. It sometimes startles me how different she and I were.”
Ace’s lips twitched. “Does this mean you don’t plan to stick around till fall and enter your famous Randall-family-secret chili recipe at the fair?”
Belinda blinked. “You know. You’ve known all along.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Why, you sneak.”
“Me?” Ace protested, laughing. He didn’t know what brought on this pleasant mood of hers she’d been in all day, but he liked it. It was a relief not to have to trade barbs with her for a change. “I’m not the one who carted those empty chili cans out and buried them in the trash. It seems,” he added with a cheeky grin, “you and your sister aren’t all that different, after all, m some respects.”
Her smile turned sad. “Oh, yes, we are,” she said, so softly that he barely heard her. “Different in every way there is.”
The whirring hum of his computer suddenly seemed abnormally loud. Belinda’s gray eyes were focused inward, looking at something Ace couldn’t see. Though maybe, from the sadness lining her mouth, he didn’t want to see. He’d never seen Belinda like this before. He couldn’t keep himself from asking, “Meaning?”
Her gaze focused, and her lips smiled quickly. If the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and if that troubled him, he didn’t have it in him just then to probe.
“Nothing,” she said swiftly. “Here, I brought you a beer as a thank-you.” She held the bottle out to him.
Ace reached for the beer. The bottle was frosty cold and slick with moisture, her fingers warm and soft. The contact of his fingers against hers shot a bolt of electricity up his arm and straight to his loins. His pulse kicked into a rapid triple beat. Ace jerked in response. Instinct told him to pull his hand away, but he could not. Involuntarily his gaze flew to hers.
Oh, damn. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. She felt it, too, that zap of awareness.
Ace thought again, Oh, damn. What the hell was going on here? This was impossible. Ridiculous.
And somewhere from the back of his mind came Jack’s mocking voice: Round four, bro.
They might have stayed that way for minutes, hours. Ace couldn’t tell. Finally he was able to take the beer from her hand, pull back and breathe. The instant the connection was severed, he told himself he had only imagined it.
He knew he lied.
“A, uh...” He stopped and cleared his throat. “A thank-you for what?”
Staggered by what had just happened, Belinda took a moment to realize what he was talking about. Then she told herself that her first instinct had been right—this was a mistake. But now it was too late, so she’d just have to live through it.
“For today,” she finally said.
He sat back in his chair and tilted his head at an angle. “What about today?”
She shrugged, feeling more out of her element by the second. She needed to shore up the wall between them, not breach it this way. “For including me in what should have been a family thing.”
Ace frowned. “But you are family. You’re my sons’ aunt. And it meant something to them, that you would go with us. Today was one of our annual rituals around here. I should be thanking you for going with us and making it special for the boys.”
Now it was Belinda’s turn to tilt her head. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugged, fighting the sting of heat in her face. “No reason, I guess,” she said, copping out. “Anyway, enjoy your beer. I’m going to turn in.”
She made the second hastiest retreat in her life, second only to the night she had awakened in the recliner to feel him touching her arm.
If they didn’t get some decent response from the ad for a housekeeper soon, she was going to scream. She had to get away from him. This was not supposed to happen. She was not supposed to feel things for him, things she had no business feeling, intimate things, hot things, yearning things.
She’d never seen a man back away from a woman so fast as he had from her just now, when he’d looked into her eyes and seen her reaction to his touch.
God, how humiliating.
Ace didn’t like it. He didn’t like having to admit to himself that maybe these weren’t just flukes. Maybe he really was attracted to Belinda. Sexually speaking.
What a daunting thought.
First, for God’s sake, she was Cathy’s sister. For some reason that made even the thought of any
thing developing between them feel appallingly wrong. Why the same thoughts about some other woman didn’t seem to feel quite so much like he would be cheating on his wife he couldn’t say, and he didn’t bother to analyze. The fact was, no woman had interested him since Cathy. That it should be her sister who wakened him felt, quite simply, wrong.
And second, if he were looking for a woman—which he most definitely wasn’t—it damn sure wouldn’t be one who was more apt to bite his head off than to smile at him.
And if he was after doing something about ending his celibacy, he wouldn’t be looking for anything more than physical relief. Belinda deserved better than that.
How noble, he thought irritably.
Okay, okay. He was attracted to Belinda. That didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. He would just keep out of her way as much as possible, and everything would be fine. As long as they didn’t accidentally touch. As long as he didn’t have to see her in those damn skin-tight jeans. How did a person straddle a horse in jeans that tight, anyway?
Damn, don’t think about straddling and Belinda in the same sentence.
Man, he must be in worse shape than he’d thought if something that innocent could speed up his pulse.
With his mind made up—again—to ignore the hormones that stirred to life around his sister-in-law, Ace left the next morning, along with all the other men except Frank, to drive the cattle up into the mountains. If he missed Belinda’s sarcastic comments, missed seeing her throw breakfast on the table wearing those baggy sweats, missed hearing her laughter when she played with the boys...well, he didn’t miss her. Wouldn’t. It was his boys he missed, that was all.
And maybe his bed, he admitted as he pulled another stick out from beneath his bedroll the first night on the trail.
“What’s the matter with you?” Trey grumbled from his bedroll five feet to Ace’s left.
“Not a thing,” Ace muttered. “Shut up and go to sleep.”
Their Other Mother Page 10
