“Now stand here beside me, and hold it the way I do.”
She planted her feet as he did, even imitating the angle of how he held his hands. If anyone could teach her, he could. She’d admired that every time he’d thrown the rope, it had landed true along the horns or head.
He held out his right hand to draw her attention, the rope grasped with the palm facing out. “It should slide through real easy like.” He demonstrated, pulling so that the rope slipped through the knot with ease. “We can start with a small loop.” He pointed. “This is your spoke.” He indicated the length of rope between the knot and his hand, “And this is your lead. You want about a coil’s worth.”
She mimicked his every move, absorbing his approving smile like hot sun on a puddle.
“Now you just. . .” He flicked the rope back and forth over his hand. “You see what I’m doing? Then we’re going to grow the loop some.” He slipped the knot down until the loop sagged almost to his feet.
She did the same, not quite understanding the reasoning but doing it nonetheless.
“Now you want to do this.” He began to spin the loop over his head, easy and slow. He stuck his elbow out at an odd angle. “Don’t do this or. . .” The loop sagged downward as it turned, creating the illusion of wobbling.
Drawing a breath, she let out her rope and began to spin it over her head. It dropped behind her.
“Careful or you’ll catch your horse’s tail. That’s a good way to get thrown off.”
He demonstrated what she’d done wrong. “You’re doing fine; this is the most important part. Don’t be shy about swinging your arm right off.” Again, his loop was smooth and perfect.
She lifted her arms and did the same.
“Good. Much better. Now keep at it until you feel the rhythm of it.”
Once, she looked up to see what the rope looked like in the air. It immediately started to wobble.
Tanner chuckled as it collapsed around her shoulders. “That’s the way to rope yourself!”
Maira scowled at him.
“Whoa!” He reached in close to help her work the lasso up around her shoulders. “No use getting mad; it happens.”
“I guess I’m not as patient as I’d like to think I am.”
“You’re patient with Levi.”
She smirked. “And his endless questions?”
Tanner shrugged. “He’s a good little boy. Curious is all. I’d rather have them curious and asking than sullen and. . .”
His pause made her curious. He took the rope from her and coiled it, twisting it with a flick of his wrist before adding another coil to his left hand. “You were saying?”
He grimaced. “Some kids don’t appreciate all that they have.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
Tanner took a long time coiling the rope. Much longer than necessary. Finally, he handed it over to her. “Try again.”
She took the rope and held it like he’d told her, noting the shadows cast by the angle of the setting sun. When she met his gaze, his eyes were as dark as oil.
❧
Tanner squinted at the ranch house. The front door. Coming to know Levi slapped every moment of his reckless youth across his face and left a bruise on his heart. Maybe this is what it means for the past to meet you in the present.
Maira was game, but she was tired and sore. “You can stop.”
“Good.” She stretched and winced, holding out the rope. “I’m just too done in. All I want is a cup of tea.”
He placed his hands together, collecting the rope from her and rolling it into one coil. Those green eyes glittered at him, a promise of warmth and comfort and companionship. “Coffee for me.” He stuck his arm through the coil and rested it on his shoulder. “I’ll meet you on the porch?”
“Sounds good.”
He was never more aware of himself than he was walking toward the barn to return the rope. He wondered if she was watching him. In the darkness of the barn, he hung the coil on a peg, thinking about her. Her stiff muscles. He glanced into the darkened corner of the barn. He’d spied it on his first day there, as he’d taken mental inventory of the tools in various places around the barn, and now, as he approached the deep tub, an idea formed. He ran his hand around the lip and along the bottom. The bottom was worn, thin and rusting in places, but he would clean it up. It would do the job just fine.
Tanner shouldered his prize and carried it to the side door. He peeked inside and set it down as quietly as he could, waiting for that moment when Maira would head out to the porch. When she glanced toward the cookstove that stood by the door, he ducked back and turned sideways to avoid detection. Gathering a bucket of water, he returned to the side door and glanced in again. All was clear. For now. As quietly as he could, he slipped the deep trough through the door and into the kitchen. The front corner stabbed into the cookstove, causing a ringing sound. He frowned and cut his eyes to the front. Maira stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.
“You scared me to death,” she chided as her boots tapped across the wood floor. When she cleared the table and saw what he had, she frowned and shook her head. “What is that, and why are you bringing it into my kitchen?”
Tanner could feel the heat creeping up his neck. “I thought. . .That is. . .”
Her lips curled upward in slow motion. “A bath.” Her gaze went to the trough, then back to him, her voice soft now. “Thank you, Tanner.”
“I’ve got some water. Thought if you got it to heating now it might be ready after. . .your tea.” He gave the trough another shove until it came even with the table. He jerked his head toward the door. “I’ll get that bucket.”
“I’ll stoke up the fire and put on the big kettle.”
He ground to a stop and turned. “Let me get that for you.”
“I can handle it. I have all these years.”
How could he tell her that he didn’t want her struggling with heavy things? He didn’t understand it himself. “I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I let you lug that kettle around.”
“Then I’ll stop being stubborn.” She motioned him into the pantry. “It’s in there. My back thanks you.”
The fire snapped and popped as he put on another log before settling the kettle on its hook. He dumped the first bucket, eyeballed the trough to estimate how many more he would need to fill it. Eight buckets later and he thought it must be enough. Upending the bucket by the side door to drain, he reentered the kitchen and glanced through toward the front window where she sat in her rocker. He couldn’t wait to join her.
Something vibrated and he raised his head, catching a strange sound. Hoofbeats. At the front window he watched as Walt Price rode his pinto into the yard, followed by two men Tanner recognized. Ducking away, he traversed the kitchen, shot out the side door, and slipped toward the porch, where he hid in the shadow to listen.
sixteen
“. . .Good neighbor, Mrs. Cullen. Carrot and Fletcher thought you might could use the help again this year. At my expense, of course.”
Maira’s voice held just the right mix of confidence and kindness. “You know how much I appreciate your offer, Mr. Price, but I’ve a strong hand working for me.” Tanner heard the slightest hesitation in her voice. “We’re doing quite well.”
Leather creaked. Tanner straightened, poised to make his appearance. Walt would want to know if he’d discovered anything, and Maira would wonder where he was. If he tarried, she might ask the reasons for his absence. He strode out from his place. Walt’s eyes snapped to him first thing.
“Young, how’re you doing?”
He wondered if Walt was aware of his slip. He did his best to cover. “Walt. How’s the XP?”
“Roundup is underway.”
Tanner stopped at the base of the porch steps, giving a curt nod to Fletcher, then Carrot.
“We came to see if Mrs. Cullen needed some help with her herd this year. She said she’d hired someone. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have worried so
much about her.” He turned to address Maira. “He’s a top hand, ma’am. You’ve done well.”
“He’s been a godsend, Mr. Price. Already he’s taken care of so many repairs.”
Tension knifed his spine. If Maira opened up the subject of his suspicions. . .
“He is looking into some problems with the cows.” Her bright tone showed the level of confidence she had in him. Walt Price, Tanner knew, would not miss that.
Walt raised a hand to his men, shifted his weight, and dismounted. Dust climbed to his shins then settled. Carrot and Fletcher set spurs to their horses and moved off toward the entrance gate of Rocking J. “Why don’t I leave Carrot and Fletcher here to help out?” Walt’s voice purred as he drew nearer. Tanner felt the man’s gaze on him, hard and measuring. “It would make things go that much faster. There’s a dance in town next week.” His gaze shifted to Maira. “While the hands are working cattle, maybe you and me could slip away to town.”
“Take Ana,” Tanner suggested.
Walt’s eyes narrowed at him. “Ana never wants to go any-where.” He laughed, but the sound was grating, even unpleasant. His head swiveled back to Maira. “What do you say, Maira?”
“An invitation.” Maira’s voice revealed nothing.
Tanner dared not react, though he couldn’t deny the splash of disgust that sliced through him. This was not his fight. He had no claim on Maira, or anything for that matter.
“Sure. You keep cooped up on this ranch more than is good for any widow.”
“It is my home, Mr. Price. My son needs me.”
Walt’s head bobbed as if he’d expected that argument. “I’m sure Frank can watch over him. Since he can’t sit a horse anymore, he’s little better than a nanny.”
Steel came into Maira’s voice. Tanner didn’t bother to hide his smile. “Frank is a dear friend and loyal hand.”
Walt put a boot on the lower step and swept his hat from his head. “My apologies, Mrs. Cullen. I didn’t mean to offend.”
The rocker ceased moving. Tanner turned in time to see her rise to her feet, her face a mask. “Your apology is accepted. Now it is late, Mr. Price. You are welcome to bed down in the bunkhouse before you return in the morning.”
Walt’s face went rigid. “I was just trying to help you out, Mrs. Cullen.”
“And I have expressed numerous times my appreciation. However, I no longer need to take advantage of your good graces. Thank you and good night.”
She pivoted, and the screen door slapped closed behind her.
“I guess that’s that then.” Tanner said as he met Walt’s eyes. He knew the man, or thought he did. Walt disliked being crossed, but the black rage on his face spilled fear into Tanner’s gut. Fear for Maira.
“She seems quite taken with you.”
He felt the accusation behind that last syllable.
Tanner turned and walked away. Walt could rant and rage all he wanted, but he’d hired him to come to the Rocking J. He’d only been doing his job. As he’d hoped, Walt followed him away from the house.
“Tell me what you’ve learned.”
“I learned that the man I thought to be the ‘owner’ of the ranch wasn’t a man after all.”
Walt’s lips trembled in a sneer. “Women have no right to property.” Walt’s voice went oily. “You must be doing a good job. Gotten yourself a position in the house yet?”
Anger flared hot. “Shut up.”
Walt’s sneer melted into a knowing grin. “Touch a nerve, Young?”
“I changed my mind. I don’t need your money.”
“You aiming to be a problem for me?” His voice had become harsh. A warning.
“You sent me here to spy on a woman who has lost her husband. I’m here because of you, but no longer. I quit.” More came to his tongue, begging to be spoken, but he would be better off biding his time.
“You’re setting yourself up against me.”
“It’s not my ranch; it’s hers.”
“But you want it, don’t you? Just like you want her?”
He didn’t miss the way Walt’s arm tensed over his right gun. “No. That’s your game.”
Walt’s eyes glittered like those of a snake. “Never thought you one to turn traitor.”
“I ride for the brand I believe in; it just doesn’t happen to be the XP. If that rubs you wrong, that’s your problem.”
❧
Maira spent several long minutes and an entire cup of tea reining in her anger. Walt Price had nerve. His put-down of Frank prickled the hair on her neck. She could only be grateful Frank had not been present to hear it. But Walt Price would never have said it to Frank’s face. No, he was the type to talk behind a person’s back, a fact his comment had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt. How the man would ever think himself attractive to any woman was beyond her. Though she could see someone being attracted to his wealth. A shallow, silly woman.
How dare Walt trot in on his horse offering his men again as if she would never catch on to his game. She wrapped her hands around her mug and pressed it to her forehead. The heat soothed. Her anger cooled. If not for Tanner, she would never have known of the missing cows. The herd would have been whittled down to nothing until she would have been forced to sell the ranch. More than anything, it fueled her desire to ride out with Frank and Tanner. To be a part of gathering and assessing the herd.
Setting her cup down, she folded her arms on the table and pillowed her head there. Her confidence in Tanner had grown with Walt’s acknowledgment that the man was a top hand. She wondered how the two knew each other. She sighed. The ache in her muscles, loosened a bit by the roping, had returned with a vengeance. Heat from the fire warmed the room, embracing her as Jon used to embrace her. She could have that again. With Tanner. She wanted to experience that closeness. Lifting her head, she surveyed the room. He’d brought the trough in and then the buckets of water. For her. A smile filled her heart to overflowing. Would he come in for the promised cup of coffee? Remembering the mugs, she stood. If Walt was still in the yard, she wouldn’t put it past him to make another play for her affections. He had been persistent enough.
The scene that greeted her reeked of tension. Walt stood, his shoulders tense, hand hovering over his gun. But it was Tanner’s stance that most worried her. He seemed unaware of the other man’s anger. Fletcher and Carrot, too, had become suddenly alert. Their faces intent, gazes hard on Tanner and Walt. Murder in Walt’s eyes.
Jon. Her throat closed with the vision of her husband. Alone and dying.
She barreled down the steps. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Tanner turned to face her, his relaxed expression becoming a mask of horror. Walt pivoted, his hand raising, something in the palm. Her legs pumped harder. Hoofbeats vibrated in her ears. Tanner’s leg swept out, and Walt’s mouth gaped in pain as the muzzle of his gun flashed.
seventeen
Tanner caught sight of Maira’s body hurtling toward them, hand raising her skirts to free her feet. He pivoted toward her, but Walt was turning, going for his gun, spooked by the unexpected movement. Tanner crouched and hooked his leg behind Walt’s. The bark of Walt’s gun rent the night air before the man collapsed, landing hard on his side. His gun slid away.
Hooves pounded toward him. Tanner straightened as Carrot’s horse skidded to a stop beside him. “Back off!”
Fletcher added something Tanner didn’t hear, but the man was off his horse, kneeling by Walt, and beyond him, another crumpled body.
Tanner stumbled forward, mouth dry. His knees gave out beside her, the sight of blood stealing his ability to draw in air.
“Tanner!”
He didn’t know who said his name. Didn’t care. Someone groaned. He slipped his arms beneath Maira, rolling her toward his chest, lifting. Her head snapped back, the mane of dark hair spilling toward the ground. Another groan, and his mind spun to another time, another place, when an Indian woman’s dark hair had spilled over his lap. She’d died because he hadn’t acted fast enough.
His fault.
He felt a hand on his arm.
“We need a doctor.” Frank’s voice.
“I’ll ride.” Fletcher.
Leather creaked, a horse whinnied.
“I didn’t see her.” Walt’s voice was gravelly. “Thought it was Frank. She shouldn’t have run—”
Shouldn’t have run. . . Shouldn’t have run. . .
As the copper smell of blood filled his senses, Tanner’s mind shredded one layer after another—to a time when the same words spilled from someone else’s lips as the man laughed and shot holes into the innocent. Tanner hadn’t acted fast enough to stop the massacre. And then there was his mother. A lone woman. Cold and hungry. Dying by herself when she should have been surrounded by family. He should have been there for her, and for the Indian woman.
❧
Maira struggled toward the light. Her arms couldn’t quite touch the halo that she knew, somehow, would grant her the ability to return. Levi’s voice. Crying. Warm hands. And underscoring the normal sounds was a river of pain. Dull, sharp at times. Hands moved over her side. Weakness held her limbs pinned to the mattress. She struggled against the confines. Levi’s tears needed to be wiped away, his fears assuaged. I’m here, Levi.
Her world tumbled and spun. A knot of nausea fisted in her stomach. She turned her head aside, body heaving, acid rising. A hand stroked her hair, touched her face, rubbed her cheek. Damp coolness on her brow eased her restlessness. She was not alone. Please don’t leave me alone. Loneliness plagued her. She was at the orphanage, so alone. So afraid. Hopeful when rumors spread that a couple would be coming, looking for a child to adopt. Oh, the hope that always flowed through her. Through them all. But they never wanted her. . . .
Jon did. His face, so earnest. Gone. . .
Pain stabbed. She thought she heard Jon call out. It must have been like this for him. To die alone. Each drop of blood—slick and hot—sliding her closer to an abyss. Blackness beyond comprehension. She fell, groping. Darkness choked her. She closed her eyes, opened them. It made no difference. Black was black. Cool air shifted around her then blew away as hot breath washed over her. Sweat popped from her pores. She writhed, trying to escape the heat. When she thought her body might explode, she spun and fell flat, exhausted, spent.
Valley of the Heart Page 10
