by Janet Dailey
Casey tossed a pebble in the water, watching the waves circling out from where the stone hit. A glance from Flint could send the same ripples through her body, but with a more violent reaction. The physical and emotional demands of her body had suddenly come of age. It was becoming apparent that her love for Flint couldn't be denied any more than her desire could. And her love for him grew daily.
She tried desperately to ignore the weeks ahead, because it was such a short time until her father would be home and Flint would be leaving. Once she had looked forward to that day. Now she could feel just a small amount of the hollowness his departure would bring. It was a void, a black ominous pit that yawned ahead of her. If the thought could depress her so much while he was still here, what would it be like when he had really gone?
A drop of water fell on her arm as the ground suddenly vibrated around. Her gaze left the pool in front of her, turning upward to the sky. A jagged fork of lightning pierced through dark, rolling clouds. When Casey had ridden out to the small lake, she had noticed these same clouds hovering near the western horizon. Now they completely blackened the sky. A growl of thunder shook the ground again as another drop of rain fell on her. These sudden storms were common in Nebraska. She glanced toward the grassy area where her buckskin had been grazing.
His head was up, his eyes rolling in fear at the golden white spears of lightning falling out of the thunderclouds. An enormous clap of thunder sent the horse crouching on all four legs before he seemed to explode away from the lake. Casey leaped to her feet, shouting at the horse already racing away, his head held high and to one side to keep the trailing reins from entangling in his feet.
"Tally! Tally!" But her call was muffled by the onslaught of rain that the black clouds set free.
In seconds she was soaked to the skin. There was no use standing here staring after the fleeing horse, Casey decided disgustedly. She stalked to the top of the hill, but the buckskin was nearly out of sight. In angry desperation she placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly, for him. It was useless. The horse didn't even slow up for two strides. She glanced irritatedly at the dark clouds before setting off at a walk toward the ranch house nearly seven miles away. If only she had stopped feeling sorry for herself long enough to look up to the sky, she wouldn't have been in this mess, she told herself disgustedly. Her toes were already beginning to squish in her boots.
A questioning whinny halted her feet. The corners of her mouth curved upward in a hopeful smile. Maybe Tally had come back. But when she stared ahead of her, Casey saw a white horse making his way toward her.
"Mercury, how's the old boy today?" Her voice was a soothing caress as the horse nuzzled her face. "No sugar, feller."
Lightning flashed again, this time much closer as the violent storm moved in with all its intensity. Casey knew she had one chance of making it to the house before the full force of the storm descended on her. But she hadn't ridden Mercury for several years. It was a question of whether she'd be able to control him and direct him to the ranch with just knee signals. She had no choice; she had to give it a try.
The white horse was startled when she pulled herself onto his back. He moved restlessly beneath her while Casey spoke to him in a soothing and reassuring voice before urging him forward. He stepped out hesitantly, slowly accustoming himself to the weight on his back that he hadn't felt for years. But memories and habits are quickly recalled. Soon Casey had him in an easy canter, the aging white horse responding to the slightest pressure as when he was young and he and Casey were inseparable.
The rain fell harder, the drops becoming stinging pellets on exposed skin. The ground vibrated beneath the horse's hooves from the rolling thunder while the sky was alternated between lightness and dark by the lightning bolts. Mercury lengthened his stride until he was at a full gallop. It happened so gradually that Casey wasn't even aware of it until she noticed the ground racing past them at a faster speed.
She had no means to slacken his pace and it was all she could do to grip his rain-soaked sides with her wet legs. Her heart was pounding in her throat as they raced full speed over the Sand Hills. Casey knew she should slow him down, that the pace was too much for a horse his age carrying her unaccustomed weight. But she, perhaps like the horse, was remembering other times when Mercury was younger and they had ridden like this over the prairie. She kept telling herself that he wasn't laboring a bit, that his stride was just as effortless as it had always been.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, Casey felt a slight difference in the rhythm of his gait. Two strides before Mercury went down, Casey knew he was falling. She jumped free just as he somersaulted through the air, head over heels. A thick yucca bush broke her fall although she lay on the ground with the wind knocked out of her. She mentally checked her body to make sure she had no broken bones. Then her dark eyes turned toward the inert white form a few feet away. A mixture of rain and mud had marred the pure whiteness. She stumbled and crawled to the horse. Her eyes filled with tears as she kneeled beside the huge chest that had been drinking in large quantities of air just moments before. Now it was still.
"Mercury?"
Her hand reached out to touch the white forelock. Her whole body was shaking with the realization that her horse was dead. Sobbing openly now, Casey gathered the white head onto her lap, the gazelle-soft eyes now shut in death.
"I'm so sorry." The shaking, whispering voice was barely audible as she buried her head in the horse's neck. Her dearest possession and friend was gone. The lightning, the thunder, the rain, they didn't matter any more.
She was barely conscious of the rain subsiding and finally ceasing altogether. Not until two hands gripped her shoulders was Casey's mind drawn from the horse in her arms. Her misty gaze looked up at the sympathetic gray eyes below the wet hat brim.
"Your buckskin came back to the ranch. I was worried," was all Flint said as he pressed a willing Casey against his broad chest where she sobbed anew.
"I…I…w-was riding h-him. H-He started running and…and I cou-couldn't stop him." The stranglehold on her throat made her explanation difficult, but the comforting circle of his arms made her want to talk. "Then he…he fell. He's dead, Flint." This time Casey looked into his face.
Flint smoothed the curls of brown hair away from her cheek. "Don't blame yourself, Casey. Isn't it better this way?" His smile was so gentle. "I bet he's still running on into heaven, free forever."
The whimsical thought brought more solace to Casey than any logical argument she had considered. Remembering the way they had been racing over the hills before he had fallen made it an all the more cherished thought. She rested her head on his shoulder, the pain in her heart easing.
When his lips touched her hair, she couldn't help moving closer against him, snuggling into the comfortable warmth of his arms. She felt Flint's lips touch her forehead and the quivering sensation race clear down to her feet. Then they brushed the wetness of her eyelashes, the bridge of her nose, seeming to take time to touch each pale freckle on her face. His hand bit into her shoulder as he whispered her name so softly.
Her lashes fluttered open to gaze into the smoky fire of his eyes while she tilted her head upward to receive his kiss. Without conscious direction her hand reached up and removed his hat just before his mouth claimed hers. Then the other hand joined the first, curling into the silkiness of his hair, drawing him closer to her. Waves of ecstasy washed through her, each one leaving her weaker and more pliable, than the one before. The warm moisture of his mouth drowned any resistance. At the increased demand in his kiss, her lips parted involuntarily, bringing her a new rapture in unearthly enjoyment. His arms were steel bands that pressed her tightly against him until every button on his jacket was driven through the thin cotton of her blouse.
His lips left hers as Flint buried his head in the curve of her neck, nibbling at the sensitive cord until Casey moaned from the pleasure the action invoked. Now Casey could feel the rapid beat of his heart through his sh
irt as it marked time with the erratic pace of hers. An exquisite quiver of satisfaction claimed her as she realized that she had aroused him as thoroughly as he had aroused her.
Flint returned his lips once more to her mouth, roughly and possessively, as their physical desire mounted to an even higher pitch. But suddenly she experienced fear. Her lips became still beneath his mouth. Without being aware that she had reached any decision, she began struggling to free herself from the male body pressing down on her, A pleading "no" was whispered out of the corner of her lips. At first Flint ignored her, increasing the ardor and passion in his kiss until he almost took her breath away. Casey tried not to respond, but she did, although the fact that she was fighting it showed through.
In the next instant the heat of his body was taken away from her and a heavy-breathing Flint was towering above her. Casey knew the flush of her passion was still on her face and her lips were swollen from his kisses. And the flame of desire still burned brightly in his eyes, too. He stared silently down at her for a moment, then turned away. She opened her mouth to speak, but Flint silenced her.
"Don't apologize." Flint grasped her roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to look into his face. "If…You wouldn't have been able to stop me, Casey, and we both know it."
Anger was in his voice and face. Casey felt a certain amount of humiliation at the fact that it was directed at himself and not at her. Plus she knew that another few minutes under the expertise of his lovemaking and she wasn't sure she would have tried to resist.
"Take my horse and ride back to the ranch," Flint ordered crisply. "Send Sam out so he can help me bury Mercury."
Casey glanced at the white body, then up to the thinning gray clouds overhead. Unwillingly she thought it had been one of these violent storms so common to the Nebraska sand hills. One minute the sky was clear and in the next it was covered by rolling thunderheads. Just as quickly, the storm passed, sometimes leaving destruction and devastation in its wake. She glanced at Flint and the hard, stonelike expression on his face. Was he like one of their storms? Arriving unexpectedly, destroying the peaceful routine of the ranch and Casey, then departing just as swiftly?
Her gaze returned to Mercury. "Something dies and something is born." But hadn't the love that had been born between her and Flint been just as quickly killed? What was to be born in its place? Heartbreak?
Poor Mercury, she mused silently, how lucky you are to be free. Then she mounted Flint's Appaloosa and rode off.
| Go to Table of Contents |
Chapter Eleven
THE AFTERNOON WAS UNBEARABLY HOT. Not even a blade of grass was stirring. The western sun was a searing ball of flame scorching the sandy earth. Casey was depressed and irritable, a condition that had become very prevalent the last two days. Her irritation had been compounded today by her visit to the Smith ranch. She had gone to make arrangements to use their plane the following day to check fences in the far sections. Unfortunately, as far as Casey was concerned, the entire family was on the porch when she arrived at the Bar S.
Smitty's parents greeted her with their usual enthusiasm, insisting that she sit with them and have a glass of tea. Smitty's moody silence had been so marked that it was impossible for his parents not to notice. When he finally did speak, his sarcastic inquiries about "McCallister" had brought startled looks from his parents and questioning glances at Casey's grim expression. Casey had tried her best to keep her replies civil, but occasionally her own short temper crept through. Mr. and Mrs. Smith had nervously laughed off some of the more pointed barbs exchanged between Casey and Smitty, trying to treat the animosity between the pair as a lovers' quarrel.
Yet it was when Mr. Smith had jokingly said to Smitty, "Well, it's Friday night. I suppose you're going to be taking the car tonight and spiriting Casey off to some movie," that the barely disguised show of politeness had vanished.
"I'm sure Casey and McCallister have other plans for this evening," Smitty had retorted sharply. "But I wilt be needing the car." He had glowered at Casey triumphantly. "I thought I'd stop over to the Fairlie place and see Brenda."
Casey had muttered the first excuse that had popped into her head and had left. It had become vastly immaterial whether or not the plane was to be borrowed the following day or not at all. First Flint had practically turned his back on her, treating her as if she were poison ivy that he shouldn't get close to, and now Smitty was deserting her as well for that ridiculous chit of a girl Brenda Fairlie. Casey was so horribly mixed up that nothing seemed to make any sense any more.
Part of the problem with Flint was her own making. She had difficulty meeting his eyes squarely. A mixture of shame and elation washed over her when he walked into a room where she was. She was so confused that she didn't know if she was supposed to ignore what had happened between them or what. But Flint's clipped words whenever he did speak to her had implied that was the direction she was to take.
A huge blowfly buzzed noisily around her ear. She swatted at it uselessly as she continued toward the house. In a fit of pique Casey slammed the screen door shut behind her as she entered the kitchen. The room was strangely empty. At this time of the afternoon it was usual for her mother to be in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. Casey shrugged away her slight uneasiness and removed the pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. A glance at the stove told her that nothing was even on it in anticipation of dinner.
She had just poured herself a glass of tea and was raising it to her lips when she heard a sound from the doorway. She glanced back, expecting to see her mother enter the room, but instead she saw Flint. He was rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture of tiredness. He was studying Casey with an abstracted thoughtfulness. There was a strained, hard look in his expression and weariness in his eyes. She stifled a desire to rush over and comfort him, choosing instead to keep her back to him.
"I've spent half the day looking for you." The sharp edge of his voice slashed her already frayed nerves. Luckily her back was to him and he couldn't see her flinch. "Won't you ever learn to let someone know where you're going?"
"I didn't think it mattered," Casey flashed back just as sharply. "Where's mom?"
"The next time, don't think, just do as you're told." It hurt terribly to have Flint speak to her as if she were a child. "As for your mother, the hospital called this morning—"
"Is dad coming home?" She made her voice appear eager even though she knew such an event would mean Flint's departure.
"No."
The decisive word forced Casey to swallow a lump of apprehension as she waited expectantly for an explanation. Flint studied her grimly before continuing.
"He contracted a virus of some sort. Your mother went in this morning because the doctor felt his condition was critical."
The quick gasp for air didn't ease the sudden knotting of her stomach muscles. Casey wanted Flint to stay, but not at the expense of her father's health. Out of the hardness of his face, Flint spared her a sympathetic glance.
"Lucille called just a few minutes ago saying he had improved considerably," he reassured her. "I've convinced her that right now her place is with your father, so she's staying in Scottsbluff with her sister until he's released from the hospital."
Flint crossed the room and poured himself a glass of tea while Casey stared at him silently. She was trying to adjust to the sudden news and the unusual tension that seemed to possess Flint. She had studied him so often these past weeks that she could tell there was something more he wanted to say. He studied the brown liquid in the glass before he bolted it down as if it were hard liquor. Then he turned his bland gray eyes to her.
"I called my sister this morning." He paused, examining Casey's face. "I've made arrangements for you to stay with her until your mother and father come home."
"What!" Casey was flabbergasted. "What are you talking about?"
There was just enough outraged anger in her question to bring a tightening of Flint's jaw as he set the glass on the counter.
"What about Mark? He's here."
"A fifteen-year-old boy is hardly a suitable chaperon."
"This is preposterous! I feel like some Spanish girl that has to be kept under lock and key!" She shook her head in disbelief.
Before the anger in Flint's eyes could be voiced, she rushed in, more calmly this time. "You can just call your sister back and tell her I'm not coming. My place is here at the ranch. There's too much work to be done for you to do it alone."
His hand exploded on the countertop, the violence causing her to jump.
"Casey, can't you get it through your head that I don't want you here!"
It was as if his hand had knocked all the wind out of her as she stared blindly at the uncompromising gray eyes. Their cold hardness froze her as effectively as their fire had once burned her.
Casey turned away, her vision blurred with tears. She was certainly left in no doubt of his feelings toward her. If he had drawn her a picture it couldn't have been any plainer. He was tired of her. Well, Casey thought, gathering herself together, she had some pride left, too.
"I'll go." The admission of defeat was hidden in her calm voice.
She heard Flint sigh behind her, but it wasn't a sigh of relief but of exasperation and irritation. His hands gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. Casey rigidly controlled her muscles so they wouldn't react the way they wanted to and move into his arms and against the broad, inviting chest.
"I've handled this badly." Flint seemed to be choosing his words with care, trying to appear logical and in control. But the muscle at the side of his jaw was twitching.
"What I'm trying to get at is that there have been some things happening between us." His eyes bored into hers, willing her to make it easier. But Casey remained stiff and unyielding, her gaze cold and challenging. Her lack of cooperation angered him. "If we were here alone…" He stopped Casey raised her eyebrow in what she felt was mocking amusement.
