Boss Man from Ogallala

by Janet Dailey

  "Hello," a male voice responded cheerfully, sending Casey's heartbeat racing at triple speed. "Is that you, Gabbie?"

  For a moment the rich timbre of the man's voice had reminded her of Flint. Her knees had nearly buckled beneath her as she sank onto the sofa adjoining the end table.

  "No, no, it's not Gabbie." She had trouble finding her voice. "I'll get her for you."

  She set the receiver down before the man could reply and hurried to the room where Gabbie was working. She tapped lightly on the open door.

  "There's a phone call for you."

  "Who is it?" Gabbie glanced up from her typewriter reluctantly.

  "I didn't ask. It's a man."

  "That's something." Gabbie smiled broadly, leaving her desk to enter the living room.

  It was impossible for Casey not to listen to the one-sided conversation.

  "Hello…I was working. You know how I am when I'm in front of that typewriter. It would take an explosion of dynamite beneath my chair…Oh, that was Casey Gilmore. You remember Flint telling us about her. She's going to be staying with me until her father's out of the hospital…I'm finishing up an article, so why don't we make it next weekend? That's a date, then. Bye now, love you."

  Gabbie turned to Casey after replacing the receiver on the hook. Her eyes twinkled with laughter.

  "You were right, it was a man," she said. "My dad. They're coming over next weekend. Mom and dad are both fishing addicts, so it's just about impossible to keep them away from Big Mac for long. Big Mac is the lake," Gabbie explained. "An affectionate abbreviation of Lake McConaughy used by the local people."

  Casey's attempt at a smile barely lifted the corners of her mouth. She knew there was no chance that her father would be released from the hospital next week. His hip had to remain in traction another ten days. Wasn't it bad enough that she had to be staying with Flint's sister? Did she have to meet his parents, too?

  If Gabbie noticed her lack of enthusiasm at the news, she didn't comment about it. She quickly excused herself and returned to the small den she used for her writing.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  A SNAIL POWERED THE HANDS of the clock so that each day seemed to contain forty-eight hours for Casey. Forty-eight hours in which the full futility of her love hung like a yoke around her shoulders, weighting her down until she felt that she could stand it no longer. Gabbie had done her best in the last four days to fill in Casey's hours. She worked only in the mornings and devoted the rest of her time to planning activities for herself and Casey.

  Two afternoons she had driven Casey to Scottsbluff in her little sports car so that Casey could see her father. But those were strenuous, tension-filled hours during which Casey had to watch every word she spoke lest she should give away the true state of her emotions. Her father had improved considerably and was looking forward to returning home. For the first time Casey even had difficulty discussing the affairs of the ranch with her father. It seemed that all their sentences contained the word Flint. Now even that life was linked solidly with him.

  The ever-perceptive Gabbie realized the problem and immediately set about rectifying the situation. The following afternoons she conducted Casey on a sightseeing tour of Ogallala which was just ten miles from Lake McConaughy. The mansion on the hill, Front Street, Boot Hill Cemetery, all the attractions that made Ogallala the "Cowboy Capital of Nebraska" were paraded before Casey. But the faded museum pictures of cowboys at the end of a long cattle drive had merely served up images of Flint as Casey had so often seen him silhouetted against the sky, his farseeing eyes scanning the horizon. The loneliness of Boot Hill Cemetery struck a chord in the loneliness of her own heart.

  Gabbie then took her shopping, thrusting outfit after outfit at her and insisting each would cheer Casey up. Some of the more brightly colored ones Casey had succumbed to, knowing that the gay colors did much to emphasize her own attractiveness. So she bought the gay, sophisticated clothes, trying to don a new image at the same time, only to wonder afterwards why she had bothered. Brightly colored cloth couldn't penetrate her heart and brighten its dulling ache.

  Just being with Gabbie had strengthened Casey's determination to fight this torment. The only trouble was, it was a major war. The battle came every time Flint's image drifted before her eyes. Restless and edgy, Casey found her only release in constant activity. That way she could tumble into bed at nights and be assured her exhaustion would bring instant sleep. But the heavy dreamless sleep, while it kept away the nightmares, always ended early in the morning and, just as this morning, a long day stretched mockingly out, daring her to fill it without Flint.

  Was it the breeze through the cottonwood trees or herself that had just sighed so heavily, Casey wondered. Sometimes the two sounds blended so well that it seemed the earth was mourning with her. Her wristwatch said it was nearly nine o'clock, but the sun had already driven away the coolness of the night. Casey's walk along the beachfront had already taken her out of sight of the lake cabin where Gabbie was working. She climbed up on a rock and gazed out across the lake at the scattering of boats. She removed a cigarette from its pack in her beach bag and inexpertly lit it. Smoking was a newly acquired habit of Casey's. While it did give her something to do with her hands, it brought no relaxation for her, only a burning in her throat.

  She sat motionless on the rock, letting the heat of the sun burn her legs, bare below the scanty brief of her bikini. It was strange how physical inactivity would immediately give her mind an opportunity to bring back memories of Flint. The warmth of the sun on her skin rekindled the fire of his embrace while the gentle stirrings of the wind caressed her. She had only to close her eyes and feel his breath upon her face as he rained kisses on her. The tremor such memories caused was more painful and violent than the earthquakes of the initial happenings.

  "It isn't fair!" she moaned, rising quickly to her feet.

  All of nature was conniving against her. Even the shadowy gray clouds on the horizon reminded her of the color of his eyes—a gray that could shift from the burnished brightness of old silver to the violent, turbulent shade of storm clouds and on to the metallic hardness of iron and steel.

  Casey paused briefly near the water's edge. She kicked off her sandals, shrugged off the terrycloth beach jacket, removed her wristwatch and piled them with her beach bag and towel before wading into the water. The coolness felt refreshing against the heat of her skin. In minutes she was cleaving through the water with the rhythmic strokes of the Australian crawl. Driving herself as if she could race away from the torment that clung tenaciously at her heels, she struck out farther and farther, again using physical exertion to overcome the virulent memories. One, two, three, four strokes, then head out of the water to expel the air in her lungs and take another breath. Through the pounding of the blood in her head and the splashing of water from her own movements, she dimly heard a voice call out. For a split second it registered as being nearby, although she didn't recall seeing any other swimmers on the beach. Then her outstretching hand encountered a solid wall in front of her. Her momentum carried her into it, a glancing blow striking the side of her head with startling pain. Water washed over the top of her as she struggled to regain the surface, fighting the pain that was hammering away at her skull.

  A hand suddenly grabbed hold of one of her arms, then another. Suddenly she was hauled out of the water to lie gasping on the deck of a small sailboat. Red and gold sails hung limply above her head as she shook the water from her hair and tried to focus her eyes through the glimmering of water on her lashes.

  "Are you all right?" A figure was bending over her. She blinked and wiped her eyes. "I called out to you, but you didn't hear me. The breeze died on me and she…the boat wouldn't answer to the rudder."

  Casey pushed herself into a sitting position, a slight dizziness preventing her from doing any more.

  "I'm okay. A little shaky, that's all." Her voice was tremulous, though she added a sma
ll smile to reassure the young man hovering so earnestly beside her. He smiled back at the news.

  "I have some coffee in the thermos. You'd better have a cup." He walked carefully to the rear of the boat where there was a wicker basket.

  Casey took the opportunity to study her assailant turned rescuer. He wasn't much older than herself, twenty-two or three perhaps. If he stood up straight, he'd probably be about six feet tall, she decided. His hair had been bleached almost white by the sun and was cut in a long shaggy style. His skin, what was visible through his sky-blue wind- breaker and below his black swimming trunks, was an unbelievable shade of mahogany tan. When he turned back to her, she saw his eyes were a brilliant shade of blue. Ironically, what really registered with Casey was not his attractiveness, although she had noted it, but his complete lack of any resemblance to Flint. In fact, he was in complete contrast to him.

  White teeth shone out at her as he handed her the red plastic cup steaming with hot coffee. He waited expectantly while Casey sipped it carefully, the hot liquid chasing off some of the chills.

  "Thanks," she said, smiling gratefully up at him. "It's good."—

  "You didn't hit your head very hard, did you? You don't have a slight concussion or anything like that, I hope?" His blue eyes chased over her face and hair as if he could find some outward evidence of his fear.

  "I really don't know." She laughed a little nervously, her hand reaching up to touch the tender spot under her hair. There was no doubt it was sore, but Casey was sure it was only a bump. "I don't think so. Just bruised."

  "That's a relief." There was a smiling sigh and shake of his head. He extended a brown hand to her from his kneeling position. "My name is Sean, Sean Sorenson. It was so nice bumping into you, Miss—"

  "Casey Gilmore."

  The red and gold sails stirred, then billowed out as the wind filled them. Sean was instantly bustling with activity, grabbing a rope and the handle of the rudder. Casey, who had never been aboard a sailboat before, watched him with interest. Soon the boat was skimming along the surface of the water.

  "How about a ride around the lake…as sort of compensation for the knock on the head," Sean called out.

  Casey hesitated. She didn't really know him, even though she did like him. He hardly seemed the sinister type, but one never really knew.

  "I promise I won't spirit you away," he added during her hesitation. A teasing sparkle lit his eyes. "And I'll stay close to the shoreline so that if I get fresh you can hop over the side and swim to the beach."

  Casey laughed then. "I'd love a sail under those circumstances. I've never been on one before. It always looked like fun, though."

  "You have a treat in store for you," Sean promised, his attention on the sails and the tugging rope.

  And Casey did. The boat glided effortlessly through the waters as silently and as gracefully as a swan. Keeping true to his word, Sean guided it along the shore. Casey felt she was being spirited along by a magic carpet, so silent was their journey without the obtrusive noise of a motor. Rocky fingers jutted out into the lake, each sandstone and rock formation unique and rugged and wildly beautiful. The long stretches of beaches gleamed whitely while the water that lapped at their edges reflected the brilliant blue of the sky. Brightly colored swimsuits and summer wear dotted the land where tourists and vacationers enjoyed this paradise of sun and beach that resembled an oasis in the middle of the plains. It was all terribly exhilarating to Casey. She told herself that she had almost forgotten Flint, even though the very thought reminded her of him again. There was a barely formed wish that he could be here with her now. The snowy-white petals of a prickle poppy plant that was perched on the top of a jutting mesa like a lighthouse laughed out at her so that she didn't hear Sean question her.

  "Hey, Casey!" he called again.

  She turned, blinking at the veil of mist covering her eyes. Determinedly she blinked them away, waving to him that she heard him above the crack of the canvas.

  "There's a marina in the next cove that has a pretty good restaurant. Do you feel like a sandwich?" Sean offered.

  She smiled her agreement, adding a short affirmative nod. She turned back toward the lake ahead of them so she wouldn't have to speak. Minutes later he was maneuvering the boat to the dock, efficiently and expertly guiding it until he leaped onto the wooden dock and secured the boat. Casey took his hand as he pulled her up to join him.

  "Wait a minute," he said, hopping back into the boat where he removed his windbreaker and replaced it with a yellow shirt. He tossed the blue jacket to Casey.

  "You wear it—and these too." Sean tossed a pair of thonged sandals onto the wooden dock. "They'll be too large, but 'No shirt, no shoes, no service' is the local motto around here."

  The lightweight jacket complemented the vivid blue and gold of her new bikini. The ends of the sleeves had elastic bands so that Casey could push the material to her elbows. They both laughed as Casey clomped along the dock in the oversize sandals. It was hard to keep from walking out of them. But it was shared laughter, without any mocking or jeering overtones.

  In the restaurant Casey settled for a hamburger and soft drink while Sean ordered amore hefty assortment. Her appetite had been non-existent for the last few days, so it surprised her when she was able to down the hamburger with little difficulty. Conversation with Sean, a comparative stranger, was remarkably easy. It was all light and nonsensical, not touching on any subject to any great depth. Casey did learn that he was a student at Creighton University in Omaha, working in Ogallala for the summer.

  "I work at one of the resorts down the beach, servicing boats, etcetera," he said. "And on my day off, I always take a busman's holiday. Sailing is my one great love, next to medicine. What about you? Do you live here, work here, or just on holiday?"

  Casey smiled grimly. "My family has a ranch up north in the Sand Hills. My dad broke his hip this spring when he was thrown from a horse and he's in the hospital in Scottsbluff. He hired a man to take his place. So, since mom was in Scottsbluff with dad, I was obliged to stay here in Ogallala as opposed to remaining on the ranch alone with a bachelor."

  "Sounds terribly Victorian." Sean laughed. "Who are you staying with here?"

  Casey hesitated, sipping her Coke through a straw. "Gabrielle McCallister. She's the sister of the man we hired."

  "McCallister!" Sean whistled, studying Casey with new eyes. "That's high-priced help, if you're referring to the local cattle baron family."

  Her neck stiffened slightly. She didn't like the conversation and wished now that she hadn't responded to his question, or at least not truthfully. Then Casey checked her rising temper. Sean certainly didn't mean anything personal by his comment and she was being childish again.

  "My father wanted the best," she said finally.

  "From all I've heard, he got it," Sean's eyes widened as he nodded his head in affirmation.

  "What time is it getting to be?" Casey moved restlessly in her chair. "Gabbie will be expecting me pretty soon."

  Sean glanced at his bare arm, then up to the clock above the restaurant door. "Quarter to one."

  Casey stared at the dock in amazement. The sailboat ride hadn't seemed to take any time at all. She had always been back from the beach by noon. She knew for sure that Gabbie would be worried about her. She turned quickly back to Sean.

  "Do you mind? I'd really like to leave now. I didn't realize it was so late." Casey rose from her chair to add emphasis to her request.

  "No, not at all." Sean rose from his own chair, reaching in the pocket of his shirt for his money.

  They had come far along the coast from where Casey had met Sean. The sun had reached its zenith and hovered there glaring down at them unmercifully. The lake was a sheet of glass, shimmering back with the brilliant rays of the sun. What little breeze that had been stirring was practically a light breath now. Casey longed to hurry, but Sean was already paddling to aid the teasing wind that occasionally tickled the sails. At last she spotted the
tumble of rocks near a duster of cottonwoods where she had left her belongings. Sean obligingly beached the boat a short distance away on a more sandy area of the beach.

  "I really enjoyed the sail," said Casey, trying to express her sincerity even though she was in a terrible hurry. She removed his jacket and handed it back to him. "And the lunch, too."

  "I'd like to see you again, Casey." His blue eyes roamed over her face in admiration.

  It had been a pleasant interlude, but Casey wasn't sure she wanted to repeat it. "I don't know how long I'll be here," she stalled.

  "I'll probably see you out swimming again. We'll make a date, okay?" Sean suggested hopefully.

  "Okay," she agreed nervously. "I really had better get going. I'll see you soon, I'm sure, Sean."

  Casey helped him push the boat off the sandy bottom and remained long enough on the beach to wave a polite goodbye before scurrying toward the place she had left her things. But when she got there, they weren't there. Casey couldn't believe if. She looked around at the landmarks. She was sure it was the same place. Of course, she had been gone long enough for them to have been stolen. Disgustedly she set off for the cabin, cursing her own stupidity for leaving them out in plain view for anyone to see.

  As Casey drew even with the cottonwoods, there was a rustling of twigs and grass, followed by the crunching of rocks. She glanced apprehensively at the shadowy place, then stopped abruptly in her place as a tall, lean figure stepped out. It was as if an electric shock went through her as her hand crept to her chest to still the erratic hammering of her heart.