First, he stopped at the mercantile in town.
Some forty minutes later, on the lonely drive to Summer’s ranch, Colt practiced his speech. All his trial runs sounded either too ingratiating or too arrogant to suit him. But then, this unfair decision hadn’t exactly been his.
Unfair or not, it fell into the job description stated in his contract. Other duties as assigned.
All too soon, he passed under the Forked Lightning’s wrought-iron arch. Yet he still hadn’t figured out how to approach Summer.
Climbing slowly from his pickup, Colt took an extra minute to study the rolling pastures ringed by dusk-tinted hills. A craggy mountain stood out from the others, beautifully backlit by the last rays of a setting sun. Horses shuffled in an outlying corral. Cattle lowed in the distance.
Man, if he owned even a sniff of this place, he’d go to hell and back not to part with it. Standing here, where Summer probably stood every day, he thought he must be feeling something of what she felt.
Colt’s breath whooshed out. Retrieving the sack with his purchases, he trudged up the steps of a wide wraparound porch. A porch that triggered more memories of the home Monica had sold out from under him to a developer who could be a twin to Ed Adams.
Damn her. If not for Monica, he’d be herding horses on his own spread. However, there was one thing that would allow him a good night’s sleep—knowing SOS would be a far better steward of this land than a guy like Adams. And before he charged headlong down a pointless road of rehashing old angers, Colt raised an already clenched fist and rapped soundly on Summer’s door.
A wizened lady of indeterminate years, whose kind dark eyes welcomed him, opened the door. The dog, Lancelot, dove in front of her and sniffed Colt’s boots. Bending, she patted his head, but also scooted him aside. “I’m Audrey Olsen. And you’re Coltrane Quinn, the young man who saved Summer’s life. Very probably Virgil’s, too, by going after those eagles in his stead.” She beamed at Colt as she drew him into a rustic living room. “Summer told me all about your daring rescue.”
Colt shifted the bulky sack to his other arm and doffed his hat. Audrey hung it on a brass rack that stood behind the door.
“Actually, I’m the man who ruined your knitting basket,” Colt said. “This one’s probably a poor substitute, but I hope it’ll do to keep your yarn off the floor.” He rummaged in the sack and drew out a basket.
“Oh, my.” Audrey wiped her hands on the apron she wore over a flowered housedress. “It’s gorgeous. Walnut. Mine wasn’t nearly so fine.” She gazed at Colt suddenly teary-eyed.
“Audrey? Are you coming back to finish your supper?”
Colt recognized Summer’s lilting voice. “You should’ve told me I was interrupting,” he said, reaching for his hat. “I’ll wander around the corrals, if that’s all right, and drop back in an hour or so. Will that give you enough time?”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Audrey plucked the hat out of his hand. “You’ll come into the kitchen and we’ll set another plate. Or if you’re not hungry, you’ll at least have coffee and dessert with us.”
Shushing his sputtering protests, the housekeeper, surprisingly strong for her diminutive size, grasped Colt’s arm and propelled him toward gleaming white café doors. Lancelot slipped under the doors, announcing their arrival with a series of sharp yips. The dog, duty done, then flopped on a bed by the stove.
“Will you look at what this nice young man brought me?” Audrey brandished her new knitting basket for all at the table to admire. She continued to drag Colt toward the others.
“Colt!” Rory Marsh jumped up. “Mama and Virgil let me feed the baby eagles like you said. They’re so cool. I wish I could’ve helped get ’em from their nest.”
“Rory,” Summer chastened as she rose awkwardly. She nervously crushed a fabric napkin in her right hand.
Colt read a wariness in her eyes. He could tell that she was wondering if his arrival heralded more bad news. Virgil, too, left his chair, although with his old bones, getting up hadn’t been nearly as smooth.
“Sit, everyone,” Colt urged. “I forgot how early ranchers eat their evening meal. Audrey offered me coffee. I’ll say yes to that and put off the rest of my business until you’ve all finished.” The words had barely left his lips when a full cup of steaming black coffee was thrust into his hand, and Audrey nudged him toward an empty chair at the head of the table. A chair directly opposite Summer’s. “Cream or sugar?” she asked.
“No…thank you.” Colt had the uncomfortable feeling this was the seat Frank used to occupy. But there was nothing he could do except ease his sack to the floor and accept with grace the hospitality being offered.
“It’s a beautiful basket,” Summer agreed once Rory stopped chattering and settled down somewhat. Still, the boy’s worshipful eyes remained fixed on Colt.
“That was extremely thoughtful of you,” she continued. “I’m afraid I was so rattled on my trip into town, replacing Audrey’s basket was the last thing on my mind.”
“I’m not surprised,” Colt said. “Any luck replacing your wranglers?” He heard the hopefulness in his own voice.
Summer’s formerly bright smile became guarded. Wrapping both hands around her coffee mug as if to ward off a chill, she gave a brief shake of her head. Her hands were far from steady when she raised the mug to her lips.
“My daddy would make those old wranglers come back if he was still here,” Rory announced. “They probably left ’cause he’s not here to tell ’em what to do.”
Summer jerked toward her son, slopping coffee over her cup. “Your father never directed the crew. He went out of his way to avoid—” She broke off suddenly, looking stricken.
Virgil placed a gnarled hand on Rory’s shoulder, and the boy turned sullen eyes toward his plate. He poked at his food, making no pretense of eating.
His outburst had an adverse affect on everyone’s appetite. At last, Audrey stood and carried her plate to the sink. “I’ve made peach cobbler for dessert. It’s the end of the fresh peaches. From now on, we’ll have them canned or dried. Mr. Quinn, cobbler goes well with coffee. You’ll have some, won’t you?” She climbed on a step stool, opened a cupboard above the sink and lifted out five bowls.
“Sure.” Colt didn’t have the heart to refuse. “I may even eat Rory’s share if he dawdles over his dinner much longer.” Meeting the boy’s startled expression, Colt winked. “I brought you a present, too,” he told Rory. “But you’ll have to eat most of what’s on your plate if you want to see what it is.”
“You shouldn’t…” Summer’s objection trailed away at Colt’s sharp look.
“I have something for you, too,” he said. “And also Virgil. I brought a little something for everyone. Well, except Lancelot.” Colt pretended sorrow as he gazed at the dog who, on hearing his name, lazily opened one eye and barked.
Rory excitedly began to shovel food into his mouth. “It’s not my birthday or Christmas or anything,” he said after swallowing. “What’d you buy me, huh, Colt?”
“You’ll see. After we’ve all had dessert.” Colt accepted a bowl of cobbler from Audrey, who smiled approvingly at him.
Summer kept darting glances his way. It was evident that she, too, was curious. She just maintained better control. Her food also began to disappear. Thin as she was, Colt thought that was a good thing. He figured those baggy jeans had probably fit better before Frank split. Presumably she hadn’t looked so drawn around the eyes then, either.
He found himself wondering what it would take to wipe away those dark smudges and put a carefree smile on her face again. Reining in unwelcome and unwise emotions, Colt dipped a spoon into his warm cobbler. “This is good,” he said, favoring Audrey with a grin.
“A family recipe,” Summer confided. “My great-grandmother planted the peach trees on the hill behind the house shortly before her son’s birth. Great-grandfather carted a dozen peach trees, a dozen apple trees and a dozen walnut trees out here from Portland on a f
reight wagon. According to the story, he’d also bought his wife a new peach-colored silk dress on that trip. One she’d fallen in love with.”
Summer paused to sip her coffee. “Their party was stopped by a band of marauding Umatilla Indians. My great-grandfather, afraid for their lives, wanted to give the Indians the wagon and everything in it. My feisty great-grandma, who stood only five feet tall and was six months pregnant, insisted on bartering. She traded staples and the dress she loved for the right to keep those spindly trees. All the neighbors thought she was crazy. No one believed fruit trees would grow here where the summers are so hot.” Summer smiled softly.
“I guess she proved everyone wrong,” Colt murmured. “Eastern Oregon is known for its orchards.”
“It is now, thanks in part to Great-Grandma Callan. While the men were out tending stock, she planted the seedlings. Even pregnant, she climbed a ladder and tied blankets between the oaks to shade the seedlings. She saved every one. You can go count them. She was something, all right. Silk, she said, would only last a season or two, while the fruit from those trees would feed Callans for generations to come.”
Colt enjoyed Summer’s unmistakable pride in her family history. “That’s a great story. It’s too bad more people today aren’t blessed with her foresight.”
Summer gazed at him sadly before averting her eyes. “Yes,” she said in a low voice. “Isn’t it a shame?”
Rory, who’d remained silent throughout the story, licked his spoon loudly and held up his empty bowl for all to view. “I ate every speck, Colt. Now can I have my present?”
His mother gasped. “Rory Franklin Marsh! Be polite.”
Catching Summer’s eye to forestall her lecture, Colt dragged the sack out from under his chair. “Cleaning your plate deserves a treat.” In spite of the way Summer glared, Colt opened the sack and fished out a boy’s leather belt. It had a shiny, man-size silver buckle embossed with a spread-winged eagle in hammered copper and gold. The child’s eyes grew as big and bright as the buckle.
“Wow!”
“I think this was made to order for a kid who’s taken on the chore of keeping three baby eagles alive.”
“I am…I will.” Rory dashed around the table. He stopped at Colt’s knee and touched the buckle with reverence. “I’ll feed ’em good until their mama’s wing heals.”
“Then the belt is yours,” Colt said with a grin. “Go let your mom see if it fits. I sorta guessed at the size.”
Rory continued to stroke the buckle, although the hopeful light in his eyes dimmed as he faced his mother. “I probably can’t keep the belt, huh? ’Cause I shouldn’t of asked Colt for it, right, Mom?”
Summer seemed surprised by her son’s apology. “You can keep it, Rory. But asking for it was wrong. I’m glad you understand that.”
“Oh, boy. Oh, boy! Thanks, Mom. I told Dad I wanted one of these for Christmas. He said they were dumb-looking.” Realizing suddenly what he’d said, he clapped a hand over his mouth.
Summer threaded the belt through the loops on his jeans. “Thank Mr. Quinn, Rory, not me.”
“Thank you, Colt. I love daddy—but…it’s not a dumb belt, is it?”
“It’s a beautiful belt, Rory,” Summer said quietly.
Colt sidestepped denigrating Frank Marsh by turning to Virgil. “Spirit’s leg is vastly improved. This isn’t much, considering you probably saved me a couple of vet bills. This knife caught my eye. I decided we might as well all commemorate saving those eagles.” Sliding a leather scabbard out of the sack, Colt passed a hunting knife across the table. Its pearl handle gleamed, as did an inlaid bald eagle in local cherrywood.
“Why, that’s downright thoughtful.” The liver-spotted hand that grasped the knife was far from steady, although the old man’s delight in the gift mirrored Rory’s. Virgil ran a blunt fingertip over the sharp blade and smiled hugely.
Summer seemed more than pleased as she leaned forward to admire the gift. “It’s the spitting image of a knife you drooled over last month,” she told Virgil.
“If I’m not mistaken,” Colt said, “it’s the same one. Or so Phil Eubanks at the mercantile told me.”
“Look, Colt! My belt’s just right.”
Summer sat back and let her son finish buckling it. Rory paraded around the table so everyone could laud his gift again. “Hey, I’m goin’ upstairs to your bedroom, Mom. To see how my belt looks in your mirror.” He galloped past the dog and woke him up. The two were soon bounding up the stairs together.
“Rory’s going to miss seeing what I brought you,” Colt mused, delving into his sack again. It wasn’t until he extended a square box to Summer that her ears reddened, and she got all flustered.
“I can’t accept—”
Audrey turned from the sink to prod her. “Say thank you nicely, Summer, like I know your mama taught you. Then open it, honey. I swear it’s been too long since anyone’s given you a present…just…well, just because.”
Summer continued to watch Colt. “Something else Mama taught me, Audrey. To be wary of strangers bearing gifts.” Even as the old adage fell from her lips, she pried off the box lid. Inside lay a crystal figurine of an eagle ready for flight. “Oh!” She exhaled slowly, clearly enchanted by the sparkle of the piece as the light hit it, reflecting a prism of rainbow colors. “It’s exquisite.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Colt muttered. “I went to the store to replace Audrey’s basket. I noticed the other things on my way to check out.”
“The eagle is beautiful, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Colt. But I have to ask—did you stop in tonight for no other reason than to ply us with treats?”
Trapped by his guilty conscience, Colt nearly dropped the mug he’d lifted to his lips. It must have been plain to the others that Summer had struck a nerve.
“Hell, boy. If you’ve come to do our girl mischief, take back your bribes.” Virgil carelessly tossed the scabbard across the table toward Colt.
“Wait. Hear me out. There’s, uh, talk in town. Your neighbors are saying you can’t find wranglers to fill in for the ones who took off.” Colt scratched his chin, not liking the taste of the partial lies he had to feed these nice people. “I’ve got time on my hands until I hear about a job I’m waiting for. And…I know a kid…er, a young guy who’s in Utah looking for ranch work now. He has experience. I can get him, too, if you’d like.”
Relief flooded Summer’s face so fully and completely, Colt had to look away.
“It appears I owe you a huge apology,” she whispered, swallowing back a rush of tears. “I’ve invested a lot of capital trying to revive an old Scottish breed of cattle. Belted Galloways. Frank thought I was stupid to sink so much cash into a little-known breed. I’m positive they’ll eventually increase Forked Lightning profits. Only…buying the bull and starter herd nearly depleted our savings. I’m counting on this year’s crop of calves to keep the ranch solvent. Now, with the men leaving…well, truthfully, I’m in desperate need of roundup help.”
In desperate need himself—the need to escape from all the effusive joy he felt building in the room—Colt stood and shoved his chair under the table again. “You’ll be doing me a favor,” he growled. “I’ve got some horses stabled. They’ll benefit from regular workouts. And I’m not offering anything permanent, mind you.”
Summer became businesslike, too. “It seems that few things in life are permanent. But if you hire on, you won’t take off halfway through roundup, will you?”
Colt backed toward the door. “You have my word, Mrs. Marsh.”
“Summer,” she reminded him, getting up from the table. “Hey, you’re not leaving before you find out what I pay, are you?”
“Something else I heard in town. You offer competitive wages.” Quickly ramming his Stetson on his head, Colt reached behind him and opened the door.
Summer followed him straight into a night beginning to grow chill. She rubbed her arms as she gazed over Colt’s shoulder at a crisp moon. “When can you
start? And how long before your friend arrives? I’ve got wheat to cut first. As it stands, we may encounter snow before roundup’s over.”
“I can start tomorrow,” Colt said. “Tracey Jackson—that’s my friend—should be here in a day or so. Will that do?”
“It’s an answer to my prayer.” This time a tear did sneak over her lower lashes. “I don’t know why I’m crying. Uh…perhaps because I haven’t seen my son so happy in…well, since his father left. Thank you, Colt, for everything. I don’t know what else to say.”
Her eyes looked luminous in the moonlight. Colt cursed under his breath. At this moment, if he could get his hands on Marley Jones, he’d strangle the man.
“So long then, till tomorrow” was Colt’s only response. He all but ran to his pickup.
Colt wouldn’t, couldn’t, look in his rearview mirror as he drove away. He knew Summer would still be standing there in the cold night air, gazing after him as if he were her own private angel of mercy.
CHAPTER SIX
COLT SKIPPED HIS NIGHTLY visit to White’s Bar. After leaving Summer, he was afraid he’d attack Frank Marsh if he saw him. Doing something like that would blow the element of surprise SOS needed in order to outmaneuver Ed Adams. Not to mention that it would probably put him in jail.
Back in his room, he waited until he’d packed his belongings before he phoned Marley. Even though Colt knew he’d reach his boss’s voice mail, he wanted to avoid any chance his ambivalent feelings might show in the tone of his voice.
As it turned out, he had a message waiting from Marc. Apparently Marley had wasted no time getting in touch with the men in Utah. When he returned the call, Marc proved to be in a talkative mood.
“I don’t know why one of us didn’t think of putting someone on the inside, Coltrane. Trace is bouncing off the walls, he’s so happy. Since he’s well versed in how we work, he’ll make a great second set of eyes and ears for you.” Marc segued into rattling off Tracey’s flight number and arrival time in Boise. Marley’s nephew was scheduled to land at two o’clock the next afternoon.
Wide Open Spaces (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 9
