by Nancy Radke
“I don’t know. Anyway, Adam, thanks.” Gratitude and shame made her voice shake slightly. Adam had rescued Paca without hesitation. The mare was safe. And her? The few times he had asked anything of her, she had refused him. With a murmured, “Thank you,” she turned away.
“Wait a minute. I want to look at those scratches.” Adam took Jo’s hands in his, then stood waiting, his gaze on the moon that was starting to clear the tree tops, bathing the scene in its mystic glow.
He was a full six-foot-one, lean muscled, and towered over her. It’s all right, she told herself. You’ve known Adam for years. No matter how angry Adam gets, he won’t harm you.
His hands were warm—strong and comforting. And more. A thrill of pure delight ran through her.
“You’re trembling, Jo. What’s wrong?”
“Reaction.”
He put both arms around her and held her tightly against the solid block of his body.
That wasn’t the only thing that was wrong, but Jo let him think so. She forced herself to relax, taking several deep breaths.
It was wonderful being held so securely, her head against his chest, hearing his heart pound along at a rapid rate. Adam smelled of fresh hay and dust and sweat, a combination which had the peculiar effect of sending her heart racing in unison with his. His light cotton shirt, thin from repeated washings, and his old pair of Levi’s, served to emphasize his rock-like muscular build.
Held closely against him, she could feel the heat of his body through their shirts. For the first time since she had run for help, Jo remembered the tight T-shirt she was wearing—scooped necked and thin from too many washings. Maybe in the confusion he had not noticed it, but she suddenly became aware of it. It didn’t reach all the way to her waist—which made it cool to ride in, but it also allowed Adam to place his hands on her bare back.
He appeared to be taking full advantage of having her in his arms, moving one hand over her spine in a rhythmic, soothing stroke. The other hand pressed her tightly against him, making her sharply aware of his tiniest movement.
Then her grandfather’s reaction to this scene intruded, reminding her that she was unwise to remain pliant and willing in the arms of his long-time adversary. Gramps claimed Adam had threatened to use her against him, and she had no reason not to believe him.
She pushed against Adam, half-heartedly.
“Be still,” he whispered, his voice low and musical.
She stopped. She would worry later if she should have stood unresisting, allowing him to hold her so closely. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the spell of the night. The crickets were in full force, their high pitched music overwhelming all other sounds. She found her senses throbbing in unison.
“That’s better, Jo. You’ve stopped shaking.”
Too soon he set her back, lifting a wisp of bangs out of her eyes. “Those scratches don’t look too bad.”
“I’ll put some medicine on, when I get home.”
“Do you think you’re up to meeting me here at four tomorrow morning to help separate the herds?” The words were slow, deliberate.
“Well....” Doubt flooded her. She really should help Adam after what he had just done. She didn’t like owing anyone, especially him. But could she keep it a secret from Gramps?
“Just to make sure I don’t keep any of your cows.” His deep-set eyes flashed a challenge her spirits rose to meet.
“I’ll be here.” The words were out before she could recall them. The cattle came out of the brush in the early morning, so were easier to round up at that time. “But what about the fence?”
“I’ll call Mike and see if he can come....”
“Mike? My brother Mike?” What did Mike have to do with Adam, that Adam could so easily call him?
“Yes.” He shook his head at her open look of astonishment, then tapped her separated lips. “Better close your mouth—you’ll catch flies. So Mike hasn’t told you? Your family sure is a secretive bunch.”
Told her what? Jo thought she knew everything about Mike, since he and his family lived on the ranch also, although in a separate house. What was Adam hinting at?
Pulling his Stetson off, Adam slapped it hard against his leg, beating off the dust as if knocking away the frustration of dealing with her family. “You never tell each other a thing.” Checking the roll on the brim, he set it to the back of his head.
Puzzled, Jo stared at him. “What about Mike?”
Adam looked her up and down as if wondering how she would take his announcement, then said, “Just that...in spite of your grandpa, he and I have been friends for years.”
“Friends?” She threw out her hands in bewilderment. “Since when?” she demanded, feeling a flash of anger that Mike had stepped over her family’s war line. Deserting them to go to the enemy’s camp, as it were. How much information had he carried over, that Adam had used against her grandfather?
“Since you rolled your horse off that ridge when you were thirteen and scared the daylights out of everyone.”
“Oh.” That long? She knew her face was blank with astonishment, but couldn’t help it. No wonder Adam stayed one step ahead of her grandfather. She wondered if her dad knew about Mike’s defection.
“Yes, oh.” He frowned. “An emergency overrides everything else. And you provided a jim-dandy. You always did get into more than your fair share of scrapes, probably because you never use much caution. You think your horse will always land on its feet with you on top.”
“I usually do, with Paca.”
“That’s why your grandfather bought her and did such a thorough job of training her. He was looking out for ‘Grampa’s girl.’ Now if you were my girl, you wouldn’t ride unless you told me where you were going.”
Adam’s girl. She squelched the thought, remembering that one time during high school when she had agreed to date Adam. It had been a disaster. She glared back at him, defiantly.
“But I’m not yours, Adam, and never will be.” An unwise remark, it made his dark eyes narrow in challenge. To support her words, she added, “If my parents don’t mind my riding all over, why should you?”
“Because I’m usually the person who has to bail you out of trouble,” he snapped.
He was right about that, but that wasn’t her fault. Jo bit her lower lip in thought. Maybe it was. She was usually on his land when she got into trouble. And being honest with herself, she also silently admitted that a few of those times had been her way of making contact with him. It was a childish thing to do, but then she’d been a child. Did he realize it? She hoped not. She had outgrown such actions.
His voice quieted. “Ride more carefully, Jo. That time you fell off the trail, I thought you were dead. You were laying half under your horse, with your hair streaming out over the rocks, your face white. You were so still.” He put his hands on her shoulders as he spoke, one hand lifting her long hair at the nape, sending a shiver zinging down her spine.
“Mike phoned, out of his mind with worry, to ask if I’d seen you,” he continued. “Your dad didn’t know where you’d gone, riding that old black mare of yours that stumbled over her own feet half the time.”
He shook her gently and her defenses began to crumble at this evidence of his concern. “How did you find me?” she asked.
“I knew where you usually rode. I tried to describe it to Mike, finally told him to meet me at the gate.”
So that’s why Mike had been waiting there.
“Mike was going to search for you on your land and I on mine. I picked up your fresh tracks near a spring and followed them to where you’d gone over the edge. At first I thought you’d killed yourself.”
“I was lucky.” She had broken her arm, nothing more.
“It didn’t seem to teach you anything,” he growled, kicking aside a fat pine cone. “You’re still riding off in all directions without telling anyone.”
Jo had to steel herself against promising him she would change. She didn’t want to tell anyone, didn�
��t want to feel bound to follow a set path once she entered the timber. She liked to be able to make spontaneous decisions as she rode, changing directions whenever she felt like it. “Maybe I should carry a tracer.”
“Or your cell phone. Although you’d probably get into trouble somewhere where there wasn’t a signal. Anyway, Mike and I became friends then. Your mom wrote me a nice letter, but Mike came over to see me himself.” His voice dropped, quieter. “I had hoped you would come, too.”
Jo stared down at their hands, still linked together. “I never knew he went. He never said anything.”
Would she have gone with Mike? She would like to think so, but she knew she probably would have felt too much pressure from her grandfather. Gramps thought Mike had found her. They had told him it was Adam, but he was still in such grief over Anna that the words hadn’t penetrated.
“I wrote, too,” she said.
“It’s not the same. Anyway, you’re twenty-three. Be more responsible. Tell Mike where you ride, if no one else. Now you better get going or they’ll call out the Mountain Rescue Squad again.”
Nodding, she remounted. Adam opened the gate—the only part of the fence left standing—and walked through ahead of her, checking the path to make certain she didn’t land in the wire again.
“Good night, Adam,” she said when they were clear. “Thanks for everything.” She smiled wistfully down at him as he stood by Paca’s shoulder, one hand stroking the mare’s silky mane. “I seem to get deeper and deeper into your debt.”
“Uh, huh. You do. Someday I’ll collect for all the grief you’ve put me through. And there is a nicer way of saying, ‘Thanks,’ you know. Now that you’re older,” he added, stressing his words.
Nicer way? “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning, then read the answer in his eyes. “Oh...well, yes, of course.” Leaning over in the saddle, she touched her lips to his, jerking back when the contact sparked a high-tensioned path through her overly receptive body. The brief kiss warned her how explosive her feelings were for this man. She must not do that again. Trying to appear unmoved, she shifted her hands on the reins. “Am I right?” Her voice was almost steady.
He frowned. “Not entirely, but it’ll do for now—for starters anyway.”
What did he mean? Had he wanted more of a kiss? Jo hesitated to ask, fearful he’d say “Yes,” while at the same time wanting him to—and the moment passed.
“So long,” he added. “See you in a few hours.”
He stepped away and Jo swung Paca around and urged the mare into her fast, mile-eating trot. As she entered the trees, she glanced back to wave farewell. Adam stood by the gate, a hand lifted in reply.
The sight stirred up a touch of loneliness. She didn’t want to leave—at least not yet.
Adam. He had gone through plenty of grief and not been thanked very well, especially after that old accident. She had been half-dead, going in and out of consciousness. But contrary to what he believed, she had been careful.
Her mind swung back, as it often did, to the night Adam saved her life. Still sick with grief over the loss of her grandmother, Jo had been riding all over the mountainside with complete disregard for time. When the setting sun forced her to head for home, she took the first route available.
The short cut she chose was just a cow trail and when she came to a dangerous slide section, she had dismounted. The action saved her life, for as she lead her old black mare over the steep and crumbly lava rock, a section of the path collapsed under them. The mare lunged forward, knocking Jo over with her.
Jo bounced from one ledge to another, losing consciousness. When she woke, she found herself on a downhill slope, legs trapped under the dead mare, the reins still in her hand.
It was late fall with the night temperatures around freezing. Cold joined pain, penetrating her light jacket. If Adam hadn’t found her, she could have died from exposure.
She remembered the rocks rattling as he came down the slide somewhere to her left, but the significance of the noise evaded her until he touched her throat pulse. Only then did it register that she was no longer alone. She recognized the lanky seventeen-year-old more by instinct than by sight, and welcomed him gladly.
He freed her legs, bound up her broken arm, gave her hot coffee from his thermos, and then sat with her through the long night, buttoned together in his over-large sheepskin coat, sharing the precious warmth, cocooned together against the hours of cold.
Wonderful hours—excluding the pain.
She still remembered the feeling of complete safety as he held her in front of him while they rode down the dangerous trail to Mike’s truck.
From that time on he had dominated her day-dreams as the “hero,” her own personal dragon-slayer. In her dreams she always said something clever, but during the actual ride she had remained silent. That seemed to be the pattern of her childhood relationship with him.
She hadn’t said much of a “thank you” at that time, for she had bumped her arm as she climbed into the cab of Mike’s truck, making herself cry again. Instead, she had written a note to Adam, struggling left-handed with it.
She had tried to tell Gramps about the rescue, but his sullen, angry stare and sharp words squelched any reference to Adam’s having squared things. Grandmother Anna was gone, dead only three months, and Ed Trahern was alive, working his ranch. Jo’s return didn’t make up for that.
Soon afterwards, Gramps had personally selected Paca and green-broke the little mare himself. Mountain wise and cattle smart, Paca’s sure-footedness and calm disposition served to protect her adventuresome rider. Gramps had trained Jo and Paca together, and she had become closer than ever to him.
Jo spent the rest of the ride home recalling other moments that comprised her seesaw relationship with Adam, the only man able to lift her higher—or hurt her more deeply—than anyone else.
Coming out of her reverie, she found Paca hastening the last few yards to the corrals. One thing about a horse, it carried you safely home even if you slept on the way.
In the barn, Jo stripped off Paca’s saddle and bridle, and put antiseptic balm on the wire cuts. One cut on the fetlock proved fairly deep and would take a few days to heal, the rest had just removed hair and a little skin. After giving the mare a quick brush down, she led her outside. Now all she had to do was get inside the house and cleaned up before her grandfather saw her.
As they left the barn, Paca swiftly raised her head, her ears pricked ears toward the old man shuffling towards them, his thin white hair reflecting the moonlight, his tall frame shortened by the years.
Gramps. Guilt pricked Jo’s conscience, making her want to hide. He mustn’t learn she had been with Adam.
Jo stepped back into the barn and snapped off the lights, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that the moon’s glow—although very bright—still minimized the scratches.
She really shouldn’t feel guilty. She had done the right thing for Paca’s sake.
But would Gramps understand?
Jo’s grandfather approached with an awkward, jerking gait, going as rapidly as possible, his spirit fighting against the physical restrictions of age. He was having to slow down and had not yet learned how to do it.
“Hi, Gramps,” she greeted him, cheerfully, throwing her arms around him.
“There you are, Joanna,” he said, returning her hug. “You against coming home while the sun’s still up?”
“Of course not. I just had to catch up on my riding after being away so many years. You should’ve expected that. What are you doing, out here?”
“Waitin’s easier, outside. You give Paca any oats?”
“No.”
“She needs some.” He shuffled over to the barn, flipping on the lights. Immediately Jo pulled Paca out of the beam, but it was too late. Her grandfather looked her up and down as he filled the bucket.
“What happened?” he demanded, rejoining her. He held the bucket out and Paca thrust her nose into it. “You look like you had a f
ight with a wildcat.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jo’s mind froze. She couldn’t tell her grandfather the truth—the last thing he needed to hear was that she had been with Adam her first day home. “It looks worse than it is. I was careless, got into some wire. Nothing to worry about.” Jo hated lies and felt ashamed as she skirted the facts.
“It happens.”
“Sure does.”
“You’re looking skinny,” Gramps observed, over the loud munching sounds Paca was making. “Didn’t you eat anything at college?”
Jo breathed more easily, happy to be off the subject of where she had been riding. “Of course I did, Gramps. I’m just right, according to all the charts.”
“Humph. Charts. Them doctors don’t know nothing. You look like you’d blow off the ridge. We’ll have to fatten you up a little more this summer.”
“Now, Gramps, I’m not a heifer. I don’t need the extra weight. You let me take care of myself. You’re pretty skinny, too. Why don’t you try fattening up yourself?”
“Tell that to the doctor.”
According to what her mother had emailed, Gramps couldn’t stand the diet the doctor had given him and cheated on it whenever he could. He also forgot to take his medications. The more the rest of the family reminded him, the more he resisted. Her mom had asked her to help him whenever she was home. He would do anything for Jo.
“Are you taking all your pills, Gramps?” she asked.
“Yes. Well...sometimes.”
“Do you want me to help you remember them?”
“No. I can do it,” he mumbled.
“Promise? For me?” She knew her “nagging” probably sounded like her grandmother, but it would prompt him to take better care of himself. It always had. “No slacking off? You’re supposed to take them all, you know.”
He looked down, frowning, but nodded. “I know.”
Jo decided not to press him. Perhaps a checklist would help. “It looks like you’re getting around okay.” Once in a while he needed a cane and it piqued his fierce independence.
“Yes. Doc Elridge says I’m to keep moving. Supposed to help my arthritis.” He took one hand off the bucket to rub his back. “Doctors. Just a bunch of old women. Glad to have you home again, dear. Missed you, I did. Karen’s too quiet. Won’t back-chat me like you do.”
