by Claire King
"Well, don't get used to it. Get dressed. We have a long day ahead of us."
Calla rolled her eyes and hauled herself out of the cot. "Oh, thank you for telling me. As I've only spent the last eighteen summers on this mountain, I probably have no idea at all what's in store for me today." She straightened her nightgown around her ankles. It was a long, heavy flannel gown meant to ward off the chill that clung to the higher elevations of the high desert even in midsummer, and Calla knew her figure was invisible under it. Still, she felt Henry's eyes sweep her like fire across a sagebrush plain. She busied herself by zipping her bag and wadding it into a ball. "I see you don't bother to tidy up before you leave camp." She tossed her head of hair in the direction of Henry's tousled sleeping bag.
Henry dragged his gaze away from her bare feet. "I didn't want you to think I was anal. Besides, you didn't get much sleep last night and I didn't want to wake you."
Calla paused, the saddle pad clutched to her breast. "How do you know I didn't get much sleep last night? You were crashed by the time I came in."
"That's true," Henry said mildly. "But considering you didn't wake up until nearly—" he showed her his watch again "—nine o'clock, I assumed you stayed up late brooding about the ineptitude of your newest employee."
"Nine o'clock?" Calla exclaimed. "Oh, my God." She knelt quickly and jerked jeans, a shirt and underwear from her box and shoved it back to its position under the cot. "I can't believe this," she muttered. "I'm getting as bad as Lester." She reached up and gathered her hair into her hands and then fastened it with a band. She grabbed the bottom of her nightgown and made to pull it over her head. Henry was still at the door of the tent, watching her with undisguised interest. She scowled at him. "Do you mind?"
He smiled again and stepped from the tent without a word. Calla waited until he had zippered the tent flap before she undressed quickly and pulled on her work clothes. She was still stuffing her shirt into her jeans when she emerged into the already dazzling sunlight. She stopped and sat on the edge of the wooden floor of the tent to tug on her boots. Henry was eating a strip of bacon, a small, distinctively pink Bureau of Land Management map spread on the table before him.
"What's that?" Calla asked as she headed toward the outhouse.
"A map," he answered around a mouthful of breakfast.
"Very funny." She made use of the outhouse, stopped to wash her hands in the soapy water Henry already had warming on the camp stove, and sat impatiently down to the breakfast he'd prepared.
"I usually make my own breakfast," she muttered, trying not to salivate over the fluffy eggs and crisp bacon. A slab of Helen's homemade bread with butter and jam already applied sat on a blue enamel plate in front of her.
Henry took a sip of coffee. "If you'd been up at a decent hour, I'm sure you could have this morning, as well."
She rolled her eyes as he poured coffee into her empty cup. She sniffed at it appreciatively, and then tucked into her breakfast. She ate quickly, guilty about the late hour.
"What are doing with that?" She indicated the map with her fork.
"I'm just trying to familiarize myself with the topography of the area."
"That's what we're going to do today."
"I thought we were checking cows and looking at the feed today."
Calla waved her fork. "Same thing." She slurped her coffee.
"Not the same thing. Today we'll be concentrating on animals and forage. I'm also interested in the topography."
"'Scuse me, professor." Calla jumped to her feet, tossed her empty plate into the water, took another sip of coffee and then dashed the rest of it onto the ground, and placed the cup in with the plate. "Let's go. We're burning daylight."
Henry rose to his feet, placing his hat on his head at the same time. "Don't call me that," he said. Calla was already inside the tent, scrambling for her toothbrush. She barely heard him.
"What did you say?" she called.
"Don't call me professor," he shouted back.
Calla stuck her head out of the tent and looked at him. "Why not?"
"Because I asked you not to."
"You know, you are a very irritating person," she said around her toothbrush. "I have known you, I don't know, weeks now, and you have never told me a single thing about yourself. I don't know where you worked before you came here, how you learned about ranching, if you're married or single, nothing. All I know is what you told Clark that very embarrassing evening at the house, a night, by the way, I'll not soon forget. You may even be a professor for all I know, and yet I ask you one simple…"
"I'm not married."
Calla stopped and took the toothbrush from her mouth. "I know you're not married."
"How did you know that?"
She shrugged. "I don't think you would have … kissed me … or anything, if you'd been married. You don't seem like the type."
He looked at her for a long time before he nodded his head.
"So, are you a professor?" She stuck the toothbrush back in her mouth.
"No."
"Okeydokey." Calla walked to the edge of the little clearing and spit. She returned and rinsed her mouth with cool water from the jug on the table. She walked a few steps and spit again. Henry watched her in amusement.
"What are you laughing at?"
"I'm not laughing. You are just very comfortable up here, aren't you?"
"You mean I'm not very ladylike, don't you? Well, too bad. I'm a little too busy to worry about whether or not you're offended by my brushing my teeth in front of you. I'd never be that silly anyway, even if I weren't too busy." Still, she felt a rush of color come into her face. "I'm taking Toke today."
"Yeah, you told me last night. They're all ready to go."
Calla walked around the tent to the horse pasture to see her horse and Henry's contentedly tied to a fence post, saddled and bridled. First the cot, then breakfast, now this. She stomped back around the front of the tent.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"About what?" He was tossing the dishwater onto the ground.
"I can catch my own horse."
"I guess maybe you could if you got up before nine o'clock in the morning. Why are you giving me all this grief?"
"I don't like to have people wait on me. It makes me nervous."
"I am not waiting on you. I just saddled your horse."
"And fixed my breakfast, and put up my cot, and oiled my saddle."
Henry looked at her thoughtfully, the empty pot still in his hands. "Doesn't anybody ever do anything for you, Calla?"
"Of course people do things for me. All the time. Helen takes care of me like I was her daughter. My father takes care of me. Clark takes care of me."
"Not very well."
"What?"
"I said I don't think Clark takes very good care of you. In fact, I think you two couldn't be more ill-suited if you tried. He's a selfish bastard and you're marrying him because you think he'll save your ranch." Henry shook his head. "Well, he won't."
"Who told you that?"
"Lester."
Calla saw a familiar red haze cloud her vision, just before her hands fisted at her side. "You're fired."
It was Henry's turn to look surprised. "What?"
"You heard me," she growled out between clenched teeth. "You're fired. You have gone way too far. I mean it. Pack up your stuff and get the hell off my land."
Henry shook his head. "No."
"Okay, that's it." She stalked toward him. "If you don't get off my land right now, I'm going to kick your butt from here to Sunday."
Henry looked down at her, his eyes going to slits. "Although I'm sure you could kick my butt from here to Sunday, whatever that means, I don't think you will. I am stuck up here until Jackson returns at the end of the week with supplies and to take your sorry self back to the ranch." He now had his own temper to contend with as well as hers. It made him furious. He never used to lose his temper. This woman made it a regular thing f
or him. "Now, if you would like me to take one of your horses down this mountain, I will be happy to oblige, but as you pointed out I don't know these hills very well and would probably get lost and have to eat your horse for nourishment…"
He was warming to his subject and looked very serious, but for some reason Calla had an overwhelming urge to giggle. Eat her horse? How dramatic. She felt a tiny smile tug at the corners of her mouth. He continued, narrowing his eyes at her grin. "I've eaten worse. And furthermore, you brought all this on yourself. I simply caught your horse for you… Are you laughing at me?"
"No." She moved back a step and clutched her hand to her mouth.
"You are laughing at me, you little brat. I can't believe this." He turned his back on her, turned again to her just as swiftly. "You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met."
"Sorry." She muffled another giggle. Henry raised his eyebrows at her. Adorable man, Calla thought. Glowering, with his chest puffed up, looking surprised by his own temper … just adorable.
Henry took in a deep breath. Infuriating, he thought again. And remarkable. "Am I fired or not?"
"Oh, geez, I guess not," she said, shaking her head. "Just don't bring up Clark anymore. And for God's sake, stop doing everything for me. I feel like a child."
"It's a powerful instinct to do things for you," he admitted, and watched in wonder as the pulse at her throat doubled. "But if it annoys you, just think of it as an employee serving his employer, okay?"
Calla pulled herself together with an effort. Those eyes had gone all soft and brown again. "I already do think of it as that," she said, doing her darnedest to believe it.
* * *
They rode all morning and into the hot afternoon. At around 2:00 p.m. Calla discovered Henry had packed sandwiches in his saddlebags for them. She never ate lunch on the trail. She briefly considered resurrecting their argument, but changed her mind when she bit down into the fresh bread and thick meat sandwiches. They sat on a wide black lava rock at the head of Deer Creek and surveyed the valley below and the twenty head or so of cow and calf pairs grazing there.
"East Fork looks pretty good considering the water," Calla said around a mouthful of sandwich.
"I might have to give up my bathtub. I think we'll need a trough in that big spring before the end of the summer."
"I'll have Dad bring up another trough. I've got a big one someplace down there, I think. God knows I'd hate for you to have to give up your bath."
"Thanks. What about those thirty-five head down on Little Sheep Flats? Do you want them moved up to this field? The grass looks better here."
"Yeah," Calla said thoughtfully. "We'll move 'em up tomorrow. No sense letting them graze the Little Sheep off too close. We might use it for fall feed, if ever it rains again, which, by the looks of that sky up there, it may do this afternoon."
Henry finished his sandwich and lounged back on the rock. He folded one arm behind his head and tipped his cowboy hat over his eyes. After a minute, his breathing slowed and Calla realized he was asleep. She smiled and brushed the crumbs from her sandwich off her shirt.
This was what made all the hassle of the loan payments and dealing with the BLM and hiring a different smart-aleck cowboy every summer worth it. She leaned back and looked at the pattern the quaking aspen were making across Henry's light-colored shirt as the breeze lifted the little, coin-shaped leaves to the sun.
She occasionally forgot how much she loved her job, she realized. Cow camp was the perfect place to remember. Her own eyes slowly closed.
* * *
A fat raindrop hit him in the eye.
"It's raining," Calla said drowsily.
"I can feel it."
She got to her feet. "We'd better hit the road before the lightning…"
On cue, an earsplitting crack of thunder sounded, followed almost immediately by a flash of light.
"That was close," Henry said, shooting to his feet. "Come on." He grabbed for her hand but she snatched it away and began to run.
"Calla!"
"I want to get those hobbles off the horses."
Another crack of thunder sounded, simultaneous this time with lightning. Henry felt the hair on his neck rise and he took a diving lunge at Calla. The flying tackle caught her from behind, knocking the wind out of her.
"Lie down, idiot," Henry yelled at her while another, then another, bolt hit the ground around them.
She caught her breath and began to fight him. "Let … let go! The horses are hobbled." She squirmed wildly, but he held tight. The rain was washing over them in sheets now, a typical summer storm, and Calla knew the lightning would move on as quickly as it had come. But meanwhile her horses were hobbled and unable to seek protection. She kicked Henry with her boot heel.
He grunted at the contact and tightened his grip in return.
"Henry, please," she screamed.
Her plea did what her struggles could not.
"Stay here," he shouted at her. "I mean it!" Cursing her, cursing himself, he made a dash for the frightened horses, keeping his profile as close to the ground as possible. Calla followed. Damned if she'd let him risk his life for her horses alone.
They each caught a terrified mount, dragged off the loosened saddles and unhooked the hobbles. The horses bolted.
Henry looked up to see Calla working beside him. He wanted to murder her. He wanted to sweep her into his arms like some sort of movie hero. He took her wrist in a death grip instead.
"Come on."
They sprinted together toward a lava rock overhang Henry had noticed earlier. Wet to the skin already, the small protection would probably do nothing more to keep the rain off them, but it would offer a slightly better chance they'd escape this storm without getting quick-fried.
He shoved her under in front of him, then crowded in beside her.
"Henry…"
"Shut up, Calla."
She was quiet for a minute. "Uh, Henry…"
"Calla, I'm warning you. I am so beyond angry at you right now, I can't even talk."
"Fine. Don't talk. But move your elbow. It's digging into my … ooh, blood! I guess I went down harder than I thought."
He whipped his head around to stare at the blood on her fingers. For a second, he thought he might just pass right out from the shock.
"Oh, God."
"It's just a scrape." She lifted her torn shirt. A bruise was already forming under the ugly abrasion along her ribs.
"Oh, God," Henry moaned. He'd done that to her. To her perfect, soft skin. He touched it gently.
"Ow! Don't touch it!"
He winced, drew his hand back. "Calla, baby, I'm sorry."
"For saving my life?" She grinned. "Thanks a lot." He couldn't take his eyes off the wound. He wanted to take her in his arms, offer comfort, bathe the poor skin with soft cloths and kisses. Their current position allowed him none of that. "Does it hurt?"
"Of course it hurts. You weigh a ton."
He groaned again. Calla couldn't help but chuckle at the anguish in his eyes. It was either laugh or fling herself at his feet and beg him to never stop looking at her like that.
"Henry, it's just a scrape. I've had way worse."
"Not because of me."
"Nope. Ow," she said as she dropped her shirt back in place. "It'll be fine. I have some Neosporin in the first aid kit at camp."
"I'm sorry I hit you so hard. I felt the hair—"
"I know. I felt it, too. You saved me, Henry." She dropped her head on his shoulder, just for a second, to soothe both of them. "You're a handy guy to have around."
* * *
The storm lasted less than twenty minutes. When it was over, the dusty mountainside was scrubbed clean and the clouds that had hovered so ominously minutes before looked about as threatening as bed pillows.
Henry eased himself out of the low crevasse. Steam rose from the black rock the sun had baked to high heat earlier in the day. He looked around. Calla crawled from under the overhang and he automat
ically reached to help her to her feet. She ignored his outstretched hand and worked her way to her feet.
"Oooh," she groaned. "Ow, ow, ow."
"Sore?"
"Ow, yes." She winced. She brushed gingerly at her clothes. They were caked with mud. They'd be stiff as boards in about fifteen minutes. The sun was already blazing down at them. "I wonder where my faithful steed is?"
"Probably back at the Hot Sulphur eating a nice bucket of oats by now. We better get going." He looked around at Calla. "You need me to carry you?"
She laughed. "Save your strength. You'll need it for the walk back to camp, city boy."
They walked in companionable silence for several minutes, Henry resisting the urge to scoop her into his arms every time she winced at the pain in her side.
"Hey, Henry?"
"What? You need to rest? How's your side?"
"Fine. I just wanted to ask you a question."
He glanced at her. Her color was good, she was breathing okay. So, why wouldn't the little knot of guilt and concern fade?
"Shoot."
"Why are you here, really, working for poverty wages in the middle of the desert?"
Henry shrugged, prepared for the question. "I'm trying to get away for a while. And since I didn't think I'd live through a Club Med vacation, I thought this was as good a place as any to do it." He gestured at the wet, empty landscape around them. "This is certainly away, you must admit."
Calla laughed. "True. So, what are you getting away from? The law? Debtors' prison? An evil wife?"
"I told you I don't have a wife. I have an ex-wife." Calla stopped abruptly. He turned to her and she searched his eyes with such a sweet expression, he wanted to pull her to him and kiss her.
"Henry. How horrible. Is that why you're here?"
"It happened a while ago. It's not why I'm here."
"Still … it's sad. Were you heartbroken?" A disturbing idea hit her, made her a little sick. "Are you still heartbroken?"
Her color had faded. Maybe she'd knocked her head in that fall, too. He put his hand on her forehead. She brushed him away impatiently.
"Stop that. How long were you married? When did you divorce? Is this too painful for you to talk about?"
Henry started walking again. Calla followed. "I don't mind talking about it." He didn't, he realized. He never talked about Heidi, not to anyone. It was humiliating, for one. Gross evidence of his poor judgment. No, he never talked about Heidi. "I married her after I finished my Ph.D. I was working for an ag-chemical company, and she was my lab assistant."
