by Nora Roberts
He glanced over. “I could teach you.” Aaron noticed that her fingers were moving back and forth rhythmically over her knees. Nerves, he realized with some surprise. She hid them very well. “These little jobs’re small,” he said idly. “But the beauty is maneuverability. You can set them down in a pasture if you have to and hardly disturb the cattle.”
“They’re very small,” Jillian muttered.
“Look down,” he suggested. “It’s very big.”
She did so because she wouldn’t, for a moment, have let him know how badly she wanted to be safe on the ground. Oddly her stomach stopped jumping when she did. Her fingers relaxed.
The landscape rolled under them, green and fresh, with strips of brown and amber so neat and tidy they seemed laid out with a ruler. She saw the stream that ran through her property and his, winding blue. Cattle were clumps of black and brown and red. Two young foals frolicked in a pasture while adult horses sunned themselves and grazed. She saw men riding below. Now and again one would take off his hat and wave it in a salute. Aaron dipped his wings in answer. Laughing, Jillian looked farther, to the plains and isolated mountains.
“It’s fabulous. God, sometimes I look at it and I can’t believe it belongs to me.”
“I know.” He skimmed the border line and banked the plane over her land. “You can’t get tired of looking at it, smelling it.”
She rested her head against the window. He loves it as much as I do, she thought. Those five years in Billings must have eaten at him. Every time she thought of it, of the five years he’d given up, her admiration for him grew.
“Don’t laugh,” she told him and watched him glance over curiously. No, he wouldn’t laugh, she realized. “When I was little—the first time I came out—I got a box and dug up a couple handfuls of pasture to take home with me. It didn’t stay sweet for long, but it didn’t matter.”
Good God, sometimes she was so totally disarming it took his breath away. “How long did you keep it?”
“Until my mother found it and threw it away.”
He had to bite back an angry remark on insensitivity and ignorance. “She didn’t understand you,” Aaron said instead.
“No, of course not.” She gave a quick laugh at the idea. Who could’ve expected her to? “Look, that’s Gil’s truck.” The idea of waving down to him distracted her so that she missed Aaron’s smoldering look. He’d had some rocky times with his own father, some painful times, but he’d always been understood.
“Tell me about your family.”
Jillian turned her head to look at him, not quite trusting the fact that she couldn’t see his eyes through his tinted sunglasses. “No, not now.” She looked back out the window. “I wish I knew what I was looking for,” she murmured.
So do I, he thought grimly and banked down his frustration. It wasn’t going to work, he decided. He wasn’t going to be able to talk himself out of needing her, all of her, any time soon. “Maybe you’ll know when you see it. Could you figure if they took more cattle from any specific section?”
“It seems the north section was the hardest hit. I can’t figure out how it got by me. Five hundred head, right under my nose.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” he reminded her. “Or the last. If you were going to drive cattle out of your north section, where would you go with them?”
“If they weren’t mine,” she said dryly, “I suppose I’d load them up and get them over the border.”
“Maybe.” He wondered if his own idea would be any harder for her to take. “Packaged beef’s a lot easier to transport than it is on the hoof.”
Slowly she turned back to him. She’d thought of it herself—more than once. But every time she’d pushed it aside. The last fragile hope of recovering what was hers would be lost. “I know that.” Her voice was calm, her eyes steady. “If that’s what was done, there’s still the matter of catching who did it. They’re not going to get away with it.”
Aaron grinned in pure admiration. “Okay. Then let’s think about it from this angle a minute. You’ve got the cattle—the cows are worth a lot more than the calves at this point, so maybe you’re going to ship them off to greener pastures for a while. Unless we’re dealing with a bunch of idiots, they’re not going to slaughter a registered cow for the few hundred the calf would bring.”
“A bunch of idiots couldn’t have rustled my cattle,” she said precisely.
“No.” He nodded in simple agreement. “The steers, now . . . it might be a smart choice to pick out a quiet spot and butcher them. The meat would bring in some quick cash while you worked out the deal for the rest.” He made a slight adjustment in course and headed north.
“If you were smarter still, you’d have already set up a deal for the cows and the yearlings,” Jillian pointed out. “That accounts for nearly half of what I lost. If I were using a trailer, and slipping them out a few head at a time, I’d make use of one of the canyons in the mountains.”
“Yeah. Thought we’d take a look.”
Her euphoria was gone, though the landscape below was a rambling map of color and texture. The ground grew more uneven, with the asphalt two-lane road cutting through the twists and angles. The barren clump of mountain wasn’t majestic like its brothers farther west, but sat alone, inhabited by coyotes and wildcats who preferred to keep man at a distance.
Aaron took the plane higher and circled. Jillian looked down at jagged peaks and flat-bottomed canyons. Yes, if she had butchering in mind, no place made better sense. Then she saw the vultures, and her heart sank down to her stomach.
“I’m going to set her down,” Aaron said simply.
Jillian said nothing but began to check off her options if they found what she thought they would. There were a few economies she could and would have to make before winter, even after the livestock auction at the end of the summer. The old Jeep would simply have to be repaired again instead of being replaced. There were two foals she could sell and keep her books in the black. Checks and balances, she thought as the plane bumped on the ground. Nothing personal.
Aaron shut off the engine. “Why don’t you wait here while I take a look?”
“My cattle,” she said simply and climbed out of the plane.
The ground was hard and dusty from the lack of rain. She could smell its faintly metallic odor, so unlike the scent of grass and animals that permeated her own land. With no trees for shade, the sun beat down hard and bright. She heard the flap of a vulture’s wings as one circled in and settled on a ridge.
It wasn’t difficult going over the low rocky ground through the break in the mountain. No problem at all for a four-wheel drive, she thought and angled the brim of her hat to compensate for the glare of sunlight.
The canyon wasn’t large and was cupped between three walls of rock, worn gray with some stubborn sage clinging here and there. Their boots made echoing hollow sounds. From somewhere, surprisingly, she heard a faint tinkling of water. The spring must be small, she mused, or she’d smell it. All she smelled here was . . .
She stopped and let out a long breath. “Oh, God.”
Aaron recognized the odor, sickeningly hot and sweet, even as she did. “Jillian—”
She shook her head. There was no longer room for comfort or hope. “Damn. I wonder how many.”
They walked on and saw, behind a rock, the bones a coyote had dug up and picked clean.
Aaron swore in a low soft stream that was all the more pungent in its control. “There’s a shovel in the plane,” he began. “We can see what’s here, or go back for the sheriff.”
“It’s my business.” Jillian wiped her damp hands on her jeans. “I’d rather know now.”
He knew better than to suggest she wait at the plane again. In her place, he’d have done precisely what she was ready to do. Without another word, he left her alone.
When she heard his footsteps die away, she squeezed her eyes tight, doubled her hands into fists. She wanted to scream out the useless, impotent rage. Wha
t was hers had been stolen, slaughtered, and sold. There could be no restitution now, no bringing back this part of what she’d worked for. Slowly, painfully, she brought herself under tight control. No restitution, but she’d have justice. Sometimes it was just a cleaner word for revenge.
When Aaron returned with the shovel, he saw the anger glittering in her eyes. He preferred it to that brief glimpse of despair he’d seen. “Let’s just make sure. After we know, we go into town for the sheriff.”
She agreed with a nod. If they found one hide, it would be one too many. The shovel bit into the ground with a thud.
Aaron didn’t have to dig long. He glanced up at Jillian to see her face perfectly composed, then uncovered the first stack of hides. Though the stench was vile, she crouched down and made out the U of her brand.
“Well, this should be proof enough,” she murmured and stayed where she was because she wanted to drop her head to her knees and weep. “How many—”
“Let the sheriff deal with it,” Aaron bit off, as infuriated by their find as he would have been if the hide had borne his own brand. With an oath, he scraped the shovel across the loosened dirt and dislodged something.
Jillian reached down and picked it up. The glove was filthy, but the leather was quality—the kind any cowhand would need for working with the wire. A bubble of excitement rose in her. “One of them must’ve lost it when they were burying these.” She sprang to her feet, holding the glove in both hands. “Oh, they’re going to pay for it,” she said savagely. “This is one mistake they’re going to pay for. Most of my hands score their initials on the inside.” Ignoring the grime, she turned the bottom of the glove over and found them.
Aaron watched her color drain as she stared at the inside flap of the glove. Her fingers whitened against the leather before she lifted her eyes to his. Without a word, she handed it to him. Watching her, he took the soiled leather in his hand, then glanced down. There were initials inside. His own.
His face was expressionless when he looked back at her. “Well,” he said coolly, “it looks like we’re back to square one, doesn’t it?” He passed the glove back to her. “You’ll need this for the sheriff.”
She sent him a look of smoldering anger that cut straight through him. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe you had anything to do with this?” Spinning around, she stalked away before he had a chance to understand, much less react. Then he stood where he was for another instant as it struck him, forcibly.
He caught her before she had clambered over the last rocks leading out of the canyon. His hands weren’t gentle as he whirled her around, his breath wasn’t steady.
“Maybe I do.” She jerked away only to have him grab her again. “Maybe I want you to tell me why you don’t.”
“I might believe a lot of things of you, I might not like everything I believe. But not this.” Her voice broke and she fought to even it. “Integrity—integrity isn’t something that has to be polite. You wouldn’t cut my lines and you wouldn’t butcher my cattle.”
Her words alone would’ve shaken him, but he saw her eyes were swimming with tears. What he knew about comforting a woman could be said in one sentence: get out of the way. Aaron held on to her and lifted a hand to her cheek. “Jillian . . .”
“No! For God’s sake don’t be kind now.” She tried to turn away, only to find herself held close, her face buried against his shoulder. His body was like a solid wall of support and understanding. If she leaned against it now, what would she do when he removed it? “Aaron, don’t do this.” But her hands clutched at him as he held on.
“I’ve got to do something,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Lean on me for a minute. It won’t hurt you.”
But it did. She’d always found tears a painful experience. There was no stopping them, so she wept with the passion they both understood while he held her near the barren mountain under the strong light of the sun.
Chapter Nine
Jillian didn’t have time to grieve over her losses. Over two hundred hides had been unearthed from the canyon floor, all bearing the Utopia brand. She’d had interviews with the sheriff, talked to the Cattlemen’s Association, and dealt with the visits and calls from neighboring ranchers. After her single bout of weeping, her despair had iced over to a frigid rage she found much more useful. It carried her through each day, pushing her to work just that much harder, helping her not to break down when she was faced with sympathetic words.
For two weeks she knew there was little talk of anything else, on her ranch or for miles around. There hadn’t been a rustling of this size in thirty years. It became easier for her when the talk began to die down, though it became equally more difficult to go on believing that the investigation would yield fruit. She had accepted the loss of her cattle because she had no choice, but she couldn’t accept the total victory of the thieves.
They were clever—she had to admit it. They’d pulled off a rustling as smooth as anything the old-timers in the area claimed to remember. The cut wire, Aaron’s glove; deliberate and subtle “mistakes” that were designed to turn her attention toward Murdock land. Perhaps the first of them had worked well enough to give the rustlers just enough extra time to cover their tracks. Jillian’s only comfort was that she hadn’t fallen for the second.
Aaron had given her no choice but to accept his support. She’d balked, particularly after recovering from her lapse in the canyon, but he’d proven to be every bit as obstinate as she. He’d taken her to the sheriff himself, stood by her with the Cattlemen’s Association, and one evening had come by to drag her forty miles to a movie. Through it all he wasn’t gentle with her, didn’t pamper. For that more than anything else, Jillian felt she owed him. Kindness left her no defense and edged her back toward despair.
As the days passed, Jillian forced herself to take each one of them separately. She could fill the hours with dozens of tasks and worries and responsibilities. Then there wouldn’t be time to mourn. For now, her first concern was the breeding of her mare with Aaron’s stallion.
He’d brought two of his own men with him. With Gil and another of Jillian’s hands, they would hold the restraining ropes on the stallion. Once he caught the scent of Jillian’s mare in heat, he’d be as wild as his father had been, and as dangerous.
When Jillian brought Delilah into the paddock, she cast a look at the stallion surrounded by men. A gorgeous creature, she thought, wholly male—not quite tamed. Her gaze flicked over to Aaron, who stood at the horse’s head.
His dark hair sprang from under his hat to curl carelessly over his neck and ears. His body was erect and lean. One might look at him and think he was perfectly relaxed. But Jillian saw more—the coiled tension beneath, the power that was always there and came out unexpectedly. Eyes nearly as dark as his hair were half hidden by the brim of his hat as he both soothed and controlled his stallion.
No mount could’ve suited him more. Her lover, she realized with the peculiar little jolt that always accompanied the thought. Would her nerves ever stop skidding along whenever she remembered what it was like to be with him—or imagined what it would be like to be with him again? He’d opened up so many places inside of her. When she was alone, it came close to frightening her; when she saw him, her feelings had nothing to do with fear.
Maybe it was the thick, heavy air that threatened rain or the half-nervous, half-impatient quiverings of her mare, but Jillian’s heart was already pounding. The horses caught each other’s scent.
Samson plunged and began to fight against the ropes. With his head thrown back, his mane flowing, he called the mare. One of the men cursed in reflex. Jillian tightened her grip on Delilah’s bridle as the mare began to struggle—against the restraint or against the inevitable, Jillian would never be sure. She soothed her with words that weren’t even heard. Samson gave a long, passionate whinny that was answered. Delilah reared, nearly ripping the bridle from Jillian’s hand. Watching the struggle and flying hooves, Aaron felt his heart leap into his t
hroat.
“Help her hold the mare,” he ordered.
“No.” Jillian fought for new purchase and got it. “She doesn’t trust anyone but me. Let’s get it done.” A long line of sweat held her shirt to her back.
The stallion was wild, plunging and straining, his coat glossy with sweat, his eyes fierce. With five men surrounding him, he reared back, hanging poised and magnificent for a heartbeat before he mounted the mare.
The horses were beyond any thought, any fear, any respect for the humans now. Instinct drove them, primitive and consuming. Jillian forgot her aching arms and the rivulets of sweat that poured down her sides. Her feet were planted, her leg muscles taut as she pitted all her strength toward keeping the mare from bolting or rearing and injuring herself.
She was caught up in the fire and desperation of the horses, and the elemental beauty. The air was ripe with the scent of sweat and animal passion. She couldn’t breathe but that she drew it in. Since she’d been a child she’d seen animals breed, helped with the matings whenever necessary, but now, for the first time, she understood the consuming force that drove them. The need of a woman for a man could be equally unrestrained, equally primitive.
Then it began to rain, slowly, heavily, coolly over her skin. With her face lifted to the mare’s, Jillian let it flow over her cheeks. Another of the men swore as the ropes grew wet and slippery.
When her eyes met Aaron’s, she found her heart was still in her throat, the beat as lurching and uneven as the mare’s would be. She felt the flash of need that was both shocking and basic. He saw and recognized. As the rain poured over him, he smiled. Her thigh muscles went lax so quickly she had to fight to strengthen them again and maintain her control of the mare. But she didn’t look away. Excitement was nearly painful, knowledge enervating. As if his hands were on her, she felt the need pulse from him.
Gradually a softer feeling drifted in. There was a strange sensation of being safe even though the safety was circled with dangers. This time she didn’t question it or fight against it. They were helping to create new life. Now there was a bond between them.
