Strawberry Hill

by Catherine Anderson

  The first aid kit lay open on the ground beside him. He hunched his broad shoulders to bend over her foot. The crown of his hat nearly grazed her nose. The smell of it tantalized her, a masculine blend of dust, sweat, horses, male musk, and a dozen other scents she couldn’t identify.

  “Good thing I followed you,” he muttered, and she finally heard traces of the throaty tones she’d come to associate with a deaf person. Then, putting more effort into his enunciation, he said, “These need attention. Otherwise infection will set in. That’s no fun. Shoes are breeding grounds for bacteria and fungus.”

  When he looked up at her, she said, “You really are deaf.”

  “And you have a shiner. It is only red right now, but it’ll be purple tomorrow and black in three days. I guess none of us is perfect.”

  “Give me that citation,” she said. “I’ll tear it up.”

  “Never. I may be deaf, but I’m not stupid. You’re new. Without any training, you came up here to check hay and believed me when I said you needed a weed detector. My guess is, you’re skating on thin ice with Sheriff Adams and fighting to keep your job.”

  Erin bristled. “I am not skating on thin ice with my boss,” she protested. “I held the rank of sergeant when I left Washington. It takes many people years longer to earn those stripes. I’m a good cop. I bring a lot of valuable experience and knowledge to the table.”

  “But you’re still a woman competing against male colleagues. Men who probably know how to ride a horse and check hay. Men who may resent your presence at the department. You can’t afford to look foolish in their eyes. If pressed, you might tell your boss whatever it takes to cast yourself in a good light, which would, by necessity, shine a bad light on me.”

  Erin tried to jerk her foot free, but he tightened his grip on her ankle. “You’re questioning my integrity, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  “I’m not going to risk doing time behind bars to spare your feelings,” he retorted. “I never meant to strike you. You sneaked up behind me and whopped me on the back when I thought I was alone in a wilderness area.”

  Erin narrowed her eyes. “How will the citation prove you didn’t deliberately strike me?”

  He grinned. It was only a flash of white teeth, but the crooked shift of his lips transformed his face. “It says I refused to stop for a hay check and evaded a law enforcement officer who was yelling at me from behind. Anyone who knows me is aware that I’m profoundly deaf. The citation proves you didn’t realize that when you wrote me up. The eruption of hay in the meadow also proves you know nothing about weed-free hay or the color of the twine that identifies it. In short, you came up here to do a job you’re unqualified to do. Sling dirt my way, Deputy De Laney, and I’ll bury you with a return volley.”

  Hands braced on the log, she dug her fingernails into the bark. “I’m not given to lying, Mr. Fitzgerald, not even to save face.”

  “And I’m not fond of the idea that I could do time for assaulting a cop. You’re Slade’s niece. For that reason, I’ll get you off this mountain, but that doesn’t mean I trust you—or that I’ve seen much about you that I like.”

  Erin appreciated his honesty, if not his attitude, and she couldn’t say, even to herself, that she’d put her best foot forward with him. She’d been exhausted and angry when she walked up behind him in the meadow, and she probably had put more force behind her hand than she had intended when she touched his shoulder. She’d also believed he was lying when he claimed he hadn’t heard her yelling, and she hadn’t bothered to pretend otherwise. He probably didn’t appreciate being called a liar any more than she did. In short, she’d screwed up big-time with him, and there might be no way she’d ever undo it. Which was a shame, because as little as he might like her, she was coming to respect him. He didn’t mince words. He didn’t back down. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t blame him for trying to cover his ass.

  “I would never say or do anything that would put an innocent man behind bars.”

  His unflinching gaze offered her no quarter. “And I would never strike a woman, let alone a police officer, but I did.”

  “I know now that you didn’t mean to.”

  His jaw muscle rippled. “I’ll keep the citation, just the same.”

  As he worked over her foot, flushing the open sore and then dabbing it dry, he was gentle. Incredibly so for such a rough and rugged man who had undoubtedly pitted himself against the fury of Mother Nature on a frequent basis and wrestled huge animals into submission almost daily. Earlier, bare from his waist up, he’d revealed a body to her that was honed to be nearly as strong as forged iron. Yet he touched her lightly and with caution. The contact warmed her in places she hadn’t realized felt cold.

  “I’m sorry about the hay debacle,” she said to his hat brim. He didn’t hear her, didn’t look up. She tapped his shoulder with a fingertip. When he lifted his head, she repeated herself and then added, “A bunch of federal employees were in a bus wreck on Interstate 5 yesterday. On the way to a seminar, I think, where they would have been briefed on setting up hay checkpoints. Several people were injured in the accident, which caused a shortage of manpower. As the new man on the county totem pole, I was assigned to take up some of the slack. Other deputies were called upon as well, but Sheriff Adams could spare only a few to help out. He probably didn’t want to send an inexperienced rider and hay inspector like me up here, but he didn’t have much choice.”

  His jaw muscle rippled again. “In the past, the U.S. Forest Service patrolled the outfitter camps after they were set up. Certified weed-free hay is more expensive. Some people bring in only certified on the first trip and then have regular hay brought up after a ranger checks their camp.”

  Erin knew next to nothing about how hay inspections were normally done. “Maybe Sheriff Adams is doing it differently.” She couldn’t help but smile. “He may not know much more than I do about the procedures for checking hay. I don’t think the department has ever been called upon to help out before.”

  He bent back over her foot. “I’ve been setting up base camps for Slade for years. I’ve heard of hay checkpoints, but I’ve never happened upon one. In the past a ranger rode by our camp, saw the colors of our baling twine, and called it good.”

  Erin frowned. It had never occurred to her that her boss might be as clueless about weed control procedures as she was. “The sheriff’s department is county level,” she settled for saying. “And the wreck on Interstate 5 was totally unexpected. I’m sure the Forest Service will send more of its own people in as soon as possible.”

  “We can hope.” He bent back over her foot again. “I’m sorry I got you with my elbow. Normally I am not so jumpy in the wilderness, but Slade’s been having trouble with his bear.”

  “His bear?”

  An odd expression flitted across his face, giving her the impression that he regretted sharing that information, but it came and went so fast that she couldn’t be sure.

  “A bear,” he rectified. “Not really his bear. It’s been bedeviling him and everyone else on the ranch. I was thinking about the bear when you punched my shoulder. You scared the sand out of me.”

  He bent his head again. Within seconds he applied something to her heel that felt wonderfully cool, which he topped with a wide bandage. When he lowered that foot to the ground, Erin kept her heel elevated so the wrap wouldn’t get dirty. He grasped her right leg then and propped it on his bent knee. Without her interrupting him, he worked faster, and she was soon able to put her socks back on. Glancing at her boots where she’d dropped them, she dreaded having to wear them again.

  “I’ll put them in my saddlebags,” he told her. “Riding double, you won’t need footwear.”

  Erin really, really didn’t want to get on another horse. Butterscotch had turned out to be gentle and mostly unflappable, but Shanghai might be just the opposite. And her inner thighs were alr
eady so sore that it would take days for her to recover. “I can just walk.”

  “In your stocking feet?”

  “I’m tougher than I look. If I were a man, you wouldn’t object.”

  “As much as you may wish differently, you are not a man.”

  Erin couldn’t argue the point.

  “And, even if you were,” he continued, “it is a long hike without shoes to protect your feet. I wouldn’t do it if given a choice. The bottoms of those socks will wear away to nothing. You’ll have dirt and spores and God only knows what else in those open sores by the time you reach your vehicle. Then, if I’m guessing right, you’ll have to load Adams’ horse into the transport trailer. Mark my words. That is where the horse headed, straight back to your starting point. Even wearing boots, you can get a foot smashed if a horse starts dancing on a ramp.”

  Erin knew he was right. Walking out of here was a stupid idea. The bottoms of her feet would be in sorrier shape than her blistered heels. She just hated needing help. Hated it. She’d been seeing her therapist, Jonas Sterling, for nearly six months in an attempt to overcome her personality quirks, traits that had been carved into her psyche during childhood by her father. One was her need to not only compete physically with men, but also to outdo them. She refused to accept that being a female made her physically weaker than a male. Refused to accept that any man could best her. Rationally, she knew that was nuts, but the child within her still felt compelled to meet the goals her father had always presented.

  “Given that I’m no expert with horses and my feet have withstood enough damage for the day, I suppose you’re right.” So she wouldn’t block his view of her lips, she stopped talking as she bent to don her socks. “Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. My heels feel much better.”

  He closed the first aid kit, grabbed it in one large hand, and stood, all in one smooth motion. “I will get your boots packed. I need to get going. When I get back to the meadow, I have to reach base camp before dark even though I won’t have time to start unpacking. At least the horses will be settled in.”

  Hating that she was taking so much time out of his day, Erin pushed up from the log. She wanted to say he didn’t need to take her back to the trailhead, but the bottoms of her feet panged from the abuse they had already endured. “I’ve delayed you. I’m sorry.” She cringed inwardly when she recalled their confrontation in the meadow. She’d all but called him a liar. Her insistence on examining the hay made her feel foolish beyond words. He probably would never forgive her—or like her—and she honestly couldn’t blame him. It was just her luck that he worked for Uncle Slade. Today’s encounter with him would come back to bite her every time she visited the ranch.

  As she followed him to the palomino, she asked, “What kind of work do you do for my uncle? Are you a ranch hand or do you only work seasonally when he guides?”

  No answer. She stared at his back, and the purely female part of her that she’d never been able to completely squelch was fascinated by the play of muscle under his shirt as he shifted his shoulders. Deaf, she reminded herself. She needed to make sure he could see her face when she addressed him. That would be difficult to remember, because he didn’t speak like any deaf person she’d ever met.

  He stepped around the horse to stow her boots in the opposite saddlebag. She caught his gaze and asked the question again. Expression stony, he replied, “I am the foreman. I do a little of everything.”

  Erin had heard Uncle Slade speak fondly of his foreman. For some reason, she’d pictured a much older man who’d lived enough years to acquire all the know-how that her uncle raved about and claimed was amazing. Supposedly Wyatt was the best horseman that Slade Wilder had ever known, and that was saying something. Slade wasn’t too shabby with equines himself.

  “Do you like the job?”

  He searched her gaze as if he wondered what her game was. “Do you like to breathe? That is what ranching is to me—like the air I breathe. I would never be happy doing anything else.”

  Erin wished she could say that about her own chosen profession. “Uncle Slade would like to leave me his ranch.”

  Wyatt’s mouth drew tight, a grim set of his lips that conveyed his disgust of her. “I know that. Everyone within a mile of him knows that. He was so excited when you applied for a job in Mystic Creek. All he talked about was how you would fall in love with his spread and want to take over for him when he retires. Then you arrived.” He bent slightly to mess with the saddle cinch. She guessed that he was adjusting its tightness because they would be riding double down the mountain. “Now he never talks about it. He knows it was only his dream and never yours.”

  Erin clenched her teeth to keep from defending herself. In many ways, he was right. She hadn’t carved out time to spend on her uncle’s ranch, and she knew how that looked to everyone, even her uncle. “Do you have bills to pay, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

  “Not many.”

  “Well, I do. Lots of bills. Rent, food, utilities, a car payment, car insurance, and that isn’t to mention that I’m paying off my folks for all the money they spent on my college education.” She stopped when she reached the horse and held Wyatt’s gaze over the saddle seat. “Judge me if you must, but at least be fair. I don’t know if I’ll like ranching. I’m a city slicker. Remember? I have a good job right now that covers my expenses, but my work schedule is crazy. If I slack off as a deputy, I could lose that job and leave myself high and dry without an income. In short, I have to work, and I have to be the best deputy I can be. That’s my sure thing. The ranch—well, at this point in time, it’s anyone’s guess if I’ll like that lifestyle. My mother walked away from it, and she’s never looked back. She won’t even visit my uncle at the ranch. She says the stench makes her stomach roll.”

  “The smell of exhaust in a city makes mine roll.” With a final jerk on the cinch, he motioned for her to circle the horse and come to stand beside him. “You can have the front seat. I don’t get saddle sore, so sitting back on the cantle won’t bother me.”

  Erin almost protested, but she managed to squelch the urge. Her butt was already screaming from the punishment of her morning ride, and if she pretended otherwise, she’d only look foolish. A horsewoman, she definitely wasn’t. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

  “Practical,” he corrected. “If you’re behind me, I won’t know you’re having problems unless you tap me on the shoulder again.”

  Erin wished he would turn loose of all that and press a restart button. She’d been furious because he had ignored her shouts. And even now that she felt fairly certain of his deafness, he still defied all the stereotypes of nonhearing individuals. Then, to top it all off, he’d decked her when she touched him. Couldn’t he take a step back and understand that she’d had no valid reason to believe his story?

  “So how long will you hold this morning against me?” she asked when he glanced at her.

  He propped a bent arm on the saddle seat and assumed a hip-out stance that was so sexy her mouth went dry. She’d never found the whole cowboy thing attractive, only this man lent it a whole new definition.

  “Why do you care?” he volleyed back. “I will take you back down the mountain, catch your horse, get him loaded in the trailer, and off you’ll go. If you visit your uncle sometime over the next six months, I will be surprised, but if you do, I will keep busy elsewhere. No skin off your nose and none off mine.”

  “Is that why I never saw you when I visited my uncle, because you were keeping busy elsewhere?”

  His gaze sliced at her like lasers. “Have you ever seen hope vanish from an old man’s eyes, Deputy De Laney? I watched your uncle lose all hope after you came to town. He is a good man. One of the best I’ve ever met. It doesn’t seem right that his own niece doesn’t love him. I sure do.”

  “I love him! I’ve always loved him.”

  “You have a really odd way of showing it.” He straightened away fro
m the palomino and bent over to lace his fingers together. “Up you go.”

  Erin didn’t want help mounting. But she put her foot in the cradle of his hands anyway. He stared up at her from under the brim of his hat. “Wrong foot.”

  Heat rushed to her face, making her bruised cheek and eye pang. “Silly me.” She stuck her left foot into the stirrup created by his hands and hopped to get a grip on the saddle horn. The next instant, he propelled her upward with such strength that she nearly went over the horse and off the other side. When she’d narrowly avoided that disaster, she darted a fulminous glare at him. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I’m sorry. Judging by looks, I expected you to be a lot heavier.”

  Erin almost laughed. She had her share of hang-ups, but feeling self-conscious about her weight wasn’t one of them. She worked too hard to stay trim. “What if I’d gone off the other side and broken a leg?”

  “If you’d gone off the other side, you would have landed on your feet.”

  “Was that a backhanded compliment?”

  “No.”

  He said nothing more as he swung up behind her. The next instant, her rump was wedged between his hard thighs and his left arm was locked around her middle. Every rational thought in her head leaked out her ears. His hand, which he splayed over her ribs, felt as large as an oversize dessert plate, and his fingertips grazed the underside of her right breast. The heat of his touch electrified parts of her body that she hadn’t acknowledged she had for over three years. Her physical reaction to his potent maleness drove home to her that she needed to stop living like a nun and waiting to meet Mr. Right before she dated again. At the rate she was going, she might never find him. As Wyatt had pointed out, she didn’t have time in her crazy work schedule to visit her uncle, so how could she hope to socialize and meet men?