Читать книгу Montana Refuge - Alice Sharpe - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Tyler finished hauling the last sack of grain into the barn. He was so preoccupied that the last thing in the world he felt like doing was facing a room full of strangers who expected and deserved a friendly chat. He just couldn’t do it. Instead, he sent Mele, one of the wranglers, to give the orientation talk. He’d make up for his no-show at suppertime.

Why had she come back here?

Because she’s desperate. She’s in trouble.

And why was that his problem? She’d stood right over there that last day and told him she felt as if she’d been swallowed by his life, she needed one of her own, she had to leave, there was no hope for them, he should forget about her and all their plans and find someone new. There would be no babies, there would be no future.

She’d cut him open and pulled out his heart.

He cleaned out a few of the horse stalls, attacking the chore like a man possessed. He was restless inside and out and couldn’t wait to hit the trail. The cattle were mostly corralled nearby waiting for the morning when they’d head up toward the mountains. All day his wranglers had been giving riding and roping instructions to the guests, showing them training films, preparing them for tomorrow. The air on the ranch seemed to crackle with energy as everyone geared up for the upcoming ride.

He had a million things to do to get ready and here he was trying to come to grips with memories he’d worked a year at forgetting.

Julie.

He’d known in his heart that marrying her was a mistake. She was a town girl, her parents owned a florist shop and she’d worked in it since she was twelve. He’d looked at her work ethic and been impressed. He’d looked at her long legs and big brown eyes and been consumed with desire. She looked good, she smelled good, she’d seemed genuinely fascinated in just about every word he uttered. They’d dated through college and she’d moved out of her folks’ house and onto the ranch a week after graduation, the brand-new Mrs. Tyler Hunt, exchanging one life for another.

And it had been good for a while.

Peering out the barn door, he looked toward the cabins and thought about walking up to number eight and talking to her. Hear her out. Give her advice or money or whatever she needed. Then sign the damn divorce papers and get it over with. He should have done it months before. Inertia had kept him tied to her.

He stood straight, heaved a deep breath and actually walked a step in her direction. Then he stopped. No. He couldn’t do it.

* * *

SHE LOOKED OUT the window again. Tyler was nowhere to be seen.

Should she stay tucked in this room out of sight? There was an obvious allure to that plan. The four walls felt safe. Still, staring at them wasn’t going to resolve anything and if the giant raw boil festering in her gut was any indication, sitting still a moment longer was going to be her undoing.

He didn’t want her here, that much was clear, but maybe she could go outside for a while and just avoid him. Was her horse still on the ranch or had Tyler sold him? If Babylon was here, would Tyler come unglued if she took him out for an hour or two? Would he even have to know?

But he would; the man knew everything that went on here. The only mystery to Tyler Hunt had been his wife.

Opening the door, Julie was surprised to find the sun had dipped lower in the sky. Sunset was at eight-thirty or so this time of year, and evenings could get chilly. She went back inside and retrieved her red raincoat which she’d spent hours on the bus repairing with a sewing kit she bought along the way. The garment was expensive, though, or had been when she bought it in a boutique. No one would mistake it for couture anymore unless they were a big fan of the pieced-together Frankenstein look.

A glance up at the mountains revealed the snow had melted, but probably not that long before. Of course it had melted; Tyler wouldn’t be moving the herd if it hadn’t.

She’d helped with a few of the cattle drives when they were first married five years before. Then she hadn’t been able to stand being away from Tyler for very long and those nights under the stars or cuddled in his tent still awakened twinges she doubted would ever completely go away.

Sooner or later, she’d just stopped going. He’d called her spoiled and immature for not wanting to help, and she’d wanted to snap his head off. Was it immature to like different things, to want more out of life than cows and mountains?

The only one in the horse barn was Lenny, the farrier, and he was busy clipping the hooves of a palomino Julie didn’t recognize. She returned his smile of greeting and walked down to Babylon’s stall. Sure enough, the big red gelding was still there, his white blaze as blinding as always, his huge brown eyes alert and soft at the same time. He whinnied when he saw her and she offered him the apple she’d taken from the barrel as she entered the barn.

“How have you been?” she said as he dispatched the apple in a couple of bites. “Are you mad at me, too?”

The horse sniffed her hands for more produce and she stroked his head. “Want to sneak away for a while?”

The horse whinnied again and Julie opened the stall door. It was while she fastened a lead to his halter that she noticed a jacket hanging from a hook on the outside of the stall and beneath it, next to a stool, a pair of boots.

Her jacket, her boots, both still sitting here after a whole year as though she’d taken them off yesterday.

She looped the lead around a post and sat down on the stool, turning each boot upside down to make sure it wasn’t home to a spider or two, then exchanged her casual leather shoes for the boots. They fit as they always had, like a second skin. Babylon snuffled her hair as though in approval.

Next she shook out the denim jacket and exchanged it for the red one. “I’m back, at least for tonight,” she told the horse, and led him to the area they used for saddling.

Waving off the help of a new wrangler, Julie saddled Babylon before leading him out of the barn. She rode toward the river, not as comfortable and accomplished a rider as Tyler, but Babylon was an easy horse with a smooth gait and an even temperament.

She didn’t need to think twice about where to head. There was one spot that had always filled her with peace when she felt this way and she headed there now. She would go to the river even though it meant riding by the century-old ranch house she and Tyler had shared during their marriage.

The house was still there, two stories of white shingles, a broad porch, barns and pastures and corrals. Tyler’s truck wasn’t pulled up out front and she wondered if he’d moved back to the main house after she left. The place had a deserted appearance.

Eventually, as she got closer to the river, the land began to slope gently downward until it sported underbrush, trees and wandering animal trails. She heard the rush of water before she saw it, catching sparkling glimpses through the branches as she headed to the bend where she knew a downed tree arched over the water.

This was the place on the ranch she’d missed the most, her private spot where she’d come to think and dream and work things out in her head—the one place where she could be sure to be alone.

The breeze ruffled the boughs overhead. The smell of flowers and grass chased away some of the insecurities and fears that had driven her here and she knew the sound of moving water would calm her. She pulled the horse to a stop after a while, preparing to get off and walk him down the steeper bank to water’s edge, but stopped when a glimpse of something big and brown down by the river caught her eye. Her first thought was that a bear had wandered down from the mountains.

And then she realized it was a horse. Babylon sensed this, too, and made a little sound in his throat.

Her heart made a startled leap and it was a measure of where her head was that the only thought that sprang to mind was that Roger Trill had somehow teleported himself from her apartment to the river. Babylon gave a contented whinny and the horse by the river responded by tossing his head and staring up the slope.

She finally recognized Yukon, the dark gold gelding with the almost perfect white star on his forehead. Tyler’s horse. Peering more closely through the trees, she glimpsed a tall figure standing atop the log, gazing downstream, apparently unaware of her presence, probably because the noise of the rushing water under the downed trunk drowned out everything else.

The sight of him standing where she’d so often sat for hours startled her. On the other hand, now was her chance. She had him cornered—he’d have to listen to her. She started to dismount and then paused.

It felt like an ambush. She’d already pushed herself on him and he’d made his feelings about her clear. Could she really confront him while he stood literally out on a limb?

What was he doing here? With a cattle drive starting in the morning, he didn’t have time for idleness. Undecided about what to do, she sat there for what seemed like hours, but when he took off his hat, sat down on his heels and stared into the water as though searching for answers, she knew she couldn’t encroach on his space and insist he pay attention to her. You had to ask for help, not demand it. She didn’t have the right or the nerve. Even fear hadn’t pushed her that far—yet.

As she turned Babylon, she spotted another rider through the trees. A man had stopped his horse farther along and seemed to be sitting astride his mount. Distance and foliage hid his identity from her, but she was almost positive she didn’t know him. Dressed as he was in a Stetson and shades of browns and turned at that angle, he looked like any other cowboy.

She was afraid to take a breath, and stilled Babylon by leaning forward and running a hand down his powerful, smooth neck. “Quiet, boy,” she whispered, and waited....

The stranger’s attention stayed riveted on Tyler. In fact, he seemed totally oblivious to her presence and by the way he’d positioned himself, she got the distinct feeling he was doing his best to be invisible to anyone down at the river.

Julie urged Babylon forward, turning to glance over her shoulder when they broke the trees, heart drumming against her ribs as she imagined the stranger coming after her.

But he didn’t.

Which raised the question: Did Tyler know he was being watched?

* * *

TYLER ARRIVED BACK at the lodge to find the guests, a couple of the wranglers and his mother seated around three of the dining room’s round oak tables.

He made a quick head count and realized there was an additional person, who must have arrived while he was blowing off steam at the river. Figuring it must be the doctor they’d been expecting, Robert Marquis, he looked for the newcomer. The only one he could see was a woman of about thirty-five with dark hair and rhinestone glasses perched on a pert nose. She wore a blue neck bandanna and a red-and-white-checked shirt and was seated at a table with Red Sanders, the Boston lawyer, and John Smyth.

Well, maybe they’d gotten the name wrong. Maybe it was Roberta Marquis.

Tyler steered himself their direction and sat down at an empty place next to the woman. Across the room he saw his mother staring at him with a strained expression.

What was that about?

The easy conclusion to reach was that she’d seen Julie, although he imagined if that was true, she would have insisted she join them for dinner. Her glance seemed to stray to his left—was she staring at John Smyth?

Each table sported large platters of ham and potatoes, bowls of salads, baskets of bread, pitchers of juice and a carafe each of cabernet and chardonnay wine. Everyone helped themselves à la family-style, which they’d found over the years fostered a feeling of camaraderie that would be cemented out on the trail.

John Smyth nodded at Tyler as he scooped potatoes onto his plate.

Tyler introduced himself to the two people he’d yet to meet. The lawyer was surprisingly quiet given the flamboyance of his mustache and those buckskin chaps, but that might be explained by his frequent tips of the carafe into his wineglass. Heavy drinkers could be a problem out on the range and Tyler made a mental note to keep an eye on Red. The woman turned out to be a real estate broker from California.

“I was at a conference,” the woman who introduced herself as Meg Peterson from Sherman Oaks, California, said. “You’ve never seen so many depressed people at one place, not ever. What with this economy...” Her voice trailed off. Tyler thought she might currently live in California, but she harbored a distinct Minnesota accent. She turned to John, her hands flying as she talked.

“I was checking out of the hotel, wishing I didn’t have to go home yet,” she continued, “and then the desk clerk showed me a brochure of this ranch. Why I took off right then just on the chance the ranch would have room for another guest for a few days and discovered I was in time to take part in a cattle drive!” She nodded at Tyler’s mother. “That dear lady signed me right up. Rose is just a peach.”

“Have you ever ridden horses or been around cattle?” Tyler asked. It was unlike Rose to agree to greenhorns with so little time to evaluate their skills and give them the basics.

“I ride all the time at home,” she said. “I just couldn’t be more excited if I was going to Disneyland.”

“I know you’ll enjoy yourself,” Tyler said. He turned to Red who seemed to have fallen asleep sitting up and then to John Smyth. “You got here early this morning, Mr. Smyth. Did you find enough to do to keep you busy?”

“Call me John, please. Sure, I took a ride, saw a couple of hawks and practiced roping a sawhorse. You get the cows to stand still and I’m your man to bring them in.” As Meg Peterson laughed, he smiled at his own joke, looked at Red and shrugged. Turning back to Tyler, he added, “Rose was gracious enough to let me look through some of your old picture albums when I expressed an interest in the ranch’s history. It’s been in your family for three generations, is that right?”

“That’s right. My father’s father bought it back when it was just a cattle ranch.”

“I didn’t see any albums of that period,” Smyth said.

“There are none. A fire thirty years ago destroyed all the early records except those that we’ve been able to copy from county historical files.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yes. Well, we do have lots of photos from that point on, though.”

“That you do.”

John Smyth had a scar on his chin, but that kind of suited his rugged looks. In fact, up close like this, now that Tyler thought about it, Smyth looked vaguely familiar—and slightly sinister. “Have you been here before?” he asked. “Maybe on a previous vacation?”

“No, never before. I gather the decision to turn this into a guest ranch came about fifteen years ago?”

“After my father died, my mother knew she would need to switch things up if she was going to keep the ranch long enough to hand it down to me,” Tyler said. “That’s why you guests are so important to us. We don’t make stuff up for you to do. While you’re here, you’re as much of a cowboy as you want to be.”

Meg Peterson squealed with delight.

“Did the wranglers explain the low-stress attitude we employ to manage the livestock around here?” Tyler asked. Everyone except Red nodded. “Good. The trick is to make them want to go where we want to go. You’ll get the hang of it. Be sure you get some good sleep tonight and enjoy your comfortable beds.”

“Do we come back here every night?” Meg Peterson asked.

“No, ma’am, afraid not. This is a real drive. We need to get the herd up to greener pastures.” The trip wouldn’t really take five days if that was its only purpose and everyone knew exactly what they were doing, but you couldn’t push novices too hard. Besides, it was the journey that mattered to them, not the destination.

“What about food and beds—”

“Rose takes care of the chuck wagon, right?” John Smyth said.

“Yes, Mom’s handling that again this spring. Normally we leave that duty to ’Cookie’ as the guys call him, though his real name is Mac, but he’s off in Wyoming right now. And you’ll sleep on bedrolls, but don’t worry, they come with pads and a canvas flap to keep them dry. We’ll hit the first camp tomorrow afternoon. There are tents available if you’d rather sleep indoors, but you might not want to miss calling it a day under more stars than you can imagine.”

“I’m going to be real cowgirl by the time we get back,” Meg said.

Tyler glanced at his mother’s table again. She was engaged in conversation with a returning middle-aged couple named Carol and Rick Taylor who had brought along an adult son this time around, as well as with two brothers named Nigel and Vincent Creswell, both avid fishermen.

As he stared at Rose, her glance flicked his direction and then away, a frown curling the corners of her mouth.

This time he was sure of it. She’d been looking at John Smyth. Tyler served himself a slice of ham, wondering what the heck was going on.

Speaking of food, he’d have to make sure someone took something out to Julie in her cabin. No way was he going to do it. Thoughts of her killed his own appetite, but he ate anyway and did his best to keep up his end of the conversation, pleased to find the wranglers who had joined dinner service were being their usual charming selves as well, telling stories and dishing up apple pie.

His training of new cowboys and wranglers always stressed communication skills. Every moment on the ranch was a moment of someone’s time and hard-earned vacation dollars. Guests were here to have fun and that meant making sure things ran smoothly. And thankfully, most of his hands were pretty good at it; they didn’t last if they weren’t. Truth be told, most of them got along with people better than Tyler himself did.

Dinner finally ended. One of the newest employees was a college girl studying music and she encouraged everyone to join her in the parlor for a sing-along before deep-dish apple pie and coffee were served. While the kitchen help cleared tables, Tyler took an extra plate and stacked a little of everything on it. He’d get one of the wranglers to deliver it to cabin eight.

In the kitchen he found his mother helping with the cleanup. And tucked behind the table in her old favorite spot near the fireplace sat Julie, tackling a plate of food with some of her old gusto. She flinched when she looked up and saw him.

How long had she been here? Four or five hours? But in that time, her face had acquired a little color, and the scrape on her cheek had faded. She’d found her old denim jacket, the one that hugged her breasts and nipped in the waist or had before she lost weight, and twisted what appeared to be newly showered hair into a low ponytail.

It was as if someone had turned a clock backward. She looked like his college sweetheart, like his bride, his wife. He could picture himself taking her hand, taking her back to their place, making love to her.

The knife twisted again.

“Were you trying to hide Julie away?” Rose Hunt demanded as she moved a tray of dirty dishes toward the sink. A young woman with very blond hair took it from her and as she did, a cup slid off the tray and shattered on the stone floor.

“Don’t fret, Heidi, just clean it up,” Rose said. “It’s not like it’s never happened before.” Then she turned her attention back to Tyler. “Were you ever going to tell me Julie was here?”

He set the plate of food he’d assembled aside. “Probably not,” he said.

“Why? You didn’t sign the papers yet, did you? She’s still your wife.”

“Mom, this is none of your business,” he said firmly. “Back to important things. Where is the doctor?”

“Dr. Marquis called to report he was having trouble getting out of Chicago,” Heidi said.

“He’ll arrive tomorrow morning.” Rose added, “And learn as he goes. We need the business. Now, stop trying to change the subject. Everything that happens here and affects you and this ranch is my business. Imagine how I felt when I saw Julie get out of Lenny’s truck but not come up to the house. I had to go get her, and then she wouldn’t come into the dining room.”

“I told her to leave you alone.”

“Why? Do you think I can’t handle reality?”

Julie cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, “but I’m sitting right here. Tyler didn’t want to trouble you, Rose. It’s as simple as that. I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

Julie set down her fork. “Yes. I just came to talk to Tyler. I didn’t know you guys were heading out with the herd. My timing sucks.”

The back door opened and one of the older wranglers walked in carrying a battered-looking thermos.

“Come on in, Andy,” Rose said. “You looking for some coffee?”

“You girls make the best brew on the ranch.”

“And we always make extra for you,” Heidi said, taking his thermos and filling it from the urn on the counter. Andy’s tanned, lined face broke into a grin as he thanked them, then he turned around and saw Julie and the smile broadened.

“Well, missy,” he said. “Nice to see you and that’s a fact.” He tipped his dusty hat and left the house. His arrival had dispelled some of the building tension—his departure brought it all back.

Rose Hunt rested her hands on her slim hips, a dishcloth dangling by her leg, her gaze directed at Tyler. “Have you two talked?”

“No.”

The door behind Tyler that led to the dining room opened and John Smyth came in, holding a tray covered with dirty dishes. He paused when he saw them all standing there. Nodding at his burden, he said, “I thought I could lend a hand.” He smiled at Rose, who looked away, then ambled over to the sink, set the tray down on the drain board and addressed the two women at the sink.

“Step aside, ladies. I’ll wash if you two will dry.”

Heidi and Melanie both laughed as Smyth plunged his hands into the dishwater.

Rose shook her head. “That isn’t necessary, Mr. Smyth. You are a guest here.”

“I like to pull my weight.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

Her lips thinned as she stared at his back. “I’m going to bed,” she announced.

Tyler tried not to gape, but since when did Rose Hunt retire right after dinner when there were guests to be entertained and attended to? “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you ill?”

“I may be coming down with a bug. My head hurts. And my back. I shouldn’t have lifted that tray after a day spent stocking the chuck wagon. I’m not as young as I used to be. Let the kids finish the dinner chores—you two talk for God’s sake. Honestly, acting like children.” She slapped the cloth on the drain board for punctuation.

“I don’t have time for talking,” Tyler protested. “There are a million things to do before morning—”

Rose cut him off with a steely stare she’d been trotting out for years every time he did or said something she found stupid. She slid a glance at John Smyth’s back, then glared at Tyler. It was clear she wanted to say something else but wouldn’t in front of a guest.

Tyler glanced at Julie as Rose left the room. Julie pushed her plate away as though waiting for him to say something.

Not in that kitchen. Not with three other people washing dishes without making a sound so they could eavesdrop. No way.

“Come on,” he told Julie, crossing to the door and holding it open. “Let’s take a walk.”