Читать книгу Her Holiday Rancher - Cathy Mcdavid - Страница 10
ОглавлениеWhat the small brown mare lacked in size, she more than made up for in muscle and determination. Lowering her head, she put all her weight into her forequarters and plowed up the mountainside. With each powerful step, dirt and small rocks exploded from beneath her hooves, tumbling downward like a miniature landslide.
Gabriel Dempsey rode the mare hard to the top of the rise. Once there, they stopped to rest, both of them breathing hard, their legs trembling. Despite her exertion, the mare would keep going if he asked. She wasn’t just young and strong. The blood from generations of wild mustangs ran in her veins, infusing her with a spirit and unbreakable will unmatched by any other breed of horse.
No, it was Gabe who couldn’t go on. He was spent. Utterly and completely exhausted. Not from the trail ride, but from the emotional events of the past four days.
Exactly seventeen months and twenty-three days after the doctor’s initial prognosis, cancer had taken his father’s life.
Today, the family had memorialized him in a service that had brought out half the town of Mustang Valley, along with a hundred other mourners from all over Arizona. Tomorrow Gabe and his family would spread August Dempsey’s ashes in the flower garden behind the house.
His father would spend eternity where he, Gabe’s grandfather and great-grandfather had lived and toiled their entire lives, on the three-thousand-acre Dos Estrellas Ranch.
Shading his eyes against the glaring afternoon sun, Gabe stared at the ranch nestled in the valley below. From this distance, the house, barns and outbuildings appeared deceptively small, like a painting hanging on a wall. Adding to the illusion were horses in the back pastures and sixteen hundred head of cattle dotting the extensive grazing lands beyond the pastures.
Grief suddenly gripped Gabe’s chest like a giant metal vise, colder than the November wind ripping across the rise from the slopes of the nearby McDowell Mountains.
He sat straight in the saddle, refusing to succumb to emotion or show the slightest sign of weakness. Even out here, where there wasn’t another living soul for two miles in any direction. The battle facing him at home promised to be a difficult one. This was only the beginning.
Among all the mourners gathered at the ranch to pay their final respects to one of Mustang Valley’s greatest citizens were two strangers. Gabe’s half brothers. August Dempsey’s legitimate sons. Rumor had it, they’d come to claim their share of the Dos Estrellas Ranch, left to them by the father they barely knew. Gabe would know for sure tomorrow afternoon at the reading of the will.
If they did inherit, he intended to fight them tooth and nail, regardless if he had a legal right to the ranch or not. He was the son who’d worked side by side with their father for over two decades. The son who was proud of his heritage and treasured it. Who loved the ranch with the same fervor and devotion as any Dempsey before him. He hadn’t left as a kid and never returned.
Giving the mare a nudge, Gabe followed the narrow deer trail south as it alternately dipped, climbed and snaked. Not far below him, a line of barbed wire fencing ran parallel to the trail.
The fence separated Dos Estrellas from its nearest neighbor and longtime cattle-ranching rival, the Small Change, though small was a misnomer. The ranch was twice the size of Dos Estrellas and these days, owner Theo McGraw ran close to thirty-five hundred head of fat, sassy cattle.
Cancer was a greedy disease and had taken more than Gabe’s father. Astronomical medical bills continued to pour in daily, many of which weren’t covered by health insurance. With no choice, Gabe and his mother had sold off what they could, depleting Dos Estrellas’s resources. It wasn’t enough, and the wolves continued to prowl outside their door. Gabe and his half brothers might well wind up fighting over a pile of scraps.
The trail abruptly veered west. Gabe and the mare dropped down into the mouth of a ravine thick with creosote, sage and cacti. Last month’s heavy rains had resulted in abundant desert foliage that had survived the recent cold snap and remained a vibrant green.
At the bottom of the ravine, the mare halted. Lifting her head, she smelled the air, her ears pricked forward.
“What do you see, Bonita?”
Gabe had been raised around horses and trusted their instincts, especially those of a mustang born in the wild. Something was amiss.
He sat still and listened, his eyes scanning the uneven horizon. Coyotes and bobcats regularly traveled this ravine, along with the occasional mountain lion. None were an immediate threat. Desert predators usually avoided humans. The mare’s survival instincts, however, were powerful, and she might attempt to flee.
She didn’t, which Gabe found interesting. Whatever lurked in the bush clearly wasn’t a predator. What, then—
A sharp, shrill screech pierced the air followed by a faint cry of distress. Pausing long enough to choose the best course, he set off in the direction of the sounds, taking the steep trail at a brisk trot, the fastest he dare go without endangering himself or Bonita.
At the top of the rise, his heart stopped cold. The entire back half of a horse was submerged in a sinkhole, nearly up to the saddle horn. The horse’s head and front legs stuck out of the narrow opening at a painful and impossible angle, almost as if he were standing up. Covered with mud and wide-eyed with fright, the horse flailed helplessly.
On the ground in front of the horse, beyond the reach of the sinkhole, a woman attempted to free him by jerking on the reins and calling out encouragements. Both woman and horse were clearly done in from the struggle. Without help, the horse would eventually die. Every moment counted.
Gabe dug his boot heels into Bonita’s sides. The mare didn’t hesitate and carried them down the steep slope. More than once she nearly lost her footing, slipping and sliding over the rocky terrain. At the bottom, Gabe tugged hard on the reins, slowing Bonita and bringing her under control.
“Are you okay?” he called to the woman, covering the remaining distance at a lope.
“I need help.” She spared him the briefest of glances, paused for a fraction of a second, then went right back to pulling on the reins.
Gabe’s brain registered two things simultaneously. First, there was no way in hell she was ever going to save that horse by herself. Maybe no one could. Second, he’d seen the woman a mere four hours earlier at the funeral. She’d sat in the rear pew of the crowded church next to her father, Theo McGraw, Gabe’s father’s rival.
“Hang on.” Gabe jumped off Bonita and, leading the mare, approached Reese McGraw. “Got yourself in a fix here.”
“I missed the hole. It was covered with twigs and dead leaves.”
Sinkholes weren’t uncommon in the desert, especially after heavy rains, though they were generally larger. This particular hazard was deceptively small, measuring three and a half feet at its widest point, and easy to miss.
“It happens,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Can you help me get him out?”
“I’ll try.”
She swallowed, and Gabe noticed the dried streaks on her cheeks. Had she been crying or was the cold wind responsible for her tears?
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head, and a hank of shoulder-length strawberry blond hair loosened from its clip. As if sensing his gaze, she said, “I lost my hat when I bailed off.”
“We’ll find it later.” The hat didn’t matter. He was simply trying to calm her. She’d need all her strength for the ordeal ahead, along with her concentration.
She continued tugging on the reins, which the confused horse fought, jerking his big head to the side rather than using the added momentum to hoist himself out of the hole.
“Take it easy,” Gabe said.
“I can’t. If I do, he’ll sink deeper.”
“No, he won’t. Trust me.” Gabe put up a restraining hand. “Hold steady, but don’t pull. Not yet. Wait until I tell you to.”
“What are you going to do?” Worry filled her eyes.
Gabe hadn’t noticed their vibrant green color before. Then again, he generally avoided Reese. “Well, if we can’t drag him out, I’ll ride for help.”
Neither of them voiced aloud what they were doubtless thinking; there may not be time for that. Who knew the depth of the hole? One wrong move, and the horse’s own weight could drag him under the mud.
Gabe decided he’d seen enough death for one week. If it was at all humanly possible, he would save this horse.
“Focus on keeping his head up,” he told Reese.
Gabe lined up Bonita next to her. The mare obediently stood quiet. Next, he removed the coil of rope from his saddlebag and fastened one end to a metal ring on the right side of his saddle. Letting out rope a foot at a time, he neared the panicked horse.
“Easy now, partner,” he cooed. “That’s right.”
Sides heaving and nostrils flaring, the big paint stared at Gabe. Perhaps his imagination was working overtime, but he swore the horse understood he was trying to help.
He continued talking to the paint as he pondered how best to fasten the rope. Simply around the head wouldn’t provide enough leverage. They’d strangle the horse before they rescued him. No way could he feed the rope beneath the horse’s chest and behind his front legs, which would be ideal. He’d likely injure his hand in the process.
Gabe decided to run the rope through the girth on either side of the saddle. A tricky operation. One miscalculation and the results could end in disaster. For the horse and Gabe.
“Here goes nothing.”
Thankfully, the horse remained quiet while Gabe circled him and attached the rope to both sides, looping it behind the saddle horn for added resistance. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. By the time he finished, sweat had gathered on his forehead and soaked the inside of his shirt.
He removed his cowboy hat and combed his fingers through his damp hair.
“You holding up?” he asked Reese.
“I’m fine.”
Right. She looked ready to drop. He gave her credit, though. She wasn’t a quitter.
“Then, let’s get this horse out.”
He patted Bonita’s rump. She’d done well so far. What came next would be the real test.
Glancing over his shoulder, he inspected his handiwork one last time. The big paint cooperated by not moving. That, or he was past the point of fighting.
Gabe stood at Bonita’s head and gripped the side of her bridle above the bit. The rope stretched taut from both sides of her saddle to both sides of the paint’s.
“Good girl.” He rubbed her soft nose. “You can do it.”
Bonita nuzzled his hands, not the least bit concerned.
He peered over her back at Reese. “You ready?”
“Yes.” She didn’t look it. Her hands shook and her face was alarmingly pale.
“Your job is to keep that horse’s head up. Bonita and I will do the rest. You understand?”
“Got it.”
“Any sign of trouble, you let go. I mean it. Don’t put any of us in danger.”
She nodded.
“All right then. On the count of three. One, two, three.” He clucked to Bonita and yanked on her bridle.
Muscles straining, hide quivering, the mare took one step forward, then a second.
Gabe glanced back at the paint. He’d yet to move, other than stretching his head and neck out as far as they would go.
“Come on, boy. Now or never.”
They could only do so much. It was entirely up to the horse. If he didn’t haul himself out of the sinkhole and onto solid ground, he would die right where he was.
Bonita didn’t quit and, once again, Gabe admired the little mare he’d handpicked from his friend Cara’s herd of rehabilitated wild mustangs.
“He’s doing it!” Reese hollered.
Gabe looked. True enough, the horse had found the will to save itself. With tremendous effort, he dug his front hooves into the ground and, with the aid of the primitive pulley, climbed out of the deep mud.
“Don’t quit on us now.” Gabe wasn’t sure who he was talking to. The horse or Bonita or Reese. Did it really matter?
With a final mighty groan, the horse heaved himself out, landing with a grunt on his belly. Gabe let go of Bonita and rushed to the paint, afraid the unsteady horse would slide back into the hole.
One rope in each hand, he pulled with every ounce of his strength. It wasn’t enough.
“Help me,” he said to Reese.
In a flash, she was there.
“Grab the saddle.”
She did, and by some miracle, they dragged the horse two feet before they gave out. The ground beneath the heavy horse held. He lay there, his back legs suspended over the hole and dripping mud, his breathing coming in great gusts.
“Give him a few minutes,” Gabe said, flexing his cramped and aching fingers. “Then we’ll get him up.”
“Okay.” Reese stood bent at the waist, her hands braced on her knees.
Gabe, too, rested. How long had this taken? Thirty minutes? An hour? He wasn’t sure. Except that, for whatever time it took, he hadn’t once thought of his father’s death.
“My God, Gabe, you did it! You saved him.”
The next instant, Reese slammed into him, her arms circling his neck. He automatically steadied them both by holding on to her.
“Thank you,” she said, clinging to him, her face buried in his coat.
He stared at the top of her head, momentarily stunned. He’d touched Reese just one other time in their entire lives. They’d been in high school, at their senior prom. He’d cradled her while she cried and begged him not to tell anyone she was pregnant.
* * *
“YOU SHOULD CALL the vet right away.”
Reese didn’t need Gabe to tell her that. Of course she’d call the vet. The second she and General arrived home. But, seeing as Gabe had rescued her father’s favorite horse, and she was eternally grateful, she bit her tongue.
“I will.”
They’d finally managed to coax General to his feet after a ten-minute respite. The poor gelding was utterly depleted and stood with his head hanging low and his nose to the ground. If it were at all possible to drive a truck and trailer into these rugged hills, she’d do it. Unfortunately, she and General would have to travel by foot.
“Come on.” Gabe grabbed hold of his mare’s reins and mounted with the grace and ease of someone who rode daily. Once seated, he stared at her expectantly.
“What?” she asked.
He patted the mare’s hindquarters. “Climb aboard. Daylight’s wasting.”
Reese blinked in astonishment. “You’re suggesting we ride double?”
“Your horse won’t make it thirty feet carrying you.”
Did he believe her a nitwit? Just because she’d been away from Mustang Valley for a long time didn’t mean she’d forgotten everything she’d ever learned.
“I was planning on walking.” She picked her hat off the ground from where it had fallen. “At least to the road.”
“I’ll take you,” he said, as if it were already decided. He removed his left foot from the stirrup.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re tuckered out. And it’ll be dark soon.”
He was right. The sun had started dropping, along with the temperature. General was wet and starting to shake. If she didn’t get him moving soon, he’d catch a chill. Her, too.
“Fine.”
He raised one brow as if to remark, “Funny way of saying thanks.”
Gabe had always been able to convey enormous emotion using very few words. It was a quality she’d found intriguing from the time they were young. That, and his good looks. His Hispanic heritage, courtesy of his mother, blended beautifully with his Dempsey genes. Dark hair, silver-gray eyes, a strong jaw, tanned complexion and a wide mouth created for kissing.
Not that she had kissed him. Or even thought about it. Okay, not much.
She and Gabe had grown up neighbors, but also rivals, thanks to their fathers’ lifelong feud. They’d steered as clear of each other as much as humanly possible in a small community the size of Mustang Valley.
Six months ago, she’d returned after a twelve-year absence. This afternoon was the first time she and Gabe had spoken since the night of their senior prom.
She should, she supposed, thank him for something else besides saving General. He’d kept his promise and said nothing about her pregnancy. If he had, she would have heard. Secrets like hers were too titillating to resist repeating.
Holding General’s reins with her right hand, she clasped Gabe’s outstretched one with her left. Then, putting her foot in the empty stirrup, she let him assist her onto the mare’s back.
“Can she carry the two of us?” she asked, settling in behind Gabe. The mare was on the small side and worn out after her recent efforts.
“She’ll manage.”
The next moment, they were off. At the mare’s first hop over a hole, Reese grabbed Gabe’s middle rather than be dumped on the ground. She swore he chuckled beneath his breath. Or it might have been the wind.
“How’s he doing?” Gabe asked after a few minutes.
Reese looked behind her at General, and her heart hurt. “He’s limping on his right rear leg.”
“Will he make it to the road?”
“I think so.” Then she could call the house and have someone from the Small Change meet them with a truck and trailer.
If her phone had worked when General fell into the sinkhole, she wouldn’t have had to rely on Gabe’s help. She’d tried repeatedly to get a signal, but there had been none. She was lucky he’d ridden by. And that it was today rather than tomorrow, after the reading of August Dempsey’s will.
“Thank you again,” she said. “I owe you.”
He simply grunted.
“For a lot more than saving General,” she added, wondering if he understood her meaning.
“I’m a man of my word.”
Okay, he did understand. “For which I’m very appreciative.”
She waited for him to ask her what had happened to the baby. Where she’d gone when she left Mustang Valley. What she’d done. If she’d ever told Blake Nolan, the baby’s father.
Gabe remained stoically silent, and she sensed an unmistakable tension coursing through him.
The next mile passed slowly. Every few minutes, Reese checked on General. His limp was getting worse, and she gritted her teeth. How far to the road? She craned her neck in order to look ahead over Gabe’s broad shoulder.
In hindsight, she should have waited to take General out until later in the week when she was less busy. But she hated seeing the stout gelding cooped up day after day in his stall, barely ridden.
It wasn’t her father’s fault. He would exercise General every day if his health permitted. This morning, simply crawling out of bed to attend August Dempsey’s funeral had been a challenge. Riding was out of the question.
“It was nice of you to come today,” Gabe said, rousing her from her thoughts.
“My father may not have gotten along with yours, but he respected him greatly. We wouldn’t have missed the funeral.”
Gabe’s response was another noncommittal grunt.
The mare stumbled on the steep incline, causing Reese to grip Gabe’s waist tighter.
“Maybe I should get off and walk,” she suggested, acutely aware of his broad, strong back through the thick fabric of his coat.
“We’re almost to the road.”
It was the longest fifteen minutes ever. Immediately upon dismounting, she examined General. The poor horse was on the verge of collapsing.
She got on her cell phone, and breathed a sigh of relief when her call connected.
“Hi, Dad.” She summarized the situation, including how Gabe had rescued her and General.
“I’m glad you’re all right and that Gabe was riding by.” Relief filled his voice. “He’s a good man.”
Reese knew her father’s praise was sincere. The rivalry between him and August Dempsey was strictly over business and had nothing to do with character. In another lifetime, under different circumstances, the two might have been friends.
“I’ll tell him myself when I see him,” her father continued.
“No, Dad. You’ve had a long day.” She turned away from Gabe, who still sat astride the mare, and said in a low voice, “You need your rest. Send Enrico.”
“He’ll drive, but I’m damn well going with him.”
It was the best she could hope for. Her father was a stubborn old fool when he set his mind to something. Like not telling anyone about his Parkinson’s. How long could he realistically expect to keep hiding his disease? He was starting to show symptoms, and people were becoming suspicious. Like Enrico, who’d worked for the McGraws since before Reese had left.
“Fine.” What choice did she have, short of telling Enrico? And her father would never forgive her for that. He was a proud man. “See you when you get here.”
“Be careful, honey.”
Reese glanced at Gabe, then chided herself. Of course, her father was referring to General. She had nothing to worry about from Gabe, who was scrutinizing her every move with those compelling eyes of his.
She said goodbye and disconnected the call. Returning to the weary horse, she gave his neck a loving stroke.
Eying Gabe, she said, “You’d better hurry if you want to get home before dark.”
“I’ll wait until your ride gets here.”
“It could be a while.”
Truthfully, she had no idea how long her father and Enrico would be. She was simply providing Gabe with an excuse to leave.
“I have time.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “The house is filled with food.”
She could well imagine. As expected, friends and family had stopped by, dropping off casseroles, covered dishes and baked goods as they paid their respects. Food and funerals seemed to go together.
“Are you?” Gabe asked. “Hungry?”
“A little.” Between the service this morning, caring for her father and worrying about tomorrow’s reading of the will, she’d missed lunch.
Riding General hadn’t been solely to exercise the barn-bound horse. She’d needed a mental vacation in the worst way.
“Mostly I’m cold,” she added.
Gabe dismounted, unbuckled the saddlebag and reached inside. A moment later, he produced a yellow rain poncho and a small, rectangular object she couldn’t quite make out.
“Here.” He approached her, his stride confident and, she had to admit, sexy.
A small thrill wound through her. She blamed the stressful events of the day. It couldn’t possibly be attraction. To Gabe Dempsey? No way.
“Here.” He shook out the rain poncho, removed her hat and placed the poncho over her head.
“I don’t need—”
“Shut up, Reese.” He replaced her hat and fastened the top snap on the poncho, the one beneath her chin. “It’ll help keep you warm.”
The thrill turned into a flush as his fingers brushed her exposed skin. Who needed a poncho when Gabe’s proximity was enough to warm her from the inside?
“O...kay.” Please don’t let him notice the effect he was having on her.
“Here.” He lifted her hand and pressed the object he’d taken from the saddlebag into it. “Enjoy.”
She stared at the energy bar. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because...”
“You’re as stubborn as your father.” A smile touched his lips.
She thought it might be his first one in days or even weeks. Nothing could be worse than losing a loved one.
“I’ll eat this,” she said, “but only if we share.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss McGraw.”
He hadn’t seen anything yet. Just wait until they butted heads over his father’s estate.
Ripping open the wrapper, she removed the energy bar and broke it in half.
He accepted the piece, his fingers brushing hers. Was it intentional? She wouldn’t put it past him. Gabe had always been a ladies’ man, starting in high school. She was surprised he’d reached the age of thirty without some woman snapping him up.
Then again, no one had snapped up Reese, either, though she’d come close once. Perhaps Gabe was like her, married to his work.
They didn’t speak while they ate. Reese stared up the road. No sign of her father yet. When she was done with her half of the energy bar, she checked again on General, then returned to Gabe, pulling the poncho closer around her.
“Still cold?” Gabe asked.
“A little.”
“We could huddle for warmth.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
His smile returned. “I don’t bite, Reese.”
Sweet heaven, he was gorgeous. “I’m fine.” She was not letting Gabe touch her, much less hold her.
Headlights appeared in the distance, about a mile up the road. Reese released a long sigh. As assistant manager of Southern Arizona Bank, it was her job, her duty, to conduct herself professionally and impersonally with the Dempsey family. Huddling with Gabe, even for warmth in extreme weather conditions, wasn’t either of those things.
She waved as the truck and trailer neared. “Dad’s here. You don’t have to stay.”
“All right,” he said, his tone unreadable, and mounted the mare.
“What about your poncho?”
“Keep it.” Gabe tugged on the brim of his cowboy hat. “See you around.”
She watched him ride off into the darkness toward Dos Estrellas, barely noticing the truck rumble to a stop behind her.
He’d do more than see her around. Thanks to August Dempsey revising his will six months ago, Reese was about to become a fixture in the Dempsey brothers’ lives, and there was nothing they could do to change it.
