Читать книгу High Country Baby - Joanna Sims - Страница 10

Chapter Four

Good as his word, Clint had caught, cleaned and cooked the best trout she had ever eaten. And, even though the menacing promise of the storm clouds cut their dinner short and canceled her plans to bath in the stream, she went to bed feeling completely full for the first time since she had started her journey up to the CDT.

When the rain started, she tried to convince Clint to join her in the tent, but he flat-out refused. She had peeked out of the tent while there was still a little light to see by and spotted him hunkered down away from the trees, covered by a small tarp. She didn’t ask him to join her a second time—she had made the offer once, and that was enough. Clint had grown up in high country and she could surmise that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d weather a Montana storm with his saddle as a pillow and a rain tarp as a shelter.

The next morning she awakened to a clear sky and the welcome scents of fire and coffee. She didn’t see Clint, but the first thing on her mind was taking a quick rinse-off in the stream. She slung a bag of supplies over her shoulder and walked through the small cluster of trees that led to the stream below the campsite. At the edge of the tree line she spotted Clint kneeling by the stream. He was stripped down to the waist; the word “Rodeo” was tattooed across his shoulders with a bull rider riding a bucking bull down the middle of his long back. There was a large, jagged scar that cut across his low back, just above the waist of his jeans.

Taylor stopped for a moment, not sure if she should return to camp or join him. Clint stood up, and she was sure he sensed that he was being watched because he turned his head a bit and caught sight of her. He waved her over.

“Good morning.” Taylor called to him.

The closer she came to the cowboy, the more her suspicion was confirmed that he’d had the same thought she’d had, to clean up before their next ride. His hair was slicked straight back from his forehead, his thickening beard was wet and the jeans were different. He was twisting the water from the shirt he had been wearing for the past several days, and a fresh T-shirt was slung over his shoulder.

“That was quite a storm,” she said to make conversation.

Standing next to a half-naked Clint was uncomfortable for her, even though he didn’t seem bothered. He wasn’t extraordinarily tall and he was on the thin side, but every muscle on his body was defined. The muscles were hard and long, and he had the type of veins that were close to the surface of the skin—you could trace each vein with a finger from the inside of his elbow down to his wrist. She tried to keep her eyes on his face, yet they were drawn time and again to the array of tattoos and scars that made the landscape of his naked torso inherently interesting to her.

“I was worried about you,” she added.

Clint shook out his shirt. “Don’t waste your time.”

He slipped on his clean shirt and brushed loose hairs back off his face before putting his cowboy hat on. “I’ll keep watch—make sure you have your privacy.”

“Thank you.” Taylor knelt down to feel the temperature of the water. It was icy cold.

Clint smoked a cigarette several yards away, his back turned to her. She didn’t question that he would keep his back turned—he’d had a rough life and his manners were not civilized at times, but he wasn’t a pervert. Wearing only underwear and a bra, a pair of rubber shower shoes to protect her feet, Taylor braved the frigid, clear water of the stream. As fast as she could, she waded to the deeper part of the stream. She couldn’t wait to try to acclimate to the temperature—that wasn’t a viable option. Instead, she took in a deep breath and forced herself to sit down.

“Cold, cold, cold...” She muttered the word over and over again.

She dunked her head back, scrubbed the roots of her hair with soap and stood up so she could quickly soap her body. She spent extra time on her armpits because the odor had been too tough even for her clinical-strength deodorant to combat, and then she sank back into the water, waist deep, and put her hand inside her underwear to clean thoroughly between her thighs.

It was one of the quickest baths she’d ever taken, and that was more than okay with her. She hurried to the shore and to her awaiting towel. Even as rapidly as she had gone through her routine, she was shivering from the cold, her arms and legs were covered with goose bumps and she was clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering. One swipe of the towel across her face and then the rest of her body was all she could stand. She had to get dressed. But she wasn’t about to change her underwear out in the open. Instead, she wrapped the towel around her body and raced up to where Clint was waiting.

Clint heard Taylor’s approach and turned to greet her. He wasn’t expecting her to be wrapped in a towel with her creamy, rounded shoulders and shapely legs exposed. She smelled like orange peels and honey, and even though she was noticeably cold, the way her wet hair framed her freshly scrubbed face held a sexy, natural appeal.

“Ready?” He knew he had been caught looking at the rounded tops of her breasts.

She nodded, not wanting to speak—only wanting to get back so she could get into dry clothing. Once inside her tent, she stripped out of her wet undergarments and slipped into her sleeping bag to warm her body. She closed her eyes and willed her body to warm up and quit shivering.

“Taylor?” Clint was outside of her tent. “Here’s coffee.”

She opened the flap enough to take the cup of hot coffee. With a word of thanks, Taylor wrapped her hands around the warm tin mug; the minute the hot liquid hit her stomach she started to feel warmer. It was the perfect remedy, and it touched her that Clint had been thinking of her in that way.

As soon as she could, she dressed and joined Clint in breaking camp. Packed up and mounted on her mare, Taylor didn’t like the look of the sky in their direct path.

“I’d rather not ride in the rain,” she told Clint.

He rode up beside her with Easy trailing behind him. “Your call.”

“How long do you estimate we have before the storm hits?”

“Two hours—three tops.”

They agreed to get two hours of riding in and make camp ahead of the looming storm. She had built in several nontraveling days to enjoy the scenery and give the animals a rest. Perhaps it was time to take an early break to let the weather front move through.

They made camp just before the rain came. She hadn’t expected it, but she managed to talk Clint into joining her in the tent under the guise of not wanting to be lonely. He didn’t know that she loved her alone time, and she didn’t intend to share that fact with him.

The inside of her tent seemed much smaller now that Clint had joined her. He had to hunch his shoulders forward so there was some room for the top of his head.

“Make yourself at home,” she teased him.

His hunched shoulders were tense, his legs were half bent, half stretched out, and he seemed to be completely uncomfortable in her little temporary world. He smiled at her and she actually thought that she saw a hint of teeth.

“You mind if I play?” He took his harmonica out of his pocket.

“No.” She lay back. “I like it.”

Clint played a soft, haunting tune while the rain tapped out a rhythm of its own on the canvas roof of her tent. She closed her eyes and unintentionally fell asleep.

When the rain stopped, Clint stopped playing the harmonica. Taylor was asleep—he didn’t see any reason to awaken her to help him finish setting up camp. He unzipped the tent flap and stepped out onto the wet ground. Before he zipped the flap shut, he stared at Taylor. She had slowly started to gain his respect; she had prepared herself for this trip, and other than attempting to make the trip alone, she was a woman who made smart decisions. He was a man—he glanced at the generous curve of her breasts beneath the material of her shirt before he closed the flap of the tent behind him.

* * *

Taylor rolled onto her back, her eyes opened slowly. It took her a little bit to get her bearings—she was alone in the tent and her bladder was full. When she emerged from the tent, she saw that Clint had already set up the rest of the camp, tended to the horses and Easy, built a fire.

“Sorry.” She joined him at the fire after relieving herself. “I fell asleep.”

Clint shook his head and handed her a plate with fish reheated from the night before.

He waited for her to finish before he smoked a cigarette.

“Do you mind?” She pointed to the tequila bottle next to his leg. He didn’t bother to hide his nightly routine of drinking a healthy portion of the alcohol.

He looked surprised but untwisted the cap and handed her the half-empty bottle. Taylor didn’t bother to wipe off the lip of the bottle before she took a swig, coughing in spite of her best attempts not to when the clear liquid burned her throat. He took the bottle back from her and she watched him, through watering eyes, take several consecutive swallows of the tequila.

“How do you do that?” she asked him thoughtlessly.

He put the bottle away. He was running low and he needed to conserve the rest. After one last draw on his cigarette he flicked the butt into the fire and blew smoke out of his nose.

“Practice.”

She laughed. The sound of her own laughter sounded good to her ears. There was a time that she loved to laugh—she used to laugh frequently. Years of trying to get pregnant without success, years of passing Christopher in the hallways of their childless house, years of meeting with attorneys and divorce proceedings and dividing property had taken a toll on her spirit—eroded her confidence.

“Do you mind a personal question?”

His hand moved upward in a gesture of consent.

“What happened to your back?”

His brow furrowed in thought, then it occurred to him that she was asking about his scar.

“I was gored by a bull in Boise, Idaho.”

He smiled a little at the shock that registered on her face.

“I’d been riding bulls since I was a kid, so I should’ve been able to get out of his way. But that one got the better of me.”

“How did you even survive something like that?”

“I almost bled out by the time they got me to the hospital,” Clint recounted. “I didn’t get back on a bull for six months.”

“Six months? I can’t believe you ever got back on one.” She shook her head in wonder. “Are you retired? Or just on a break?”

“I got some money things I gotta clear up first—then I’ll be back at it. I think my knees got a couple more goes left in ’em.”

“It must be nice to know exactly what you want to do,” she said aloud, even though she really meant to only speak the words in her head.

“I’d think someone like you had it all figured out.”

“Someone like me?” she scoffed. “On that note!” She stood up. “Do you think we’ll get more of the same tomorrow?”

“Naw.” Clint tipped his hat back on his head so she could see his eyes. “Should be blue skies.”

“Then we’ll make up some time. I had a spot picked out to spend a couple of days, but we’ll have to push it a little tomorrow to make it, I think.”

She had already figured out the little movements he used to respond. A slight nod of his head was a confirmation for her plan.

“Okay—good night, Clint.”

“Night, Taylor.”

There was a roughness in the way Clint said her name—it was unlike anything she had heard before. It was so compelling that she almost stopped and turned toward him to see the look on his face. The way he said it, like silk against sandpaper, made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She liked it—probably more than she should have.

* * *

Two days later, they reached the spot where she planned on staying for several days and truly taking in the beauty of the Rocky Mountains—the wildlife, the foliage, the majesty. She wanted to be able to take it all in without feeling as if she was on a schedule. Would she be able to find the answer for the next phase of her life hidden in the mountain peaks? She had resigned from her position at the bank, walked away from the only career she had known for over a decade. For the first time since she was a young woman, she was functioning without a net.

“I’m going for a hike.”

Taylor had awakened feeling refreshed and ready to explore the area surrounding their new campsite on foot.

Clint was checking his horse’s hoof. He let the horse’s leg go and gave the buckskin a pat on the haunches.

“You planning on goin’ off alone?”

“Yes.”

She had become accustomed to having Clint around. She had been able to embrace the good of having a man on the journey with her. But her increased comfort with the man didn’t change the fact that this journey was about rediscovering herself—self-reliance, rebuilding self-confidence. There had to be some time that the only person to rely on was the one she looked at in the mirror.

“Do you know how to use that gun or is it just for show?”

There was a decidedly chauvinistic tone in his question. The challenge had been issued.

“I’ll make you a wager that I’m a better shot than you.”

The look on Clint’s face was better than she could have predicted. He tipped the brim of his hat up so he could get a better look at her face. In his deeply set grayish-blue eyes, she saw a mixture of disbelief and admiration.

“Lady—I ain’t got nothin’ to bet but two cigarettes and my last bottle of liquor.”

“Loser—i.e., you cook dinner. I like how you cook freshly caught fish.”

Clint laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that made her smile in response. “You don’t have to give me nothin’ when you lose—I’m shootin’ for my honor.”

They set up targets.

“Ladies first.” Clint tipped his hat to her.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Clint made a big show of backing away from her when she pulled her gun out of the holster.

“Worried?” She unlocked the safety with a small smile.

“Always, when a woman has a gun.”

Clint watched closely while Taylor took her shots. He was looking for comfort with the firearm, safety and skill. He had to admit that he saw all three. She might be a city, socialite kind of woman, but she knew her way around a revolver.

“Five out of five,” Taylor announced proudly.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad?” She reloaded her weapon, turned on the safety and holstered it. “Please.”

Clint took his turn and scored four out of five.

Taylor clapped her hands together and gave a little jump. “I won! Wait—did you lose on purpose?”

Clint holstered his gun. “I never lose on purpose.”

The cowboy took losing to her more graciously than she had expected.

“Looks like I’ll be catching that dinner I owe you while you go on your hike.”

It made her feel empowered. Underneath it all, Clint had been worried about her hiking alone and now that he’d seen her shoot, that he’d been beaten at his own game, he had confidence in her. And his confidence boosted her confidence in herself. It was a win-win.

* * *

“Wow!” Taylor put her hands on her full stomach. “You are an amazing cook! What did you cook the fish in?”