Читать книгу Ride A Wild Heart - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 10

“Who’s that man?”

Carol glanced down at Adam, her first student of the day, then followed the line of his gaze to where Pete was riding away from the barn, Clayton’s cow dog trotting closely behind. The straw hat Pete wore was old, stained and pulled low over his forehead, shadowing his face. But she could tell by the way he sat in the saddle—shoulders square, spine as straight as an arrow—that he was still angry with her. Even the way his fingers curled around the lariat he held against his leg—knuckles white against his tanned skin and digging into his thigh—was an indication of his dark mood.

With a sigh she turned back to the mare she was saddling and pulled the cinch tight. “That’s Pete Dugan.”

“Is he a rodeo cowboy?” Adam asked, squinting up at her.

“Yes.”

“Is he a roper like Clayton?”

Chuckling, Carol squatted down, putting herself eye level with Adam. At six, his heroes were all still cowboys. “No, he’s a bronc rider.”

His eyes, already magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses, grew even larger. “For real?”

Laughing, Carol tapped the brim of his cap, knocking it down over his eyes. “Yes, for real.” She rose, drawing her hands to her hips. “Now, are you ready to ride this old bronc?” she asked, nodding toward the horse she’d just saddled.

Adam shoved up the cap and scowled at the mare who stood placidly at the arena fence. “Honey’s not a bronc. She’s just a horse.”

Carol bent over and cupped her hands, offering Adam a boost up to the saddle. “That’s what you think, buster. Honey may not buck now, but when she was younger, there wasn’t a cowboy around who could ride her.”

Adam planted a boot in her hands and swung a leg over the saddle as she hefted him up. “No foolin’?”

“No foolin’.” She gathered the reins and passed them to him. “Warm her up, okay? Three laps at a walk. Two at a trot. And remember your posture. Head up, back straight, heels down.”

“You think she can still buck?” Adam asked hopefully as he turned the mare for the arena gate.

Carol bit back a smile. “You never know,” she called after him. “Better keep a deep seat and a tight rein, just in case she takes a mind to unload you.”

She laughed softly as she watched Adam grab for the saddle horn. Shaking her head, she turned and glanced back in the direction where she’d last seen Pete. He was still in sight and, judging by his posture, he was still angry.

With a sigh she stooped to pick up the tack box and set it alongside the fence and out of the way. She’d purposefully hurt Pete and made him angry with her. Not that she’d enjoyed doing so, or had even wanted to. She’d never wanted to hurt Pete. Not then, and not now. But she couldn’t get involved with him again. Not when she’d spent the better part of two years trying to forget him.

I didn’t come to see Clayton. I came to take care of the place while he goes chasing after Rena.

Remembering his explanation of his unexpected appearance at the barn earlier that morning, she stifled a groan of frustration. And how in the world was she supposed to forget him, if he was going to be staying right next door?

She would avoid him, she told herself as she swung the arena gate closed behind her. She’d conduct her lessons, feed her horses and make sure she stayed out of his way. And if they did happen to cross paths while she was at Clayton’s ranch, she’d ignore him…or, at the very least, feign indifference. She could do that, she told herself. After all, she’d successfully managed to avoid him for two years, which was no small feat, considering she lived right next door to one of his best friends.

Saw you at the rodeo last night. Were you there to watch me ride?

Scowling, she squinted her eyes at Adam, who was still walking Honey around the arena, warming up the mare for their lesson.

Wasn’t it just like Pete to assume that she’d gone to the rodeo just to watch him ride? She had, of course, but she would choke before she’d admit that to him. Oh, she’d known she was taking a chance by attending the rodeo, but she hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to watch him ride, to see him again. Not when she knew he was competing within driving distance of her home. Not when there wasn’t a single day that passed that she didn’t think of him, wonder about him, dream about him.

But she hadn’t intended for him to ever know she was there. And he wouldn’t have known, either, if that bronc he’d ridden hadn’t chosen the spot right beneath her box seat to scrape Pete off his back. Everyone in the section of seats, her included, had run to the rail to see if he was hurt. But when he’d looked up, it was her face he’d focused on. And when she’d seen the surprise in his eyes, the recognition, she hadn’t been able to look away.

She’d look away this time, though, she told herself as she watched Adam smooch Honey into a trot. And she’d stay away, too. Far away.

Pete slapped the coiled rope against the leather chaps that protected his legs from the thorny mesquite trees scattered around Clayton’s ranch. “Get up there,” he called to a calf that had begun to lag. Clayton’s dog, a blue heeler named Dirt of all things, barked and raced over, nipping at the calf’s rear hooves. The calf bawled and ducked back into the herd, pushing its way to the center.

Wiping the back of his hand across his dry mouth, Pete glanced toward the barn. He’d avoided the area all day, working his way down the list of chores Clayton had left, careful to choose tasks that kept him away from the house and the barn. But Clayton had indicated that a buyer was coming to pick up the calves the next morning, and Pete was left with no choice but to round them up and head them for the barn and the corral beside it.

As he drew closer, he could see that Carol’s truck was still parked beside the building, but thankfully she was nowhere in sight. He’d monitored her movements throughout the day—but from a distance—watching cars arrive and kids spill out, ready for the horseback riding lessons Troy had told him she offered in Clayton’s arena.

He pushed the calves on, hoping that he could pen them in the corral and skedaddle before she appeared again.

“Damn,” he muttered in frustration when he saw the gate was closed. Wishing that he’d thought to open it before he’d left to gather the calves, he turned his horse, planning to make a wide arc around them, open the gate, then slip back up behind them and push them through.

Just as he started to touch his spurs to his horse’s side, he caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye, and saw Carol step from the barn, a feed bucket in hand. She glanced his way, immediately saw his problem, and hustled over to swing the gate wide. Frowning, he turned his horse back behind the herd. Dirt darted from one side of the small herd to the other, barking and urging the calves on. When the last calf slipped inside the corral, Carol swung the gate closed and latched it into place.

Pete mumbled a begrudging, “Thanks,” and turned his horse for the barn. At the hitching rail, he reined his horse to a stop and dismounted. But as soon as his right boot hit the ground, taking his full weight, his knee buckled and he crumpled. Howling in pain, he wrapped his arms around his leg and rolled to his side, curling his body protectively around the injured knee.

He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, then the warmth of Carol’s body as she knelt behind him. “Pete? What’s wrong?”

He heard the concern in her voice, but had to clamp his teeth together to fight back the dizziness, the pain. “My knee,” he managed to grate out.

With her hand braced on his shoulder, she stretched across him and smoothed her other hand down his thigh, her touch so gentle it brought tears to his eyes. But in spite of her care not to hurt him, when her hand swept across his swollen knee, he couldn’t suppress the moan that swelled up inside him. He released his hold on his knee and rolled to his back, flinging his arms wide. She quickly moved out of his way and stood, staring down at him, her eyes wide with horror. His chest heaving, he squeezed his eyes shut and clawed his fingers at the hard-packed dirt, searching for something to anchor himself to, something to grab a hold of to lift himself above the pain. Something to hide behind, so Carol wouldn’t witness his weakness.

Knowing it was useless, he opened his eyes to find her still standing above him, her fingers pressed against trembling lips, tears glistening in her eyes.

Humiliated by his weakness, he tried to make light of it. “Gee, Carol,” he said, trying to force a smile past the pain. “I didn’t think you cared.”

At the teasing remark, she yanked her hands to her sides and glared down at him. “We need to get you to the house,” she snapped. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” He set his jaw and hauled himself to a sitting position. “I think so.” Keeping his movements slow and careful, he drew up his good leg until his boot was fitted tightly against his buttocks. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead at the effort. Blowing out a long, shaky breath, he rested a minute, then stretched out a hand. “I might need some help.”

She hesitated a moment, then thrust out her hand. He took it and wrapped his fingers tightly around hers.

“On the count of three,” he instructed. “One…two…three!” He heaved and Carol pulled, and with a growl he rose from the ground. Not wanting to put any weight on his bad leg, he staggered, off balance, and Carol quickly slipped beneath his arm and braced herself against his right side, supporting him.

“Give me a minute,” he gasped, sweat pouring down his face. He dipped his chin and closed his eyes, gulping in air. After a moment he lifted his head and looked across at the house. Five hundred feet stretched like a mile.

“Come on,” she urged, obviously sensing his hesitancy. “You can do it.” Wrapping her arm around his waist, she took a tentative step, then another, drawing him along with her.

By the time they reached the back door, sweat plastered Pete’s shirt to his back and chest and dripped from his nose and chin. With a quick glance at his pale, pain-wrenched face, Carol opened the back door, braced her hip against it, then carefully guided him through the opening. Once inside, she pressed him on toward the master bedroom.

When they reached the side of the bed, Pete twisted around and fell across the tangled covers with a groan, slinging an arm over his eyes.

Carol immediately dropped to her knees and tugged off his boots, knowing that he would need to remove his jeans before his knee swelled any more. Setting the boots aside, she rose and reached for his belt buckle…but jerked her hands back as she realized the intimacy that would require. She stole a glance at him and was relieved to see that his arm still covered his eyes, and he was unaware of her hesitancy. Frowning, she slapped a hand against the side of his uninjured leg. “Come on, Pete. Drop your pants.”

He lifted his arm to peer at her. “’Scuse me?”

She waved an impatient hand at him. “You haven’t got anything that I haven’t seen before, so drop ’em.”

In spite of the pain, Pete managed a weak grin as he reached for his belt buckle. “Maybe not anything different, but definitely more of it.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the waist of his jeans. “Braggart,” she muttered.

His grin broadened into a full-blown smile. “No brag, ma’am. Just fact.” He lifted his hips as she carefully worked the denim down over them, then sucked in air through his teeth when her hand grazed his manhood. She froze at the contact, her gaze snapping to his.

Pete watched the color rise on her cheeks, the panic in her eyes…and remembered a time when such an intimacy would have darkened those green eyes with passion, not panic. “Don’t worry,” he said wryly. “My knee’s hurtin’ so bad, you couldn’t get a rise out of me even if you worked at it.”

Her cheeks flaming, she jerked the jeans down his legs, making him yelp as the rough denim scraped over his swollen knee.

She spun away, folding his pants over her arm. “I need to feed my horses,” she said tersely, tossing the jeans over a chair. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

That she couldn’t look at him, or wouldn’t, irritated Pete. “A phone. I need to call Clayton and tell him to head home.”

She whirled, her eyes wide. “But you can’t! He hasn’t had a chance to talk to Rena yet.”

He scowled and shifted a pillow beneath his knee, gritting his teeth against the pain that even that slight movement caused him. “So what? You said yourself that he was wasting his time chasing after her.”

At the reminder, she caught her lip between her teeth and dropped her gaze, lifting a shoulder. “Yes, I did, but still…”

“Look, Carol,” he said in frustration and grabbed for the sheet. “It isn’t as if I want to call him home, but I can’t take care of his ranch for him if I’m laid up in bed.”

Slowly she lifted her gaze. “You could if I helped you.”

He froze, his fingers fisted in the sheet. “Help me?”

“Yes,” she said, and took a reluctant step closer. “You could tell me what needs doing, and I could do it. Just until the swelling goes down,” she added quickly. “A couple of days off that knee, and you should be able to take over again.”

Still scowling, Pete tried to whip the sheet over his propped-up leg, but it snagged on his toes and hung there.

Carol plucked the sheet free and pulled it up over him, letting it drop to settle at his waist. The ease with which she accomplished the task irritated him, but her reluctance to draw near him or touch him irritated him even more.

“We could do it, couldn’t we, Pete?” she asked hopefully. “It would give Clayton the time he needs to work things out with Rena.”

He stared at her, amazed, after what she’d said earlier, that she’d willingly to do anything to help Clayton win back his wife. “Well, yeah, but that’s easy for me to say since I won’t be doing anything but lying here in bed and giving orders.”

“I don’t mind the extra work. Really I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She stooped to pick up his boots and set them out of the way, then headed for the door. “I’ll feed my horses, then I’ll come back and you can give me a list of chores for tomorrow.”

“Will you hand me my pain pills before you go?” He pointed at his duffel bag. “They’re in the side pocket.”

She fetched his pills and a glass of water from the bathroom. Keeping a safe distance, she set both on the bedside table within his reach, then headed for the door. “I won’t be gone long. About an hour or so.”

“Check and see if there’s water in the trough for those calves I penned. Oh, and Carol!” he called after her. “You might ought to throw down a couple of bales of hay for them.”

Carol methodically worked her way through her chores at the barn, putting out hay and oats for her horses and filling their water buckets.

But her mind wasn’t on her work.

It was centered on Pete.

How was she going to avoid him, when she’d have to see him every day in order to get a list of chores?

Frowning, she climbed the ladder to the loft. She wouldn’t be able to avoid him. Not entirely. Not now. Not after she’d offered to help him take care of the ranch. She dragged a bale of hay to the loft doors that opened over the corral, her frown deepening.

“Dang fool,” she muttered, cursing herself as she yanked a pair of wire cutters from her back pocket. “Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut? Why did you have to offer to help him?” Slipping the tool between the thin wire wrapped tightly around the bale, she snapped the handles together, snipping the wire in two.

She hadn’t made the offer to help Pete because of any latent feelings she had for him, she told herself as she tossed down squares of loosened hay into the corral below. She’d made the offer for Rena’s sake. Rena was her friend and, despite what Carol had told Pete earlier that morning, she knew Rena wanted their marriage to work.

Sighing, she straightened and looked out over the land where the sun was dipping low in the western sky. Rena and Clayton had had a tough time of it, she reflected sadly. An unexpected pregnancy that had forced them into a marriage neither of them were prepared for. The birth of the twins. But in spite of the circumstances of their marriage, Carol knew that Rena loved Clayton. But did Clayton love Rena? Enough to put his family before his rodeo career? Enough to be the kind of husband and father that his family wanted and needed?

At the thought, she glanced toward the house, thinking of Pete and the similarities she saw in their past relationship. She envisioned him in the house as she’d left him, lying in Rena and Clayton’s bed in nothing but his briefs. She knew that being around him again wasn’t going to be easy. But she’d do what was necessary to give Rena and Clayton a chance to reconcile their differences.

Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the ladder and the house. She’d see that the ranch ran smoothly until Pete was back on his feet. And when he was…well, she would avoid him, just as she had planned to before.

At the back door she shucked off her dirty boots, then tiptoed across the kitchen and down the hall that led to the master bedroom, keeping her tread light in the event that Pete had drifted off to sleep. When she reached the open doorway, she glanced toward the bed, but found it empty.

“Pete?” she called softly, looking around. When she didn’t hear a reply, she called a little louder, “Pete?” When he still didn’t respond, she ran for the master bathroom. She found him there, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Oh, my God,” she cried and dropped to her knees beside him. She placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face toward hers. A lump the size of a marble swelled from his left temple.

“Pete?” she whispered, choked by the fear that crowded her throat. When he didn’t respond, she quickly rose to dampen a washcloth, then knelt beside him again. “Pete,” she repeated frantically as she bathed his face. “Come on, Pete, talk to me.”

His eyelashes fluttered, and she lifted the cloth, clutching it to her breasts, her breath locked tightly in her lungs as she watched his eyes blink open. His gaze met hers, and he squinted, slowly bringing her into focus.

“Carol?” He tried to sit up, but sank back to the floor with a groan.

“Did you faint?” she asked, leaning over him.

“I…I don’t know,” he said, his voice thready and weak.

“What were you doing out of bed?”

“Had to pee. I—” he groaned again and lifted a trembling hand to his forehead. “Took a pill. Made me groggy.”

“You should’ve waited until I got back,” she scolded, “so that I could have helped you.”

“Don’t need a woman to help me pee,” he grumbled.

Frowning, she tossed the washcloth to the sink, then bent over to slip an arm beneath his shoulders. “We need to get you back to bed. Can you walk?”

“Y-yeah. I…I think so.” He pressed an elbow against the floor and, with her help, levered himself to a sitting position. He sat there a moment, breathing hard, his shoulders stooped, his hands dangling limply between his knees.

“Are you okay?” she asked uneasily.

“Give me a minute.” He inhaled deeply, then reached up to brace a wide hand on the edge of the sink. Holding his injured leg out in front of him, he hauled himself awkwardly to his feet. Carol followed, supporting him as best she could with an arm wrapped around his waist. He hopped a couple of steps, his lips pressed tightly together, avoiding putting weight on his right leg. His face was chalk-white, and sweat glistened on his forehead at the effort.

“Just take it slow,” she instructed nervously. Holding on to him and taking as much of his weight as possible, she slowly guided him back to the bed.

He collapsed across it, rolling to his back and throwing an arm across his eyes. Carefully Carol placed the pillow beneath his knee again, then straightened, looking down at him. His face was pale, his jaw slack, his chest heaving with each drawn breath.

And she knew there was no way she could leave him on his own for the night.

“I’m staying.”

“I can take care of myself,” he grumbled. “I don’t need a damn nursemaid.”

“Tough. You’ve got one.” She snatched the sheet up and over his legs. “I’ll need to run over to my house and pick up a few things. You stay in bed until I get back. I won’t be gone long.”

She started to turn away, but stopped when he caught her hand from behind. She squeezed her eyes shut as the warmth of his fingers closed around hers. It would be so easy to let the years slip away. To climb into bed with him. To wrap her arms around him and just hold him. To forget that he wasn’t the man for her.

Taking a deep breath, she forced open her eyes and slowly turned back around, careful to hide her emotions from him. “What?”

“Thanks, Carol.”

She swallowed hard, fighting the desire to go to him, to brush the damp hair from his forehead and press her lips there. To tell him how much she’d missed him. How many times she’d needed him. Slowly she eased her fingers from his and backed away. From him. From temptation.

“N-no problem,” she stammered, then whirled for the door.

Carol parked her truck alongside her house and sank back against the seat, her heart heavy, her nerves raw. But as she stared at the white frame house with its dark-green shutters and its window boxes brimming with a profusion of trailing geraniums and sweet alyssum, the sense of satisfaction and pride she always felt when she looked at her home slowly filled her. This is what was important to her, she told herself. This is what she wanted. A home. Stability. Something she’d never known growing up. Something she would have lost if she hadn’t broken off the relationship with Pete two years ago.

Though she only leased the property, she hoped to own it someday. That and the land that surrounded it. Abandoned for over five years, the house had been in bad shape when she’d first leased it. But she’d accomplished a great deal in the three years she’d lived there. She’d scrubbed it from top to bottom and given it a fresh coat of paint, inside and out. She’d repaired the fencing and made the old barn useable again. She hoped to add an arena soon, so that she wouldn’t have to use Clayton’s for her horseback riding classes. When she did, she’d be able to increase the number of classes she offered. Maybe even hold a few clinics.

And someday she hoped to have a family to share her home with.

Unconsciously she rubbed her hand down her thigh, still able to feel the warmth of Pete’s fingers on her palm. She’d told herself a million times over the past two years that she’d done the right thing in ending the relationship with him…but she’d never been able to forget him. Not entirely. Not when a part of him would be with her always as a reminder.

Her gaze strayed to the oak tree that stood like a sentinel on the small rise behind her house. Tears blurred her vision as she stared at the old tree with its barrel-size trunk and its low-hanging limbs. So many memories were tied to that tree. So many heartaches.

Slowly she climbed from the truck and started toward the tree, stopping along the way to gather a fistful of wildflowers. When she reached the top of the rise, she dropped to her knees beneath the spread of the oak’s comforting limbs and carefully laid the flowers on the ground. Sinking back on her heels, she dipped her chin to her chest and let the tears she’d suppressed all day fall.

Fresh from a shower and dressed for bed, Carol stood in the doorway, tray in hand, staring at Pete, unable to take that first step into the room where he slept. He lay just as she’d left him earlier that evening—flat on his back, his propped-up knee tenting the sheet she’d draped over it. Earlier, when she’d helped him back to bed after his fall, he’d flung an arm across his eyes, as if to block out the last rays of sunlight that had spilled through the bedroom window…or to block out the pain. His other arm lay across his abdomen, bunching the sheet low on his waist.

A wistful smile trembled at her lips as she noticed that his thumb was hooked in the waist of his briefs, a habit of his when he slept that she had often teased him about.

She eased across the room and set the tray on the bedside table, then turned to look down at him, unable to resist this unobserved opportunity to do so. Each feature of his face was so painfully familiar to her, so dear. The roman-shaped nose, the high slash of cheekbone, the faint scar—a parting gift from a bronc he’d ridden—that ran like a railroad track along his right jaw. She had to lace her fingers together to resist the temptation to reach out and touch him.