Читать книгу Reuniting with the Rancher - Rachel Lee - Страница 8

Chapter Two

As unneighborly as it felt, Cliff didn’t say a word on the way to town. What were they going to talk about anyway? Discussing Martha didn’t seem exactly safe right now, although maybe he was wrong.

On the other hand, he didn’t want to renew his relationship with Holly. Not in the least. A summer-long torrid affair a decade ago had left him scarred and her...What had it done to her? She’d turned her back on him readily enough, giving him all the reasons why she couldn’t stay in this county. She’d suffocate, she’d said. She had important things to do, she’d said. She was going to be a social worker and save the world, or at least part of the world.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and thought that social work didn’t seem to be agreeing with her. She looked entirely too thin, for one thing. He couldn’t judge anything else because she was grieving for her aunt, after all, but if he’d been looking at a horse showing those signs, he’d have been thinking “worn to the bone.”

Fatigue seemed to wrap around her. She didn’t really have the spark he remembered. Much as he didn’t want to, he wondered if social work had gutted her in some way.

But damned if he’d ask. She’d be leaving here in two weeks. By the grace of heaven, he hoped that wouldn’t be long enough to open scars or get him all tangled up in her barbed wire again.

Because that was how he thought of it: barbed wire. Her departure had scored him deep, like a million sharp knives. No freaking way was he going through that again.

Of course, he thought, she might not be the same person any longer. He might not even really be drawn to the woman she had become. So far he hadn’t seen much to like. It was almost as if he were the enemy, not the other way around.

Which got him to wondering how she had justified her cruelty. Ah, hell, leave that can of worms alone. Take her to the bank, help her buy and plant the damned tree, and then forget she was on the same part of the planet with him.

Listening to his own thoughts, however, yanked him up short. He was thinking like a kid again. She was causing him to revert. Well, to hell with that.

He was relieved the bank took only a few minutes. He showed the paper the lawyer had given him, Martha’s account was moved into a new one in Holly’s name and it was done.

Mercifully soon, they were climbing into his truck again. Holly, however, seemed to sag. Finally he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you see how much money she left me? Cliff...I’m stunned.”

“Well, you could take a decent vacation. Looks like you need one.”

She bridled, but only a bit, not as she once had. What the hell had quenched her fire? “That’s more than a vacation or even ten. And what do you mean I look like I need one?”

“You look too thin and exhausted,” he said bluntly. “Whatever kind of work you’re doing, it’s not good for your health.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I never did.” He waited for an explosion that didn’t come. Oh, this was bad. This wasn’t the Holly he remembered at all. Now, right alongside his annoyance at having her around for a while, he felt the first tendrils of worry. Was she sick?

None of his business anymore, he reminded himself. She’d made sure of that.

The town didn’t have anything like a big nursery. Around here, most planting was reserved for hay, alfalfa and vegetable gardens. But there was a corner at the feed store where it was possible to buy houseplants and some ornamental trees. Not a huge selection, but no huge demand, either. They would order stuff in, though, if, say, someone wanted to plant a windbreak or something bigger.

“What were you thinking of planting for her?” he asked as they stood looking at the tiny selection.

“Well, she always said she wanted to leave a small footprint in the world, so it should be something native.”

He hesitated a moment, wondering how far into this he wanted to get. “What are you looking for? Fast growing, flowering?”

“I want something pretty that will last. It doesn’t have to grow fast.”

He pointed. “That tulip poplar over there will give you fantastic autumn foliage. Almost like aspens, which are related. It’s pretty hardy, though.”

She looked at the tree, which right now was little more than a twig with a few leaves. “Will it get really big?”

“It’ll grow into a great shade tree.”

That decided her. Ten minutes later he was carrying it out to his truck for her.

* * *

Holly felt as if someone had let all the air out of her. Grief? Maybe. More likely it was the release of the constant tension she lived with in Chicago. Fatigue seemed to envelop her, demanding she go home and fall asleep for hours, if not days. But she still had to plant a tree. She doubted that could be safely put off for too long.

“You ever planted a tree before?” Cliff’s voice broke the silence she would have liked to continue forever.

“No.”

There was a notable pause before he said, “I’ll help.”

His reluctance couldn’t have been any more obvious. Hers equaled it. But before her pride could erupt and get her into trouble, she faced the fact that she needed the help. If she did it all wrong, she’d kill the tree. And from the size of the root ball, she questioned whether she’d even have the physical strength to dig a hole so big.

She glanced at Cliff from the corner of her eye. He’d have the strength. Damn it. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Another mile passed, then he surprised her by speaking again. “Your aunt was a remarkably caring, giving woman,” he said. “If anyone in this county hit hard times, she was there for them. I guess you take after her.”

Reluctantly, she looked at him. “How would you know?”

“I’m assuming. You’re a social worker, right? That means you help people, right?”

She heard the annoyance in his tone and realized her response to him hadn’t been very gracious. In fact, it had been challenging. Sheesh, she needed to get a handle on this antipathy toward him. He at least was making some kind of effort, much as she really didn’t want it.

“In theory,” she said. “Yeah, in theory. Once in a while I feel like I’ve gotten something good done. Most of the time I’m not sure. It takes kids a long time to grow up.”

“You work with kids?”

“Mostly. With their parents, too, depending on what the problems are.”

“Do you get any short-term rewards?”

The question surprised her with its understanding. She hadn’t expected that. “Sometimes. But I’m not in it for rewards.”

“No, you’re in it to help.”

The echo of her words a decade ago was so strong she winced. She distinctly remembered telling him that she had a bigger need to help people than she could meet around here as a rancher’s wife. God, how full of herself she had been. She’d left wounds behind her as she’d set out like Don Quixote, with little idea of what she was getting into, or how many windmills would shatter her lance.

She didn’t answer him, instead turning her attention to the countryside that rolled past. What was the point? They’d be better off having as little to do with each other as possible. It was just that simple. Hard to believe that a fleeting affair, however torrid, might have left scars that lingered this long.

She certainly hadn’t expected it to.

One summer, a long, long time ago. She’d been visiting her aunt between semesters. He’d been gradually taking over the reins of his ranch from his father, just beginning to reach the fullness of manhood.

She had been sunning herself on a cheap, webbed chaise in the front yard, wearing a skimpy halter top and shorts, a book beside her on the grass. Martha had shooed her outdoors and was inside lining up a potluck dinner for her church. A potluck Holly had no intention of being dragged to. She was just a visitor, passing through, her sights set far away.

But then Cliff had come riding up. She hadn’t seen his approach because he came from the rear of the house, but as he rounded the corner, she caught her breath. Against the brilliant blue clarity of the sky, he had looked iconic: astride a powerful horse, cowboy hat tipped low over a strong face, broad shouldered, powerful.

She should have run the instant she felt the irresistible pulse of desire within her. She should have headed for the hills. Instead, caught up in an instant spell, she had remained while his gaze swept over her, feeling almost like intimate fire, taking in her every curve and hollow. She’d felt desire before, but nothing like what this man had ignited within her.

Then the real folly had begun. She had to return to school in two months. She’d thought he understood that. When she talked about getting her master’s and going into social work, she had thought her goals were clear. She had no intention of remaining in this out-of-the-way place as a rancher’s wife, and just as she couldn’t give up her dreams, he couldn’t give up his ranch.

So who had been at fault, she wondered now, staring out the window. They had played with fire, they’d seized every opportunity to make love anywhere and everywhere, but then the idyll had come to an end. He had wanted her to stay.

She had snapped in some way. She had been living a fantasy of some kind, and he’d intruded on it with reality. She had thrown his declaration of love back in his face, then had called him stupid for thinking it could have ever been anything but a fling.

To this day she didn’t know what had driven her cruelty. By nature she wasn’t at all cruel, but that day...well, the memory of it still made her squirm. Maybe it had been a self-protective instinct, a way to end something that could move her life in a direction she didn’t really want to go. Or maybe some part of her had been almost as desperate as he was, but in a different way.

She would probably never understand what she had done that day, but it had not only driven Cliff away, it had dashed the entire memory of that summer fling. She could not enjoy the memories of even the most beautiful or sexy moments of those weeks. All of it had to be consigned to some mental dustbin.

She had figured at the time that Martha must have known what was going on, but she’d never said a word. Now this? Maybe Martha hadn’t guessed. If she had, then there was an unkindness here she wouldn’t have believed her aunt capable of. And not just to her, but to Cliff, as well.

She sighed, pressing down memories that seemed to want to reignite right between her legs, reminding her of the dizzying pleasures she had shared with Cliff. That was gone, done for good. Over. Finished.

If only the words would settle it all in her body, which seemed inclined now to react as foolishly as it had all those years ago.

When he spoke, she felt so far away that his voice, deeper now than in the past, nearly startled her.

“I don’t mean to sound like a rube,” he said, then paused. “Hell, I am a rube. But I hear parts of Chicago can be pretty dangerous.”

“They are,” she said cautiously, wondering where he was headed.

“Did you work in those parts?”

“They’re the parts where we’re needed most, usually.”

He fell silent, and she waited. Surely he wasn’t going to leave it at that.

“You have guts,” he said, and not one more word.

“No more than the people who have to live there.”

“But you choose to be there, to help.”

She couldn’t imagine how to answer that. Yes, it was her choice, but the need cried out to her. She only wished she could provide a safer environment for those children, but the problems were huge. No one person could solve them.

“It’s partly drugs,” she said. “They encourage gang wars.”

“Like during Prohibition.”

“Yes, like that. Turf wars. Other things. Poverty grinds people down and sometimes brings out the ugliest parts of them. I just try to help kids so that they don’t get drawn into it. There’s not much else I can do to protect them, unless there’s abuse in the family.”

“It must feel thankless at times.”

She couldn’t believe he was talking to her in this sympathetic fashion. Not after the dislike that had radiated from him on their first meeting. Was he trying to mend bridges? She squirmed a little, thinking that if anyone should be trying to rebuild bridges, it was her. “Seeing just one kid make it is enough.”

“Is it?”

She had no answer for that, either. But the tension that seemed to have lifted from her just by being away for a short while was settling heavily on her. She had matters to take care of here, she reminded herself. She had to decide what to do with her aunt’s possessions, whether to rent the house—a million ends to tidy up. She couldn’t spend all her time worrying about her kids back in Chicago, not when she was too far away to do anything.

Mercifully, he dropped the subject, and little by little, she returned fully to Conard County. She wished her kids could come out here, taste life without gunshots up the street any hour of the day or night and know what it was like to live even briefly without the fear.

She sighed, twisted her hands together and reset her sights on all that lay ahead of her.

What was she going to do with the house? Her job lay over a thousand miles away. She couldn’t sell it. But renting it might lead to its ruination if she wasn’t here to keep an eye on it.

Too soon, she argued with herself. She had time. No decisions had to be made this moment. Just plant the tree for Martha and then try to find comfort in residing in Martha’s house, with all the good memories she had of her aunt.

She felt her eyes sting as she thought about Martha. The world had lost a true character and a great soul.

* * *

Cliff watched her from the corner of his eye, glancing her way from time to time as the road permitted. On a weekday, on these back roads, there wasn’t a lot of traffic. Ahead of him stretched an empty road, its only danger the potholes left behind by winter. Along either side ran fences, often hidden behind the tumbleweeds caught in them, creating a low tunnel. But in those grasses to either side of the road, he knew there were drainage ditches, invisible in the grass, but enough to cause a minor accident.

So he really should keep his attention on driving. But just as she had done all those years ago, Holly drew him. The windows were open, thank goodness, otherwise he’d be assailed by her scents, and if there was one thing he knew for certain, he hadn’t forgotten them. She still used the same shampoo; she still had the same enticing scent of femininity. Not strong, as it had been after they made love, but enough to remind him.

So here he was, stupidly walking into hell again. She’d only be here two weeks, long enough to get him all knotted up again, but completely lacking any kind of future. He hoped he had the sense to help her plant the tree and then go his way. Oh, he’d be a good neighbor and offer to keep an eye on the house when she left, but keeping an eye on a house wasn’t anywhere nearly as dangerous as keeping an eye on Holly.

He wished her thinness, her evident fatigue, would turn him off. Instead, all it was doing was turning his insides into protective mush. He couldn’t have this.

Inwardly he cussed himself for a fool, and warned himself to raise his guard. Do the minimum, stay away and turn his fullest attention to his own ranch, which had been all that had saved him all those years ago. Hard work was the answer.

Then she surprised him. She hadn’t made a single friendly gesture, but now she did. Damn it.

“How’s the ranch and business?”

Well, that ought to seem like a safe, casual question. Coming from her it felt freighted. “Okay,” he said. Then realizing how abrupt he sounded, he added, “Leasing the acreage from your aunt has been a great help. It allowed me to expand.”

“I heard cattle were getting more expensive to raise.”

“Out of sight. We’re transitioning to sheep. The wool market is still good.”

“Good.”

Clearly she wasn’t really interested in his life. If he was honest, she hadn’t been all that interested years ago, either. He might have found it easier to excuse her self-interest as youth if she hadn’t followed it up with the coup de grâce.

Then, “Are sheep more difficult to raise?”

“Troubles come in all sizes and all degrees of fuzziness.”

She surprised him with a laugh. “What a description!”

“It’s true.” He hated himself for wanting to smile. This was a demilitarized zone, not a party. “I traded one set of problems for another not so very different. The thing is, the sheep do better grazing on my land, and the wool comes every spring without me having to reduce my flock to make some money. Renewable resource.”

“I like that.”

He volunteered some more, testing her interest. “I also have a small herd of angora goats. They’re a bit more susceptible to parasites, but their wool brings a higher price, so naturally it’s more expensive to get going. Of course. So I’m growing my herd nature’s way.”

“It sounds like you have a plan.”

“I hope so. Independent ranchers are in danger of becoming an extinct species. But I’m actually doing pretty well.”

“I’m so glad to hear that, Cliff. So the sheep and goats get along well?”

“Well enough. My main headache is that the goats are more independent and adventurous. Keeping track of them can be a pain sometimes, and they need dietary additives. But when all is said and done, I like their antics.”

Oh, well, he thought. He was going to have to deal with her at least some over the next couple of weeks. Greasing the skids with some superficial chitchat and courtesy ought to be safe enough. But no way was he going to fall into her honeyed web again.

Still, despite all the ugliness that had once happened, he couldn’t help a twinge of concern. Way too thin, he thought as he glanced at her again. The bones in her face had become prominent, and her skin appeared stretched tightly across them. Not good.

But he didn’t know how to ask without crossing into territory where she didn’t want him to walk. Of that he was certain. He had begun to suspect that the past was no more buried for her than it was for him. Some things, it seemed, hurt forever.

He sought something else to say, and the question came out without thinking. “You married? Kids?”

“No and no.”

It was a short answer, making it clear there were indeed limits to how personal she wanted to get with him. Hell, he thought, who was it who had taken out the scythe at their last meeting? Certainly not him.

“I tried it,” he said finally, and waited.

Presently she asked, “And?”

“And it stank. Big-time. We couldn’t shake the bottle hard enough to mix the oil and vinegar.”

He waited, then heard a smothered laugh escape her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but your description...”

In spite of himself, he laughed, too. “Well, I can’t think of a better one. Martha warned me.”

“Really?”

He sensed her turn toward him for the first time. “Yeah. She said... Well, she was Martha. She asked me which head I was thinking with, and said that it would make more sense to ride my horse off a cliff than marry that woman. She was right.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say I went off the deep end for one woman and woke up to find myself married to a different one.”

“Ouch.”

“My ego needed some bandaging, but that was about it. Sometimes it just isn’t meant to be.”

She fell silent, and he let the subject go. It hadn’t been right with Lisa, and chances were it wouldn’t have been right with Holly, either. Not back then, for sure. Time to man up and admit it. He and Holly had been horses pulling in different directions, and if he’d been older and wiser he would have recognized it.

Well, he had learned his lessons. He hoped. All he needed to do was get that tree planted, see if Holly needed any other assistance and go back to his ranch, his sheep and his goats. It would take a special woman to want a life like that, and he couldn’t afford to forget it.

They finally jolted up to Martha’s house. “I need to get this road graded,” he remarked. “It always goes to hell over the winter and spring, and that little car of yours is going to bounce like a Ping-Pong ball.”

She didn’t say anything, and he wondered if he’d trespassed by taking possession of the problem. He didn’t know whether to sigh or roll his eyes. Oh, this was going to be fun. Thank you very much, Martha.

He braked without turning off the engine. “Where do you want to plant it?”

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t know how big it’s going to get, how much sun it needs.” She screwed up her face in the way he had once loved. “City girl here.”

How could he forget that?

“Southwest corner,” he suggested. “It’ll get enough sun, keep the house cooler in the summer and lose all its leaves so it won’t keep you colder in the winter.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Slowly he rolled the truck around the house. “It’s going to need a lot of water the first month. And that’s going to be a drag. Martha doesn’t have an outside tap, so no hose.”

“Really? I never noticed that before.”

Why would she? She’d never been here long enough to really learn anything, although she had been here long enough to cause him a peck of trouble.

“I’ll have someone see to it after you go home.” That’s as far as he would go. Or so he told himself.

“Thank you.”

Damn it, he could almost hear Martha laughing and asking, “When did you turn into a chicken, boy?”

Then Holly said, “Martha always had such a big vegetable garden. She had to water it somehow.”

“That’s where the hand pump comes in. Come on, you were here lots of times. Surely you saw.”

She paused. “My God, I’d forgotten. Of course I remember. I used to love to do it for her.”

“Right. She planted in rows and pumped until the water filled the space between them. Every couple of days. The last few years it got harder for her, so I put in a motorized pump for her. Maybe you missed it.”

“I guess so. My job gives me only short vacations.”

“Well, it won’t help with the tree regardless. It’s going to be buckets.”

“I can do that,” she said stoutly.

He had his doubts, but maybe she was stronger than she looked right now.

The truth was, and he readily admitted it, he couldn’t imagine her life in Chicago, nor how she could want to go back to it. Gunshots on the streets? The crushing poverty? Gang culture? Like so many, he had only a vague idea of how some people had to live. She volunteered to face that every day. From his point of view, it had certainly taken a toll on her.

Even so, when she walked ahead of him to pick out the exact spot for the tree, he couldn’t help noticing the way her hips swayed. Or that when she turned her breasts were still full. A beautiful woman. A desirable woman.

Too bad.

When she’d chosen a spot, he headed for Martha’s shed to get a shovel. While he did that, Holly disappeared inside, then returned with two tall glasses of iced tea.

“I seem to remember you liked sugar,” she said, handing him one.

“Still do,” he admitted. “I know it’s a vice, but I work it off.”

The corners of her mouth edged up a bit. “I guess you do. I can help with this.”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to dig this ground around here, but we’re going to be lucky if we don’t need a backhoe.”

That drew another small laugh from her. Angling the spade, he stood on it with one foot and penetrated the ground by about six inches. Good, the spring rains hadn’t completely dried up yet. Dirt instead of concrete.

“Being in the house is difficult,” Holly said quietly.

He looked up after tossing another shovelful of dirt to the side. “It is?”

“I keep expecting to hear Martha. To see her come around a corner. Even when it was just her and me, it never, ever seemed so silent in there.”

He hadn’t thought about that. He paused and looked back at the two-story clapboard house. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess it would be quiet.”

His gaze returned to Holly and he saw a tear rolling down her cheek. Whatever else he thought of her, he’d never doubted that she loved her aunt.

But talk about putting a man in an impossible bind. The thing to do would have been to hug her and comfort her. With anyone else, that’s exactly what he would have done. But Holly was so far off-limits he couldn’t even offer the most common act of sympathy. Finally he asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

She dashed the tear away. “Eventually. I just miss her so much. Damn, Cliff, I can’t even call her anymore. That keeps striking me over and over. I’ll never hear her voice again.”

He deepened and widened the hole with a few more spadefuls, then leaned on the handle and glanced at her.

“You can hear her voice,” he said. “She’s in your mind and heart now. Just give in to it and listen. If I know Martha, she’s probably whispering something outrageous in your ear right this instant.”

He finally got the hole big enough and put the tree in it. Kneeling, he tested the soil near the bottom and found it still held some moisture.

“Get a bucket of water,” he told Holly. “Just flip the switch on the side of the pump and it’ll start coming. There’s a bucket in the shed.”

She hopped to obey. It occurred to him he might have to prime the pump, so he was checking it out as she returned.

“Okay, it’s ready. Put the bucket under the spout, hook it here.” Like all good pumps, it had a nipple to hold a bucket handle. He showed her how to turn it on, then waited with her while it filled.

“There you go.”

To his surprise, she lifted the five-gallon bucket and with both hands carried it over to the tree. Layer by layer, they watered lightly and refilled the hole. When he was done, he ridged the dirt in a ring around the tree. “Now fill this ring and just let it soak in. You’ll probably need to do that every day.”

He pulled off his work gloves, leaving her to it, and put the spade away. When he returned from the shed, he found her standing with an empty bucket, staring into space.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“It’s just so peaceful out here. I wish some of my kids could experience life like this, even if only for a short time.”

Then he said the stupidest, most idiotic words to ever cross his lips. “So why don’t you bring some of them out here?”

She looked at him then. Really looked at him, her blue eyes wide and almost wondering. His groin throbbed a warning. Had he really just suggested she come back here?

Man, he needed to finish up and get out of here now.