Cowboy's Kiss (6 page)

“What the hell is all this?” he demanded as he started to unload the saddlebags of the food she'd packed.

Ally hiked from the stream to the shade of a huge tree where they were sitting to eat. “I believe those are the sandwiches you told me to make,” she answered him evenly rather than allowing a hint of how awful she felt.

“With the crusts cut off?” he asked incredulously.

“Trimmed, yes.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Froufrou food, boys. She's packed us froufrou food.”

“Oh, stuff it, hard case,” she heard herself shout back before she even realized she was going to. “If you don't like it, don't eat it.”

That brought a few smiles and at least one laugh disguised as a cough from the other men, who accepted their sandwiches without comment.

Ally took over from there, explaining what everything was as she opened each container.

Besides the cucumber pinwheels there were marinated green beans, chick peas and carrot curls; crackers she'd seasoned and toasted, and a vegetable pâté to go with them; and a flour tortilla torte layered with refried beans, onions, olives, peppers, tomatoes, spicy sour cream and cheese, and cut into triangles that sent Jackson into another muttering of “froufrou.”

But everyone—including Jackson—ate heartily. The ranch hands were effusive in their praise of the picnic, wanting to know what the special flavor on the ham and turkey club sandwiches was, and arguing over who got the last of each dish as it disappeared.

Jackson, on the other hand, grumbled between mouthfuls about the ridiculousness of having food like that on a cattle drive, as if she'd ruined some centuries-old tradition.

Once they'd all finished eating and drinking, it was back to work.

The ranch hands headed for the horses where they grazed near the stream, but Jackson held back, handing Ally a handkerchief scarf. “Tie it around your nose and mouth. It'll block out some of the dust,” he advised as if he were doing it against his will.

“Thanks,” she said, accepting it and wondering if froufrou food had won her the concession or if his conscience was just getting the better of him. But either way, she'd take what help she could get.

“Come on, let's get going,” he ordered then.

The afternoon was more punishing than the morning, mainly because the temperature climbed and, besides the heat and dust, Ally's backside began to protest the abuse of the saddle. Half-hour joyrides at camp had not prepared her posterior for the kind of prolonged punishment it was getting.

Of course, none of the men seemed disturbed, but then clearly they were all accustomed to it. For Ally, as the hours passed, that saddle became a private torture all its own.

And then the call of nature struck, too.

For a while she tried to ignore it, but she'd had more to drink than to eat at lunch and ignoring it became less and less possible until she finally accepted the fact that she was going to have to slip away from her dusty position at the back of the herd and find a discreet bush. Fast.

No one would miss her, she thought, since the cows were a cooperative lot and, besides having to urge on a few laggers periodically, she really didn't do much.

So when she spotted a likely clump of bushes amid a stand of trees, she steered her horse off in that direction.

By then she was so stiff and sore that getting out of the saddle was more a fall than a dismount. Not that she cared at that point. She was less concerned with gracefulness than with just hitting the ground and running for the foliage.

It was hardly a luxurious accommodation but she got the job done and then hurried back out of the bush as quickly as she could.

Getting into the saddle again was not an easy proposition, however.

Lifting her leg high enough to reach the stirrup just couldn't be done with muscles that were crying out for mercy. Fleetingly she considered walking rather than riding, wondering if she could keep up, but of course she knew that wasn't really an option, just wishful thinking when
anything
seemed preferable to sitting in that saddle again. If she could even get there.

She searched for something to use to boost herself up, spotting a tree stump on the outskirts of the small clump of bushes she'd just availed herself of.

She took her horse to that spot; though she still could have used a bigger lift, with a moan of misery, she managed it.

For a moment she closed her eyes, swallowed hard and waited for the pain to pass. Barring that, she at least waited for it to ease up.

Then she opened her eyes, pulled up the scarf that was tied around her neck to cover her nose and mouth and went around the trees and bushes to return to work.

There was only one problem.

There wasn't a cow or horse or cowboy or so much as a cloud of dust anywhere to be seen.

Thinking that maybe she'd just lost her bearings and was facing the wrong direction, Ally made a full circle of the stand of trees and bushes, searching the distance for signs of the herd.

But there weren't any.

In fact, there wasn't anything but wide-open countryside. Quiet. Beautiful. Empty. And she had most definitely lost her bearings, because she didn't have any idea which direction she'd come from or where to go to get back.

“Oh, boy,” she said as reality sank in. Then, as loud as she could, she called, “Hey, is anybody out there?”

No answer. Not even her own voice echoed back to her.

“You don't think we're lost, do you?” she said to her horse, the only living thing within earshot.

It didn't answer.

It didn't need to. They were in trouble and Ally knew it.

Still, she had to try to get out of this. Keeping her fingers crossed, she took a guess and ventured as far as she could without losing sight of the trees.

Nothing.

Back she went, trying another direction. And then another and another, always keeping the trees as home base. But still there was no sign of the herd. It was as if they'd disappeared into thin air.

Which left her with the camp rule applying to lost hikers—stay in one place. So for the last time she went back to the trees and bushes, thinking that when Jackson realized she wasn't bringing up the rear, he'd backtrack and find her.

Wouldn't he?

A sinking feeling washed through her with the doubt.

Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd figure it served her right and she was on her own. That she could find her way home or die trying.

The vast expanse of the open countryside seemed to stretch out even farther than before, all around her. And she had an overwhelming sense of how completely vulnerable she actually was.

“Thank God, Meggie didn't come with me,” she murmured when that thought occurred to her, her own voice sounding loud in the silence.

But then she realized she was being silly. Surely Jackson wouldn't just leave her. Or even if he would, someone else would come looking for her.

She just needed to wait awhile.

But she didn't need to do it sitting on the back of that horse.

“Unless, of course, you know your way home. Any chance of that?” she asked, bending over the animal's mane to speak into its ear.

The horse snorted and shook its head as if to rid itself of a fly.

No help there.

“Okay for you,” she said. “No horsey treats when we
do
get back.”

She slid to the ground again, groaning the whole way and longing to be anywhere but where she was—preferably in a bath full of bubbles. At home in Denver where there wasn't so much dust and dirt and grime. In the middle of the nice, familiar suburbs where a person couldn't get lost if she tried...

But since that was nothing more than a pipe dream, she led the horse to the shade of the tree farthest away from the others so she could be seen from nearly any direction and slipped down the trunk to sit on the prairie grass. She didn't really feel afraid. At least not of being alone in the countryside. Or even of spending the night out there, if it came to that.

But the thought of Jackson Heller when he did find her, now that was something else again....

* * *

“Ally? Ally? Are you all right?”

Oooh, nice voice. Ally thought she was dreaming it. Deep, rich, resonant, masculine. It rolled over her like warm syrup, seeped into her pores and made her moan.

“Ally! Are you okay?”

The voice was louder this time.

But it wasn't a dream, she realized as she drifted awake. It was real.

And she wasn't in bed asleep. She was on the ground with a tree root for a pillow and waning sunshine for a blanket.

And the voice belonged to Jackson.

Her eyes flew open and there he was, standing over her, tall, gorgeous, and, surprisingly, not glaring at her. Instead he'd taken off his hat and held it down next to his knee, leaving his eyebrows bare so she could see that they were pulled together, almost as if he were worried about something.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Asked,
not demanded.

It was very nice. Why couldn't he always be this way?

“No,” she finally answered, sitting up, though not without flinching when she landed on her sore seat. “I'm okay. I just left the herd so I could use the bushes and when I came out you guys were gone. Completely. And I couldn't figure out what direction to go to find you again, so—”

“What about your horse? Where's the mare?”

She didn't realize until he'd said that that the horse was gone. She glanced around to confirm it. “I asked it if it knew the way home. Guess it did. All I know is that I sat down to wait for someone to come back for me and I guess I dozed off. The horse was standing right here before that. It must have wandered away while I slept.”

“You didn't tie it to something or at least leave the reins hanging forward from the bit so it would think it was tied?” His tone was growing more impatient.

“It didn't occur to me to tie it to something. And I didn't know that if I left the reins hanging forward it would think it was. Is that true?”

He didn't answer her. Instead she saw the sharp edge of his jawline tense. “The horse didn't throw you?” He was back to demanding.

“No.”

“And you aren't hurt?”

She didn't suppose a sore rear end counted. “No.”

“Damn fool woman,” he muttered, angry again. Then through clenched teeth, he said, “I ought to let you walk back.”

Ally made it to her feet with a wince she hoped he didn't see. “I'm sorry. I guess it was probably dumb to just slip away, but I didn't know what else to do and I never thought you could disappear so quickly.”

He stared daggers at her. Then he jammed his hat onto his head and spun away from her, swinging up onto his own horse as if he really were just going to ride off. In a hurry.

But he didn't. Instead he looked at her over his shoulder and said, “Come on.”

“Come on?”

“You'll have to ride with me. Get over here and I'll lift you up.”

Oh, dear. “Isn't there another way?”

“You can walk,” he said flatly, as if the choice were hers.

Walking did not sound like such a good idea. Not only was she miles from the ranch house, but while she'd slept, her muscles and abused parts had tightened up considerably.

But sitting on a horse again, up close and personal to Jackson, was not a great alternative.

“Make up your mind,” he ordered when she hesitated.

Her mind was made up. She just didn't like what it was made up to.

Trying not to flinch, she went to stand beside horse and rider.

Jackson had left the stirrup free. “Put your foot there and give me your arm.”

He didn't know what he was asking of her.

Remembering the tree stump she'd used earlier, she pointed to it and said, “Can we do this over there?”

He sighed but moved to that spot and waited for her.

Even climbing the eighteen or so inches onto the stump was painful, but she managed to do it without showing just how much it hurt. Then she did as she'd been told before, and Jackson hoisted her to sit just behind the saddle.

A slight squeak escaped her throat when her rump met the bony one of the animal, but she squelched it in a hurry.

“Hang on,” Jackson barked.

“To what?”

“Me.”

Ally swallowed hard and did that, too.

No sooner were her arms around his waist than he nudged the horse into a trot as if he were very anxious to get this over with.

But regardless of how anxious he might be, he couldn't have been as anxious as Ally was, because she didn't know which was worse—the agony of pain that shot through her body with every jarring bounce of that horse, or the unwelcome pleasure of having her arms around what she'd only admired from a distance until now...

Jackson Heller. Of all people.

* * *

“Mom!” Meggie ran from Hans and Marta's house when Ally and Jackson rode up. “Where've you been for so long? Hans was thinking maybe he should go look for you ‘cuz he thought you were lost or hurt ‘cuz your horse came back without you.”

The little girl's worry flooded out and the moment Ally was on the ground Meggie wrapped her arms around her waist and hung on tight.

“I'm fine. But I did do something silly and got a little lost,” she soft-pedaled as Jackson led the horse to the barn.

“Are you okay?” Meggie asked.

“I'm absolutely fine,” Ally said, slowly enunciating each word to convince her daughter.

Meggie let go and studied her from head to toe. “You
look
okay.”

“I
am
okay. I had a nap until Jackson found me and here we are. No big deal.”

“Then does that mean you can come see how I painted the doghouse?” Meggie asked, apparently reassured since she switched willy-nilly to a new subject.

“Sure,” Ally said with a laugh.