Knight in a White Stetson (10 page)

“Yeah.”

“Interesting.”

“He isn’t one?”

“No, he definitely is. I’m just surprised he told you.”

“It was sort of by accident. He was drunk and I believe his hormones were raging slightly.” She was starting to relax. A security consultant and Henry’s friend. This she could handle, even with a hangover.

“I can believe that.” Pete hooked her up and down. He shook his head a little. “I mean about the hormones. I’ve never actually seen him drunk.”

“Yes, well, you must not be a very good friend then. He seemed pretty good at it.”

Pete laughed. “I bet.”

“You know when he’ll be back?”

“He said for lunch.”

Calla glanced skyward. Pete watched her with undisguised interest.

“Okay, I’ll wait.”

They chatted companionably enough, busying themselves with preparing a noon meal. Calla found Henry’s still-full cooler tucked carefully under a folded sleeping bag. The man kept an immaculate camp, Calla thought with satisfaction. One day here and already he had set it up so it looked—almost—like a home.

Perched on a rock with her plate of weenies and beans, Calla heard Henry’s horse long before she saw it.

“Your friend is back,” she said to Pete over a mouthful of beans.

“Your friend,” he corrected.

Lucky trotted into camp, Henry on his back. Henry looked from Calla to Pete.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” they answered in unison, and shot each other amused looks.

Henry slowly dismounted, keeping a cautious eye on them, and loosened the cinch of his saddle.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re eating lunch,” Pete said helpfully. “Would you care to join us?”

“Yes, please—” Calla suppressed a smile “—join us.”

Henry led his horse to the corral and slapped him inside, taking off the bridle as the animal passed. He returned to Calla and Pete.

“Considering you’re eating my food, that’s a gracious invitation.” Henry took the extra plate Calla had dug out of his mess pack and filled it.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what’s going on here.”

“We told you, we’re eating,” Pete said, shoveling a huge forkful of tomatoes into his mouth.

“Yes. Though, technically, it’s
my
food,” Calla said. “It’s all very innocent.”

“Except for the sex,” Pete said, pointing his fork at Calla.

“Yes, except for the sex,” she answered seriously. “I’d forgotten that part.”

Pete inclined his head. “Very flattering.”

“Stop. Calla, I’m serious. What are you doing here?”

“That’s the trouble with you, Henry. You’re way too serious. Now, take your friend Pete, here…”

“I’ve been taken already this morning, thank you. I’ll need time to recover. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Henry shot him a fierce glance while Calla guffawed. Pete lifted his brows in amusement. He returned with interest to his plate.

Henry, exasperated, glared at the woman eating his food. God, she looked good. He’d missed her, which was ridiculous. He’d been gone a day. “Calla, what are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Why do you look so tired? You’ve only been in camp one day. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. What did you come up to tell me?”

“And why didn’t you tell me you had a roommate? I’m not paying him, you know.” She gave Pete a once-over. “He doesn’t look like he could even saddle a horse, much less ride one.”

“You wound me,” Pete said mildly.

“No offence, tinhorn.”

“None taken, cowgirl.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Henry slammed his plate to the ground between his feet and stood up. “Calla, tell me what you came to tell me.”

“But you told me to shut up,” she said meekly. Pete snorted with pleasure.

Henry raked his hand through his hair.

“Okay, okay. Seriously though, Henry, your friends are a lot more fun than you are. I was just saying that, wasn’t I, Pete?”

“Calla.”

“Oh, all
right.
Lester and Helen are getting married. Sunday afternoon. You’re invited.”

“You’re kidding.”

“My sentiments exactly. But, no, I’m not kidding. Apparently the events of night before last compelled Lester to make an honest woman of her.”

“What events?” Pete asked curiously.

“Well, I employ this rummy old cowboy, and he apparently has fallen madly in love with…”

“Calla. That’s enough.” Henry gave his friend a severe stare. “Pete knows everything he needs to know about this operation. I believe he was leaving anyway.”

“Henry, don’t be so rude.” She smiled at Pete. “My hired man here has no manners. I apologize.”

“Accepted, dear lady.”

“God help me,” Henry said to the sky.

“And—” Calla ignored Henry and continued “—since this camp and the surrounding property belongs to me and not to this summer rider here, please feel welcome to stay as long as you like.” She got up from the chair, fully the mistress of the castle—such as it was—and set down her plate. “You’ll have to do the dishes, summer rider. I’m going up to Little Sheep to check on a cow.”

“Dammit, Calla, you know I already did that.”

“Well, one can never be sure when one is dealing with summer riders who also happen to be doctors of stuff, can one? Peter Fish, it has been lovely meeting you.”

“And you,” Pete said, rising to his feet. He bowed deeply, which cracked Calla up again.

“Hell,” Henry muttered. He glared again at Pete. The other man just grinned.

“Henry, please.” Calla’s eyes sparkled. “Watch your language.” She looked helplessly over her shoulder at Pete. “He has a tendency toward bad language.”

“I’ve noticed. Goodbye, Calla. See you around.”

Henry brushed past Pete to follow Calla to her pickup. “The hell you will,” he hissed at him.

Calla climbed in and started the truck. She leaned out the window.

“I don’t know what time Sunday.”

“Calla, you don’t have to go to Little Sheep. I picked up the cow and calf this morning and took ‘em over to Pole Creek.”

“I know. I was just teasing.”

He locked at her thoughtfully. “You didn’t come all the way out here just to tell me about Lester and Helen, did you?”

“They asked me to.”

“Oh.”

“Henry?”

“What?”

“Who is Pete?”

“Someone with whom I once worked.”

“That’s what he said.”

“You don’t believe it?”

She looked over at Pete, who was stacking plates and scraping out the bean pot onto the ground.

“I’m not sure. He’s not like you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s just the truth.”

“Well, I’m telling you the truth, too. Pete is someone from my old job.”

“But that’s not all he is. A person can tell only part of the truth and call it the whole truth, can’t he, Henry?”

Henry narrowed his eyes at her. “Just drop it, Calla. It isn’t important.”

“I guess not.” She eased off the brake. “See you Sunday.”

“Calla.”

“What, Henry? I’ve got to get back.”

“What did you really come all this way to tell me? Lester was planning to come up tomorrow anyway to bring me the dogs.”

She had known that. So why did she come? “Clark and I are getting married.”

Boom. He was going to have to start wearing a chest protector around this lady. Married?

He was surprised to hear his own voice. It was calm and smooth, while his breath caught and his stomach roiled. “Well—” he gave her arm a little squeeze “—congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be very … solvent.”

“You jerk.”

“Yeah, well, I call ‘em as I see ‘em.” He hit the side of the truck with the flat palm of his big hand. It sounded like a gunshot. “Drive safe.”

She gave him a shattering glare and floored the old pickup. He had to step back to keep from going under the spinning back tire.

Henry turned to Pete, who was watching him with narrowed eyes.

“You got a serious problem here, Mitch.”

“Shut up, Pete. Shut up and get out.”

“If anybody finds out how you feel about that little cowgirl, you’re dead meat.”

Henry crossed the distance between them and grabbed his friend by the silver coyote bolo tie around his thick neck.

“If anybody finds out about Calla, period, I’ll hunt you down, Pete, I swear it.” He twisted the coyote. Pete’s eyes bugged slightly, but otherwise the man gave no indication of the discomfort Henry knew he must have felt. “I haven’t forgotten everything you taught me.”

Pete shook his head. “We’ve got you by the short ones, pal. And you know it.”

Henry released his grip.

“Hell.”

“You better come in where we can protect you.”

“I’m not going through that again, Pete.” Henry closed his eyes tightly and tipped back his head. He wanted to howl with frustration. “I’ll protect myself.”

“What about Calla?”

“I’ll protect her, too.”

“Not if she gets married.”

Henry’s fists clenched involuntarily.

Pete chuckled softly. “You’re in bigger trouble than I thought. If they find out, they’ll take her out. Either side, Mitch. You know that. It’s too important.”

“I’ll protect her. You just keep your mouth shut. Or I swear to God, Pete, I will kill you. You forget, I know just who is important to you, too, Pete.”

Pete raised a hand in surrender. “No more threats. I like that long-haired cowgirl. If I didn’t think you’d rip my spine out, I’d probably try to seduce her myself.”

“Keep that in mind. The spine thing.”

“I will.”

Pete walked to his rented Jeep and climbed in. “Be careful, Mitch.”

“What are you going to put in your report?”

“That I found you, nearly incoherent from stress, living like a hermit on a desert mountaintop in the middle of nowhere.” Pete jerked the Jeep into Reverse. “It’s the truth, after all.”

Chapter 11

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H
enry sipped on a plastic cup filled with lemonade and watched the milling crowd at Helen and Lester’s wedding reception. The morning had started out cloudy, but by the time the wedding began, the sun had burned off the cover and was shining bright and strong on the heads of the crowd gathered in Calla’s front yard. Paradisians had turned out en masse, wearing their best summer dresses, starchiest cowboy shirts, cleanest Stetsons. Helen, in a light pink dress that matched the roses in her pudgy cheeks, looked adorable. And Lester, in a shiny new Western-cut suit, looked like he was going to vomit. Until he saw Helen. Then he looked perfectly happy. Nearly handsome.

Calla had gone into the house to fetch more food. The buffet table—three long church tables jammed together and covered with white butcher paper—was already bowing under the weight of a hundred covered dishes and steaming casseroles and Jell-O salads in every hue of the rainbow. This town could really throw a potluck, Henry mused.

He watched Calla bring a plate of sliced tomatoes, seeds spilling red and green, across the lawn to the table. She wore a silky green dress with skinny straps across her shoulders and a skirt that flounced around her legs at midthigh. He’d never seen anything quite so feminine and alluring in all his life, Henry decided.

A man stopped her—Henry recognized him from the hardware store in Paradise—and whispered something into her ear. She laughed, her head thrown back to expose her soft throat.

Children buzzed around her skirt, begging for the handouts she promptly gave. Women teased, men swooped her into their arms. He was foolish to think he had to protect this woman, he thought. She had a town full of people watching out for her.

Why then, had they let Dartmouth near her? He searched the crowd. Dartmouth was huddled almost on top of a plain, short man with a mustache and a beer gut. They spoke for a minute, then Dartmouth disentangled himself abruptly and walked toward Helen and Lester, who were holding court on two white plastic chairs in the center of the lawn, their hands linked together like teenagers.

Dartmouth came from behind and kissed the air next to Helen’s cheek and clamped a manly hand on Lester’s shoulder. Helen’s bright smile became forced, and Lester leaned as far away from the familiar gesture as he could without falling from his chair. Dartmouth appeared oblivious to their discomfort.

Henry took another sip of lemonade. The air around him smelled slightly of Calla. Soap, sweat, sex.

“Hey.”

She was standing next to him, watching idly as Dartmouth chatted with the happy couple. She had a glass of iced tea in her hand and she looked flushed from heat and excitement.

“Hey.” She looked so pretty, and without thinking, he slipped his arm around her waist and leaned to kiss her lightly on the cheek. It seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. This was a wedding, after all. Calla offered her cheek and then stepped from his arms.

“You find those three pair on lower Pole Creek?” Her voice was businesslike, but Henry wondered at the additional color that had come to her face. “I got a call from the BLM about ‘em yesterday.”

“I found them down by the old Kendell shack. Moved them to the upper field yesterday afternoon.”

“Great. Lester bring up the salt?” She kept her gaze firmly planted on her aunt and her new uncle. Clark was still hovering, the devoted nephew.

“Yes, Friday.”

“Good.”

A small silence.

“Are you still mad at me?” Henry asked into his lemonade cup.

“Was I mad at you?”

“I’m sorry about what I said. I hope you’ll be very happy. I saw the announcement.”

“Turned out nice, didn’t it?”

“It was … fancy.”

“Yeah.” She smiled sheepishly and chanced a glance up at him. “That was Clark’s idea. He wanted to make sure everyone noticed it. You think the border was too much? I thought the border was too much.”

“I noticed it,” he said noncommittally.

“Oh. Well, good.”

They stood together in silence another minute. People patted Calla and greeted Henry curiously as they passed, but no one joined them.

“You look nice in that dress.”

“Thanks. You clean up pretty good yourself.”

“Thank you. I like your hair like that.”

“Oh.” Calla touched her hair. It was swept back from her face with a wide hairband, the ends swinging free across her shoulders. Henry suffered sweetly from the scent of shampoo that wafted upward. “Thanks.”

“Calla…”

She cut him off hurriedly. “Well, have a good time. We’re going to dance later.” She blushed slightly again. “I mean, you know, there’ll be dancing later.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. See you.”

“See you.”

For a second, he thought she’d reach up and kiss him. He waited patiently, his mouth ready for the smooth touch of her lips. But she only looked at him briefly and walked over to Lester and Helen.

Henry’s heart was pounding. Just having her near him had made him a wreck. This would never do.

He’d been thinking about his situation ever since Pete left his camp Thursday. He had resolved to quit the job and Calla and move on. It was the only formula that worked. Staying meant putting Calla in danger. Nebulous danger from an unseen source, but danger nonetheless. She would just have to find another summer rider.

Pete had given his word to keep his mouth shut about Calla, but he had been right when he reminded Henry of the dangers she faced if anyone else found out where he was.

After the initial sickening anger at the announcement in this morning’s paper had subsided, he had been grimly aware of how beneficial Calla’s engagement to Dartmouth could prove to be. When he left, anyone who was looking for him would assume Calla was no more to him than his boss. They’d leave her alone. Music blared suddenly from the boom box. Patsy Cline, feeling a little crazy.

Funny, so was he.

Henry watched Lester shrug Dartmouth’s hand from his shoulder and stand. He brought his bride to her feet and they began an awkward but dignified waltz on the grass. Calla looked expectantly up at Clark, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Bastard. Henry tossed his cup into a nearby trash can and started toward Calla.

“You want to dance?”

A woman had materialized at his side. Pretty, with yellow hair that came from a bottle and a wide, toothy smile. The top of her head barely came to his chest.

“Uh, sure,” he said, the good manners pounded into him as a kid surfacing without conscious thought. He took a last quick glance at Calla. She was walking toward the house, holding the hand of a crying little boy of no more than six who had materialized at her side.

Henry opened his arms slightly and the yellow-haired girl fell into them. She pressed her cheek to his shirt. Other couples began dancing, as well, and within minutes the lawn was covered with the people of Paradise gamboling across the green swath of grass.

“I’m Peggy. Remember me?” She craned her neck to smile at him. More teeth.

“From the co-op, right?”

“Oh, you have a good memory.”

“Thank you.”

“Or maybe I’m just unforgettable, right? That’s your line.”

“Yes, sorry.” He smiled down at her. “Maybe you’re just unforgettable.”

The woman laughed, a tinkling little sound Henry would ordinarily have found quite attractive. Unfortunately, he’d recently become accustomed to real laughter. The kind that shook him to his toes.
God, Calla, you’ve ruined me.

The music stopped at last. Henry released his partner, but she seemed reluctant to leave him.

“Would you excuse me?”

“Uh, sure.” She took a tiny step back and flashed her teeth at him.

“Thank you for the dance. It’s been a while. I hope I didn’t step on your feet.”

“No, you were great. Maybe we can do it again a little later.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He walked toward the kitchen. Calla was inside, washing the last salty tear from her guilty-looking young companion’s face. The boy was gloomily munching on a chocolate cookie.

“Calla…” Henry began.

“There
you are, Tyrell, you little monster.” An enormously overweight mother swooped in behind Henry, nearly knocking him into the wall. “Your sister just told me you pushed her into the horse trough. Did you do that, young man?”

“No, Mama.”

The mother snatched the cookie from Tyrell’s hand and tucked it into her own mouth. “Well,” she said around the mouthful of chocolate, “bad little boys don’t get nice sweet cookies, do they? You come on with me.”

Calla put her hand on the mother’s arm. “Ora Fern, listen. I saw the whole thing. Tyrell didn’t push his sister into the trough. She fell in. Accidentally.” Calla’s hazel eyes were wide with sincerity. Henry smiled in spite of himself. “Tyrell here tried to save her, isn’t that right, Tyrell?”

The boy was grinning up at her with chocolate teeth. “That’s right.”

“Tyrell?” His mother eyed him suspiciously.

“It’s true, Mama. This time I’m really telling the truth, ain’t I, Calla?” His expression matched his protector’s.

“Yes, you are. Now you go with your mama and look after your sister. And give her a couple of these cookies.” Calla reached around to a bag on the counter and pulled a handful of cookies from it. “She’s bound to feel better after a cookie or two.”

The mother gave a Calla a last, suspicious look and then grabbed her boy and dragged him out the door. Henry stepped hastily out of her way. Tyrell was still smiling at Calla over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.

“Did that child push his sister into the water trough, Calla?” Henry asked politely.

“Yep. Shoved her right in.”

“Well—” Henry couldn’t help but laugh “—he’ll be a delinquent by the time he’s ten. And the world will have you to thank.”

“I couldn’t help it. His sister is a terrific brat. I’ve wanted to push her in a water trough myself a time or two. Besides, I’ll never forgive Ora Fern for calling him Tyrell. Isn’t that the worst name you’ve ever heard?” She grabbed a crocheted dishcloth from the soapy water in the sink, squeezed it, and started wiping down the countertop. “The sister’s name is worse.”

“What’s her name, I hate to ask.”

“Felicia Fern.”

Henry laughed again. “That’s pretty bad.”

“And they call her that, too. Don’t get dirty, Felicia Fern. Come here, Felicia Fern. Don’t bother Felicia Fern, Tyrell. Do you want to dance? With me?”

“Yes.”

She tossed the dishrag back into the sink. Hot water splashed onto her clean countertops.

“Let’s go.”

He caught her arm. His thumb brushed the soft skin on the inside of her elbow. She stood still for a second, but didn’t look at him.

“What about Dartmouth?”

“Clark
doesn’t like to dance.”

“Calla, I have to tell you something…”

“If you don’t want to dance, just say so.”

“No, I do want to.” He sighed. It could wait. The next time he danced with Calla would probably be at
her
wedding. No, he wouldn’t be going to her wedding. He’d probably schedule a root canal for that day. Less painful. “Come on.”

They made their way through the crowd milling around the beer keg near the back stoop and stepped onto the grass. Henry looked around, but Dartmouth was nowhere to be seen. Too bad. He pulled Calla into his arms. His hand splayed against her back, stroking lightly.

“You dance pretty good for a hockey player,” she said after a minute.

“Have you ever seen a hockey game? It’s poetry on ice.”

“I thought that’s what they said about figure skating.”

“Figure skaters are just wimps who weren’t tough enough to play hockey.”

They danced, fitted together perfectly. Calla’s breasts were pressed against Henry’s chest. He imagined he could feel her nipples against the heavy fabric of his dress Western shirt. He closed his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” she said sternly.

“Do what?”

“Look like that.”

Henry smiled. Her silky hair tickled his nose. “You make me feel like I’m about fifteen.”

“Oh, come on.” She was terribly flattered, pleased beyond sense. She struggled for a safe topic. “How’s Pete?”

Henry stiffened. “I haven’t seen him. Have you?”

“Why would I see him?”

Henry relaxed slightly. “Well, before he left, he mentioned that he’d not be averse to the idea of seducing you.”

“Oh, really? That’s a thought.”

“You think so?”

“He was funny. Interesting.”

“So, you like skinny nice guys and funny old guys, is that
it?”

“That about covers it.”

“So, I have no chance at all with you.”

“None.”