Perfect Touch (9 page)

“I have to admit that the scenery is extraordinary,” Sara said.

The foothills were like a green sea flowing up to the rocky Tetons. Shades of green on green, grass and willow and the silver-green mist gathered around aspens as their leaves got ready to unfurl. The sky shimmered with light and moisture.

The wind made the whole landscape breathe, giving it the pulse of life.

“I can't believe that I was freezing yesterday,” she said.

“Believe it. You'll be freezing again tonight.”

Jay watched as Sara finished unbuttoning her flannel shirt, revealing the scarlet glow of the sweater she wore beneath. The sweater wasn't painted on her by any means, but it distracted him every time she moved.

Sara never looked away from the mountains. They were imposing in a way that the man-made landscapes of San Francisco never could be.

“Dime for your thoughts,” he said.

“I thought it was a penny.”

“Everything is more expensive in the high country.”

Her laugh mixed with the sunlight. “I was thinking of San Francisco and its man-made heights. It's useful to navigate off the Hyatt and know how many blocks you are to the next pho café, but there isn't the same sense of time, of being in a land that existed long before people set foot out here and will be here long after civilization is gone. The mountains are so
old
.”

While the people studied the land, the dogs had kept the cattle walking toward the ford.

“How do they know where to go?” she asked.

“The cattle?”

“The dogs.”

“It's not the first trip to summer pasture for anything but the calves,” he said. “The dogs and the older cattle are used to working together. Skunk will keep them on this side of the ford until we catch up. Then we'll all have a lively time until the cows are convinced to cross.”

“They don't like crossing?”

He gave her a sidelong look. “Would you like your, er, teats in ice water?”

She smothered a laugh. “Gotcha.” Then, “I can't see the herd anymore.”

“They're about a hundred yards ahead. Follow my lead. Cows aren't as dumb as deer, but a mama cow with a calf can be unpredictable. As sudden as your mount, Jezebel. Henry calls them ‘notional.' I just think they're stubborn in unexpected directions. If we spring up on them, God only knows how they'll take it.”

Jay lifted the reins, tightened his legs, and Amble shifted from a walk to an easy canter. Jezebel followed, tugging at the bit, wanting to race. From the corner of his eye, he watched while the mare and its rider fought a silent skirmish for control.

Sara won.

Wish she wasn't a city girl. But she is. Sure as hell she didn't buy that heart-stopping sweater in a small town.

When the cattle were in sight, he tightened the reins. Amble went from a canter to a trot, then to a walk. Jezebel followed without a struggle.

“You snookered me,” Jay said.

“What?” Sara asked, thinking of the paintings.

“I've been taken. Rooked, for those of you who play chess. Suckered.” He smiled slightly, almost reluctantly. “You ride, and handle yourself just fine while doing it. And you haven't made one complaint yet on this trip.”

“Were you expecting me to?”

One of the calves bleated suddenly and balked. Lightfoot dashed in, nipped at a tender leg, and the calf hurtled back into the herd.

“You keep insisting you're a city woman.”

“Just so long as I'm not an uptown girl,” she said drily.

“You're too young to have heard that song.”

“Pop music is eternal when your mother can only afford a few cassettes. I used to pray the tape would break, then I'd feel bad because there was so little that made Mama smile.”

Again he heard the combination of sadness and determination in her voice. She wasn't going to have a life like her mother's. Period.

And here I am talking about kids and the ranch,
he thought.
Dumb.

But he couldn't stop wanting her more with every instant, every smile, every bit of her laughter curling around him like a caress.

Taken, indeed,
he thought.
Hook, line, and sinker.

S
KUNK GAVE A
sharp bark, jerking Jay out of his uncomfortable thoughts. The dog was standing—or racing around, when needed—between the cattle and the tumbling, frothing stream. The cows were moving uneasily, bawling. They knew what was coming and would try their best to avoid it.

But first they would drink.

Sara took her mare upstream of the cattle, where Jay was watering Amble. Jezebel immediately stretched her neck and sank her muzzle into the cold tumble of water.

“Where do you want me for the crossing?” Sara asked.

He looked at the sunlight reflecting off the stream, lighting her face under the wide brim of her hat. She looked eerily beautiful, like a dream.

“Just stay back and cross when the last of the herd is on the other side,” he said. “The dogs and I will take care of everything. But if a cow gets past me, it's all yours.”

“Are you sure I can't help more than that?”

“If a cow gets away, you'll help a lot. The problem is that Jezebel hates water unless she's drinking it. She may try to jump the stream, so hang on.”

Sara looked at the water, which was at least twenty feet across and racing like an avalanche. And she was on a horse that didn't like water.

Hope I don't get an ice-water bath,
she thought.

Jay gave an intricate whistle. Both dogs sprang into action. Skunk made a pass at the lead cow's heels, Lightfoot harried the right side of the herd, and Jay rode at the rear, cutting off cows that decided to head back to the ranch. When Jezebel spotted a calf trying to get away, she sprang forward so fast Sara had to grab the saddle horn. When the calf turned back to the herd, Jezebel stopped dead, snorting and shying from the water only six feet away.

“Oh, this will be fun,” Sara said beneath her breath.

Lightfoot nipped the last, reluctant calf into the water. With Jay on the downstream side and Lightfoot bringing up the rear, Skunk kept the lead cow headed straight through the ford. On the far side, the cattle sloshed ashore and promptly headed for a lush patch of grass.

Sara had watched the cattle cross. She could see the water wasn't deep, and the bottom had good footing, making for a fine crossing. With that knowledge, she decided to take Jezebel by surprise. Simultaneously she tightened the reins and gave a hard kick. The startled mare leaped forward and was in the water before she knew it. She crossed the stream in great bounds. On the far side, she shook herself and snorted her displeasure.

Jay began breathing again. Seeing Sara cling to a mare that was acting like a show jumper on steroids had hit him hard.

“Thought you said you don't have any rodeo stock,” she said, wiping stray drops off her cheeks.

He shouted with laughter, then abruptly leaned over in the saddle and gave her a hard kiss. “You scared the hell out of me, woman.”

She felt as if the place he'd pressed his lips—somewhere between her cheek and her smile—had been warmed by fire. She swallowed, blaming her accelerated heartbeat on the wild ride, and tried to be as casual as his kiss had been.

“Me? All I did was stay on. I didn't want my teats—or any other parts—in that ice water,” Sara said.

Before he could answer, Skunk gave a short bark. An instant later, Amble's ears shot forward and his nostrils expanded as the horse drank scents from the shifting wind. Jezebel did the same. Horses and dogs were all looking in the same direction.

“What—”

A sharp gesture from Jay cut off Sara's question. He watched the cattle. The old Hereford cow had her head up, staring in the same direction the horses were. After a minute, she lowered her head and began grazing again.

The wind shifted quickly, swirling around like a dancer, then fading into a sigh. Both horses snorted and started looking for grass.

Skunk stayed on alert.

So did Jay. He had taken small, powerful binoculars from one of his saddlebags and was scanning an evergreen-topped ridge that was perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead and to the right. He concentrated on the area where grass and low scrub met the tree line on the ridge.

While horses and cattle grazed, Sara watched him sweep the distant ridgeline with the binoculars. To her eye, nothing moved but a restive wind. The thought that every twitch and ripple of leaves might actually be a bear made her uneasy. She glanced at the rifle stock behind Jay's right thigh and felt better. When it came to bears, she didn't have much faith in her city pepper spray.

After a few minutes, he lowered the binoculars and looked at the animals again. The Hereford was grazing. The Angus were munching up tender grass at an extraordinary rate. Skunk's ears were relaxed, but he was looking at Jay for direction.

Whatever the dog had scented was either gone or downwind now. Jay put the binoculars back in the saddlebag.

“What was it?” Sara asked softly.

“I didn't see anything and Skunk can't talk, so I don't know why he alerted.”

She noted the new tension around Jay's eyes and mouth. “A bear?”

“Doubt it. Bears don't hide. Could have been a cougar. They're real shy.”

“Could it have been hikers?”

“That, too,” he said. Then he decided that she would be safer, though less comfortable, if he told her the truth. “I'm ninety-five percent certain that Skunk alerted on a human scent. The cattle and horses wouldn't have started grazing again if they had scented bear or cougar. Probably it was hikers. If anyone had been on horseback, our horses would have whinnied a greeting.”

Unlike the tough little ponies we rode in Afghanistan,
he remembered.
Our feet might have brushed on the ground, but those ponies were wary as any wild animal. They didn't whinny to strangers.

After a last look at empty land, Jay whistled up the dogs. They gathered the herd and got it headed toward Fish Camp again.

Jay kept his eye on the land where something had moved and then vanished.

There was nothing to see but the landscape and the sweep of the mountainside above them. The sun was near zenith. The shadows were minimal. Everything was green and black beneath the wide blue sky.

Sara strained her eyes and saw only a land without fences or buildings or signs of man.

Is this what my brother felt in Afghanistan? Only there, the shadows fired real bullets.
She shivered at the thought.

The evergreens swayed just enough to shift the slender shadows and trick the eye into seeing things that very likely just weren't there. She fought against her imagination, which insisted on things that didn't exist.

There's nothing out there where tree shadows meet sunlight. If you don't believe yourself, look at the dogs. Their senses are much sharper.

Or watch Jay, who stayed alive in a land where shadows shot back.

The lead cow moved reluctantly forward, encouraged by Skunk. Lightfoot darted along the sides of the herd. The cattle walked slowly, snatching at grass. The calves were a lot quieter than they had been at the beginning. Even the very slow pace Jay had set had taken the bounce out of their little hooves.

It wasn't the calves that worried him. It was the trail ahead.

Too many places for an ambush,
his old habits told him.
Too few defensible spaces.

And I'm not at war anymore, so knock it off.

Without thinking, he touched the stock of the rifle again. The .30-30 was secure in the holster, and the saddlebags held more ammunition than a hunting party of twelve would use.

Sara watched him from the corner of her eye and told herself that he was only being cautious. Most of the time she even believed it. But every time his fingers unconsciously touched the rifle butt, her heartbeat shot up.

Skunk gave another short bark.

She gripped the reins tight in her left hand and kept herself from grabbing Jezebel too hard with her thighs. The last thing anyone needed was for her horse to bolt because the rider was nervous.

Jay unslung the rifle.

Adrenaline poured through Sara.

The wilderness around her became a lot bigger, dwarfing the riders and the cattle alike. The wind had stopped, but there were still a thousand sounds around them. The forest, the stream, the grass, even rocks shifting upslope. She held her breath and listened for what Jay was trying to hear.

I'd be happier out along Market Street,
she thought.
At least there I know the terrain and the city danger signals.
On the heels of that thought came another.
Is this what it's like for some war veterans? Always on guard? Always on edge?

How do they keep that up and still live their civilian lives?

Her younger brother managed, but it had been hard. Too much of the time he'd been like Jay was now. Very, very alert.

The change that had come over him was profound. He was another man in Jay's skin. The stranger was poised yet relaxed, vigilant yet calm. Like living radar, every bit of his being radiated outward. He held the rifle barrel up, his finger outside of the trigger guard.

Sara did the only thing she could. She kept her mouth shut and waited.

After some of the longest minutes of her life, Jay gave a low, long whistle. Skunk looked back at him.

“The horses and cattle aren't worried,” Jay said to the dog. “So we won't be.”
Much.
“We'll eat lunch a little farther up the trail.”
In a pile of boulders with a view of the back trail.
“Ever shot a gun?”

Though the question was casual, for a moment her mind went blank. Then she said, “Piper and I both took pistol lessons when we were just starting up the business and basically lived in the warehouse that held most of our inventory.”

“Were you any good?”

“The instructor said I'd probably hit a man at twenty feet and certainly would at ten. But frankly, I'd rather not put it to the test.”

“Same here.”

Jay handled the rifle with easy movements that spoke of long experience. A series of short whistles moved Skunk away from the lead cow and back along the left side of the herd. Lightfoot kept pace along the right. Sara and Jay brought up the rear. The rifle was across Amble's saddle rather than in its saddle holster.

Skunk didn't give his alarm bark.

When Sara looked at the sky again, the sun was well past its zenith, racing toward the time when shadows would lengthen and pool into moonlight and night.

The thought of night was unsettling, so she focused on the scenery, looking for inspiration of the kind that Custer might have found. All she saw was the remoteness, the lack of human inroads. Even the route the Hereford followed was more a game trail than a well-trod path.

As the cattle walked slowly between stands of trees, a streamer of cloud passed over the face of the sun. The temperature dropped at a startling rate. Sara untied her flannel shirt, pulled it on, but left it half unbuttoned. Standing in the stirrups, she slowly flexed her body, stretching muscles that had tightened after many hours on the trail.

Jay watched her without seeming to. He couldn't help himself. Her curves and female strength attracted him more each time he noticed them. And nothing else required his attention. Trees now blocked the view of the ridge where shadows had concealed more than they revealed.

“See that pile of boulders up on the left?” he asked.

“Looks pretty much like every other pile of boulders I've seen so far.”

A quick smile changed the lines of his face. “We'll eat lunch there.
It has a good view of the land around. Custer painted there more than once. Said it was one of the best views on the whole ranch.”

“I should have brought my iPad. I could take pictures to compare with Custer's paintings. I just didn't want to risk my only remaining computer.”

“We can come back. If we use ATVs or the helicopter, it will take a lot less time. Be expensive in terms of fuel, though.”

“Helicopter? ATVs?” Sara shook her head.

Jay lifted the worn, sweat-stained Stetson off his head and wiped his face on his forearm. “Most cattle ranching today is done with machines. Didn't you hear the helicopter earlier?”

“Er, no.”

“It was far off. Probably one of the ranches to the northwest. A group of the smaller ranchers went in on a used chopper.”

“Who flies it?”

“Whoever has a license. Quite a few of the younger men—and three women that I know of—are ex-military. Helicopter pilots are probably easier to come by in rural areas than in the city.”

“Who knew?” Sara asked, looking at the land and the sleek black cattle.

“With lease lands spread all over, and terrain that would make a mountain goat look twice, a helicopter is the best way to check on herds. We can haul feed and mineral licks out to the range cattle if necessary. We can see if a cow is down or if a calf is orphaned. We can herd cattle out of the high country to places that are easier to reach with an ATV or a horse or even a truck.”

He settled his hat back on with a snap of his wrist. Amble flicked an ear back. He stroked the gelding's neck with strong sweeps of his hand while his eyes searched the landscape for any movement.

“So we're riding herd the old-fashioned way because . . . ?” Sara asked.

“I love it. It's a break from bookkeeping and lawyers and pulling wire. I do too much of that and too little of this.” Jay gave her a sideways look. “And it's a way to take the measure of a certain woman who wants to handle a part of my family history.”

She wanted to ask how she was doing but didn't want to be too blunt. “I'm guessing I passed the riding part,” she said.

“Beautifully.”

“And I kind of passed the shooting part.”

“Jury is out on that,” he said. “And I'm hoping it won't be a problem.”

“So am I.”

He whistled a sharp series of notes. The dogs pushed the cattle to the left, urging them closer to a pile of boulders at the edge of a small meadow. Evergreens shaded half of the boulders. When he whistled again, the dogs backed off and let the cattle scatter. Soon the animals were grazing on new grass under the watchful eyes of the border collies.