Ride the Thunder (15 page)

A
S JORDANNA PUSHED
open the door leading from the fire stairs to the top floor, her brother stepped out of the elevator. Perspiration flowed freely over her face, curling wisps of wet hair clinging to her temples and forehead. The rest of her long hair was pulled to the nape of her neck and secured by a circular, combed holder. Dressed in a forest green jogging suit with cream yellow stripes, she was puffing heavily.

Christopher stopped. “What’s wrong with the elevators?” he mocked. “Or are you naturally so energetic?”

“I rode the elevator halfway up and took the stairs the rest of the way,” she said breathlessly and halted to rest her hands on her hips. She blew the stale air from her aching lungs and flexed the cramping muscles in her legs. “I’ve been out jogging,” Jordanna panted, trying to stay limber.

“So I guessed,” he inserted dryly.

“I’ve got to get into shape for the mountains,” explained between gasping breaths.

“Another hunting trip?” Christopher took the key she handed him and unlocked the apartment door.

Jordanna nodded. “We’re leaving the second week in September—another three weeks.” She entered the apartment ahead of him, still struggling to catch her breath.

“Where are you going this time?” He closed the door and returned her key. Jordanna dropped it in the slashed pocket of her jacket, and mopped the perspiration from her neck with the sleeve.

“Idaho. Somewhere around the Salmon River, I guess. Some rancher named McCord is guiding us back into the sheep country.” She continued to pace the living room to keep from getting stiff. “Dad has made all the arrangements.”

Fletcher always handled the details of planning a hunt. Normally Jordanna had more interest in the arrangements he made and discussed them with him, but not this time. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. The memory of that July party and the man she’d made love to that night kept crowding into her thoughts. She had never mentioned him again after that one, abortive attempt the next day. She wanted to forget him, but she couldn’t forget the way he had made her feel.

At first she had tried to recapture the emotion with other partners. Their kisses hadn’t lived up to her expectations and Jordanna had backed out of their embraces because they demanded nothing from her but submission. She had experienced something more fulfilling and she wanted to find it again. Not even the ache of frustration could make her settle for less.

“How long will you be leaving Mother alone this time? Three weeks? A month?” Her brother’s questions were vaguely angry.

Jordanna’s temper was always easily aroused, but lately it didn’t take much provocation to rile it. “Probably three weeks. But she won’t be alone,” Jordanna snapped. “You’ll be here. And, whoever
she’s sleeping with now.” A sharp pain stabbed at the thought of who it might be.

“You can’t resist an opportunity to put her down, can you?” he accused. His mouth was pressed into a tight line of control, but the flashing darkness of his eyes betrayed his anger. “You use her mistakes to rationalize away any guilt for leaving her behind, while you and Dad go off alone to some forgotten corner of the earth.”

“It so happens that we aren’t going alone this time,” she retorted. The breath was back in her lungs and they were operating normally as the blood flowed hotly through her veins.

Her statement made Christopher momentarily forget his anger. “You aren’t? Since when? Dad never takes anyone hunting with him except you and a guide.”

“This time Dad is taking a friend. He isn’t going to hunt, he’s just tagging along on the trip.”

He eyed her skeptically. “Who is going with you?”

“A friend of Dad’s. His name is Max Sanger.” Jordanna didn’t know the man all that well. Her father included her on his hunting trips, but she was excluded from activities involving male friends. His evenings out were strictly his own. Jordanna didn’t participate in them.

“Max Sanger?” Her brother appeared stunned by her answer. “Are you positive?”

“If you don’t believe me, ask Dad.”

“I will.” His handsome features were set in an expression of grim purpose. That surprised Jordanna. “Where is he? In the den?”

“I imagine.” There was a trace of haughty unconcern in her shrug. But when her brother strode off for the den, curiosity impelled her to follow him.

The door to the den was already standing open when Jordanna rounded the corner of the hallway. Her brother was inside, issuing a clipped greeting to his father. “Hello, Dad.”

“What are you doing here, Kit? I don’t recall asking to see you.” At the bitter scorn in her father’s voice,
Jordanna slowed to a halt short of the doorway. She’d never heard her father speak to Kit with such contempt before. It shocked her.

“I wasn’t aware that I needed an invitation,” her brother countered in a hard, flat voice.

“What do you want? If you’re here looking for your mother, I have no idea where she is. Ask Tessa.” There was a rustle of papers being shuffled.

“At the moment, I want to talk to you,” Christopher stated.

“We haven’t anything left to say to each other. And I’m busy with some reports.”

Jordanna knew her father had resented the way Kit had rejected his financial support and moved out in favor of making it on his own, but she never realized how embittered he had become toward his own son.

“Jordanna tells me you are leaving on a hunting trip soon,” her brother continued.

“Since when have you been interested in any of my hunting trips?” her father snapped.

Disbelief that it was actually her father speaking like that, despite the fact that it was his voice, carried Jordanna into the doorway. He was seated behind his desk. His expression was filled with a derision that made her flinch.

“Jordanna also mentioned that you aren’t going alone this time.” Her brother had tipped his head to one side, a hint of challenge in the angle.

“That’s right.” Her father removed his glasses and leaned back in the swivel armchair. As he did, he noticed Jordanna standing in the doorway. Immediately his attitude changed to one of aloof interest.

“She said Max Sanger is coming with you. Is that right?”

“Max has scheduled his trip to coincide with ours,” he admitted, his gaze narrowing faintly. “He isn’t going hunting. He’s just taking a vacation in the mountains.”

“But why is he going with you?”

“I believe McCord, the rancher who will be serving
as our guide, is related to Max, his cousin or something. I imagine that had something to do with his decision to come with us,” her father explained with reasonable logic. “Plus, I’ve expressed an interest in some stock he is considering selling, as well as a land development project he’s started in California. I think he wants to discuss the possibility in more detail.”

“But you don’t mix business and hunting,” Christopher accused.

“So I’ve told him, but Max remains to be convinced.” Fletcher Smith smiled with mild amusement.

“Why are you letting him come with you when you’ve always objected to others accompanying you in the past?” There was a doubt still needing to be put to rest before her brother was convinced that her father didn’t have some other ulterior motive.

“I have objected to other hunters,” Fletcher qualified the statement. “Because it meant sharing the skills of a guide. Max is simply coming along for the adventure of the trip.”

“In that case,” Christopher paused, still wary, although Jordanna couldn’t understand why, “you wouldn’t object if I came along?”

His gray head lifted slightly in a gesture of surprise. “This is still a hunting party, Kit. The purpose is to shoot a bighorn ram. It isn’t a trip for the squeamish or the faint-hearted.” He studied the slender man facing the desk. “You’ve never expressed an interest in coming before. Why now, Kit?”

“I reject your sport, not you. Whatever else you may think about me, I am a man. I won’t faint at the sight of blood,” Christopher assured him with dry humor. “I want to go with you, Dad.”

Fletcher Smith sat forward in his chair. A shudder seemed to quake through him. He looked suddenly very old and tired . . . and vulnerable. His brown eyes were haunted with love as he gazed at the young man.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to hear you say that, son.” His voice shook, revealing
how much he had been moved by Kit’s last statement. “Why haven’t you? Why did you wait until now?”

“Because . . . this is one trip I have to take.” Her brother seemed to choose the words of his answer with care. “May I come with you?”

“Yes.” A wide smile beamed from her father’s face, making him look young and invincible again. His sparkling gaze swung to her. “How about you, Jordanna? Do you think you can put up with your brother for three solid weeks?”

“I doubt it.” But there was a faint smile on her lips. She could see how pleased, bow proud her father was that Kit wanted to come with them. No matter how angry Kit could make her, she was grateful and happy that he had taken this step to heal the break with their father. “But I guess I’ll survive the experience.”

It was nearly dusk. The distant peaks were catching the first flames of sunset. Tugging the gloves from his fingers, Brig walked toward the rough log house. There was no buoyancy to his stride. His steps betrayed his bone-weary tiredness as the spurs jingled on his boots. A dusty, matted cow dog trotted at his heels.

He’d been pushing himself hard, harder than he would have pushed anyone else these past weeks. The last cutting of hay was up and he could only hope it was enough to get him through the coming winter. He’d ridden up to the high camp where Jocko was grazing the sheep to take him supplies.

Lifting his gaze to the sky, he remembered the shepherd’s warning that the mountain creatures were preparing for an early winter. It had been a clear blue day. How long could he leave the cattle in the lush grasses of the high valleys before he’d have to bring them down to the winter pastures close to the ranch house? He had hoped to gain part of September, but with this hunting expedition and now Jocko’s warning, he couldn’t risk it.

Impatiently, Brig slapped his gloves against his thighs. The herd would have to come down next week. The
mottled cow dog left his side to trot over and flop in the shade of a tree. Brig’s smiling glance resembled a tired grimace.

“That’s what I’d like to do, Sam,” he told the dog. Its tail hit the ground once in response to its name.

Gripping the wooden hand rail, Brig climbed the steps to the back entrance of the two-story log structure. He removed his straw Stetson as he entered the door and hung it on a wooden peg. A short, stocky man in blue jeans and a plaid shirt was standing in front of the kitchen stove, stirring the contents of a pot. Barrel-chested with narrow hips, he glanced at Brig when he entered.

“How’s Jocko?” he asked.

“Fine.” Brig walked directly to the sink and turned on the faucets to wash up.

Tandy Barnes had been with him since he’d started the ranch and had become accustomed to abrupt answers from his boss. He’d often joked that Brig didn’t waste five words when one would do. Brig rubbed cold water on his face and neck in an attempt to revive his tired senses, then lathered his hands with soap.

“He’s starting the flock down,” Brig added. “We’ll be going after the cattle next week.” Rinsing his hands, he reached for the towel and turned around. “Where’s Frank?”

“Repairing that pack saddle,” Tandy replied. “Toss me that towel.”

Brig wadded the hand towel and threw it to him. Tandy used it as a holder to take a tray of biscuits from the oven. “What’s for supper?” Brig asked.

“Stew and biscuits.”

“Again?” Brig snapped.

“Don’t bitch at me about the food,” Tandy warned. “Anytime you don’t like the menu, you can do something about it. I didn’t hire on as a cook.”

“If you had, I would have fired you ten years ago.” Brig breathed in disgust.

“Ring the hell and get Frank in here so we can eat
this while it’s hot.” The stocky cowboy began slopping spoonfuls of the stew onto the plates he had stacked on the stove.

Walking to the back door, Brig held it ajar and stepped out to pull the rope of the dinner bell mounted on the side of the house. Its clang rang out across the yard. He didn’t wait to see the figure emerging from the barn as he stepped back inside and closed the door.

Tandy handed him a plate mounded with venison stew and three biscuits balanced precariously on the edge. Brig carried it to the table, kicking out an old wooden chair with the back of his boot. A small stack of mail sat on the table. Brig scooped up a spoonful of stew and chewed it while he leafed through the envelopes. One carried a New York City postmark. He laid his silverware down and opened it. Tandy carried two plates of food to the table. Pulling a chair out for himself, he set the second plate in front of a third chair.

“Who’s the letter from?” Tandy stretched his neck to get a peek at the contents. His dark hair was thinning, and silvered with gray. A bald spot at the back of his head was partially hidden by the hair he had slicked back to cover it.

Brig ignored the question as he continued to read the contents. His mouth tightened into a harder and harder line. When he’d finished the letter, he wadded the paper into a crumpled ball and breathed out an irritated sigh.