Buchanan's Pride (6 page)

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Authors: Pamela Toth

BOOK: Buchanan's Pride
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John had already grabbed a knife. “Mayo?” he asked, holding up the jar. Startled, he realized that he didn't like mustard, either.
“Sure,” Leah replied, obviously unaware of his breakthrough discovery. “I'll see you outside.”
A few minutes later, John walked out to where she was waiting with two of the horses he'd seen earlier, both saddled and ground-tied. One was black and the other was such a light gray that it was nearly white. Duke was sitting on the ground with his tongue lolling out and his ears pricked. The dog's gaze never left John, making him wonder if he was being sized up as a possible meal or just someone who bore close scrutiny. Clearly the truce John had attempted to forge with a piece of bacon slipped under the table at breakfast had been a temporary one.
Leah had donned a dusty black Stetson, and when she saw John, she held out an equally disreputable brown one.
“You'll need this,” she said as he handed her the lunch he'd packed.
Wondering whether he should have grabbed the baseball cap from his bag, John plopped the hat on his head and tugged experimentally on the brim. It felt surprisingly comfortable. He realized he'd approached the horse she'd indicated without a qualm, automatically raising his hand for an introductory sniff.
He was barely aware of Leah telling him that the gray was named Candy, and except for a trot like a bad road, he was an easy ride. The gelding blew his warm breath on John's hand and a curtain parted in his mind. Relief flooded him. It was all he could do to keep from falling to his knees and kissing the ground.
He could ride. The knowledge was there, even if the memory wasn't. He had no idea how he could be so certain, but he was. A wad of emotion rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. To give himself a moment for composure, he turned his back to Leah and adjusted the stirrups with easy familiarity.
“Looks as though you remember a little bit,” she commented, dividing the sandwiches and cans of soda between her saddlebags.
“Like you said,” he agreed, “some things you don't forget.”
Leah's thoughts scattered. If he were to smile like that more often, she'd be in big trouble. Dismayed, she gathered up Jewel's reins and swung onto the horse's back. When John mounted up, Candy took a couple of side steps in token protest. John settled him down with a few softly spoken words and then looked at Leah expectantly.
Wearing the Stetson she had loaned him pulled low over his eyes, he reminded her of one of the old sepia photographs she'd seen in a book on western history. All the man needed was a handlebar mustache and a six-shooter strapped to his hip to complete the romantic image.
“What's wrong?” he asked, shattering her daydream.
“Nothing.” Leah called to Duke, who danced with excitement, avoiding her horse's legs. Jewel ignored him.
“We've wasted enough time.” Leah was irritated without knowing why. “Let's head out.”
 
Leah had been worried that John might not be able to keep up with her. If it truly had been a while since he was on horseback, he'd be sore later, but for now he rode as easily as if he spent a lot of time in the saddle.
“It's beautiful country,” he said after they rode through a gate and Leah shut it carefully, leaving the ranch buildings behind them. “You're very lucky.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked. The last thing she'd felt lately, with her killer schedule and endless frustrations, was lucky.
“I have the impression that you have a good sense of who you are.” His head was tipped back as he watched a magpie fly overhead.
Maybe she didn't much like who she was, Leah protested silently. Maybe she would have liked to trade places with someone else, someone with no responsibilities, no bills, no unfinished family business. But she couldn't say that to a man who didn't appear to be concerned with any of those things, a man who seemed to have neither roots nor responsibilities—or at least none he was willing to talk about. “Doesn't everyone know who they are?” she countered instead. “Don't you?”
His gaze flicked away from hers. For a few moments, the only sounds were the swish of the grass, the muffled thud of horses' hooves and the jingle of their bridles. Leather creaked as he shifted in his saddle.
“I guess I thought I did once,” he replied when she'd almost given up on a response. He sounded wistful, even sad. “Now I have no idea who I am.”
“Who do you want to be?” She slowed so they were riding abreast. For some reason she couldn't understand, his answer was important. She was disappointed when he shrugged.
His grin was crooked. “I don't really know.”
At that moment she spotted a group of cows and their calves. Her chance to ask more was lost as the cattle saw them and began to drift away.
“Damn,” Leah exclaimed. “I was hoping to keep this simple.” She motioned to Duke, who trotted off to the right
“What do you want me to do?” John asked.
Without taking her gaze off the cattle, Leah gestured with her arm. “Circle to the left, but don't run at them. I just want a quick look.”
When John started off in a bone-jarring trot, she nearly smiled. Well, she'd warned him about Candy's gait. She returned her attention to the cows that were milling nervously. With the fence behind them, they had nowhere to go except past her. To Leah's relief, they stayed put. Riding in close, she could see that all five heifers and their calves appeared healthy. Wounds from dehorning and castration at the recent roundup looked clean. She heaved a sigh of relief. With an operation as small as hers, every animal was important, every loss a big one.
“Looking good,” she told John. “Let's move on.” They inspected several more groups of varying sizes, checking fence in between, and then John spotted a single cow in the distance.
“Antisocial?” he asked.
Leah bit her lip. The cow appeared to be alone. “Perhaps the calf is just resting, but I need to find out for sure. They're awfully close to the bog.”
A couple minutes later, Leah's worries were confirmed. The calf was stuck in the deep mud churned up by dozens of hooves at the edge of the watering hole, but at least it was still alive. Quickly she dismounted, one eye on the cow. Keeping the calf between them, she assessed the situation. The calf must not have been trapped for long; it didn't appear to be too weak as it bawled in fright.
Stepping carefully into the smelly, slick mud, Leah tugged on the calf with her gloved hands. The animal rolled its eyes and bawled again. When pulling on it didn't work, she glanced at John, who was already half out of his saddle.
“I could use your help.” Her boots sank deeper and she knew that staying clean wasn't an option. “Careful,” she warned as he came close. “Let's see if we can get him loose together.”
They tried to free the terrified calf as the mother made anxious noises. Its little body was as slippery as a greased pig. As the calf thrashed in fright, finding a handhold was nearly impossible. It swung its head around and butted Leah's nose, making her eyes water. She lost her grip, sitting down hard in the cold mud and then getting back up with a groan. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of a grin before John managed to wipe it away.
“You okay?” he asked, straight-faced. His boots and gloves were already smeared with the noxious filth.
When she nodded, he pointed at her. “You've got mud on your cheek.”
She could feel it, as well as the cold dampness seeping through the denim on her behind. “That's not the only place. Guess we'll have to tow him out. I'll be right back.” As she struggled onto the wet grass, she slipped again, soiling both knees. Finally she made it over to Jewel, who waited patiently, and tied one end of her rope to the saddle horn. With no little effort, she and John managed to get the other end around the calf, who was bawling in earnest now. Despite the chill in the air and her heavy clothing, Leah could feel the perspiration trickling between her breasts and under her arms.
John's face—at least the parts that weren't streaked and smeared with mud—was flushed by the exertion of wrestling with the calf. His hat fell off, landing with a splat. “You're making it worse,” he scolded the calf, wiping the Stetson on his pant leg before he plopped it back on his head.
Leah explained to John how she wanted him to guide the calf, and then she walked Jewel slowly away from the bog. The rope became taut and the cow bellowed again. Duke barked, but Leah ignored him as she watched John and the calf.
“Okay,” he shouted as the calf came loose of the bog like a cork from a bottle and slid on its back to firmer ground. After a stunned moment, it ran to its mother, who nuzzled it anxiously and then began cleaning it with her long pink tongue.
Waiting for the calf to begin nursing, Leah heard a muffled shout. She redirected her attention just in time to see John go down in the mud, face first.
She couldn't help herself. A whoop of laughter escaped before she could clap her hand over her mouth. With an expression of disgust, John levered himself back up. The sight of him made her laugh harder as she pulled a towel and her canteen from her gear. Something broke loose inside her, a combination of relief that the calf appeared to be okay and the giddy reaction to John's comic expression of mingled dismay and wounded male pride.
Leah doubled over helplessly as he got to his feet and advanced on her. Too late she realized his intention. Dropping the towel and the canteen to the grass, she tried to dodge him, but he scooped her into his arms and turned back toward the bog.
“No,” she gasped, still laughing, “we'll get stuck. Put me down.”
For a moment, she didn't think he would. Then, with obvious reluctance, he set her back on her feet. Leah retrieved the canteen and wet the towel. As she stood holding out the scrap of fabric, John walked slowly around her in a circle. He began to chuckle.
“You're filthy,” he said. “I hope you've got more towels.”
Leah glanced down at the one in her hand and then back at him. The mud was already beginning to dry, hardening and cracking around the edges. He looked as though he'd been dipped in chocolate. She smiled.
John shook his head. She giggled. Finally, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. For several moments, they hung their heads, hands braced on dirty knees, and howled like two hyenas as the cattle, the horses and Duke looked on with benign puzzlement. Winding down, Leah took the towel and managed to wipe most of the mud from his face. Gazing at her intently, he did the same.
When they were done, the air seemed to crackle between them. John's gaze drifted to her lips. Involuntarily, Leah parted them slightly as she stood trapped by his stare.
His head dipped and then he caught himself. Abruptly he blinked and straightened. The moment shattered, Leah took a stumbling step backward.
“Even with a dirty face, you're pretty,” he said in a low, rough voice.
Stunned, she could only stare helplessly. She was covered with mud and he thought she was
pretty?
“You're crazy,” she exclaimed gruffly when she'd found her voice.
His grin was fleeting. “If I'm crazy, then I guess you can't hold this against me.” Lowering his head slowly, giving her time to protest, he pressed his cool lips against hers in a gentle kiss.
Chapter Four
J
ohn hadn't known he was going to kiss her until he did, and for just a millisecond, her mouth yielded under his. As her lips softened and heated, a groan worked its way up his throat. She pressed her hands to his chest and he lifted his arms to wrap them around her. Then her body stiffened in his embrace and she pushed against him.
“No,” she murmured.
Heeding her halfhearted protest, John dropped his arms and let her go. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. Her mouth—dear heaven—her mouth looked sweet enough to devour in one more long, wet, drugging kiss. Unable to resist, he tipped his head again.
“Uh, this isn't a good idea,” Leah said breathlessly.
He frowned. It seemed like a great idea to him.
Leah glanced around, and reason smacked him like a blow from a two-by-four as he realized how vulnerable she must feel. Except for Duke, who had taken off after some wild critter, they were alone in the center of the endless prairie. Had he frightened her?
“I'm sorry,” John said quickly, raising a hand and then letting it fall back to his side when she flinched. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” Slowly he backed away, giving her space.
“I—” Was that regret shadowing her eyes? He would have given a great deal to know what she was thinking as she searched his face.
She nibbled her lip. “It's okay,” she said finally. More color ran up her cheeks. “I mean, it's not
okay,
but it just happened, right? Let's forget the whole thing.”
“Good idea.” Part of John was grateful she hadn't fired him on the spot, part of him was still trying to deal with his reaction to her. Damn, but she had a taste as sweet as cotton candy.
And he had absolutely no right to touch her, not when he didn't know whether he was committed to someone else. The realization was like a blast of ice water.
Somehow, he vowed silently, he'd sort through this mess and come out whole on the other side.
“Okay, then.” She grabbed the canteen that had been dangling from her arm and sloshed more water onto the muddy towel, hands shaking. “Let's get cleaned up the best we can and eat lunch. There's a nice spot on the other side of those cottonwoods. Then I think we'd better head in and do something about these clothes.” Glancing down at herself, she wrinkled her nose. “Ugh.”
“At least we both smell the same,” he observed with a forced grin. If she wanted to pretend the kiss had never happened, let her try. He could no more forget it than...he could forget his own name? His smile faded. Perhaps she was right. Silently he mounted Candy, the dried mud flaking off his jeans like dandruff, and followed Leah to the stand of cottonwoods.
Leah reined in and dismounted. “We're here. The trees will give us a little protection from the wind. In the summer the shade here is like an oasis from the heat.”
She watered her horse in the stream and John did the same. When they were through, she busied herself with the saddlebags as Duke came bounding over to join them. As he drank noisily, she handed John half of the lunch he'd packed and a can of soda. Sitting cross-legged on the grass, she peeled off her gloves and dug a bag of dog biscuits from her pocket. She dumped them on the grass as Duke flopped down beside her, muzzle dripping. He devoured the biscuits and Leah took a hearty bite of her sandwich.
John was too hungry for more than an occasional comment as they ate. Leah's color was still high and she refused to look at him for more than a second at a time. With each bite, he did his best to put what had happened earlier out of his mind. Funny, he'd been struggling so hard to remember anything at all, and now he was trying to forget one of the few memories he had. Life was just full of little ironies.
Later as they rode along the fence line, Leah searched for breaks and damaged posts. If John's remote expression was any indication, he'd all but forgotten she was with him. The only sounds besides those the horses made were the faint sigh of the wind and an occasional harsh cry from a crow overhead.
Despite the discomfort of her damp, stiff jeans, Leah couldn't ignore the very real pleasure she was taking in being outdoors instead of cooped up in the library back in Caulder Springs. The sun had come out, gentling the wind. The carpet of grass at their feet was dotted with wildflowers—yellow peas, blue flax, orange wallflowers and purple vetch. Her grandpa had taught her their names. Soon the bluebells would be in bloom. It was days like this that reminded her why and how much she had always loved this land.
“What are you grinning about?” John asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Leah looked around again before answering. Did he think she was reliving that kiss? “I used to ride out here with my grampa,” she said, so he would know she hadn't been thinking about him. “He was the one who bought this land years ago.”
“Was he your paternal grandfather?” John asked. The mud on his hat had dried, giving it a two-toned appearance. The front of his jacket was caked with it. Leah would have to do laundry tonight so he'd have something warm to wear in the morning.
“My mother's father,” she replied. “Daddy's family was down in Texas somewhere. He was a bronc rider before he was a rodeo clown. Grampa was the one who ran the ranch until he died.” Her father hadn't been around much when Leah was small; he was always off rodeoing, even though the money he made never seemed to stretch past his next entry fees.
She could remember the excitement when he'd come home with gifts for Leah and her mother, followed later by the arguments when they thought Leah was asleep. Arguments about money and his drinking, and other things she hadn't understood.
“Grampa taught me to ride,” she said to change the direction of her thoughts. “He got me a pony when I was three.”
“You loved him a lot,” John guessed.
She nodded. “I loved my daddy, too, but he was gone so much when I was young. He was a hero, larger than life.” She wasn't sure why she needed to defend him. She'd always stuck up for him. He used to tell her she was the only one who understood. It made her feel special.
“And your mother?” John probed as they stopped for Leah to open a gate.
“What about her?” Leah asked after she had straightened back up. Her hands tightened on the reins. After her father's death, neither the ranch nor her only child had been enough to hold her mother's interest.
“You don't talk about her,” he said mildly when he'd ridden through the open gate and was waiting for her to close it. “Is she still alive?”
Leah nodded. “She's staying in town.”
“Why doesn't she live here with you? Did she get tired of the ranch?” He looked at the empty panorama surrounding them. “This could be a lonely life, especially for a woman.”
Leah bristled at his words. “What right do you have to say that?” she demanded. “A lot of women run ranches. Mama worked hard for years and she's earned her rest.” They were the same words Leah had told herself over and over. Mama hadn't rejected her, she'd just gotten tired. Leah didn't believe them and she doubted that John would, either. Somehow he would be able to tell that she'd been lacking as a daughter.
Leah slammed the gate shut and jerked on Jewel's reins, still fuming. Instantly she felt guilty and leaned down to pat her mount's neck in silent apology. “I'm the one who made the arrangements for Mama to live in town, so don't blame her for quitting,” she told John.
“No one said anything about quitting and I'm not blaming anyone,” he replied gently as they rode on. “But it sounds as though you do.”
The comment caught her off guard. “Who said I blamed anyone? After Daddy died, it just got too hard for her, that's all. There were too many reminders. She's better off where she is.”
“Does she live alone?” he asked as they reached a rocky patch. The trail was only wide enough to ride single file, so Leah moved ahead of him.
“Mama lives with two women, sisters, both widowed now,” she replied when the trail widened and they were once again riding abreast. “They look after her.” She wondered why she was telling him so much. Probably because he was a good listener. He appeared genuinely interested.
“Is she in poor health?” he asked.
“Not exactly.” How could she explain her mother's condition? Depression sounded so inconsequential if you didn't have any experience with it. To avoid answering any more questions, Leah dismounted and examined a fence post that was leaning slightly. It showed no sign of rot or breakage, so she got back on Jewel and urged her forward.
Apparently John took the hint, or maybe he was just tired of the subject, because he didn't ask any more questions as the outbuildings finally appeared on the horizon.
Talk about Leah's mother made John feel restless, but he had no idea why. Although he tried, he couldn't remember his own mother. He tried to picture her face, to hear the sound of her voice, to recall one incident that she had been a part of—all to no avail. No matter how many times he'd failed to dredge up a memory since Leah found him, the disappointment was just as keen as it had been in the beginning. What kind of a son was he that he could forget the very existence of the woman who'd given him life? Wasn't it enough that he couldn't remember any woman he'd loved, any child he might have fathered, anyone else who mattered to him at all?
It wasn't until later after a long, restless night back in the tack room that something finally came to him, and then it wasn't a memory, it was a dream. A nightmare.
A woman was dying. John was sitting beside her, holding her hand. The light was dim, the room around them was in shadows, and he could hardly make out her face. Her voice, when she spoke, was faint, as though she was growing weak. He could smell her perfume, something flowery and familiar, and in the background was music he didn't recognize but somehow knew was her favorite. Only her hand, tightly gripping his, seemed real.
“Promise me,” she said in a soft voice lined with steel. “Promise me you'll do this.”
When he didn't answer, nearly choking on the sorrow that clogged his throat, she squeezed his hand and her voice rose. “I'll come back and haunt you if you don't.”
The humor in her tone did him in. Part of him remembered her gentle laugh, even though he couldn't picture her face. His eyes filled with tears and he was nearly overcome with a deep, chilling sadness.
“Promise me,” she said again.
Before he could ask her what she wanted, the image started to fade and darkness filled the room.
“No,” he exclaimed, gripping her hand tighter. “Don't go. Tell me who you are and what you want me to do.”
“Promise me.” It was just a whisper.
Suddenly the room was full of light. He blinked against the brightness and realized that his hand gripped only a fistful of the coarse blanket that covered him. He was sitting up in bed.
As his eyes focused, he saw Leah standing in the doorway, her hands tightly clasped together, her expression anxious.
“You were having a bad dream,” she said. “I'm sony that I woke you, but you were shouting, and I could hear you all the way up at the house. I thought maybe your head was bothering you.”
John followed the direction of her gaze and looked down at his plain white T-shirt. He raked a hand through his hair, struggling to get his bearings and to remember the snatches of dream, which were already fading.
“I'm okay,” he said. “Thanks.”
She backed out of the doorway. “I brought your jacket.” She pointed to the chest by the door. The parka was no longer covered with dried mud and beside it sat a steaming mug of coffee. “I'll give you a few minutes.”
“I'll be right out,” he replied as she shut the door behind her. Perhaps a dose of caffeine would sweep the cobwebs from his brain. Pulling on his clothes, he tried again to hold on to the bits of the strange dream that floated in his head like brightly colored scraps of paper, but all he could remember was a woman's voice.
Promise me
, she kept pleading.
When he came out of the tack room a couple of minutes later, Leah was turning out the horses at the other end of the barn. She glanced at him and looked away without speaking. If he'd been shouting in his sleep, she probably thought he was nuts. He wondered if she'd heard what he was saying, but he was almost afraid to ask.
By the time he'd splashed water on his face in the tiny bathroom and come back out, sucking down the coffee as if it were plasma and he a vampire, she'd gone outside.
John looked around and found her bent over Jewel with a hoof pick. The morning before he hadn't known the names of the tools she'd lined up along the top rail of the corral fence. Today he remembered them easily, rasp, currycomb, sweat scraper. Somewhere inside him was the knowledge to use them. Did that mean his memory was returning?

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