From Here to There (27 page)

 Phillip swore and tried to gain his feet, only to be pulled flat again by the horse's movement. Wes moved to his feet and using another of the cords, tied his ankles. Phillip glared up at him. "What kind of game are you playing?" he growled, angry and frustrated. It was obvious the horse could drag him wherever he chose, and Phillip was helpless to stop him. He hadn’t taken Wes for the violent sort. He hoped he wasn’t wrong as he could be killed this way and it’d be hard to prove how it happened.

 Wes knelt at his side, a pleased smile on his face. "Well, I'll tell you. You just got yourself a prime example of calf roping. I can do that in eight seconds flat in the arena."

 "I'm impressed," Phillip grunted, twisting his wrists. "Now, let me go."

 "I can't do that just yet." Wes laughed. "You want to know the truth about what this is all about. I want to talk to Helene. Alone. The way I see it, there's only one way I'm guaranteed to do that." The cowboy walked back to his horse, freed his rope and dragged Phillip to the side of the road. Pulling him up against a pine tree, he began dallying the rope around the tree and Phillip until he'd fastened him snugly against the rough bark. "It's not so cold out here that it's going to hurt you waiting an hour or so."

 "If you come back," Phillip grated out, furious with himself and Wes.

 Wes grinned, reached out and lifted Phillip's chin. "Now, does that mean you don't trust me, Phil?"

 "About as much as a snake. Grind out that cigarette will you? I’d as soon not die in a forest fire."

 Wes laughed as he did it. "Maybe I shouldn't come back for you. A night out here might improve your mood considerable."

 "It won't do much for you when I get free," Phillip said through gritted teeth. He didn't suppose that was one of the smartest things he'd ever said. If Wes didn't come back for him, it was going to be a long, cold night. Wes could make up any excuse he wanted about where Phillip was, and the chances of anyone coming looking for him before dark didn't seem good.

 Wes grinned as he used Phillip’s scarf to gag him. “Wouldn’t want you yelling for help before I get back.” He loosely tied Sunshine to a nearby tree, and stepped back up into his saddle. "Well, I'm not going to worry much about that right now. I'm going back and get me a cup of hot coffee. I'll tell Helene you're all tied up." He laughed, doffed his hat and giving his horse a kick in the side rode back down the hill, leaving Phillip securely bound to the tree and angry enough to finally understand the expression mad enough to chew nails.

 Struggling with the ropes made Phillip more and more furious. He felt like a complete idiot which only added to his growing wrath. What had possessed him to trust Wes Carlson? He deserved to have his head examined.

 It was obvious the ropes weren't going to loosen by themselves, and he didn't seem to be getting anywhere by twisting his wrists, except tearing the skin. He glared down the road and thought of several succinct curses he’d have used had he not been gagged. Then he realized he had to get control of his temper--at least long enough to think of a way out of this mess. There had to be a way out.

 Gritting his teeth against the gag, he considered his situation; then remembered his pocket knife in the front pocket of his jeans. Wriggling his wrists, ignoring the pain, he struggled against the ropes. Now, if he could just get his hand into that pocket. If he couldn't, he was going to be out here a long time.

#

 Helene looked out the window and saw with surprise Wes riding in by himself. Frowning, she went out onto the porch, Hobo following her. "Where's Phillip?"

 Wes smiled. "He found a hole in the fence, insisted he had to fix it. I offered to help, but son of a gun, he said he didn't need any help. Said I oughta come back and keep you company."

 Wes tied his horse to the post and grinned. "Got any coffee?"

 "Of course." She led the way back into the kitchen. The big dog sniffed of Wes but unimpressed, quickly took up his place by the stove.

 "You're looking might pretty today, Helene," Wes said sitting at the table and taking a sip of the coffee. "I like you in jeans."

 "Thank you." She went back to the batch of biscuit dough she'd been mixing up. Kneading it lightly, she turned it out onto a floured board as she wondered what Wes wanted.

 "You serious about staying out here?" Wes asked, watching her.

 She stopped for a moment. "Why?"

 "I don't know. Like I said last night, I been a little worried about Amos, up here alone. I just wondered if you'd be staying around, keeping an eye on him."

 "I hardly think Uncle Amos needs a caretaker," Helene said, rolling out the dough.

 "He's an old man, Helene. I've been talking to him about this ranch. About what he's going to do with it."

 "He’s is barely seventy. I don’t see that as that old. And why should he do anything with it?" she asked, pressing a floured drinking glass into the dough again and again to form the biscuits.

 "Surely you don't think he can continue working it by himself." Wes shook his head at his evident perception of her naivety.

 "I don't see why not. Besides he's got Curly and now Phillip."

 "Phil's not going to stay around. He's a city slicker, and he'll be heading back one of these days."

 "Maybe." She knew it was probably true but she didn't like hearing Wes say it.

 "You can't believe a guy like that could be satisfied in a little place like this, can you?" Wes rose from the table and came to stand behind her as she set the biscuits onto a baking sheet.

 "I haven’t thought of it,” she lied.

 "You know I'm right. You just don't want to admit it." He put his arm out as though to slide it around her shoulders, missing his grip as she stepped back. "Look, Helene," he said, not following her. "You have to realize what your uncle has to do now."

 "What are you talking about?" she asked, her eyes narrowing with irritation at the pushy way he was invading her space.

 "This ranch is worth a lot of money for the right uses. Raising cattle isn't worth so much but dude ranching, developing the hot springs up in those hills, dividing it up into homesites, those could let your uncle retire in style. It is a far better use of this land. He could even keep the house and barns with say a couple of acres although I think he’d be happier in town."

 Helene laughed at him. "You really are a real estate salesman, aren't you?"

 "What are you talking about?" Wes asked, raising his eyebrows innocently.

 The door burst open and Phillip came through it, barely stopping to take in the scene of Helene against the counter and Wes leaning over her. "Outside," he said through clenched teeth.

 "Phillip," Helene said, eyes widening at the murderous expression on his face as Wes whirled to face him.

 "You heard me, Carlson. Outside."

 "Look, can't we talk about this?" Wes asked, smiling and raising his arms in a gesture of peace.

 "Outside. Now!" Phillip rasped his eyes hard and angry.

 "I don't want to take advantage of you, city boy," Wes said, giving off a little laugh.

 "Don't worry. You won't." Phillip advanced on him.

 "What is going on here?" Helene asked, trying to get between the two men.

 Uneasy at the tension in the room, Hobo circled the edge of the room, his fur bristling.

 "Nothing," Wes said and then shrugged his shoulders. "Okay. If that's what you want."

 "It's what I want." Phillip wheeled and walked back out the door, followed by Wes and Helene. "Have I told you you're a dirty, yellow, cowardly dog, yet?" Phillip snarled when they were standing in the yard.

 "Nope, but I got the idea." Wes swung, his fist just missing as Phillip danced back.

 Unable to believe her eyes, Helene watched as the two men swung at each other, one fist after another, some connecting, some missing, but the meaty sound of colliding bodies and blows hitting home seemed to fill the yard. "Stop it!" she yelled as they ignored her and continued their mayhem attempting assaults. When Hobo acted as though he was going to become involved in the brawl, on whose side Helene had no idea, she took his collar and ordered, "You, sit!"

 Phillip landed a fist solidly in Wes's face, sending him stumbling to the ground. Before he could follow up, Wes propelled himself forward, striking Phillip squarely in the stomach and sending them both to the ground.

 Helene watched horrified as Wes's fist landed a punishing blow against the side of Phillip's face where he'd so recently been cut by the barbed wire. For a moment, she felt frozen at the violence. She couldn't get between them, or she'd end up on the receiving end of one of those flying fists, but she couldn't stand seeing Phillip being struck, his head snapping back with the force of a blow that opened a cut over one eye. Even though he appeared to be getting the best of the fight, it was not without a cost.

 Running back into the house, she almost tripped over Hobo, who was pacing nervously on the porch,. She turned on the sink spigot and filled a large pan with cold water. By the time she got back to the fight, the men were rolling on the ground, their fists still pounding each other. Wes's nose was bloodied and Phillip had blood running down the side of his face. Not stopping to think Helene threw the pan full of water over the two combatants.

 It had the desired effect as both men yelped a protest, rolling away from each other.

 "What'd you do that for?" Phillip asked, eyes wide with shock as he looked up at her. His shirt was soaked, clinging to his chest, water beading with sweat and blood on his face.

 "Keeping you two from killing each other. I hope, and if you don't stop now, the next pan of water will have bleach in it." She glared from one bloodied face to the other.

 Wes muttered through a battered mouth as he put up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm leaving." He gave Phillip a wary glance as they both rose to their feet.

 "Don't come back on this land," Phillip ordered, his own words slurred from a rapidly rising swelling on the side of his jaw.

 "We'll see about that," Wes snapped, backing away, untying his horse and heading back down to the barn and his truck. As quickly as possible, he loaded the horse in the trailer and drove off.

 "Now, what was that all about?" Helene asked, hands on hips as she surveyed Phillip's damaged face. Besides the nasty cut over his eye, his handsome face was already acquiring a bruised and swollen lopsidedness that was oddly enough attractive to her. Was this the primitive versus civilized male--me Tarzan, you Jane--phenomena?

 "It doesn't matter," he muttered in answer to the question she'd already forgotten she asked.

 "You aren't going to tell me?" she asked with incredulity.

 He felt tentatively of his mouth to see if he'd loosened a tooth, shook his head,  then headed resolutely toward the barn.

 "Phillip! Come back here!" He ignored the angry command. She glared at his retreating back, unable to believe he would walk off without a word of explanation. "Where are you going?" she yelled even though it was obvious.

 "I have to unsaddle Sunshine. Then I need a shower," he growled, not looking back.

 Clenching her own teeth to keep back the unladylike phrases that threatened to spew forth, she stomped into the house, muttering to the dog all the way about the unreliability of males, himself not excepted. She waited until she saw Phillip head to his bunkhouse before she retrieved the medical kit which seemed to be getting more than its share of use since Phillip had gotten to the ranch, closed Hobo into the kitchen, and stalked down the hill to the bunkhouse. She grumbled as she walked, unable to make sense out of anything she'd seen or heard. Phillip wasn't the type of man to get involved in a brawl. Although with annoyance, she realized once again how little she knew of the type of man he was.