The Drifter (13 page)

Then he was back, moving between her thighs, replacing the telephone cord with his fingers, but leaving the receiver beside them on the bed, off the hook. “Just where I left off,” he whispered. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Good...morning,” she whispered back, arching into his caress. She'd thought this morning they'd talk, but he didn't seem to want to leave time for that.

Lifting her hips still more he slid into her effortlessly.

Through a sensuous haze she looked up into his face. Unspoken words of love trembled on her lips, words that might drive him away. After all, he wouldn't want to risk being branded like his partner Ry. “You're very good at this, cowboy,” she murmured instead.

A shadow seemed to cross his expression, almost as if she'd insulted him, somehow. His jaw tensed. “You bet I am, babe,” he said, his tone almost harsh. Then he loved her hard, wringing a response from her, taking his own pleasure, and leaving her feeling strangely empty. He departed the cottage with few words. Amanda stared at the closed door as tears burned her eyes and the dreams she had begun to weave hung in tatters around her.

* * *

B
ETWEEN BRINGING
Dexter and Belinda home and helping the hands with the horses, Chase kept busy prior to the wedding. But he still had time to think and cool off a little. Amanda probably hadn't meant her remark the way it had sounded, but after she'd said it, he'd thought she saw him as just another hunk of meat, the way women had been reacting to him all his life. Not so long ago that had been okay, and had even given him bragging rights with the truckers he knew. But for the first time in his life he wanted more than sex from a woman. He wanted lovemaking. He had no practice asking for that, and it took so little to send him running for cover. Maybe sometime during the day he'd work up the courage to talk to her, really talk.

As his last chore before the wedding, he'd volunteered to drive a buggy from the corrals to the main house while Duane and the hands led the string of horses. The buggy was for Dexter and Belinda, so they could make it out to the homestead site.

When he arrived, the wedding party was milling around in the front yard, men and women separated into same-sex groups while Duane and Leigh tried to keep some order. The men wore brightly patterned western shirts, while the women had opted for broomstick skirts and fluffy blouses. All except Amanda, whose turquoise dress was probably a designer number from Fifth Avenue. She stood talking to Belinda with Bartholomew held against her shoulder.

As she turned to shade the baby from the sun, the light caught in her red hair and Chase's heart wrenched with longing. He wanted to go over and apologize for his abruptness this morning, but now wasn't the time, not with so many people around. Amanda spoke to Freddy, who moved restlessly though the crowd of women. She wore a dress of snowy lace decorated with long white fringe that danced as she walked. Ry had told him that Freddy's outfit had been modified from a dress that had belonged to her grandmother. Freddy had added a white Stetson draped with a white scarf and white lace-up granny boots.

It wasn't much of a mental stretch for Chase to imagine Amanda in bridal white, but he shoved the image aside, frightened by the unfamiliar desires it produced in him. Wanting something you might never have was dangerous.

Ry stood in the center of the group of men. He looked hot, but he'd insisted on wearing a black western jacket over his white shirt and black western-cut slacks. Love did crazy things to a man, Chase thought. Dexter stood nearby, balancing himself on his walker.

Duane's call for attention got nowhere. Finally, he hopped up on the three-foot wall surrounding the yard and whistled through his teeth. “That's more like it,” he said as everyone turned in his direction. “Now, I got to tell everybody—you're responsible for yer own horse.” He paused, and notwithstanding his new shirt and bolo tie, spat into the dirt. “They're all saddled and ready to go, but some of ‘em tend to blow out, so before you get aboard, check that cinch. Everybody know how to do that?”

A chorus of confirming shouts made Chase grin and shake his head. These dudes would sooner die than admit they didn't know their way around horses. He could identify. Six weeks ago he'd been the same way. He made a mental note to check Amanda's cinch, although she might be the one greenhorn who would know how. She'd had her own horse, after all. Probably was also given a sports car when she was sixteen and had tuition paid to a fancy college. He needed to remember all that when he was spinning fantasies involving Amanda.

“Now, as soon as Eb Whitlock shows up, we'll start on out to the homestead,” Duane said.

Chase realized then that Eb's big palomino wasn't tied up to the hitching post, and Eb wasn't part of the crowd of men clustered around Ry. He could guess how steamed Ry must be, considering he didn't want Eb to be part of the wedding in the first place.

“Here he comes!” shouted someone as Eb's dual-wheeled pickup and horse trailer rumbled down the road sending up clouds of dust. Eb braked to a stop and the dust cloud settled over the wedding party and the horses Duane and Curtis had so carefully groomed for the event. Men brushed at their shoulders, women at their skirts as Eb, wearing a pearl gray western coat, vest and matching hat, climbed down from the air-conditioned cab of his truck with a politician's wave and his truck-grille smile.

“Howdy, folks,” he said. “Nice day for a wedding, ain't it? Hey, Duane, give me a hand unloading Gold Strike,” he called as he started back toward the trailer.

“Shore.” As Duane passed Chase in the buggy, he paused. “Guess you and Leigh might as well get the rest of ‘em mounted up while I help unload the wonder horse,” he said in a low tone.

“He knew better than to ask me,” Leigh grumbled as she came up beside the buggy. “You just watch. That gelding will be covered with horse jewelry.”

Chase laughed. “What?”

“Silver on every inch of leather except the seat of the saddle. Just wait and see. In the meantime, we'd better divvy up these ponies. Give Amanda Pussywillow.”

Chase climbed down from the buggy. “I thought Ry's stepmother wanted her.”

“She did, but she doesn't ride as well as Amanda.”

“How do you know how well Amanda rides?”

“I was out in the yard holding my stomach and watching for the ambulance when she tore in here yesterday.” Leigh looked up at Chase from under her pink maid-of-honor Stetson. “She has the makings of a cowgirl, you know.”

“Yeah, right. I'm sure she'd give up her big paycheck in New York to come out and wrangle for the True Love.”

“You never know until you ask.”

Chase's stomach flip-flopped at the idea and he changed the subject. “Okay, Ry's best man will be on Mikey, right?”

“Right. He wanted Destiny, but forget that. He thinks he's a hotshot around horses, but he doesn't have a clue.”

“What's his name again?”

“Stewart. Stewart Hepplewaite. Now let's see.” Leigh tapped her finger against her chin. “We'll put Ry's stepmother on Bobby. He's steady. And Ry's mother on Billy.”

Chase forced himself to concentrate as she rattled off the rest of the horse assignments he was supposed to handle. He started toward the group of people on the lawn just as a collective gasp made him turn around to see what they were all staring at. He was nearly blinded by the reflected light coming off Gold Strike's saddle, headstall and breastplate as the big horse backed out of the trailer. But Leigh hadn't been entirely right about the horse jewelry. The trim on the leather wasn't silver. It was gold.

Chase chuckled and continued with his duties. As he was approaching Stewart Hepplewaite to give him the bad news that he'd be riding Mikey and not Destiny, Ry caught his arm.

“Did you see that s.o.b.?” he muttered.

“Meaning Whitlock,” Chase said, holding back a smile.

“He's trying to impress Freddy, and convince her she's making a mistake marrying me instead of him.”

Chase couldn't resist. “Think it's working?”

Ry scowled. “Oh, hell, of course not, but the guy's so damned irritating.” Ry lowered his voice. “I'd love to nail him for these ranch accidents, just for the pure satisfaction of it.”

“Just don't let the fact that he's a jerk get in the way of clear thinking, buddy. I hope it's him instead of somebody close, like Duane or Belinda. But that's not always the way things work.” He clapped Ry on the shoulder. “Time to mount up, bridegroom. Red Devil looks almost as antsy as you do, so be careful. We'd all hate to see you land on your butt during the ceremony.”

“If it happens, I'm blaming Whitlock. Between that gold tack and the shine on his teeth, he could signal passing aircraft. I'll be amazed if he doesn't spook somebody's horse.”

“Hey, you two, get a move on,” Leigh called over to them.

Ry glanced at Chase. “Okay, I'm going.”

“You could look a little happier about it,” Chase called after him. Then he went in search of Stewart Hepplewaite.

Twenty minutes later, the procession jingled and clopped down the road toward the homestead. The wedding would be late. Ry and Freddy led the way, so they wouldn't get too much dust on their wedding clothes. Leigh and Duane had set up the procession like a cattle drive, with each of them riding point. Curtis and Ernie manned the middle as swing riders, Davis and Rusty rode flank and Chase rode drag with Jack, behind the buggy. Belinda handled Clyde, the ranch's big draft horse, with ease. Between her and Dexter sat Chloe, whose tongue was hanging out, ears alert. Propped behind the seat was an easel and the framed lintel from the old homestead.

Chase had asked to be in the back, because he thought it was the safest place for Bart, who was laced into the cradleboard on his back.

Ahead of him Amanda rode next to Stewart Hepplewaite and the two of them were laughing and talking like old friends. Stewart was her kind of guy, no doubt, a polished New Yorker who could probably name every damn tune that had played on the radio the night before. Chase felt like strangling Stewart Hepplewaite.

Miraculously, the procession arrived without incident at the clearing where the homestead had once stood. Duane dismounted and set up the easel with the framed lintel propped on it. Positioning his horse beside the easel, the minister turned to face the group while Ry and Stewart Hepplewaite arranged their mounts on his left and Leigh guided her horse to the minister's right. The horses snorted and stamped some, but none of them acted up except Red Devil, Ry's big chestnut. He kept throwing his head back, and Chase wondered how long it would be before Ry caught it on the chin.

Freddy and Eb Whitlock moved to the back of the group, which assembled on either side of the clearing. Now that Hepplewaite was otherwise occupied, Chase maneuvered next to Amanda. Curtis untied his guitar from his saddle and began to play the wedding march as Freddy laid her hand on Eb's arm and they nudged their horses into a rhythmic walk.

Chase hadn't expected the ceremony to get to him, but his eyes began to burn and his throat closed up. He glanced at Amanda and discovered she was looking straight at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut by Gold Strike. Caught in the brightness of her blue eyes, he couldn't look away as Curtis played the final note on the guitar and Freddy and Ry began exchanging their vows.

Chase had attended a few weddings, mostly for truckers he knew. He'd always thought the language was ridiculous. Everyone knew people didn't stay married “until death do us part” anymore.

And yet...

This time, looking into Amanda's eyes, the words took on a luster he'd never heard. Maybe it was because he knew Freddy and Ry would make it. They had love and grit enough to last until death took them. And if one couple could make it...

Amanda's gaze softened, and Chase would have bet money she was thinking the same thing. Then she smiled, and that smile sent sunshine pouring into his aching heart. Maybe, just maybe...

A ripple of laughter from the group brought his attention back to the ceremony. He blinked, not realizing at first what had happened. Then he remembered Duane's instructions about tightening cinches. Apparently, Stewart Hepplewaite hadn't followed orders. As he'd leaned toward Ry to hand him the ring, his saddle had begun to rotate.

Everyone stared in mesmerized silence as Stewart clutched the horn and rode the saddle slowly down. Gravity pulled it toward the underbelly of the horse, which is where he would have ended up if Ry hadn't reined Red Devil in closer at the last minute, stopping the fall when Stewart was perpendicular to the ground.

Stewart landed with his head in Ry's lap.

T
HE LOOSE CINCH
ended the run of good luck. Red Devil tossed his head back for the hundredth time, but Ry's attention was on Stewart reclining in his lap and Red Devil knocked Ry's hat off. The hat spinning to the ground spooked Maureen, Freddy's mare, who reared, her hooves coming down on the easel holding the framed lintel.

Both Ry's mother and stepmother started screaming. That noise, added to the splintering of the easel, sent the minister's horse into a bucking fit that dislodged the minister, who slid from the horse's rump onto a small but very thorny hedgehog cactus. Chloe leapt from the buggy, her usual restraint destroyed, and raced around barking. Eb Whitlock spun in ineffectual circles on Gold Strike, seemingly unable to control the horse as sunlight flashed off the gold tack until Chase saw spots in front of his eyes.

Chase backed his horse away from the general pandemonium, not wanting to endanger Bart. But Amanda waded right in on Pussywillow. Chase watched in open admiration as she grabbed Gold Strike's bridle and halted the palomino's spin. Chloe miraculously obeyed Amanda's command to return to the buggy, and then Amanda worked side by side with the cowhands soothing mounts and reassuring edgy riders.

Eventually, Stewart was sitting upright on Mikey once more, the ring was placed on Freddy's finger, and the minister, who chose to stand, pronounced them husband and wife. They kissed as passionately as their restless mounts would allow, and Curtis played a recessional as they straggled back to the ranch house, the minister riding high in his stirrups for the duration of the trip.

By the time they returned, the clearing around the ranch house looked like a used-truck lot. Ranching friends from all over the valley had arrived for the reception, and they crowded around to congratulate the bride and groom. Chase reined his horse past the well-wishers and headed for the hitching post. Bart was beginning to fuss.

As Chase dismounted, Amanda rode up on Pussywillow. “I'll take him now,” she said, swinging down and tethering Pussywillow.

Chase eased the leather straps off his shoulders as she stood behind him to take the cradleboard. “Got him?”

“Yes.”

“I think he's getting hungry.” Chase turned. “If you'll hold him, I'll unlace this thing. I don't think you want to try and carry him through that mob still strapped in.”

“Probably not.” Amanda held the board steady while Chase pulled the laces free. “He was good though, during the ceremony. I was afraid he'd cry and spoil it.”

Chase laughed as he pulled Bart from the wrapped blanket. “And goodness knows, we wouldn't have wanted to spoil the ceremony. It was so picture perfect.”

Amanda chuckled. “Can you believe the way Stewart slid around into Ry's lap? What an idiot.”

“I don't think he tightened his cinch, do you?” Chase said with a grin as he hoisted Bart to his shoulder. Life was turning out pretty well, after all.

“Nope.” Amanda's eyes brimmed with merriment. “I wouldn't have missed that wedding for the world. What a hoot.”

“Sure was.” He couldn't stop gazing into her eyes. “You did a great job settling people down. Leigh must be right. She predicted that you'd make a good cowgirl.”

“Did she?” Amanda looked pleased, and his hopes soared higher. “Coming from Leigh, that's a big compliment.”

He hesitated. “Amanda, we need to talk. I—”

Bartholomew's cry interrupted him.

“We'll talk,” Amanda said. “Later.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes.” She held out the cradleboard. “Trade you.”

He held Bart in one arm and took the cradleboard with his free hand. “I'll be waiting.”

“Me, too.” Then with a smile that turned his insides to mush, she took the baby from him and left.

* * *

A
MANDA KEPT EXPECTING
the wedding reception to wind down, but the party seemed to gain momentum as afternoon turned into evening. Freddy and Ry showed no signs of leaving on their honeymoon—a week in the pine forests of Mount Lemmon, little more than an hour's drive away. The guests obviously felt that as long as the bride and groom remained, the party should continue in full swing.

Amanda surveyed the patio, proud of the way everything looked and her part in making it that way. While strolling
mariachis
played, people ignored the heat, drank beer and margaritas and ate Belinda's food as if no one even considered the possibility of food poisoning. Yet Amanda couldn't help wondering if they would be so unconcerned once they'd heard the gossip that would inevitably spring up surrounding yesterday's disaster. A rumor of food poisoning in one New York restaurant had damaged its reputation beyond what any of her ad campaigns had been able to repair. She didn't want that happening to the True Love. She had to admit her growing fondness for the place, or maybe it was the tall cowboy who was one-third owner she was growing fond of.

Bartholomew seemed to enjoy the color and activity of the party. She alternated between putting him in his carrier, where he sometimes dozed off, and holding him. She slipped into Freddy's office twice to feed him, but otherwise she kept him in the thick of things. He acted like a magnet for the guests, and nearly everyone came by to admire and coo. Everybody except Chase, that is. But that was okay. The promise of talking to him before the day ended shone like a beacon for Amanda. She hadn't been mistaken. The wedding ceremony had stirred him as much as it had her. Whatever misunderstanding had caused him to stomp off this morning would be ironed out.

Not that the problems would end there. She'd decided to tell her family about Chase, but she didn't expect them to react well. And the logistics of a future relationship would be tricky, unless Chase agreed to the plan she'd dreamed up this afternoon. She could hardly wait to tell him about it. And then there was the medallion. She'd finally figured out where she'd seen one like it.

Duane came by her table, a beer in one hand and an empty coffee can in the other. “Havin' fun?”

“Yes, I am,” she said with a smile.

“Jest wanted to thank you for helpin' with the commotion out there.” He angled his head in the direction of the road to the old homestead. “Didn't know you was so handy with horses.”

“I'm glad I could help.”

“You recall how Red Devil was tossin' his head?”

Amanda nodded. “He's pretty high-spirited.”

“Not that high. When we took off his bridle, we found a big old burr under there. Must've been drivin' him crazy.”

“That was unlucky.”

“More'n unlucky.” Duane scowled and spat a stream of tobacco into the coffee can. “That don't happen ‘round here. The hands are real careful about stuff like that.” Duane eyed her. “I think some low-down snake put it under there on purpose.”

“You mean as a wedding prank?”

“Maybe more'n a prank.” He gave her a dark look. “Did Chase tell you about what's been goin' on?”

“No.” She grew uneasy. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Duane nodded and glanced away. “Guess he didn't want to worry you none.”

Alarm ran through her and she thought immediately of the snake under her bed. “So what is going on?”

“I'd best let Chase tell you.” Duane reached out and wiggled Bartholomew's foot. “See you later, cowpoke.”

“Duane—” She closed her mouth as he walked away resolutely. Now she had a second reason to talk to Chase. If this place was booby-trapped, she wanted to know it. She had a child to protect.

* * *

C
HASE LOVED HIS SON
, but the more he thought about this critical talk with Amanda, the more he wanted to have it without the distraction of a baby. He studied the situation in the patio and finally approached Belinda, tossing his empty beer can into a bin of recyclables on his way.

She glanced up with a twinkle in her eye. “I hope all the festivities are giving you ideas, Chase.”

He grinned at her. “Could be, Belinda. Matter of fact, I'm here to ask a favor. I need to talk to Amanda alone, and I wondered if you'd watch Bart for a little while. Last time I checked, he was sound asleep, so I don't think he'll be much trouble.”

“That little baby would never be too much trouble. Dexter's been wanting to see him. I'll take Bartholomew over and sit with Dexter and Chloe for a while.”

“That's only if it's okay with Amanda. I haven't asked her yet.”

Belinda smiled, and for a moment she looked like a young girl again. “You leave her to me. I'll set it up. Where would you like her to meet you?”

Chase sorted through the possibilities. Guests clustered everywhere—the patio, the main room of the house and the front porch. “Out in back, I guess, just beyond the gate. I'll wait for her,” he said.

“How romantic. I'll send her out to you.” Belinda turned and headed for the table where Amanda sat talking to Ry's mother.

Chase mentally crossed his fingers and strode toward the back-patio gate. On the way he tried to figure out what to say to her. The word
love
buzzed around in his brain like a honeybee. He wasn't sure he was ready for that word yet, but he was ready to tell Amanda that she meant a lot to him and that he didn't want to lose her. He wondered if he'd have the nerve to ask her to stay in Arizona. Leigh thought he should. Maybe there was work in her field in Tucson. She'd seemed pleased about being called a cowgirl. She got along with everybody. Maybe she was beginning to like it here, and if not, he'd make love to her so often, she wouldn't have time to think about where she was living.

He glanced up at the sky as he slipped through the gate, leaving it open a couple of feet. A few clouds remained clustered around the mountains, and once in a while they'd light up as if somebody had turned on a switch inside them. But it didn't look as if it would rain tonight, after all. Selfishly, Chase was glad. It gave him this chance to be outside in the warm summer night, waiting for Amanda. He moved into the shadows near the thick adobe wall. The laughter and music from the reception breached the wall, but the adobe buffered the noise just enough so that he and Amanda would be able to talk.

The trouble was, when she opened the gate and stepped through, with moonlight gilding her hair as she glanced around for him, he no longer wanted to talk. “Over here,” he said, his voice stretched as tight as the fabric of his jeans. He stepped from the shadows and she came toward him, moving quickly.

When she was within reach, he pulled her close with a groan, his mouth seeking hers. He thought his chest would explode when he realized she was grabbing at him with an equal hunger, her fingers digging into his back, her pelvis pushing hard against his erection.

He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, the curve of her throat. “I need you, Amanda.”

“I need you, too,” she whispered desperately. “Why did you get so angry with me this morning?”

“It was stupid.” He leaned down and kissed the swell of her breasts above the scooped neckline of her dress. “When you told me how good I was, I thought you only wanted me for sex, like every other woman I've ever taken to bed.”

“Oh, Chase.” There was amusement in her voice as she stroked his hair. “You thought I considered you a sex object?”

“Something like that.” He unfastened the top two buttons of her dress and slipped his hand beneath her bra.

“And you wanted me to think of you as more than that.”

“Yes. I—” As he stroked her warm breast heavy with milk, he lost his train of thought and picked up a new one. “Ah, Amanda, you feel like silk. Let's forget about the reception. I'll get Bart and we can head back to the cottage.”

She arched against his palm. “What if I feel like a sex object?”

“It's not like that, and you know it.”

“I do?” she said softly.

His hand stilled and he gazed into her eyes. “I don't know if I can be any good at this, but I...want to work something out. I want to be with you...somehow.”

“That's an interesting thought.” Her lips curved. “Half-formed, but interesting.”

“I'm glad you think so.” He massaged her breast and leaned down to nibble at the corner of her mouth. “Now let's go get Bart and head for the cottage so we can work out the details.”

“You know if we do that we won't work out any details, and we have so much to talk about, so much we don't know about each other.” She slipped her fingers under the chain around his neck. “Like this. Where did you get it?”

He lifted his head to gaze down at her. “Not from some other lover, if that's what you're worried about.”

“Considering your independent nature, I didn't think so, either. Did the medallion belong to your mother?”

He released her and stepped back, suddenly wary. “Why?”

“Because if it did, I might know where it came from. My mother has one just like it. It was a citizenship award in eighth grade from a school in Brooklyn. She told me once that there's also a plaque at the school with the name of everyone who's ever won that award.”

His chest tightened. When he was younger, he'd wondered what the little medallion meant and why his mother's name was inscribed on the back, but as he'd grown older, he'd just accepted it as the only part of her he had left. At fifteen, he'd bought a chain for it and he'd become so used to feeling its weight around his neck, he'd forgotten it was there.

When he started to speak, he realized his throat had seized up on him. He cleared it and tried again. “I...I guess that would be nice to know. Where it came from, I mean.”

She grabbed his arm. “It could mean more than that. Maybe that school is a place to start, a way to find her.”

He glanced away from the excitement in her expression. “Maybe. I know you want the information for Bart's sake, but I—”