Cowboy Comes Home

“It’s not that.” Her eyes darted to his face. He was studiously slicing through his stack and didn’t look up. “We can be friendly, sort of. We just can’t be close. Not the way we used to be.”

He reached for the coffee, still too relaxed. “Why?”

She became very interested in chewing. He was stirring milk into his coffee, the spoon going around and around until she knew that he wasn’t as indifferent as he portrayed.

She hooked her feet on the chair rung. “Too much happened. And too much time has gone by.”

“But if we got it all into the open, wouldn’t that be better?”

“Not for me.”

Rio’s expression didn’t change, but she could tell he was disappointed in her. Join the club, she thought. I may not be much good for closure, but I’m an expert at cutting my losses and moving on.

He jerked the spoon from the mug. “Whatever you say, boss.”

RICHARD LENNOX HAD RUN a good-size herd of cattle back in the day, when the market had thrived and there’d been more than one cowboy in the bunkhouse. Lean years had cut the herd in half by the time Meg had been allowed to work the cattle alongside the men. After she’d gone and Rooney had passed away, the word around town had been that Lennox was a broken man. He’d reduced the herd even more and scraped by on his own. Sometime along the way, a large parcel of the ranch land had been sold.

What acreage remained was remote but prime, reaching as far as the mountains to the south and culminating in a small, deep canyon to the west. Meg could have made a nice sum by selling it, but she was her father’s daughter, likely to turn her nose up at the large ranch corporations or California tourists who’d be the buyers.

While much of the land was free range, the pastures closest to the house were strung with barbed wire. That meant a lot of fence to ride.

Rio could think of worse jobs. Plenty of them. Only months ago, he’d been stuck in a mountaintop outpost in Kunar Province, barely surviving the grinding heat and dust and stones while dreaming of the cold, clear Wyoming skies. Ten years away hadn’t made him forget what it was like to breathe air so pure you felt glad to be alive.

This morning, the wind sweeping off the mountains had a bite. He pulled up the collar of his jacket before returning a steadying hand to the reins. Meg had put him aboard her horse Renny, short for Renegade. The bay gelding had some age on him, but he’d capered like a two-year-old as they rode toward the foothills.

Clouds like thick cotton wadding moved slowly across the sky, hiding the sun. Rio remembered long hours spent down in a bunker while insurgents fired on the camp, the sun beaming relentlessly down on him and his infantry unit. In those hours, he’d often think of Meg. Happy and productive, he’d hoped, but maybe as lonely without him as he was without her.

The war had dragged on. He’d seen soldiers killed. More wounded. Many lost arms or legs. Eventually he’d come to understand that Meg was his phantom limb. A pain so real it woke him up at night.

At his discharge from the army, he’d overcome the temptation to search for her. He hadn’t considered that he’d find her right here, in Treetop, even though that made sense. They’d both returned like homing pigeons.

He studied the landscape that had once been so familiar, recognizing certain trees, particular rocks.

It seemed unbelievable that they were living on the ranch together. Except that the Meg he’d been remembering all this time was not the person she was now.

Would she become familiar again, too?

He wanted to relearn her, but she wasn’t ready to give him any specifics about what and where she’d been for the past decade, beyond a list of short-term jobs she’d held down. He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want to talk either, which was why he’d taken to writing as an outlet.

Still, this was only their second day together. They had time. And nothing to keep them apart, except fences of their own making. Which, Rio well knew, were the most insurmountable of all.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, he gripped a pair of pliers with a hand rubbed raw. Rookie move, forgetting his gloves. Wearing the proper gear was basic cowboy knowledge, but he hadn’t done ranch work in a long time.

He put some muscle into his task and stretched the broken wire taut, then attached it with an efficient twist to one of the extra lengths he’d brought along. That’d hold. Especially since he didn’t figure Meg would be running stock up here in the high pasture anytime soon.

He doffed his cap, an army-issue camo job, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It was past noon. The sun had risen above the clouds and was warm enough to heat the back of his neck. Renny nosed the dry grass, looking for green, tugging the reins as he stretched his neck toward a tempting mouthful.

The last thing he needed was to lose his horse, so many miles from the house. It’d be a long walk back. Meg would tease him mercilessly, probably bring up the last time his horse had arrived at Wild River an hour before him.

Might be worth it, he mused, to get her to remember—or rather, acknowledge—their history. She remembered; he knew she did. That was why she was being so standoffish.

Freeing the reins from the fence post, he led Renny along the fence line, coming to a section that was beyond spot repair. Rusty barbed wire lay in snarls in the buffalo grass, tangled in the branches of a fallen tree.

Sloop and Meg appeared on the rise, loping through the golden grass. The horse’s pale mane and tail made a bright flag in the sunshine. Meg sat astride, slim and quiet in the saddle. Rio’s gut tightened, the way it did when he watched a hawk soar above the mountains, or the sunset burn a line across the desert. She’d always been his own personal force of nature.

She pulled up alongside Renny. “Problems?”

He gestured at the downed fence. “I’ll have to move the tree, then run new strands.”

Meg flicked the reins against her mount’s neck to keep him from nipping at Renny. “All right.”

“Barbed wire is no good for horses.”

“Well, no. But I can’t afford board fences right now.”

“Maybe not up here, but how much grazing land do you need, with only three horses in the barn?”

“There will be more. Until then, I suppose the home pasture will do.”

“Then why’m I out here?” Rio caught the sheepish cast to her expression before she glanced away. “You were just trying to keep me busy,” he accused her.

She turned Sloop in a tight circle. “No…”

“You wanted me out of the way.”

“That’s not it,” she protested. With small conviction.

“My time would have been better spent in the barn. The feed room’s neglected. There’s enough space between some of the boards to see daylight.” He stowed the pliers and wire cutters in the saddlebag. “I won’t be much use to you if you can’t stand to have me around.”

“You’re wrong.” She’d never admit defeat. “It was just that the good weather won’t hold for long. I thought the fences should be taken care of first.”

“Busywork,” he groused, giving the weather-worn fence post a shove. It rocked. “You need new posts, too.”

“Next time I’m in town, I’ll price lumber. Maybe we can do the home pasture for now.” She looked relieved that he’d let her off the hook. “Anyway, I rode out to see if you were hungry for lunch.”

“That wasn’t necessary. I packed a sandwich and a thermos of coffee.”

Her eyebrows went up. “When did you manage that?”

“After breakfast. You were lurking on the back porch, trying to avoid me.”

“I was pacing, not lurking. I had a craving for a cigarette.” She wheeled Sloop around. “Leave this section for now. Just fix what you can.”

“Waste of time,” he called, forestalling her departure.

She glanced back. “What?”

“There’s no need to send me off to Outer Mongolia, Meg. I was planning to keep to myself anyway. When you want to be rid of me, all you have to do is say the word.”

She didn’t seem to know how to respond.

He lifted the second flap of the saddlebag and took out the thermos. “You could even safely share my coffee and sandwich, with no danger of camaraderie.” Let alone intimacy.

“I rode out here to be sure you got your lunch, didn’t I?”

“But I’ll bet you had no intention of eating any yourself. At least not with me.” He shook his head. “You’ve got to learn how to relax around me.”

Her lashes lowered. “I don’t seem to know how to treat you anymore. What do you suggest?”

“First off, don’t treat me at all. You’re thinking too much when you should be natural. Second, climb down off that horse and have a sip of coffee.”

“I’m weaning myself off caffeine,” she said, but she dismounted.

He tied Renny to the rickety post and strolled to an outcropping of rock and sagebrush. “You had coffee this morning.”

“I allow myself one cup with breakfast.” She smoothed her horse’s reins between her hands. “I gave up all my other vices—alcohol, cigarettes, swearing.”

Men, he silently added, though he didn’t know that for sure. He was guessing, by her antsiness around him, that she hadn’t been with a man for some time.

“How come?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Just had enough of them, is all.”

“I hope you weren’t sick.” She had the gaunt look of someone who’d been through the wringer, one way or another. He supposed he had the same look.

“Not exactly what you’d call—” She pressed her lips together. “You see? This is what I wanted to avoid. All this talk. The questions.”

“Uh-huh. And what sort of conversation would you prefer, ma’am? The common weather variety, I suppose.” He pointed to the sky. “Chilly and clear. Partly sunny, with intermittent clouds. It’s turned into a fine autumn day.”

She nudged at a mossy stone with the toe of her boot. “Go tell it to the Weather Channel.”

He screwed the top back on the thermos. The coffee had warmed him from the inside, the sun from the outside. Yet he was still cold. “It’s going to be a long winter, Meg.”

“It always is.”

“But with just you and me here, especially if you keep on acting so prickly…”

Sloop pulled on the reins, snatching at the grass. Absently Meg tugged back. Her eyes were narrowed on Rio’s. “What are you saying?”

“Ease up. Pull in the quills. I’m not an enemy.”

She shortened the reins, bringing the horse’s head up. Her face was unnaturally pale beneath the two spots of ruddy color in her cheeks.

“You know it,” he added. She had to. “You know me.”

“It’s been ten years.”

“Not that much has changed, no matter how long it’s been.” He wanted to shorten the distance between them, but it wasn’t going to be that easy. “You can trust me, Meg.”

She threw the reins around Sloop’s neck and reached for the stirrup. He admired her athletic grace as she swung her leg over the saddle. And, admittedly, her fine shape. Even skinny, she filled out her jeans very well.

“If you’re staying all winter,” she added. “I guess I’ll find out.”

He watched her ride away, loping again, faster than she should have, not looking back. He was satisfied with himself for making even a small amount of progress with her, until a disarming thought struck him.

Given what a large part of his life Meg had once been, there was the enormous likelihood that he’d be writing about her in a very intimate way. She wouldn’t like that. In fact, she’d hate it.

Yet he’d just said that she could trust him.

If the book deal went through, it would prove him to be a liar.

CHAPTER FOUR

MEG AND RIO SETTLED into a routine over the next several days, although she could never be entirely at ease with him. There were too many uncomfortable moments when their idle chitchat turned serious or old shared memories arose from some innocent remark. It seemed to her that their history lurked in the shadows, ready to spring up as suddenly and as lethal as a rattler.

Then there were the instances when Rio got too close physically. Meg was accustomed to avoiding the past. But practically living with a man, especially one as vital as Rio, was disturbing in an immediate way that was impossible to ignore.

She handled that by taking a big step back. Literally and figuratively, no matter how strong the temptation to succumb grew. Since the chemistry between them would always be there, she was counting on getting better with practice. Better at avoiding him. Stronger at resisting.

Not that Rio pushed. Or even tried. He hadn’t made a single move. He was, in fact, scrupulous about giving her the space she needed. Which was fine with her.

Until she began noticing that he seemed to want to keep away from her as much as she tried to avoid him.

That made her wonder.

Sure, he had reason. Not only had she left him, she’d been responsible for almost sending him to jail. But, amazingly, he didn’t seem bitter or angry. He’d practically ordered her to get more comfortable with him.

How could she when he never stuck around?

Every evening, for instance, he retreated to the bunkhouse right after supper. She was grateful at first. Then restless. And curious. There was nothing to entertain him in the cabin—not even a TV or radio. She’d offered to have the satellite-dish company come out to install a second receiver, but Rio had refused. He’d claimed he didn’t watch a lot of TV.

After a week, she’d mentioned that he could hang around after dinner if he liked. It wasn’t that she was looking for company, she’d justified to herself. The baseball playoffs would soon be starting and she’d felt obliged to offer since the Mariners were contenders and he’d once been a fan.

Again, Rio had said no. Then no to a movie on DVD, too. Even when she’d gone out of her way to choose one of the action flicks he’d once preferred.

After that, she was determined not to offer again.

Yet she couldn’t stop wondering what he did with himself. He didn’t drive into town, not even on Sunday, his day off. He’d barely put in an appearance at all that day, except when he’d asked to borrow Renny. He’d gone off on a horseback ride to Eagle Rock, a craggy point near the canyon they’d discovered as kids, pretending they were Lewis and Clark on expedition. He hadn’t asked her to go along, though of course she’d have declined if he had.

So, yeah. She was getting exactly what she’d thought she wanted.

“Great,” she said, standing at the stove scrambling eggs on the seventh day of October. The date was circled on the insurance company calendar she’d hung beneath her mother’s old cuckoo clock. “Just great. Yep. I am greatly relieved.”

At least she should be.

Rio let himself in the back door. “Talking to yourself is a sign of senility or loneliness, I don’t remember which.” He scraped his boots on the welcome mat. “What you need is a dog.”

“What you need is a hat,” she said, glancing at the reddened tips of his ears. “Aren’t you cold?”

He rubbed his hands together before crossing to the coffeemaker and pouring a cup. “I’ll get a hat if you’ll get a dog. Every ranch needs a dog.”

She thrust a plate of eggs and buttered English muffins at him. “A dog requires care and feeding. A hat is just a hat.”

“Except when it’s a cowboy hat. Should I get white or black?”

“Gray.”

“Spotted or solid?”

“Huh?” She pictured him in black-and-white cowhide. No way.

“Long hair or short?”

Her eyes went to Rio’s hair. The military cut was growing like stinkweed. The ends of his hair were already long enough to brush his collar. He looked more like the boy she remembered. Or maybe it was that she’d been getting used to the man he’d become, stranger though he’d remained.

“The dog,” he said.

“Right.” She forked up her eggs. Her appetite had improved. In the short time since Rio had moved to the ranch, she’d put on a pound or two. She figured that was just a by-product of feeling obligated to feed him well. Not anything to do with being happier. “I like mutts.”

“What size? You haven’t turned into the kind of girl who goes for an itty-bitty pocket dog, have you?”

She rolled her eyes. “You have to ask?”

His gaze lingered on the layered long-sleeved tees and favorite pair of Levi’s 501s that had practically become her uniform. “Guess not.”

She pushed away her plate with more force than necessary. “Today’s the auction.”

“I remembered.” She saw that he had. He was handsome in a fresh white shirt and practically new jeans. She did not let her gaze linger.

He indicated her almost-full plate. “Nerves took your appetite?”

“I don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

“No? Then I guess it’s only me.”

She frowned. Rio had always been the solid, silent type, but she didn’t remember him being so maddeningly obtuse. All week, he’d kept to himself, giving away nothing of his thoughts or plans.

How dare he follow her separation edict so strictly! If she hadn’t been so frustrated, she would have laughed at the irony.

Instead, she frowned more deeply. “What are you talking about?”

“You and me,” he said easily enough. “We’ll be out in public together for the first time since you hired me. Kind of a debut, you know?” Cocking his head to one side, he said, “We’ll be the center of attention.”

“Heaven forbid,” she said, but she wasn’t convinced. “You’re wrong. No one will care.”

Fortunately, the auction was in Laramie, over a hundred and fifty miles away. “As far as anyone’s concerned, we’re simply boss and employee, minding our own business.” They might run into acquaintances, but it wouldn’t be like parading down Range Street hand in hand, with everyone from her neighbors, the Vaughns, to the gang at Edna’s gawking at them.

Rio tossed off a cocky salute, a habit he’d taken to whenever she got to sounding too bossy. “Whatever you say, Sarge.”

She wrinkled her nose. “If you’re finished with breakfast, let’s go.” She cleared the table, scraping the dishes and leaving them in the sink instead of loading the dishwasher. “The riding horses won’t be on the block until the afternoon, but I want to get there early enough to inspect the available stock.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Young, green and cheap.” She wiped her hands on her back pockets. “Will you help? You always had an eye for horseflesh.”

His gaze had skimmed across her. Whatever he’d seen had made his eyes gleam like jet. “Sure, I’ll help.”

After the week together but apart, Meg felt good to have him look at her with some interest again. She stepped away quickly, before the urge to prolong the moment took hold. “Let’s get a move on. It’s at least a two-hour drive.”

THEY TOOK HER CAR. Meg kept the radio on for most of the drive, punching the buttons to switch stations whenever she became impatient. Rio teased her for the short attention span. She teased him right back for stabbing his left foot on the floor every time she zipped around a slow vehicle.

“You drive the same way you used to.” The car swerved. He made an exaggerated grab for the door handle. “I felt less at risk during a mortar attack.”

“Balderdash. I haven’t been in an accident in two years.”

“Two whole years, huh. That’s comforting, but…” He chuckled. “‘Balderdash’?”

“An experiment.” She lifted her chin. “Remember, I’m trying to cut down on the curse words. But there aren’t many options that don’t sound as corny as Nebraska. Horsefeathers, baloney, bull puckey.” She waved a hand at an approaching vehicle wavering toward the center line. “Golly gee, look at that jerkweed in the bat-rastard Jeep!” She scoffed. “You see? It’s hopeless.”

Rio shifted his legs. They were too long for the Camaro. “What’s with the self-improvement kick? No drinking, no swearing, no caffeine, no, uh, dates. Is it self-improvement or self-denial?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Not always.”

“Name a situation where it’s not.”

“Easy. I went to night school for eight years, off and on. I improved myself with no pain.”

“I don’t know about that.” She considered. “You gave up all your free time. That’s a denial.”

“Hmm. Maybe…”

“Damn straight.” She bit her bottom lip. “Oops. I meant darn tootin’.”

He laughed. “A few damns and hells don’t shock me.”

“I’m not doing it for you.”

His mouth canted. “Prickly.”

They rode in silence for a few miles before she cleared her throat. “Did you really do that? Get a college degree?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.”

He looked at her sidelong. There was a world of meaning in those two words, since she was the reason he’d forfeited his scholarship to college. By his reckoning, the delay had been worth it. Back then, he’d have done anything for her. Possibly he still would.

But did that include deep-sixing—or at least severely altering—his memoir?

“What did you study?” she asked. “I remember when you wanted to be a biologist.”

“I was seven. And into frogs.”

“After that it was a mechanical engineer.”

“Only because I thought that meant I’d design cars.”

“And you were going to be a baseball player, too.”

“Every kid has that dream.” He’d dropped the idea pretty fast when Billy Stone had turned nasty over his father giving Rio a baseball glove for his birthday, an extremely rare gift that neither boy had known how to handle. Billy had been chubby and awkward, without an athletic bone in his body. Being only a few years apart in age, they’d buddied around some as youngsters. As they’d grown older, Billy had become more competitive over his father’s limited time and attention.

“What about you?” Rio asked Meg. “I don’t remember you having a burning ambition for anything except leaving—”

Her wince stopped him short.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing.”

Burning ambition. Stupid choice of words, but apologizing would make it worse.

Although he sincerely doubted that it had been deliberate, the fire she’d set on the night she’d finally run away for good had burned the Vaughns’ old hay barn to the ground. Two squad cars and the volunteer fire department had shown up, along with half the town. Rio had turned himself in early that morning, when Deputy Sophie Ryan had come to the Stone ranch saying that he’d been spotted leaving the barn before the fire. No fool, the deputy had pressed Rio hard on the question of Meg’s whereabouts. He’d insisted he’d been the only one there.

They’d had no choice but to believe him, especially after he’d taken the deal the judge had offered at what was supposed to be his arraignment. The judge, a Stone family friend, had been pressured to hurry the case along…and keep the senator’s name out of it. Rio was given a choice. Join the army or face charges. For Meg’s sake, he’d capitulated. Even so, his downfall had been the talk of the town. In fact, given the pace of life in Treetop, the arson was probably still the most notorious crime in recent history.

“You never got to college?” he asked Meg.

“You know how I felt about school.” She thrust her head forward, her fingers tense on the wheel. She was speeding fifteen miles above the limit.

He returned to her question. “I went in planning to study business, but I came out with a degree in contemporary literature. My favorite class was creative writing.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not what you expected from a rank-and-file leatherhead?”

“Well, no. But I always knew you’d accomplish anything you set your mind to.” She gave him a pointed glance. “So how come you’re my stable hand?”

He shrugged. “Call it a holding pattern.”

“Holding for what?”

“I’m working on that.”

He didn’t want to tell her about the book. Not just because publication would prove him a liar. It was also her cynicism. And that she was holding back her own secrets.

But the main reason was that he’d only just begun to work his way into the project. It was still too private and new. For the past week, he’d been expanding the pieces he’d written as previous blog entries, trying to shape them into some kind of proposal for the publishers. He wasn’t convinced he had enough of a story to make a memoir beyond his experiences in Afghanistan, from brutal to banal.