Authors: Kay Springsteen
"Leaving here when he was a boy cost him
more than he'll admit. He thinks no one knows how much he still
hurts over that. When my son loves someone, it's a hundred percent.
He'll give up anything for the folks he loves, even his life if
it's needed."
Sandy drew in a tremulous breath as she
absorbed the meaning of Justin's words. Ryan held nothing back when
he loved someone. She knew that already; it was one of the things
she found most frightening. "He could have died today—when he saved
me."
Justin nodded, puffed on his cigar. "We lost
his mother when he was twelve." Sadness at the memory still colored
Justin's voice. "The boy was always mature, always the big brother
looking out for Sean. But losing his mother the way he did made
those instincts stronger."
"What happened?"
"It was branding season," said Justin. "The
whole outfit was up in the open range. Back then, three ranches
around here were all working together in a co-op. It was the only
way the smaller ranches could compete with the big-time
operations."
Justin sipped his lemonade. Absently, he
rubbed a hand across his chest as though soothing an aching
heart.
"My Bethany wasn't born to ranching but she
took to it. She could ride, pull a calf when its ma couldn’t get
the job done, round up the bulls, even rope calves with the best
cowpokes. She hated branding, called it cruel. But she understood
the need. I met her when she was up visiting her half sister,
Alice. We got married a month later."
Sandy blinked. "Alice MacKay?"
Justin nodded, took another drink. "The
same. Back then, Brody MacKay and I were part of the co-op, along
with Colton Ford, Senior. Beth and Ford went off after some cows in
the woods. When Beth's horse showed up and she wasn't on him, I
sent Ryan to look for them."
Justin stopped talking. He looked out at the
ruined field but Sandy realized he was seeing something entirely
different. His smile was sad, and he sighed deeply.
"Lot of spring rain and flash floods up
there." His voice took on a distant quality, as if his memory of
that time hadn't faded at all. "The creek was running real high.
Beth must have fallen or gotten off her horse. She ended up holding
onto a dead tree branch to keep from getting washed into the creek.
Ford was working at getting her out. Ry came on them both in time
to see Ford slip. They were both holding on but the branch was
breaking." Justin shook his head. "He was only twelve. I should
have gone, not him."
"He tried to save them. . ." she
guessed.
Justin nodded. "According to Ry, Beth knew
she wasn't going to get out of there. She told him she loved him.
She told him to tell Sean she loved him and to be good, and she
told him—" Justin's voice cracked and he drew a heavy breath. "She
told him to tell me I was the only man she'd ever loved. She held
on long as she could but the end of the branch snapped off and she
just washed away."
"Oh, Ryan," whispered Sandy, thinking of the
little boy. "What happened to Mr. Ford?"
"Ford knew Ryan couldn't save him so he
chose to save my boy—told him to get back off the muddy riverbank
and when Ryan did, Ford just let go. Took us four days to find
their bodies. They washed up some miles downstream."
White-hot pain seared into Sandy's
heart.
"Alice blamed us all for her sister's death.
Brody seemed to feel the same. Truth is, I always felt a little
like Brody wished he'd met Beth first so maybe he felt her loss a
bit harder. And Bull, well, he never needed a reason to hate Ryan.
He just did from the day Ryan was born. But McKays have full-on
hated McGees ever since that day we lost my Beth. All except the
younger McKay boy, Mac. He looked up to Ryan. My son was always
kind to him, patient with his tendency to stutter. So Mac—he
refused to hate anyone. Was always sneaking over here to see Ryan
even though he was a couple years younger."
"What about the Fords?"
"Ford's wife, Kendra, just stepped up and
took over running the ranch with her children, Colt Junior and his
little sister, Livvy."
Justin's blue eyes regarded Sandy over the
rim of his nearly empty glass. "There's more to the story about the
sorrow between Ry and the McKays, but that's for him to tell. The
thing is, if you're with him, you're taking on a huge grudge. And
it runs deep."
"I love him," Sandy repeated.
"And I can see that runs deep, too," said
Justin. "On both sides."
"Your boys are Alice's nephews," she
whispered. "They're Bull's cousins."
Justin nodded. "Hard to figure, isn't
it?"
Sandy stood. "Thank you for telling me. I
wish I could stay but I have to get to work. Ryan's, um, well, he's
likely to be mad because I left him sleeping."
Justin's eyes twinkled. "Without a doubt."
He reached for a box sitting on the porch next to him. "This here's
a two-way radio. We use them a lot now. All the ranches out here.
This is set to Cross MC frequency." He changed the setting. "This
here's the direct line to the sheriff's base."
Justin touched her on the arm. "My boy had
some bad moments today. We all saw it. He's not right unless he
knows you're safe. I'm thinking you can carry this when you're out
riding, and even keep it in the truck. There's a dock for it up
above the windshield. Those cell phones don't get a lot of service
out here."
Sandy accepted the radio with hands that
weren’t quite steady. "Thank you."
Justin tossed her the keys to his truck.
"Tell my son to bring you to dinner this Sunday. We'll
barbecue."
****
Mel popped her head out the back door of the
bar just as Sandy was exiting the bright red pickup.
"The whole town knows
about the fire. Don't even think about pulling a disappearing act
until you tell me about it," warned the younger woman. Then her
eyes widened. "Are you driving Justin McGee's truck? He must
really
like
you!"
The sound of something striking the ground
drew Sandy's attention and she stooped to retrieve a long-handled
screw driver. Standing up, she tucked the screwdriver into the tool
belt slung on the hook just behind the seat, then closed the door
to the cab with a thunk.
"He's letting me use it until mine comes
back from impound. I'm just going to run upstairs and put on my own
clothes. I promise I'll be right back."
Mel wagged a finger. "Okay, obviously you
are ignorant of the rules. You can't use words like 'impound' and
'own clothes,' and think you're going to just walk away from the
conversation."
Sandy sighed. "Melanie, the last thing I
would dream of doing is walking away from filling you in on all the
gossip of the past," she checked her wristwatch, "eight-and-a-half
hours. Just let me put on something I can work in. Something not
screaming look at me, I just had my clothes ripped off during wild
animal sex and had to wear my boyfriend's clothes home, okay?"
When Mel's mouth formed an O, Sandy grinned
and galloped up the rest of the steps.
****
Sandy quickly changed into a loose-fitting
filmy dress in a random pattern of black and tan swirls. She
double-checked her makeup in the mirror, forcing herself to loosen
up, then to stand up straight. She checked her expression. Tonight,
she could show no weakness.
The look of utter shock on Mel's face told
Sandy she had, at least in part, met her objective.
"I'm going to want overtime if I have to
work through another of your shifts so you can have a hot date,"
Mel murmured when Sandy took up her position behind the bar.
Sandy sighed and pouted. "No hot date
tonight. He probably won't wake up for another few hours."
Mel raised an eyebrow and spread her hands
in an expectant gesture. "Don't you have some details you'd like to
share?"
"You sound like you already know." Sandy
picked up the bar rag and began wiping the spotless bar down just
to keep her hands occupied.
"Only as told to me by Sarah Jessup, who
heard them from Mamie Schmidt, who got the stories from Gloria
Pratt and Walter Blackstone. I'm sure there are details you can
fill in."
Sandy shook her head. Gotta love small town
grapevines.
Mel gave her full attention while Sandy
recounted the events of her very busy day. "So, since my truck is
considered evidence, Mr. McGee is letting me borrow his for a
while."
"Wow," Mel whispered.
Sandy shrugged. "It does seem like a lot
happened in the past twenty-four hours, doesn't it?"
Mel regarded Sandy with exaggerated
admiration. "I was just thinking most teenagers would envy your
story telling skills. You got through your story without one
mention of the hot sex I know you've been having with Ry
McGee."
"Oh, that."
"Oh, that?" mocked Mel.
"What's the matter, does he come up a little . . . um,
short
in that
department?"
Sandy cringed at the pun, felt the heat in
her face kick up a notch. "As far as I know, he's not short in any
area, but, um . . . honestly, I don't have firsthand knowledge of
that particular, um, trait."
"Right." Mel chuckled. Then she peered more
closely into Sandy's face. "Seriously? No knowledge?"
Sandy tossed the bar rag into the sink and
shrugged. "None," she confirmed over her shoulder, as she ambled
casually toward the juke box, with a snigger for the incredulity on
Mel's face.
****
An insistent chime drilled its way deep into
Ryan's brain via his audio nerve. He couldn't reach the cell phone
to turn it off, but covering his head with the pillow only muffled
it and had the added disadvantage of suffocating him. When Ryan
tossed the pillow aside in irritation, waves of searing agony bored
through every nerve in his left arm up to his neck and down to his
fingers. The pain was the only thing keeping him from murdering the
cell phone.
Definitely not the best way to awaken from a
pleasant slumber after the most pleasurable massage Ryan had
experienced in his life. Sandy's soft hands had been pure magic as
she'd worked at the knots of tension in his shoulders and back. He
would have gladly given the same treatment back, eased some of the
stress he knew she felt. But when she'd finished, she'd simply lain
at his back and held him to her, cocooning him with her warmth and
humming softly. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world
to fall asleep in her caring arms and he'd allowed himself to drift
with thoughts of forever floating through his mind. When he
discovered the other half of the incredible experience was no
longer in his bed, disappointment edged in. When he found the note
telling him to rest and she would see him the next day, panic and
annoyance battled each other for residence in his gut.
What was she doing? Independence or not, why
would she even think of leaving the safety of the ranch?
Why had she left him?
He cursed. The words echoed across the room.
So they hadn’t talked. They would and she'd known that. They'd had
an understanding. He was certain of it.
Driven by urgency, Ryan grabbed the first
shirt and jeans he laid his hands on, hopping around his bedroom as
he struggled to get into them one-handed. He had to do something to
control that pain. He fastened the jeans then stomped into the
bathroom. He pulled open the door to the medicine cabinet and
grabbed the bottle of aspirin, swallowing twice the recommended
dosage, and hoped it would take the edge off the molten agony
currently reminding him of the danger they were all in. The danger
Sandy was in.
Tossing the rest of the water into the sink,
Ryan set the plastic cup to the side. He returned the aspirin
bottle to the cabinet and swung the door shut. Hard green eyes
stared at him from the mirror. If anything happened to Sandy, he'd
kill Bull, slowly and painfully.
Ryan slid his watch onto his left wrist,
grabbed his wallet and car keys off the dresser, and as an
afterthought opened his cell phone to see who had called. He
frowned at the L.A. area code. Joe—again. Well, Ryan no longer gave
a flying hoot about a woman who had disappeared and obviously had
no desire to be found. He shoved the phone into his pocket.
He smelled the cigar smoke when he hit the
door to the porch.
"Evening," his father greeted easily.
"You let Sandy leave." Ryan tossed the words
at his father without stopping.
"Was I supposed to stop her?" Justin calmly
surveyed his son.
Ryan paused his forward momentum. "Yes.
She's safe here."
A pained expression crossed Justin's face
and he slapped at a mosquito on his neck. "She's got a business,
boy. She has to tend to it or she won't have it long."
"She needs to be safe—I need her to stay
safe." Ryan moved toward his car.
His father's quiet voice stopped him. "Ry, I
haven’t been in a position to give you advice in a lot of years, so
maybe you'll think it's late for me to be starting now." Justin
waited for Ryan to meet his eyes. "Maybe if I'd spoken up more when
you were younger, things would be different. But I can't change the
past. I can see you love this gal." Justin pulled out a cigar,
studied it, then slid it back into his pocket.
Not caring that he showed his impatience
this time, Ryan jiggled his car keys.
"Son, you came home missing something. Or
maybe missing someone. Did you go looking for what you're
missing—maybe hoping to find it in Miss Sandy?"
The car keys fell to the porch with a clink.
Frowning, Ryan stooped to retrieve them. Only the fear that echoed
his father's kept his anger at the invasive nature of the question
in check. Still, he couldn’t keep the chill out of his voice. "She
say something to you?"