The Drifter (10 page)

The long ride back to the ranch gave her a lot of time to think, and her thoughts weren't cheerful ones. She cringed at the knowledge that at one time, she'd been ready to deprive Chase of his son, the bundle riding trustingly like a little papoose on his back as they made their way down the canyon. She'd awakened to the realization that to take a man's child away would be unfair in most cases, but particularly unfair to a man who'd never had any family. She could see now that he'd avoided connections because he didn't believe people would honor those connections. Which would make him all the more determined to honor his to this child he'd fathered. Somehow she would keep her part of the bargain and bring father and son together as often as possible, no matter what the cost to her own aching heart. She feared she was falling in love with a man who didn't believe it could happen.

They were about a mile from the house when they heard the siren.

Chase straightened in his saddle and Bartholomew's eyes snapped open. “Amanda!” Chase called back to her. “Do you see smoke?”

“No!” Her heart began to race. She didn't know the people at the ranch well, but in the short time she'd been there, she'd come to care very much what happened to them. “What could be wrong?”

“I don't know. I hope it's not Dexter.” His voice was tight with worry. “Listen, I can't ride any faster than this with the baby on my back, but you can. Go on ahead. Maybe they need an extra hand with whatever's happening. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

She didn't need any more urging. Digging her heels into Pussywillow's ribs, she leaned forward and clucked her tongue at the little mare. Pussywillow shot ahead of Chase. Amanda anchored her hat on her head with one hand and moved as one with the galloping horse. She'd never wish problems on anyone at the ranch house, not even that pesky Ry McGuinnes, but oh, it was glorious to have a legitimate reason to ride full tilt up the lane. The bonds of responsibility that had begun to chafe her soul loosened temporarily, and she longed to shout with the joy of release.

* * *

C
HASE WATCHED
in amazement as Amanda hurtled down the road ahead of him as if she'd been launched from a slingshot. He hadn't taken her comments about her riding skills very seriously, but he could see now that the woman was a natural. Why she'd chosen to spend her life in a stuffy office when she could ride like that was beyond him.

The whine of the siren died down, and he figured whatever the emergency vehicle was, it was sitting in front of the ranch house right now. God, he hoped it wasn't Dexter. Belinda swore he'd outlast them all, especially because he walked all the way to the main road every day to get the mail. “That's more walking than any of the rest of you cowboys get,” Belinda often said. “And he's eating chicken while you stuff down the steak. His heart's in great shape.” Chase sure hoped so. He'd broken one of his cardinal rules and allowed himself to grow very fond of old Dex.

Yet when he trotted Mikey up to the front of the ranch house, paramedics were loading someone into the back of a Rural-Metro ambulance. And Belinda was climbing in after the stretcher.

Heart thudding with dread, Chase nudged Mikey into a trot and arrived at the back of the ambulance before the paramedics closed the doors. “Belinda?”

She turned, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Chase had to work to get the words out. “Is it his heart?”

Belinda shook her head. “They don't think so. They think it's something he ate.”

“Stomach hurts!” Dexter bellowed from inside the ambulance.

“What the hell?” Chase peered at Belinda.

Belinda swallowed. “The paramedics think we all have...food poisoning.”

“Excuse us,” said a paramedic as he closed the back doors of the ambulance and blocked Chase's view of Belinda and Dexter. “We need to get going.”

Food poisoning?
Chase stared after the ambulance as it started out of the driveway, red dome-lights whirling. Belinda ran a spotless kitchen. She boasted that the board of health sent restaurant owners to see her if they couldn't figure out how to keep their facilities clean, and Chase personally knew of a time a restaurant owner had come out to the True Love for that very purpose.

Maybe Dexter had some other problem, Chase thought as he dismounted by the hitching post where Pussywillow was tethered. Amanda was nowhere in sight. After tying Mikey's reins to the post, Chase adjusted the shoulder straps on the cradleboard and started toward the house. A stepladder stood on the porch, and a strand of tiny white lights hung from the rafters, as if someone had been stapling the lights across the length of the porch and had taken a break.

Inside, the main room was deserted, as well as the patio. Chase glanced into the dining room and found a sight he'd never seen before. Dirty dishes from lunch remained on the tables at nearly two in the afternoon. That never happened. The whole place had a ghost-town feel about it.

“Amanda!”

She appeared from his right, coming from the hall that led to the guest rooms. “Chase, thank God you're here! Everyone has food poisoning.”

“Everyone?”

“Except Belinda, because she was too busy to eat lunch. At least that's how the paramedics diagnosed the situation. I called the board of health and someone's coming out to test the food that was served, but the symptoms are typical—stomach cramps, vomiting. Belinda called an ambulance for Dexter because she didn't want to take any chances, and because she feels so responsible, I guess. That kitchen is her whole identity.”

“I know.”

“Here.” She walked around behind him. “Let me help you with the cradleboard and I'll tend to Bartholomew while you call Duane down at the stables.”

Chase lifted the straps over his arms as Amanda relieved him of the weight of the board and Bartholomew. “Are the hands all sick, too?”

“Freddy doesn't think they will be because they didn't eat the same thing for lunch that people at the main house did. And somebody has to finish cleaning and decorating for the wedding tomorrow.”

Chase turned back toward her. “Are you feeling okay? Our lunch came out of that kitchen, too.”

She'd laid the cradleboard on a leather sofa to unlace it. She glanced up into his eyes and looked away again just as quickly. “I'm fine, but it's nice of you to ask.”

It had been his first thought. His second had been that if she got sick, she might pass the problem on to Bart through her breast milk. But her welfare had been his first thought. The realization stunned him.

“I guess the sandwiches we took didn't have anything in them that was contaminated,” she said as she pulled a wiggling Bartholomew out of his swaddling blanket. “Unless you're feeling sick?”

Not from the food,
he thought. “No, I'm fine, too. I guess we shouldn't feel lucky, but I'm glad we weren't here for lunch. So everybody's down and out?”

“Everybody.” Amanda stood and held Bart against her shoulder. “Freddy asked me to go check on the wedding guests for her, because she and Ry are in no condition to do it. I'd just finished making sure nobody wanted a doctor when you called to me.”

“How about Leigh?”

“Leigh seems to be hit pretty bad. Apparently, she stuffed herself at lunch, claiming she had to keep up her strength for all the decorating. Even the maids and the handymen are done for. They all went home. The paramedics seem to think everyone will be okay in the morning, but we can't wait until then to finish the work. It's up to you, me, Duane and the rest of the hands.”

“Then I'd better go call him.” Another mysterious disaster, Chase thought as he headed for Freddy's office. He wondered if Eb Whitlock had been around today. Later he'd ask. He couldn't believe that Belinda would be behind something like this, but Duane had been spared the ordeal. Chase wondered if that was a bit too convenient. Then again, maybe this was just an accident. Everyone had been busy getting ready for the wedding. Maybe Belinda's quality control had slipped slightly, just enough to allow something in the kitchen to spoil.

Chase picked up the phone and dialed the number for the corrals. The main goal was to get ready for the wedding. It was the least he could do for Ry and Freddy. Then he realized that Amanda had sounded as if she planned to pitch in with everyone else. It looked as if she wouldn't be getting on a plane tonight, after all.

A
REPRIEVE
. Amanda wasn't sure what that would mean. Perhaps nothing at all. But the food-poisoning incident made it important for her to stay through tonight, and no one would expect her to leave first thing in the morning when the wedding was taking place. The soonest she'd be expected to fly out would be in the evening, after the reception. In the meantime, maybe she could find a way to convince Chase that she was no longer the snob that had stepped off the plane two days ago.

She and Chase divided up the duties. Because of her advertising and artistic background, Amanda volunteered to supervise three of the hands in completing the decorating of the patio and front porch. Chase would take the other four, including Duane, and direct them in the cleaning.

“It may not be up to Rosa's standards,” Chase said, “but we'll get the worst of it.”

The afternoon passed quickly. Chase brought the infant seat over from the cottage so Amanda could set Bartholomew in the shade while she moved around the patio with a critical eye. Chloe appeared soon after Amanda settled Bartholomew into the carrier and lay beside it, as if resuming her duties.

Amanda thought of the close bond between Dexter and the dog. She crouched and scratched behind Chloe's ears. “Dexter will be okay, Chloe,” she murmured. “He'll be back soon.”

The dog thumped her tail on the flagstone and looked up at Amanda with soulful eyes.

“I think Bartholomew needs a dog like you,” Amanda said. Then she wondered how on earth she'd accomplish that. Pets were banned in her apartment building.

Curtis, a tall blond cowboy who was one of the three assigned to Amanda, sauntered toward her. “What do you want us to do first, ma'am?” he asked.

“I guess we'll finish stringing the lights.” She stood, and in the process noticed Curtis casting an appreciative eye over her figure. She couldn't imagine what he found to look at. Her clothes were rumpled from her ride up the canyon, and she hadn't done anything with her hair except tie it back with the silk scarf. Her makeup was nonexistent by now. Yet Curtis seemed entranced.

With a mental shrug she turned her attention to the work at hand. “Let's start over there at the far end of the patio,” she said.

Curtis motioned to the other two cowboys, Rusty and Jack, and the work commenced.

Amanda liked the Mexican-fiesta motif that Freddy and Ry had planned to execute with tiny lights, large paper flowers and several colorful
piñatas.
When it came time to stuff the
piñatas
prior to hanging them, Amanda had to keep a close eye on Rusty and Jack to make sure they didn't eat too much candy while they worked. Curtis followed Amanda around with more devotion than Chloe had shown to Bartholomew. And although Curtis was handsome in a lean sort of way, Amanda felt not a twinge of attraction. That didn't seem to penetrate Curtis's romantic fog. In his eagerness to help, he accidentally stepped on one empty
piñata,
smashing it before its time.

Eventually, the patio was finished to Amanda's satisfaction. The folding tables and chairs were in place, each with a pottery
luminaria
anchoring a scarlet tablecloth. The paper flowers bloomed in several large baskets, and the
piñatas
danced in the breeze, ready for the moment when someone would swing a baseball bat at them and spill the contents onto the flagstone beneath. When darkness arrived, the area would wink with thousands of white lights.

Amanda picked up the infant seat with Bartholomew in it. He'd begun to squirm and make little mewling sounds that told her it was nearly time for him to nurse. “Okay, guys. Let's take a break,” she said. “I'll meet you on the front porch in twenty minutes so we can finish up that area, and then we'll be done.”

“I'll carry the baby for you, ma'am,” Curtis volunteered. “Just tell me where you're aiming to take him.”

“Thanks, but it's nearly his suppertime,” Amanda said.

“Oh.” Curtis flushed. “Then let me get the door for you.” He opened the French door into the main room of the house.

She had to assume word had gotten around the ranch that she and Chase weren't formalizing their relationship and she was therefore a free agent. That would be the only explanation for Curtis's obvious interest, considering Chase was his boss. “Thanks, Curtis,” she said, choosing not to smile and encourage him any further.

“You're welcome, ma'am.” Curtis touched the brim of his hat. “I'll see you on the front porch in a little bit.”

“Right.” She turned and walked into the room to be greeted by the sight of Chase, his legs planted apart, his fists on his hips and his expression grim beneath a hat pulled dangerously low over his eyes. The effect of outraged manhood was marred slightly by the feather duster he clutched in one big hand. Amanda pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

“What's Curtis so chummy about?” Chase asked.

“He's a polite cowboy, that's all.” Amanda took Chase's show of jealousy as a promising sign. He couldn't be jealous if he'd shut off all his feelings for her.

“The way he looked at you as he closed the door was a darn sight more than polite, if you ask me.”

“I didn't,” she snapped, but his possessiveness felt wonderful. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find a private place to nurse Bartholomew.”

At that moment, Duane came into the room pulling a canister vacuum cleaner by the hose. The cord and plug snaked out behind. “I done the hall.” Duane waved the hose, to which was attached the slim tool used to clean crevices and baseboards. Amanda wondered what he could have accomplished using that narrow attachment. Duane shifted his chaw of tobacco to the other side of his lower lip. “What's next?”

Chase glanced around, looking somewhat bewildered. “Everything, I guess.” He made a wide sweep with the feather duster that took in the entire main room.

Amanda bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and wished she had a camera. The picture of her big, tough cowboy waving a feather duster through the air was priceless.

“If you say so.” Duane located an outlet and pulled the plug toward him as if reeling in a fish hand over hand. He shoved the plug into the outlet and the vacuum surged to life. Apparently, he felt using the on-off switch was wasted labor. Stooping down, he swung the crevice attachment across the tiled floor as if it were a metal detector.

Amanda glanced at Chase, who shrugged. Shaking her head, she walked over to him. “Hold Bartholomew for a minute.”

Chase stuck the handle of the feather duster in his back pocket and accepted the infant seat.

Amanda turned and approached Duane. “Can I make a suggestion?” When he didn't respond, she raised her voice. “Duane?”

“Huh?” He glanced up.

“Can I make a suggestion?”

Duane grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Shore!”

“Let's turn off the machine first!”

“Oh! Shore!” He grabbed the cord and yanked the plug from the wall in the same motion he might have used to tighten the noose on a steer's horns.

Amanda winced but said nothing about the wear and tear on the plug. This would probably be Duane's only experience with this vacuum cleaner. “Your method is great, but I'll bet there's a special attachment for these floors somewhere,” she began.

Duane took off his battered hat and scratched his head. “This here's the one that was on it. You mean there's another one?”

“Probably several more.”

“I'll be hornswoggled.” Duane repositioned his hat on his head. “What do you make of that, Chase?”

“It's not my area.”

“Mine, neither,” Duane agreed.

Amanda controlled her amusement with difficulty as she turned to Chase. “If you'll show me where the cleaning supplies are kept, maybe I can find the other attachments.”

“Okay. It's a storeroom just past the kitchen. I'll go with you.”

“What d'ya want me to do in the meantime, Chase?” Duane asked.

Chase held the infant seat firmly in one arm as he reached behind him for the feather duster. He tossed it end over end to Duane.

Duane caught it by the feathers and nearly choked on the black cloud of dust that flew out. “What do I do with this?”

Chase paused. “Use your imagination,” he said finally.

On the way through the dining room to the kitchen, Amanda could no longer control her chuckles. “You guys don't know the first thing about cleaning this place, do you?”

Chase looked offended. “Sure we do.”

“What were you using the feather duster for?”

He hesitated. “To sweep out the fireplace?”

Amanda nearly choked on her laughter. “Is that an answer or a question?”

“It worked,” he said with an air of injured pride.

“I imagine it did.” She stifled a giggle.

“Well, I sure couldn't handle the decorating part, and you couldn't do everything, so—”

“Chase, you're doing a fine job,” she said, suddenly contrite. “We're all managing the best we can, under the circumstances. By the way, I saw you talking to the inspector from the health department. What did she say?”

“It was the chicken soup.”

“You're kidding.” She held the swinging kitchen door open wide enough to accommodate Chase and Bartholomew in the infant seat. “Chicken soup is supposed to cure what ails you.”

“I know, but somehow Belinda brewed up a toxic batch. Everybody here had some. Belinda's famous for her chicken soup. She was planning to take a kettle of it down to the bunkhouse to feed the hands, but she didn't get around to it.”

“Lucky for us,” said a cowboy wearing a tea towel around his waist as he worked over a sinkful of suds. Nearby, a man with his stomach sagging over his belt buckle wielded a drying towel. Amanda had never seen kitchen help wearing Stetsons, but the men seemed to know what they were doing.

“That's Ernie up to his elbows in dishwater,” Chase said by way of introduction. “The guy drying is Davis.”

Davis nodded. “Ma'am.” Then he turned to Chase. “This food poisoning's going on the True Love's record. Think that's going to hurt business?”

“Let's hope not,” Chase said.

“Ernie here's been telling me about the True Love Curse,” Davis continued. “Guess I missed that story somewhere along the way, but it sure seems like the ranch has had a mess of accidents lately.”

“The True Love Curse?” Amanda glanced at Chase. “What's that?”

“An old wives' tale, most likely,” Chase said, sending a quelling glance in Davis's direction. “You know how superstitions get started. Come on, let's get those attachments for Duane.”

“Okay. Nice to meet you both.” She surveyed the clean dishes stacked on a large cutting board. One counter was filled with recently washed champagne flutes. “Keep up the good work.”

Chase inclined his head toward the flutes. “I told them to get those out and clean them.”

“Great idea,” Amanda said as they started down the hall toward the storeroom.

Chase grinned, flashing his dimple. “You mean I'm good for something?”

She caught her breath. She loved his smile, she realized, and she hadn't seen it nearly enough in the past two days. “You're good for many things,” she said.

“Oh, really?” His voice sounded a little richer, a little deeper.

Her heartbeat accelerated. “Really.”

“This door on the left is the storeroom.”

She opened it, found the light switch on the right wall next to the door and walked in. He came in behind her. She heard the door close as she walked over to a shelf of cleaning supplies. The scent of lemon oil permeated the windowless room, lined with shelves on all sides. Enticed by the privacy of the tiny space, she searched for the vacuum attachments with trembling hands. From behind her came a sound that could have been Chase setting the infant seat on the floor. Or it could have been Chase bumping his elbow against something on one of the shelves.

He came up behind her, too close to have Bartholomew still in his arms. “Care to expand on that last statement?”

She turned, a vacuum attachment clutched in each hand. “Where's Bartholomew?”

“Stuffed him in the mop bucket.”

She gasped.

“No, I didn't. Good grief, Amanda.” Chase swung aside to give her a glimpse of Bartholomew sitting in his infant seat on the tiled floor. “Seems to be having a great time examining his feet. He's fine.” He turned back to her and his gaze traveled over her face. “You, on the other hand, have a large smudge on your nose.”

She started to reach up with the back of her hand and he caught her wrist.

“Let me.” He brushed at her nose with two fingers, then chuckled as he looked at his soot-blackened hands. “Now your nose is really dirty.”

She remembered that soft chuckle, remembered the sound of it in her ear as he'd made love to her in the truck cab where they'd found themselves literally bouncing off the walls. “I always did have trouble keeping my nose clean,” she said.

He looked deep into her eyes. “Especially with jokers like me around.” He reached out and grasped the shelf behind her head with both hands, imprisoning her between his outstretched arms. His lips curved in a lazy smile. “I have to admit I hated it when Curtis looked at you like he was ready to take a bite.”

She lifted her face to his. “You did?”

“‘Fraid so. It doesn't speak well for my character, does it?” He leaned closer and his breath feathered her lips.

“Curtis means nothing to me.”

“But someday, some guy in New York might look at you that way, and he might mean something.” His lips hovered nearer; his eyes were half-closed. “I've never allowed myself to be jealous of anyone before. Now I can't seem to help it.” His voice roughened. “God, Amanda, you're tearing me apart.”