Alice Sharpe - Cowboy Cavalry

She’d meant to grab the pack herself and gotten distracted by the dogs. She didn’t respond to his remark, just took the pack and moved off while he retrieved a small suitcase from his trunk.

As she approached the house, she heard the sound of moving water and unable to resist, walked along the path to a point where she could glimpse the moonlit river below. Its banks could be her salvation if she kept her mind on her priorities and goals.

“Kate?” Frankie said.

At the sound of his voice, she jumped about two inches into the air.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Huh? Oh, yes. It is,” she said and hoped he couldn’t hear her heart hammering in her chest.

“Do you like rivers?

“Why do you ask?” she said, startled.

She sensed as much as saw the rise and fall of his shoulders. “Oh, you know. Some people are into mountains and forests, others crave the desert sun, some like the water.”

She thought of Luke and the icy Bering Sea. “I guess I appreciate different things in all of them,” she said, looking up at his face. There was just enough light to see the curiosity at play in his eyes, curiosity she had no desire to arouse.

Or did she? When was the last time she’d felt as alive as right that moment? All day she’d been fighting a bone-weary fatigue except for the few hours spent in numb shock after discovering Dave Dalton’s body. Now, however, she was wide awake and most of that was because of what this river signified if she accomplished what she’d agreed to try. But she also knew that some of the way she felt was because of Frankie’s shoulder grazing her own.

Was she unconsciously soliciting his attention? Was this part of that urge she had to level with him? Why had this plan been so much easier in theory than it was turning out to be in reality? She stepped away from him, her backpack held in front of her chest like a shield. If he’d had X-ray vision what would he make of its contents?

“It’s getting late,” he said, touching her arm and sending a shiver straight to her spine. “Let’s see if anyone is still awake.”

She turned away from the river and from Frankie.

Tomorrow she’d get started. With any luck, she’d be gone by the day after.

And Frankie? He was an obstacle, yes, but he was also an illusion. There was no room for fantasy when a pack of hungry wolves howled at the door.

* * *

“YOU TWO MUST be exhausted,” Harry Hastings said. His gaze traveled from Frankie to Kate. “Young lady, how are you holding up?” This demand was made in his usual take-no-prisoners style.

Beside him, Kate kind of bristled. Frankie had called his family after he spoke to the police to report the hanging death of Dave Dalton so they could alert Gary Dodge and Pat Lowell, but he hadn’t told them that Kate required kid glove treatment.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“That horrible suicide, of course,” he replied, reaching for her backpack. “Hell of a thing for a young woman to come across.”

He was dressed in his pajamas and robe and explained that Grace was spending the night over at Kinsey and Gerard’s place. The baby was technically overdue and Grace spent as much time over there as she did here.

Kate tightened her grip on her backpack. “I’m fine,” she said. “Mr. Dalton’s...death...was tragic, of course. I feel bad for his family.”

“I’ve never understood suicide,” he replied. “Anyway, let me take that pack for you. Grace fixed up the downstairs room...”

“No, thank you,” she said firmly, her grip on her pack growing tighter. “I’ve got this.”

He held up both hands and laughed.

“Sorry,” she said and smothered a yawn. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” his father said. “Frankie, get our guest settled. I’m off to bed. I know you have your hands full,” he added, “but I was hoping you’d have time to help me tomorrow morning. Pike and Chance rode out yesterday to the high pastures to check things out and they called to report seeing one of the mares with a brand-new foal. Not sure how she slipped by us, but I’d appreciate your bringing her and the baby closer to the ranch. They’re out near Bywater, somewhere around Ten Cent Creek.”

“No problem,” Frankie said. He turned his attention to Kate and added, “Would you like to come along?”

“No thanks,” she said quickly.

“Saving your riding legs for the ghost town and the...hanging tree?”

“It’ll give me a chance to sleep in,” she said after a moment.

He gave her a double take. All this woman did was sleep. Was she ill?

Harry Hastings wandered out of the kitchen and Frankie, careful not to even glance at Kate’s backpack, led her down the hall to the open door of a modest room with twin beds.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.

“No, everything looks very nice.”

He nodded as he gazed down in her eyes. He could not shake the feeling something was wrong or deny his desire to try to get her to open up.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, still holding on to her pack.

“It shouldn’t take me long,” he said. “I’ll be back before noon.”

“Noon,” she repeated as though committing it to memory.

“Yes. Well, good night,” he said, and damn if he didn’t feel a pull toward touching her lips with his and double damn if she didn’t seem to broadcast the hope he would do just that.

They both stepped back at the same time. As he walked down the short hallway back to the kitchen, he heard the door close and the lock click behind him.

He’d never been around a woman who sent so many mixed messages. In her unguarded moments, he liked her—she was amusing and interesting and so beautiful it was hard not to stare at her. That hair! Like gold, smooth and long and framing a perfect oval face. But when she got tense, whoa, back off. She’d all but bitten his father’s head off. Why?

Was it just nerves at finding herself in what she considered the enemy camp? His dad could be formidable. Maybe that’s all it was.

Or maybe it was something else....

* * *

AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT, Kate found that her window looked out over the ranch yard affording a decent view of Frankie leaving the house and crossing to a picture-perfect barn. It was the first time she’d really had a chance to watch him from a distance.

He wasn’t nearly as burly as Luke but easily twice as striking. Luke had had a gentle nature to go along with his brute strength. She put him out of her mind, determined to stay strong.

Frankie came out of the barn a little later leading a saddled horse. He walked it over to a horse trailer attached to a big white truck. Once the horse was tucked safely inside, he drove the rig out of the yard. She knew little of how ranches operated, but she had to assume he was driving to a certain point and then riding the rest of the way on horseback.

A pang of desire hit her hard. How desperately did she want to be in that truck with Frankie, free to go looking for a horse and her baby? Who didn’t love a baby horse? Free to do ordinary things, free to just be herself. The pang was immediately followed by shame. She spent the next fifteen minutes braiding her shower-damp hair and dressing, then strapped on her backpack and left her room.

A pleasant-looking woman of about fifty turned as Kate walked into the kitchen. Kate had assumed no one else was awake and so she was caught off guard and stumbled to a halting stop. But this was good. She’d been worried about taking a horse without asking and this way she wouldn’t have to do that.

“Harry had to leave. Some trouble with the dang water pump. I’m Grace, Harry’s wife. I assume you’re Kate?”