A Wife in Wyoming (11 page)

“They did. Dishes clean and dried and set out for breakfast tomorrow.” Then she sighed. “That will be a challenge—waking them up early to cook a meal.”

“Leave it to Garrett. He's about as irritating in the morning as a person can be. Cheerful, energetic, optimistic. It's disgusting.”

She liked being able to watch him while he had to focus on the road. “You're not a morning person?”

“If morning starts about 9:00 a.m. With several cups of black coffee.”

“Ranch work generally begins a lot earlier.”

“It does. That's one of the perks of being an attorney.”

Caroline shifted her weight on the seat. Just what she didn't want to hear about—why he stayed away.

“What about you?” Ford glanced at her. “An early riser?”

“'Fraid so. I'm up with the birds, and I crash shortly after sundown.” She tried to shift the subject away from their differences. “Where exactly are we going?” she asked. “All the way to the mountains?”

The Big Horns were getting closer and higher, but Ford shook his head. “It's a rocky place on the bank of the creek, just right for sitting out with a fire. We called it our fort when Dylan was young, and the name kinda stuck. I haven't been there in probably five years.”

“I guess life in San Francisco is just too exciting to get away very often.” Caroline bit her lip. She hadn't meant to sound so bitchy.

He didn't seem to notice. “I don't know about exciting. I work a lot.”

“No long weekends?” She couldn't seem to leave the subject alone. “Exotic vacations?”

“This summer is using up my vacations for the foreseeable future. I can't say when I'll get away next.”

“You must really love your job.”

“I'd better. I worked long and hard to get there.”

“Of course.” She angled her shoulders toward the window so she could blame the wind for her watery eyes. “Your family and—and the ranch will just wait till you can spare some time for them, I guess.”

“That's what I count on.”

Which made her feel terrible, because he sounded lonely and sad. She turned back to him, even reached out a hand to touch his shoulder.

But at that moment, Ford pulled the truck off the road they were following and onto a rough and rutted track heading into the trees. There were shouts and squeals from the truck bed as the kids got bounced around on their hay bales. Caroline braced herself against the door as they drove slowly into the wilderness.

They came to a clearing and stopped. “Welcome to Fort Marshall,” Ford said. “Let the fun begin.”

Chapter Seven

The kids were already out and about, exploring the area. Crazy Woman Creek rushed and tumbled along its rocky bed, framed by small trees and shrubs growing up between the stones. A plateau of giant, water-worn boulders created the perfect setting for a fire circle, with the clear sky above and plenty of room for sitting close to the firelight or retreating into the shadows.

“This is gorgeous.” Caroline brought a load of firewood to the circle. “What a great place to have growing up.”

“Wyatt found it,” Ford said, setting logs into a teepee shape over a pile of small sticks and kindling. “Even Mr. MacPherson didn't know about it.”

The forest formed a dense barrier around the clearing, but Marcos and Thomas were challenging the boundaries, walking a short way into the woods and then coming out again. Lena and Justino stood on a small sandy beach by the creek, holding hands and gazing at each other instead of the scenery.

Becky and Lizzie huddled close to where Ford worked.

“Are there bears?” Lizzie asked Caroline, glancing nervously around the clearing. “What will happen if we bother a bear?”

Ford answered the question. “I've never seen a bear here. Anyway, we're making too much noise—the bears will stay away.” He smiled at her. “Try not to worry. We'll keep you safe.”

His kindness wrung something in Caroline's chest, and she had to turn away so her reaction wouldn't be obvious. That brought Nate into her line of vision. He sat on a fallen tree at the far edge of the clearing, his elbows propped on his knees and his head down, obviously not enjoying his current surroundings.

She made her way over and sat down a little farther along the log. “Are you okay?”

He didn't look at her, but he nodded.

“You seem to be working on a problem. Is there something I can do?”

“No. Thanks.”

“The fire is getting started. Want to come over and roast a marshmallow?”

“In a minute.”

Caroline guessed that he was worried about his mother and sister. She regretted that Susannah Bradley wouldn't leave her abusive husband, for Nate's sake and her own. At least getting the boy out was a start—he could consider options for his life that might not seem possible when he was caught up in the violence at home.

“I'll be waiting for you to join us,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder before she walked back to the fire.

Although it had still been daylight when they left the ranch house, the setting sun had fallen behind the trees, and twilight now made the fire's brightness a welcome comfort. The kids came away from the edges of the clearing to sit on rocks still warm from the day. Even Lizzie started to relax, and was laughing as she leaned forward with her skewered marshmallow near the flames.

“And now,” Dylan said, walking toward them from the truck, “the moment we've all been waiting for. Especially after that great demo this morning at the barn.” He held up the guitar case he was carrying. “Anybody play?”

“Not me.” Garrett stood by a small folding table, dispensing chocolate bars and graham crackers for s'mores. “Two left thumbs.”

The kids shrugged or shook their heads. “We need a boombox,” Marcos said loudly. “Get some real tunes going.”

“We can do that one night,” Caroline said, struck by inspiration. “We'll have a dance party, and you can choose the music.”

“Oh, yeah,” Justino said. Thomas started swaying to an imaginary beat.

“Meanwhile...” Dylan walked over to Ford. “We do have somebody who knows his way around a guitar. Bend those strings, bro.”

With one eyebrow cocked, Ford glanced up at his youngest brother. “A little warning next time?” But he took the case, opened it and brought out the instrument. “Give me a minute to get tuned. This thing hasn't been played in forever.”

As he plucked the different notes, an owl hooted from the woods nearby.

Lizzie jumped. “What was that?”

Thomas snorted. “Don't you recognize an owl call?”

“Is it going to attack us?”

“Might,” Thomas said. “They are birds of prey.”

Lizzie squealed and grabbed Becky by the shoulders.

“No,” Caroline said firmly. “Nothing is going to attack us. Stop teasing, Thomas.”

Ford struck a chord from the guitar. “So what can you guys sing? ‘Row, Row Row Your Boat'?”

The kids groaned. “That's for babies,” Thomas called out.

“Or grumpy old folks,” Marcos added. “We want hip tunes, man.”

“Real music,” Justino added.

Ford stayed calm. “Such as?”

Lizzie raised her hand. “April Lowe sings cool songs.” Caroline recognized the name of a popular young singer. Becky nodded vigorously.

“Hmm.” Ford bent his head over the guitar and picked a few notes.

“That's right,” Lizzie said. “That's her first big hit.” She started singing lyrics about first love. The music filled in around the words, and Becky joined in. The two girls and Ford finished the song and two more before Marcos got restless.

“Come on, can't you play something real? Something with teeth?”

Ford grinned at him. “There's the one from this morning...” With a few chords he got Thomas and Marcos up on their feet, moving to the rap beat, imitating the voice of the singers they followed. Dylan picked up a couple of sticks and added percussion to the sound. Caroline noted that even Nate had come close enough to be seen in the firelight, though he didn't open his mouth to sing.

On the other hand, Justino and Lena were only visible from the knees down, as they sat on the edge of the circle. When another song started up, Caroline walked around to where the two had reclined into the darkness, kissing.

She toed Lena's hip and cleared her throat. “Not acceptable. This behavior belongs somewhere private.”

They separated, and Justino sat up. “We don't get to be alone. What're we supposed to do?”

“Grow up a little,” she told him, frustrated with the two kids and with her own reactions. “Or else one of you is going home.”

Instead of rejoining the fire circle, she wandered around the clearing, listening to the music from a distance. Campfires were a romantic setting, and she could understand Justino and Lena taking advantage of the situation. But she was really uncomfortable with how needy she was feeling.

What do you want?
she asked herself.
To be a horny teenager again
?

Not at all. She wanted to be an adult woman with a man of her own—Ford Marshall, to be exact. To sit beside the fire with him, hold hands and kiss, to lie down and let him take her in his arms. To put her own arms around his strong shoulders and give to him all the passion she'd never offered to anyone else.

Instead, he would be leaving—he'd made that clear. His job would always win. Measured against the money and prestige he was used to, Caroline didn't stand a chance.

She came back to the campfire as Ford finally persuaded the kids to sing “On Top of Spaghetti,” one of the least romantic campfire songs in the repertoire. Joining in, she tried to block notions of Ford the man—the lover—out of her mind.

They continued to sing until the stars shone bright in the black circle of sky above them, and until even Lizzie had relaxed.

“One more tune,” Ford said. The fire had burned down, and their faces around it glowed red instead of gold. “Sing with me if you recognize it.” And he started “Home on the Range.”

If the kids knew the words, they weren't joining in. Everybody listened as Ford sang alone, his beautiful baritone voice a perfect frame for the melody. ‘“Then I would not exchange my home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play, where seldom is heard a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day.”'

After he finished, the silence lasted for a long time. Dylan sat staring up at the sky, his face effectively hidden. Caroline gazed at Ford, but couldn't read his expression. Did he hear the longing in his own voice?

A log fell apart on the fire, and the moment broke. Garrett cleared his throat. “We should be heading toward the bunkhouse. We have an early call for breakfast tomorrow morning.” Predictable complaints emerged from the teenagers.

“How are we supposed to find the truck in the dark?” Thomas sounded nervous. “I can't see nothing out here.”

“That's why we have...ta-da...flashlights.” Dylan raked the kids' faces with a bright white beam. “One for everybody—here you go.”

In a matter of minutes—but with the maximum amount of light displays from the different torches—the fire was cold and wet, and the kids settled on their hay bales in the bed of the truck. Caroline suggested that Lizzie and Becky could ride in the cab with Ford, while she sat in the rear. Her emotions simmered too close to the surface to risk being alone with him again tonight.

And this was only the end of the first day.

* * *

O
N
THE
RIDE
from the fire circle to the ranch, Nate came up with a plan. He had to find out if things were okay at home. Calling wouldn't do any good—if his dad answered, he wouldn't admit anything was wrong. And Nate's mother wouldn't tell him the truth because she wanted him to stay at the ranch and “have fun.”

The only way to know for sure was to be there. No one here would drive him into town, of course. They'd reassure him and send him off to bed like a little kid. How could he sleep, though, unless he was certain his mom and Amber were okay?

He remembered Miss Caroline saying it was about five miles from the Circle M Ranch to Bisons Creek. It would be a long run, but as a member of the track team at school, he'd gone farther. He went running most days, five to seven miles, as a way to work off steam. At least it would be cooler in the middle of the night.

All he had to do was wait till people fell asleep and then sneak out. Lucky thing he'd picked a bottom bunk, near the door. Nobody would miss him. He could be back in three hours, a long time before the sun rose and everyone else woke up.

No one would ever know.

* * *

F
RESH
AIR
AND
the day's excitement worked magic on the teenagers—once returned to the barn, only token protests erupted before the guys trailed off to the bunkhouse and the girls stumbled over to their cabin. From all appearances, they would be asleep in minutes.

Ford didn't believe it. “That was way too easy.”

“Kids do get tired.” Garrett pressed his fingers against his closed eyes. “Me, too.”

Dylan nodded. “It's been a long day. But I want to spend a couple hours in the studio. Can I be excused from bed check?”

Garrett gave him a pat on the back. “Yeah. I'll be the bad guy. Catch you bright and early.”

“Early, maybe. Bright is debatable.” He headed toward the ranch house but then detoured just past the girls' cabin and headed for the old barn he used as a sculpture workshop.

“Will he really work tonight?” Caroline sounded worried. “He won't get much sleep.”

“Dylan has always been a night owl,” Garrett explained. “He gets by on four or five hours of sleep most nights.”

“Until it catches up with him,” Ford added. “Then he crashes and sleeps the clock round. Makes scheduling chores a little unpredictable.”

Garrett frowned. “Not everybody works a nine-to-five job, Ford.”

“And I do? I'll try telling my partners that when paperwork keeps me at the office till midnight.”

“At least you can count it as billable hours. Some people don't get paid for overtime.”

Ford clenched his jaw. “Those billable hours come in handy when the irrigation system breaks down or the tractor falls apart.”

“This is just what we don't need, the two of you arguing.” Caroline glared at them. “You're as grouchy as the kids. Why don't you go to your separate corners and come out tomorrow morning with a decent attitude? I am going to bed.” With a flip of her ponytail, she stalked toward the cabin, the square set of her shoulders fending off any attempt to call her back.

Garrett blew out a breath. “Guess she told us.”

Ford took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah.” He hated to accept his own fatigue. His computer waited at the house with a day's worth of emails to be sorted. “Go on to bed. I'll make sure the boys have settled down.”

“I'm wondering if I should bunk in with them.” Garrett's shoulders slumped a little at the idea. “No telling what they'll get up to if they're left alone.”

Ford shook his head. “I will probably regret saying this, but let's give them the benefit of the doubt. The keys to the vehicles are in the house, and we're five miles from anywhere they might want to be. The worst they can do is make a mess in the kitchen. Go on to bed.”

“Thanks.”

Ford watched his brother amble down toward the house before heading for the bunkhouse and whatever battle might lie ahead.

A kitchen light had been left burning and the television was on, but Marcos lay stretched out on the sofa, snoring softly. He'd flopped down in his clothes, without a pillow or a blanket. Grinning, Ford went to the closet and found a quilt to throw over the boy—nights on the range could get a little chilly.

In the bedroom, no one stirred as he opened the door, letting light from the kitchen pierce the darkness. He counted three bodies in three beds. So far, so good. Turning off the television, Ford said a quiet, “'Night, boys,” and let himself out into the cool night air.

One day down. More than he wanted to think about left to go.

He'd been aware of Caroline all day, his gaze somehow finding her no matter where they were or what they were doing. He was amazed at her patience and compassion for these kids—he probably would have packed them all into the van and sent them home after lunch. Definitely after the fiasco with the horses.