Argosy Junction (2 page)

While they drove across the field, Matt glanced at the woman next to him. At first, thanks to an incredibly deep voice, he’d been certain a man was driving the Jeep. “Thanks.”

The Jeep bounced through the gate and stopped several feet behind it. The young woman swung easily from the vehicle and closed the gate behind them, locking it in the process. She climbed back into the Jeep, zipped down the road, and around the bend. To his surprise, she turned into a grove of trees and climbed out once more. With a look that said, “Don’t move,” she hustled to a path on her right.

He watched in the rearview mirror as she climbed the hill and stood surveying the path they’d just taken. The sight was breathtaking. She shielded her eyes against the spring sunset, giving him an excellent view of her profile. If you changed her jeans and flannel shirt for a leather-beaded gown, and braided the dark hair falling from the back of her baseball cap, she could have been a native princess from centuries past.

Apparently satisfied with what she saw, Matt assumed it was the sheep who now contentedly munched on a fresh patch of grass, the young woman scrambled down the hill again and climbed into the Jeep. They stared at one another as time slipped by unnoticed. Did she think it as strange a feeling as he did? He certainly had never studied someone so openly or in such close proximity.

She spoke first. “I’m Lane Argosy and,” her voice slipped into an unconscious business-like tone, “You’re not supposed to be on our land. Didn’t the fence give you a hint?”

Matt smiled at her bluntness.” I just saw this mama sheep and her little um… sheepling— er—lamb. I thought my mother would like to see it, so I climbed over to get a picture.”

She rolled her eyes, started the Jeep, and backed it onto the dirt road once more. She glanced at his feet.” Where are your shoes?”

Matt had all but forgotten his feet. He was still mulling over sheep, lambs, indoor plumbing, sonnets, and the incongruity of Lane’s physical hyper-femininity and her deep masculine voice.

“Well, while I was standing there, my feet hurt, so I pulled off my boots. You could show some pity for my shredded foot…”

“You hiked all the way up here from Argosy Junction in brand-spankin’ new hiking boots, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged. What’s wrong with that?”

Lane shook her head and put the Jeep in gear before she replied.” You don’t hike in new boots—ever. You wear boots around the house for a week or three to get them broken in first.”

“I’ve never owned hiking boots or any other kind of boots, except steel-toed ones for work, but we don’t have to break those in. We just wear them.”

“Bet you don’t walk in them then,” she muttered. As she reached a fork in the road, she hesitated. “Where are you staying?”

“Gideon’s.”

Lane shuddered visibly. Matt wanted to assume he’d imagined it, but the closer they got to town, the more rigid she grew. Trying to ease the tension, he asked, “So you said you knew I’d been out here for four hours. What took you so long?”

“What made you decide to stand in the center of a herd of sheep for four hours?”

Matt looked at her incredulously. “Umm… maybe it had something to do with the hundreds of sheep crowding me, just daring me to take a wrong step before they trampled me or gored me with those horns.”

Her laughter, as deep and throaty as any man’s, rumbled through the Jeep.” Those—” she gasped. “Those are Scottish Blackface sheep. They’re harmless.”

“They didn’t act harmless. They closed in on me and wouldn’t shoo.”

She slammed on the brakes, peals of laughter causing tears to course down her cheeks. “Shoo? You shoo a cat—maybe a small dog. You shoe horses—you know; s-h-o-e like metal lucky things on the bottom of hooves? You don’t shoo or s-h-o-e sheep. You shear sheep, but you don’t shoo them. Shoo!” Her monologue sent her off into fresh gales of laughter.

“Well, I’m glad that you find me so amusing, but it wasn’t so fun standing in the sun for four hours trying not to move, so that vicious sheep didn’t pound me into the terra firma.”

“What happened to your book? You were reading when I went riding at one.”

“You saw me reading?”

Lane nodded flicking her blinker with unnecessary force and tearing onto the highway as though chased by the ferocious sheep. “Yep. I thought it was kind of weird. Tad saw you out there and gave me the binoculars. There you were, just standing in the middle of our pasture, reading. If your book had been black, you would have looked like you were preaching to your flock.” She snickered at her pun.

“Why did you wait four more hours to come?”

“I went riding. How was I supposed to know you’d still be standing in the same spot the whole time?”

“And those horns aren’t dangerous? That one that got me when you showed up had big ones!”

With a sigh, Lane reluctantly admitted that if they felt threatened, the sheep might behave aggressively. “But these sheep are used to us mingling in the pasture. They wouldn’t see you as a threat unless you tried to carry off a lamb. The mama might have something to say about that. I imagine they were wondering why you didn’t have food for them.”

Before Matt could argue further, she pulled into Gideon’s Ranch. A misnomer, the “ranch” was nothing but a dozen little cabins that the Gideon family rented out to tourists and hunters. “Here you are.”

Matt looked at the gravel driveway and down at his torn socks. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you to drop me off in front of number seven? My feet are already protesting.”

She took a deep breath, as though preparing for a painful task, and drove through the towering entryway. At his cabin door, Matt didn’t know what to do or say. How do you thank someone and apologize at the same time? He extended his hand awkwardly. Hand shaking wasn’t something he did often in his line of work. “I just want to thank you. I know it sounds silly to you, but it feels like you saved my life or something.”

Lane saw a look of dismay cross his face. “What ?”

“I left my shoes and my book—” He shook his head as though putting the disappointment out of his mind. “Anyway, I really just wanted to thank you and apologize for causing trouble.”

She fidgeted as he spoke, her eyes darting around her as though looking for another predator. “No problem. Just don’t climb any more fences. And wear your normal athletic shoes unless you go to climb the mountain.”

Matt climbed from the Jeep, stepping gingerly on the gravel. He shut the door firmly behind him and waved sheepishly. “See you around.”

With a curt nod, Lane drove around the U-shaped courtyard coming full circle next to him once more. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Matt—Matt Rushby, why?”

Lane smiled as she drove around the yard once more and out the gate. Matt stepped gingerly across the gravel to his small cabin porch and pulled the key from his pocket. At the sound of flying gravel, he turned. Standing in the open gateway, was Josiah Gideon a look of utter contempt etched in his face.

~*~*~*~

“
Then he says, ‘It might have something to do with those sheep crowding me and daring me to tangle with their horns,’ or something like that.”

The Argosy family howled as Lane animatedly told of her afternoon excitement. Her brother Tad shook his head as he wiped tears from his eyes. “He just left his shoes and book and jumped into the Jeep because you said so?”

“Well, I think he reacted on instinct. Most people find my presence quite commanding and worthy of respect.”

“Well you can’t fool us,” Lane’s father retorted. “We know you better than that.”

She grabbed a roll from the basket and lobbed it at her father. Warren Argosy caught it and grinned. As he cut it open and buttered it, he teased, “Thank you. I’m always amazed at how well you read my mind.”

Two blue eyes peered around the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table. “Laney, what is his name?”

Lane smiled indulgently at her little sister. “Matt Rugby or something like that.”

Patience’s expression grew earnest. “Are you going to get him his boots and his book back?”

“Are you crazy? He’ll have to replace them. I’m not risking an attack just so he can have his book and boots.” Lane knew, even as she spoke, that she’d be walking out to get Matt’s things before midnight. Patience had a way about her when she fixed her mind on an idea. If Lane didn’t promise to go get them, Patience would go do it herself and none of the Argosy’s would let that happen.

~*~*~*~

Thankful for a full moon, Lane left the Jeep at the hill and walked the rest of the way. She had a flashlight, but the brilliant moon above made it unnecessary. At the gate, her eyes panned the pasture below her. It was a good half a mile or more to the cottonwood tree near where she’d found the man. The sheep were snoozing, as usual, in the far corner of the pasture. They usually kept to a grove of trees near the base of the mountain two miles from the gate. If she kept quiet, they’d never wake up.

She pulled on gloves and climbed over the gate, muttering to herself all the way to the tree. Every argument, admonition, and reproof she hadn’t given Patience, she now spoke with abandon, even if under her breath. The man had no right to wear hiking boots anyway. Surely, the book couldn’t be too precious to him if he’d taken it on an afternoon hike.

Items secured, she traipsed back to the truck, stripped the gloves from her hands, and set the boots on the passenger floor. Holding the flashlight against her shoulder with her chin, Lane read the cover of the dew-dampened book. “Shakespeare’s Sonnets? He reads Shakespeare? Sonnets? Oh, please. Now he’ll probably go home and write an Ode to a Ewe. Poetic license and all. Can sonnets have puns? And will it be self-fulfilling? Will it be an Eewie Ode?”

Tempted to drive into Gideon’s and get the ordeal over with, Lane sighed. She couldn’t wake up an exhausted tourist just because she was irritated at her little sister, and if she saw Josiah or Carrie when she was there in the morning well, tough luck. Lane Argosy wasn’t going to hide like a coward just because she wanted to avoid her sister and the rest of the Gideon gang.

Two

Despite her bravado of the previous night, Lane dreaded another trip to Gideon’s. The temptation to call and ask for his cabin was strong enough to prompt her to grab her cell phone. She stuffed it back in her pocket again and started the engine. Five years of almost no contact hadn’t eased her nerves, maybe facing them would.

As she pulled in front of cabin seven, Josiah Gideon, still too scrawny in his Wranglers and polished boots, crunched across the gravel driveway and held her door shut. “You’re not welcome here, Lane, and you know it.”

“I’m not here to flaunt my sinful state; I’m simply returning the things your guest left in our south pasture. I’d be gone already if you weren’t leaning against my door.”

Josiah’s head shook slowly. “No. Give them to me. I’ll see that he gets them and remind him to stay off private property.”

It was an easy way out of an awkward situation, but surprisingly, Lane no longer dreaded confrontation with the Gideons. Thankful for her size and his bird bones, Lane shoved open the door sending Josiah spinning into the Jeep’s hood. “Sorry Josiah, but you don’t get to make that decision.”

Lane knocked on Matt’s door, ignoring Josiah’s glare. Matt opened the door in his stocking feet grinning. “Good mor—my boots! My book! Thank you. I never thought I’d see them again.” A cheekiness added to his grin, “although it was more of a hope in regards to the boots.”

“My little sister decided that you’d need them, and when Patience gets something in her head…”

She saw him half-listening, watching Josiah from the corner of his eye. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but the guy was probably shooting daggers at her. “Let me take you to breakfast. It’s the least I could do.”

Lane started to refuse, but a look in Matt’s eyes stopped her. She swept her eyes sideways, saw the look on Josiah’s face, and couldn’t resist. “Sure! Grab your shoes, and climb in!”

Matt waved her back to the vehicle and scrounged for his shoes, wallet, and watch. Lane groaned as she tapped the steering wheel. What should be great fun would now become torture. Sure Josiah was satisfyingly ticked, but now she would be the gossip of Argosy Junction. Again.

A woman exited one of the nearby cabins, leaning back to adjust the weight of her swollen midsection. The calico jumper and peter pan-collared blouse reminded Lane of a uniform, rather than the quaint garb of a prairie muffin. A wide ribbon held the woman’s dark hair out of her face, but allowed it to fall down her back and below her waist, showing a full six inches of dead split-ends that needed to be trimmed. Lane idly wondered if the lack of trimming was Carrie’s natural resistance to cutting her “glory,” or if this was Peter’s latest preference.

Matt jumped into the Jeep, and they drove away from the glare of Josiah’s blatant displeasure. Lane felt terrible. Now that she’d accepted Matt’s challenge, she just wanted to drop him off somewhere and go as far away from town as she could get.

“So, where do you recommend for a big breakfast? I’m starving. My feet were so sore last night that I just soaked them in the tub and ate the snacks I brought up from Spokane.”

The temptation to take him to the bakery for coffee and a donut fizzled. You can’t feed a starving man a donut and expect him to make it to the next meal. Being a rancher’s daughter had taught her the delicate balance between caloric intake and masculine sanity. No rancher’s daughter would mess with that balance—not even Lane Argosy.

“You want Homestead Cafe
.
They have the second best biscuits and gravy, pancakes, sausage, and omelets you could want.” Lane turned toward the center of town and the promise of a solid hour of social torture.

“I want the best. Where do I go for those?”

Her low, deep laugh rumbled through the Jeep. “I didn’t invite you home though, so you’re stuck with second best.”