Cowboy PI (9 page)

Samantha went over to the cook wagon where Ramona Chacon was dispensing coffee and doughnuts. Was she the exception in the company? The Walking W’s plump, olive-skinned housekeeper did not seem to be her perpetually cheerful self. She looked sober, preoccupied.

“You’re so quiet, Ramona. You’re not bothered by that man on the ridge, are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you noticed him? He’s been following the drive.”

“I didn’t see anyone. How could I? I’ve been ahead of you with the truck, remember? You ready for a refill?”

Ramona didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Or, for that matter, anything, which was odd. She was ordinarily so garrulous that Samantha had to snatch at excuses to get away from her.

Nor was the cook any more forthcoming at midday when they caught up with her again where she had lunch waiting for them in the form of burritos and black beans. By now the rider on the ridge had become the cattle drive’s faithful follower, though he never came within shouting
distance of them and most of the time remained either out of sight among the trees or no more than an unrecognizable silhouette.

Who is he? Samantha wondered. Why is he watching us?

He continued to haunt them that afternoon as the drive pushed on through the valley. And then, to Samantha’s relief, he disappeared. She kept eyeing the ridge, thinking he would reappear as he had before. But when an hour passed and there was no further sign of him, she was ready to believe he had finally given up and rode away.

After that she forgot about him. The trail had become so rugged it claimed the full attention of everyone in the outfit. Samantha spent the rest of the afternoon struggling to keep in the saddle while praying that Irma behaved herself.

The sun was low in the sky when they neared the stream where they would make camp for the night. And that’s when Samantha saw him, a distant but unmistakable figure high on the ridge. They hadn’t lost him, after all. She felt vulnerable all over again.

Samantha found a moment to talk to Roark while the cattle were being watered at the stream. “Our friend is back.”

“I saw.”

“There’s something else. Ramona claimed she didn’t know what I was talking about when I mentioned him to her, but I think she’s lying. I think she has noticed him up there. I don’t know if this is what has her so strained, but she’s upset about something.”

Roark was thoughtful for a few seconds. “Looks like we need to discuss the subject with Ramona.”

“I tried that at the break this morning and then again at lunch. She has nothing to say.”

“Let’s see if this time we can persuade her.”

They waited until the herd had been settled on the broad meadow beside the stream where the longhorns were con
tent to graze, and then Roark drew the trail boss aside and explained the matter to him. Shep was reluctant at first and then agreed to accompany them. They approached the truck where it was parked on the far side of the meadow. Roark came right to the point.

“Ramona, what do you know about this guy who’s been shadowing us all day?”

The cook looked up from the stew she was preparing for their supper, a defensive expression on her round face. “Nothing. Why should I know anything?”

“Then you wouldn’t have, say, any connection with him?”

“That’s crazy. Where did you get such an idea?”

“It’s just that it’s funny, him being out there all this time,” Shep said.

“Well, what has that got to do with me?”

“Just wondering,” the trail boss mumbled.

“You can stop wondering. Anyway, I don’t know why you can’t leave him alone. He isn’t hurting anyone being out there, is he? He hasn’t even tried to come anywhere near us, so why all the fuss?”

Ramona’s sudden anger was uncharacteristic, not at all like her, Samantha realized. Shep tried again.

“If you would just—”

She stopped him brusquely. “Excuse me. I’ve got work to do.” Seizing a triangle, she banged on it with a large spoon in the time-honored practice of a chuck wagon summoning the drovers to their meal.

For Ramona the subject was ended. But not for Roark. He waited until the others arrived on the scene, and when the cook was occupied serving them their supper, he took Samantha and the trail boss off to one side.

“Shep, you know Ramona. Would you say she
is
hiding something?”

“Maybe,” Shep said, unwilling to commit himself beyond that.

“I think she’s worried, anyway,” Samantha said.

Roark nodded. “Which means it’s possible that, even if he was in the distance, she got enough of a glimpse of this guy to not like what she saw.”

“Are you saying he’s someone she recognized?” Samantha asked. “Because if that’s true, why wouldn’t she just admit it?”

“Who knows?”

The lanky trail boss ran a hand through his graying hair and frowned. “You think we really do have a problem here?”

Roark didn’t immediately reply. He gazed for a moment in the direction of the grazing herd. “Now that we’re not tied down with the cattle, what do you say, Shep, after supper you and I pay a visit to our friend up on the ridge? I think it’s time we had some answers from him.”

Shep had no objection. “I guess we have enough daylight left for that.”

After eating, and just before the two men rode off together, Samantha found herself promising Roark that, yes, she would keep alert in his absence and, no, she would not leave camp for any reason or fail to make certain she remained in the company of the entire outfit.

Dirty, exhausted, stiff and sore from her long day in the saddle, Samantha would have liked nothing better than to crawl inside her sleeping bag and stay there until morning. But even though she was ready to collapse, she was much too anxious to rest. She kept thinking about Roark and Shep, hoping they were safe, although they had armed themselves before riding away.

She busied herself helping Ramona put the chuck wagon to bed for the night. Ramona asked no questions, though she had to be aware that the two men had slipped off after supper. Alex brought Samantha a bucket of water from the stream, and she used it to give herself a quick sponge bath behind a blanket strung on a line.

And all the while she worried about Roark and Shep,
wondered about the man on the ridge. Who was he? What did he want?

Her concern deepened with the twilight. She was fast approaching a state of alarm when, just before full darkness, the two men rode back to camp.

“Nothing,” Roark reported to her as he dismounted from his horse. “We couldn’t find a sign of him. He’s either well hidden up there, or he’s left the area.”

“I think he’s gone,” Shep said. “I’m ready to believe we’ve seen the last of him. Is there any coffee left in the pot?”

Night settled over the camp. Tired though she was, Samantha lay awake in her sleeping bag. Dick Brewster had the first shift watching over the cattle. As he slowly circled the herd on horseback, she could hear him in the tradition of an old-time drover softly serenading his cows to keep them peaceful. The horse wrangler had a good voice.

“The Red River Valley,” a soothing song. Very effective with the longhorns, but it didn’t work with Samantha. Probably just because it was a cowboy song, and that made her aware of the man who lay next to her in his own sleeping bag. Made her remember how protective of her he was, never wanting her out of his sight, shielding her from any potential threat, forever concerned about her well-being.

All right, so he was being paid to keep her safe, but he had no need to care about her in any other regard. And yet all day he had been quietly attentive, assisting her whenever she needed help, backing off when she didn’t, and always ready with a word of praise or encouragement. Believing in her.

Protective and attentive. A potent combination, one almost any woman would be susceptible to, especially when it came packaged in a man with Roark Hawke’s tantalizing assets.

It was also a treacherous combination when Samantha was unable to forget that Roark was a cowboy. He be
longed to this scene in a way that she, although raised to it, never could. Dear Lord, he even walked with the sexy swagger of a cowboy. And there had been moments today when she had detected on him the faint aroma of male sweat mingled with saddle soap. Memories. He brought back memories she didn’t want, couldn’t deal with.

But how was she to avoid them when the man responsible for them lay so close beside her that she could touch him without effort?
Longed
to touch him because, even asleep as he was, he tugged at her senses.

There was one advantage anyway in Roark’s disturbing, late-night nearness. She was so busy resisting it that she forgot about the man on the ridge, prepared by now to believe that Shep was right and that they’d seen the last of him.

Y
ESTERDAY WAS A PICNIC
, only, I didn’t have the sense to realize it.

Samantha had every reason to frequently remind herself of those words the following day, most of which she spent being miserable with water dripping from the brim of her hat and smelling the unpleasant odor of wet horses and cattle.

They had awakened to the sight of clouds piling over the mountains, and by the time they’d finished breakfast, the blue bowl of the sky overhead had disappeared under a heavy overcast. The first rain fell as they struck camp and headed along the trail. It continued to fall throughout the morning and into the afternoon. By then, the fine weather of their first day on the drive was only a memory.

There was nothing now but this dreary drizzle as cattle and horses pushed on through the endless valley. The ridge was buried in low cloud so much of the time that it wasn’t possible to know whether their mysterious rider was still out there. Nor, on those infrequent occasions when the curtain did lift, was there any sign of him.

If he is still there, Samantha thought, he’s either keeping a low profile, or else he was a phantom, after all.

It was easier to tell herself he’d only been an illusion, since none of them could afford to worry about him. Not when they had to deal with all the difficulties of herding cattle over land that hundreds of hooves churned into a mire. Samantha played what part she could in keeping the longhorns on the move, sodden and uncomfortable though she was.

The spirits of the entire outfit lifted when, late in the afternoon, the clouds parted. The backs of the longhorns steamed under the warmth of the sun that finally appeared. Samantha welcomed its glow, and by the time they made camp and she was able to change into dry clothes, she was smiling again.

“Hate to spoil all that cheer,” Roark said when she emerged from behind the blanket, “but you and I have drawn the dogwatch tonight.”

“I won’t ask what that means.”

He told her anyway. “We get the late shift guarding the herd.”

She managed not to groan. “I don’t have to sing to them, do I? Please tell me I don’t have to sing to them.”

Roark chuckled. “Not unless your Irma has a special request. Hey, it won’t be so bad. If we turn in early, we’ll have four or five hours of sleep before our— What’s the matter?”

He’d noticed that she was no longer listening, that something else had captured her attention.

“Up there on the ridge,” she said.

He turned around, gazing in the direction she indicated. A thin column of smoke rose from behind the distant trees.

“It’s
him
again, isn’t it? He’s still with us.”

“Samantha, it could be anyone’s campfire. Or maybe someone has a cabin up there.”

“I suppose.” She wasn’t convinced, but she tried to
forget about the smoke. It was no longer evident, anyway, when Ramona called them to supper.

Roark roused her just after midnight. By the time she got into her clothes, he had their horses saddled and waiting. The watch turned out to be not as unpleasant an obligation as she’d feared. Once they were mounted and in place at the edge of the herd, and with the sleep cleared from her brain, Samantha was actually able to appreciate the beauty of the scene.

The moon had risen. It was a full moon, with the light it shed so bright she could easily distinguish the shapes and patterns of the longhorns browsing contentedly on the rain-freshened grass. She recognized Irma among them. Roark teased her about Irma, and it was true she was protective of her. Maybe just because she’d noticed that the older, larger longhorns sometimes bullied the heifer, which was probably why Irma had a tendency to wander from the herd.

The heifer was peaceful now, as quiet as the rest of the herd in the stillness of the night. There was no sound either from the direction of the sleeping camp. Roark’s deep voice broke the silence.

“Cold? I have a thermos of hot coffee in my saddlebag if you need it.”

“Maybe later.”

Although there was an autumn sharpness in the late-night air, she didn’t seem to be feeling it. Maybe his nearness had something to do with that. Even though they were both on horseback, he was so close she swore she could actually feel his body heat. That might have been just her imagination. But what she saw, when she turned her head and looked at him in a light almost as bright as day, was not.

She had noticed it before, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly in his tanned throat, like a pulse rising and falling. The sight was as fascinating to her now as it had been then. And as arousing.

Samantha quickly lowered her gaze, only to discover another action she had observed before. The big hand that had been resting lightly on the pommel of his saddle was now busy making fists as he slowly, repeatedly closed and unclosed his fingers. Was he even aware he was doing it? Roark noticed the direction of her attention. “Does this bother you?”

It did, but not in the way he meant.

“It’s not a nervous habit,” he went on to explain, “though by now I guess it is an unconscious one. I broke the bones of this hand a few years back, and sometimes the fingers go a little stiff on me. It helps to exercise them like this.”

“An accident?”

“Thrown from a bronc in a competition I entered up in Montana. I thought I was rodeo material. I found out the hard way I wasn’t.”