How to Handle a Cowboy (25 page)

The ranch seemed strangely quiet to Ridge after Sierra and the boys left, even though the other two Decker Ranch cowboys were still on hand. Once the three of them had had all the energy of those boys, Ridge thought, and there'd been enough riding and roping and fighting and game playing that the place was never quiet. But now there was no sound but the chattering of the birds and the singing of the crickets.

Part of the problem was that the three of them were sitting around in the family room like a bunch of old ladies. Shane was working on his leather braiding, Brady was stretching his calves in his bronc riding saddle, and Ridge was staring into the fireplace, thinking about Sierra. His brothers kept glancing at him, smiling. It was obvious they'd figured out how he felt about her. Staring into the fireplace wouldn't have been such a dead giveaway if there'd been a fire to look at.

“Nice woman,” Shane said.

Ridge nodded. “Saw you talking to her.”

“Yup.”

Ridge shifted in his chair, irritated. Shane had to know he wanted to know what they'd said, but he was going to make Ridge beg for it.

“What did she say?”

“Not much.”

Ridge clutched the arms of the chair with both hands. It was probably a better choice than putting them around his brother's neck, which was what he wanted to do.

Sensing the tension, Dee got up and trotted over to Ridge, laying her head in his lap. Stroking her silky ears, he shot his brother a hard look. “Well, what did
you
say?”

“Oh,” Shane said, as if he'd just noticed Ridge was there. “I told her you were in love with her.”

“You
what
?”

“Somebody had to do it,” Shane said, unperturbed. “And it didn't seem real likely you were going to get around to it.” He set aside the braiding board. “She's leaving in a few weeks, right?”

Ridge nodded.

“Then you'd better get moving. Tell her yourself, man. And then find a way to get her to stay.”

“What makes you think I feel that way?” Ridge buried his hands in the heavy fur over the dog's shoulders to steady them.

“I just do. Everybody does. You talk to her. You don't talk to her enough, and you probably don't say any of the right things, but you talk to her more than I've ever seen you talk to anybody. You two love those kids, and you love each other. If you don't do something about it, you're going to lose her.”

“She's got a big job waiting for her,” Ridge said, “one where she can really make a difference.”

“She can make a difference here,” Shane said. “Bill did.”

“I know,” Ridge said.

“Tell her that. And tell her how you feel,” Shane urged. “Promise her it'll last.”

Ridge nodded, remembering how Sierra wanted everything guaranteed. Maybe his brother was right, but he couldn't help grumbling a little. “I can't believe you told her. You should have talked to me first.”

“Can you tell Suze for me?” Brady asked. “'Cause every time I try to do it, I mess it up somehow.” He kicked at the floor, frustrated. “She just can't seem to understand that we belong together.”

Ridge and Shane looked at each other and laughed, the tension between them broken.

“You might want to try staying away from other women for a week or two first,” Shane said. “Just a thought.”

***

Sierra spent a sleepless night thinking about what Shane had said. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, picturing her boys growing up, struggling through the hardships ahead, and then being derailed by some woman's careless cruelty. She felt like she wanted to lunge into the future and kill anybody who might break their hearts.

She thought about Ridge, alone out there on the ranch. She'd thought he was a loner when she'd first met him, but he wasn't. Quiet as he was, he still reached out. He wanted the boys there. And he wanted her.

But she was leaving. She wished she could stay. She loved the boys, and she knew they'd grown to love her. It didn't take long for kids so starved for love to latch on to anyone who seemed to care. If she was honest with herself, she loved Ridge too. She'd never met a man so decent, kind, and caring.

Hearts would be broken all around, and one of them would be hers.

She didn't know how to fix it, but she knew she had to start with Ridge. She'd be honest, and they'd talk it out. Maybe, if she could make him understand why she had to go, they could still have some kind of long-distance relationship. Denver wasn't all that far, really. And although she'd be busy with her job, and he couldn't really leave the ranch…

She sighed. It would take a miracle for this relationship to survive, and she couldn't imagine a happy ending. But she wanted to try.

***

Ridge grabbed two rope halters and headed for the corral to catch a couple of horses he had in training. They'd arrived green as grass in springtime, but they were coming along well and just needed some finishing.

As he exited the barn, a car pulled into the drive. He squinted, shading his eyes with one hand.

Jeep Liberty. Sierra.

When he felt how high his heart leaped at the sight of her, he knew his brother was right. He was crazy in love with her, and he had to do something about it. He knew she had ambitions that were all about the boy he'd been, and the boys she cared for now. Those ambitions were one of the reasons he loved her, but somehow he had to make her stay.

There was only one way to do that. He needed to look her in the eye, rip out his heart, and hand it over. He had to admit that all his dreams, hopes, and plans depended on her. It was the truth, and he needed to say it out loud.

If he had to do it, he was going to do it his way. When he was a kid watching how Bill and Irene cared for each other, he'd dreamed of finding a woman of his own one day. And in his teenaged foolishness, he'd figured out just how and where he'd tell her he loved her. He knew a place that represented everything that mattered about love—about how it made you feel and how it lasted to the grave and beyond.

It was stupid. It was the crazy dream of a kid who knew nothing about love. But he was going to make it happen, because maybe, just maybe, it would work—and the life that had been denied him, the life he'd thought was a total impossibility, could actually be his.

***

Sierra followed Ridge through the barn and out its back door, leaving the cool, hay-scented shade behind for a sudden splash of sunshine. She blinked and tried to see the ranch through his eyes—the crisp gold spears of autumn grass, the worn gray wood of the corral fences, the half-dozen horses dozing in the sunshine by the rail.

She wondered what this life was like, day after day. It seemed like a rancher cobbled together a living any way he could. Bill had taught riding lessons, run cattle—who even knew what that involved?—and trained horses, all while raising three spirited boys.

He sure had a nice place to do it in, though. This sheltered valley, ringed with craggy rock formations and trees on one side and sloping gracefully toward a faraway mountain range on the other, was the most peaceful place she'd ever seen. It was a place where time seemed to stop, where everything was done just as it had been fifty, even a hundred years ago.

She envied Ridge, really. Anytime he wanted, he could just get on a horse and ride. She imagined racing a horse up over that rise, heading for the distant mountains. Here, a woman could live a life shielded from the ugliness of the outside world. Instead, Sierra had chosen to dive right into the ugliness in the hopes that she could pretty it up a little.

“Come on,” Ridge said, waking her from her reverie. He waved her over to a nearby corral, where he was lifting the latch on a crooked wooden gate. “I was planning on riding today. Now you can come too.”

A swirl of fear spun in her chest, taking her breath away. Daydreaming about horses was one thing. Actually climbing on top of one was another matter entirely. Secretly, she was a little afraid of perching so high up and trying to control an animal that outweighed her by hundreds of pounds.

“I don't really ride.” She took a step back toward the safe haven of the barn.

“You'll learn.” He opened the gate to a sun-drenched corral. It was a warm day, and the horses were a sleepy lot, standing in relaxed poses, some with their eyes closed.

Ridge put her on Dusty, the lesson horse he used for the boys, and once she figured out how to relax and enjoy the rhythm of the horse's gently swaying walk, she felt like the world and all her troubles faded away. There was just her, the horses, and Ridge, who rode beside her on a handsome bay named Spiff. Riding meant they both watched where they were going rather than looking at each other, and that made it a little easier to talk.

It also made it easier for her to fall even harder for Ridge. She'd seen him handle horses during the boys' lessons, and admired his ease with the animals and his instinctive understanding of their needs. But she'd never seen him on horseback. It transformed him.

She should have known. She'd seen how the boys changed when they rode, how they straightened their shoulders and looked so much more capable, so much more in control.

Ridge looked capable all the time. On horseback, he looked like he could rule the world.

It reminded her of that first day when he'd walked into Phoenix House looking like he'd just come off the Chisholm Trail. His face, with all its hard planes and angles, was the face of a sheriff or a lawman. But his eyes, pale and hard, were the eyes of an outlaw. It was that strange dichotomy, of the good man and the tough guy, that had grabbed her right from the start.

And his body? It was a thing of beauty on solid earth, but on horseback, he moved with a grace that seemed almost supernatural, rocking in rhythm with the horse and controlling the animal with the slightest shift of his weight, the faintest tightening of the reins, or an almost imperceptible nudge of his heels.

At first, she worried she'd need to perform similar feats of control on her own horse, but it didn't take her long to figure out that Dusty would simply follow Spiff wherever he went. It was a relief to know she didn't have to learn any of those subtleties, but watching Ridge made her want to learn. She'd love to be able to befriend these huge, gentle creatures, to move in sync with them through this wide-open land.

“Where are we going?” she called to him.

“You'll see,” he said. “You'll like it. It's magic.”

Sierra almost groaned. As far as she could see, everywhere Ridge went turned into magic—the barn, the bedroom, and now this shining landscape. She was almost afraid to follow, but what could she do?

It was all Dusty's fault.

Ridge was pleasantly surprised with Sierra's riding ability when they set off down the trail that bordered the tree line to the south of the ranch. She might not have much experience, but at least she didn't jerk on the reins or kick the horse too hard. If anything, she was a little too timid in her cues, and Dusty took full advantage, pausing along the trail to snatch up occasional bites of grass. It took a couple of sharp words from Ridge to make him straighten up and behave himself.

As they entered the timbered area beyond the pastures, the constant wind that whipped Wyoming's open spaces died down to a gentle rustling of the trees. The trees were so dense that they blocked the light, creating a forest surprisingly devoid of undergrowth. Only the trail was open to the light, so flowers and ferns flanked it like a deliberately planted border.

Sunlight filtered through the regal tops of the trees, creating an ever-changing kaleidoscope of bright light and dark. This had always been a magical path to Ridge, and he turned in the saddle to see how it affected Sierra.

She was leaning back in the saddle with both hands on the horn, her head thrown back and her eyes dreamily scanning the treetops. He couldn't say much for her riding form, but at least the beauty of the scene wasn't wasted on her. It was a good thing he'd given her a gentle mount. Otherwise, she'd be staring at the tops of the trees from the middle of the trail, where she'd be lying on her back.

He couldn't blame her for mooning over the scenery. The majesty of the tall trees looming over the narrow trail was a reminder of how big the world was and how small human beings were. Yet God took the time to touch every detail along the everyday path, leaving little hints of grace all along the rugged road.

The trail started to descend, and he turned to make sure she'd awoken from her daydream and was paying attention to the trail. As they rode, the chatter of birdsong was punctuated by the sharp cries of jays and crows. Another sound floated toward them on the wind—a faint metallic tinkling.

“What's that?” Sierra asked.

“You'll see.”

As they rode on, the trail opened slowly to the sky. Dark pines petered out and were replaced by golden aspen with pale, graceful trunks and bright leaves that shimmered in the sunlight. The metallic sound grew louder, making it seem as if the leaves of the trees were actually forged of gold.

As they entered a small round clearing, the wind rose and the sound lifted with it like the ringing of a thousand tiny bells. Ridge knew where the sound came from, and he wasn't given to flights of fancy. Yet even his practical mind conjured up a fairy court every time he heard it.

The wonder on Sierra's face told him she'd come up with an equally fanciful explanation. Gradually, as she looked around and spotted the tiny metal ornaments glittering in the trees, comprehension dawned on her face. But she was still struck with wonder at the strangeness of it.

He'd never shared this place with anyone but his family. Not even Shelley had seen it. It was a family secret, but looking at Sierra's face, he knew he'd made the right choice.

“Who did this?” She slid from the saddle and gazed wonderingly around. The surrounding trees were hung with every sort of wind chime, from cheap dime-store novelties to pricey bronze tubes, from mass-produced gift-shop treasures to unique works of art. Most were corroded, some tangled, but the sound was pure magic.

“It was Irene's,” he said. “We call it the Chime Grove.”

As always, he felt as if Irene herself was there, enjoying her creation. “She loved this spot. Dad brought her here when they were first married, and he gave her a wind chime for a gift. He thought she'd bring it home, but it sounded so perfect right here that she hung it in one of the trees.”

“It does sound perfect.” Sierra slung Dusty's reins over a branch and wandered around the small circle, reaching up to stroke the little noisemakers as she spotted them among the leaves. “There must be a hundred of them.”

“Close,” Ridge said. “Every Christmas and birthday, Dad would give her another one. And us boys would pick them up too. Once we got older and started traveling with the rodeo, we bought one everywhere we went.”

“That's so sweet.” She fingered a worn gold-plated bucking horse silhouette with chimes hanging from its feet. A weight at the bottom was marked “Rapid City 2010.” As she let it go, the chimes tinkled in tinny harmony with the rest. “She's been gone a long time, right?”

He nodded.

“But you still buy them.”

He nodded again then dismounted and led Spiff around a little, as if he needed to find just the right spot to leave him. The truth was, all he had to do was drop the reins and Spiff would stay put. But the conversation was straying dangerously close to emotional territory, and he preferred messing with the horse to looking Sierra in the eye.

Because this was the one place he'd ever allowed himself to cry. After Irene passed, he'd come here often to grieve. He often thought he wouldn't trade his two years with Irene for a lifetime with any other mother. Still, it seemed unfair she'd been taken so soon after he and his brothers had found her.

“We still buy them,” he said. “Still put 'em up.”

Sierra strolled around the periphery of the grove, her steps light, her fingers gently stroking the branches to make the ornaments chime. As she completed the circle, she came to a stop in front of him. With every chime in the circle ringing, she seemed like some elfin princess who'd called up magic with the touch of her fingers.

“Do you think she's still here?”

Gazing up at the sky, so blue beyond the gold of the leaves, he searched for the truth. “I think she's here in our heads. Whenever I have a question or a problem, I come here and feel her presence. Somehow, I know what answer she'd give. Sometimes it's advice; other times, it's just a kick in the patootie.”

Sierra laughed.

“Her words, not mine,” Ridge said ruefully. “We keep this place for her, and she's here when we need her. But she knows when we come here just to be alone.”

The magic held. Sierra didn't balk as he took her in his arms, didn't pull away as he kissed her. And she didn't stop him when he moved his hands over her body.

He broke the kiss reluctantly to return to Spiff. Quickly untying a few knots, he pulled out a blanket that had been rolled up and nestled under the cantle of his saddle. With a flourish, he shook it out, letting it flutter to rest in the soft grass in the center of the clearing.

And then, without a word, he swept Sierra into his arms and laid her gently on the blanket.

***

Sierra loved Ridge's strength, loved the feeling of being picked up and swept away, carried off to his grassy bower. But she knew, deep down, that making love with him again would strengthen the bond between them to the point where it wouldn't break. She'd leave here at the end of her contract. That was a hard, cold fact. But maybe it wouldn't be good-bye forever.

He was right. There were no guarantees in life. And that meant anything could change, at any time.

In the meantime, she'd enjoy what she had. The kind of love they shared wasn't something to be smothered in fear. It was something to be celebrated.

She kept her arms laced around his neck, so he had to drop down into the grass with her. She'd noticed eye contact was hard for him. He'd even avoided it just now, when they were talking about Irene. He was probably worried she wouldn't want to have sex if she thought his mother was watching.

The thought made her smile, but she swallowed the laugh and kept her eyes on Ridge's.

This time, he looked back. It was a look that told her he was giving her everything he had—or at least, everything he could. After a childhood like his, she understood there were memories that were hard to share. But the way he looked back at her, honestly and without reservations, told her he'd trust her with them someday if she stuck around to listen.

Sitting up, she smiled at him then bit her lower lip, wondering how to start. She'd never been the kind of girl who had sex outdoors, but the occasion seemed to call for a brazen attitude, a wantonness beyond what was usual.

It didn't take her long to make up her mind. Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. Then, rising to her knees, she peeled off her jeans. She had to sit back down and kick up her heels to finish the job—which included kicking off her flower-bedecked cowboy boots.

Even on the worst days—especially on the worst days—Sierra wore beautiful underthings. Pretty bras and panties were her little secret. Now Ridge was in on today's secret, which was a pink satin bra decorated with off-white lace that traced the edges of the bra and the waistline of the panties. The outfit wasn't immodest; in fact, it looked like something that might have been in some ladies' trousseau in a steamer trunk bound for the Continent.

But Ridge didn't seem to mind the fact that it was old-fashioned or even that it covered most of her breasts. He was still struck speechless.

She had to admit that if she'd known she'd spend part of her day naked in an aspen grove, this was the outfit she would have chosen. The pink contrasted with the golden leaves and yellow grass, and the smooth satin was a nice contrast to the slightly scratchy green blanket Ridge had provided. It was apparently wool.

“What is this, army issue 1942?” she asked.

He flushed. “It's all I could find that was clean. We used it camping.” His brow furrowed. “We could go back to the house if you'd rather. I know it's not…”

She stopped his apology with a kiss. “This is perfect, Ridge. Perfect.”