LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS) (17 page)

“It’s so stupid of Floyd to waste his life over something that happened a long time ago. Judy certainly doesn’t feel he’s responsible at all for what happened. She’s happy, and Dolinger knows he’s darned luck
y to have her.” Sara added, “Dolinger’s not the nicest person I’ve ever met, except when she’s around. She brings out a good streak in him.”

Mitch mused silently that probably Sara did the same for him. Around her, he felt more at peace with himself than he did on his own, and the restlessness inside of him eased somewhat. He still felt rotten over quarreling with his father and saying the things he had. He must have a mean streak a mile deep to throw up his brother’s death to the old man. And yet part of him still stubbornly felt that Wilson deserved being told how things were.

Steamboat was falling behind Misty on the trail, and Mitch reined in to give the lazy gelding a chance to catch up. Sara looked lovely today, lithe and slim in her faded jeans and strapless ribbed sun top. She had a pink-checked shirt over it, hanging loose and unbuttoned, and the soft, tawny skin of her neck and shoulders glowed. She’d found a loosely woven straw hat somewhere, and the afternoon sun made intriguing patterns through it, sunshine and shade across her nose and cheeks.

“Did you and Dave have any problems in the bar last night?” she asked as they drew abreast again.

Mitch shook his head. “It was fairly quiet. Apparently your mom and gramma offered a huge spaghetti dinner around seven, and all the rowdies paid six bucks and ate until they nearly burst. So they didn’t have a lot of empty room for beer after that. They tried
, but then finally gave up and sort of rolled on home.”

Sara laughed. “Well, Dave’s beer sales might drop, but it’ll be worth it if the noise and the fights stop, as well.”

“Dave’s a great guy,” Mitch remarked. “He’s easy to talk to, and he doesn’t keep handing out good advice like so many older men do. You’ve got a fine family, Sara.”

Sara beamed at him,
obviously pleased that he liked her stepfather and the others. “I hope my sister Frankie comes for a visit soon. I’ve tried to call her, but my vagabond sister’s off on the rodeo circuit. She’ll probably phone some evening from Wyoming or Calgary, just to let us know she’s alive and well.”

“That’s exactly what I used to do,” Mitch said, and a feeling of nostalgia coursed through him all over again. Would he ever get over missing his life as a rodeo cowboy? The path grew steeper and the trees thinned
out as they climbed, and for a while there was only the creaking of the saddles and the noise of birds and crickets in the hot afternoon.

Then they crested the mountain’s top and dropped into a rugged valley bisected by a tumbling stream. The valley narrowed until its rocky sides were only half a mile apart, and the nearby sound of a waterfall thundered just ahead.

“Wild Horse Canyon,” Mitch announced, leading the way through thick pines and snarling underbrush into a green clearing.

Sara’s breath caught with wonder. The waterfall was just above them, gushing over a precipice, making prisms and catchin
g rainbows of light in the late afternoon sunshine, dropping down until it formed a pool that shimmered at their feet. The glade was ringed with huge pine trees, and moss covered the earth where the horses paused.

Mitch swung out of his saddle and reached up to steady Sara as she dismounted, ha
nds spanning her waist and lingering, holding her when her knees buckled a bit after the long ride.

“They say the wild horses come to this pool for water in the evening and then graze along the banks. We’ll choose a spot and set up camp back among the trees, downwind so they won’t get spooked.”

It was a magic place, Sara decided as they shared the thick roast beef sandwiches and huge oatmeal cookies Gram had packed for them. There was an aura about the surro
undings, a feeling that this was either the first or last unspoiled place in the world. Other people must have come here from time to time, but there was no trace of them. No wonder the wild horses felt safe here.

The sun hung heavily over the crest of the mountain and finally dipped behind its peak. They’d unsaddled the horses earlier, led them down to drink and tied them loosely some distance away to graze.

Mitch folded the saddle blankets under the plaid quilt they’d spread for their picnic. The saddles made ideal backrests, and they slouched comfortably side by side, chatting about anything that came to mind. Mitch had taken his hat off, and hers. Now he slid an arm around Sara’s shoulders, and his hand stroked gently up and down her arm, a slow, mesmerizing rhythm that sent shivers through every nerve ending.

She felt lethargic, half asleep and yet highly conscious of the man beside her. Silence fell between them as the sun’s warmth lingered in the stillness of evening. A charged intentness seemed to fill the tiny glade where they
lay, and she knew the exact moment when Mitch would turn slowly toward her, leaning on an elbow and gazing down into her face.

“Your eyes absorb the color of the sky, do you know that, Doc?” he said, and then he dipped his head to bring his lips down to meet hers. His free hand glided across her midriff, and with the drugging delight of his kiss came the tentative touch of his fingers on her breast, cupping its fullness, and, as the kiss lengthened, deepened, she felt her nipple swell and strain against his palm as desire throbbed and grew between them.

He kissed her again and again, luxuriously, as if there were all the time in the world, touching the tip of his tongue to hers, running his hand lightly, tantalizingly, over every inch of her throat and breast, tormenting her until her breasts ached for more of his touch.

At last, Sara moaned and rolled away from the saddles toward him, onto her sid
e so her body pressed his full length, and she kissed him, abandoning control, allowing her lips to tell him how she wanted him, allowing her body to surge and undulate against the hardness of him.

She trusted him. She loved him. It was time now for what had seemed too soon before. Till now,

Mitch had obviously been holding back, questioning, allowing her to make the decisions.

Her lips, her body, gave
him the positive answer he craved.

“Sara,” he breathed hoarsely. “Sara, honey, I want you so much.” And then the words, low and passionate, that sent joy cascading through her. “I love you,
my darlin’ Sara.”

He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, legs tangling with hers until every
inch of her was pressing deliciously down against him, but it was agony as well because the clothing they wore was suddenly intolerable.

She was still kissing him,
long, deep kisses, clumsy but eager.

“I’m not as good at this as you a
re at dancing,” she teased breathlessly. “But I’m sure I’ll catch on.”

“Sara,” he finally gasped, running his trembling
fingers through her hair and holding her still for a moment. She looked down at him, straight into green eyes clouded with passion, eyes that were asking her a final question.

She smiled wickedly and leaned down, tracing the scar on his right che
ek with the very tip of her tongue as her body moved sinuously, answering the unspoken query the best way she knew how.

Between one breath and the next he rolled effortlessly so now she was under him.
He balanced above her, powerful thighs holding her captive one on each side of her hips, and he swiftly stripped off her blouse, tugged the elasticized top off over her head, and she felt the warm evening air drying the mist of perspiration between her naked breasts.

He stopped then, motionless, gazing down at her, at the tiny band of white that marked where her bikini top had been. The milky softness of that skin contrasted erotically with the bronzed, satiny expanse above and below it, making the deep rose of her swollen nipples more evident. His body surged dangerously, and his eyes closed tight for a moment in a struggle for control.

“You make me feel like
a teenage greenhorn,” he whispered, watching as a flush crept over her bare breasts and up into her cheeks.

He un
snapped his own shirt in one impatient movement, tossing it heedlessly aside, and he heard her breath catch.

“Mitch, you’re beautiful,” she breathed, and now it was his turn to be bashful. She brought her hands up and ran her palms over him,
and a shudder coursed through him as her fingers explored, gliding across his flat nipples that grew hard as pebbles when she touched them, venturing under his arms and into the nest of soft hair in each armpit, sliding around and touching the clean, long muscles of his back.

“That feels wonderful, having you touch me like that,” he whispered deep in his throat. “Let me touch you, too.” He bent forward then and teased her aching nipples with the tip of his tongue, and when she gasped and linked her hands behind his head to urge him closer, he drew each in turn deeply into his mouth, tugging at them with a rhythm that her hips learned and echoed.

“Mitch?” she questioned, husky and pleading.

But he held himself still. “Sara. Sara, first, can you tell me that you love me?”

“Of course I love you,” she said in a breathless whisper. “As long as I live, I’ll love you,” she added, and a deep inner tension relaxed. His breath shuddered out in a sigh, and then his hands were busy with belts and denim. He quickly undressed first her and then himself, tugging off boots and socks and Levi’s and tossing them into a heap at the side of the blanket.

They were naked toge
ther, skin against heated skin.

His trembling hands reac
hed under her, cupping her bottom, and he was aware of incredible warmth, and wetness as he lifted her hips. In a long, slow movement he sheathed his body with hers.

It was Misty’s low whinny that alerted Mitch to the arrival of the wild horses.

The world had been slow to right itself, and he and Sara were lying tumbled together, deliciously languorous with the aftermath of loving.

The canopy of sky had turned from deep blue to a breathtaking shade of old rose and was now darkening to purple.

“Look, love. Over there.” Mitch’s whisper was barely audible to Sara, and he lifted a corner of the blanket to wrap around her as she struggled to her knees and stared in the direction he pointed. Five horses and a small colt were poised nervously on the edge of the woods opposite, four mares, rough and shaggy creatures, led by a small black stallion that tilted his nose to the wind and pawed the air restlessly, sniffing and blowing, unable to scent anything unusual yet certain with some sixth sense that things were different.

The sound of the waterfall muffled Misty’s low whinny, and Steamboat paid abso
lutely no attention to the newcomers, engrossed as he was in munching the tender grass.

Sara and Mitch were motionless, fascinated and awed by the spectacle.

Sara was unaware that she was holding her breath, until at last she released it in a long sigh of wonder as the black stallion decided it was safe after all and warily led his harem down to the water to drink.

Mitch’s arm tightened around Sara. Inexplicably she felt a kno
t in her chest and tears formed in her eyes as she watched the small group of horses. They were anything but glamorous, undersized and dusty looking, scrawny and underfed... but they were undeniably wild things, perhaps the last of an era. There was an air of defiance and bravado about the little stallion, a totally macho sense that he would defend his mares to the death if the need arose. And perhaps it was fanciful, but Sara also thought the mares joined forces in their care of the colt, nosing him back if he strayed too far from the group, anxiously trailing like a pack of cautious aunts when he trotted curiously along the bank.

Suddenly Misty reared and gave a high, sharp whinny that made Sara jump, and in an instant, the black stallion was using his sharp hooves cruelly to drive his mares into the woods and away. He reared and swore in their direction, wild eyes rolling so the whites shone in the twilight. Between one of Misty’s calls and the next the wild horses were gone without a trace, and Sara felt her body trembling beneath the blanket Mitch had wrapped around her.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she turned wordlessly to Mitch and rested her cheek on his bare chest.

“Sara?” Her name seemed to reve
rberate through her body, and she nodded tremulously.

“It’s okay, I don’t know why they make me
cry. I guess because they’re vulnerable somehow. I’m fine now. Why was there only that one little colt, Mitch? Wouldn’t you think there’d be more foals than just that one?”

He paused before he
answered, and she knew instinctively that he needed time to control his own emotions, that he’d felt the beauty and the tragedy of the horses just as she had.

“There probably were more. That’s the only one that’s survived, I suppose,” he finally said gruffly. “At one time, there were hundreds of these herds, but there’s not much room for them now in our modern world. They’re a dying breed, Sara.”

It was a fact, and she understood it with her mind, but her emotions weren’t as accepting. Tears flowed freely, and she sniffled and apologized again, feeling foolishly sentimental.

But Mitch wasn’t paying any attention to her tears. “Sara,” he said urgently, “will you marry me?
Soon?  Maybe in the fall?” They were kneeling facing each other, both naked, and he absentmindedly wiped her cheeks with his thumb, drying the tears that shone there.

“Will you?” he repeated insistently, thick eyebrows knotted in a frown. He tugged the blanket higher, trying to make it reach up around her shoulders. “I know this is quick, but
I can’t see much point in waiting. We’re right for each other, and back there—” he jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating the general direction of Bitterroot “—well, you’re always busy. I haven’t a hope in hell of seeing you alone long enough to court you properly. And after loving you like this, well...” He shrugged, and a smile came and went on his wide mouth. “I don’t want to spend many more nights of my life without you, and I doubt that Adeline’s gonna let me sneak in and out of your cabin.”

There was brave humor in his wo
rds, but Sara recognized uncertainty in his eyes when he looked at her. “Besides all that, I love you,” he added in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve never loved anyone before the way I love you, Doc.”

She felt overwhelmed, confused. Excited and touched. Her brain told her there were issues they ought to discuss thoroughly before they got into this talk about marriage, but her heart asked reasonably what difference talk would make, anyway?

The issues wouldn’t go away. She loved him, too, with an intensity that frightened her. And she felt exactly as he did. She didn’t want to waste any more nights in her life without him beside her. “If you even try sneaking into my cabin, I guarantee Gram will be after you with a loaded shotgun,” she said shakily. “So I guess you’re right. We’d better get married.”

He didn’t say a word. He simply took her into his arms with a ferocity that knocked the breath out of her. And within a short time,
lying with him as the sky darkened overhead, her breath was gone for quite a different reason, as he loved her with all the passionate intensity any woman could desire of a lover.

It was far too late to tell anyone their news when they finally got back to Bitterroot and anyway, Mitch insisted Sara keep their engagement a secret until he gave her a ring.

There was a delightful, old-fashioned streak in this man, and Sara adored it. He knew just the ring he wanted for her, he declared mysteriously. He’d be back no later than tomorrow evening to put it on her finger, he promised as he kissed her good-night in front of her cabin. Then they’d tell the whole damned town, together, he declared. They’d put a notice in the paper and have it announced from the pulpit of the church on Sunday, and maybe even hire a skywriter to proclaim it across the heavens. He wanted every single person in Plains to know that Sara was his woman.

Sara agreed meekly, although she had a feeling it might be smart to just up and elope and skip the whole engagement part. Mitch had never seen Adeline and Jennie in action when they felt there was a good reason to celebrate. And as for publicizing the event...well, he’d soon realize it wasn’t necessary to do anything except tell her relatives. They’d do the rest, and then some.

Sara thought she wouldn’t
be able to sleep a wink that night, but her eyes closed the moment she hit the pillow.

She was up the next morning before anyone was stirring at Bitterroot, and she wolfed down a bowl of cereal and crept furtively out to the truck before even Gram made it down to the kitchen. Sara felt guilty about avoiding the old woman, but she knew that Gram would take one look at the silly grin Sara couldn’t seem to wipe off her face and know for certain something was up. And Sara had never been able to keep anything from Gram for very long when that lady decided she wanted to know about it.

So avoidance was by far the better part of valor this morning.

Sara breezed thro
ugh the morning clinic, dispensing pills and advice, giving shots and taking temperatures, answering phone calls and feeling all the while as if she were savoring a delicious secret, one that filled her with such joy she could barely contain it.

She and Mitch were going to be married, and she was happier than she could ever remember being.

Floyd arrived at ten-thirty, bleary-eyed and totally amazed when Sara gave him a wide smile and said not a word about how late he was.

“I met your sister Judy the other day,” she told him cheerfully instead of hollering about the time. “You should have told me she was George Dolinger’s wife. I had no idea you were related to him.”

It was unusual to have the rusty-haired assistant fumble for words, but he did now.

“I, ehh, I wanted to mention it that time he phoned here, but it’s not easy, admitting to having a vile-tempered man like George as a brother-in-law. And, of course, I knew what you felt about him, you said so plain enough,” he finally stammered. “Mind, he’s the best husband possible for my sister, and for that I’m eternally grateful.”

“Your sister’s a lovely woman, I enjoyed meeting her.”

Floyd’s bloodshot eyes grew tender. “Judy’s the finest there is.”

Doc Stone came in just before noon. Sara had thought a great deal about what Judy Dolinger had confided about Doc’s eyesight. Knowing there was a physical reason for the problems he’d been having made Sara feel bad about her recent threats to report him, but the more she thought about it, the more annoyed she felt with the old doctor for not confiding in her himself. It could have saved a great deal of misunderstanding.

And now she was uncertain what to do, whether to tell him straight out that she knew or go on with the pretense he’d encouraged.

“Good morning,” Sara greeted him now, but he barely nodded as he marched past her and into his office, shutting the door firmly behind him. If he wasn't a difficult, ornery, cantankerous man, she thought. Well, she wasn’t going to let Doc’s bad temper affect her. Nothing could quell her good spirits today.

She went back to work
, sending Floyd out for a sandwich so she could finish necessary paperwork during her lunch hour...and also steal a few precious moments to dream of Mitch and wonder just what he was doing at that particular moment.

“Sara,” Doc Stone sud
denly bellowed from the adjoining room, bringing her out of her romantic reverie and making her spill some of her coffee on her fresh smock.

“Come in here, don’t
hover that way,” he ordered imperially when she stood in the doorway. “And shut the door.”

She gritted her teeth and did as he asked
, then sat down in the old wooden armchair across from his desk, wondering what was coming now.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he announced abruptly. “And I’ve decided to sell the practice.”

Sara’s heart thumped and her brain quickly assimilated what Doc was telling her. If another, younger vet took over, he’d probably try to run the practice by himself, especially if finances were a problem. That’s what Sara would do.

So there went her job. She’d have to look for a position somewhere else. Which meant moving, and how could she and Mitch possibly run a romance or a marriage, for that matter, with her living miles away from Plains?
Mitch couldn’t move. It was bad enough now, trying to be together. All the happiness bubbling inside of her began to trickle away.

“You were absolutely right, young woman, when you laced into me last week about the mistakes I’ve made,” Doc was going on. “The fact is, I have some d
amned thing wrong with my eyes. I can’t see the way I used to. I suppose by ignoring it I thought it’d go away.” Doc snorted. “No fool like an old one, and all that.”

“I didn’t know, I had no idea you were...when I said those things, I’m terribly sorry,” Sara stammered, feeling awful for the old man. “I mean, someone told me this weekend about your... I would never have said what I did if...”

“Hogwash,” Doc bellowed. “It needed to be said. Never apologize for telling the truth, young woman. And for heaven’s sake, will you spare me your pity, that’s the very reason I didn’t tell anybody in the first place. Who the hell wants a bunch of teary-eyed females feeling sorry for him, tell me that?” He beetled his brows ferociously at her. “Now, what sort of arrangements would suit you best, financially, for the purchase of the practice?”

It took a minute for his words to make sense. “You mean me, buy this...but
…but I couldn’t, I don’t have...”

“Of course, you don’t,” Doc snorted in disgust. “Never thought you did. Too bad, too, because I could have used the ready money, might not have all that many years left to live it up during retirement.” He gave his dry chuckle. “So we’ll have to make the best of thi
ngs, won’t we? Now, this is what I feel the business is worth, and this is about what it brings in on a good month.”

He shoved a paper with a careful list of figures across the desk at her. “Way I see it, by living on bread and water and working eighteen h
ours a day...” He chuckled wickedly at his own wit. Doc was in rare form this morning, Sara concluded, feeling dazed.

“.. .you could probably pay me this much...” He pointed a stubby forefinger at a figure.

“But it’s impossible, I don’t even have a down payment,” she protested, not even looking at the amount he was pointing at.

Doc’s fist thundered down on the desk, and his raspy voice was filled with exasperation.

“Blast you, woman, I’m trying to tell you I’ll forgo a down payment for a full year. See this figure here?” He rapped an impatient forefinger on the paper. “In the course of a year, with hard work, you’ll be able to establish the business in your own right, and I’m quite sure the bank manager will agree to loan you the money at that time to pay me this lump amount. Interest included, young woman, I’m not a charitable institution.”