Soul Deep (7 page)

He looked up, smiled. “Morning. You sleep
well?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say “yes,”
but there was a gentleness in his gaze that had the truth spilling
out of her before she could stop it. “No. I kept having nightmares.
I finally gave up.”

“Nightmares?” He frowned, got to his feet,
pulled out a chair for her. “It’s a good thing I’ve got coffee
going. You take yours with milk, right?”

“You remembered.” She was surprised. “How’s
Chinook?”

“He seems to be fine—a bit shaken up, but
fine.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Are you going to
report this to the sheriff?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you should. It
costs nothing but time to file a report. The sheriff’s department
will be able to investigate the situation impartially. If the
shooter meant to hurt you, the violence might escalate.” She’d
already said this, and now she would drop it.

“You’re right.” He poured coffee into a mug,
set it down in front of her.

She needed to tell him her plans, let him
know what she had in mind before he could entice her with horses or
aspens or food. “I’m going to call for a tow truck today and head
back to Denver.”

He reached for a porcelain creamer and set it
down on the table for her. “You can call for a tow truck if you’d
like, but you’ll have a bit of a wait. We got another eighteen
inches overnight, and there was an avalanche a few miles down the
canyon. I’m sorry to break the news, but the highway is
closed.”

She didn’t like this. “How long will it take
them to open it?”

“Lacking a crystal ball, I can only guess,
but I’d say at least a day or two.”

“Then I guess I’ll stay—for a day or
two.”

# # #

Jack took his gaze off the icy, snow-packed
highway long enough to glance over at Janet, who was bundled up and
buckled into the passenger seat. He could tell she hadn’t slept,
dark circles beneath her eyes, her pretty face lined with
fatigue.

She’d asked to come with him when he’d told
her he was driving hay up to the high pasture. He’d warned her it
was likely to be as exciting as watching paint dry, but she’d been
all right with that. Despite his concerns about taking her along
when driving conditions were almost certain to be hazardous, he was
happy for the company.

“Mind if I ask what these nightmares are
about?” He supposed he ought to mind his own damned business, but
he didn’t like the idea of her being afraid, especially not under
his roof.

“It’s like I’m reliving the moment I was
shot. I hear Javier shout, ‘Sniper! Nine o’clock!’ Then gunshots
ring out, and I’m down and in pain, and there’s blood everywhere. I
usually wake up at that point.”

Combat nightmares.

Jack had had them off and on for years after
coming home from Nam, and he hadn’t been injured—not seriously
anyway. But damned if he hadn’t watched a lot of young men die,
heard them screaming, seen their bodies torn apart. “Have you ever
talked to anyone about your dreams?”

“Like a counselor?” She didn’t look at him,
her gaze focused straight ahead, her voice emotionless. “Yes. I
thought they’d stopped. I haven’t had them for a while. I think
seeing the wound on Chinook’s forearm or seeing that bullet brought
it back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I invited you to enjoy the hospitality of
the Cimarron, promising you a relaxing week, and I failed to
deliver.” This was just one more reason Jack needed to find the son
of a bitch who’d pulled the trigger.

“It’s not something you could have
prevented.”

“That’s exactly why it bothers me.”

He prided himself on his management of the
Cimarron, on knowing what was happening from one end of his land to
the other. But someone—either an outsider or an employee—had stood
fifty yards from his house and shot Chinook, a prized stud who’d
been born here, a horse he’d hand-raised from a colt, and Jack had
no idea who had done it or why. Chuck had talked to the men, but no
one had admitted to a misfire, and no one could remember seeing or
hearing anything. All he had in the way of evidence was the damage
to Chinook and a .45 slug.

Then another thought came to him.

“Is what happened to Chinook the reason
you’re in a hurry to leave—or is last night’s kiss to blame?”

She looked over at him, her dark brow
furrowed. “Neither. I just need to get my car in for repairs before
I start my new position next week.”

“I see.” He did—right through her. “I came on
too strong, didn’t I?”

“Maybe. No. Not at all. It’s just... ” She
hesitated. “I enjoyed kissing you, if you must know. In fact, I
enjoyed it a little too much.”

Back in his twenties and thirties, Jack might
have thought her words were emotional nonsense, the kind of thing
women said just to drive men insane. But he understood it better
now—or he thought he did.

“It’s about this Byron guy, isn’t it? And
your injuries.”

She looked over at him, then quickly looked
away again. “Something like that. I’m just not ready for a
relationship yet.”

Jack understood that, too. He’d had similar
feelings. He’d gone to bed last night not only worried about
Chinook, but wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He was
sixty-three, a widower, a grandfather. What business did he have
getting close to a woman her age? She was eighteen years younger
than he was, for God’s sake.

It had taken one look at her this morning to
silence those doubts. She was a beautiful, desirable woman. Kissing
her last night had made him feel alive again for the first time
since Theresa’s death. He wouldn’t feel bad about that.

He reached over, took her hand. “I’m not
going to rush you. There’s no rushing anything up here. But please
don’t run off on account of me. Stay and enjoy the mountains and
the horses. You’ve seen Chinook, but you haven’t seen the mares,
and you haven’t ridden yet. You came up here wanting to do those
things, and there’s no reason you can’t do them. We’ll take care of
the car. Don’t worry.”

“Where is it?”

“We passed it about a mile back.”

“What?” Her head jerked around to look behind
them.

“It’s been completely buried, courtesy of
CDOT. There’s no towing company that’s going to be willing to dig
it out for you. My men and I will handle that when the snow lets
up. In the meantime, I promise not to kiss you again. However, if
you kiss me first, I
will
kiss you back. I think that’s only
fair, don’t you?”

She looked over at him again, but this time,
there was a smile on her face. “You’re confident, aren’t you?”

But he wasn’t—not when it came to Janet.

“Here we are.” He turned off the highway,
lowered the plow, and began clearing a path to the pasture.

The cows were waiting for him again, lowing
impatiently.

“This will take a good ten or fifteen
minutes.” He parked the truck. “If you start to get cold, I’ve got
a blanket stashed behind my seat.”

He got out of the truck, climbed into the
back, and began cutting bales. He’d expected Janet to stay in the
vehicle, but she didn’t. She climbed out and walked carefully up to
the fence and began having a nice chat with the cows.

“Look at you!” She reached through the fence
to pet one of the animals. “You’ve got snow on your coat. I bet
you’re cold and hungry.”

There was a big smile on her sweet face,
fatigue and worry replaced by dimples, her dark hair catching in
the cold wind. And he thought he could see just a hint of the
little girl who’d read books up in apple trees.

She looked up at him, her face bright.
“They’re so big!”

He felt a hitch in his chest, felt his world
shift on its axis.

Ah, shit!

“Wait till you see the bulls,” he managed to
say as he tossed hay over the fence.

# # #

After delivering hay to the cows in the high
pasture, they returned to the ranch house, where Jack made an
amazing breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns, and flapjacks, with
fresh-squeezed orange juice and lots of strong coffee. Strangely,
Janet didn’t feel tired. When he suggested they go out and check on
the horses, she felt wide awake and excited for it.

“My father started with two mares.” He
offered her his arm as they walked the short distance to the second
of two horse barns. “He had a natural instinct for horseflesh. By
the time he passed, we’d become known nationally for our quarter
horses with three champion stallions. I learned from him.”

He opened the door for her, let her enter
first, warmth rushing over her face, the familiar scents of horses,
hay, and leather welcoming her.

“Is Chinook one of yours?”

He nodded. “He was born here in these
stables. He’s still young as stallions go. He’ll be seven in
May.”

“Why is he kept in a barn by himself? Doesn’t
that get lonely?”

“You said you had two geldings?” He said this
as if it amused him, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes. Why?”

“Stallions can be a handful. Chinook has a
strong sex drive. The moment he scents a mare in season, all he can
think about is mating with her. If we put him in the same building
as the mares, he would tear the place apart. He’d wreak havoc every
time one of them was in estrus. He’d kick down his stall, tear down
hers, and attack any horse—mare or gelding—that got in his way. As
for being lonely, he gets a lot of female attention during the
breeding season, and we keep him busy.”

She’d had no idea stallions could be that
difficult to handle. “So you just bring the mares to him when it’s
time?”

“More or less.”

“How many mares does he breed each
season?”

“He sires probably a hundred-twenty foals
each year.”

“Good grief! He must be very proud of
himself.” But that raised another question. “How do you know when
the mares are fertile?”

“Some stallions have good enough manners that
you can use them to tease the mares and gauge where they are in
their cycles, but not Chinook. We use ultrasounds and palpation to
check the mares, and then bring them to him when they’re in deep
estrus.”

“It sounds like quite an operation.”

They turned a corner, and Janet had to fight
not to squeal. A dozen stalls stretched out before her, each one
holding a beautiful palomino quarter horse, their coats ranging
from the almost silver color of Chinook’s to deep golden and even
chocolate hues. Their heads came up, and there was a ripple of
excitement as they recognized Jack.

Janet walked up to the first stall. “Hi,
beautiful.”

The mare tossed her head and walked over to
greet Jack, who took a carrot out of his coat pocket and handed it
to Janet. “That’s Baby Doe. Last time we bred her, she ended up
pregnant with twins and had a partial uterine torsion. We had to
ship her off to Colorado State University for round-the-clock care.
We got lucky. She survived, and so did both of the foals—a rare
thing with twins.”

“I’m so glad she’s okay.” Janet held the
carrot out on her palm, felt the mare’s lips brush softly over her
hand as she took the carrot and began to crunch. “I thought I knew
a lot about horses, but in the past five minutes, I’ve discovered
that I really don’t. And thanks for the carrot.”

Jack grinned. “I wanted you to make a good
first impression.”

She moved to the next stall, where a pale
mare was craning her neck, trying to get at some stray hay. Using
her cane to help her balance, Janet bent carefully down and picked
up the hay, then held it out on her palm. “Who’s this?”

“This is Molly Brown.”

Janet saw a pattern. “You’ve named the mares
after famous Colorado women.”

Jack grinned. “Seemed like a good thing to
do.”

“I like it.”

In short order, she’d fed carrots to Chipeta,
Isabella Bird, Julia Greeley, and a sweet little yearling filly
named Clara Brown.

Then they came to an enormous gelding. “He’s
huge!”

“That’s Buckwheat, my granddaughter’s horse.
He’s the first horse Emily rode, and she fell in love with
him.”

“I can see why.” Janet stroked the velvet of
his muzzle.

“He’s a big old softie, aren’t you,
Buckwheat?”

The gelding whickered, nuzzled Jack, who
patted his shoulder. “I thought we’d tack him up, get you up on his
back, and let you get a feel for riding again—if you’re up to it,
that is.”

Janet gaped at him, her heart ricocheting
around inside her ribcage. “I don’t know. How will I mount him?
What if I fall?”

“We had a veteran who was a triple amputee
ride Buckwheat last summer. I once watched a woman who was
paralyzed from the waist down ride him. You’ll do fine.”

Up until this moment, riding had been an
abstract thought, a wish, not a real plan. Now that she was faced
with getting up on a horse again, she couldn’t tell if her heart
was pounding from excitement or fear. But if amputees and people
who were paralyzed had the courage to try, then, damn it, so did
she.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

“You’ve got it.” Jack grinned, entered
Buckwheat’s stall, clipped a lead rope to the gelding’s halter, and
led him out of the stall and down the center walkway to a hallway,
the walls of which were hung with tack. He tied off Buckwheat’s
lead rope and began to saddle him. “You’re ready for some exercise,
aren’t you, boy?”

She watched while Jack saddled and bridled
Buckwheat, some part of her unable to believe she was really going
to do this.

“We’ll have you mount him from the left side
using our larger mounting block so that I can be there to support
you,” Jack was saying.

Janet only heard part of that, her mouth dry.
“Okay.”

He checked the girth, then took hold of
Buckwheat’s reins. “Come on, buddy.”