When the Heart Falls (33 page)

He laid on his horn. Then leaned on his elbow and yelled out the window. “Stella, damn it, get out of my way!”

She raised her dark shining eyes and stared nonchalantly at him, working on the wad of grass. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw at the challenge.

Jason rammed his hand repeatedly against the horn. Slowly Stella sauntered across the path and stopped just to the side. Jason shook his head in frustration and drove past her. “Stubborn wench.” He glared at her but restrained the urge to take a swing. His daily work was therapeutic. Checking the salt licks and mineral blocks, then the water. He drove to the top of the next hill and stopped at the windmill. He stepped out of the pick-up and brushed his hand over one of the heifer’s drinking water from the tank.

The windmill sails spun, creating the rhythmic screeching he actually found soothing. Water wasn’t much of a concern in the Sandhills with the aquifer residing just beneath the surface and the eternal current of wind that churned the windmills, keeping the tanks full, changing only in intensity, rarely calming completely. There were ponds spaced haphazardly between the dunes and bluffs and even part of the river ran through Jason’s land but he liked the consistency and old-time feel of a windmill. He also derived great satisfaction from climbing and repairing the contraption.

He loved his life on the ranch. He worked by the strength of his back and the skill of his hands which bore witness to that in the form of hard calluses and firm muscles.

Not that this life didn’t require the use of his brain, quite the opposite actually. Taking care of the land and animals that are unable to speak in words is a science. It also requires listening to your gut and sometimes employing a sixth sense to know what needs to be done and to foresee problems and successes.

He wasn’t lonely, not really. But he had thought - he stopped himself with a shake of his head. She left. Andy being here with him was a dream - no, more like a fantasy. But Jason couldn’t stop seeing her face light up when he had talked about the ranch.

Probably idle fascination. City girls were always intrigued by the fantasy of ranch life and cowboys. The frenzied pace of living and working in a city was not for him. Being crammed together next to thousands of nameless faces, scurrying from here to there, would be pure suffocation.

Things were simpler here, peaceful, steady. He was happy he chose this life. He belonged to the land. Sweat, dirt and manure were etched in every cell. The wind was his soul, the water his blood.

Outside in the sunshine and fresh air, Jason was feeling almost back to normal. He patted the growing calf standing at his mother's side before heading to his truck to continue checking his livestock. But he couldn’t seem to get the vision of Andy Jameson out of his head. He could see her smiling up at him, her chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders, her smooth skin beneath his, hands and it was irritating him.

As he was getting into his truck, all thoughts of Andy shot from his mind when he heard a panicked bellow from somewhere to his left. He scanned the area, narrowing his eyes. He heard it again and his pulse dipped then raced. Finally, he spotted the feeder-calf, flailing on its side in the blowout at the top of the catstep.

Chapter 2

Andy’s heart rate hadn’t quite returned to normal yet, but at least she wasn’t glancing in the rearview mirror every five seconds anymore. It was clear she had made a clean escape.

She traveled the familiar road to her grandparents' ranch, wondering what had gone wrong. She started this weekend out on a high in her most favorite place in the world: Tyler, Nebraska. Photographing of her cousin’s wedding was a welcome break from the misery of taking pictures of nameless families and their milestone events.

Her mind filtered back to yesterday afternoon. She had been so excited to see her grandparents, to breathe the fresh air and simply stare at the Sandhills bursting in summer glory. It warmed her heart to see the ocean of rippling grass, the splash of vibrant pinks, yellows, blues and whites in the wildflowers scattered across the hills and the sparkle of fresh water bubbling up from the ground, pooling into ponds like a million tiny diamonds on the prairie.

She had parked outside the church, its towering steeple casting a shadow over her car. Giggling at the cowboy perched on his horse in the parking lot; she had to force the urge to curtsey from her legs when he tipped his hat to her. She gathered her gear from the trunk and slammed it closed with her elbow.

She was home. She loved that she could actually hear the cattle calling in the distance, the rustle of wind through the cottonwoods, even the blinking of the lone yellow traffic light rhythmically ticking. Stepping into the vestibule had made her want to reach for her Sunday bonnet.

Alone in the peace of the country church quaintly decorated with wildflowers and ribbon, Andy felt the presence of tradition. She heard the voices of past generations echoing in this cherished place. She sat in the last pew, relishing the serenity before she set up her equipment.

The wedding party, including her parents, filtered in throughout the next thirty minutes. The conversation with her parents had been typical. Her mother criticized her chosen outfit of black skirt, which was too short, sleeveless white top, which was too revealing, and lead foot in an impractical strappy sandal since Andy had arrived an hour before them.

She could only picture the nightmare four-and-a-half-hour drive had she decided to travel with her parents. She would’ve pitched herself from the car before they made it fifty miles.

Her father, on the other hand, had hugged her, kissed her cheek and told her she was beautiful. She could always count on him to diffuse the charged atmosphere. Then he escorted her mother to the waiting room with the rest of the family, allowing Andy to get to work.

Andy placed the last of the lighting. “Okay. I’m going to need the wedding party to line up in front of the altar.” She watched through the lens of her camera.

And that’s when her fate shifted.

Bam. A shiver shot down her spine when she met those intense hazel eyes through her lens.

Her finger froze and so did her heart. She lost all awareness of where she was or what she was doing. Just like that. Lightning. Her eyes locked with the best man’s eyes and she was sunk. She was confused, numb, and breathless.

Her racing heart and sweaty palms pulled her back to the present. Her memory was so vivid, tears burned in her eyes. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, loosening her ponytail and leaned her elbow against the window. Why did he have to be so damn hot? She wanted to scream and turn the car around. She wanted to go back to him, wanted it so much her heart threatened to burst.

Her stomach turned with shame, because she had wanted him. The moment she saw him she wanted him. She couldn’t tear her eyes off him. And she knew he felt the same way. It was written across that rugged face.

She remembered taking the shots before the ceremony; her fingers felt stiff, her palms sweaty and a sigh of disgust escaped her lips at her lack of professionalism.

Then, during the ceremony, their eyes met and sparks flew. It was all but fireworks in that church and it wasn't the bride and groom. Somehow she had made it through the ceremony and captured all of the pictures she wanted to get.

Her body warmed with the memory of his deep voice whispering in her ear at the reception. Well, as much of a whisper as it could be over the loud reception music. And she smiled as her mind replayed the events of last night.

“Do you always make it a habit to gaze intently at the best man?”

Her breath caught in her chest and the tingles were still coursing down her body as he came around in front of her, standing almost toe to toe. Her brain ceased to work.

Normally she would have cut a man down to size for starting out with such an arrogant line; she tried not to encourage the egotistical type. But the truth of his statement had her squirming.

He had removed his jacket and tie and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt, showing tanned, muscular forearms. The two buttons at his collar were undone, revealing smooth bronze skin. She finally raised her eyes to his and saw them glowing with humor. Her cheeks burned. He knew she had checked him out and liked what she saw.

“I was not gazing intently at you.” Andy didn’t know how she had gathered the strength to push her words past the lump in her throat.

He raised doubting dark brows. “Mmm.”

“I wasn’t.” She set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “I’m a photographer and I have to capture people’s most important moments. I look at everyone intently.” He grinned at the challenging glare she sent him.

Her breath caught with the graze of his skin against hers as he took her drink from her hand and set it on the closest table and replaced it with his own hand. He started toward the dance floor, pulling her behind him.

“What are you doing?” Her nervous plea annoyed her. But they were already among the other dancers and he had turned around to face her.

He placed his hand at her waist and brought her into close contact with his body. Too close. But she didn’t pull back. Whether it was because she was still in shock from the commanding way he was treating her or because every part of her body was magnetized to his, she didn't know.

“I’m dancing with you, Andy.” He took the first steps, leading her into a Texas two-step. Another jolt of shock paralyzed her for a second. But his smooth steps and the tug of his hand snapped her into movement. She had to stutter step to catch up to him.

“Who’d you ask for my name?” she asked after her senses made a small recovery. The use of Andy instead of Andrea told her it must’ve been a close relative of hers with the exception of her mother.

He grinned at her and continued moving them expertly around the floor without looking where he was going; his comfort spoke of all the women he must have practiced with. Andy shook off that thought.

“No one. I know who you are.”

The smug look on his handsome face pricked her temper. She didn’t like being toyed with, but when she opened her mouth to give him a rude awakening she caught the playful glimmer in his eye.

“Who are you?”

Another smile lit his features but before she could ask more he spun her out and back in, tucking her neatly into the curve of his chest so she was facing out with his arms wrapped around her stomach.

“I can’t believe you don’t recognize me.” His deep voice tickling her ear again sent a shiver down her spine, turning her insides to warm honey. “I could almost be hurt by that.”

Andy smiled in spite of his arrogance. “Give me a hint.” Her voice wavered and just as she took a deep breath he spun her to face him without missing a step.

God, he was a great dancer. She had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling.

Their faces were centimeters from each other. Andy actually flickered her glance to his lips, felt his breath against her own. She tensed for his kiss, wanted it and knew she shouldn’t, but it didn’t come. He pulled back, and Andy honestly felt disappointed.

She dragged her eyes from his firm lips surrounded by a dusting of dark hair to his teasing, intense hazel eyes staring into hers. His strong hands pull her closer, his legs bumping hers as he led her in circles around the dance floor. She was completely unaware of anyone else’s presence.

Then he quirked a brow, pretending to think over the question she had forgotten.

“Let’s see.” He squinted up and scrunched up his mouth. “The last time you saw me I was sixteen. Scrawny, with curls on top of my head.”

Andy had barely recovered from their encounter to smile at his description. She tried envisioning this extremely good-looking, well-groomed man as the boy he was depicting.

“It was Thanksgiving weekend,” he continued in his light-hearted tone, “and I had just come inside the house after I wrecked my dirt bike on an embarrassingly easy jump.”