How to Wrangle a Cowboy (33 page)

She nodded. “Okay.” She glanced up at him, wondering if he could pass one simple test. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you. Is it okay if I take Cody over to the trailer park on a vet call tomorrow afternoon? He’s been interested in what I do, and I thought it would be a good chance for him to see me work.”

“The trailer park?”

His brows arrowed down, and her stomach did a slow, tumbling flip. He was going to say no. All this talk about trust was just that—talk.

He sighed, as if giving in to some greater force.

“Yes.” He said it hard, with emphasis, as if he knew how much his answer meant to her. “Of course he can go. I know I can always trust you with Cody.”

Her stomach righted itself, and she smiled. They were really getting somewhere.

The question was, where did she want this to go? There were times she wanted to back away fast, hitch a ride to the airport, and hightail it back to Charleston as fast as silver wings could fly. Then there were times like this, when she longed to throw herself into his arms and confess her everlasting love.

Well, her everlasting lust, anyway. She wasn’t even sure what love was.

And that had been her problem all along.

Chapter 41

Shane whistled and even sang a few George Strait tunes while he finished up his evening chores the next day. His heart was riding high in his chest, no longer weighted with worry. Lindsey was staying, and she was keeping the ranch. The two of them had managed to hammer out a truce, despite his overreaction to her confession about Bill Ward.

And it had definitely been an overreaction. He’d had plenty of time to think about it since they’d talked. He’d done his best to look at the situation from her point of view, and he’d come to the conclusion she’d done the right thing. She’d believed she was her grandfather’s confidante, and she’d refused to betray that trust.

And now, everything was all right. Lindsey and the Lazy Q were a part of his life for the foreseeable future, and a part of Cody’s—a solid, hammered-down reality.

He only had one big worry left, and that was Grace. With all her talk of bucket lists and her whispered claim that she’d never get to Charleston, he needed to know what she was thinking.

He started to knock on the door, then shook his head and walked in. He’d always been welcome at the big house, like a member of the family, and Lindsey’s return hadn’t changed that. If she was lounging around half-undressed, it wouldn’t be his fault.

Picturing Lindsey half-undressed, he almost forgot he was looking for Grace as he ducked into the family room. He couldn’t help hoping Lindsey might be doing yoga, contorting herself into some complicated stretch maneuver in yoga pants and a tiny top. He was very partial to yoga pants. And on Lindsey, a tiny top would…

Grace.
He was looking for Grace.

She wasn’t in the family room feeding her secret addiction to soap operas, so he checked the kitchen, then Bud’s old office and the adjoining library.

No Grace.

That was odd. He knew the old lady’s habits, and she should be somewhere on the ground floor. He searched the rest of the first floor quickly, with more urgency. She wasn’t in the laundry room, the parlor, or anywhere else.

Could she already be in bed? Maybe she was sick. That was what had drawn him here after all—her talk about bucket lists yesterday. He was afraid she’d had some sort of premonition, or was suffering from some ominous chest pain or terrible headaches.

The thought of Grace in pain got him moving again. Starting up the stairs, he noticed for the first time how dark it was at the top. The upstairs hall had no windows at all, and it was black as night up there.

The stairs creaked under his feet, and he made a mental note to check them for repairs.

After all, the day might come when he’d want to climb these stairs very quietly.

* * *

As soon as she returned from her afternoon ride, Lindsey went straight upstairs to call Ashley. She needed to share her good news and see how her friend felt about looking for a new partner for the Wilde/Ward Clinic.

Lindsey wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, and all the emotional upheaval she’d been holding at bay for the last few days hit her the second she closed the door to her room. Slumping down onto the bed, her feet hanging over the edge, she flung one arm over her eyes and closed them, just for a minute.

Oh, that felt good. Maybe more than a minute. She needed a rest—just a little rest…

She woke with a start, not knowing if she’d slept an hour or a day. The shades were closed, making the room so dark it could have been nighttime or noon.

She’d had a terrible dream. William Ward had come in the night, creeping through the dark halls, trying to steal Grace. She’d watched him from above, like a ghost of herself, helpless to stop him as he reached out a dreadful, clawed hand for her grandmother, who’d grown small as a child’s doll.

Jerking upright like a Halloween skeleton popping out of a coffin, she listened hard. Had she heard something? Was that what had woken her?

Earlier, she’d called Adriana and told her to notify William Ward in any words she chose that his little game was over, and that he’d lost. She didn’t know what his reaction would be, but she doubted it would be pretty.

Heart fluttering, she sat still as a garden Buddha, listening with all her might.
There.
She was sure now. Someone was coming up the stairs.

One board creaked, then another. The footsteps were closer now, heavy and slow.

Leaping to her feet, she flicked off her light and stood quietly in the darkened room, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Once she could see the shadowy outlines of her dresser and chair, she figured it was safe to open her bedroom door.

There was a man at the top of the stairs.

Lindsey’s heart leaped and spun like a startled rabbit, but she was no rabbit. Not anymore. This was her home. She’d fought for it once, and she’d fight again.

Fortunately, he was turned away from her, staring in the opposite direction. Toward Grace’s room.

With a quick scream, she shoved the man as hard as she could.

He didn’t move.

Who would have thought William Ward would be built like a granite cliff? She’d have guessed he’d be more like a fishing pole.

“Get out!” She shoved again, a storm of hysteria sweeping up her brain like a tornado plucking up hapless homes and spinning them senseless.

The shadow spoke. “Lindsey, it’s me.”

Shane.
Of course. Her own personal granite cliff. She sagged against the wall, limp with relief.

“Where’s Grace?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”

Flicking on the hall light, she did her best to appear composed. It wasn’t easy. She’d given Parsnip her head and let the wind have its way with her hair, and she’d never brushed it out. Her face still felt red and raw, and her scoop-neck tee was dipping low, revealing a bit too much cleavage.

She tugged at the stretchy fabric, then hugged herself, still chilled by the dream.

“You’re looking for Grace?” She couldn’t make sense of that.

“Yes, Grace. Your grandmother.” He wrapped his hands around her biceps, staring into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She was now. Those hands, rough with work but somehow so comforting, warmed and calmed her. “I’m fine. Sorry. I had a nightmare.” Blinking, she finally considered his question. “Why are you looking for Grace?”

“She said something that worried me earlier. That she’d never wear those clothes, never go to Charleston.”

“Well, since everything got straightened out, she probably won’t.”

“But I don’t think that’s what she meant. All that talk about her bucket list—I’m really worried. It’s not like her.”

A chill raced down Lindsey’s spine. Grace had seemed okay to her, but the woman was an actress. Maybe she was missing Bud more than she let on. If anything happened to Grace…

She was wide-awake now. “Let’s check the rest of the house.”

It didn’t take long to search the other bedrooms and, unlikely as it was, the attic. Meeting back in the hallway, Shane agreed to take the pickup and check the roads, while Lindsey saddled Parsnip again to search the pastures.

Parsnip was not pleased to be called in from the pasture again, and the sun was beginning to sink in the sky by the time she got the horse tacked up. Swinging into the saddle, Lindsey took the reins and paused, wondering where she should look. If they were living in an old-style Western, there’d be no doubt which direction to go. Movie cowboys always rode off into the sunset.

Wait a minute
.
Bud had been a movie cowboy. Maybe not a famous one, but a real one. While Gene Autry and Roy Rogers powdered their famous noses, Bud rode like the real thing.

Clicking her tongue, she gunned Parsnip into a trot and followed the fence line by the near pasture. She wasn’t very good at directions, but the crooked line of barbed wire led straight to the lowering orb of the sun.

When she reached the path that ran alongside the fence, she scanned her surroundings. Despite her worries about Grace, she couldn’t help being affected by the view.

Her own birthright was all around her—land, land, and more land, all of it hers. She was starting to understand how Scarlett O’Hara had felt in
Gone with the Wind
, when she’d clutched a handful of dirt and declared she’d never be hungry again. The Lazy Q was Lindsey’s heart and her heritage, and from now on her life would center on this place where she’d spent so many happy summers as a child.

A crow called out a raucous alarm and rose from a nearby tree, and others took up the cry. Lindsey drew Parsnip to a stop and shaded her eyes with one hand to see what had the birds so riled up. Squinting, she spotted a slight but determined figure striding through the long grass of the neighboring pasture.

It was a woman, walking in a straight and determined line toward the horizon. The same stiff breeze that was whipping Lindsey’s hair into a tangled bird’s nest tore at the wild white strands of her hair and made the grass bow before her. For a second, Lindsey felt as if she’d been transported back in time, and was witnessing the long trek of some prairie traveler, a remnant of a long-gone wagon train. Or maybe one of Willa Cather’s immigrant women, driven mad by wind and loneliness, was walking away from the scant living she’d scratched out of the rocky, unforgiving ground. Lindsey could almost hear the music rising, a thousand weeping violins scraping about love and heartache, dreams dreamed and dreams lost.

But immigrant women didn’t wear Wranglers. It was only Grace. Drama and music, real or illusory, always reached a pitched crescendo when her grandmother was around.

Swinging one leg over Parsnip’s solid rump, she slid down from the saddle and followed the fence line until she found a space where she could duck under the top row of barbed wire. As she crossed the field, she phoned Shane on her cell.

“Found her.”

“Thank God.”

“I need to get her home. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure.”

“And, Shane?” She wasn’t sure if the lump she swallowed was her pride or the ache that came with the thought of losing Grace. “Thank you for letting me know she was gone.” She glanced over at her grandmother, who was still walking. “I’m not sure where she would have ended up.”

“We work together,” he said, his tone warm. And then he chuckled. “For Grace.”

“For Grace.” She chuckled right back, but the more serious side of her wondered if he knew how much it meant to her, the way he looked after her grandmother.

By the time she reached Grace, Lindsey was worn-out. Wading through the grass, with the wind at her back, was like walking in deep water. It made her wonder how her elderly grandmother did it, but when she reached Grace, she got her answer: determination. Even when Lindsey grabbed her arm, Grace kept on walking, eyes fixed on the setting sun. It was as if she was sleepwalking.

“Grandma.” Lindsey circled Grace until she stood in front of her, holding her shoulders. “Grandma, it’s me. Where are you going? We couldn’t find you.”

“Who?” Grace stepped away and slid a sly sideways look toward Lindsey. “You and Shane?”

For a moment, Lindsey wondered if all this was simply one of Grace’s matchmaking schemes, a way of forcing Lindsey and Shane together. But then the fog returned to Grace’s eyes, and Lindsey decided she must have imagined it.

“We were so worried, Grandma. Where were you going?”

“West,” Grace said, confirming Lindsey’s hunch, “into the sunset.” She stretched one hand toward the sun, and for a moment it looked as if she held it in her aging, age-spotted hand.

“That’s where Bud went, isn’t it?” Lindsey asked gently.

Grace’s face glowed in the dying light as a single tear traced the crooked creases in her cheek. “That’s where all good cowboys go at the end.”

Lindsey took Grace’s arm, and the two of them watched the long day die in a wild, flaming palette of red, purple, and gold.

“I miss him so much,” Grace whispered.

Lindsey embraced her and they cried together. When the streaks of orange and purple faded to twilit gray, the tears subsided, but their grief still felt jagged and new.

“Sometimes I don’t know how I can face another day without him,” Grace said.

“But you do,” Lindsey said. “You do it because that’s what he would want for you. You have to keep on being his strong, brave Grace.”

“Strong.” Grace waved a hand in dismissal. “He always said I was a little bitty thing.”

“But he knew you had steel inside.” Lindsey smiled. “We all know you’re the one who got him through the tough times. He relied on you as much as you relied on him. And right now, he’s trusting you to be strong until you can be together again.” She held her grandmother closer. “I’m relying on you too, Grandma. I know you miss Granddad, but I need you here.”

Grace wiped away her tears while Lindsey surreptitiously mopped up her own with the tail of her shirt. The two of them waded through the grass to the spot where Parsnip cropped the grass by the fence.