Lifeline Echoes (12 page)

"Oh, sweetheart you're helping from where
you are. Nothing you could do here."

"I could hold your hand at least."

"You know, Angel, it kind of feels like you
already are holding my hand. It's real nice knowing someone's out
there who cares. I'm glad you're on the other end of the line."

"I'm glad, too," she said truthfully. "I'm
not letting you go, Mick."

****

Ryan surveyed the scene, trying to be
objective. The cow was a mess. Once, her hide had been a honeyed
tan, but it was now caked with layers of blood, which had run
freely from a wound on her flank. The trampled, blood-stained grass
told the story. She hadn't gone down easily, but finally had lost
so much blood she couldn't stay on her feet.

He looked from the flank wound up to the
animal's head, into which he'd just put a Power-Point from his
Winchester. It was the only comfort he'd been able to provide. A
muscle worked in his clenched jaw. He might have fired the kill
shot but he hadn't been the one to bring about the cow's death. It
still hurt to his core.

Ryan estimated she'd been shot within the
past twenty-four hours. He supposed it was possible she'd been
mistaken for a deer or an elk but since it wasn't hunting season,
that meant someone was possibly poaching. Based on the absence of
the Cross MC herd from prime grazing land, though, his gut told him
he'd stumbled onto a very different picture.

With his teeth clamped against emotional
pain, he crouched next to the carcass and pulled a folding knife
from his pocket. The blade was short but sharp and it was all he
had, so it would have to do. Knowing of only one way to recover the
slug in her flank, Ryan began methodically slicing into the cow's
flesh.

****

She heard him fighting his way through the
thick brush. When he emerged, he carried his shirt bunched up in
one hand. His eyes met hers and she felt her tension drain. He was
okay. His long strides carried him directly to the cold mountain
creek, where he tossed his shirt onto the bank next to the
fast-running water.

Her eyes skimmed over him. His hands were
coated with sticky-looking crimson. Streaks of red stained his
abdomen. There was a smear across one cheek.

With her heart lodged in her throat, she
rushed toward him. "That's blood!" Sandy reached toward Ryan with
trembling hands. "Where are you hurt?"

"I'm okay," he assured quickly, but he held
up a hand to stop her approach. "It's cow's blood."

She slowed her steps but didn't stop. "What
happened?"

Ryan presented a façade of calm, stooping to
bathe his arms and chest in the icy water. But his hands shook when
he grabbed his blood-stained shirt from the bank, using it to scrub
at his skin. "She was badly injured. There was nothing I could do.
I had to put her down."

Understanding dawned quickly and she closed
her eyes. "The gunshot."

He nodded. "She'd lost too much blood. There
was nothing I could do," he repeated dully.

Sandy laid a hand on his bare shoulder,
squeezed lightly, and then crouched next to him to study his face.
She dipped her hand in the creek and used her thumb to scrub away
the streak of blood along his cheek.

Ryan closed his eyes and leaned into her
touch. "Aw, Sandy. It's been so long since—" A spasm of pain
contorted his features. "Thank you."

Sandy pushed her hand through Ryan's hair
and grazed her thumb over his ear. "Hey," she whispered. "I'm glad
you're okay."

She felt him start under her hands. His
green eyes filled with emotion. He stood, pulling her up with him.
His arms settled around her and he held her tightly, burying his
face in her hair. His breath was warm on her neck. Her arms stole
around his waist and she hung on, rubbing her cheek against his
chest. A long time later, his trembling slowed and he leaned back
to look at her. She looked back.

"There's a lot I want to say to you,
Chicory." He shook his head. Emotions still swirled in his
eyes.

She was pretty sure she had the same growing
feelings. It seemed they were both going to complicate things after
all. She kept her hands on him, unable to sever contact.

"I know stuff like this happens, but it's
hard to think about." Gesturing toward the calf, she asked, "Will
she be all right?"

Relief eased its way into his features.
"Probably. She's hungry but still strong. Sean'll have provisions
for orphans so I'll carry her back to the ranch."

"What would have happened to her if we
weren't here?"

"If she was lucky, predators would have
gotten her. If not, she would have starved to death." He spoke in a
matter-of-fact tone that didn't match the tension in his body.

Sandy shuddered; neither scenario was
appealing.

Ryan soaked his ruined shirt in the creek
and used it to clean the dirt and blood from the orphaned calf.
"It's okay, little one, you're safe now." He ran gentle hands over
the calf's matted brown and white fur, checking for injuries. Under
his soothing touch, the calf drifted to sleep.

Sandy picked up her camera. As she watched
Ryan from behind the lens, she realized this was not merely meat on
the hoof for him. He hadn't saved the baby as part of some plan to
salvage the ranch's profit margin. She mattered to him, on an
intensely personal, very human level. And killing the cow, no
matter how merciful, hadn’t come easy to him.

****

Chapter Seven

Checking the cinch on Sandy's saddle, Ryan's
hands froze when her arms slid around him from behind. She laid her
cheek against his back, her breath spreading little feathery
sensations of warmth across his bare skin. He closed his eyes,
enjoying the contact. Splayed across his abdomen, her hands were
warmer than the sunshine.

Beneath her tender caress, feelings Ryan
couldn't name were erupting like a long-dormant volcano. He looked
at his hands, still resting against the saddle, and realized he was
trembling with the force of the emotions sliding through his
system.

"Your shirt is trashed," she murmured. That
honey-smooth voice never failed to capture his attention, but at
this moment, it was coursing through his heart.

When she drew back, the mountain breeze
chilled his flesh. She slid something over his arms and onto his
shoulders. Ryan looked down and recognized the man's shirt she had
been wearing earlier.

"It's going to be a bit small on you but
it's better than nothing."

Shrugging his shoulders the rest of the way
into the shirt, Ryan was immediately embraced by Sandy's essence.
Her scent clung to the white cotton, rose up to tantalize him. The
combination of physical attraction and the wash of emotions he was
experiencing was almost too intense to bear.

Turning into her arms, he pressed one simple
soft kiss to her lips. He tested the feel of the shirt on his back.
It caught a bit across his shoulders but left unbuttoned it fit
well enough. Smelling her for the whole ride back, though, was
going to be a test of will.

"Thanks." Mischief demanded outlet. "Should
I be wondering why you have men's clothing in your closet?"

Blue eyes twinkled at him. "Jealous?"

Ryan flexed his muscles against the confines
of the shirt. The seams strained beneath his broad shoulders. He
raised an eyebrow. "I don’t think so."

She laughed. Man, how he loved that sweet
sexy laugh.

"Relax, Cowboy, you've got everything I
want." Resting her hands on his hips, she leaned in to give him a
swift kiss. Everywhere she touched felt like a hot iron branding
him. "I'm all yours," she said against his lips. "The shirts are
from my men's-shirt-short-skirt nightclubbing days."

Ryan inhaled sharply at the picture her
words conjured. His fingers tightened reflexively on her
shoulders.

"Sometimes I wear one when I ride instead of
a jacket." Reaching past his shoulder, she removed a pink T-shirt
from one of the saddle bags and pulled it over her head. "There.
Now I'm covered, too." She winked.

Ryan's lips twitched. He was so gone over
this woman, liking the way she was almost innocent and vulnerable
one moment and sensually playful the next. He'd been pleasantly off
balance around her since their first meeting.

His gaze landed on the calf. "Sandy, things
got a little crazy. This isn't how I pictured our day together."
He'd hoped for a slow, sensuous romantic interlude with a mutually
pleasant end later in the evening.

She responded with an easy chuckle and a
shrug. "The days won't all be crazy. If things were too mundane, we
wouldn't know what to do with ourselves. And I'm sorry about the
cow. But Ryan, about the rest of the day. . ." Her smile warmed
him. "I wouldn't change anything."

Pulling her close, Ryan ran his hand along
the back of her head, taking her lips and kissing her with all the
tenderness he was feeling. "We have to get back. Will you save some
time for me tomorrow evening?"

He boosted her into the saddle, resting his
hand on her leg. When she looked at him, she wore a sweet smile.
"Will you wear your black hat?"

****

The sun was just barely holding on in the
sky by the time they reached the ranch. Laser beams of crimson shot
out from behind silvery-gray clouds edged in gleaming gold. The
plains around them were glowing red, reminding Ryan of the first
night he had seen Sandy.

They were closing in on the ranch and Ryan
called Sean on a hand-held radio to alert him about the calf. Sean
met them in the yard with Gus Hanson, the Cross MC foreman. He was
a grizzled troll of a man, who had been on the ranch since Ry's
granddad had been the head of the family. Ryan gratefully slid the
calf into the old man's waiting arms.

Ryan handed Sandy his car key and grinned.
"Warm her up for us? Sean'll help unsaddle."

Her start of surprise told him he hadn’t
been as smooth about excusing himself to talk to Sean as he'd
intended, but she took the key, smiling once over her shoulder as
she sauntered to the car.

Ryan handed Galaxy off to Sean, keeping his
hand on the reins a bit longer than necessary. "You have any
inkling why I found a cow shot to blazes and gone up there?"

Sean stiffened, inhaled deeply, then slowly
blew the breath out and nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"We need to talk." Ryan shot his brother a
pointed look, a silent warning to stop dodging.

"I know. Tomorrow, okay? Go ahead and take
Sandy home. I'll settle the horses. And, Ry. Don't bring it up in
front of Dad."

So much for getting answers, Ryan thought on
the drive to town. The warning not to involve their father had only
raised more questions, to which, Ryan was certain, he wasn't going
to like the answers.

****

"You're awfully quiet." Sandy struggled to
keep her voice casual.

"Tired."

"Umm, yeah." She watched him set the brake
and turn off the engine, moving as if in slow motion. Not just
tired. Drained.

Ryan walked her up the steps to her
apartment. After she unlocked the door she turned into his arms.
His kiss went from soft to heated then back to gentle.

She leaned into the kiss, enjoying the feel
of his muscular arms beneath her hands. She hated having to let him
go.

"I wanted to watch the stars come out with
you, Chicory," he whispered.

She looked up. Even with the ambient light
from town, the sky was overflowing with visible stars. "I love the
stars. There are so many they almost. . ."

". . . blend together."

Electrical current raced along her spine.
"Yes," she whispered, wishing she could see his face.

Ryan turned Sandy so her back was to him and
slid his arm around her waist while they enjoyed the view from her
tiny balcony. "My mom used to tell us stories about the sky and the
stars," he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. "She said
the night sky was one of God's favorite old blankets, keeping
everyone here on Earth safe and warm. And the blanket has these
tiny pinholes worn in, like some comfortable blankets do. The
lights we see are little glimpses of heaven on the other side of
the blanket."

"Ryan, that's beautiful."

"Next time, we'll get it right." He turned
her back to face him, kissing her with slow, sweet longing. "I'll
see you tomorrow, Sandy."

After Ryan left, Sandy leaned against the
door, her fingertips pressed against her lips. Maybe tomorrow he'd
stay the night.

Her T-shirt landed on the sofa. She
unfastened her jeans and loosened them on the way to the bathroom.
While the hot water splashed into the tub, she tossed in her
favorite bath beads. Then she heard the soft knock on her door and
flew across the small apartment to answer, her heart tripping into
a happy dance.

"Hey, Cowboy, you gonna' spend the night—?"
She pulled up short at the sight of the brawny man lounging against
the railing outside her apartment. "Bull, hey, what are you doing
here?" Hastily, Sandy pulled the edges of her gaping jeans
together, cursing when the zipper jammed.

"Hey, Sandy, I came by to apologize for
Friday night," he told her gruffly, stepping inside on his own
invitation.

His greedy gaze crept along the length of
her bare arms, skimmed her neck, flicked over her chest, slid lower
to where her jeans weren't quite fastened. Sandy knew he couldn't
see much and forced herself not to clutch the denim closed. But he
was creeping her out. He'd never come on to her before, had always
treated her with respect.

Bull probably wasn't thinking of the wife he
habitually left at home when he licked his lips. Sandy felt chilled
wherever his inky black gaze touched her. His eyes slid to the
unmade bed behind her and he rubbed his fingertips together.
Sandy's heart lodged itself in her throat, beating madly with
foreboding.