Must Love Cowboys (13 page)

The next thing I knew, it was Saturday morning.

Time to make the pancakes.

Fortunately, I'd had time to flip through a few cookbooks before being faced with the task, although after I finished, I had to wonder why Calvin didn't make them more often. Either he didn't like pancakes or he considered them unhealthy because with that huge griddle and a nifty gadget that dispensed the correct amount of batter with the press of a button, making a bajillion pancakes was quite literally a piece of cake.

“By George, I think she's got it,” Bull exclaimed as he sauntered into the kitchen. Grabbing a plate, he got in line behind Sonny and Dean.

Nick, having been first in line, had already kissed the cook and was no doubt in the mess hall, chowing down on a stack of pancakes that would have choked a horse. That is, if horses ever ate pancakes, which I doubted. Ophelia, on the other hand, ate a proportional amount with no difficulty whatsoever.

I was a little surprised at how well my timid pet had settled in at the ranch—and the entire journey, for that matter. Beyond her initial reaction to the men, she seemed tolerant of them, even affectionate at times—especially toward Wyatt. I could only assume it was because he sneaked her treats at dinnertime, but I'd seen the others doing the same thing.

She liked him.
Go figure.

I shooed the guys out after breakfast. Without any letters to read, I would have more than enough time to wash the dishes.

Calvin's refusal to give up his cowboy chores in favor of becoming the full-time chief cook and bottle-washer didn't surprise me a bit. Now that I was getting into the swing of things, my free time had grown to the point that boredom was a distinct possibility. At least I had a car and could make a run into Rock Springs now and then.

That being said, I was reluctant to leave the ranch, mainly because I thought Angela might call, and I didn't want to miss any news about Calvin. As weak as the signal was on my cell—most of the time it was nonexistent—I'd stopped carrying it.

But I was getting restless. Dean had told me there was a phone extension in the barn, so I figured I could at least go out there and visit the horses.

I'd never been around horses much, but I soon discovered I liked them almost as much as dogs. They were friendly and inquisitive, nuzzling me whenever I drew near. I was bonding with a pretty reddish brown horse with a white star and a black mane when I heard the phone.

“Figures,” I muttered as I headed toward the sound. Fortunately, it was in the tack room, which wasn't far away, and I caught it on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Tina,” Angela said. “Still getting along okay?”

“Sure. Made a ton of pancakes this morning and the guys are all happy as clams.”
Some more than others.

“Great. I've got good news too. Calvin is doing much better. He actually recognized me this morning, and so far, he seems fairly coherent. His speech is a little slurred and he's still pretty weak, but other than that, everything looks good.”

“Slurred speech?” I echoed. “Do they think he had a stroke?”

“The CT of the head was negative, but they said sometimes strokes don't show up right away. His hand grasps are equal, though, so they don't think that's the problem. One of the nurses said he acts kinda like he might've overdosed on something.”

“That's doubtful, considering his pill bottles were all full—except for the nitroglycerine tablets.”

“That's what I told them. Anyway, the doctor talked like he might release him tomorrow or the day after if he continues to improve.” She hesitated for a second or two. “Dad doing okay?”

“Seems to be,” I replied. “He and Dusty haven't missed a meal in the mess hall since you left.”

She giggled. “I'm not surprised. Dad only cooks when he feels like it, which isn't very often these days. He hasn't been going out with the men, has he?”

“Not as far as I know. I only see him at mealtimes.”

“Dusty must be keeping an eye on him then. He's next on my list of people to call—unless you've found any of Calvin's family.”

“We found out his sister's name was Jeannine Caruthers, but she died back in January. There doesn't seem to be anyone else, unless that guy who tried to visit him really is his long-lost great-nephew, which is doubtful. The best we could tell from Calvin's letters, even Jeannine didn't know what happened to the kid.”

She blew out a sigh. “Calvin and I obviously need to have a talk about what to do the next time something like this happens. It's been tough trying to figure out what he would want me to do.”

“Good luck. Getting my grandfather to sign the POA papers wasn't easy.”

“Yeah. Most men don't like the idea of giving up control.”

In my experience, neither did most women. “After this, I'm guessing he'll understand the need for some sort of contingency plan.”

“I sure hope so,” she said. “Guess I'll give Dad a call. Y'all take care, now.”

“You too.”

I hung up the phone, unsure whether to be happy or sad. I was pleased to hear of Calvin's improvement, but his recovery would ultimately mean my departure. I was already starting to feel at home—
cue the guitars and fiddles
—on the range, even though I had yet to actually explore the places where the deer and the antelope play. I hadn't ridden a horse, and I hadn't seen a cow—not up close, anyway.

With those omissions in mind, I strolled out beyond the stable and found where the pigs and chickens were housed. I noticed a few eggs in the chicken pen, along with the basket I'd seen Sonny use to carry them into the kitchen. Cooking and debugging computers weren't the only things I could do. I had no burning desire to tend the hogs, but I could certainly feed chickens and gather eggs. Just because I hadn't been raised on a ranch didn't mean I couldn't learn.

I had the basket on my arm and was unlatching the gate when movement on the hillside beyond the outbuildings caught my eye. A blink and a stare revealed nothing more than the wind blowing through the tall brown grass. I glanced at Ophelia standing beside me. If she'd seen the same thing, she made no sign.

“Probably just a bird,” I muttered. Certainly not anyone responsible for cutting fences, especially not in broad daylight.

As I gathered the eggs, I considered the fence-cutting mystery. As Angela had said, all it did was make more work for the men, forcing them to ride the fence line twice as often as they usually did and spend a great deal of time searching for stray cattle. As far as I knew, no fences had been cut since my arrival, but—

My thoughts broke off as I racked my brain for any mention of cut fences in the past two days. There had been grumblings about previous episodes, but none that were current.

What had changed? Calvin was in the hospital. Angela was in Salt Lake City. Mr. Kincaid was alone up at the main house most of the time. Dusty and the hands were out during the day, which, if I hadn't been there, would have left the bunkhouse unattended.

If I hadn't been there.
Without my presence, anyone wishing to search the premises and steal anything that wasn't nailed down would have had ample time to do so. The trouble was, fences were being cut even before my arrival and nothing had been stolen—at least, not that anyone had noticed. Try as I might, I couldn't come up with anything that would explain everything—or even connect the dots.

I carried the eggs back to the kitchen and washed them before placing them in one of the cartons stacked in a bin beside the door. After stowing them in the fridge, I took three pounds of hamburger from the freezer and set it out to thaw along with a dozen store-bought buns. The kitchen was equipped with a good-sized deep fryer, but by the time I realized how many potatoes I would have to peel and slice to make fries for nine people, I opted to make potato salad instead. Having packed the balance of the cookies with the men's lunch, I knew I couldn't count on there being any left for dessert. So, after eating my own lunch, I dug around in the freezer and found some blackberries.

As I stared at the label on the package, a wave of nostalgia hit me like a freight train. Grandpa and I had picked blackberries every summer for as long as I could remember, and blackberry cobbler was one of the first things I'd ever baked. I should cherish those kinds of memories and let them crowd out the more recent ones.

An odd thought struck me then. Was that his reason for sending me on this trip? To help me remember the good times and forget the bad? If so, his ploy had worked. In my mind, I could see the glossy berries, rich with color and flavor as they ripened in the sun. I could hear the drone of bees and other insects as I fought them for the berries. Feel the sting of the thorns scratching my arms, leaving battle scars of which I'd actually been proud. Inhale the heavenly scent of blackberry cobbler while it baked in the oven, and see Grandpa's blissful smile as he took that first bite.

Those were the things I needed to remember. Episodes I could look back on with fondness and joy rather than regret or despair. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but those few short days in Wyoming had already done more for me than all the months that had passed in the wake of his death.

So it was with a much lighter heart that I made the most recent in a long line of blackberry cobblers. Neither Grandpa nor his friend Calvin would be there to share it with me, but there were others who would enjoy it just as much as they would have. I was content with that.

Once the cobbler was in the oven, I chopped up and boiled a mountain of potatoes. After they cooled, I made the potato salad, adding my own flourishes to a recipe I'd found in one of Calvin's cookbooks.

I had just reached the point of simply waiting for the guys to show up, when it struck me that while Wyatt had seemed to think there was no longer any reason to contact Jeannine's family, and there probably wasn't, something about her obituary bugged me. In searching for other people to contact, I'd overlooked the fact that there had been no mention of the one person we did know who had survived Jeannine.

Fortunately, I'd bookmarked the page and was able to pull it up without any trouble. Sure enough, Calvin wasn't mentioned. Only the relatives on the Caruthers side of the family were listed.

“Still at it?”

With a gasp, I swiveled around to see Wyatt standing in the doorway. Clad in boots, jeans, and a dusty denim jacket over a dark blue plaid shirt, he might've been the template from which every sexy cowboy had been cut.

“Sorry,” he said, removing his hat. “Didn't mean to startle you.”

I shot an admonitory glance at Ophelia, who was supposed to warn me when someone was sneaking up behind me. Apparently Wyatt didn't rate that response.

“No problem,” I lied. “C'mere and take a look at this.”

As much noise as his boots made on the bare wooden floor, I couldn't believe I hadn't heard his approach.
Sneaky fellow.

“What's up?”

I scooted my chair sideways and gestured at the computer. “Read that.”

Tossing his hat onto the recliner, he placed a hand on the edge of the desk and leaned toward the screen. The last time I'd been that close to him, he'd kissed me senseless. At the moment, however, his nearness only allowed me to observe his satyr-like frown up close and personal. Crossing my arms, I hugged my chest, doing my best to suppress the inevitable shiver.

“So?”

“Notice anything missing?”

“You mean beyond Calvin's name?”

“Nope. That's my point. Either Jeannine's break with Calvin was complete to the point of denying the connection altogether, or whoever wrote her obituary didn't know she had a brother.”

“So no one would've contacted him.” He nodded. “Yeah. Probably not.”

“Which means he probably doesn't even know she died.” I tried to move my chair back to put a little more space between us only to find it was already against the wall. “Not the best news to give a man as soon as he wakes up after nearly dying, is it?”

“Not really.” Arching a brow, he aimed his unnerving glare at me. “You mean he's awake?”

“Yeah. Angela called. She said he seems more coherent—he actually recognized her—but he's still pretty weak and his speech is slurred.” When I added the part about him acting like someone who'd overdosed, Wyatt's reaction was similar to what mine had been.

“Not like him to take too many pills. More like not enough.”

“That's what I thought.” I shrugged. “There isn't any evidence of that, really. Just the opinion of one of the nurses.”

“As much as nurses see, I wouldn't discount that suggestion.”

“Me either.” I shrugged again. “Guess that's something we can ask him about. Angela said they might release him in the next day or so if he continues to improve.”

Wyatt took a quick step backward and drew himself up to his full height. His gaze softened for an instant before his usual enigmatic expression slid back into place. “You'll stay on for a while, won't you?”

Once again, I'd caught a brief glimpse of some indefinable emotion in his eyes. As good as he was at hiding his feelings, it was a wonder I'd seen it at all. “Sure,” I replied, keeping my tone light. “I can stay as long as you need me to.”

I started to add something about room and board being all I really needed at that point, but he seemed satisfied with my response, giving me a brief nod before a frown once again creased his brow.

“Look, I'm sorry about yesterday,” he began. “I shouldn't have done that. Kissed you, I mean.”

Somehow I doubted he was the type to apologize very often—or even need to. Moistening my lower lip, I caught it in my teeth, completely at a loss for words.

Should I tell him what that kiss had done to me? Or should I tell him about Dean? I wanted to laugh it off, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. A heated flush crept up my neck to sting my cheeks. “I, um, didn't mind. Not really.”