Wyoming Heather (18 page)

Chapter 33

Whip slapped the Witch Hazel onto his freshly shaved face, wincing at the sting.

Giving his smooth cheeks a final pat, he grabbed the small tin from the shelf by his bed and stuck it in his shirt pocket. Putting his hat on his still damp hair, he shut the cabin door firmly behind him.

The day’s brightness made him squint. Unwrapping the reins from around the hitching post, he mounted his horse and turned it in the direction of the Circle C.

When he awoke that morning, he knew he wasn’t going to spend yet another day talking himself out of seeing Heather. He tried justifying the ride, but he knew there was no real reason for taking a day off from work other than one. He wanted to see the woman who had effortlessly crept into his every thought. He wanted to see her smile, he wanted to see the sun turn her hair to burnished gold, and he wanted to see the spark of fire flash in her eyes when she rose to his baiting.

He ignored the increased tempo of his heart as the ranch came into view. Then the smile on his face froze as he made out the silhouette of a man standing in front of the house talking to a woman.
His
woman. He tamped down the two words, angry with himself for thinking them.

It wasn’t the presence of another man on the Circle C that bothered him; it was how close he stood to Heather, how he leaned in to her. As he came closer, he heard the tinkle of her laughter, and an unfamiliar rush of jealousy made his jaw clench. The man bent his head even closer to Heather’s, their shoulders touching as their backs made a barrier, hiding the front of their bodies. They were as one, casting a single shadow on the ground. They were so absorbed in each other, Whip was only feet from them before they were aware of his presence.

Heather turned first. The smile became perplexed as she saw the anger in Whip’s eyes. His rigid body sent a message of its own.

“Whip,” she said, her voice hesitant, “how nice to see you.”

“I’ll bet,” he said tersely, his words low, not reaching her ears.

Then the man beside her bent over, dropped something on the ground, dropped another something, then reached over and took yet another object out of Heather’s hands and placed it on the ground, too. He turned toward Whip.

Whip dismounted slowly, his body taut with unfamiliar feelings. Heather wasn’t
his
woman. Whatever made him think that? Hadn’t they both made it plain they had no time for someone in their lives? Him for his reason, her for hers. So why did it bother him so much to see another man make her smile, make that silver laughter spill from her sweet mouth? He took a deep breath, pulled himself together, and walked toward them.

“Whip, I’d like you to meet—  Oh, catch him. He’s the runt, but I do believe he’ll be the troublemaker. Quick, Whip, before he gets under the corral fence. Come here, you little devil.”

Whip stopped short as Heather ran laughing toward him, chasing a round fat body of fur that was headed straight at his leg. At the last minute it veered off and ran a circle around him with Heather only inches behind.

Realization dawned on Whip. He bent down to scoop up the small canon ball just as Heather made a grab. Their shoulders bumped, their legs tangled, and they hit the ground, Whip reaching for her, trying to cushion her fall with his body. No sooner had they landed than the cause of all the turmoil jumped on Whip’s face and began licking it.

Whip, his arm tangled around Heather’s shoulder was helpless against the onslaught. He moved his head from side-to-side, trying to avoid the lightening quick tongue. Puppy breath, sweet as only puppy breath can be, filled his nostrils as the tongue gave another swipe.

Giggling, Heather made a feeble attempt to push the pup away when it bounced toward her and gave her one good lick across her cheek.

They heard a shout, and before they could acknowledge its source, two more balls of fur and mischief joined their brother. The three pups planted four sets of feet on the two adults and joyously tried to cover every bare piece of skin with a wet kiss.

One of the pups discovered Heather’s hair and began pulling and growling, a thick strand in his mouth. Weak with laughter, she buried her head in Whip’s chest. His hand pulled her closer while trying to push the determined pup back away from her hair. The pup saw this as a challenge and, giving a low puppy growl, braced his back legs and began to pull with all his might.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Heather cried, laughter muffling the words. “Whip, get him off. He’s eating my hair.”

“Well now, Heather, I would, except—yuck—darn that’s one fast tongue, got me right in the mouth. Hey, hey, you two, get.” But there was no threat in Whip’s words, and he chuckled as he tried to fight off the determined pups.

They were both dimly aware of yet another ball of fur sitting at the edge of the tangle of bodies and pups. She was sitting on her round bottom, emitting squeaks and yips. With each effort, her small body raised a few inches off the ground as if lending its support to her barking attempts.

Just then a hand reached down and pulled the pup out of Heather’s hair. At the same time, another dog was grabbed up. Whip leaned into Heather’s bent head, savoring the sweet spring fragrance of her hair. It dawned on him then just how good and right it felt holding her in his arms, even if both of them were still on the hard ground, chuckling.

Gingerly, he rose to his elbow eyeing the barking, little female at his feet. Her head was cocked to one side as she studied the spectacle.

The man, both pups in his big hands bent closer to Heather. “All you all right, Heather? Dang, Beth was right. Three’s too many. I’ll take a couple back on home with me. I’m sure sorry.”

“No, don’t.” Heather sat up. Her hair was tumbled, her face flushed, and Whip thought he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. Even the smudge of dirt across her face was endearing. He turned his head away fearful that his thoughts would show on his face.

“Whip, I’d like you to meet Tom Pease,” Heather said breathlessly. “Tom, this is Whip Johnson, owner of the Powder River Ranch, and my neighbor. He’s also my partner for bringing up Jesse and Toby. Well, it’s more like I’m his partner. The kids chose him.” She gracefully rose to her feet. She felt reluctant to leave the warmth of Whip’s arms and felt safe against his broad chest. She’d never before experienced such a wonderful feeling.

“Tom.” Whip rose. “I’d shake your hand but I don’t want to risk you letting go of those two.”

Tom’s face flushed. “I expect you don’t. You see, our dog blessed us with ten pups six weeks ago. The kids want to keep them all, but Beth and I wanted to give one to Heather for curing our cow and calf. Then we got to talking, and the kids and I thought Toby should have one of his own, and, of course, you couldn’t leave out his little sister, so by the time we were through, I was heading over here with three pups in my saddlebags. Don’t seem quite as logical now, so like I said, Heather, I’ll take two back, but we’d sure like you to keep one of ‘em. If they take after their mother, they’ll be good stock dogs. She’s a dandy.”

“Oh, please, Tom. Don’t take them back. I want them, all three. They’re adorable, and I don’t have a dog of my own. And I’m afraid once Toby and Jesse realize they each can have a pup, you would be strung up if you even tried riding off with one.”

Whip’s jealously was gone, replaced by shame for jumping to conclusions. But realization came with the shame. It would hurt him deeply, deeper than he thought possible, if Heather did favor another man. His heart knew she was his, even if his mind was too stubborn and too burdened by the past to acknowledge it.

“Are you sure, Heather? Beth said it wasn’t a gift, but a burden. Still, the way you love animals, I hoped it would be okay.”

“You thought right, Tom. I know which one I want, but I don’t dare choose until Toby and Jesse have made their choice. Whip, aren’t they darling?”

“Well now, Heather, darling wouldn’t exactly be the word I’d choose. Quick would be more like it.” He smiled, his eyes finding hers.

“I agree.” She brushed at her bottom. “Quick and determined. How about we take these three into the house and let Jesse and Toby pick? Molly has them up to the table for lunch so they’ve missed the excitement.”

“Heather, I’d sure like to, but Beth made me promise to come right back. We lost some of the shingles off the barn the last windstorm, and she’s worried we’ll have a summer rain before I get them replaced.” He turned to Whip and dumped the two squirming pups into his unsuspecting arms. “Mr. Johnson, sorry about your welcome.” He eyed the slender man, sensing strength in his stillness.

“No problem. I usually stay on my feet better’n that.” And a grin broke out on Whip’s face.

Heather bent down and picked up the little female, her body warm and comforting. This one had taken her heart already, and she hoped Jesse or Toby wouldn’t feel that way, too. She could love any of the three, but this little one would be heart of her heart. The pup placed a damp kiss on Heather’s hand as if she, too, felt the bond between them.

Tom rode off, his saddlebags empty. She and Whip walked to the house, their arms full of fur and energy. Their partnership had just taken a rise in numbers. Two kids, Molly, and now three black noses and three pairs of brown eyes, not to mention three tongues, ready to add wet kisses to the happiness.

Chapter 34

Toby saw them first and, giving a shout, jumped out of his chair, knocking it over as he flew. Jesse was right behind him, her excitement silent.

“Well, Lord love a duck, what do we have here?” Molly rushed over from the sink, drying soap-bubbled arms on her apron.

“Puppies, Molly. Three puppies. Are they ours, Heather? Do we get to keep them? Can I have one of my own?” Questions flew from Toby’s mouth as he wiggled under the table, then backed out clutching the fattest pup. It was the one that had led the charge out in the yard. Heather knew at once it would be the perfect companion for an energetic little boy. There would be no end to the mischief of those two.

Whip was on bended knee, his arm around Jesse and the squirming dog in her arms. His face was close to the little girl’s, and she was smiling and nodding her head at something he was saying. Then she laid her head against Whip’s shoulder, wrinkling her tiny nose and raising her chin while the pup lavished kiss after kiss on her neck. It looked as if Jesse had made her choice.

Whip looked up at Heather, his face a mirror of tenderness.

Heather’s smile was one of shared understanding.

“Yes to all of your questions, Toby,” she said. “Yes, there are three. Yes, they’re ours. Yes, we get to keep them. And, yes, you can have one of your own. There’s one for you, Jesse, and me.”

“I ain’t never had me a dog of my own. Wow! I get to name him and everything?”

“Yes.” Heather laughed. “And everything. And you get to feed him, see that he has fresh water. Lots of responsibility, Toby.”

“I’m going to call him Bear. Do you like that name, Whip?” He waited for the man’s answer.

“You bet I do. Buster will like that name. He’ll call him
Mato
. That’s Lakota for bear.”

Whip bent his head to Jesse. “What about you, Princess? Do you have a name for your puppy?”

A hush fell on the room, each person hoping Jesse would respond with a word, a sound, anything. But it wasn’t to be.

And after a few minutes, Heather placed her hand on the little girl’s head. “It’s okay, Jesse. Naming your dog is an important job. How about we just call him Pup until you think of your very own special name, one that just fits?”

Jesse nodded, her face serious. Maybe Pup would be just what the little girl needed to bring her out of her silence.

“Well now, Heather, looks like you got leftovers.” Whip nodded to the dog leaned against her leg.

Heather bent over and picked up the puppy. It was the little female. Toby had his. Jesse had hers. And she had this little one, the one she wanted. She buried her face in a ruff of fur and placed a kiss. Then she looked up and smiled.

“I know just what I’m calling her.”

“What?” Whip, Toby and Molly echoed.

“Violet. She’s my own special flower.”

“Violet?” Toby asked. “Violet’s a girl name.” Derision was written on his face.

Whip chuckled. “She is a girl, Toby. And Violet’s perfect. Two flowers.” He looked at Heather. “Violet and Heather.” His voice was soft and his eyes said more than his words. He rose to his feet. “Molly, I don’t suppose I could talk you into fixing Heather and me a small lunch, could I?”

Molly bobbed her head. “You sure could, Mr. Whip. I got some fried chicken left over from last night’s meal and several fat raisin cookies.”

“Just a minute, Whip. What exactly do we need a lunch for?”

“’Cause, Heather, I plan on spending the day with you. Thought we’d ride down to the river, take a look at your dam, make sure it’s diverting enough water for you.” He gave a mischievous grin.

“Uh, huh. And you think that just because you decide you can take a day off from your work and favor me with your company, I’ll drop everything and waltz off with you?”

“Yep. ‘Cause I got something in my pocket that just might make you change your mind. Less, of course, you want to share these with little people that won’t appreciate them.” With that, he opened his shirt pocket to give Heather a peek at the tin of chocolates resting there. “Hmmm? Change your mind?”

“Well.” She grinned. “The dam does need checking. And we do have that leftover chicken. And those cookies could go stale. And”—she licked her lips, “that tin must be uncomfortable bouncing around in your pocket. So, just to help you out, I’ll go.”

“Figured you’d see it that way.”

The sun hadn’t climbed to its highest zenith so the day, while being warm, wasn’t hot. A breeze came from the river carrying with it the smell of wet sand, fish, and vegetation. It was a musky, heady odor, and Heather associated it with stolen time spent swimming in the Powder River. The birds were trying to outdo each other, calling and twittering through the branches of the willows and cottonwoods.

Heather had expected Whip to stop at the dam, but he didn’t. He rode past it as if inspecting the dam was the farthest thing from his mind. Heather rode alongside him, neither one needing to talk, both enjoying the sun sprinkled beauty of the day. It was a day made even sweeter because it was unplanned. Full of possibilities, promises, and quiet peace.

Slowing his horse, Whip smiled and pointed. The river had taken a bend and curved its sinewy body around a sandbar partially hidden by willows waving in the slight breeze. He glanced over at her, the unspoken question in his eyes.

She nodded her head. It was perfect. Even the birds seemed to know. As if they, too, were waiting for her approval, they hushed their summer melody. A restful peace beckoned.

Both slid from their horses. Whip paused long enough to untie the carefully wrapped lunch, then circled around back of his horse and joined Heather. They both had dropped the reins knowing that the horses wouldn’t wander, finding the tender clumps of grass irresistible.

It was natural for Whip to place his free arm around Heather’s shoulders. She felt not only his warmth, but also his strength; a welcome feeling, one they both knew was right and inevitable. For whatever reason, they blended, not only with each other, but also with the rough beauty of the land.

Arm-in-arm, they stood watching the river slowly moving past. They drank in this Wyoming land they had both chosen to call their own.

Whip was very much aware of Heather’s presence. He was aware of the sunshine kissing her hair, a master magician changing and adding a calliope of colors. He leaned into its warmth and gently placed a kiss on a burnished wave of curls.

Heather peered up at him, surprise and pleasure written on her face.

“Heather,” he started, his voice breaking, “do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Smiling, she shook her head. She felt more than she could say.

He tilted her chin and placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “Let’s find a spot where the shade is close and the sand is dry for our picnic. I think we need to talk.”

Heather nodded in agreement, wondering why his words brought both happiness and fear to her heart.

But they didn’t talk. Not right away. As if by tacit agreement, they knew whatever Whip had to say could wait. First they’d enjoy the river, the beauty of the land, the lunch, and the stolen day.

And they did.

Molly, in her own remarkable way, had packed a lunch full of surprises. There was the promised chicken and cookies, but she hadn’t stopped there. The remaining bundles were wrapped gifts, and, like two kids on Christmas morning, Whip and Heather tore into them. One package held two halves of a large baked potato. True to herself and her magic hand with cooking, Molly had transformed the ordinary potato into a celebration of taste. She baked the potato, then scooped out the tender white meat of the vegetable, and whipped into it thick cream, rich butter, and savory bits of ham or bacon. This was all spooned back into the shell ready to be enjoyed hot or cold.

Two small berry tarts came next, wrapped in a white dishtowel stained with rich, purple juice. Molly had raided her secret stock.

Whip licked one long brown finger, then, giving Heather a mischievous wink, plopped the entire tart in his mouth. One bite, one finger licking moment and it was gone. All except for a smear of berry juice at the corner of his mouth.

Heather raised her hand, fingers dancing over the purple bruise.

With a quick snap of his wrist, his hand closed over hers bringing her fingers to his lips. Gently he placed a feather light kiss on two of her fingers.

Then just as quickly, he released them.

“I’m sorry, Heather.”

“Don’t be.”

He didn’t answer but instead spread out one of the dishtowels and, as if the act required total concentration, set out each delicious item.

When he looked at her, the sweet flow between them had vanished. His eyes had darkened and deepened with a secret hurt known only to him.

“Molly will be madder than a wet hen if we don’t do justice to this lunch, Heather. Like I said earlier, let’s enjoy some of the day before we talk.”

Heather could only nod as she sat down on the warm sand, the white towel between them.

They ate to the sound of the river, the water pooling in deep holes under overhanging branches. Heather and Whip made small, inconsequential talk about everything and nothing. There were moments of silence, but they were easy moments where both were content to let nature carry the conversation.

Whip got to his feet and held out his hand. Trustingly, she placed hers in his, finding comfort in the calluses on his palm and fingertips.

Silently, they walked until the river stopped them. Whip focused on the opposite bank, his eyes and mind elsewhere.

Heather waited, scarcely daring to breathe, not wanting to make a sound and call the man back from wherever his mind had taken him. He would tell her whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

Finally, he looked down at her.

“Heather, I love you. I think I fell in love with you the day you let me know I had plenty of water and you would take as much as you needed. Do you remember?”

“I remember,” she said softly. But when she started to tell him that she loved him back, his next words stopped her.

“But I can’t love you. I won’t let myself love you. You deserve a man who isn’t torn in two by memories and shame.”

He dropped her hand. The day had darkened. Then his words came tumbling out, low and painful. Like a dam breaking, he told her everything. He told her of his first love. He told her how she had died. He told her how he had placed her in danger through his carelessness. He told her how he had begged to die with her. And finally, he told her of his vow to find her killer and bring him to justice. And with ragged breath, he told her how he had failed.

“I won’t let myself love again. I can’t. I won’t.”

He didn’t tell her that the memories that had kept him sleepless since his return were still there waiting for him as soon as the Greek God Morpheus claimed him.

Heather felt as if she couldn’t breathe. A band had tightened around her heart. She who could heal wounded animals had no knowledge, no insight, as to how to heal this wounded man.

Whip walked a few feet away from her, his eyes downcast.

It was then he saw them. Footprints. Frozen in place by the wet sand. He wanted to kneel down and study them. But he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to frighten Heather. There was no doubt they were made by a man’s boot. From the depth of the indentation, he knew the man making them, in all likelihood, was large and stocky. He felt a chill run up his spine. Then he chided himself. There were hundreds of reasons why a man would be walking the river. Hundreds. But he couldn’t think of one good one.

He walked back to Heather, and if she sensed his concern, she gave no indication.

“Heather, how about we call it a day? I’ve said my piece.” He hurried the words, wanting the two of them out of there. Wanting to get this woman to safety so he could circle back and hopefully track the prints to their source.

She nodded. She sensed his need to leave and contributed it to the story he’d shared.

“Just one last thing.” Whip’s hand reached into his pocket. “These are for you. Alice said they’re the finest chocolates, all the way from Europe. I bought them on my last trip to town. I knew it then, but I wouldn’t admit it, I bought them for the woman I love.”

She closed her trembling fingers around the tin and forced a smile to her lips.

“Whip,” she faltered. “Whip, take all the time you need. All the time you need to free yourself.” Then even more softly, her eyes moist with love, she whispered, “I’ll wait.”