3

 

The smell of frying bacon wafted through the chill meadow air. For a beautiful second, the morning sky overhead turned so blue Christy’s eyes hurt as she left her tent. She hadn’t cried herself to sleep after all, although she missed Daddy, missed her mother at her side on the trip, and missed the woman Mom had once been. Somehow, the sweet tunes of a soft harmonica had lulled her in the darkness.

 After taking care of her personal business, she headed toward the chuck wagon where Kelley—and Kenn— busied themselves making breakfast. Seeing him, her heart thumped, despite her words yesterday during Kelley’s bout of matchmaking.

“Smells awesome,” she told them. When Kenn’s face lit up, her blood pumped more furiously than ever, and she tried to tamp it, to no avail.

“Even I agree,” Kelley said with a laugh.

“Some vegetarian you are.” Kenn teasingly slapped his sister’s arm before he flipped a rasher and gave Christy such a smile her breath stopped for a full heartbeat.

“Well, Big Benjamin was a steer, not a hog.”

Christy joined the fun. “Nonetheless, he did have eyes.”

Kelley guffawed. “Touché. Now if ya’ll excuse me, I’ve got some flapjacks to rustle up.” She left for the opposite side of the wagon. Christy could hear a spoon slap against the sides of a bowl.

“Did you sleep well?” Kenn asked softly, looking down at her from underneath his brim in that way she already liked too much.

“Yeah. That was you on the harmonica, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yep. Folks seem to like it for the first little while after the fire goes out. Feels less alone.”

Well, he’d called that one correctly. It worked. She’d felt comfort and compassion almost instantly. But whether that included a renewal of faith, she didn’t want to waste today analyzing. To lighten the moment, she smiled and recalled her dad’s stories.

 “Just like cows on the trail,” she said. “You know. When cowboys played songs and sang lullabies to keep the herd from stampeding.”

“That’s right. Still do. The beeves don’t know what’s out there in the dark. Anything can spook ’em. Lighting a match. A tumbleweed rolling by in the wind.”

“Well, it isn’t dark now. And I’m ready for another sensational day.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, soft again. “Last night seemed to send you off in a bad way.”

She shrugged. “It all gets to me at times. But each day is a little bit better, I’d say. Maybe being here in God’s country will help chase my demons away.”

God’s country? Where had that term come from? She widened her eyes.

“Demons. That’s quite a word.” Kenn looked up at Shadow Ridge as if lost in thought. His seriousness touched her heart. Then, he slapped his thighs suddenly and brought her back to the present. “We’re bound for Old Joe’s Hole after breakfast.”

At his words, Christy realized the camp had come to life. Up, dressed, packing gear. Even the horses seemed raring to go. “Sounds like water,” she remarked.

“Yep. Nice little stream-fed lake. We’ve got canoeing, rowboats, fishing. A dock for diving. Some guests like to take a hike up the ridge. Others just hang loose on a hammock between two trees. We’ll spend the rest of the day there then head back to the ranch tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? All of a sudden the word sounded way too soon. Kenn laid a hand gently on her shoulder.

“Time’s going too quick to please me,” he said. “I’d like to get to know you better, y’know?”

He loped off in a hurry before she could formulate anything to say. Holding a big iron griddle, Kelley made her way to the big camp stove, but paused as if she’d heard. “Kenny’s such a good guy, but he carries a load.”

“A load?”

“Something heavy in his heart. He never talks about it, but I know it is more than getting dumped by Daisy.”

“Daisy.” Christy repeated the name, remembering Kenn’s pensive look of a moment ago.

Kelley nodded. “She taught P.E. at the high school, and they were quite the thing for a while. Then…” Her voice lowered. “…she left Kenn for the swim coach. Showed up first day of school on Coach O’Neal’s arm.”

“Ouch.”

“And Kenny couldn’t let it matter. Out loud at least. Because Tony O’Neal had such a strong swim team, and Bragg was the star. He even helped Bragg get a swimming scholarship to Washington. Full ride.”

“Wow,” Christy remarked inanely, aching for Kenn’s broken heart. “But maybe he’s better off.”

“Without Daisy? Yes. But without a woman of his own. No. There’s something eating at him, worse than getting dumped way back when. He could use a strong woman with a strong faith. ”

“Well, that won’t be me if that’s what he needs.” From the corner of her eye, Christy watched Kenn build another fire and realized that one blazed right in her own heart. She needed to extinguish it fast because she liked what she saw way too much. Obviously she wasn’t the right woman for him. No matter what his sister said, tomorrow was coming way too fast.

If he needed a woman of strong faith, she had no right to encourage his interest for even a second. Her own distance from God was enough to deal with. She reached for lightheartedness and laughed at Kelley. “Now, I reckon you ought to stop matchmaking us, Cookie. I’m only here for three days.”

“Here. Help me get the pancakes started.” Kelley greased the griddle and handed Christy a spatula. “And I have a response to that.”

“To what?”

“To you being here just for three days. Think about staying on for Cowboy College.”

Hmm. For some reason, she couldn’t help being tempted. She did feel better today than yesterday, and last night’s lack of tears had surprised her. Maybe she was healing up. Maybe God was at work. Maybe she could help Kenn with the load he carried.

****

Kenn saddled Joe Montana, eager for another day’s ride, and hoped Christy would mount up at his side. He’d go slow to accommodate the aches and pains he knew still lingered. So did her words. God’s country. Same term Bragg had used. Two wounded people must still have some seeds of faith lurking somehow.

With an angry shrug, he shoved off the notion. Well, good for them.

“Hey, cowboy, just so you know. I’m thinking about Cowboy College.” Christy’s voice rang sweet in his ears over the breeze rolling down the mountains, and he paused to watch her approach. Those boots of hers almost made him crazy. If she stayed on a few more days, he’d go crazier yet.

But for now, he reached for calm and stayed in the present. “You here to saddle up your Sugarfoot?”

With a pretty frown, she patted her backside. “You betcha. I’ll cowgirl-up and make it work. So tell me more. About college.”

 Like he showed her, Christy set to saddling the mare she’d ridden, and he stood watching her with a pang of pride. Obviously she had paid attention to all his directions.

 He couldn’t help grinning at her. “You really serious about going?”

“Mebbe.” She used her best western movie drawl. “What kind of degrees do you offer?”

 Hope raged, so he joked lightly as he handed her the reins. “Bachelors in branding. Masters in roping. PhD in mechanical bull riding.”

Her face brightened. “Like two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu?” She quoted a lyric from one of his favorite Tim McGraw songs.

“Nope. Tim’s was the real deal. And I was just kidding about the mechanical bull. We use the real deal here, too, but not on a tenderfoot like you. That’s all Rodeo College.”

Then his good spirits crashed-and-burned as he remembered her firm vow last night. She’d never forgive any kind of enabler whose lack of action had caused heartache to someone else. Her words still scorched him. With his load of guilt, he had no chance with her, Cowboy College or not. He couldn’t bear the wound to his heart when she found out. He had to settle for the now. He would make today as perfect a day in Paradise as he could. They could get in plenty of alone time at the Hole.

He didn’t let his downer show and moved to help her to the saddle, but she mounted up just fine on her own.

“Let’s get on to Old Joe’s Hole,” he said. “We can talk more when we get there. Wagons, ho.” He shouted to everybody else.

Atop his buckskin, Bragg waved, but his smile stabbed Kenn in the gut sure as real steel. Right now Bragg should be on top of the world, not a horse, covered in Gold Medals from Beijing. Preparing for the Olympics in London. One of People Magazine’s hottest young bachelors. Commercials. Cameos. Talk shows. Commentating. With his height, his wingspan, double joints and enormous feet, he had all the physical advantages of a legendary swimmer and had been considered the truest rival of Michael Phelps all along. Until the test results banned him for life.

 And it was Kenn’s fault. He hadn’t been his brother’s keeper. With a growl, he mounted Joe Montana. Somehow Bragg had made it through college, charming his way out of doping questions, faking tests, his psychological dependence on performance-enhancing drugs as real as a heroine addict’s. By then, the loss of the scholarship would have caused the family more financial hardship. And to this day, Tony O’Neal had never atoned for his sins. Nor had Kenn.

Bragg was the one who had gotten the worst of it, though.

But all that was then. Kenn sighed. Today belonged to him and Christy. That’s all they would have. Tomorrow, he’d be busy before sunup to organize the long trip back to the ranch and once there, he’d help Scott get ready for the next wagon train while he taught Cowboy College. Whew. He caught his breath. Christy an avid pupil in his class could be his undoing. The realization smacked him in the gut like a fist.

He had to do his best to convince her not to stay.

The thought busted him up. As she smiled a smile that weakened his knees, she headed off before she could see him touch his brim. His heart pounded like a freshman’s with pleasure, and with pain.

“Hey, Kenn,” Jennie Blake called as the wagon rolled by, blonde hair bouncing under her ball cap. “Paul and I are having the best time. Wish we’d signed up for the five-day trip. The boys love everything. Been a while since they were excited about anything.”

“I teach high school. Say no more.” He chuckled at the happy parents inside the ballooning canvas, their grinning sons alongside, safely astride surefooted geldings.

The five-day trip. For a flash, he wished Christy had signed up for one, too. Scott generally ran the longer jaunts, but they’d been known to trade. With a sigh, he kneed Joe Montana gently and caught up to Christy.

“Hawk Creek feeds Old Joe’s Hole,” he said, although she hadn’t asked. But her smile had invited him to say something. “Cold snow melt.”

“Seems like I might need some warmth, somehow, when we get there.” Her voice was soft as her gaze.

Was she flirting with him? That made him feel like a freshman, too. It had been a long while since he’d dated anyone. Then he reminded himself. One day. This one. Then they’d both be back to their real lives.

They cantered quietly for a while, the wagons’ ponderous squeaks mixing easily with birdsong and the rushing creek. From time to time, Bragg and Pike shouted orders to the other hands. If they needed Kenn, they’d ask. The wagon master had every reason to ride ahead of the train, scouting, looking out for obstacles, shouting needed warnings. In the old days, the wagon master watched out for marauding animals, even angry tribes. But also pointed out things of beauty and interesting sites.

Besides, he wasn’t monopolizing Christy. The twins rode nearby, having caught on to riding like Velcro to a sneaker. Even still, they were newbies; Kenn watched them like a hawk.

“Dad’s taking us fishing when we get there,” P.J. announced contentedly as he reined up, while Mitchell rolled his eyes. “On a rowboat.”

“I’d rather jump off the tire swing into the lake,” Mitch complained.

Kenn laughed out loud. “You boys can do both. Plenty of time. We’ll be at the Hole until tomorrow morning.”

“Then we head back?” Mitchell’s voice was mournful.

“Yes.” Kenn and Christy spoke at the same time.

He didn’t dare glance at her, and instead, tried to forget today was their last.

 ****

 Three hours later, Christy walked the soreness from her legs on the shore of Old Joe’s Hole. A cool breeze teased away her perspiration from the ride and the hot morning sun. She paused to take in the gorgeous scenery. Around the small lake, tall pines waved, and above the treetops, the mountains loomed in a curve for miles around the land.

Christy tried to forget today was her last. Unless, of course, she decided on Cowboy College. Realizing she’d never see Kenn again if she didn’t might be reason enough, but there was always Mom to worry about. And her job. Even though her assistants were trustworthy and competent, Christy liked to take charge and see a project to the end.

Oh well. Things always seemed to get figured out. Right now, the surroundings touched her with so much beauty she almost trembled.

“I’ve always wondered if this is kinda what Walden Pond is like.” Kenn’s voice came across the breeze and shouts of the others.

A little thrill pittered across Christy’s heated skin as he neared. “It’s about the same size,” she said, amazed her own voice didn’t shake. “But small hills, no mountains.” She smiled as waves of happy memories washed over her. “Daddy did the New England drill with me when I was in eighth grade. Boston. Lexington. Concord. You’d love it. You could make an awesome Power Point presentation for your students.”

“Ah, I mean to. Someday.” He stretched his arms, reaching tall and wide; the chambray shirt pulled tight over his muscles, his boot heels firm on the pebbled shore. With that perfect Stetson and the sub range of the Rockies as a backdrop, he could easily be part of a painting on a museum wall. “But I’m so busy every summer. Maybe some day.”

Maybe someday. Christy liked the sound of that. “I hope so.”

Shouting and laughing, the wranglers and other guests bustled around as they struck camp. With a contented sigh and a sweating tin cup of Kelley’s fresh lemonade, Jennie Blake plunked herself into a hammock as her noisy boys dashed toward the lake. They’d quickly changed into swimming trunks after tending their horses while Christy had unsaddled and curried Sugarfoot.

“So what do you want to do?” Kenn asked, not looking at her. She couldn’t decide if it was a bona fide invitation or merely the polite banter of a good host. Could he possibly be shy?

“Well now, cowboy.” She placed her hands on her hips in a businesslike way. “I should take a long hike around the lake. Or swim a few hundred laps to take care of that delicious lunch Kelley just made. That girl needs her own cooking show on Food Network. But…” She looked longingly at the silver sheen of water. “I think I could go for a rowboat ride.” She chortled. “Slip-sliding away without my backside taking a beating sounds mighty fine.”

“Let’s do it then, cowgirl. I officially have the afternoon off.” He offered her his hand, and she took it gladly, the spark from his touch landing all the way down to her toes.

At the small wooden dock, he helped her into Life Is But A Dream, a weathered but sturdy-looking craft of deep forest green.

“You row?”

Christy felt a flush. “Well, not exactly. I got my oar taken from me by a kahuna on an outrigger in Waikiki one time. But I am a fast learner.”

“Nah. You just relax. You gave Sugarfoot a good workout today. You deserve a break.” He grabbed the oars and tossed her a crooked grin so engaging her breath caught.

“You’re on,” she managed, heart thumping like she’d run a 10K.

“Anybody else want a boat ride?” He called out in his professional way, and Christy held her breath. She exhaled with relief when everybody else waved them on.

The little boat glided through the water, and the sound of oars slapping almost lulled Christy. But she wasn’t about to waste her limited time with Ken by dozing. Deep in her heart, she longed to know everything she could about him. “So who’s Joe?”

Kenn’s strong arms pulled the oars effortlessly, and she grinned. It was probably a piece of cake after wrangling cattle. She admitted deep down she liked the sight of his carved muscles moving beneath his blue shirt.

From under his brim, his deep brown eyes smiled at her. “Josephus Martin came through the cove in 1854 and summered here. Loved it. Staked a claim later on.”

“So the ranch has been in your family for a century and a half?”

The black Stetson moved in a nod as Christy dangled her hand in the cold water. He’d warned the water was snowmelt, but the hot sun—or maybe the warmth of Kenn’s smile—took the edge off.

“Yep. Along the way, a female descendent inherited and insisted her husband take her name when they wed up.”

“Women’s liberation, nineteenth century style?”

Kenn howled.

“But I don’t get the cove thing,” she said, liking the crinkle of humor around his eyes. “Sounds like I’m near an ocean, but the only water I’ve seen is Old Joe’s Hole and Hawk Creek.”

Kenn took his hand off an oar and pointed. “Notice how the foothills curve? Almost like a half circle? Imagine all of this land full of water, like a bay or cove. Same thing. Same shape.”

“Oh. I do get it.” So, those questions answered. What else without being nosy? He’d already told her a bit about the family. She recalled Kelley’s tattoo and the ranch’s brand. The double interlocking hearts. That seemed safe enough.

“So is your liberated ancestor the one behind the brand?”

A stand of alder along the shore created a shadow, and the sudden shade cooled her warm cheeks. It was hard to be close to Kenn and not have the giddiness intensify, the giddiness left over from her first glimpse of him, lolling against the hitching post the day she’d arrived. Oh, he’d taken her breath away, and she wasn’t sure she’d gotten it back. Kelley’s words still rang in her ears. Men, meaning Kenn of course, didn’t want a lapdog. Indeedy, Christy could hold on to her own self as well as handle falling in love with this man. For sure. Maybe even forever.

 The boat slid back into the sunshine, and Kenn’s cheeks blushed underneath the dusting of whiskers she longed to touch.

 “Aw, that was all Pa and Ma. She was the ‘ancestor’ who asked her mate to take her name. They were a love match that almost made you gag. I mean it. ’Til his dying day. Cuddling. Smooching. The ranch had been the Rockin’ M or something but when they got married, Pa and the ranch got new names. And new brands.”

Christy remembered what Kelley had said about her father. “You all must miss him very much. Especially your mother.”

Kenn nodded as he busily looked down at an oar. Christy suspected he hid a manly tear or two. “Yep. But Ma says God got them together and she’d do it all over again.”

Then Christy remembered something. “But you said Kennedy was your mother’s maiden name.”

He laughed. “I lied a little and beg your forgiveness. I don’t confess my family’s deep dark secret up front. I gotta wait ’til I know a person better to reveal it. But first off, some of what I said is true. Ma has never forgiven me for shortening the name. And she does make sure all the PR materials display the entire moniker.” He bent close to confess the deep dark secret, and her heart pounded. “You see, Kennedy was Pa’s maiden name.”

Christy laughed along with him so hard the boat rocked.

“Help! Help!” The frantic scream surged over the birdsong, killing their laughter.

With horror, Christy saw P.J. Blake flailing in the water, his despairing brother treading water nearby and unsure of what to do next.

“He’s cramping up!” screamed Mitch. “Help him. Help him.”

And without hesitation, Christy stood and jacked her boots against the seat, wriggling out of them. “Dear God, keep him safe. Give me strength; help me remember what to do.”

She dove into the lake.