| |
Valerie eyed Martha warily. They’d taken a break for a snack and would go back to clean the barns and pens after, but that wasn’t the reason she was feeling suspicious. Martha had baked some apple tarts and insisted Valerie take them over to Damon.
“One of his favorites. I want to thank him for letting us borrow that harness.”
“Then why don’t you take them, just so you can express the appreciation yourself?” Valerie had a feeling it was all a ruse to get her over there, but she couldn’t be sure. Still, Martha had always been crafty, working to influence situations around her if she thought they needed a push in one direction or another.
Valerie didn’t need a push anywhere, but that didn’t mean Martha understood that.
“I would go, but I have to stay to finish making these rolls for us, so we have them fresh for dinner,” Martha said, trying to look at her with what Valerie assumed was innocence. It didn’t work.
“Why don’t I stay and make them? Really,” she said when Martha opened her mouth, probably in protest. “You’re always cooking for me, and I don’t want you to have to do all the work.”
Martha narrowed her eyes at her. “You’ve been here one day.”
“Yeah, well.” Valerie rooted for something to say. “I want to be proactive.” She batted her eyes as innocuously as possible, pretending she didn’t see Martha’s glower.
Martha turned back to the stove. “The sooner you take those over, the sooner you can get back here and away from whatever you’re hiding from.”
Valerie wanted to argue that she wasn’t hiding from anything, but knew it was useless. The woman was as stubborn as her donkey, who Valerie was plotting to get out of ever having to deal with again. Though somehow it felt cowardly to admit to Martha that she wanted to give up after one time. Albeit, one time of being dragged several yards.
With a grumble about Martha being a meddler and playing with fire, she grabbed the tin of tarts and headed out. She’d forgotten how much work it was to come in and out, having to haul on all one’s clothes when one went out or take them off when one came in. It was laborious. As she pulled the boots on after her snow pants and fastened the laces, she found herself longing for the days of slipping into a nice pair of heels with a wool camel coat draped over her shoulders and a cute dress. That outfit would get you frozen to death here.
She also wasn’t fond of the idea of having to drive that truck again. Why Martha was against the simple pleasure of having one that allowed the driver to shift without having to hit a bunch of levers and wiggle the tall stick shift was beyond her. She would have to suggest at some point the woman update her lifestyle. Valerie almost snorted as she looked around at the farm. As if that would ever happen. The traditional red barn with white trim stood at the center of the little outbuildings and pens, paint chipping from weather. A clothesline stretched between two trees, now a support for a delicate line of sparkling snow. It was a different life. A simple one.
Valerie pushed her thoughts away, looking over her shoulder as she backed up and turned the truck around to head down the driveway.
The drive would have been far quicker if it had been summer and the glinting of the ice on the road hadn’t frightened her to a humble speed. Still. As she let her gaze wander around, she couldn’t help the swell of appreciation. On either side of the road, fir trees stood strong, their branches decorated with pure white snow that shimmered and sparkled from every angle. In the distance, mountains rose proudly, topped with snow, with shadowed valleys and pockets in the mountain displaying the incredible terrain, even from this far away.
She turned onto a long winding driveway, cleared of snow with piles of the fluff on each side.
Far off to her right, she saw activity and eased the truck to a stop, torn. He was more than likely in the field, but wouldn’t someone be at the house so she could deliver the treats without having to talk to him?
“Coward,” she muttered to herself, turning the truck in the direction of the activity, if just to make a point to herself. She was an adult and it had been years. There was no reason to avoid Damon. The butterflies flitting in her stomach as she approached the other vehicles belied what she was trying to tell herself.
As she got closer, several things happened in quick succession.
A massive dark-brown, nearly black bison tossed his head, snorting and growling like a demonic wild beast instead of an animal on planet Earth, and raced forward toward a trailer bouncing along behind a truck. He struck the flat trailer edge and sent it bucking up, sending the man on it—Damon, she realized—careening into the air like a stuffed toy.
Valerie screamed, slamming on the brake but forgetting the clutch. The truck continued forward as Damon pitched through the air. She finally found the clutch and got the truck stopped, only to have it shudder as Damon landed, flat on his stomach, on the hood. She yelped again. The impact jolted her from her seat, and she bumped her head on the ceiling of the cab. Eyes wide and slack jawed, she jumped out.
“Damon! What the heck are you doing?”
He groaned and shifted, raising his head long enough to mutter, “My flying skills are a bit rusty.” He blinked and then said, more urgently, “Get back in the truck.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, because I’m just going to leave you to die on the hood of my aunt’s truck.”
He shifted again, pushing himself up enough to point behind her. His voice was a wheeze when he said, “Bison.”
Valerie whirled in time to see a massive animal, taller than her by more than a few inches, with a head twice as wide as her waist and a massive set of horns, stomping toward her, vapor billowing from its nostrils as if it was the devil incarnate.
She decided taking his advice was a good idea and flew back into the truck. That thing didn’t belong anywhere but hell.
“Hold on!” she called to Damon, setting the truck in gear and getting out of there. Damon gripped the gap where the hood met the windshield, and she could see him grimace over the bumps. Better than being stomped to death or gored by a twelve-hundred-pound monster.
The bison didn’t follow, and she was able to ease the truck to a stop a short way away and get out again, keeping an eye on the animals nearby as she reached up to help Damon off the hood.
Once he’d slid off, leaning heavily against the vehicle, he wrapped an arm around his midsection and grumbled, “At least I didn’t die on the hood of the truck. There were a few bumps that had me wondering if I was going to slide off and die under your tires, though.”
Valerie pursed her lips at him but didn’t comment. “Let’s get you into the vehicle and back home. I’m fairly sure you’ve got some injured ribs.”
He was shaking his head, the stubborn goat. “I want to make sure the guys can get them in.”
Another truck had appeared and seemed to be herding the bison toward the gate.
“Can you...” He paused and then shook his head. She looked over to where his gaze had gone. The gate.
Without a word, she scurried over to the gate, unlatching it and holding onto it, waiting as the trucks herded three bison closer.
“Valerie, they’re dangerous.” Damon’s eyes were wide, but he was still leaning against her aunt’s truck.
“Get into the truck and rest your poor, battered body. I’m more than capable of opening a gate.”
He was shaking his head, but it was too late to get to her. The bison were stomping close now. One in particular was snorting and tossing his head, which weighed probably as much as she did, quite possibly more. Stepping up onto a welded part of the gate, so she was at least not on the ground, she used her body weight to guide it farther open and then pulled herself to sit astride the top, above the bison’s heads and big humps on their backs. They filed through and then picked up the pace when they saw their herd in the distance.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” An older, gray-haired man held out a hand to Valerie.
She smiled her appreciation and took his hand, easing off the tall gate and back onto the ground. A couple of other guys pulled the gate closed and latched it.
“I’m Valerie, Martha’s niece.” She shook hands with the older guy.
“Wayne. Good to meet you. Pretty glad you were here. It looked like Damon landing on your truck saved him from getting trampled.”
She wasn’t sure about that. They walked over to Damon, who had not gotten into the truck as instructed. If this was any indication, he’d become more ornery in his old age.
“We have an idea of what happened,” Wayne murmured to Damon. “But you should go to the house and see what damage you did. Maybe call the vet to take a look at you. You landed pretty hard.”
Valerie gaped at the man, aghast at the thought. Neither man acknowledged her horror. Call the vet?
“Nah, it’s not that bad.”
“We’ll take care of this mess, boss. Go to the house.”
“As the boss, I thought I was the one who gave the orders,” Damon said dryly.
Valerie held up a hand. “I for one second the motion for you to go to the house and find a place to get proper medical care. Not a vet. An X-ray would also be smart.”
Damon was shaking his head. “I’m not driving three hours to get to a clinic with X-ray machines. I’m fine.”
The other man—Wayne—had turned away from them, apparently deciding his part in the conversation was done, and was giving instructions to the other guys.
“Come on.” She nodded at the truck.
His eyes narrowed, and he stood there stubbornly. Valerie met his intense gaze with her own, stepped up to him with eyes locked on his beautiful light ones, and poked a finger into his thick jacket near his abdomen. He flinched and gaped at her, blocking his abdomen with his arms. “Ow.”
“My point exactly. In the truck, Rambo.”
He shook his head but slowly navigated around the front to get to the passenger side. She slid into her side, and her brows furrowed as she saw his grimace when he settled onto the seat. He may pretend to be a big tough guy, and maybe it was more than an act, but right now he couldn’t mask the pain he was in.
“At least I didn’t get trampled,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“I can’t believe you still work with these animals. I would have thought you’d turn the ranch into something else, or at the very least, raise less dangerous creatures.”
He was gazing out the window with a contemplative expression. “I’m a third-generation bison rancher here on this land.” He shrugged, but the intense set of his face made her think it meant more to him than his shrug suggested. “I love the ruggedness of the creatures, their ability to survive and thrive on this harsh land. Just like us.” He blinked and glanced at her, as if he’d just realized she hadn’t survived here. She’d fled as soon as she was old enough.
She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t continue his thoughts. She wondered if he considered her a coward, weak for running away from this place.
She probably thought he was foolish. Stuck in old ways and unable to progress with civilization. At first he’d felt trapped, forced to stay and take on the burden of the ranch, but that wasn’t how he thought of it now—he truly believed they were an essential and, yet underrepresented, group. People were so removed from their food, able to go to any city street and find dozens of options for whatever they wanted, never understanding what went into getting them that particular food. Here, he knew his bison were fed the best quality and had good lives while on this earth. More than that, the money from selling some of them for meat was used to increase the herd, to conserve the species that had once nearly been made extinct from overhunting.
Damon wasn’t about to try to explain all his feelings about the importance of his ranch to Valerie, though he really wanted to. Maybe another time. Right now it hurt to breathe, and he worried that he wouldn’t be able to get back out today and help with the repairs and further duties of the ranch. He hadn’t missed a day of being out there with his ranch hands in years. Not even holidays—if he asked his guys to be out there working, then he would be too. That had been a complaint of his now ex-wife. She hadn’t worked—well, she’d painted and crafted some jewelry, but nothing more than a few items to have during craft fairs—and had come to resent him for being away from the house for such long hours every day. She’d kept saying he would get burnt out, never understanding that he loved this work, and it was a lifestyle, not just a job.
Valerie parked her truck near the deck and glanced at him. The long lashes that framed her eyes brushed her cheeks softly as she blinked and reminded Damon of the time when they’d been together and he’d been free to brush his fingers over her silky, soft cheeks. He swallowed away the thoughts and shoved his door open, trying to contain a wince as his ribs protested the quick action.
“Here, let me come help you.” Valerie hopped out and ran around the vehicle.
He’d planned to show her he was fine and get out before she’d gotten there, but his entire aching diaphragm discouraged quick movements with sharp throbs that made him catch his breath and grit his teeth.
“Don’t try to be Mr. Macho. You’re obviously hurt and can take a little help.” She reached to help him as he eased out of the truck. He didn’t point out that she was a head shorter and much lighter than him and would have a difficult time holding him up by herself should he actually put pressure on her. Even as painful as it was, he wasn’t about to put his weight on her. Still, she wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him slowly toward the stairs. He wasn’t excited about those.
Patti must have seen them through the large kitchen windows, for the door flew open and she rushed out onto the deck. With yellow duck slippers on her feet and her hair pulled back into a messy bun with gray strands sliding out, she obviously hadn’t been expecting visitors or his return to the house so soon.
“What happened?” Her voice was more of a bark than that of high-pitched concern, but the wrinkles around her mouth and forehead showed her worry.
“I’m fine. Just a little sore from an accident. Valerie here was nice enough to help me out.” He didn’t want to go into details, knowing the older woman would fuss.
For a second, Patti’s face perked up as she looked at Valerie, but then she focused a hard gaze on him. “Accident?”
His body ached, and he really didn’t want to get into it now. They reached the deck and he sighed gratefully, taking his arm from around Valerie’s shoulders, though she didn’t let go so quickly.
“I can walk by myself, thanks.” He gave her a brief smile that she didn’t return, looking at him with the same concern he saw on Patti’s face.
They all went into the house, Patti holding the door open for them.
Inside, Josiah was at the kitchen table working on spreadsheets laid out in front of him. He looked up when the trio entered and surprise lit his face. Pushing his wheelchair back from the table, he turned a worried gaze on Damon.
Damon settled into an easy chair, gritting his teeth to keep a groan at bay as he lowered himself.
“What happened?” Josiah looked from Damon to Patti—who shook her head with disapproving pursed lips—and Valerie.
“Ah, nothing too bad. Just a little accident. Valerie, have a seat.” He waved to the couch near him. “I assume you had a reason to come over.”
“Yes, Valerie, why don’t you have a seat and tell us all about this little accident our beloved Damon refuses to explain?” Patti took over and guided a wary-looking Valerie to the couch, sitting beside her and shooting a glare at Damon before looking intently at Valerie.
In turn, Valerie looked at him with wide eyes. He sighed and shrugged. They would find out eventually. She might as well tell them.
“Well, he, uh...I think he’s better suited to tell what happened to him,” she stuttered, looking uncomfortable in the limelight.
Damon noticed she hadn’t yet looked at his brother. Did she resent him? Had she thought he wouldn’t be here, and this was a shock? He wasn’t sure, but this wasn’t the place to discuss it. Besides, his ribs were crying out for something to ease the pain.
“Patti, can you get me a couple of ibuprofen, please?”
She hurried into the kitchen, forgetting for the moment her interrogation of Valerie. Unfortunately, Josiah was still there.
“Valerie, wow, it’s been so long,” Josiah said pleasantly.
Valerie seemed to steel herself to meet his gaze. “Hello, yes, it’s been such a long time. How...” She glanced at the table where he’d been working and seemed to decide that was a better topic of discussion. “What are you working on these days?”
Josiah perked up. He loved talking about his work, and there were few visitors that came to the house.
“Well, right now, I’m doing the books for the ranch, but let me show you what I’ve most recently been working on.” With speed that still surprised Damon, Josiah spun his chair back toward the table and retrieved a few large papers, laying them across his lap before zipping back to settle near Valarie.
While he showed Valerie his latest architectural work for a company out in Washington, Patti brought a cup of water and two ibuprofen to Damon. When he reached for them, she pulled away. “Show me your injuries.”
“Woman,” he grouched, glaring at her. As much as he loved her, she could be insufferable.
“I mean it, Damon. You tell me what happened and let me assess what needs to be done. You would be willing to go back to work with bones sticking out so you’re not a reliable source for your own well-being.”
They shared stubborn glowers until Valerie started talking, and he realized she and Josiah had stopped their own conversation to watch the interaction.
“A bison hit the trailer he was on, and he went flying onto the hood of my truck. He probably has a horribly black-and-blue midsection and possibly even broken ribs.”
He couldn’t blame her, but getting back out of the house today with Patti knowing he was injured would be a problem. He’d fully intended to rest a few minutes, let the ibuprofen kick in, see what Valerie wanted, and then head back to work.
“For heaven’s sakes, Damon.” Patti looked at him wide-eyed. The men were usually careful around the big burly animals, so accidents were rare.
“Something was spooking them. I need to find out what.”
Patti’s hands found her hips, and when Damon glanced at Valerie, he was met with a hard gaze.
“You don’t look like you’re demented enough to go back to work the same day after such an injury, but I know you, and that mulish expression on your face indicates I may need to duct tape you to that chair.” Patti looked over at Valerie. “Would you help?”
“Absolutely. Men have to rely on us to act with common sense. It’s why they’re able to live as long as they do.”
Patti nodded her agreement. “And, at that, they still manage to die before we do.”
“It’s a tragedy.”
Damon shared a long-suffering look with Josiah, who seemed to be holding back mirth. Damon didn’t share his feeling of humor toward the situation or the ladies’ conversation, though that may have been because the ibuprofen hadn’t kicked in yet and his diaphragm throbbed with every careful breath.
“I do think we need to take him to a doctor,” Valerie said, and then bit her lip. “You all should take him to a doctor,” she corrected, eyes flashing to him for a moment before she looked down at the floor. So she felt it too. That connection. As if they hadn’t been apart for nearly a decade and a half. He didn’t know what to make of it and would much rather throw himself back into work with broken ribs—not that he assumed he’d hurt them that bad—than delve into the emotions that Valerie had stirred.
“I can see that he’s going to argue this point, so, while I’ll bow out of this family feud, I do want to suggest that you just club him over the head and take him there while he’s unconscious.” Valerie’s eyes glinted, and she pursed her lips like she was trying to hold back a smile. Damon scowled at them all.
“If it’s worse in a few days, I’ll go,” he grumbled.
“Oh! I almost forgot. Martha made some goodies for you.” Valerie darted out of the room, probably happy for the reprieve.
Damon glowered at Patti as she opened her mouth, and she closed it again. Josiah was eyeing him speculatively.
“I’ll be back on my feet shortly. I’m just a little sore.”
“Yeah, that happens when you fly through the air and forget your wings,” Patti blasted. Apparently, his glowering wasn’t quelling enough. Impossible woman.
Thankfully, Valerie appeared with a couple of tins. She handed him one and Patti the other.
“I should go. Martha probably needs my help.” She looked at Patti. “He’s kind of a big guy, so I’d suggest getting him in the truck under a pretext and then smacking him in the head so you don’t have to carry him. Just a thought.” She winked at him and twirled around—fairly elegantly for someone clad in heavy winter gear—and vanished out the door.