Regret ate at Cale’s gut for not asking Ella that morning when they were alone. He paced the barn, jumpy as water on a hot skillet, waiting for Thorson and Pete to get their film and get gone. A westerly breeze cut through the open back doors of the barn, and white fluffy clouds bunched above the house in the east.
Tug laid in the alleyway, head on his paws, eyes following Cale like a pendulum clock. His ears perked, and Cale ran outside. Thorson and Pete were trotting in, looking none too happy.
Served ’em right for coming out here and spoiling his last . . . his day with Ella.
“Get what you came for?” He took Thorson’s reins and looped them over the hitching rail.
“Plus a few saddle sores.” The director climbed off his horse and flinched when he hit dirt. “I’ve ridden more in the last few weeks than I have in a year.”
Cale could say the same for someone else in the company.
“Make that more than my entire life.” Pete clambered down and unstrapped his camera. “But I have to say, you’ve got some of the best scenery I’ve ever seen.”
He stopped short and gave a sharp laugh. “Get it? Scene-ry and seen?”
Thorson shook his head and held out a folded check. “Thank you, Mr. Hutton. You’ve made our trip to Cañon City quite profitable. I trust it was the same for you.”
Cale stuck his thumb in the fold to catch a peek at the dollar amount. Might not be good manners, but he didn’t want to have to hunt the man down to get what he’d been promised.
Satisfied and then some, he slipped the check inside his vest and offered his hand. “Glad to hear it. You’re welcome to come again.”
Thorson glanced toward the house, and Cale intended to bulldog him if he as much as said a word about taking Ella. But he merely pulled his hat off and rubbed his forehead.
Manners demanded he offer the man a cold glass of water or lemonade or whatever Helen had waiting inside, but he wasn’t feeling particularly mannerly.
The back screen door creaked. Dadgummit.
“Mr. Thorson.” Helen marched around the corner. “Take some lemonade with you on your way back to town. I’m sure you worked up a thirst, and Cale can fetch the jar when he rides in.” She pressed a cloth-covered basket into the director’s hands and gave it a quick pat. “Cookies too. Enjoy.”
She nodded at Pete, cut Cale a quick look, and turned with a spry step. Thirty seconds tops, and the screen popped again.
Best entry-exit Cale had ever seen.
“Well, I’ve got chores to tend to. Thorson, Pete. Drive safely.” He did his best Helen imitation and walked away, leaving both men standing under the pine tree, more than likely stunned by their quick send-off.
Glancing back, an ornery idea stopped him short. “If you see that bear on your way to town, be sure and send word back, would you?”
Pete hoofed it for their automobile. Thorson shook his head and ambled on after him, a hitch in his get-along slowing him some.
Cale busied himself unsaddling their horses—and saddling Doc and a shorter, stocky little paint mare. Barlow’d been out twice today. She deserved a roll in the pasture and an extra can of oats.
He tied a rolled blanket behind the paint’s saddle, and his stomach rumbled. Hunger or anticipation. Maybe both, as he considered a quiet picnic with a certain bob-haired gal in fancy boots. He turned out the other two mounts and made tracks to the house.
At the washtub, he scrubbed his face and neck and hands, then combed his hair back with his fingers. Ella crossed in front of the window, a pitcher in her hands that she set on the table. He left his hat on a nail, rolled down his sleeves, and took a deep breath.
As he reached for the screen door, three tornadoes blew around the corner of the house, and he turned and blocked the door, arms crossed. “You know full well what Miss Helen will say.”
“But Ty and Jay’ll wash first and beat me out of sittin’ next to Miss Ella. It ain’t fair.”
Cale bit his cheek and pulled a sober face. “No, they won’t.”
Hope lit the boy’s face, and Cale almost felt guilty for the second time that day. “She’s going on a picnic with me.”
“Can we go?”
The question earned Kip an elbow from Jay. Ty snorted, and Kip hung his head.
“Next time.” He hoped and prayed he wasn’t lying to his nephews.
Having spent his deep, clear breath, he drew another and walked inside to a set table. Confounded Thorson waited too long to leave. Cale hid his disappointment behind a forced smile.
“Looks good.” He pulled out his chair.
The boys blew in and jockeyed for position.
“Kip, you’re here.” Helen indicated one of two chairs on the stove side. “Ty and Jay, there.”
They skulked around to the other side of the table as Helen and Ella took their places.
“Kip, would you say grace for us?”
His shoulders hunched into his ears and he wiggled his backside farther into the seat, then took Ella and Cale’s hands and bowed his head. “Thank you, Lord, that Uncle Cale and Miss Ella didn’t go on a picnic. Amen. And for the food. Amen.”
Snickers burned Cale’s ears. Without raising his head, he peeked at the women. Both were staring at him.
Not to be outdone by a six-year-old, he squared himself like a man and reached for the boiled potatoes.
“Thought we could take some cookies and lemonade out to the pasture and enjoy the breeze after dinner.”
Ella hid behind her napkin doing a poor imitation of dabbing her mouth that didn’t need to be dabbed and making noises in her throat. Choking on a laugh, he figured.
“That would be lovely.” She winked at the boys so quick that he almost missed it.
His belly reared up and pawed.
Ty and Jay squirmed and giggled until a glare from Helen set them straight. She dished up a spoonful of greens for both of them, passed Ella the bowl and a look that said do the same for Kit. “Since it’s such a nice day, I’ll be needing your help, boys. I have three rugs that need a good beating.”
Shoulders slumped and guarded looks volleyed around the table among the conspirators.
Cale made a mental note to bring Helen another bag of bon-bons.
After dinner, Helen prepared a basket like the one she’d given Thorson, then hurried Ella out the door, whisking her hands like a broom. “You go on now. Have a good time.”
Cale took the basket and planted a peck on the woman’s cheek, ruffling her feathers considerably.
“Go on with you. And if you see that brother of yours, tell him I held him back a plate.”
Cale would be more likely to see the bear than his brother, but he nodded his thanks just the same.
Ella had gone ahead to the corral and was rubbing the paint’s head, its eyes half closed in delirium.
“Don’t put her to sleep, or we’ll be riding double out to the meadow.”
Her cheeks went pink, which was his intention. “Is she as good as Barlow and Doc?”
“No one’s as good as Doc.”
She laughed that liquid sound, and it ran through him like a swollen stream.
“I do believe you are prejudiced, Mr. Hutton.”
“No apologies.” He tied the basket to his saddle bag with a latigo, checked the cinch and rifle scabbard. He’d ridden armed for more than a week. No sense stopping now, though he truly believed what he’d told Thorson.
Ella loosed the mare and mounted easily without his help. She seemed rested, and he itched to know her history, certain she’d grown up around horses, based on her easy way with them. Maybe she’d tell him this afternoon.
The fear and tension she’d carried their first day out in the meadow was gone. And in its place was a peaceful confidence that made her bloom like a wild summer rose.
He joined her, and they cut around behind the barn and rode west toward the green patch along the creek. Tug trotted beside them, a bounce in his step as he sniffed the air.
~
The colorful little mare was a delight with her strong, sturdy build and light step. Ella felt secure, well-mounted, safe enough to drink in the beauty around her. She’d forgotten to bring her camera along, but perhaps it was better to focus her heart this time instead of her lens. She’d likely not see this setting again outside of Thorson’s moving pictures. And then only for fleeting moments at a time.
Today she intended to relish every minute, burning the images onto her mind’s eye for review on the long train ride back to Chicago.
Her mood dipped on that note, and she squeezed the mare into a gentle lope, leaving the depressing thought behind. Cale stayed with her, holding Doc back in his long-legged reach. He could well outpace her, but she sensed a race was not the intention, though she wasn’t certain of what his intention was.
She knew only that she trusted him completely and would miss him desperately—the man who had so roughly yanked her from certain injury or death, persistently prodded her to ride again, and subtly charmed her with his cowboy ways. Unrefined but strong, capable but caring, he had patched a hole in her heart whether he knew it or not.
Perhaps Nana had been right all along—life was a collection of mended tears and tatted edges. Wounds healed over and beautified in the process.
They pulled up at the meadow’s edge, close enough to the creek to hear its lilting song. She swung down, took the old blanket he handed her, and snapped it out atop the cushiony green. She anchored one corner and he joined her at the opposite, setting the basket between them.
The spotted dog lay down not far away, his eyes on the basket as if he knew what was hidden inside.
Cale stretched his long legs out to the side and leaned on one elbow, obviously not as at home at a picnic as he was horseback or straddling a kitchen chair. He thumbed his hat up and a red mark banded the top of his brow. A strange urge prompted her to smooth it away and brush it with a kiss. Unsettled by the thought, she distracted her traitorous emotions by pulling a napkin-wrapped bundle of oatmeal raisin cookies from the basket and offering him one.
He took it with a smile and held it up in a mock toast before two bites left nothing but crumbs. She covered a laugh.
“Wha?” A full mouth limited his conversational abilities.
“You make quick work of Helen’s fare.”
A hard swallow, and he unscrewed the lid from a jar of lemonade. “Gotta get while the gettin’s good.”
His manners at the Denton the night of the rodeo had been impeccable, as if he dined out on a regular basis. Yet now he was a rough cowboy in a cow pasture. Much of him was a puzzle she wished she had more time to piece together.
She bit into a crunchy cookie, showering her lap with crumbs.
He chuckled. She lobbed the cookie at him, and he caught it and shoved it in his mouth with a little-boy grin.
Sitting up, he crossed his legs, a trick with his spurs, but he managed not to gouge the well-worn blanket. He palmed his mouth and focused on her as if he were framing a photograph, his smile trading places with an earnest appeal. “Can I ask you a question?”
He’d waited a long time to press beyond boundaries other than her reluctance to ride. By this time tomorrow, she’d be gone. The way she saw things now, she had nothing to lose other than his company. She folded her hands in her lap. “Ask away.”
Surprise jerked his head to the side, but his eyes never left her face. Apparently he expected resistance, and rightly so. She hadn’t been exactly forthcoming, but she believed she knew where he was heading.
“How long have you ridden?”
A faint sigh slipped out in gratitude for an easier query than she’d anticipated. “My father has always kept a stable of fine saddlebreds. I began riding lessons when I was three and competed from about twelve years of age until several years after boarding school.” When I met Charles and fell in love.
No surprise reflected on the planes of his face. “I figured as much, you bein’ from Chicago and all.” He leaned back on his hands and studied the mountain behind her. His eyes narrowed. “My guess is you didn’t come west with the moving-picture company because you needed the money.”
She dipped her head in agreement, unwilling to volunteer too much.
“So this was just a trip to see how us roughneck ranchers lived.” His razor-edged tone cut deep, and inwardly she drew back, ruing her earlier unguarded ease. She scrambled to gather as many stones as possible from her crumbled wall.
He jerked forward and grasped her hand, his eyes dark and bleeding regret. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant to say. It’s just that . . .”
A gray ring clouded the blue of his eyes. She’d not noticed it before.
Aching, she withdrew her hand, pulling in the corners of her soul and tucking them in around the edges. “Just what?”
He yanked his hat off and scrubbed a hand through his hair, then reset it with a hard tug. “What happened on Main Street? Why’d you freeze up?”
And there it was. The core of the matter that had somehow scabbed over in the last few weeks but was now torn open again.
She pulled a loose thread in the blanket and twisted it around her finger. “Fifteen months ago I was engaged.”
His abrupt stillness drew her glance to find his jawline set in stone, his eyes suspicious.
“I met Charles at a horse show. We saw each other regularly for more than a year. He proposed, I said yes. The next evening we were on our way in his motorcar to a party at a mutual friend of our families. It was raining.”
Round and round she wrapped the woolen thread until the end of her forefinger blushed a deep red.
“Storming, actually. The roads were dreadful. Charles was driving too fast. A horse ran across the road—”
The thread snapped.
Her eyes squeezed shut against the pounding hoof beats of her heart, and she didn’t see or hear Cale move, but he was beside her. Pulling her into his arms. Stroking her hair.
“I’m sorry.” His graveled voice raked across her bruised spirit and her hands clenched in her lap. In his haste, he’d pinned her arms to her side, effectively closing the breach in her wall. It was just as well. She did not want his pity.
He leaned back, cupping her shoulders in his large hands, searching her eyes for an open door. A window. Any crevice she might have left unguarded. Slowly his hands slipped to her neck, his thumbs stroking her jaw with a tenderness unmatched even by Charles. How could a man pull her in such opposite directions, so efficiently tearing her in two?
“Ella,” he breathed. “You’re not like any woman I’ve ever met. I know I’m not a polished gent like Charles or anybody else where you come from. But I see a kindred heart in you, and I want—”
The dog growled, effectively drawing Cale’s attention. His hands fell from her face, leaving it chilled in the absence of their calloused warmth. He looked the direction of the dog’s attention, and she followed his gaze to a fluttering stand of aspen hugging the mountain’s base.
As swift as a serpent, he was on his feet, pulling her up and nearly dragging her to the mare. “Ride to the house. Now. As fast as you can. Then ring the triangle by the back door to call Hugh.”
Stunned by his harsh movements and urgent orders, she remained rooted in place. “What—”
The dog leapt up, growling savagely, the hair on its back stiffening.
Cale gripped her around the waist, flung her into the saddle, and shoved the reins at her. Before she could take a breath, he jerked off his hat and slapped it against the paint’s rump with a frightening yell.
The mare lunged forward. Ella grabbed the saddle horn. The dog raced for the aspen thicket, she at a right angle, away from the meadow. Fighting the horse’s frightened pace, she pulled hard on the reins, slowing enough to whirl around.
Cale was already in the saddle, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Tug! Come!”
The dog ignored him.
Cale looked her way, the hard lines of his face chilling the blood in her veins. “I said go—now!”
And then she saw it. A charging brown shadow, crashing out of the thicket and seeming to roll across the meadow.
Straight for her.