Chapter Twelve
“The bathroom is across the hallway. Plenty of towels and toiletries in there. I need to head back to the pavilion to check on dinner for the guests, but give me a shout if you need anything else,” Helen said.
Evie surveyed the pleasant room she’d been shown to and sent the other woman a quick smile.
“Thanks. I think I’m covered with all of this,” Evie said.
Only an inch or two taller than Evie, Helen had smiling blue eyes, short strawberry-blonde hair and a warm, genuine presence. In her late thirties, possibly early forties, Evie guessed she was a big hit with Tanner’s paying guests.
“There’s a lasagne in the fridge for dinner. I told Tanner I can come across to the main house to serve up, but he seemed to think you two could cope on your own.” Helen’s gaze was curious as she waited for Evie’s response, and Evie suspected the other woman was trying to work out what the deal was between her and Tanner.
“Even I can’t go wrong with putting lasagne in the oven,” Evie said.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Your flight out of Pueblo is in the afternoon, have I got that right?”
Evie glanced in the general direction of Tanner’s room and lowered her voice.
“To be honest with you, I haven’t actually booked a ticket for tomorrow,” Evie admitted. “I’m not due to fly home for another week or so—I figured I’d be more use here, helping Tanner out, than sleeping on my friend’s couch in Santa Fe. But I kind of have to convince Tanner first.”
Helen’s gaze became even more speculative. “That might be harder than you think. Like you said, the man is stubborn.”
“So stubborn,” Evie said, shaking her head ruefully.
“Good luck,” Helen said. “I think you’re going to need it.”
Evie smiled as the other woman exited, then glanced around the room again. The chunky timber king-size bed was covered with a red and black plaid quilt, a fluffy-looking red blanket folded over the end. The curtains were a textured neutral fabric and a warm-hued Persian rug covered much of the timber floor.
Shrugging out of her jacket, she left it on the end of the bed and went to explore the rest of the house. Backtracking to the open-plan living area, she took in the high ceilings and big, stone fireplace surrounded by masculine dark brown leather couches. There was another rich-toned rug in here, in the center of which was a glass-topped coffee table made from an old wagon wheel. To one side was a big, rough-hewn dining table lined with ten upholstered chairs. The kitchen ran along the rear of the space and featured rustic timber cabinets and chocolate stone countertops. Evie was no expert, but all the appliances looked scary-good, the kind a dedicated chef might drool over.
Tanner had a nice home, and now she was taking the time to think about it, she wasn’t surprised. His truck had boasted its share of luxuries—leather upholstery, lots of mod-cons. His hotel room had been on the luxe end of comfortable, too. It made sense that a man who appreciated a few of the finer things in life would take care of his home comforts, too.
There was no overstated excess in this home, though. No gaudy features meant to show off how well Tanner had done on the bull-riding circuit. But she already knew Tanner wasn’t a braggart.
Curious to see more, she explored further, discovering a laundry room, a home gym, and, finally, Tanner’s home office. She ducked her head through the doorway, intending to only take a quick look, then found herself drawn in to his personal domain. The walls were paneled to waist-height in a deep-toned tongue-and-groove timber. One wall featured built-in bookcases, and at the far end a large oak desk held pride of place. The wall opposite the bookcase featured a well-worn Chesterfield sofa in faded cognac leather. It was the wall above the sofa that had sucked Evie in, though—it was filled with pictures and mounted buckles and ribbons, and as she stepped closer she understood she was looking at a visual history of Tanner’s career.
There was a picture of him as a young boy in cowboy gear, sitting on the back of a barrel tied between two trees. There was another of teen Tanner, lean and rangy in worn denim, his shirt off as he rode the back of a bull in a paddock somewhere. She put his age at sixteen or seventeen, and even then she could see the beginnings of the powerful musculature he possessed as a man—the flat belly, the broad shoulders and strong arms.
Her gaze roamed over prize buckles mounted in frames, her eyebrows rising higher and higher as she registered how many there were. One of the last pictures was a framed front cover of the American Extreme Bull Rider magazine, featuring an amazing action shot of Tanner atop a wildly bucking bull.
The photographer had captured a perfect moment in time, the bull’s rear legs kicking high in the sky, Tanner leaning back on his spurs, one arm flung high to balance himself. His face was hidden by the grill on his helmet, but even without seeing his face she could sense his wild joy and triumph in the moment.
She reached out to touch the edge of the frame. Would he ever feel this alive again?
She remembered an article she’d read recently about how sports medicine specialists were exploring the possibility that retired high-level swimmers struggled to adjust to retirement because their bodies were addicted to the dopamine rush of competing and winning. If there was any merit to the idea, surely bull riders must be addicted to adrenalin in the same measure. How else to explain the fact that they came back from injuries and cheerfully faced death again and again, even after they’d won millions and were effectively set up for life?
Letting her hand fall to her side, Evie released a heavy sigh. Tanner had a road ahead of him—that was for sure.
Realizing she’d been standing in his private space for way too long, she left his study and went outside to explore the rest of the property.
The first thing she noticed was that someone had moved Tanner’s truck out of the way—Johnny, she guessed. She glanced to her left to where a more modest version of the main house stood beneath the shadow of a couple of huge trees. That had to be where Helen and Johnny lived. To her right was a series of barns and fenced-in yards. Tanner’s truck must have found a home in one of them.
Tucking her hands into her back pockets, she headed for the barns. It wasn’t until she’d walked past the main house that she saw the three cabins dotted high on the hillside behind it, each separated from the other by a good hundred yards. A glass-walled building with a stacked stone chimney sat between the main house and the cabins, and she could just catch a glimpse of someone moving around inside.
Tanner had told her a bit about his place—the cabins he rented to fishermen, the horse breeding. There was a good future here for him, even if it wasn’t one he’d planned on taking up for a while. She just hoped Tanner could see that once he was over being angry and grief-stricken about the loss of his career.
Curious about the outbuildings, she approached the first barn, breathing in the familiar smell of feed, manure, horse and straw as she stepped into the cool, dim interior. Horse stalls lined either side of a broad concrete walkway, but she could see that only half of them were occupied. Big brown eyes looked her way as half a dozen horses tracked her progress inside the barn.
“Nothing to worry about, pretties,” she said quietly. “Just came to say hello.”
She approached the first box and smiled when a chestnut mare with a white flare on her forehead stepped forward to investigate. She had a long, muscular neck, deep chest and short back, and Evie was reminded of the stock horses she’d ridden all her life at Forrester’s Landing.
“Two nosy ladies, checking each other out,” Evie said, careful to keep her voice low and steady. Holding out her hand with the palm flat, she let the mare catch her scent. After a beat, she stroked the side of the horse’s face and then her neck, her smile widening as she felt the smooth, warm velvet of a live animal beneath her hand.
Nothing better in all the world, as far as she was concerned.
“Aren’t you a beautiful girl,” she said.
“One of our best breeders, Miss Daisy,” a voice said behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Johnny B watching her.
“She looks it. What breed is she? Appaloosa?” Evie asked.
Johnny’s eyebrows rose a little, the crows feet around his eyes wrinkling as he smiled a little. He was a little older than Helen, she guessed, his dark hair liberally peppered with gray.
“Close. She’s a Colorado Ranger, also known as Rangerbred. Bred for ranch work, rodeos, trail riding.” He paused a moment. “You know your way around horses.”
It wasn’t a question.
“My family own a cattle station in the Top End of Queensland,” Evie explained. “And I’m about to start my final year of vet science.”
“Vet science, huh?” Johnny asked, his brown eyes lighting up.
“Yep. Specializing in rural practice.” A lot of Evie’s fellow students had plans to use their degrees in the city, but Evie had lived too long under the broad skies of rural Australia to be able to tolerate city living for an extended period.
“We’ve got a mare about to foal in the end stall. We figure she’s going to drop any day now,” Johnny said, his expression hopeful.
“I’d be happy to take a look at her, as long as you know I’m not qualified to practice yet, so I can’t really offer advice,” Evie said.
“Understand that, but it would still put my mind at ease. Clementine’s our most valuable broodmare.”
“Let’s take a look at her, then,” Evie said easily.
She walked beside Johnny as he headed for the far end of the barn where a larger-than-normal stall was situated. A swollen mare stood inside, her white and chestnut leopard spot hide stretched by her pregnancy.
Evie talked softly to her before entering the stall with Johnny. She let the mare sniff her hand, then spent a few minutes petting her strong neck and murmuring soothingly to her before going to check out things at the horse’s back end. Crouching, she inspected the mare’s developing udder.
“How long has she had this?” she asked.
“About a week now,” Johnny said.
“And when does she normally foal after bagging up?” Evie asked, using the colloquial term for a mare developing an udder prior to birth. Some mares developed up to six weeks prior to foaling, others just days. Typically, a mare followed the same patterns every time she foaled, though.
“About a week, give or take.”
“Any signs of wax or milk?” Evie asked.
“None so far.”
Evie nodded and checked the mare’s tail dock for sponginess, then lifted her tail to inspect her vulva.
“She’s close. I’d say you’ll have a foal within the next forty-eight hours,” Evie predicted.
Johnny beamed. “That was my feeling, too. Thanks for taking a look, Evie.”
“My pleasure. She’s beautiful. Nice breed,” she said, running an appreciative hand down Clementine’s powerful flanks.
Together she and Johnny left the stall and headed back toward the entrance.
“Helen tells me you might be staying with us longer than tonight?” Johnny asked, shooting her a sideways glance.
“Maybe. If I can get Tanner to see sense.”
“Not a lot of fun, being beholden to other people for everything.”
“Agreed. But there’s no need to make it more painful for everyone than it needs to be, either.”
Johnny laughed at her dry tone. “Explain it like that to Tanner; I’m sure he’ll come around.”
Evie couldn’t hold back her own laugher. “Or not.”
After a moment Johnny’s smile faded. “Did the doctors say much about his eyesight?” he asked, face drawn with worry for his friend and employer.
“They won’t know anything until the bandage comes off, and maybe even a few days after that. There will be swelling, things will need to settle down…”
Johnny nodded, his forehead still pleated into a frown.
They parted ways in front of the house and Evie climbed the three steps to the front porch. The house was profoundly silent when she entered and she hoped that meant Tanner was sleeping and not lying behind his closed bedroom door stewing.
The clock on the kitchen wall told her it was nearly six. Tanner would want to eat soon. She headed into the kitchen and opened the fridge. A huge tray of lasagne occupied the middle shelf. Evie pulled it out and slid it into the oven, then contemplated the complicated collection of dials and knobs arrayed before her.
It took her no less than four attempts to get the oven to fire up and start making noises. When she put her hand inside, she could feel it starting to warm. She had to do some math to translate degrees Fahrenheit to Celsius, but she finally settled on what she hoped was a reasonable temperature to reheat a lasagne.
She set the timer for half an hour, then decided to have a quick shower before dinner. Her plans changed the moment she saw the large bath next to the shower. The thought of submerging herself in warm water and bubbles sounded like heaven after two days of driving an unfamiliar car on unfamiliar roads in a foreign country.
Five minutes later, she was sinking into fragrant foam thanks to the excellent array of toiletries Helen had left for her, a copy of one of Tanner’s The Horse magazines in hand. She spent the next twenty minutes reading up on the latest advice for feeding broodmares in late gestation.
The water was so warm, the bathtub so welcoming, only the thought of the oven timer going off forced Evie to pull the plug and dry herself off. Clad in a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top, she padded barefoot into the kitchen and checked on dinner. It smelled pretty good to her, which meant it was time to go rouse the master of the house out of hibernation.
Her feet were soundless on the timber floor as she approached Tanner’s bedroom. She tapped on the closed door, hoping she wasn’t waking him.
“Tanner. Hey. It’s just me. There’s hot lasagne ready when you are.”
There was a short pause, then: “Be with you in a minute.”
She heard him moving around and hovered, unsure if she should wait for him to emerge or let him find his way to the kitchen himself. Then she reminded herself that this was his house, and he had a clear run from his bedroom down the hallway to the living room.
Retreating to the kitchen, she dressed the bowl of salad Helen had left, then served up a man-sized portion for Tanner and a slightly smaller size for herself. The smell of melted cheese and rich tomato made her mouth water and she made a happy sound as she ferried both plates to the table.
When she turned, Tanner was standing on the threshold of the room, one hand extended into space as he groped for his next landmark, his head cocked as though he was trying to hear where he was to compensate for not being able to see.
“Just a few more steps,” she said, crossing the room.
Taking his extended hand, she drew him toward the table.
“Thanks,” he said, but she could tell it cost him.
She made a bet with herself that he was probably a terrible patient at the best of times—and that was definitely not now.
She pulled out a chair and sat, then picked up her cutlery. She waited until Tanner had his in hand before offering a little guidance.
“Salad is at two o’clock on your plate, lasagne between six and nine,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said again, and her heart sank as she heard the frustration beneath his politeness.
He’d been more talkative today in the car, more playful, but now he was back in his cave, pushing the world away. A heavy silence fell over the table, and Evie racked her brain for something to talk about.
“I checked out your horse barn. I’ve never heard of Colorado Rangers before.”
“They’re a local breed.”
“Johnny said they’re used for rodeo work?”
“That’s right. And general ranch work, pleasure riding.”
He sounded as though he was a hostile witness giving testimony at a murder trial, every word dragged out of him. Evie studied his face for a moment then let out a small sigh. If he didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t force him, but maybe she needed to rethink her scheme to stay longer and help him. Tanner hadn’t said an inhospitable word, but she wasn’t a fool. He didn’t want her here.
The thought triggered a sharp pang of regret, but she quelled it. He’d had so much go wrong so quickly, it seemed churlish not to give him the one thing he seemed to crave the most: privacy. She’d already forced herself on him for the drive home. It was time to stop shoe-horning herself into his life.
After dinner, she’d go to her room and book a flight to Santa Fe for tomorrow afternoon. Her final gift to him.
Her stomach got tight, and she set her fork down, her appetite gone. Tanner was almost finished with his meal, and she waited until he was done before taking his plate into the kitchen. When she returned to the table, she found Tanner standing, clearly waiting for her to guide him back to the hallway.
She started to ask if he wanted to listen to some music, or maybe have her read to him, but the set of his shoulders and the flatness to his mouth made her bite her tongue. Wordlessly she led him the few paces to the hallway and watched as he made his way back to his room, one hand gliding along the wall for guidance. The sound of his door closing between them again brought a lump to her throat.
So. Time to book her flight.