CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE NEXT MORNING, Rob woke up thinking about kissing Twyla. He had to take a cold shower immediately. Lifting his face to the needles of water, he told himself he shouldn’t have touched her. But for the first time in his life, he had no willpower where a woman was concerned. No control, no honor, no conscience. And no idea why, of all the women he’d ever met, the one who sent him into a tailspin was a small-town hairdresser.
After his shower, he was tempted to phone Lauren despite the early hour. It was probably best he didn’t, because the mood he was in now wouldn’t make for a pleasant conversation. “I hope you’re satisfied, babe,” he’d say. “You told me to do what it takes to show this girl a good time. I’m just following instructions.” And Lauren would know, the way he knew, how disingenuous that was. Kissing Twyla McCabe was not part of Lauren’s plan, and it sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be part of his.
He put on a well-worn pair of jeans, a T-shirt and his favorite hat. It was a Red Sox baseball cap, so old Lauren wouldn’t even speak to him when he wore it. His cowboy boots were equally lived-in, and he was glad he’d brought them along. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn them. Years ago he used to practice team roping, a skill he’d learned at Lost Springs. Lately, however, he didn’t have time to ride a horse, much less go roping. Lauren’s idea of riding was to put an English saddle on some high-strung, overbred Arabian mare and try to coax it over jumps.
Before leaving the cabin, he stood outside the door to Twyla’s bedroom. She had left the door slightly ajar, and through it he caught a glimpse of her that nearly sent him back to the shower. She lay in a cloud of covers, her features softened by the morning light through the curtains. Her hair spilled like liquid across the pillow. One bare foot and one bare shoulder were visible. The rest he could only imagine—and did.
Muttering under his breath, he went outside. The cool, sharp morning air gave him a much-needed draught of sanity. The agreement was for a romantic weekend without the romance. How hard could that be?
It was a long hike to the Laughing Water stables, clear on the other side of the meadow, though still in sight of the lodge. He didn’t mind the walk, though. He needed time to think. Yesterday had been extraordinary, and too damned fun to dismiss as doing his duty. The talk, the honesty that had come out between them, smack in the middle of plotting their deception, had amazed him.
In one day he had told Twyla McCabe more about himself than he’d ever told anyone. And he’d learned more about her than he had a right to know. It was hard to keep a woman like Twyla at arm’s length. He was glad she’d told him about her jerk of a husband and the dreams she believed no longer could come true.
And he was glad he had kissed her.
He had spent half the night tossing and turning, trying to be sorry he’d crossed over the line, but guilt couldn’t overshadow the raw pleasure of holding her in his arms.
The scuffed toes of his boots were damp with morning dew when he reached the stables. A young boy was working in the paddock, beating saddle blankets with a crowbar.
“Got a couple of horses we can borrow?” Rob asked.
He squinted through a cloud of blanket dust. “You the folks up at the cabin?”
“That’s right.” Rob handed him the card he’d found on the table of the lodge. “I thought we’d take advantage of the invitation.”
“Sure thing.” The youth had a bandy-legged ease around horses that Rob recognized. At Lost Springs they had worked with livestock a lot, riding and roping, and many of the boys went into ranching as a result. “You experienced riders?”
“One of us is.” Rob took a wild guess that Twyla didn’t ride. She just didn’t seem the type.
“We’ll give you Mabel and Trapper, then. Mabel’s perfect for beginners.” He offered a quick overview of the riding trails in the area, mentioning that the sight of a horse on the streets of Hell Creek was as common as a bicycle.
Rob helped him saddle up, handed him a generous tip and mounted Trapper, leading Mabel along by the reins as he returned to the cabin. It felt good to be on a horse again.
When he got back to the cabin, the sun had reached a dazzling midmorning point, raising heat shimmers across the swishing meadows. Twyla sat out on the porch, sipping coffee from a mug and eating a bagel. She wore jeans, a white T-shirt and red sneakers. Her hair was damp from the shower. An ordinary woman in ordinary clothes, he thought, so why did his heart speed up when he looked at her?
She wasn’t his type, he told himself for the thousandth time. His type was a woman who wore designer jewelry and dressed in a long silk peignoir and high heels for breakfast.
But when Twyla saw him and broke into a smile, he forgot all about dressing up for breakfast.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, setting down her coffee mug. “Do you know how fabulous you look in cowboy boots, leading a pair of horses to my door?”
He grinned, liking her frankness. He had no doubt she would be equally frank if she didn’t think he was fabulous. “Mount up, cowgirl. We’re going for a ride.”
“No way.” She finished off the bagel.
He dismounted, tethering the horses to the porch rail. Without giving her a second glance, he grabbed her hand.
She pulled back, resisting him. “I don’t ride.”
“They say Mabel is the perfect horse for a beginner.”
“I’m less than a beginner. I’m an unhatched tadpole. Wild horses couldn’t make me get on that horse.”
“We’ve only got tame horses.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “How about a little trust here? That’s what this is about. Trust. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you can’t handle.”
She twisted her wrist, extracting her hand from his. “Just because I grew up in Wyoming doesn’t mean I know how to ride.”
“You don’t have to know. Mabel knows what to do.”
Twyla eyed the big horse dubiously. “A horse that’s smarter than me. I’m so flattered.”
He laughed and held out his hand. “I’ll work on my manners before tonight.”
* * *
TWYLA COULDN’T TELL if the swish and swirl of blood in her ears stemmed from terror or excitement. She had gone to bed last night thinking of Rob’s kiss, and she’d woken up this morning still dreaming about it.
She’d tried and tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, it meant nothing, they were only faking it, but her heart wouldn’t listen. Now she hesitated, studying Rob’s face. He didn’t laugh often, she realized, and his smile was rare, too. The sight of him laughing and reaching out for her made her skin tingle. It also made her reckless, and like a starstruck teenager, she took his hand.
“All right,” she said. “I’m trusting you.”
“You won’t be sorry.” His hand felt large and sturdy as his fingers closed around hers. He brought her over next to the horse and rested his palm at the small of her back.
And just for a moment Twyla fell utterly still. She closed her eyes. Everything inside her seemed to heat and gather at the two places where he was touching her—hand and back. Dear heaven, it was more intense than last night. She had forgotten. She had completely forgotten what it was like to feel a man’s touch. She had forgotten the sensation of holding a hand bigger than hers, sensing a protection from things no more scary than everyday living.
Which, when you really thought about it, was the scariest thing of all.
“Hey, you don’t have to do this,” Rob said.
Without even opening her eyes, she knew his smile was gone. She wanted it back. “Are you kidding? You talked me into it. Now I’m committed.” And when she opened her eyes, the smile was back, though tinged at the edges with curiosity.
“I thought I’d lost you for a minute,” he said. “You looked a million miles away.”
“Oh, I wasn’t.” She realized she had better get busy or she’d lose her mind, fantasizing about this guy. “Show me what to do, kimosabe.”
His expression grew warm with approval, and she knew she had said something to please him. He brought the horse to the steps and positioned her at its side.
“Put your foot in the stirrup.” He held it. “Grab the saddle horn, like this, and swing your other leg up and over. I’ll help you. Don’t worry. I won’t let you go.”
She prayed the seams of her blue jeans would hold as she fitted her foot into the stirrup. She prayed he wouldn’t grunt from the strain as he boosted her by the upper thigh to help her on the horse.
He didn’t. The sound that came from him sounded more like a low-throated moan. A sound of pain?
She landed in the saddle with a solid thump and looked down at him. “Are you all right?”
His grin widened. “You have a nice butt, Twyla.”
She clutched the saddle horn with both hands, letting her hair fall forward to hide her flushed face. She shouldn’t feel flattered by the remark, but Lord help her, she did.
Then she realized how she must look with her death grip on the saddle horn and its proximity to her—She shook her hair out of her face. “Okay, I’m on. Now what? Oh, God.” She made the mistake of looking at the ground. “Holy cow,” she whispered.
“What?”
“This horse is three stories high.”
He laughed. She was getting used to the pleasant, evocative sound of a man’s laughter, though this time it failed to ease her terror. “A horse always looks taller from the perspective of the saddle,” he explained.
“The air is too thin up here. I need an oxygen mask. I’m getting vertigo.”
“No oxygen mask. But you need this helmet.” He handed it to her and showed her the basics. “Take the reins in your right hand. Mabel’s probably used to beginners, so don’t worry about making a mistake.”
He made a kissing sound with his mouth. Apparently his appeal wasn’t limited to the human species, because the horse walked forward. The mare’s gait felt clumsy and off balance, and Twyla hung on for dear life.
“Pull this way to turn. See how she feels it on her neck?” He demonstrated left and right. “This’ll make her back up.”
Twyla stifled a scream as the horse took three giant steps back. She felt as wobbly and vulnerable as a wedding-cake bride about to plunge into the champagne punch.
“And this is stop,” Rob explained. “Whoa. Say ‘whoa.’”
“Whoa, damn it.” The horse obeyed. “Get me down,” Twyla said. “My life insurance policy is inadequate.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said a second time, swinging himself up into the saddle of the other horse. “Mabel will follow me. I’m irresistible to females.”
True. She didn’t say it aloud, but as she watched him adjust his funny old baseball hat and noted his easy posture in the saddle, she knew he was right.
“Okay, remember what I told you. We’ll take this little trail. The kid at the stables said it’s a nice, easy ride.” He made a smooching sound with his mouth.
By the time Twyla realized the sound was for the horses, both animals had turned away from the lodge and headed along the poplar-lined path.
Mabel immediately surged ahead of the other horse.
Twyla gave a shriek and clutched the saddle horn. “Hey, you said she’d follow you.”
He angled his horse across the path and moved in front of her. “Guess she’s got a mind of her own. It’s all about control, Twyla. Half the work of riding a horse is here.” He touched his temple.
“The other half is getting saddle sore already,” she grumbled.
Yet to her surprise, she found, after a few false starts, that he was right. The connection between her and the mare was primal and governed by the slightest nuance of touch—her legs against the mare’s side, her pressure on the reins, even the way she leaned slightly forward. Each movement meant something to the big animal. After a while, she discovered an unexpected and heady satisfaction in being able to control a twelve-hundred-pound horse.
Rob gave her pointers, one at a time so she wouldn’t try to remember everything at once. Chin up, heels down, back straight. It all came surprisingly naturally to her. Before long she was able to relax and enjoy the scenery, welcoming the sights after a seven-year absence. The mountains surrounded the valley like a broken-edged bowl, the highest peaks searing white against the blue summer sky. Meadowlarks and red-winged blackbirds swooped across the expanse of wind-stirred wildflowers, and the sun was warm and welcome on her face.
“Like it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, amazed as the dirt path converged with a larger, tree-lined lane leading to town. “I used to know every blade of grass around here.”
“And now?”
“I guess I still do.”
“So how about giving me a tour?”
Her hand tightened on the reins. She looked out across the vast field of rippling grass, then lifted her gaze to the saw-toothed mountains that rose like a fortress between earth and sky. “I grew up within sight of those mountains. I used to think God lived up there.” Chagrined, she admitted, “I went looking for him once, but all I found was a possum and a case of poison ivy.”
Lord, Twyla. Keep rambling on. He’ll be asleep in no time.
Instead, he watched her with such rapt fascination that she smiled. “You must be a good doctor.”
“It wouldn’t be right to be a doctor otherwise,” he said simply.
“It’s none of my business, but I have an observation to make.”
“Yeah?”
“You seem to be so good with people. I wonder why you confine your medical practice to a lab.”
“I’m not good with people,” he said. “Just good with you.” As soon as the words were out, he looked away and added hastily, “I mean, I’m not good with sick people, only with their labs. I’m a loner, Twyla. Always have been and probably always will be.”
She was afraid to dig deeper. She sensed there was so much more to him than she knew. Each time she saw a new facet of him, she liked him better.
They crossed a fallow pasture that abutted the old Jensen place. Once they cleared the pasture, they’d be on the main street of the town.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. A trip down memory lane. It’s your turn, Twyla.”
He didn’t know what he was asking.
“I can’t promise you’ll find it riveting,” she said uncomfortably.
“I didn’t ask you to be riveting,” he said. “Just honest.”
“Why?”
“Because honesty is the only reason to do anything.”
What a strange thing to say, she thought. Apprehension spread over her like a heat rash as they drew nearer and nearer to the town. She saw things that tugged her back into the past, awakening memories, like the Munchkins of Oz coming out of hiding.
It was just an ordinary western town, she realized with some surprise, smaller than she remembered, but not quite so drab, either. People went about their business, but she didn’t recognize anyone. There was the bridal shop where she had worked, spending every free moment poring over travel brochures, dreaming of the places she would go one day. And there was the Twisted Scissors Salon and Beauty School where she had cheerfully learned her trade because it was a good way to bring money in while Jake went to school.
Then it would be her turn.
She had been unbelievably trusting back then. She was more than making up for that mistake now. She trusted no one—yet she had allowed Rob Carter to coax her onto a horse. That was something, at least.
Each chair in the Twisted Scissors was occupied, but from a distance she couldn’t see any faces. Some of the women were probably getting ready for the reunion tonight.
Twyla kept looking around, wondering if a passer-by would recognize her. But the young mothers pushing strollers, the guys on the sidewalk in front of the feed store and the bank teller smoking a cigarette outside the bank hardly gave her and Rob a second glance.
Funny, she had felt like a bug under a magnifying glass seven years ago when everything had fallen apart. Now she was just some woman passing through.
Hell Creek High School was at the edge of town. An ordinary place of brick and mortar, marred by the scars and scuff marks of teenage exuberance. Shreds of crepe paper draped the entrance to the ball field, and a sign, already fading in the strong sunlight, proclaimed Congratulations Grads.
She pulled up on the reins, just as Rob had shown her. Mabel lurched to a halt beneath a shade tree, dropped her head and tugged indolently at a clump of grass.
“There it is,” she said. “My alma mater.” She regarded the concrete footpaths in a wagon-wheel array, the park benches lining the walk. Somewhere her initials were carved in the seat of a bench. TM + JB = 4-EVER. Hard to imagine that she had once believed in forever.
“I recall every detail,” she said wonderingly. “The way the hallways smelled of floor cleaner, the scratching of chalk on a blackboard, the sound of kids stampeding to the lunchroom, everything.” She stared across ten years at the girl she had been. “I thought I was something back then. Really something.”
“You were,” Rob said. “Still are.”
“Oh, right.” She spoke lightly, but a strange sadness swept through her. She missed that girl, that laughing, eager girl who believed anything was possible and who was limited only by the boundaries of her dreams. There was something magical about holding an unshakable belief in oneself.
She wondered if anyone actually retained that belief long into adulthood. Thinking of her father, she thought, yes. It was possible, but was it wise?
“Seen enough?” she called to Rob.
He sat on his horse some distance away, a far-off expression on his face. She wondered what he saw when he looked at the past. Part of her wished she knew him well enough to ask.
He swung to face her, tipping back his hat. And said the one thing she had been dreading all day. “Show me where you used to live.”