Smoketree

CHAPTER Twelve



I was exhausted by the time the police were done with me. I expected Harper to walk me to my cabin, but Nathan did not look well. So I left the Lodge on my own, knowing Harper would stay close to the ailing man, and went on alone to my cabin.

Just as I put my key in the lock, Brandon stepped out of the shadows. I jerked back in shock, startled out of my numbness, then tried to settle my pounding heart. He did not apologize, and I saw a set expression on his face.

“We have to talk,” he said.

“Brandon—I’m tired.” I made a limp gesture. “With all that’s happened—”

“We have to talk,” he said again, and took the key from my hand to unlock my door.

He pushed it open and gestured me in. Resigned, I went in, stripping my jacket off and dumping it haphazardly over the back of a chair. Brandon closed the door.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I want to make certain you’re all right,” he said quietly. “What happened must be very upsetting. I just didn’t want you to be alone right now.”

“Brandon—”

He crossed the room and put his hands on my shoulders, then slid them up to cup my face. “Kelly, don’t write me off. Give me a chance. I know I’m not Tucker Pierce, but don’t dismiss me entirely.”

My hands were around his wrists, and I realized we nearly mimicked the postures Harper and I had taken in the tack room. It made me vastly uncomfortable; Brandon made me vastly uncomfortable. I wasn’t up to the pressure, not right now. Not while my nerves screamed with the knowledge of Drew’s death.

“He’s not worth it,” Brandon said firmly. “Don’t you see that? What is he? A cowboy. He can’t give you anything. Certainly not what I can.”

“I don’t want anything right now, except to be left alone,” I told him. “Don’t even bring Harper into this.”

“I have to,” Brandon retorted. “I’m not blind, you know. Good God, Kelly, has Tucker’s death made you deaf to your own desires? I see what there is between you.”

I wrenched his hands away and stepped back. “I think you’d better go.”

“Not until we have this settled.”

“What’s there to settle?” I demanded. “Brandon, you’ve been good to me. We’ve both been hurt by Tucker’s death. And I appreciate the support you’ve given me—but I don’t want any more than that. There isn’t any future for you and me.”

“Kelly,” he said, and then shut his mouth. For a moment he reminded me a little of Tucker, and then the resemblance was gone. It was Brandon I saw, not a shadow of the man I had loved, and I had no business letting him think I wanted a shadow. Not for any reason.

“Brandon,” I said gently, “I’m not having an affair with him. I’m just not having one with you.”

I knew I hadn’t made him understand. The look in his eyes was too distant, too withdrawn, too resentful. Whatever it was that constituted Brandon’s ego would not allow him to comprehend that a woman could simply not want him. For him, there had to be a reason. Another man; he could focus on that.

The realization made me sad, and a little sorry. But Brandon had simply had it too easy all of his life: easy money, easy women… Neither was particularly wrong, they just didn’t contribute to the growth of an individual’s understanding of human nature that differed from his own.

I realized, in that odd moment, I was less like Brandon than Harper. The cowboy and the fashion model—worlds and poles apart—had worked very hard to gain what they had so recently lost; Brandon had not. And it made a difference.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I won’t lie to you, Brandon.”

He nodded. “No, I know that. And I’m sorry, too. After all, we have so much in common, more than—” He broke it off at once. “Forget it. Listen, I can’t wish you well. Not this way. I do think you’re making a mistake. And I’m sorry.”

In a way, I was, too. But not for my decision; not for the Kelly who couldn’t—wouldn’t—settle for a Brandon.

His hands came up to cup my face. He bent, opening his mouth to mine. But I’d seen the expression in his eyes, that almost desperate proprietary expression that told me he was doing it for himself, not for me or anyone else, and I turned my head away.

That one slight movement was enough to settle the question once and for all, and it did.

Brandon took his hands away. “You’re wrong,” he said. “You’ll see that.”

“If you’ll let me,” I agreed.

Brandon moved to leave, and I did not stop him.



I made my phone calls to Drew’s lawyer and Vanessa the following morning. And then, when I had finished my strained conversations, I went down to the pens by the burned-out barn. To one pen in particular. Preacher’s.

The horse paced restlessly. Firm muscles slid beneath his glossy brown coat. His eyes were calm and intelligent, not at all the eyes of a killer. He had always seemed docile, if big and quick, and I couldn’t see how he would turn on a man. Certainly not Drew. The man would never have dreamed of doing anything to incite a horse to violence; Drew knew nothing at all about the animals, except to bet on them.

I was unaware of Harper’s presence until I saw Preacher’s ears twitch forward. The horse snorted, extending his nose toward me—toward Harper, I discovered, as he leaned against the rails.

“Good old Preacher,” he said reflectively. “I’ve watched Cassie raise him from a two-year-old, babying him when he needed it and getting after him when he needed that. He’s got good blood in him, and intelligence and heart, and good sense. But most of all, he likes people.”

The horse, standing now by the rails, put out his head to snuffle at Harper’s arm. I retreated just a little, but Harper set a hand beneath the bay’s heavy jaw and scratched until Preacher’s eyes half-shut in pleasure.

“You’re telling me he didn’t do it,” I said quietly.

“I’ve known mean horses in my time,” he said conversationally. “I’ve seen ’em kick and bite and strike out. I’ve had ’em try and take my leg off at the kneecap by ramming me into a tree or post. They can be devious and small-minded and downright nasty—but rarely are they killers.” He kept scratching. “Any horse is capable of killing, pressed to it. But it doesn’t make him a killer.”

I looked at the big horse, half-asleep at Harper’s hand. He seemed so gentle, so friendly, little more than a huge, powerful dog. But I knew he wasn’t. No horse was. They simply were not pets.

“Did you make your phone calls?” Harper asked.

I sighed and stared at the dirt. “Yes. Drew’s lawyer is handling the arrangements; there isn’t to be a service, because Drew never wanted one. So when the police are done, the body will be shipped back to New York for cremation.”

“Did you find out what brought him here?”

I nodded. “That was the call to Vanessa. It turns out Drew called her to find out where I was; I thought that might be the explanation. The agreement was she wouldn’t tell anyone, so I could have some time, but Drew told her it was urgent. He told her why, and she agreed. And so she told him I was here. ” Harper turned away from Preacher. “And what was the explanation?”

I looked away from him, staring beyond the pens. “Drew came to see me because Jazzmine has cancelled my contract. They have that right, you see… would you use a damaged vehicle for a car commercial?” I tried to smile but it came out twisted. “He didn’t want to tell me over the phone. Drew was like that. A good, kind man. Tough as well, but decent. He built my career, you see, and he wanted to be with me when it fell apart. ”

"I don’t mean to belittle what you’ve told me,” he said quietly, “but aren’t there other cosmetics companies?”

“Of course,” I agreed, “but none of them want a blemished model, either.” I sighed and kicked at the dirt. “Remember how it was when the doctors said you couldn’t ride again? Well, this is sort of the same. Looks like I’m out of work.”

“Kelly.” He didn’t say anything more. I knew he understood. He just let me stand there, staring at nothing, until I could talk again.

“So,” I said on a gust of breath, “I’m going to stay here a little longer to sort out a few more details.”

He went very still. “What details are those?”

“My life.” I looked at him. “There’s a chance further surgery might get rid of this scar, at least enough to make me photogenic again. But there are no guarantees, you see.” I brushed my fingertips across the keloid scar on my forehead. “I may be stuck with this, which means the career is gone. But I still need time to heal from the last operation, and I might as well do it here.”

His face was very blank. “I thought you’d go back to New York.”

“Me, too.” I looked at Preacher. “But I think I’ll stay awhile.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” he said very quietly. “But it doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

I smiled. “I know that. There’s an awful lot to overcome with us.”

“Maybe.” He sighed. “Hell, it’s been long enough since Abby.”

“And long enough since Tucker?” I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m not making any predictions.”

Preacher pushed at Harper’s arm, begging for more attention. Automatically he began scratching the horse again, but his mind was elsewhere, I knew.

“What about Smoketree?” I asked. “What will you do about all the trouble? If it isn’t you doing it, who is?”

“Developers. But I can’t go to the police. I don’t have any hard evidence. Just a string of circumstantial stuff. The only thing to do is wait and see what happens.”

“What does Nathan think?”

“He’s not saying much. We haven’t really talked about it much; it’s sort of something we’re keeping quiet. Besides, it’s me the incidents are meant for.”

“What do you mean?”

He resettled his hat, still scratching Preacher’s jaw. “Before I bought into Smoketree, a man came and offered me money to pressure Nathan into selling. Gave me this song-and-dance routine about what they’d do to make the development a going concern. I don’t doubt it would be, but it’s not what Nathan wants. Or me. Anyhow, I told him I wasn’t interested. He went away when he figured I wasn’t kidding, and things began happening.”

“But you didn’t tell Nathan.”

“About that? No. Didn’t want to worry him. He was already having problems enough with cash flow. So, to help him out, I offered to buy half the ranch. It took pretty much what I had left from Abby’s robbery.” He smiled a little, but it barely got under the moustache. “I thought it would take the heat off him, sort of redirect the attention of those developers. Worked, too. They aimed everything at me.”

“How?”

“Those two horses I mentioned were killed before you came? A mare and a stud, and the mare was in foal; they were mine. I’m the one who generally works in the barn, and I run the riding program. Without tack, no one rides. Without feed, the horses don’t eat. We’re just lucky there’s pasturage and pellets; it hurts to lose that much hay.”

“But Harper”—I shook my head—“it was me they shot at.” He turned toward me abruptly, startling Preacher so much the horse moved away. He caught both arms above the elbows and held me tightly. “Damn it, I couldn’t tell you! Don’t you see?”

I gaped at him. “What—”

“I shot Hornet.”

A wave of shock swept through me. “You—”

“I couldn’t tell you before,” he said urgently. “I couldn’t. You already suspected me—if I’d said anything by way of apology you’d have considered the thing intentional. Don’t you see? I couldn’t have convinced you otherwise.”

“I don’t understand—”

His breath hissed between his teeth. “It was a warning shot. I fired it to scare off the man who told you to go home.” He saw the astonishment in my face. “Yes—I knew he was there. I meant the shot to frighten him, so he’d know I wouldn’t stand for any more of their tactics. But Sunny spooked and the shot went wild.” His eyes searched mine. “I didn’t even know Hornet had been creased until we got back to Smoketree. I was scared sick when I saw you’d had to jump from the mare, but I didn’t know it was the bullet that had spooked her. Kelly—” He stopped. He let go of me, as if he couldn’t touch me for fear of saying more than he meant.

I thought about my brief, violent journey down the mountain on a runaway horse, who had had, it turned out, good reason to run away. I was frightened all over again, particularly now that I knew who had triggered the incident, but I couldn’t really blame him. I recalled too well the look on his face when he had reached me halfway down the mountain, and the fear in his voice.

I had only to look at his face now to see what he was feeling, and I didn’t want to hurt him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“It’s okay,” I said at last. “Besides, it wasn’t any worse than what you faced in the arena aboard a bucking bull.”

He smiled a little. “You forget—I did that by choice. You didn’t have much, thanks to me. ”

“Blame Sunny, then—he made the shot go wild.”

The smile widened. “Fair enough.”

“Won’t you at least alert the police?” My thoughts had gone back to the developers.

“What would they do? There’s no evidence.” He shrugged. “Think about it.”

“So you’ll do nothing.”

“Nothing to do. Of course, if I ever catch them…”

I couldn’t help grinning. “Frontier justice?”

The moustache quirked a little at one end. “Not quite a lynching party,” he said with a straight face, “but I reckon I’d have a brief discussion with them. Before I called in the cavalry.”

I frowned. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Sounds as if you’re not too sure.”

“Maybe because I’m not.” I sighed. “What do I know about cowboys, after all? Just what I’ve read, or seen in movies. I’m beginning to think that’s not the whole truth.”

“Not even a part of it,” he said flatly. “Nobody understands a cowboy except another cowboy, no matter how much they think they do. And even we're split into little pieces.” He smiled at my frown of incomprehension. “We’re three different breeds of men, Kelly: the ranch cowboy, who makes his living running stock on the spreads that still exist, large and small; the rodeo cowboy, who specializes in roughstock or roping but might come right out of the city without a background in ranch work at all; and the third kind.”

“Which is?” I prodded.

“Drugstore,” he said succinctly. “The kind who puts on a pair of boots, a ten-dollar straw hat, a belt, and calls himself a cowboy. ” He grinned. “Most of ’em never been on a horse in their lives; wouldn’t know the difference between a mare and a gelding.”

“What about the urban style?” I asked, knowing the trend from my tenure in New York City.

Harper shook his head. “Worse than the drugstore variety. A mechanical bronc’s no match for a real one, but you can’t tell them that.”

I waited a moment, and then I turned to look right at him. “Where do you fit in? Is there a category for Harper Young?”

The moustache twisted in a crooked smile. “Me? Ah hell, I’m just a broke-down bronc rider who doesn’t know how to leave it in the past. I still smell the arena and hear the crowds. Mostly I’m just caught between two worlds, because you got to deal with modern problems even when you feel more like someone out of another century.” He shook his head. “Hard to put into words, but I doubt there’s a cowboy alive—a real cowboy—who doesn’t wish he could chuck all this progress for the grind of the old days. There wasn’t anything romantic about those days—not like Hollywood’s made out—but it was honest work. Something a man could be proud of.” He looked suddenly older. “God knows there’s little of that anymore.”

A brave man, was Harper Young. Merely for being himself, I thought, in a world that was leaving his kind far behind.

“We are so different…” I said sadly.

“Too different,” he agreed.

“Do you care?”

“Cowboys and fashion models don’t mix.”

“Probably not,” I agreed.

His smile was full of weary wisdom; he knew the thing was decided. “Oil and water, Miss Clayton,” he predicted.

“Could be, Mr. Young.” I grinned back. “But maybe not.”

He made a sound midway between a grunt and a snort, and I thought that said it all.