A Certain Kind of Hero (31 page)

“Actually, I was going to need some help catching them. This one was limping, so she was slower than I was.” She relinquished the tool to him. It was useless to argue, and she knew he didn't need much instruction. “I'm used to handling most of it myself, but Jody's helping out, too, now. He can bottle-feed a lamb. He can—”

“Jody's just a little guy.” Too young to be given some of the jobs he kept asking for. Tate remembered how it felt to be given the kind of responsibility that made a boy feel like a man. Heady at first, but there was no turning back once you'd taken the step. At least there hadn't been for him.

“I heard you reading that nursery rhyme to him the other night, about the pumpkin shell,” he said. It was the kind of kids' stuff he'd sailed right past on his shortcut to manhood. “What's that supposed to mean, ‘had a wife but couldn't keep her'? You don't get married unless you've got some way to keep her.”

“Keep her what?” Amy teased. “Happy? It's usually the woman's lament, that she had a husband but couldn't keep him.”

“Keep him what?” he echoed.

They traded smiles while he switched to the other front hoof. Then he made short work of the back hooves and let the animal go.

“When are you going to settle down?” she wondered. “For longer than a few months, I mean.”

“The word
when
supposes I will, sooner or later.” The straw rustled beneath him as he shifted, raising his knee for an armrest. “Is that what you suppose? Every man oughta settle down, sooner or later?”

“They don't all want to. I know that. And some try to have it both ways.” He looked up, wordlessly asking whether she meant him. “Ken wasn't like that.” Missing Tate's message, she went on. “He had built-in roots. I like that. I found a sense of security in it. That's funny, isn't it?”

“Why?” He felt no urge to laugh now that she'd changed the subject to Kenny's attributes.

“Because he found a way to wander off after all, didn't he?” It wasn't the answer he was ready for, nor the one she'd expected to give. She glanced away quickly. “I don't know why I said that. It's a terrible thing to say.”

“But it's true. He's gone, and you're still here.”

“He didn't mean to,” she said sadly as she picked a piece of straw off his thigh. “He never meant to leave us. He didn't even know he was leaving
two
children, and he didn't mean for things to be so—” Here it comes, he thought. He couldn't see her eyes, but her voice was weakening. “—damn hard.”

“It's okay.” She shook her head as he took her hands in his. “No, come on, Amy, it's okay to tell it like it is.”

“It isn't like that. He's not to blame.” She glanced at the open barn door, her eyes shining with the threat of tears. “That horse, that crazy horse.”

“I'll get rid of the horse,” he promised. Her bottom lip
trembled, but she said neither aye nor nay. Gently he squeezed her hands. “Will that help?”

“Yes!” She closed her eyes and shook her head again as he moved into position. “No, no, no, it won't do any good.”

“Come here, honey.” He reached out to her, ready to hold her, anticipating the feel of her weight against him. “It'll do you good to—”

“No,” she said firmly, wiping her eyes with one hand and pushing him away with the other. Jody's truck-engine sound effects intruded from a distance. “I can't let Jody see me like this.”

“Why not?”

“I'm all he's got.” She scrambled to her feet so fast that he missed his chance to offer any gentlemanly assistance. “And I can't come apart now. I don't have time. I have too much to do. I have to—” Her hands were shaking as she struggled for control. “
We
have to get those hooves trimmed.”

She'd streaked some dirt across her cheek with the tear she'd banished so quickly. He reached his hand out to her. “Amy, take it easy.” He would clean her face if she would let him. He would kiss away her tears.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

Her lips were trembling, and her eyes were wild with an emotion he couldn't begin to name. He let his hand fall to his side. “I'm gonna do the work,” he said gruffly. “You give the damn orders.”

I
n trade for hay, Tate agreed to break a couple of two-year-olds for Myron Olson. He knew Myron needed green-broke two-year-olds about as much as he needed a swimming pool in his backyard this winter, but Myron happened to have plenty of hay and welcomed the excuse to truck some over to the Becker place. Like some of the other neighbors, he'd offered to help the widow out with whatever she needed, but she always said she was doing just fine.

Just what she needed, Amy grumbled when he unloaded the new stock. More horses around the place. But Tate detected a glint of relief in her eyes when the first load of hay rolled into the yard. He wasn't going to let the horses interfere with his other chores, but he liked to work with them when he was minding Jody, who loved to watch. Tate found himself wishing Amy would come out to observe him in action, too, just to reassure herself that it was perfectly safe to keep horses around.

 

“Mama, Mama, Mama!”

Jody only called her “Mama” when he was excited or scared. The way his little legs were churning up the gravel, she could tell he was both. She flew out the door and met him at the foot of the back steps.

“Come quick! Tate got kicked!”

“Where!”

“In the head, by one of the—”

She took his hand, and together they trotted across the yard. “Show me where.”

“It's nothing,” Tate insisted as soon as Amy and Jody burst into the barn. He was sitting on a hay bale, hat in one hand, head in the other, looking like a guy who'd just lost round one. “I'm okay. Just grazed me. No blood spilled.” But when he took his hand away from his forehead, he had a glove full of blood. “
Hardly
any blood spilled.”

“You're bleeding all over the place!” Amy exclaimed as she knelt beside him, trying to catch her breath. “Can you walk?”

“Legs are fine.” He scowled, arching the eyebrow that was catching most of the blood. “You been running?”

“Jody's been running. I've been waddling.”

“You shouldn't be running.” He took a swipe at the blood with the back of his wrist as he tried to duck away from her scrutiny. “
You
shouldn't be—” She took his face in her hands and made him look at her. The light was dim, and his eyes were so dark that it was hard to tell anything about his pupils. “Can you walk?”

“You asked me that.” He proved he could stand up. “Point me in the right direction.”

“You okay, Tate?” Jody asked anxiously.

“If I start to go down, just holler ‘Timber!' and get your mom out of the way.”

“That's not funny,” Amy insisted as she slipped her arm around him. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she gave his flat belly a motherly pat as they headed for the house. “You'll be okay.”

“That's what I said. Just feelin' a little booze blind, which is no big deal.” But he grabbed for the gatepost as they entered the yard, taking a moment to steady himself without leaning on her. “Except you'd like to start out with some fun before you get the headache.”

“You mean you're not having fun yet, cowboy? You and your damned hardheaded horses.”

“I'm the hardhead.” He closed his eyes briefly, then forced a smile. “The horses are jugheads. There's a difference.”

“I'm sure I don't know what that is.”

“The difference is, I should have known better. I was sackin' her out, and I should've used a hobble.”

“We don't need the hay this bad,” she said as Jody scampered up the steps and held the door for them.

“Yes, we do.” Neither of them had accented the word
we,
but it resounded in the look they exchanged. “And it's not bad,” he assured her quietly. “I'd know if it was bad. I've been kicked before.”

“I don't like taking charity.”

“It's hardly charity when I'm…” He was looking for a place to sit before he collapsed. She provided a tall kitchen stool close to the sink, and he sank down on it gratefully. “I'm working for the damn hay, and I'm doing it on your time.”

“Stop patronizing me. I'm not paying you, and even if I were, I wouldn't pay you to get kicked in the head by a horse.”

“I'll get the doctoring stuff,” Jody offered sensibly. He disappeared down the hall.

Amy grumbled as she set to work on Tate's head with a clean towel, soap and water. “I don't want anyone else getting hurt. Horses are dangerous, they're unpredictable, they're…” She worked gently around the cut, brushing his hair back with one hand and blotting the blood with the other. “Tate, this won't stop bleeding. You probably need stitches.”

“If you say so.” He almost lost himself in the sympathy he saw in her eyes, but Jody's return brought him back to reality. A bottle and two small boxes clattered on the counter. Tate rewarded the boy with a smile. “We'll go get us some stitches. Right, Jody?”

“You mean you can sew his head?”

“I can't,” Amy said absently, still trying to staunch the blood. “A doctor can.”

“Will it hurt?” Jody backed away slowly. Remembered fear crept into his question. “Is it like an operation? Will he die?”

“Jody, come here.” Tate held out his hand. “It's not like an operation, and I'm going to be fine.”

“You didn't fall off a horse, did you?” Jody asked anxiously, inching closer.

Tate shook his head as he hooked his hand around the boy's nape and drew him close.

“No,” Jody reassured himself. He draped himself over Tate's thigh as though he were hitching a ride. “You got kicked, but you never fell off. That's different.”

“I've fallen off lots of horses,” Tate admitted, looking to Amy for approval. He was willing to admit to the risks. “Sometimes you get hurt, but most of the time you just dust off your jeans and climb back on.”

“Or you get smart and stay away from them because they're
dangerous,” she instructed as she peeled adhesive tape from a roll. “Jody knows that.”

Tate ruffled Jody's soft curls. “I'm okay, Jody. In a week or so, this will just look like a scratch.”

“And don't tell him it doesn't hurt, either, because it does.” She sucked air between her teeth, grimacing as she considered the best way to cover the wound. Finally she bit the bullet and applied the bandage. Tate winced. “I'm sorry. Does that hurt?”

“It does hurt a little. You'd probably feel a lot better if I took some aspirin or something.”

“We're taking you in for some stitches, and then I want those horses—” She swept them away with a quick gesture.

“Uh-uh.” Tate wagged his index finger under her nose. “I took on a job, and I'll get it done. But I'll be more careful.”

“You could sue me, and I don't have any liability insurance,” she suggested too easily. His steely, dispassionate look set her back on her heels. “I guess you wouldn't sue me.”

“I guess I hadn't thought of it.”

“I did have insurance, but I didn't pay the premium this fall. That's the next thing on my list, but I haven't had…”

“Jody,” Tate began, giving the boy a pat on the back. “Just between us, I don't feel much like driving the pickup. You wanna go look in your mom's sewing box and find me a needle and a piece of thread about—” he thrust his white shirtsleeve in front of Jody's face “—this shade of passin'-out pale?”

Amy threw in the towel. “I'm getting my coat.”

 

A few hours of convalescing went a long way with Tate. And a little TLC was about all Amy had the time for. Otherwise, about the only progress he could say he'd made with her in the time that he'd worked for her was that she didn't seem to hate him. He wasn't sure what more he wanted from her. Not
sex, obviously; she wasn't exactly in any shape for a real good roll in the sack. Maybe a little cuddling in the sack, where he could hold her close enough to feel the baby move again.

Hell, what was he thinking? It wasn't even his baby, and she damn sure wasn't his woman. He didn't know why he kept hanging around. She couldn't bring herself to admit she needed his help. If anybody asked, she was honest enough to admit she needed
some
help, but any damn drifter with a strong back would do, long as she kept her shotgun handy in case he had any ideas about…

In case he had the nerve to think about getting her in the sack, where she could put her hands on him the way she had when he'd been hurt. She was the kind of woman who might reject a man's appetite for the roving and rollicking life, but she could still touch him with forgiving, healing, caring hands. Maybe if she would once touch him in the dark, he thought. Maybe if they couldn't see into each other's eyes, they wouldn't be as likely to start the delicious drowning, start the lovely slipping under, then, bam! There was Kenny, floating above their heads like an avenging angel.

And Amy would end up feeling bad about spending any of her affection on Tate. She'd felt bad about it years ago, even before she'd married Kenny, and it would be worse for her now that he was dead. She was too damn hard on herself. She wouldn't think it was a good thing for a good woman to do, and she was good. She had certain standards she tried to live by. She'd made a point of reminding him of that. It wasn't just a matter of being good at what she did. Hell,
he
was good at what he did, not that what he did was any great shakes, but he was good at it. Still, he wasn't
good.

And just to prove it, he was about to do Saturday night up right.

He started out at the Jackalope, but the atmosphere was too
dismal there. Charlie Dennison had gotten his butt in a sling at home. His ol' lady had thrown all his gear into a cardboard box and left it on the back porch. No question that ol' Charlie was completely misunderstood. That put Ticker Thomas in mind of the girl he should have married, damn sure
would
have married if she hadn't run off to Seattle. The music was downhearted, the drinking was solemn and the patrons were all male.

After one drink Tate moved on to the Turkey Track, where the dance floor was hopping. He met up with Kenny's sister, Marianne, who had managed to persuade husband Bill, Sr., Overo's staid, colorless grocer, to shock everybody by taking his wife out on a Saturday night. Marianne professed to be damn glad to see Tate and damn sorry she hadn't tried to get hold of him herself when Kenny died. She'd just assumed—well, everybody knew Tate was footloose.

“You remember Patsy Drexel. Used to be Johnson,” Marianne shouted over the strains of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” She shoved the voluptuous blonde into his arms, and he took a turn around the dance floor with her.

Sure, he remembered Patsy. Patsy was Marianne's friend. Three years ahead of him in school and light-years ahead of him in experience, at least to start out with. Experience had been one hell of a zealous teacher. They'd had some good times together back then, and once or twice in the intervening years, whenever he'd happened to be in town and Patsy had happened to be between husbands.

“Drexel,” he said consideringly. That was a new one. “So you got married again, huh?” Before the conversation went the way it usually did with Patsy, he had to get a few things straight. “Where's your ol' man?”

“Which one? The last one ran off to Reno to play guitar in a band. He had the hots for the singer.” She looked up
and smiled. “It was an even shorter marriage than my first. You think I oughta take back my maiden name now that I'm unattached again?”

“I've still got you down as Johnson in my memory book. Is that your maiden name?” He charmed her with a wink. Here was opportunity tapping a bright red fingernail just above his shoulder blade.

But when he escorted her back to the table, she made the mistake of saying, “Thanks, honey.” He wasn't sure where the prickly sensation had come from, but he told himself to ignore it.

“So you're working out to Becker's place for the winter?” Patsy claimed the chair next to Marianne's. “Haven't seen her around town for a while. Bet she's big as a hippo and twice as testy.”

“She's all baby,” Tate said tightly as he lit a cigarette. “She looks uncomfortable, but I don't hear her complaining.”

He eyed Patsy pointedly as he blew a stream of smoke, hoping she'd gotten the message that bad-mouthing Amy wouldn't earn her any points with him, if that was what she was looking for. Patsy was in no position to talk, anyway. From what he could see, all her experience had put more age on her than any UV rays could account for.

“Well, it's real nice of you to help her out,” Patsy allowed generously. “But it must be frustrating in a way, considering how you've always kinda carried a torch for her.”

“What are you talking about? Amy's the vine-covered cottage type, and I've never been one to let any grass grow under my feet.” There, he thought, that sounded definite. “Besides, she was a one-man woman, and that man was my best friend.” For good measure he mentally toasted Kenny before he took a drink.

“You might've been hiding your torch under a bush, Tate, but everyone knew it was there. That's why you left Overo.”

He smiled humorlessly as he aligned his glass with the water ring it had left on the table. “I had a lot of reasons for leaving Overo, and Amy Becker wasn't one of them.”

“You walked away from your father's land,” Marianne said. “That place was rightfully yours, not your stepfather's, from the day your mother died. It was always Harrison land.”

“It still is.” He glanced at Bill, who was busy people-watching, then at Marianne. Patsy was the woman after his body, but Marianne was a woman after his own heart. Calculating and practical. Cut to the payoff. He just needed to put his basic instincts to work for a change. “Until somebody makes me a good offer.”