Promise Kept (8 page)

At their home in California, Mark had a special hiding place. “Would you like to play our hiding game here, now that we know where everything is?”

He perked up. “I think I know where I can hide, but you’ll have to give me time to get there.”

Phyl chuckled. “I’ll double it. Then…I’m going to get you.”

“Shut your eyes, Mom.”

She heard him giggling as he left the room. A hiding place was good. If the need ever arose, he could go there until help came.

For the first time she wondered if she should tell Nellie or Donovan her background. They could be in danger, too. She had to think about it. Once they heard her story, would they ask them to leave? Could she take the risk?

****

The next few days were filled with work. There was no time to do more than sleep, eat, and work some more. For the first time she left Mark with Nellie. Each day his whining intensified. He wanted to be part of the roundup. With the roping, branding, and herding the cattle, he could get hurt. For now, he was safe with Nellie—for now, that was enough.

Surprisingly, Cal brightened her days. He did nothing to further her suspicions, just asked a million ranch questions that she let Donovan answer. He knew little about ranching, but was so eager to learn that no one could fault him. Once he was shown how to do a job, he did it. In a few months, he’d be pretty good. His sense of humor along with his innocent adulation of both Donovan and herself seemed to make her days less tiring.

For hours at a time she actually forgot why she was here. She simply did her job, ate the food Nellie put in front of her, and fell into bed each night exhausted, until the next morning when it started all over again.

Occasionally, she’d look up to find Donovan staring at her. She didn’t know what he was thinking. She only knew that every time she caught his eye a flash of heat swept over her.

What made her think she could do this work by herself? She’d been on roundups before. It always took more than one person to do the job. Even with the three of them working hard all day it was hot and wearing.

Today, the sun could “fry your innards” as her dad used to say. She wiped sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt, grabbed a bottle of water.

Donovan and Cal were just as hot and tired as she was. No one had stopped all morning. Now it was time to break for lunch. She poured water into her hand and wiped her face.

Donovan gave the signal to head for the nearest tree where they would share the lunch Nellie packed.

The shade of the ancient oak was more than welcome. Phyl sat on the ground, then, unable to resist, lay back and stretched out. It felt good. She heard Donovan and Cal as they pulled out sandwiches and cold lemonade—heard them laughing about how hungry they were. Then she heard nothing.

The seconds ticked by.

“Phyl?”

The voice came from a distance. Something cold swiped over her face. She sat up; stunned that she’d fallen asleep in the middle of the day when she should be working.

“C’mon, Phyl. I think you got a little too much sun.”

She shook her head. The action made her dizzy.

Looking around in confusion, she saw that she was still under the tree, heard Cal calling out to the calves. Donovan looked at her with apprehension.

“I’m fine.”

“No. You’re not. It has to be a hundred and five today. I’m taking you back to the house.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” She took the bottle of cold water, drank some, poured the rest over her face.

“You’re as red as a tomato. My fault. I should have been more careful. This is heatstroke weather.”

She wanted to show him she was okay, that she could do her job even in this heat. What kind of rancher couldn’t? She started to get up, staggered. Donovan caught her.

“Steady,” he said.

His touch sent flames licking through her in all directions. “This is ridiculous. Give me a minute.”

“You’re doing a man’s job in heat that would melt wax. I’m taking you to the house.” Seeing the look on her face, he added, “As soon as Cal gets this bunch rounded up, he’s coming in, too. We’re taking the rest of the day off.”

“We can’t afford to take a day off.”

Ignoring her, he picked her up as if she weighed no more than a few pounds, whistled for the horses.

“Put me down, Donovan. I can take care of myself.”

It was if she hadn’t spoken. Instead of putting her on Skye, the horse she’d been riding since she got here, he put her on Stormy, and climbed up behind her.

“What are you doing? I was tired and shut my eyes. That’s all.”

“Right,” he said grimly. He took the reins, leaned down and grabbed Skye’s.

When he put an arm around her waist, Phyl fought the urge to relax, lean into him, and enjoy the feel of those strong arms supporting her. What would he think if she did? She shut her eyes, held herself rigidly upright. She was in no position to allow herself to feel anything for any man, especially this one.

****

The ride back was pure misery. Donovan berated himself for keeping Phyl in the sun too long. Then cursed himself for wanting to hold her closer. Though she kept her distance, the sway of Stormy beneath them made touching inevitable. Every time he felt her, he wanted more.

She smelled of soap, sun, and something else. He inhaled deeply. Strawberries! He leaned closer to make sure. Her back went rigid, so he moved his head back a little. He had a sensuous, sexy woman in his arms, and all she wanted to do was get as far away from him as possible.

What was wrong with him? If he decided to stay, she’d have to leave. Forget the attraction—forget the kid.

He’d asked his mom what she knew about the two of them. But all she told him was that Phyl was divorced and needed a job. That wasn’t enough.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she answered stiffly.

“If you feel faint, let me know.”

She sat up even straighter. “I didn’t faint.”

He couldn’t stop the chuckle. She’d never admit to a weakness. Not Phyl. She took on the roughest chores, worked longer and harder than any man or woman he’d ever known. He didn’t know what she was trying to prove. Or if she was trying to prove anything. Perhaps this was just the way she was. If so, she needed to slow down. Texas heat could be a killer.

He had dated off and on over the years. Nothing serious. All of a sudden, Phyl was bringing up feelings he didn’t want to pursue. So why couldn’t he keep his eyes off of her? Whether she was working in the fields with the calves, or sitting at the dinner table, he found himself watching her. This was the first time he’d touched her. He liked the feel of soft skin and hard muscles. He tightened his arm around her waist, moved his face close to her neck, inhaled that wonderful scent again. He wanted to skim his hands down her body, kiss her.

He felt her stiffen all over again. Whatever this feeling was, it wasn’t returned. Which was a good thing. At least he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.

In a way, he was glad when the house came into view. In another, he wanted the ride to last forever.

Nellie and Mark were taking bags of groceries out of the car. Mark ran up to them, Nellie close behind. It was totally out of the norm for them to quit work at noon on a roundup. Definitely unusual to ride in on one horse. Mom would think the worst.

“What’s wrong?” his mom asked.

“Nothing,” Phyl answered, sliding off Stormy.

Donovan tried to help, but she shrugged him away.

“Phyl got a little too much sun. My fault. She needs to lie down for a while.”

“Do you need to see a doctor?” Nellie asked, taking Phyl’s arm. “You could have heat exhaustion.” She turned to Donovan. “What did I tell you this morning?”

“You were right. I should have listened. Put her to bed would you? Mark and I will take care of the groceries and the horses.”

Nellie led Phyl upstairs, ignoring her protests as easily as her son had.

“Is Mom going to be all right?” Mark asked, his eyes as big as saucers.

Donovan had forgotten how little boys could worry just as much, sometimes more, than big ones. “She’ll be fine as soon as she rests awhile. She just got a little too much sun.”

“It is hot today,” Mark agreed.

“It’s a good day to stay indoors. I should have listened to my mom.”

“Does your mom make you do things you don’t want to do?”

That was a trick question if there ever was one. “Sometimes.”

“Do you always mind her?”

Donovan took a deep breath. “When I was young, I tried to be good, and do what I was told. Now that I’m a grown man, I make my own decisions. Sometimes they’re right and sometimes wrong.”

“How did you learn?”

“From my mom and dad. That’s what your mom is doing. Teaching you, so that when you’re an adult you can make wise decisions on your own.”

Mark nodded solemnly.

Donovan let out a sigh of relief.

When the last of the groceries were out of the car and put away, they headed toward the barn with the horses.

Queenie ran toward them, barking fiercely.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Mark asked as he bent down to pet her. Queenie wanted none of it. Barking harder, she ran in circles. “Where’s Freckles?”

They looked toward the barn, around the yard. No Freckles. The dogs were always together. Queenie ran toward the barn. Mark ran after her. Donovan took Stormy’s reins in one hand, Skye’s in another, and followed. Seconds later, Mark screamed for Donovan.

Donovan dropped the reins and ran.

What he saw when he walked into the dim interior of the barn made his heartbeat kick into overdrive. Mark was bent over Freckles, crying.

“She’s dead.”

Donovan felt for a pulse. “Not dead, Mark. But very sick.”

Carrying Freckles, Donovan ran for the Jeep. “I’ll take her to the vet.”

“I’m going with you,” Mark said.

Cal rode into the barn just as Donovan started the motor.

“Tell Mom Freckles is sick, and I’m taking her to the vet. Tell her Mark is with me.”

He backed up. Stopped. “Take care of the horses.”

Cal stared after them in astonishment as the Jeep roared away.

Chapter Seven

“Freckles is sick, Mom.” Mark shook Phyl’s shoulder. “Mom…wake up.”

His voice came from a distance. Something was wrong. She sat up so fast her head swirled in a kaleidoscope of sound and light. She fell back, put a hand to her head, focused until she saw Mark standing beside the bed with tears in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” Panic sent her to her feet so quickly that she had to grab the bedpost to keep from falling.

“What happened?”

He was sobbing, his face scrunched up “I don’t know. Neither does Donovan. But it looks like someone poisoned Freckles. We took her to the vet. He said she might die.”

He said it all in one long sentence without taking a breath, distress flooding his voice.

“Did Freckles get into the rat poison?”

Mark shook his head. “Donovan checked. I helped. It was away from the animals where it was supposed to be.”

Her head ached. Panic made it hard to think. If it wasn’t an accident, then what? And why? Her stomach curled. Could it be a warning directed at her?

She had to talk to Donovan. “Go downstairs and stay with Nellie. I’ll be down shortly.”

She made her way into the bathroom on unsteady feet then splashed cold water on her face. She’d have to watch it. This was the first summer in years she’d worked outside. Coming from Southern California she wasn’t accustomed to this intense heat. Nor was she accustomed to the feelings she’d had when Donovan held her next to him.

It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep her body as far from his as possible. Even that wasn’t enough. Stormy’s every sway seemed to throw her against his hard body. What she hated most was that she liked it.

Did he feel it, too?

Brushing aside thoughts of the sensual ride, she went downstairs.

There were more important things to consider. Mainly, was she still safe here? Had they found her? She shook her head. Not possible.

It didn’t seem likely that Freckles’ plight could be anything more than an accident. To think otherwise would send her running.

Phyl followed voices to the kitchen. But it wasn’t Donovan. She couldn’t have been more surprised to see the stranger from the bookstore standing in the kitchen, a cookie in one hand, a glass of tea in the other. Why was he here? What did he want? Her anxiety kicked up several notches. “Where’s Mark?”

Nellie answered, “He couldn’t wait to get back to the barn.”

Phyl breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“How do you feel?” Nellie asked.

“Better,” she said, then turned to the stranger. “What are you doing here?” Though the question sounded rude, she didn’t care. She didn’t like the man. He made her nervous and uncomfortable.

“Hi!” he said with a smile that showed white teeth, but left his eyes cold. “I don’t think Mary properly introduced us. I’m Gregory Mateo.”

“Gregory says he’s met you and Mark.”

That familiar creepy feeling crawled up Phyl’s back. “He was at the bookstore,” Phyl said, still watching him. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

Phyl ignored the questioning look Nellie gave her.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you the other day, but I’m working on a coffee-table book on Texas ranches. That’s why I’m in the area. I want to include pictures of the larger ranches.”

“Who else have you contacted?” Phyl asked, her voice a little on the rude side. She didn’t care. Seeing this man in the house she felt safe in suddenly had her feeling insecure and nervous.

Mateo shrugged. “I’m slowly getting acquainted with ranchers in the area, but you’re the first.” He went to the table, picked up a camera bag and tripod. “I’d like to take pictures if I could. You can help with the final selection,” he said to Nellie. “It would be great to have some action pictures. You know, herding the cattle, mending fences, all the cowboy things.”

His eyes darted from Nellie to Phyl. “I have a publisher. She’s quite excited about it.”

“Which is?”

Mateo patted his shirt pockets, then reached for a wallet in his jeans pocket that wasn’t there, and shook his head. “A new outfit in New York. I could’ve sworn I had her card with me.”