The Cowboy Takes a Bride (35 page)

“That’s not . . . you’re okay with that? It’s what you want for now?”

“Sure,” she lied, slipping the mask back into place. “In fact, that’s how I prefer to keep things. Light and easy. No commitments, no promises, no expectations.”

She told him what she thought he wanted to hear. It was all right. They’d had a good time. She was cool as ice. Chameleons were adaptable that way. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, kissed him until she forgot once more who she was and what she really wanted.

Chapter Nineteen

Old cutters never die, they just join the riders in the sky.

—Dutch Callahan

J
oe lay in the darkness listening to Mariah breathe, his heart filled with a dozen different emotions. He was so lucky to be with her. So happy. He wanted to tell her what he was feeling. Wanted to let her know how much he loved her. He’d done his best to show her, but in the end, that hadn’t been enough. He needed to say the words.

He’d been about to tell her that he loved her when his throat had seized up. He wanted to say the words so badly, but all he could think was
If I tell her I love her, if I admit it out loud, I could lose her the way I lost Becca.

Rationally, he knew that saying he loved her wouldn’t jinx her to an early death, but his battered, old, superstitious heart needed a running start. He’d cleared his throat, working up the courage to say what was on his mind, when she’d told him she preferred to keep things light and casual.

A kick to the gut.

She wasn’t as invested in him as he was in her.

It hurt. That realization. So he closed his mouth, folded up his feelings, and kissed her right back. There was no rush. He could take things slow. Spend his time and win her over fully. Once her wedding planning business really took off and she could see herself carving out a forever life in Jubilee, then he’d tell her how he felt.

But for now? It was best to turn off his mind, bury his feelings, and the only way he knew how to do that was to focus on cutting. Miracle had saved his sanity once. Now, he had to trust that the horse could save his new love.

In the meantime, he’d do his damnedest to please her.

S
ometime later, Joe and Mariah were pulled from their dreamy tangle of arms and legs by the shrieking wail of sirens and the acrid smell of smoke.

Dazed, Joe sat up, his hair falling into his face.

“What is it?” Mariah whispered.

“Fire,” he said, springing from the bed. “Somewhere close by.”

“The chapel!” she exclaimed.

They scrambled for their clothes, shimmying into jeans, pulling on shirts, jamming feet into boots. Within seconds, rumpled and bleary-eyed, they were tumbling out into the heaviness of predawn.

Layers of smoke clouded the sky. The sirens shrieked closer. They raced toward the chapel that butted up against the back of Joe’s property. Only a thick growth of underbrush and cedar trees separated his barn and corral from the chapel. But the chapel wasn’t on fire.

They spun on their heels. The wind carried a sharp crackling noise along with the smoldering scent of singed cedar. Just above the tree line, in the direction of Joe’s house, deadly fingers of flames grasped for the sky.

In one dark breath, they both said, “Green Ridge.”

They moved like one person, one mind, going for Joe’s truck parked at the side of her cabin. Once they were inside, seat belts on, Joe revved the engine, spun the truck around, then reached out with his right hand and took Mariah’s left. She squeezed it. Giving him comfort. Letting him know that he wasn’t alone. She was here with him.

The sound of sirens screamed, almost upon them.

Mariah hissed in her breath and prayed hard. Every part of her body tensed. The sweet euphoria of lovemaking that she and Joe had shared vanished into the dark night.

The closer they got, the thicker the smoke grew and the brighter the flames danced. Fear twined tight around Mariah’s heart. Two fire trucks and an ambulance sprinted up the road at the same time Joe’s King Ranch bounced around the corner of the pasture. A sheriff’s cruiser was already parked in front of the house.

“It’s the barn!” she gasped. “And the fire is out of control, headed for the cedar break.”

“Miracle,” Joe said, his voice coming out in a barely audible gasp.

Mariah’s heart stopped.

J
oe couldn’t believe his barn was on fire. Couldn’t comprehend that his horses’ lives were in danger and the rampaging fire was moving fast through the cedar breaks headed straight for Mariah’s chapel. Couldn’t even begin to accept that something tragic could have happened to Miracle.

He didn’t remember stopping the truck or getting out. He could barely see. Smoke stung his eyes. Dazed, he started running toward the barn. He might have run right
into
the barn if Ila hadn’t suddenly appeared from the smoke, a bandana over her nose and mouth.

She raised a hand, planted it on his chest. “Joe! Stop!”

Then he felt Mariah’s fingers go through his belt loop as she tried to tug him backward.

Ila’s eyes were somber and red-rimmed. Soot streaked her cheek.

A horse whinnied. Miracle? Joe jerked his head around. Saw instead Clover’s mare Juliet tied to the hitching post in front of his house. What was Clover’s horse doing here?

Clover often took predawn shortcuts through his ranch when she was making the rounds on her co-op duties. Had she been the first to see the fire? Had she sounded the alarm? Had she—

His stomach churned and his thoughts fractured as through the smoke he saw a fireman performing CPR on a prone form.

Jesus, was it Clover?

He plowed a hand through his hair, shifted his gaze back to Ila. Her expression was grim. He felt the tight pressure of Mariah’s hands on him. No, no. This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening. To lose Becca and Dutch and now Clover within the short span of two years. No. This was not happening. He had to wake up. He was going to wake up.

But the heat and the noise and the choking smoke invading his lungs told him this was no nightmare he could shake off.

A battalion of firefighters ran to and fro, dragging a tangle of equipment. His ranch hands were in the mix, grabbing for fleeing horses. The lights from the rescue vehicles dimmed in the oblivious sunrise. Emergency medical technicians carrying a stretcher hustled toward the body on the ground.

“Clover?” he yelled over the noise and chaos.

Tears misted Ila’s eyes and she shook her head.

Joe’s whole body sagged. “Is she . . . ?”

“It’s bad,” Ila said.

“And Miracle?”

“The barn’s empty. It looks like Clover saw the fire, came over to get your horses out, and in the process, she was . . . overcome.” Ila’s voice cracked. She liked to play tough, but Joe knew what a soft touch she really was. This was ripping her apart.

Fear and remorse kicked up a tornado in Joe’s gut. He should have been home. If he’d been home, none of this would have happened. Instead, he’d been with Mariah having sex. Clover might die and Miracle was missing because of his damn lust.

He didn’t even realize he’d let out a cry of anger and anguish until Ila put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t go to pieces on me, Joe, not now. Just let the professionals do their job.”

Dumbstruck, he watched them load Clover’s motionless body into the ambulance. His ranch hands coughed through the smoke, leading horses to safety. He searched each animal that passed, looking for Miracle. Each time he was disappointed. If Ila and Mariah hadn’t been hanging on to him, he would have rushed into the burning barn.

Meanwhile, the blaze had reached the cedar breaks. The firefighters were focused on controlling the barn fire and keeping the blaze from getting to his house. They were undermanned and outgunned. The fire leaped to the tips of the cedars, rolling at a furious rampage toward Mariah’s wedding chapel.

Mariah’s fingers bit into his upper arm and he knew she’d realized it as soon as he did. There would be no saving the chapel, even as extra fire trucks from the neighboring county came screaming onto the property.

Joe stood there hung on the horns of helplessness, watching everything he loved slip through his fingers.

“Miracle could be at my barn,” Mariah whispered. “Maybe somehow he survived, and ran to the place he felt safest. C’mon, I’ll drive.”

In a daze, he followed her to the truck, his heart a hard knot in his chest. He couldn’t believe how calm she was. So cool and in control. Becca, the drama queen, would have flipped out. But here was Mariah, sliding behind the wheel, slipping her seat belt on. Calm did not mean she was without emotion. When she turned to glance at him, the look in her eyes was one of abject sorrow and deep empathy, but quickly she hardened her chin and the expression disappeared. She wheeled the pickup in a U-turn, zigzagging around the emergency vehicles, and started up the dirt road to her cabin.

Fire trucks lined the area from the cedar breaks to Mariah’s cabin. The firefighters had soaked the ground around the cabin and the barn to keep the blaze at bay from those structures and they were valiantly shooting water at the fire crisping through the cedars, but there was no saving the chapel. Its proximity to the trees precluded all hope of salvation.

Mariah skirted around the fire engines and pulled up beside the barn. Simultaneously, they got out and turned to watch the fire swallow the chapel they’d worked so hard to build. Joe came around the side of the truck, pulled her against his chest. “I’m so sorry, Little Bit.”

Her body was tense, rigid. “No matter,” she said. “What’s done is done. The chapel is gone, but that doesn’t mean we can’t pray for a miracle.”

T
hey found Miracle pacing inside the barn that Mariah had turned into a reception hall. The horse had knocked over tables. Chewed on the bandstand. Left horseshoe prints on the floor.

Unbridled joy filled Joe and he ran to the stallion. Miracle was alive! Exuberant as a kid, he threw his arms around the horse’s neck. Miracle nickered a greeting. Joe glanced over and saw tears misting the corners of Mariah’s eyes.

“It is truly a miracle,” she whispered. “Dutch was looking out for him.”

“And Clover,” Joe added.

At the mention of Clover’s name, a dark pall dissolved their elation.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cordy said from the doorway. “He’s alive.”

“Thanks to Clover.”

Silence fell.

“All the rest of the horses are accounted for. The co-op started showing up and we loaded them up in trailers. Various people have offered to take them until this all settles down,” Cordy said.

Joe nodded, clasped Cordy on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I’ll look after Miracle,” Cordy offered, “if you want to go on to the hospital to check on Clover.”

“Aren’t you going?” Joe asked, not really wanting to leave Miracle, but anxious to go see about the dear woman who’d put her life on the line to save his horses.

“Not until Ila can cut loose and go with me.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “Thanks.”

Joe reached out, took Mariah’s hand, and guided her back to his pickup truck. The sun was fully up now, casting a hard yellow glow over the smoldering chapel. The grass around the cedar breaks was charred and mini fires still burned, but it was under control now. Safe enough to leave the protection of the cabin in the capable hands of the Jubilee Fire Department and the county volunteers.

They didn’t talk on the way to the hospital, just held hands, their fingers fiercely joined.

The small ER waiting room at Jubilee General was packed with cutters. They muttered greetings clapped one another on the shoulder, but mostly they were silent, sitting glumly, waiting for news of one of their own. Mariah guided Joe to an empty chair in the corner. Her strength and courage amazed him. When this was over, he was going to tell her what he should have told her last night. He loved her. Completely and unequivocally.

Thirty minutes later, a doctor came into the waiting room. “Who is with Mrs. Dempsey?”

“We all are,” Austin Flats said.

“Who’s her closet relative?”

“She didn’t have any kin left.” Art Bunting got on his feet. “We’re it.”

The doctor took a deep breath. The wary flick in his eyes slammed a fist of fear into Joe’s gut, and he knew what the doctor was going to say before the words left the man’s mouth. “I’m very sorry to have to inform you that Mrs. Dempsey didn’t make it.”

“What?” Lissette Moncrief stood, wrapped an arm around her pregnant belly.

Nancy Hickok blinked, put a hand to her chest. “Are you saying Clover’s dead?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What did she die of?” Joe asked.