Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning (8 page)

Closing day. . .
Leaving tomorrow
.

She put the toast down and closed her eyes. She’d cried last night. Lying in bed, tears slipping down the side of her face and into her pillow. Not knowing if she was crying because she wasn’t making love with him. Or because he was the kind of man who would try to protect her.

And wondering which of those elements was behind her sensing where he was in the theater each time he’d been there.

No, not
sensing
.
Knowing
. Like a plant turning to the sun. Like a plant about to be cut off from the sun forev —

“Donna?”

She pretended great interest in spreading grape jelly on her toast. She didn’t like grape jelly. “Uh-huh?”

“I’ll stay a few a days longer if you’d like me to.”

Her head snapped up.

If she’d like him to
?

He blinked, as if facing a bright light, but didn’t look away. And it didn’t make sense anyway, because
he
was the sun, not her. Oh, hell, what did that stuff matter now?

“That’s wonderful, Ed. How long? How long can you stay?”

“As long as you’re here.”

“Really?” Her heart tripped, then sprinted ahead. There would be hours and hours together. Not just snatches, but all of tomorrow, and then whole afternoons . . .

“But . . . but you wanted to get back to the Slash-C.”

“I don’t know if I
could
leave while you’re here.”

He didn’t sound entirely happy, but he was staying. She’d concentrate on that certainty, put aside the fogginess of what he might be thinking.

“I thought Monday we’d drive up to the mountains,” he said. “Spend the day, let you see them up close.”

“Oh, Ed, that’s so thoughtful of you.”

“Good. We’ll leave as early as—”

“No, wait. I have something else I’d rather do. I mean if it’s okay. Would you take me to the stock show? Unless — Are there places in Denver you haven’t had a chance to see? I was reading about — but not tomorrow. Tomorrow I’d like to learn about ranching — at least cattle. So would you take me to the stock show? I know this is the last day, but will everything be gone by tomorrow?”

His brows drew together, as if he were viewing something he hadn’t seen before. “I guess not. But they’ll be breaking things down, packing up, pulling out.”

“Perfect! You can see so many things when we’re striking.”

“Striking?”

“Closing up the show for a move. Definitely see lots when we’re packing — or unpacking. You see the real workings and — what?”

His expression was shifting to that smile she loved, with an added dash of humor. “I never considered that. Don’t know if you’re right or not, but I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow. But are you sure? You haven’t seen the Rockies.”

“There’ll be more mountains.” But she would never have another chance to spend a day with Ed Currick in his world.

****

I’ll stay a few a days longer if you’d like me to
.

Good God, what had possessed him?

Like he needed to ask. She had. Sitting across from her, and knowing that even if she’d said, “No, go on home and get started on being without me forever,” he wouldn’t have gone.

I don’t know if I
could
leave while you’re here.

That was the truth of it.

He sat in the lobby phone booth. No use putting it off any longer. He placed the call.

His father answered with the usual, “Slash-C.”

He felt a constriction in his throat, immediate, and completely unexpected.

“Dad. It’s Ed.”

“Ed. Your mother will be sorry to have missed your call.”

“I wanted to let you both know I won’t be home tomorrow night. I’m, uh, going to stay longer in Denver.”

“Learning more than you expected, eh? Or are you teaching the folks there.”

“Little of both, I guess.”

“Good, good. So, when should I tell your mother to expect you?”

“A week from Monday. Not sure of the time.”

“A week,” his father repeated slowly.

“Yeah. Tell Mom to call Pauly Trudeau or Hem Robertson to help her out. Or both. They’d appreciate the offseason work. I’ll pay their wages when I get back.”

“I’ll tell her. Anything else you want me to tell her?”

“No. That covers it.” He was suddenly glad his mother hadn’t taken this call. She wouldn’t have been satisfied without a lot more information.

“Ed, you’re a grown man, as I’m always telling your mother, so . . . Is there anything — are
you
okay?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Are you okay with money to stay another week?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a pause. “Okay, then. Call if you need anything. Or . . . if your plans change again.”

“I will.”

They said their farewells, hung up. But Ed didn’t move.

If his plans changed again
.

As if he were in charge of any of this.

It was more like he was a calf, well and truly roped. Being drawn slowly, inexorably toward the fire where the branding iron waited.

Only this calf wanted the fire, wanted to wear the brand, even as it dragged back on the rope. Hoping it wouldn’t burn quite as much as it knew it would.

And knowing that then he’d be let loose. But not free.

After the evening performance, Donna came around the corner of the hallway, able to see the stage door now. Before her mind recognized Ed, something else in her did — her breath caught, and her tired muscles lightened.

“Well, well, the faithful swain remains faithful,” murmured Henri from beside her, then added darkly. “So far as you know. Or think you know, because men are lying bastards.”

By which Donna understood that the rumor about Henri and Brad’s latest fight was true. She made a sound meant to combine acknowledgment and sympathy, but without much attention because all of hers was pinned on the tall, broad-shouldered figure wearing the cowboy hat.

Henri’s sound was one of disgust as he peeled off and went into the wardrobe room. She barely noticed.

Ed had his head bowed as he listened intently to something Maudie was telling him. He held a paper while she stabbed a finger at a point on it.

Maudie spotted her, said something to Ed. He folded the paper and slipped it inside his open jacket.

“What are you two conspiring over?” she teased, as she came close enough to wrap both hands around his arm. His opposite hand came up and clasped over hers, as if to secure her hold on him.

“Nothing.” He didn’t meet her eyes, even as his hand tightened.

“Maudie —?” But the older woman was walking away, heading toward her cubbyhole, and Grover was beside her. So much for attending the door.

She turned to Ed. Before she got in a question, he said, “Temperature’s dropped. We’ll get a cab.”

She started to protest, then decided a cab was a good idea. A really good idea. It would get them to the hotel, and his room, faster.

“Where would you like to eat?” He held the door for her.

Cold rushed around her, inside her, licking up her legs under the coat’s hem, burrowing inside the cuffs, slapping her face.

“I’m not hungry. Let’s just go to the hotel.” The sooner they got to the hotel, the sooner she could seduce him, once and for all.
Let’s just go to bed
. That’s what she wanted.

“No supper? You feeling okay?”

“Mmm-hmm. Maudie gave me the perfect meal between performances.”

He used one long arm to wrap her to his side so his body protected her from the worst of the cold as they came out of the alley. He raised his other arm to signal to a taxi sitting down the block. Even in the short time it took for the taxi to arrive and to get in it, she felt as if her face had iced in place.

The taxi’s interior was cozy by contrast, and Ed radiated heat beside her, especially when he put his arm around her and she snuggled close.

“What were you talking about with Maudie?” she asked when he’d finished telling the driver where they were going.

He put his hand over hers where it rested on his chest. “You’re freezing.” He opened a button of his jacket and slid her hand in.

Ahh, delicious.

She flexed her fingers, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt. She would see his strength uncovered tonight. Stripped . . . although the idea of taking her own clothes off made her curl into a tighter ball to hold onto the warmth.

“Maudie?” she repeated, before a yawn overtook her.

“Nothing much. Why don’t you close your eyes? You’ve gotta be beat with all these shows.”

She yawned again. Had to be nerves. Though he was right she had reason to be beat. Seven performances in four days, the party, minimal sleep. The lack of sleep was his fault, of course. But that would end tonight.

She wouldn’t lie awake thinking about him tonight. Not once she’d seduced him.

Maybe she would close her eyes. Just for a little.

He considered carrying her in from the taxi, let her keep sleeping. But it would have raised eyebrows. Along with making it even harder to ignore how much he wanted to ask her — drag her, beg her — back to his room.

She gave him a sleepy smile as they entered the elevator. Some might think the yawn that swallowed it dented the smile’s sexiness. Not him.

He fought a mighty battle with himself in the two quick breaths before he leaned over and hit two buttons — his floor and her floor.

At her floor, they crossed the elevator threshold together, took a couple steps, then he pivoted, catching the door just in time, and re-entered the elevator alone.

She was another yard down the hallway before she realized, looking back at him, then at the numbers on the doors nearby in confusion.

“I thought — Your room’s on the same floor?”

“No. You get some sleep.”

“But —”

“Go on now. If I hold the door much longer the alarm will go off, and people’ll be mad.”

She stood there, looking back at him. He cursed under his breath, let the door go and stepped out before it closed.

“Where’s your key?”

She handed it over, and he saw the number was a couple doors away. He guided her there.

“Oh, good. You’re coming in,” she said as he opened the door.

She was so tired she’d forgotten the existence of Lydia, who’d return shortly.

“No. Go in, Donna.” He put the key in her unresisting hand, and nudged her into the room. “We have all of tomorrow.”

Before he ran out of willpower, he closed the door on himself.

Sometimes being a gentleman was a pain in the ass — and another part of his anatomy.

Yeah, things were definitely harder, he thought later, grimacing as he cupped his head in his interlocked fingers and stared at the ceiling.

Couldn’t possibly get any harder.

“Tell me more about Wyoming,” Donna demanded.

While they ate breakfast, then drove his pickup to the grounds, she’d peppered him with questions about the stock show. Now that they’d parked at a distance necessitated by livestock trucks clogging close-in spots, she’d shifted focus.

“It’s home.”

“Some people hate their home.”

He looked at her. “You?”

“No. I love my family, and the house I grew up in. And Indiana’s great, it’s just . . . ”

“Just?” he prompted.

“I think I always knew I was headed for someplace else.”

Without turning his head, he cut a look toward her. When she’d gotten to the word
headed
, he’d fully expected the rest of the sentence to be
to Broadway.
Was he fooling himself thinking that a couple days ago it would have been?

Yeah, he probably was.

As if to confirm his assessment, she gave herself a small shake. “But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about Wyoming.”

“Go right ahead then,” he invited with a grin. “Talk.”

“Edward —”

She interrupted herself mid-scold. “What’s your middle name?”

“David.”

“Thank you for the cue.”

She picked up where she’d left off:

“— David Currick, don’t be difficult. Tell me more about Wyoming.”

“Prairie in the east, Rockies in the west, and in between there’s near-desert, rolling hills, wild country, and just about everything else.” He considered. “Except cities.” Cities with big theaters.

“What’s the land like around Knighton and on your ranch?”

“Runs from a bit of broken flats up into the foothills of the Big Horn Mountains. We’re on the eastern slope of the Big Horns.”

“Mountains?” She sounded intrigued.

“Big Horns aren’t the Rockies,” he said, so she wouldn’t have a mistaken image. “They’re older mountains, so they’ve been worn down. Look rounder, sort of. Though they’ve got their ways, too.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means they’ll catch you out if you get cocky. Bring you down if don’t give them the respect they deserve. Flip side, they provide good water from the snow melt, so it’s greener than a lot of the state. That’s why my dad’s grandfather settled there. Each generation’s added to his parcel, bit by bit. Starting from longhorns from Texas in the 1870s, we’ve kept making the stock better. What’s that look for?”

“You love it.”

“I love it.”

She nodded slowly. “Why?”

They walked a minute, maybe more while he considered. When he spoke it wasn’t anything he’d known he’d say. “Ranching and Wyoming do something I’ve never heard of anything else doing. They make you small and they make you big all at the same time. You watch a calf being born and know you’re no more than an attendant on Nature’s parade, sweeping up after the elephants.”

He heard her warm chuckle, and appreciated it.

“But then you have a heifer that’s stuck so good she’ll never get out of a fence tangle, and if you weren’t there, right then, fighting her and the fence and rain pouring down and clippers not working worth a damn, you know — you
know
— she’d have died. There you were. Not ten years old, and you did it, and you felt so big your head should poke a hole in the thunderclouds overhead.