Rugged Hearts (13 page)

“Nope, I don’t think I do, and I won’t lie, you’re scaring me a bit here. What is going on in that head of yours?”

“He kissed me, Sally.”

“Get out.”

“I’m not kidding you, and it was no ordinary peck on the cheek, but a full-on, mouth-to-mouth press.”

“Could you possibly be any more descriptive?” She sounded forlorn. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought of such things? It’s embarrassing, particularly at this moment.” There was a short pause. “Wait. I thought you said you had coffee. When did this happen?”

“Before coffee and in the Git and Go parking lot.” Aimee was thinking less about the kiss and more on how to break through the stubborn wall Wyatt had effectively built up around himself. She smiled. It was only a matter of time before the perfect idea would come to her.

“In
public
?” Sally asked in disbelief.

Stuck mentally in the parking lot, Aimee wandered back to her friend, Sally. “I’m pretty sure the kiss was a reaction to my veiled accusation. At least that’s what I think it was.”

“Veiled accusations…about what?”

“His sexual preferences.”

“Mary, Mother of God. You challenged Wyatt Kinnison’s sexual—I don’t know why I never thought to use that tactic with a man before. What happened?”

“I was explaining how I understood his angst, and why he didn’t want to go to coffee with me. The next minute, I’m searching for air…kind of.” She smiled at the memory.

“You basically guilted him into having coffee with you,” Sally stated flatly.

Aimee considered the possibility. “I was trying to understand why he was being so evasive.”

“Doesn’t sound like he was being evasive to me. Trouble is, you think too much, my friend.”

“You’re not the first to say that, but my intentions were…are…good. I really would like to pull him out of this shell.”

“He’s not one of your students, Aimee. He’s not a little boy anymore.”

“You don’t need to remind me. That part has been on my mind continuously, twenty-four seven since it happened.”

“Maybe he’s not interested in a long-term thing. I seem to remember the scuttlebutt of a girlfriend a few years back, Jessie-somebody, ditched him for another guy. Bad scene. Maybe he’s looking for a little comfort. A little consensual sex between adults?” Sally suggested. “If you pursue this, and I have a strong feeling you will, are you prepared even after all your work
sex
may be all he’s interested in?”

Aimee paused before she answered, “Let me get back to you on that.”

“Oh sweetie, be careful. I have a feeling Wyatt Kinnison has a warm center deep down inside, but if not, if his heart has truly turned to stone, then I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Thanks, Sally. I don’t want to get hurt, either. I won’t be stupid about it. If his shell hasn’t started to crack after I’m done with him, then I’ll back off. Besides, he has brothers who are twice as sociable as him and likely as cute.” She knew her words were nothing but a lot of hot air. She chewed nervously at the corner of her lip, knowing the moment he’d opened the door that fateful night there was an undeniable spark between them. Just how permanent the spark had yet to be determined.

Chapter Seven

Aimee piled nine squirming bundles of parkas and snow boots into the school’s blue Suburban. Though their conversations since the day she had asked him about the field trip had been a game of phone tag, she was pleased with how receptive he’d been when he called her back and left a message on her cell phone.

“Hey, Aimee, sorry I missed your call. Sure, Thursday morning works fine for me. I’ll be sure to get things taken care of before you get here. See you then.”

His upbeat response reinforced her belief that people hadn’t allowed him to be his own person, but wanted a replacement for Jed, who had been such a huge part of the community in so many ways. It was a small step, to be sure, hosting a field trip of grade-school children, but it was a step nonetheless, and she could barely contain her own holiday spirit as she buckled up each child.

“I’m sorry,” Sally stated as she helped to situate the kids in the school Suburban. “Principal Kale asked me to take care of the kids who hadn’t turned in their permission slips. You aren’t the only one, apparently, who decided to do an outing today. When Stanley heard about yours, he decided to take his fifth-grade class to the newspaper office. So I get study-hall duty.”

“I’ll be fine, Sally. These guys are golden and with some of the kids leaving early to travel with their families over the holiday, nine kids in comparison to what I normally have is going to be a piece of cake.” She smiled and tapped one of her students on the nose. “We’re going to spread some Christmas cheer, aren’t we, kids?”

A rousing cheer went up from the pint-size brood, who were anxious to get on their way.

Aimee leveled a look at one young culprit who was annoying the other children. “Rory, let’s keep our hands in our lap.” She gave a stern glance to the entire group. “This goes for all of you. Now listen, we are going out to Mr. Kinnison’s to see his ranch and learn how the animals prepare for the winter.” Eight pairs of eyes stared in her direction, listening intently. One pair was busy eyeing his neighbor’s hat.

“Rory. Last warning. Next one, you stay at school in study hall until we return.” The little boy straightened immediately and shot Aimee a cheesy but mischievous grin. She shut the door and glanced up at one or two random flurries sparkling in the bright morning sun. She’d made sure to check the with the state patrol to be certain the pass was clear from the light snow they’d had last week. Given she planned to stay no more than an hour or so at best, she determined she’d have no trouble driving the twenty miles back to town in plenty of time for holiday parties and the sing-along scheduled for one o’clock. Early dismissal was set for two o’clock. Content she’d covered all the bases, she slipped into the driver’s seat and glanced at her book bag, patting it to be sure the apples, cocoa, and candy canes were safely tucked inside. If her hunch was correct, and Wyatt and Montana were the same person. Her singular hope was that these kids would remind him of how wonderful this time of year could be when seen through a child’s eyes.

***

“Looks like you could use a little help.”

Wyatt looked up from cleaning one of the stalls and found Jed’s closest friend—his head ranch hand, Michael Greyfeather, smiling at him. The old man was a welcome sight. He pulled off his glove and reached out to take Mike’s outstretched hand. “How are you, Michael?”

“I’m good. Merry Christmas.”

Wyatt sidestepped the greeting. “With Dalton and Rein gone, I forgot how much work there is for one man. If you’ve got time, grab a pitchfork and help me with these stalls. After that I sure could use a hand fixing a line of fence up on the north pasture.”

Michael nodded, grabbed the pitchfork, and crooked it in his elbow as he pulled on his deerskin work gloves. Wyatt, Dalton, and Rein, as well as every hand on the ranch one year, had received a pair of those deerskin gloves from Michael after a particularly good hunting season. Born American Indian and a member of the Crow tribe association, Michael had taught Jed, who in turn taught Wyatt the ways of a true hunter. “You hunt for a purpose and use every part of the kill after out of respect to the animal’s spirit.” He glanced at Wyatt with a smile. Deep wrinkles etched his face, carved there by time, wind, and sun. He wore his black hair, now streaked with silver, in a traditional braid that reached past his shoulders.

“I’ll be happy to help. Rebecca is going to make me fat. She’s been baking pies for Betty at the café and spends a lot of time experimenting with recipes. Now that I’m retired, she’s made me her taste tester.”

Wyatt hid his smile, but the reminder of the café conjured the image of him and Aimee having coffee. Despite his discomfort in talking about Jed’s community service record, he couldn’t deny how easy it’d been to talk with her. She’d called him about coming out to see the ranch this morning and he had to admit, he was a little nervous about it.

They worked together in companionable silence and it reminded him of when he used to watch Michael and Jed taking care of business on the ranch. His dad had always held his closest friend in high regard, having an enormous respect for his knowledge and loyalty. He’d been his right-hand man in running the ranch until the day Wyatt let him go. Without a word, or any indication of anger, Michael had slipped off his glove and extended his hand. “It’s been a pleasure. Maybe it’s time to hang up my hat and relax a bit. But I’m around if you should need help.”

Wyatt hardheaded and young then, just off the pain of losing Jed, had brushed off the friendship with a wave of his hand. His father would never have treated any of his hands, much less this man, with such callousness. Wyatt had carried around the guilt of his actions for some time. Maybe now was his chance to do the right thing. He owed it to Jed. He owed it to Michael.

“When are the boys due home?” The old man asked from two stalls over. At seventy, Wyatt supposed the three Kinnison boys were still considered “boys” to his dad’s best friend.

“All flights over near Sioux City were grounded due to snow. They’re waiting to see when they can get clearance. But there’s the possibility of another storm cutting a path up to Iowa through Denver. So they aren’t sure when they’ll get out.”

“Better to have them safe there. We both know how bad the snows can get over the mountains.”

Wyatt nodded and picked up Lady’s blanket, draping it over her back. “Yep, they hired Dan’s Cessna. You know he won’t take any chances. Listen, you can take Scout. Dalton hasn’t had him out in a while. He could use the exercise.”

Horses ready, the men walked out of the barn and paused a moment gazing at the pale morning sky tinged with red on the horizon. Wyatt looked at the old man with great respect and humility, remembering his dad’s words. “Age gives a man wisdom and you’ve got to respect to respect your differences.” “Mike, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

From the pines towering over them, the sound of an owl’s hoot echoed in the otherwise silent morning. Years of knowledge were etched on the man’s face as he looked at Wyatt. “We best be on our way. There will be snow by nightfall.”

Wyatt glanced at his boots and pressed his lips together in thought of how to convey his apology for the coarse way he’d behaved. As though sensing his dilemma, the old man placed his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “The past is what it is, son. I never carry grudges. Life is too short. I knew eventually you’d be able to use a hand out here. Seems like that time has come.”

Wyatt nodded. “Do you suppose I’ll ever get to be as wise as you and Jed?” He smiled, grateful for the unspoken forgiveness shining in the old cowboy’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Michael remarked, climbing on his horse.

Wyatt laughed, something that he hadn’t done in a while. It felt good. An early morning ride across his ranch was something he cherished. The cool wind was brisk on his face, and he squinted at how the sun shone down on the dusting of fresh snow. He glanced to the sky, reminded of the owl’s warning of an impending storm. He was glad to have help and planned to make sure he felt welcome to put in as much time on the ranch as he wanted, with fair compensation for his time and talents.

“What prompted you to come out today?” Wyatt asked. They stopped to check a line of fence a few hundred yards from where the calf had gotten tangled a few days ago.

“I delivered some of Rebecca’s pies to Betty the other day.”

Wyatt chuckled and shook his head, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. “You needn’t say more.”

Michael righted the post, holding it steady as Wyatt used the wire stretcher to tighten the slack in the fence.

“That might be a problem.”

“Why’s that?” Wyatt slid him a side look.

“Because I promised Betty I’d talk to you. She seems to think you’re having girl problems.”

“Girl?” Wyatt scoffed. Last I noticed, Aimee Worth was a woman, and I’m no teenager in need of Betty’s meddling.”

“So it is true, then, you did have a date with the second-grade teacher?”

Wyatt climbed on his horse. The sweat rolled down the center of his back, but he felt energized as he always did when he worked outdoors. “I had a cup of coffee, but I didn’t realize it would cause such a stir. It wasn’t like I asked her.” He glanced at the old man’s solemn expression and saw him nod.

“Women and their perceptions never fail to puzzle me. You say one thing, and they interpret it as something entirely different. You make a friendly gesture, and suddenly they’re picking out wedding rings.”

Wyatt leaned on his saddle horn and tried to discern what the old Indian was really trying to say. “Mike, if you got something to say, just say it.” He tossed him a grin. They came over a slight ridge to the spot where he’d temporarily fixed the fence. “Son of a—” Wyatt dropped to the ground and hurried to the small calf, who lay partially covered with snow. There was no doubt of an attack. He scanned the field, seeing the cattle huddled together in the lower pasture. Michael pulled out his rifle.

Wyatt balled his fists, tamping down his frustration. The post where the calf lay was leaning sideways as though it had been knocked down.

“Looks like a cat got him,” Michael offered. “It’s not your fault, Wyatt. The drought has created desperation for many, including the animals.”

“Goddammit,” he ground out between his teeth. His heart twisted to lose this calf. He’d taken care of getting him out of scrapes before, and he couldn’t this time. But he could ensure the safety of the rest of the herd. “Let’s get ’em rounded up. Maybe down near the barn, I can keep a better eye on them.”

The sun had been up for nearly two hours by the time the last belligerent cow sauntered into the pen. Wyatt removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow; his concerns had only just begun. Now there was a predator to deal with.

A few moments later, after settling in the horses, Wyatt stood outside the barn, his mind on the night ahead and the preparations he’d have to make for a vigil. Michael slapped his gloves against his thigh.