Smoketree (4 page)

The shadow darted at me from out of the darkness, from behind. I spun around, gasping automatically, and gave myself away. The shadow turned in my direction and came at me. Half of me wanted to run. Half of me was rooted to the ground.

The rooted half won.

The shadow formed itself into a human shape, and then I identified it. “What are you
doing
out here?” I asked, trying to make my heart return to its normal cadence.

Patrick Rafferty halted before me. His clothes were dark, making him seem a part of the night. “I beg your pardon?”

I thought about the imperativeness of my tone. “Sorry. You frightened me.” I paused. “What
are
you doing?”

The horn-rims rested on his face, sharpening the gaze he directed at me. “What are
you
doing?”

I considered not answering. I had asked first. Then I thought about how ridiculous the whole conversation was.

I smiled at him. “Working the kinks out of my thoughts so I can sleep. How about you?” My smile grew. “Plotting?”

He scowled at me. The moonlight limned the angles of his face and shadowed his hair and eyes. “Let’s just say, I was working.”

I hid the laughter that welled up; maybe Lenore was right about him. If he wanted to act out his spy novels, let him. Fantasy is healthy for the soul.

I looked beyond him. “What were you doing in the barn?”

“I wasn’t
in
the barn.”

He had been, I thought. But what difference did it make? He had as much right as I did to wander around in the darkness, no matter what he was doing.

“Good night,” he said abruptly, as if he had no more to say to me. He probably didn’t.

I watched him go. He disappeared into the darkness quickly, so dark and silent, and within a minute or two I became aware of how vulnerable I felt. The world seemed huge and I so small; I started to head back toward my cabin, intent on rediscovering sleep, but yet another individual stopped me. “Midnight assignation?” crooned Harper’s drawling voice.

I spun around and clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out, but also to stop the curse that came leaping to my tongue. My heart was doing flipflops again. “No,” I told him curtly, still frightened half to death.

“I see.” He obviously didn’t, but that was immaterial. He was wearing a hat and a down vest, holding a big flashlight. But it wasn’t turned on.

I sighed and hugged my ribs against the cold. “Since you ask—I was out walking. I couldn’t sleep. ”

“Hungry, I imagine. You should be, with no supper.”

I smiled at him. I doubted a denial would do much good. He smiled in return. “Ma’am, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to escort you up to the Lodge for a bite of something. I doubt you can stand to lose even a pound off those skinny bones of yours.”

I blinked at him in shock. “Do you talk to all your guests like this?”

“No. Just the ones who deserve it.” He smiled inoffensively. “Want some food?”

I sighed, regaining some of my composure. Not enough, but some. “You didn’t come down here just to find a dinner partner. What are you doing?”

“Checking the place. Part of my job.”

“That’s right,” I agreed at once. “It is something glue might do.” I grinned at his frown of incomprehension. “Cass called you that. Sort of the glue that holds the ranch together. But why,” I asked, “are you doing it in the dark?” I looked pointedly at the flashlight.

He hefted it briefly. “Batteries went out on me. But the moon’s bright, so I don’t really need it. I saw you easily enough.”

“And the writer?”

“I saw him. Now—shall we go?”

I thought about food. I thought about my empty stomach. I thought about the cowboy’s company and decided I could overlook a little plain speech in exchange for something hot and filling. But I couldn’t let him get away with it. “People pay me for looking like this, you know. ”

“They don’t pay you to starve,” he retorted bluntly. “Come along. ”

Harper Young took me up to the Lodge and into the big, gleaming kitchen. On the outside the Lodge looked like an old-fashioned ranch house; the kitchen was a showplace of modern fixtures and utensils. Copper-bottomed pots and pans hung from a giant pegboard, gleaming accents to the adobe-colored walls. Counters held blenders and microwaves and other modern items of convenience. Not much of the old chuckwagon here, I thought, even if I was in the company of a genuine cowboy.

Harper gestured toward a breakfast bar and I climbed up on a tall stool. I watched as he set a frying pan on a burner and filled it with a steak from the huge refrigerator.

I started to protest. So much food—but he turned toward me with a two-pronged fork in one hand. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those damned vegetarians.”

I looked at the glint in his blue eyes. “No,” I answered truthfully. “But—that’s too much. ”

“Then the dogs can have what you don’t finish. ” The steak sizzled in the pan as he turned his back on me again. “There’s beer in the icebox… if you want a salad, make it. ”

I felt the laughter well up again. “Isn’t this against a cowboy’s code of honor, or something? Cooking for a woman?”

“We’re not all male chauvinist pigs.” He paused as I smothered a laugh. “Did you think I’d never heard of such?”

“Well—”

“Never mind,” he said grimly. “I’ve been underestimated before. ”

I watched him pull spices down from a cupboard, sprinkling the steak and then spreading it with a thin film of steak sauce. He moved as if he knew precisely what he was doing.

“You’ve been married, haven’t you?” I saw the line of his shoulders stiffen. “Or did you just live together?”

“What makes you think it’s either one?” He didn’t turn; he didn’t need to.

“A hunch.” I slid off the stool and went to the refrigerator and pulled out a long-necked Budweiser. “Which was it?”

“That’s private.”

“Yes,” I agreed affably. “Just like
my
affairs.”

That brought him around. His face was very still a long moment, almost too still, and then it softened. Just a little. “Touche, ”he said quietly. “Well then, how about one of those for me?”

I twisted the top off and handed him the bottle. I took one for myself as well, forgoing a glass; when in Rome, as they say. I climbed back up on my stool, watched him fry the steak, and sipped at my beer.

“Which was it?” I repeated.

“You don’t get anything for free,” he said over the sizzle of the steak. “An even trade.”

I stared at his back. He still wore the hat, even inside the kitchen; I wondered if he slept in it. And then I lifted my brows in minor astonishment. What was I doing wondering how he slept?

Harper turned around. “I was married, once,” he said. “How about you?”

“I thought you said Cass told you about me.”

“Cass doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does.” The words were mean, but the tone was gentle. Brotherly. And yet I knew that wasn’t how she viewed him. I’d seen that easily enough when we’d met Harper on the drive in.

“I wasn’t married.

“Spoken for?”

I smiled a little. “You might say that. We didn’t really live together—our jobs kept us on different coasts too often for that—but it was close enough.” I gestured with my bottle. “I prefer it resembling meat instead of old boot leather, please.” He turned down the heat obligingly. “What broke you up?” I felt the tingling in every inch of my skin. Suddenly the kitchen felt cold, except it was me, not the room. I stared at him blankly. “Who said we broke up?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t that why you came?”

I laughed once. There was no humor in it, it was just a blurt of sound. “You thought I came here because of the end of an affair?”

His mouth twisted beneath the moustache. “It’s been done before. Smoketree’s a nice place to escape to, if you feel the need to escape. Some do.” His eyes were steady on my face. “I’ve seen it before,” he told me gently. “Women
and
men. They come here to pick up the pieces, some of them; others come for the relaxation. I know which you came for. It’s easy enough to see. But not
why
.”

“Then Cass didn’t tell you much at all.” I stared at the beer bottle in my hands. “Well, you have some of it right. I did come to escape. Picking up those pieces.” I shook my head. “I suppose I’m no different than anyone else.”

He pulled the steak from the pan and put it on a plate. That he set down next to me on the breakfast bar, along with knife and fork.

“Don’t underestimate me,” he said obscurely. “But don’t underestimate yourself, either.”

I looked at him. His face was solemn beneath the hat. After a moment I lifted the bottle. “To your health.”

He smiled. “And yours.”

He drank while I ate. And all the time he watched me.

At three in the morning I found myself staring at my travel clock in bleary-eyed confusion. Then I realized what had awakened me. Barking dogs.

I lay there and wondered how long the noise would continue before someone saw to quieting them. I had slept heavily after the meal, too heavily; now I felt disoriented and too tired to move. But the barking continued and finally I sat up, shoving the heels of my hands across burning eyes.

I heard the shouting then. That got me out of bed instantly and I went at once to the window, drawing back the curtains to peer out into the darkness. And then I realized the darkness was lighted by the gush of flames from the barn.

I dragged on my heavy terrycloth robe, crunched my feet into my slippers and went out the door without even bothering to close it. All I could think about were the horses.

Lenore caught me before I had gone halfway. John Oliver brushed by us both, muttering something about lending what help he could. Lenore’s hand was on my arm as if to draw me back.

“John will do what he can,” she told me confidently.

“So can we.” I went on, paying no attention to her complaints that a burning barn was no place for either of us. But she followed.

I saw Cass running from the Lodge with a bulky cylindrical object in her hands. She wore jeans, boots and a pajama top. Her face, highlighted starkly by the flames, was so tense she looked older than her years.

I tripped over something in my path and regained my balance before I fell. It was a heavy garden hose writhing in the dirt as someone near the barn dragged it close, whipping kinks out of it. Glad to be able to do something, no matter how inconsequential, I grabbed a handful of hose and tried to untangle the coils. I felt the vibration of the running water in my hands. So little water; so big a fire.

I could see figures silhouetted against the flames. They shouted and ran back and forth, heaving bridles and saddles and other bits and pieces of tack. Most of the barn had been utterly engulfed, but it burned from the rear. The doors were still clear, and it was there I saw Harper laboring under the weight of two saddles. He dumped them in the dust some distance from the barn and went back for more. I dropped the hose and ran.

I heard the horses as I neared the barn. For an odd moment I wondered how a wrangler could so concern himself with gear as to forget the horses, then I realized there were no animals in the barn. They wheeled and circled in nearby pens, squealing with fear, but safe.

“Stay back!” John Oliver shouted as I approached. I saw Cass darting by with her fire extinguisher. Little help, unfortunately, against a fire of this magnitude.

“It’s the hay,” Lenore said from my side.

I had forgotten her. “What?”

“Hay is highly combustible.” In the weird light and without her makeup, she looked much older. “A cigarette or a match would do it in a minute.”

“No one would be foolish enough to smoke in a barn.”

She shrugged. “I’d still put my money on a cigarette butt.” She shivered, although we were close enough to feel the tremendous heat of the fire. “I’m going back to bed. There’s nothing I can do here.” A sidelong glance included me. “Are you staying?”

That much I was sure of, and said so. Lenore merely tightened the belt of her silk wrapper and disappeared. But as I watched her go I saw yet another person keeping his distance. Patrick Rafferty. And he made no attempt to help fight the flames.

He was still fully dressed. I wondered how long he had stood there watching, unreadable eyes alert behind the glinting lenses of his glasses. Our glances locked across the brief distance; the tightening of his face mirrored my own.

The makeshift firefighters retreated at last. There was little more anyone could do. A garden hose and a fire extinguisher, augmented with wet saddle blankets, were not enough to save the barn. They trailed away from the burning structure in attitudes of weariness and despair. Harper had one arm draped over Cass’s shoulders in a comforting gesture, face smeared with smoke. John Oliver coiled the hose and dragged it away; someone had shut it off. His gray hair stood up in spikes, but the robe did nothing to hide the power in his blocky body. Kramer and Chesley gathered their respective wives and went back toward their cabins, talking animatedly.

Oliver joined me. His robe was water-stained and blemished by tiny spark holes burned into the expensive fabric. He flattened his hair with a broad hand and paused by me, glancing back at the barn. “No way,” he said briefly. “It’s a goner.”

“Did anyone call the fire department?”

“So I was told. But Reynolds said they’d never make it in time. I must agree with him.” He shook his head. “Write it off.”

“It’s still burning,” I protested as part of the roof and one wall fell in with a shower of sparks and ash.

“We did what we could,” he said. “There’s not much left to burn. It’ll go out by itself.”

Another portion fell in. I thought it still appeared highly dangerous, but perhaps Oliver was right. There was no outbuilding nearby to catch fire; no trees. Just the barn, and it was already gone.

Oliver idly rubbed a smear of ash from his gold wedding band. “The authorities will investigate, of course. It’s routine.”

Nathan Reynolds approached. Every inch of the man screamed utter exhaustion and mental anguish. Like Oliver’s, his clothing was a mess. Unlike him, Nathan was not so calm.